#i have no doubt these thoughts have been voiced before

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

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

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

The Alchemy

AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.

Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

CW: Smut

Word Count: 6,871

Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.

It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.

Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.

Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.

Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows. 

Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."

I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye. 

"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script." 

Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."

As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.

"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."

Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."

I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."

She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."

Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.

"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.

As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.

Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me. 

I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength. 

I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore. 

Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.

Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head. 

For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer. 

That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.

As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."

I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.

But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."

Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.

The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.

Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.

"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response. 

"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt. 

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement. 

"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"

His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state. 

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased. 

I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt. 

Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.

"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality. 

"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class. 

My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.

I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.

I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H

I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.

I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.

I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.

After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.

I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.

Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.

His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.

The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.

I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.

Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.

As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.

By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.

Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.

I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous. 

"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy. 

Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked. 

I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me. 

"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously. 

Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.

I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly. 

Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.

Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me. 

I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field. 

As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.

At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return. 

In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.

As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.

"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.

"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.

"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.

Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game. 

I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights. 

"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly. 

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."

Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions. 

"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly. 

Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...

But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise. 

Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out." 

He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.

As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.

A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.

As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.

Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."

I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."

He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.

"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."

I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."

Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."

We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.

I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.

Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.

The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.

Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. 

His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore. 

"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.

Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.

"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.

My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.

Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.

Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.

Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”

As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.

Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.

"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."

He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.

I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.

"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.

Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .

"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me. 

My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.

"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts. 

I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.

My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.

My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."

I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.

My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.

And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.

He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.

But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened. 

As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate. 

"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."

He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.

"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.

As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.

We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.

I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.

"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.

I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.

"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.

I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."

He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.

My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.

"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.

A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.

Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.

Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.

As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.

The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.

Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.

His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.

The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.

I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.

Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.

One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.

I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.

Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.

Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.

"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.

"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."

Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.

“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.

“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”

The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.

I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.

#harry styles one direction #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles x reader #hs live #otra tour #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fandom #one shot #harry styles blurb #harrystylesau #harrystylesfanfiction #harry styles fanart #harrystylessmut

[azrielsdove]

Longing Pt. 2: Azriel

Warnings: Suggestive

Part One Here

***

A strong body was pressed tight against your back, an arm wrapped snug around your waist. You took a deep breath of the morning air, comfortable and happy. You turned in the arm holding you to press a soft kiss to Cassian’s forehead.

Until you realized it was Azriel sleeping soundly next to you, and that it would never be Cassian. You shot up straight, feeling like you had just been doused in ice cold water. The sounds of Nestas moans replayed in your head as Azriel blinked up at you, your sudden movement waking him.

“What happened?” He asked, voice hoarse from sleep. You shook your head in response, not trusting yourself to speak right now. You slid out of the bed and walked quietly into the bathing room, preparing to take a long, sorrowful bath. You heard Azriel getting up as well, followed shortly by your bedroom door opening and closing. Yea, I wouldn’t want to stick around me either, you thought, tears pricking at your eyes.

Everything just felt too heavy.

You undressed and sunk into the warm bath you had drawn, a rather copious amount of bubbles covering you to your chin. You leaned your head back against the edge of the tub, gazing out over the early morning. Why did it have to be so hard? You had first felt the mating bond flicker when you met Cassian, and you thought all your dreams would come true. Certainly he would feel the bond as well, would feel drawn to you. You would fall in love, get married, and have ten beautiful babies. After that day there was never another option for you, not when you were so certain of your mate.

Why did it never snap for him?

Or worse, it did and he decided he wasn’t interested in pursuing that path with you.

Both options made you feel sick.

You closed your eyes and thought back to that very first meeting, the day you were so sure you had gotten what you’d always wanted.

***

“What if they don’t like me?” Your voice was full of doubt as you smoothed your dress down again, anxiety coursing through you. Azriel laughed, tugging you closer to the doors of the massive house in the mountains he had brought you to.

“I promise they will love you. Don’t you trust me?” He teased, poking your side.

You glared at him. “He is the High Lord, Azriel! My High Lord! Big, bad, powerful Rhysand! Am I not expected to be a bit nervous?” He laughed again and shook his head.

“Rhys is not scary. Do you think i’d bring you somewhere you’d be in danger?” A smile ghosted over his lips as he stared you down, daring you to ask to go back home. You sighed and ran your fingers over your dress again, sucking in a deep breath.

“Let’s just get it over with.”

“That’s my girl!” He cheered, looping his arm through yours as he pulled you into the grand house. You were quickly rendered speechless by the stunning room you were in, windows covering three entire walls to overlook Velaris.

“You live here?” You asked in amazement, still looking around the room.

“Sure do. Cassian and I reside up here most of the time. Do you like it?” There’s a strange undertone in his question, a shyness that he doesn’t usually have around you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, a smile breaking out across your face.

“I love it! I can’t believe you have never brought me here before!” You jabbed, smiling bigger at the relief on his face. Azriel had been your friend for some months now, and you occasionally wondered what it would be like to be more. That feeling crept up in your heart at this moment, standing with him in the home he had been so nervous to show you. You opened your mouth to continue before his eyes flicked to something behind you, the smile reserved for you changing to something more boyish.

“Cassian!” He called, and you turned to see a man just as large as Azriel. Right as you felt that golden tug in your chest. His eyes were bright as they took you in, white teeth showing as he smiled wide. Cassian.

Cassian.

Cassian.

Azriel nudged you and you suddenly realized you were staring at the male with your mouth wide open. You flushed and murmured a “hello” as your gaze drifted to the floor. You were thankful that Azriel started a conversation with him about training earlier that week, allowing you to steal glances up at the long-haired god in front of you.

Cassian.

The General of the Night Court.

Azriel’s brother.

Your Mate.

***

You opened your eyes, a deep frown on your face. You had always romanticized that memory, the magical moment of meeting your mate. The gentle tug you felt when you first laid eyes upon him.

But something was off about it.

You sat straighter in the tub, looking blankly out the window. You thought over the second you felt that bond twitch in your chest, the seconds before it.

When Azriel was smiling down at you.

No. No, you can’t have made a mistake like that. You shook your head as if to clear it, thinking back to other moments you felt the pull of the mating bond.

***

“Catch!” Azriel yelled, tossing a deadly sharp dagger at you. You yelped and dodged out of the way, watching the blade land point-down in the sand. You spun towards him, crossing your arms as you did.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You had agreed to come up to train with Azriel today, mostly due to knowing Cassian would likely be there. He had been on you about learning self-defense, adamant that the world wasn’t all safe like Velaris.

Azriel shrugged, another dagger in his hands. “Your reflexes are shit.” He stated, inspecting the blade he was holding.

“You gave me hardly any warning! It’s my first day!” You protested, knowing he wasn’t wrong. He shrugged again, eyes flicking up towards you. You noticed the tense in his arm a split second before the second dagger was hurtling directly towards your face.

This time you slid smoothly to the side, gloved hand shooting out to catch the handle of the damned thing. You turned back to Azriel, a wicked smile on your face.

“Did you truly believe I had never learned self-defense?” The slight surprise on his face was all he gave you before he was throwing another dagger your way. You again caught it with ease, throwing it back at him without missing a beat.

“Okay, color me impressed. You’ve never shown this side of you.” Azriel said, walking over to your side to take the other blades back. You handed them back, his fingers running over yours as he grabbed them. The same second Cassian walked into the ring, shouting about you starting without him.

The same second you felt the bond tug.

***

“No, no, no! That is not how you play!” Cassian yelled, looking down at the move you had just made on the game board.

“It’s not?” You asked innocently, batting your eyes up at him. He glared at you, hands waving in frustration at your game piece.

“You can’t move there! You are one turn away from winning, with a move like that. No chance left for the rest of us.” He sighed dramatically, looking in dismay at the board in front of you.

Azriel chuckled from next to you, leaning forward to look at the board as well. “Poor Cass doesn’t take well to losing,” he stage whispered, pulling a laugh out of you. You turned and looked at him, moving your face close to his as if you were two conspirators.

“He should get used to it if you keep bringing me to game night.” You loudly whispered back, Azriel laughing in answer. Cassian’s grumble dragged your gaze back to him, the bond pulling hard in your chest.

You missed the way Azriel was looking at you at the same moment.

***

The shot burned your throat, a welcome distraction against the sight of Cassian all over some random female. Azriel sat next to you, a pitying look on his face. “We don’t have to stay here, ya know.”

You shook your head, reaching for the cocktail you had ordered as well. “No, I don’t want to ruin your night. It’s not like he has to want me.” You looked down, hot tears sliding down your face. “Maybe he just doesn’t feel it.”

Azriel’s hands cupped your cheeks, dragging your face up to him. “Hey, hey, he just hasn’t realized it yet i’m sure. Don’t let this make you think you’re not enough.” His thumbs swiped away the still falling tears, now accompanied by little sniffles.

“I just don’t understand how it hasn’t snapped for him. What am I doing wrong?” You were mumbling, words hardly coherent. Azriel continued wiping away your tears, allowing your nonsense mumbles to continue.

“Hey,” he said soothingly, bringing his face down close to yours. “Don’t worry. He will come around, and if he doesn’t he was never worth it. Okay?” He gave you an encouraging smile, nodding for you to return it.

“Okay,” you said, sniffing one last time as you pulled away from Azriel and moving to place your glass back on the table.

The table that your drunken eyes severely misjudged the distance of.

Your glass shattered on the floor, the bright colored drink inside spraying all over you and Azriel. You blinked slowly at the mess, looking back up at Azriel’s equally shocked expression.

And then you laughed.

Loud, uncontrollable laughter.

Azriel stared at you for a second before joining in, grabbing napkins to help clean up the mess. The sound of your laughing drew Cassian’s attention back to your table, coming over to see what was going on. You looked up to him while Azriel carefully wiped the drink off of you, the bond glowing brightly.

***

Oh, gods. Every memory you went through of the bond calling to you, Azriel was there too.

Azriel was always there.

The broken pieces inside of you stirred, as if telling you to listen to your gut. You quickly pulled yourself out of the bath, unable to sit still any longer. How could you have made such a mistake?

You dried off and walked into your closet, blindly pulling out clothes while your mind raced.

Did Azriel even know?

You paused in horror, shirt halfway on. You had been going on and on about Cassian to him for gods knew how long. Had it been torture for him this whole time, trying to encourage you?

You quickly finished dressing, tying your hair up loosely as you headed to your bedroom door. You had to go find him, you had to see what he knew, you needed to explain-

Your door opened as you reached it, causing you to jump back in alarm.

Azriel was standing there, looking at you curiously. A large tray of food in his hands. “You okay?” He asked cautiously, taking in the panic on your face.

“Uh, yea! Sorry, I was just about to go look for you? What’s this?” Your voice was too loud, too bright. He narrowed his eyes at you as he stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“What happened.” It wasn’t a question. He set the food down on your desk, turning back to you with his arms crossed.

You shook your head too quickly, hurrying over to the tray he’d set down. “Looks delicious!” You grabbed one of the pastries on the plate, halfway to your mouth when Azriel’s hand wrapped around your wrist.

“What aren’t you telling me?” His voice was softer, eyes looking over you like he was making sure you weren’t injured.

“Did you know?” You asked quietly, mouth going dry. His eyes flicked up to yours, brows furrowed.

“Know what?”

You swallowed thickly, holding the pastry out towards him. He glanced between you and it, realization coming over his face. “Ah,” he said, letting go of your wrist.

“You don’t want it?” You were embarrassed by how pathetic the question was, arm falling limply to your side.

“No, no that’s not what I mean. I just, last night you were broken into pieces over Cassian. I just,” he swallowed, looking away from you. “I just want you to be sure.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice. You set the pastry back down, reaching out to grab his hands in yours. “Azriel,” you whispered, “it has always been you, hasn’t it? All those times I felt the bond pull, it was all towards you.” His eyes met yours again, shinier than they were before.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your thumbs over his hands, feeling the scars under your touch.

“I thought you would be disappointed. You seemed so happy that it was Cassian, the big, bad General. The hero.” Your heart was breaking, a pain deep in your chest spreading.

“Az…” You let go of one hand to cup his face, tears of your own pricking at your eyes. “I could never be disappointed with you. You held my heart long before I knew who Cassian was. It’s my own fault for misinterpreting the bond the way I did.” You let go of him, moving to pick up the pastry again. “I want you to take it,” you said, holding it out for him.

He looked at you for a long moment before taking the treat out of your hand, raising it slowly to his mouth. You watched as he took a careful bite, eyes locked onto yours while he ate. The shattered pieces of the bond stirred again, calling back out to the male you were made for.

Azriel placed the half eaten pastry down, silently looking back at you. You took a hesitant step towards him, placing one hand on his neck. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, heart racing.

He nodded.

You leaned up, pressing your lips softly to his.

The bond sung.

Azriel’s hands gripped tight around your waist, tugging you flush against him. He kissed you like it was his dying wish, his last chance to get to do so. You put the same emotion back into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He nipped at your lip, encouraging you to open your mouth for him. The bond glowed bright inside of you, causing you to gasp into his mouth. You felt his lips smile against yours, tongue sliding against you like it was meant to be there.

You groaned at his taste, the sweetness of the pastry still lingering. His hands slid up your back, gripping onto your shirt at the noises you made. You arched into him, his lips pulling from yours to trace down your neck. You moaned as he sunk his teeth into you, claiming you as his own. The golden power of the bond flowed through you, whole and pure. A beautiful golden tether, tying you to Azriel.

Azriel, your closest friend.

The Shadowsinger.

The spy of the Night Court.

Your mate.

***

I hope this was what you all wanted!! Thank you so much for your patience recently, I hope you guys appreciate this as much as I appreciate you <3

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #longing

[leviathanleva]

........................

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

........................

Request:

This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-

Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)

........................

[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]

[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]

........................

Freedom.

Freedom was sweet.

Freedom was bitter.

Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.

You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.

And trouble you found.

Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?

Then he appeared, your guardian angel.

A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.

You loved him since that day.

And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.

You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.

Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.

That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.

When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.

You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.

A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.

Something in him changed after that night.

It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.

Life was good.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.

Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.

“You okay?”

Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.

“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.

When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.

“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”

You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.

“That’s not it, Cooper.”

“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.

You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.

“Pregnant.”

It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.

You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.

“What in the hell…”

You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.

He was having none of it.

He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.

“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.

“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”

Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.

“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”

“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”

He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.

“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”

He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.

A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.

He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.

It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.

Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender or a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?

Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?

“Is not fucking possible, sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.

Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.

“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”

His body moves despite his protests.

He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.

“What do you wanna do?”

It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.

“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”

You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.

But did you really want that?

It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.

No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.

“I think – ”

“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.

Maybe even a father.

You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.

“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”

He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.

You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.

The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.

“Four months.”

You’d only been out of cryo for three…

He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.

You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.

You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.

It wasn’t his child.

You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…

You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.

There was nothing though.

He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.

“That don’t change a damn thing.”

Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fallout #x reader

[allfearstofallto]

A Boon from the Tsaritsa

Arlecchino x Fem! Reader

A/N: Reader is a simp

She's beautiful from all angles. That's the only thought that's running through your mind as you kneel before her. Her haunting beauty is a sight to behold, her face like that of an angel. Or maybe, a demon, with the way she tempts you. Even the look of disinterest, of lack of care for you, sends a chill of adoration up your spine. All it took was one glance at her in passing and you were absolutely smitten.

“I was told you requested me personally?” She spoke, her voice echoing off the wall and sending a familiar tingle to your groin. Her words, spoken coldly like ice, made your heart beat even faster in your chest.

“Yes, Sir! I did,” you stuttered back enthusiastically. Her dark eyes were on you and you could feel them practically melting through your skin. And the feeling was euphoric. Her painful gaze was like heaven to you and you wished to bask in it, if only her impatience with you wasn't so palpable, “I did well on the previous mission, sir, as I'm sure you've heard. I'm actually the sole survivor of it. I was told by the Tsaritsa herself that I could have any gift I desire for my job well done.”

Arlecchino cocked an eyebrow, crossing one of her gorgeous legs over the other. The way her thighs squished against the heavy fabric of her pants had you nearly drooling, your eyes tracing up and down her long legs to where the heel of her shoe where she tapped her foot against the marble floor, “I'm assuming you have something you want from my orphanage then, seeing as you asked for me. I do not give my children up, if that's what you're asking for, so I suggest calling on someone else for your ‘reward,”

“I want nothing of the sort,”

“Is that so?” She hummed.

“What I want is something only you can give me,”

“And that is?”

Your eyes fell upon her lips. Plump and wet with gloss. The natural pink shade making them stand out against her pale skin. They were pressed together in a frown, but even that displeasing expression excited you, “I want a kiss. From you.”

She was dumbfounded for a moment, you could see the slightest change in her expression, then she went back to her neutral expression, trying to pretend that what you’d asked for wasn't phasing her. She waved her hands, shooing the other Fatui guards out of the room and they left with little sound, their feet sounding like little patters of rain against the floor.

“A boon from the Tsaritsa is not an easy thing to acquire. People typically ask for things like land or status,”

“I'm aware,”

“Yet, you're giving it all up for a peck on the lips?”

When she said it like that, you did feel a little stupid. But you were steadfast in your ways and insistent on what you wanted. Her lips plagued your dreams day and night. And passing her on your way to assignments made you mentally curse whatever fate kept her from being your superior. Although, you doubted you'd get any work done if you had the opportunity to ogle at her as much as you pleased.

“I do not feel as if I'm wasting my boon, I've wanted this for a very long time,” affirmation coated your words, showing that you meant every bit of them. 

Maybe she could feel that. Feel your honesty in the way you spoke. In the way you look up at her with admiration. Most would be upset that they were made to kneel, yet, you dropped to the floor before her without any hesitation the second the order left her mouth. 

You watched her feet as she stepped towards you, her heels clicking against the floor. She cupped your face, just beneath the chin. You'd never touched her before, how could you? But the feeling of her gloved hands against your skin, of her sharp nails practically testing your flesh, it was euphoric. 

Bending over at the waist, she pressed her lips against yours. You would've melted into a puddle right there, had it not been for her firm grip on your cheeks. She tasted sweeter than you expected, but her lips were as soft as you'd dreamt of. Her smell up close was intoxicating, and even though you would've been more than satisfied with just her lips, you felt her tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

The way she kissed was dominating. It was suffocating. It was heavenly. You let her do whatever she desired, practically sitting there like a ragdoll for her to toy with. You wanted to remember every bit of her taste, the feeling of her lips. Her touch. You savored it, whining in sorrow when she pulled away, her lips wet with your saliva.

“Do well again,” Arlecchino spoke in a hushed whisper right against the shell of your ear, “So you can get another.”

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin arlecchino x reader

[justauthoring]

a promise he'll keep.

requested! -> also “who did this to you” with astarion would go absolutely bonkers. food for thought requested by! -> @the-sunflower-room

a/n -> thank you for your request! i saw your other one as well and definitely plan on writing it hopefully soon! also! i literally have been in love with this man since the game came out but im so nervous about writing for him i never gained the courage... tho, meeting neil yesterday made it feel like its only write i finally commit and write to him!

tw -> mention of blood, bruises and cuts/violence

pairing -> astarion x f!reader/tav

blood poured from the rather large cut across the side of your forehead, staining your skin and seeping into the tiny cuts littered across your cheek and jaw. bruises lined your neck, in the shape of a hands, and astarion was sure that the rest of your body mimicked the damage across your face.

armour torn, shaking and hurt, astarion's heart burns with a rage he's not felt in a long time.

long ago had he forgotten about the bloodlust of fighting. long ago had he healed from the trauma of his past. years had passed since astarion had first met you and years had passed since the both of you, along with the rest of your companions, healed yourselves from the parasites in your mind and effectively, saved the world.

your bodies had never quite healed though. the trauma of what you'd both experienced had never faded and most likely never would. you'd both accepted that as a fact of your lives and used each other as a means of healing from it.

it had been years since astarion has seen you bloodied and hurt like this, and it feels ten times worse then it ever had before. never a fighter, the second you'd no longer been forced to fight for survival, astarion knows you'd given up that part of your life.

you were strong. there was no doubting that. you could hold yourself and you'd proved that well enough given what you'd done for the world and most importantly, your companions. more than anything, you'd proved that with how you saved astarion from his tormentor and the horror of his past.

but you look so vulnerable in that moment; broken and hurt and bruised and his chest tightens, nails digging into the palms of his hands as the rage coarses through him, burning his veins and has him desperate to make whoever hurt you pay.

painfully.

"who..." and his words hesitate, the fire his chest making it hard to find his words. he doesn't want you to think any of his anger is directed at you... "who did this to you?"

you twitch at his words, arms coming around to hold yourself as you shiver, hesitating.

astarion's face falls.

taking a step towards you, he reaches out for you, hands moving to cup your cheeks, gently and wary of your wounds. he worries you'll pull away, given how afraid you are, but you know astarion and recognize his touch and some of the rage fades with concern and love for you as you lean into his touch.

his fingers work to brush the blood from your face, get rid of the dirt and grime that clings to your skin and tries to soothe you.

your eyes flutter shut in response.

"i'm sorry," astarion whispers. "i'm sorry, i don't mean to scare you."

you shake your head, humming in disagreement. "you didn't scare me."

astarion hates the way your voice trembles.

"i don't want you getting hurt for me," you explain. "you don't deserve that."

and astarion shakes his head. "it doesn't matter if it's you." he assures and he frowns when he realizes he might've not made that clear enough. he had a lot to make up for if you think that he wouldn't do anything for you. "i can't let them get away with hurting you like this."

"i'm okay," you try to deny.

astarion just tightens his grip on you, not enough to hurt you, of course, but enough to pull your attention on him. "you're not," he argues, desperate for you to understand how much it pains him to see you hurt like this. "you're bleeding, y/n. and fuck... you're hurt, badly. it breaks my heart to see you like this."

your eyes fall on him at that. wide eyes meeting his own as your lips part, as if shocked by his admission. maybe shocked wasn't the word—he likes to think the expression on your face is one of reassurance at how much his heart burns with love for you.

the tears that you'd been holding back fall then, your bravety and strength fading at astarion's warming and soothing words. they build at the corner of your eyes and astarion is quick to brush them away.

"i'll never let them hurt you again," he promises then, meaning every word of what he says. he says them with confidence, desperation and sincerity, eyes softening with a plea as he holds onto you, afraid you might slip from his very fingers. "them or anyone else."

your hand grabs his, squeezing.

"i know," you whisper, "this isn't your fault."

he just shakes his head; "it's whoever did this to you's fault," he assures, although the twinge of guilt that festers in his belly is undeniable. he should've been there with you, keeping you safe; even if you knew you were capable of keeping yourself safe... having him there would've assured him and would've stopped this from ever happening.

"y/n," he calls again, voice soft, measured and even as he stares into your eyes and doesn't let you pull away. "who did this to you?"

and your lips part, breathing shakily but there's an ease that washes across your expression and then the names of the men who hurt you come pouring from your lips.

astarion memorizies them, keeps them trapped in his mind as he nods. "thank you." and he is thankful. thankful that you trust him to do what he'd promised. thankful that you know he won't fail you.

"i'll make it better, okay?" he whispers, his thumb stroking across your cheek as he pulls you into his arms, a hand falling on the back of your neck to press you into his chest. "i promise."

you hum your response, leaning into his touch before letting him guide towards your home so he can dress and clean your wounds.

and most importanly, shower you in the love you deserve.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #neil newbon

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | three

prologue | one | two | three |

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: heavy injures, description of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, bad language, english not being my first language

They look at each other, adrenaline boiling and screaming in everyone's veins. Nimue doesn't take her eyes off Rhysand, but she feels everyone looking at her.

She feels naked, unprotected.

She blinks to get used to all that light. She had never seen so much light and it's beautiful.

Her senses come to life as she lets go of Rhysand's hand, which she had unknowingly been clinging to. She breathes over and over, trying to calm herself, but involuntarily she begins to tremble.

What has she done, what has she done, what has she done.

Father is going to kill her.

Amidst her frenzy of thoughts, Rhysand starts barking orders. She doesn't hear them well, only scattered words: healer, help, house.

Nimue glimpses a huge house to her right, and realizes she has brought them all to the courtyard of a mansion. Around her, everyone seems to spring into action.

The blonde female runs into the house, and seconds later comes out accompanied by another woman, shorter and slighter. She can't tell if she's fae or a creature. When Nimue and her lock eyes, it's like they're looking in a mirror. Both frown but decide to ignore each other.

For Nimue, it's as if everything is happening in slow motion: when she wants to realize, there's another person there, attending to the two injured Ilyrian. A glow emanates from her hands, its warmth reaching the princess's face. A healer, she supposes. She had never seen one.

She fights against her own panic, trying to get used to all the hustle and bustle and all those sounds. The birds flying above her head, the sunlight, the smell of the sea, the smell of pine and cedar, the voices around her, the poor Ilyrian screaming in pain...

She lowers her gaze, and without thinking, she starts speaking: "I can help."

Everyone looks at her again, judging her. They scan her from head to toe.

The two females who were thrown into the Cauldron are to her left, crying and hugging the one who was with Rhysand. Are they sisters? They looked so much alike...

"I can help," she repeats, this time firmer. She starts walking and sees how Rhysand prepares to attack her, "I can heal both of them, if you let me."

She analyzes the High Lord's face, and sees how little by little he is giving in. No one articulates any words, with a simple nod of the male's head, he grants her permission. He has nothing more to lose.

She kneels beside the one with the shattered wings and begins to do what she does with herself and the wounds she has ever suffered: with her magic, she grasps every little nerve ending, every small piece of skin. She pulls them and threads them, weaves them, joins them and separates them as if making a tapestry. So little by little, she shapes the wings of that Ilyrian. It's all pure instinct, what her nature dictates to her.

Father always told her she was his Goddess of Destruction, but Nimue knew deep down that she was capable of fixing, of healing, of bringin good to the world.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, she was piece by piece, shred by shred, joining and repairing the broken wings of that male. When she reached the bones, she simply imagined how they should have originally been: she ordered them to return to their form, to be soldered, and they obediently complied.

With a final grunt from the male, Nimue finished her work. But before she could get up, he grabbed her arm:

"Thank you," he whispered. Nimue is stunned. Thank you?

Had anyone ever thanked her for anything? Had anyone shown her gratitude?

No, her real doubt wasn't that. Had she ever done anything worthy of others' gratitude?

She swallowed her fear and terror, kneeling on the ground. She watched as the male limped away from her and enveloped the blonde female in a hug, how he squeezed her tightly as they both cried on each other's shoulders.

She was so, so lost. Where was she? What was happening around her?

"What a miracle of a girl," the healer whispered. Standing between Rhysand and the slighter female, the more aged-looking woman never took her eyes off her, "You are a Cauldron's blessing. When you're done, I'll need you to teach me how you do that. You are a–"

"Silence, Madja," Rhysand's voice resonates under her feet and in the very mountain, as if he had spoken those words inside Nimue's skull. She shrinks, intimidated. That's the power of a High Lord, "Now him. Heal him.”

She looks away from Rhysand and sets her gaze on the last remaining male.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him is a pool of his own blood and something that seems to be shadows, moving frenetically back and forth. She had never seen anything like it, those... beings, moving around the man. Nimue hears faint noises that she can't quite understand.

Behind her, she feels a presence moving. Rhysand looks down at her, those violet eyes so deep that Nimue feels hypnotized, "Don't just stand there gaping and do what you did to Cassian. Now. Or I'll cut off your head, you filthy Hybern rat."

She nods, and when she turns back to the winged male, he looks back at her. His amber eyes follow every small movement she makes: from the slight tremble of her lower lip to the way she raises her hand.

When he tries to speak, a trickle of blood runs down his lip to his chin, "Touch me and I'll cut off your hands, traitor."

Nimue trembles.

What the hell is she doing? Where has she gotten herself into?

Before she knows it, two streaks of water run down her cheeks. Is she crying? She had never cried before, what a strange sensation.

Her gaze travels to the hands of the male in front of her. He grips a beautiful black dagger, its tip directly aimed at Nimue's chest.

She swallows hard and, in a quick motion, grabs the arrow he has lodged in his chest and pulls it out with all her strength. She has been so fast that the male collapses forward, falling on top of her.

Rhysand and the healer, Madja, take care of getting him off her, and when Nimue tries to touch him again, the High Lord growls at her, "I told you to heal him, not to open up the damn hole in his chest further."

By pure instinct, Nimue snarls back at him, "I am healing him, you idiot. Back off."

Where she found the courage, she doesn't know. But they obey her, and she gets back to work.

The male is lying on his back on the ground, and Nimue places her hand on his chest, where the arrow was previously lodged. She begins to weave again, slowly, thread by thread.

Her gaze rests on his face, which, with closed eyes, lets out the occasional groan between his teeth.

Azriel feels like his chest is on fire. He feels the edges of the wound burning, he feels combustion from within. He takes gulps of air as he struggles not to lose consciousness, and blinded by the pain, he reaches his hand into the air and grabs onto the first thing he finds.

Nimue startles when his hand grabs her elbow, but she lets it be, the touch of his glove is a new, pleasant, and different sensation. She looks back at his face, and in a low voice, she speaks to him, "I'm almost done. Just making sure there's no trace of the poison that the arrow was coated with."

Azriel lets out a growl. He couldn't care less about the explanations. He just wants it to be over already.

The pain reaches the core of his bones and he opens his eyes abruptly, looking at the girl in front of him.

What is that?

Around her, he sees a thread, a small golden rope encircling her: it descends down her shoulders and arms, caresses her wrists and fingers, and wherever her skin meets his, he sees how the thread enters his own body.

Is he hallucinating?

Hasn't he had enough with the arrow between his ribs, that now the poison is making him hallucinate?

Behind the girl, he sees Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, Mor, even damn Madja. He sees how in slow motion their brows furrow, he sees how they lean forward, looking puzzled at something that makes Azriel scared.

"What's going on?" he asks agitated. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but although the pain has already diminished, it still doesn't let him breathe properly, "What are you all looking at like that?"

Nimue furrows her brows as she pushes the man back to the ground so he stays still. She frowns, as she begins to feel something on her fingertips...

Something is not right.

The sensation travels up her forearm and shoulder, and settles in her chest. There inside, like a caged bird, that sensation starts tumbling, back and forth, faster and faster.

She removes her hand from the man's chest and he sits up in front of her, like a spring.

Azriel feels like he's going to explode. What has that witch put inside him? What kind of magic has she used on him?

"What the hell have you done to me?" he shouts. Azriel brings a hand to his chest when that pressure keeps growing.

Nimue mimics him, feeling like her chest is going to burst.

What has she done? Has she made a mistake? Perhaps her magic has betrayed her now for the first time...

She's hyperventilating, and when she feels that, indeed, she's going to explode like a firework, she looks into the eyes of the male in front of her.

And then everything suddenly calms down.

They stare at each other, stunned, not knowing what to say. Their breaths come together, equally fast and choppy.

And when their bodies stop vibrating and calm down, she feels it there.

There's something, something pulling her towards...

Towards him.

Azriel jumps to his feet, as if they hadn't just removed a poisoned arrow from his chest or he hadn't just lost liters and liters of blood. He finds Truth Teller in its usual place and with a practiced motion after years and years of battles, he grabs the girl by the collar of her clothes and lifts her up like a feather. The dagger rests comfortably against her neck, and she does nothing but look back at him, wide-eyed.

"Azriel!" Rhysand shouts. He ignores his High Lord, although every fiber of his being tells him to obey him, "Azriel, let her go!"

Then, Nimue comes to her senses. With a practiced movement, the winged male is kneeling on the ground again. The pretty black dagger is now in her hand, while with the other she pulls back his hair.

Azriel doesn't know when all this happened. He just knows that he blinked and now he's the prey. He clings to the girl's hand pulling his hair and tries to break free, but he can't understand how such a small woman can have the strength of a thousand men.

"Now I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to attack me. Understood?" She utters each word slowly, as if speaking in another language.

Nimue takes a step back, releasing the dagger, which falls to the ground with a dull thud.

Azriel stands up, and in a leap, he's next to Rhysand in an attack position.

Before Nimue, everyone present is on high alert. Some in attack position, others simply ready for whatever may happen.

The first to speak is Azriel, with the same accusatory tone as before, "What have you done to me? Undo it." He's trembling, and Nimue can't tell if it's from fear or from the pure rage she sees in his face.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't undo it, because she herself doesn't know what has happened.

What is that pulling her? What is that feeling in her chest, an anchor dragging her toward that winged male?

Everyone remains silent, looking at each other.

However, it's Rhysand who speaks first, the voice of reason in a desperate situation, "Let's all calm down."

Because he doesn't know if he's the only one who sees it, who feels it. That sudden change in the air. It smells like cedar and mist, like Azriel. But if he pays attention, he smells the sea salt and the sweetness of poison in the air. The scent that the girl in front of them emits. It's intoxicating and chilling at the same time. He couldn't say.

What he can say, however, is what he sees crystal clear. Azriel's essence, mixed with that of the unknown girl. He sees how both mingle in the air.

And then, Rhysand would swear that he stopped hearing Azriel's heartbeat next to him.

"My mate," his friend whispers. His face, a complete expression of surprise, something that the Shadow Singer rarely showed, "She's my mate.”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @donttellthecats

A/N:I really hope you are all enjoying it. Every kind of support is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much to those who already support it!! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know 🥰

#azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand #cassian #azriel fanfic #azriel fic

[hxnbi]

❀ not so secret — inumaki toge

synopsis: you and toge were having a secret rendezvous, far away from all the others, or so you both thought

tags: fluff, gn reader

word count: 1.4k

“Look at him… He’s infatuated....” 

Maki sighed, rolling her eyes at the scene happening around the corner between you and Toge—that is, if she could even see anything, as Panda was practically blocking her vision. 

Just peering from the bushes she and Panda were hiding from, they could see you two—very explicitly, she might mention, holding hands.

She knew something was afoot when Toge grabbed you by the hand the second you finished your dinner and dragged you somewhere, unbeknownst to her. Their curiosity was piqued, only for the two to find you two, alone, sitting together on a bench, enjoying each other's company in the moonlight.

Or so you two thought.

Cue having Maki and Panda staring at you two with wide-eyed eyes and curious spirits. Well, for Panda, anyway.

Now, they were a reasonable distance away—enough to see you two together but not enough to hear a word, and neither could you guys. 

Maki squinted her eyes, trying to decipher what exactly was going on between you and Toge through the dense and overgrown foliage that was Panda’s ass. 

Your silhouette was barely discernible against all the bushes blocking her view and the dimming twilight in the sky, but the subtle gestures and hushed whispers from both your and Toge’s figures spoke volumes. 

Maki leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued despite her initial reluctance. She could not lie. Seeing Toge this intimate with someone was somewhat unexpected, unsettling even. “...Don’t you think that Toge’s demeanour is a lot more, different? We’ve never seen this before from him,” she noted, squinting her eyes at the bench you both were still sitting on, now laughing.

“Shush Maki! We’re getting to the good part!”

Maki sweatdropped at how invested Panda was. At this rate, she may as well think that Panda was also included in your guys’ relationship. “Good part, my ass. The hell are we even stalking them for?”

“For reconnaissance,” Panda replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, yeah. They’re definitely close,” she shrugged begrudgingly, her voice hardly even audible. After all, they were stalking you two from behind the bushes. “But dating? I’m not so sure.”

“What else could it be? Look at the way they’re leaning towards each other like they’re sharing some big secret!” Panda leaned his body forward eagerly, eyes wide with excitement. He appeared to be more invested than Maki was, as if this were all some kind of romance drama in real-time.  

But Maki, ever being the voice of reason, remained skeptical, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “Maybe they’re just friends?” she clicked her tongue sarcastically, still in a whisper. “Ever heard of that? We can’t jump to conclusions based on a few stolen glances.”

But the Panda was undeterred. “I doubt it. I believe that there’s definitely something more. I can feel it in my bones!”

“You’re being delusional.”

“Hello, everyone~!” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation, startling them into silence. 

‘Oh god…’ 

“It’s your good-looking teacher, Gojo Satoru, here to— What are you both doing, hunched down in the bushes like that? Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re now homeless!”

Maki shot her teacher a withering glare, her patience wearing thin with each passing moment.

“Now, what are you doing here, huh, Satoru?”

“So cruel!” he cried out mockingly, but his trademark arrogance and his shit-eating, mischievous grin were on full display. "I was just thinking of checking in on my favourite students, of course. But it seems like I've stumbled upon something much more interesting."

‘...Ugh.’

That’s it. All hope was lost. A lack of privacy did not exist. Not in Jujutsu Tech, where the most unlikely of people—or animals, for that matter—were always watching.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see them here alone again since the last time,” Gojo hummed.

“They’ve been meeting here in this exact spot for the last four days now,” Maki noted. “You think theres something going on that we don’t know about?”

“Well, of course!” Panda said a matter of factly. “Isn’t it clear that they're dating?”

All eyeballs shifted to the scene where they saw Toge holding your hand close to his face, and you leaned on his shoulder. The intimacy between you two was evident even from a distance from where they were watching.

Toge’s fingers brushed past yours before grabbing them firmly, your fingers intertwining with his. Toge's gaze met yours, and a soft smile graced both your lips. A silent exchange of warmth without an onigiri ingredient was said from Toge in sight.

“Oh shit! They’re getting handsy!” Gojo gasped, seeing this happen first-hand. 

“Be quiet,” Maki hissed. “You’re loud-ass is going to get us caught.”

“That's right. We’re just getting to the good part!” Panda added with a playful smirk, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle before them. It was comedic, really. 

Maki sighed. There really was no reasoning with those idiots…

Gojo bent over to Maki and Panda. “So, are we just waiting for them to make out?”

A tick mark appeared on Maki and Panda’s faces. ‘This guy…’

Just as they were spying on you two, Panda’s hefty weight, along with the shock of Gojo’s surprise appearance, poured over the scene. But their attempt at stealth was quickly foiled as they toppled over each other like a cascade of dominoes, making a loud noise, something that you two very much picked up on in this seemingly quiet space. 

Caught off guard, you and Toge stood up and turned towards the commotion, eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes and ears attuned to the noise that had just come unexpectedly from behind where you once sat.

“What the—”

Maki began to sweat. ‘Just great.’

You and Toge, now standing before the toppled mound of bodies, exchanged a puzzled glance, eyebrows raised in surprise, only to be quickly replaced by amusement at the spectacle unfolding before your eyes. 

“Salmon salmon.”

“Huh? Maki, Panda, and— Gojo too!?”

Everyone’s necks turned, only to see you and Toge standing before them, holding hands. You and Toge exchanged knowing glances. 

“Ahem…” your eyes flushed in embarrassment, your voice faltering as your hand remained enlaced with Toge’s, glued to the moment. “Did you… see everything?” 

Caught red-handed, their faces flushed with embarrassment. Well, Maki, mostly. Panda and Gojo could not give a single damn; they were more interested in the fact that you were there.

Finally, they asked the burning question, "Are you and Toge dating?"

They exchanged looks filled with curiosity and anticipation, making you sweat. Their gazes shifted between you and Toge, practically demanding an answer from either of you, clearly not willing to take no for an answer. 

There was silence, right before… 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, we are.”

“WHAT?!”

“I was right!” Panda started dancing around.

With a tilt of your head, you turned to face the pale blonde, who blinked at you, all with the innocent expression he always had. 

“Toge, I thought you said you were going to tell them?”

“Tuna.”

The boy gave you a sheepish expression, Toge’s small muffles speaking through the layered shirt he always wore. You inhaled deeply and continued to hold his hand, tightening your grip. “Don’t worry. I could never get mad at you, Toge. Like, come on, just look at the expressions on their faces. The poor souls.”

‘Huh…?’

Toge's gaze softened at your words as he nodded in agreement. "Salmon roe.”

His expression said it all. It was one of adoration, to be able to hold your hand and spend time with you, that brought him immeasurable joy in his quiet world. One that the others hardly ever saw in the pale-haired boy let alone a mere smile, all but hidden away under his mask, quite literally. 

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his choice of words. You rubbed at his straightened, pale hair, utterly oblivious to the incredulous stares of Maki, Panda, and Gojo. "Yes, yes, salmon roe," you replied with a wide grin of your own, feeling a warmth spread fruitfully in your chest as if the three were mere background props in your own quirky sitcom.

As for the second years? Well…

‘If this supposed to be romantic…?’ they all sweatdropped.

Heaven forbid the words of onigiri ingredients could ever be considered “romantic.”

“Are we… interrupting something personal here?” Panda neared closer to Maki, whispering in her ear, only to receive a punch right in the gullet.

“So, were we the first to learn about your relationship?” Panda sparkled as if they weren’t just interrupting a moment of yours a moment ago, or even that he was just punched. Having a puppy body has its advantages, perhaps.

“Oh,” you blinked. “No. It was Ijichi, actually, a few days ago.”

“SO YOU BOTH WERE GETTING HANDSY!” 

“Not really. He walked into the classroom while me and Toge were in the middle of-”

“I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU TWO REALLY WERE MAKING OUT!”

“That’s not it either…”

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #y/n #gn reader #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #fluff headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen comfort #fluff #comfort #scenarios #headcanons #drabbles #inumaki toge #inumaki #inumaki x reader #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge x you #inumaki x you

[bellasprettywords]

Crappy day at the office (Spencer Reid x Reader)

a/n: This time I bring to you a little conforting one shot, as I had a really bad day at work and all I craved was some lasagna and cuddles

This is not proofread yet, srry, you guys

My masterlist

Warnings: Fluff, and this is kinda lame, I'm just tired and needed comfort

Word count: 962ish bc there are emojis

Being an Assistant District Attorney was all fun and games, until you had your ass handed to you in Court. Sometimes it felt like no matter how much work you put into a case, if the evidence is not completely convincing, and reasonable doubt just shatters the case you so much time and effort you had put in.

After the disaster at Court, the way back to the District Attorney’s Office was hell: there was a huge road block which caused a traffic jam that made you late for a meeting at with your boss; the printer wasn’t working properly, so you had to struggled when printing some files you needed for a deposition, and you still had at least six pending report for the day. Your head started spiraling, but your train of thought seemed interrupted when your boyfriend’s name popped on your phone screen:

“Hey Spence! What’s up?” you tried to answer as casually as you could

“How’s the most beautiful woman at the District Attorneys is doing?” Spencer said, and you could hear the smile that was forming into his lips as he was talking

“The day has been hectic, I don’t think I’ll be home early today; what about you? How’s San Francisco?” you asked hoping your boyfriend’s day at work would take your mind off from the crappy day you were having

“San Fran was great, I mean, it’s great, but actually, I should get back to work. Talk to you later?” Spencer said in kind of rush, which weirded you about a little, but you didn’t mind, at the end of the day, Spencer quirks were a huge part of what made you fall for him

“Alright then, I love you” you said with the hint of a smile curling up on your lips

“I love you too, honey” he said, blowing one last kiss before hanging up the call

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Finally, after a day that felt immensely long, you were finally pulling up into your apartment building, all you could think about was taking a long, hot shower, eating some takeout, and finishing the day watching reality tv to apace your mind. The way up to your apartment you were just eager to call your boyfriend, hoping this time he had more time to ramble about your crappy day, sure Spencer always tried to rationalize your problems with logical solutions, but you just needed to hear his voice to feel at ease.

You were clicking the key into your door, when suddenly, you realized there was a lovely smell coming from your apartment and with a huge grin, you opened the door to see your boyfriend, mighty Doctor Spencer Reid, struggling to take lasagna out from the oven without burning himself or making a mess.

“Hey… youuuuu” you said rushing to hug your boyfriend and you couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear

“How are you, beautiful?” Spencer hugged you back and you couldn’t help yourself to burry your face in the crock of his neck and take a deep breath, inhaling his scent of muck and coffee “I flew in here when I first called you, but I could tell something was wrong from your tone, so I wanted to do something nice for you”

“Damn it with the profiler abilities” you said, laughing playfully and merging into a sweet kiss

“What happened today? You sounded really odd?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern, and you could see it building it up on his beautiful eyes

“Nothing, everything, it was one of those days, when everything just goes wrong” you started rambling about everything that went wrong through the day, and nothing filled your heart with more love, than seeing Spencer paying full attention to you, memorizing every detail and nodding empathetically sporadically. You rambled and rambled, while Spencer held you and caressed you, immediately making you feel better.

“… So, that’s enough rambling about me, and my tragic life, when I was coming into the apartment I saw a lasagna being taking out of the oven, so I’m guessing it’s for me?” you said trying to wrap it up, and eager to try your boyfriend’s cooking

“As a matter of fact, I did prepare a lasagna, and I’m excited for you to try it, so let’s sit down and have dinner” Spencer said excitedly, serving one generous plate of lasagna while you poured yourself a glass of wine “Here you go ma’am” he said placing the plate in front of you

“Thank you, very much!” you said placing a kiss into Spencer’s cheek; you watched him placing his plate and sitting down, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you had gotten with Spencer; he really was the whole package, he was crazy smart, sweet, considerate, and sometimes you felt that his only motivation was making you happy.

“What are you spiraling about?” Spencer said, taking you out of your train of thought

“Nothin’, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have such an amazing boyfriend” you said, grinning from ear to ear, ready to dig in on the lasagna; you watched as Spencer blushed and chuckled like a kid, so you said the magic words both you and your boyfriend loved the most to hear: “I love you”

“I love you even more, now dig in and tell me how amazing my lasagna is” Spencer said with a smug smile and you decided to comply, trying what was definitely one of the best lasagnas of your life, because of course, it was made by the man that you love

Sure, your day had been crappy at the office, but with a boyfriend as affectionate, caring and understandable as Spencer was, you knew even in your most difficult days, you’d be okay.

This is a little shorter than usual, and defenetly is over the place, but I just needed a little fluff for my night

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[mononijikayu]

a walk — ryomen sukuna.

As you entered the banquet hall together, the atmosphere shifted subtly. You made sure to settle him beside your uncle, who was seated on your right. Conversations continued, but there were curious glances and speculative whispers. Sukuna's presence alongside you, clearly as your companion and equal, sent a powerful message to everyone present. Your status as heir to the Ryomen clan lent your actions an implicit endorsement, and your obvious confidence in Sukuna, as a new member of your family, your future right hand man, challenged any lingering doubts about his place among them.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

listen: a walk by baek yerin

note: i wrote this and wanted to publish it early but i fell asleep, so here we are!!! if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just comment here~ ill make a list and add you in!!! thank you for your support and i hope you enjoy~ mwah~

YOU THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE REFUSED THE SUMMONS. But you supposed that it would be unbecoming of your position as heir to not show up. You stood gracefully before the gathering, your appearance meticulously composed in sharp wonder, which lent an air of solemnity and reverence to the occasion. Your jūnihitoe shone with pride, multiple layers blossoming through with the double heron. The layers of your kimono cascaded in various shades of indigo representing sincerity and integrity, interspersed with lighter hues of wisteria to signify the young life you advocated for within your ancient lineage.

You could see your lord father behind the magnificent byōbu, his dark gaze fixed on you as he sat primly on his shitone. Your uncle, now a father to Sukuna, was just behind your father, enveloped in a solemn silence with his adopted son behind him, head bowed. You think that Sukuna shouldn’t lower his head. A Ryomen shouldn’t. 

Yet you could not blame him. Sukuna knew this gathering was about him. But how could it not be? He was a boy tied to cursed energy, one who had been plagued by a curse himself. And the world was curious, for he was no one but a common boy—a fiend who had stolen and stirred chaos.

It was not uncommon for the Ryomen to welcome new members among their ranks, to bring them into the family and give them a new name. However, giving the Ryomen name to someone bound to a curse was another matter entirely. You did not see it as a significant issue—the curse was dealt with, and Sukuna was free from its clutches. Yet, it still wasn't enough for these people. It was common procedure for the elders to get involved, but it infuriated you that the elders of your own clan had chosen to inform the other clans and involve them in what should have been a private matter.

You looked at your father and bowed.

You turned to the Ryomen elders and bowed.

Then towards the other clan elders, you nod.

“You may speak, Ryomen Hiromi.” Your father says to you, raising his hand. “State your case.”

You purse your lips as you stand still to address the assembly, your voice carrying a calm yet unmistakable edge of frustration. Your uncle snorted, noticing it. "Esteemed elders, and honored guests from the esteemed clans," you began, your dark eyes sweeping across the room. "I understand the concerns that arise upon this matter. However, let us not be swayed by fear of the unknown nor the shadows of the past."

You paused, making sure your words sank into all. "Sukuna was indeed once a fiend, but he was also a victim of circumstances far beyond a child’s control or understanding. The curse that once clouded his fate has been lifted, cleansed by the very traditions and strengths that our clan upholds."

As you concluded your statement, a stern voice cut through the charged atmosphere of the assembly hall. Elder Hoshiko of the Kamo Clan, known for her conservative stance and influential voice among the sea of clan elders, stood up. Her presence commanded attention, her eyes sharp as they fixed on you.

"Lady Hiromi," she began, her tone as cool as the steel of a blade, "Your words paint a hopeful picture, but they also skirt the edges of naivety. Are we to simply forget the chaos this boy wrought before his 'cleansing'? Are we to trust so readily in the efficacy of a ritual that many of us have yet to witness firsthand?"

The room tensed as other elders nodded in agreement, their murmurs filling the space with a wave of skepticism. You think that was a fair comment. None had seen the depth of your own cursed technique for years. No one truly knew the depths of it all, not even you. Your head hurts, that voice whispering once again. But you stood firm. You will not waver; you meet Elder Hoshiko's gaze with a steely one of your own.

"Elder Hoshiko, I respect your concerns," you replied, your voice thick with firm resolve. "Yet, I must challenge the perspective that holds us anchored to fear and doubt. Sukuna's past actions, while regrettable, were influenced by forces he neither understood nor could control. An orphan in the streets has had no guidance. Since his arrival under our care, his behavior has been nothing but exemplary."

Another elder, Takashi of the Ryomen, known for his strategic mind but cautious nature, chimed in, his voice adding weight to Hoshiko's doubts. "But can we risk the safety of our clans on 'exemplary behavior' observed over merely a few moons? What assurances do we have that the curse does not linger or that it cannot be rekindled?"

The tension in the room thickened palpably as Akihiko of the Fujiwara, your great-uncle, made his position clear, aligning himself with the more conservative faction represented by Elder Takashi. His voice, seasoned with years of authority and sharpened by disapproval, filled the room as he addressed you with a stern glare.

“I agree with Elder Takashi,” he declared, his stance rigid and commanding, underscoring the gravity of his objection. The silence that followed his statement was heavy, charged with familial and political implications.

Your mother, ever the astute matriarch of her line, responded not with words but with a haughty smirk, a subtle yet clear indication of her alignment. Her amusement at the discomfort you now faced was thinly veiled, revealing the complex layers of rivalry and allegiance within the clan. This smirk was not merely a mother's reaction; it was a political stance, one that favored her own kin over the progressive ideas you proposed.

Your father’s reaction was swift and sharp. His gaze darted towards his wife, eyes narrowing into a harsh glare that spoke volumes of the internal conflicts that often played out behind the closed doors of their estate. This look was a silent rebuke, a fleeting yet intense display of disagreement with the stance his wife had chosen to publicly support.

Akihiko continued, his tone slightly raised to emphasize his disapproval. “He is an outsider. One who does not know the ways around our world. Is the Ryomen name ever made so lightly that you give it to any random boy you find on the street, Lady Hiromi?”

The challenge hung in the air, direct and formidable, questioning not just your judgment but also the very principles under which you operated. It was an accusation of recklessness, a critique that sought to frame your decision as a dilution of the clan’s esteemed legacy.

You, standing amidst your family and the clan elders, maintain your composure. Your expression was calm, though your eyes were alight with the fire of conviction. You understood that your reply needed to bridge the gap between honoring your clan’s traditions and advocating for the progressive values you believed were essential for their survival and growth.

A glint of purple light echoed in your eyes. When Sukuna saw that, he could feel every fiber of his being scream in the silence. It was terrifying, the way you glared. It was silent, it wasn’t provoking. Rather, it was quiet. The whole room shuddered at the sight. Sukuna did not know what it was. But everyone in the room was silenced immediately. For a moment, he thinks how awe-striking the purple was in his lady’s eyes. Yet, when you closed your eyes and opened them, they turned into hazel summer gazes once more.

“Great-Uncle Akihiko, Elder of the Fujiwara,” you began, your voice steady and respectful, yet imbued with a firmness that matched his challenge. “I understand your concerns, and I do not take them lightly. Sukuna was indeed an outsider, but under the guidance of our clan, he has shown a willingness and a capacity to learn and embrace our ways.”

You paused, ensuring your words were measured and impactful. “The Ryomen name is not given lightly—it is earned, through commitment, learning, and transformation. What I propose is not a hasty grant of our name, but a carefully considered integration of a potential new member who has shown promise. We are not just preserving our past; we are building our future.”

Your response was a blend of deference to the clan’s traditions and a confident assertion of your modern leadership approach. You sought to remind everyone present that the strength of the Ryomen did not merely lie in their exclusivity, but in their ability to adapt and thrive through the inclusion of new strengths and perspectives.

The room fell silent as your words resonated with the assembled family members and elders. Some faces showed contemplation, perhaps reconsidering their initial resistance, while others maintained their skepticism. You knew that convincing them would not be an overnight success but a gradual process requiring patience, diplomacy, and unwavering dedication to your vision.

"Elders, the assurances you seek lie in the very foundations of our practices and the strength of our traditions. Our ancestors built these rites to combat such curses, to cleanse and to renew. Have we become so distrustful of our own heritage that we doubt its power?"

Your challenge was bold, and it hung heavily in the room. You continued, turning to your great–uncle. "Moreover, allowing fear to dictate our actions leads to stagnation. We are not merely guardians of the old ways but also shepherds of potential. Sukuna deserves the chance to prove his transformation—under careful watch, certainly, but he deserves that chance nonetheless."

The rest of the elders started to echo into a symposium of words as they huddled about together. The assembly was silent for a moment, the weight of future decisions palpable in the air. It was the lord of the Gojo Clan—Gojo Suzaku who broke the silence, his voice a calming balm to the heated exchange. His tender eyes gazed at you with a soft smile.

"Lady Hiromi speaks of progression and trust in our ancient rites. Perhaps it is time we consider her words not as a call to blind faith, but as an invitation to demonstrate the resilience and adaptability of our ways. If the boy proves himself under the vigilant eye of the Ryomen, would we not then strengthen the trust in our own traditions?"

His intervention offered a momentary pause in the contention, providing the elders a chance to reflect not just on the risks but on the potential rewards of embracing change. You nodded to Suzaku, grateful for his support and hoping your arguments had sown seeds of courage among your doubts. You appreciate him quite well. From what you heard from your uncle, he refused to send the delegation of elders from his clan without him. It was as though he knew that you would be suffering the ire of his kinfolk.

The room simmers down and the rest whispers like cicadas in the summertime, now considering the broader implications of their decisions. Ryomen Hiromi used this moment to strengthen your position, your voice resonating with conviction. Sukuna looked at the clan leader of the Gojo. He was perhaps your age—no, he’s older than you. He was a tall man, dressed in fine layers of white and blue silks, the crest of the Gojo clan across each layer. His motodori made his handsome features obvious, his clean shaven face.

He did not have their family’s technique. It had not been reborn for multiple generations. But from what Sukuna hears, that does not make lord Gojo any less powerful. Perhaps that’s why you look at him tenderly, with deference. Sukuna knew that jealousy is not a good feeling, it was a negative emotion. A Ryomen did not concern themselves with jealousy, either. Contentment is a Ryomen’s word. Yet, as he smiled at you and you smiled back, Sukuna thinks lord Gojo did not deserve to look at you like that. Nor did he like that you eyed him with deference too.

"Thank you, clan leader Gojo, for your insightful words.” You continued, turning your attention back to the room at large. "Our young Sukuna's integration into our clan isn't just about managing risk—it's about leadership and vision for the future. One that I must lead, as my lord father’s heir. Our traditions are not just relics of the past but living, breathing practices that adapt and overcome contemporary challenges."

You addressed the assembly with a renewed fervor, "We stand at a crossroads where our choices will define not just Sukuna's fate but the identity of our jujutsu world. Will we be known as those who shrank back in the face of adversity, or as pioneers? Are we just not to live in a modern world, because you fear change?”

Several of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats, your words challenging them to rethink their initial resistance. You think you have gotten the Kamo. They speak too much of pride for tradition, about being the guardians of the past. Perhaps had the Zenin arrived too, there would be the same reaction on their faces. But you doubt that they would willingly go. They hated that your father had chosen you as his heir above any other man in his household.

But you think you could scarcely care for Zenin at this moment. You basked in the look your father had given you from afar. Your appeal to their legacy and identity struck a chord, particularly with the younger members around them, who were more receptive to the ideas of adaptation and evolution.

Elder Hoshiko, still a formidable figure, softened slightly but maintained her cautious stance. "Lady Hiromi, your passion is evident, and your argument compelling. However, we must proceed with caution. If we are to embrace this path, I propose strict conditions under which the boy's integration is monitored and evaluated at every step."

You nodded, understanding the necessity of compromise. "That is a prudent suggestion, Elder Hoshiko. I welcome oversight and stringent conditions. I am one for rules, after all. If this is what must be, then let us begin somewhere. The clans I’m sure would be more than willing to aid our Ryomen clan in this endeavor. Is it the strength of each other, to contribute to society together, not what must be?”

This proposal seemed to appease the more conservative members of the assembly, providing a structured path forward that included checks and balances. The atmosphere began to shift from overt skepticism to cautious optimism

Elder Takashi, now seeing a structured approach to the situation, added, "Let us then draft a framework for the boy’s observation. This framework will detail behavioral expectations, milestones for assessment, and the consequences of any deviation from the set path. This way, we maintain control while allowing for the possibility of integration."

"Very well, Elder Takashi," you replied, your tone even and composed, betraying none of the frustration that tinged your earlier thoughts. "This will be much discussed with my father. Fear not."

Before another elder could interject with further doubts or concerns, Lord Isamu, your father and the esteemed leader of the Ryomen, rose to his feet. His movement was graceful, yet deliberate, capturing the attention of everyone present. The elder's stature, combined with the authoritative calm of his voice, immediately lent an air of finality to the discussion.

“That it shall be, do not fret, elders, friends,” Lord Isamu announced, his voice resonant, echoing slightly off the high, ornate ceilings of the council chamber. 

As he spoke, he adjusted the sleeve of his kimono, a subtle, almost unconscious motion that nonetheless underscored his next words. The faint rustle of silk against the quiet of the room underscored his presence, as shadows from the flickering light of hanging lanterns played across the fabric, adding a dramatic flair to the moment.

“But all must have trust in my daughter. There is no reason for the child to not grow with such excellence when the pride of the Ryomen teaches him our ways.” Lord Isamu’s gaze swept across the room, each member of the assembly feeling the weight of his look. Then his wife, and then, her uncle. His wife lowered her eyes. He turns back his gaze at Hiromi. It was a reminder of his authority and of his confidence in your capabilities as both a leader and a mentor. “There is no one better than my daughter and my heir.”

His statement was not just a declaration of support for you; it was a directive that echoed his unwavering belief in the principles that had guided the Ryomen for generations. His words sought to remind the elders that the strength of their clan did not merely rest in maintaining old traditions but in their capacity to adapt, to teach, and to grow stronger by integrating new elements into their lineage, guided by the wisdom of their customs.

The room, previously filled with murmurs of concern and skepticism, now fell silent, the elders and other attendees digesting Lord Isamu's words. His endorsement of your judgment effectively sealed the council’s decision, casting it in a new light—not as a concession but as an affirmation of the Ryomen’s resilience and dynamic leadership. And through the dull bureaucracy that had led to more hours of waste, the adjourned assembly agreed, and what had started as a contentious debate moved towards constructive planning.

You felt a cautious relief; while the road ahead would be rigorous and filled with scrutiny, it was a path forward nonetheless. Sukuna would be given his chance under the watchful eyes of the Ryomen elders. Sukuna will do so. He’ll show them. You sighed.

You think you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

‘Do you think that you deserve such a thing?’

That voice says, almost mockingly as you sighed.

The voice was truly right. A god is always right.

“No.” You say under your breath, “I don’t.”

FATHER ANNOUNCED A BANQUET FOR THE GUESTS SOON AFTER. As the elders dispersed, leaving the room echoing with the last murmurs of conversation, you stepped closer to Sukuna. Your uncle sighed at you as you nodded back at him. You smiled down at the younger boy, looking at him as though to reassure him that everything was fine. You brushed your fingers against his hair, a small blush appearing on his cheeks. 

“You just had to antagonize the elders, hm?” he sighed, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth despite his words. You stood together in the quiet aftermath of the council meeting, the heavy doors closing softly behind the last of the departing figures.

You met his gaze with a spark of defiance still alight in your eyes, tempered by a hint of mischief. “Uncle, if I didn’t challenge them, who would?” Your voice carried a lightness, but underneath lay a steely resolve. “We can’t always bow to fear and comfort. Sometimes, we need to stir the waters to catch fish.”

Hiramu chuckled softly, shaking his head. “True, but you don’t have to use a spear every time, little niece.” he teased you gently, acknowledging your tactic. “Your father supports you, and that’s no small thing. But remember, these elders are not just obstacles to overcome; they’re resources, allies in the making if you handle them right.”

You nodded, understanding the wisdom in his advice. “I know, uncle. I do value their counsel and their experience. But sometimes, it feels like they’re more interested in preserving their own peace than in what’s best for the clan. I want to push them to see beyond their immediate concerns.”

Hiramu placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “And you will, Hiromi. Just remember that it’s not always about pushing. Sometimes, it’s about guiding, showing them the path and letting them walk it with you. You have a vision for the Ryomen that’s bold and inclusive, and it’s exactly what we need. But bring them along with you. You’ll need them on your side as you lead.”

The last of the daylight filtered through the high windows, casting long patterns on the floor that flickered as lanterns were lit in preparation for the evening’s banquet. The moment of solitude between you was a rare pause in the rhythm of your responsibilities.

“Come,” Hiramu finally said, breaking the contemplative silence as he gestured toward the hall where the banquet was being prepared. “Let’s join the others. Show them your resolve pairs with your grace. Tonight, let them see the leader you are becoming, not just the challenges you pose.”

You nodded at your uncle, understanding his encouragement and the wisdom behind his gentle urging. However, as Hiramu turned to move towards the bustling banquet hall, your gaze drifted away, settling on the young boy who was the subject of much of today's discourse—Sukuna. Your eyes lingered on him, seeing not just a boy shadowed by past misdeeds and complex curses but a burgeoning emblem of your leadership and the clan's potential for inclusivity and change.

Sukuna stood slightly apart, his posture betraying a blend of apprehension and curiosity about the evening's events. The noise and light from the banquet seemed to beckon him, yet also hold him at bay, emblematic of his current place at the fringes of the Ryomen clan. He did not know what to do, you think. He does not know how to belong after not belonging for so long.

Your uncle noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze. With a sigh, he understood the silent conversation passing between you. Your responsibilities as the heir—and your personal commitment to Sukuna's integration and acceptance—were pulling you in a different direction than the rest of the clan members joyously heading towards the banquet.

Hiramu gave a slight nod, a gesture laden with both resignation and respect for your dedication. "Go on, little niece," he said softly, his voice carrying a fatherly warmth. "He needs you more than I do right now."

With that, Hiramu turned and proceeded alone, his figure gradually merging with the others, disappearing into the light and laughter of the banquet hall. Left in the quieter, shadowed part of the corridor, you took a deep breath and approached Sukuna, your steps measured and your demeanor composed yet inviting.

As you neared, Sukuna looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and surprise to see you approaching. "Everyone's going to the banquet," he remarked quietly, an underlying question in his tone about his place in this new world.

You smiled gently, reaching out to lightly touch his arm in reassurance. "They are, and we will join them, but first, let's talk for a moment. Let’s take a walk.”

Sukuna purses his lips in a line and nods slowly. “Yes, my lady.”

You snicker. “You and your formality, Sukuna. Are we not alone?”

“But—”

“This is all new to you, I understand that and it's important to me that you feel part of this, truly part of it," you explained, your voice low and soothing. “But do not risk discomfort. You don’t have to be so formal all the time.”

“.....Yes, Hiromi–sama.”

You sheepishly sigh but it was a start. 

He would learn in time to be comfortable.

Perhaps it's just not the time just yet.

Your decision to delay joining the festivities was a clear indication of your priorities. For you, leadership was not just about making decisions from afar or addressing the clan from a position of authority; it was about being present and supportive, about making sure that each member of your future clan, especially one as vulnerable as Sukuna, felt valued and included. And more so, you did not want him to be overwhelmed. He had never been a part of this sort of world before. What sort of leader would you be if you were not thinking of his comfort?

Together, you would later join the banquet, but this moment—quiet, away from the prying eyes and ears of the clan and the jujutsu world—was crucial. It was an opportunity to strengthen a bond, to build trust, and to reaffirm your commitment not just to the traditions of the Ryomen clan but to the individuals who formed its heart. To give him a chance to be a young one first, before a man. Soon enough, in a few years, he would not have such moments to himself anymore. He needed this. No one deserves to be deprived of their youths, after all.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet imbued with a strength meant to fortify him, "I hope that you raise your head. A Ryomen does not bow his head. Today was important, not just for you but for all of us. You've been given a rare opportunity, one that comes with great challenges, but I believe in you. I wouldn’t have stood up there if I didn’t."

Sukuna looked up at you, his previous resolve mingling with a trace of vulnerability. "Hiromi–sama, I... I'm not sure I can be what they want me to be. What if I fail?"

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Failure is a part of growing, a part of learning. Remember, perfection isn't what we're striving for; it's growth, understanding, and integration into a family that values strength through trials. I have grown from my failures too.”

Your words seemed to slowly seep into Sukuna, easing the tension that had knotted his features. It’s as if he had not known you to be one of failure either. But Sukuna thinks of you as his god. There were no flaws in gods. And he had to live up to that. "But they see me as a risk, a potential threat. How do I change that? What can I do to make sure I stay by your side, Hiromi-sama?”

As you paused, something in the moonlit night seemed to transform you. Sukuna watched, captivated and slightly bewildered, as subtle changes manifested before him. It was as if the serene glow of the moon drew out a deeper magic from within you—a magic that seemed inherent to the legacy of the Ryomen clan. Your eyes flickered with a mysterious purple light, briefly illuminating the darkness with their ethereal glow. 

Your hair caught the moon’s silver rays, turning shades lighter until it mirrored the lustrous sheen of moonlight itself. The transformation was subtle yet profound, marking you not just as a scion of your clan but as something more, something almost otherworldly. 

As the days turned into weeks, Sukuna's understanding of you deepened, and his nocturnal observations revealed more than the daily interactions could. There were nights when, wandering the silent halls of the shiden, he would find himself drawn towards the quiet tsuridono, where you often retreated. 

At first, these encounters seemed mere coincidences—chance moments when your paths crossed under the silver glow of the moon. But as these nights multiplied, Sukuna began to understand: you, the ever-composed heir of the Ryomen clan, battled with your own hidden struggles. One you refuse to talk about. One that you refuse to expose to the world. The vulnerability of the heir is the vulnerability of the clan, after all.

The servants whispered among themselves, voices low but filled with concern, that you rarely succumbed to sleep. Some even murmured that you did not sleep at all, plagued by nightmares too profound and terrifying for others to fathom. Yet in his presence, you never showed any sign of this nocturnal torment. To Sukuna, you were always the pillar of strength and grace, your smile unwavering, your demeanor unflinchingly positive.

But he knew. He had heard enough, seen enough in the shadows under your eyes when you thought no one was looking, to understand that your vigils were not by choice. The nightmares that haunted you were a burden you carried silently, a stark contrast to the serene facade you presented to the world.

Sukuna, who had once been considered a monster himself, felt a poignant connection in these moments. Standing by your side under the luminous canopy of the moon, he felt an unspoken bond form between you. It was in these quiet hours, away from the eyes of the clan and the weight of your roles, that he felt he could offer you something invaluable—respite from your unseen demons.

In the peaceful solitude of the tsuridono, with only the whispers of the night and the soft rustling of leaves as their company, Sukuna would speak softly, telling you tales of the world outside the clan’s domain or simply sharing his thoughts on the mundane aspects of daily life. Anything to distract you, to pull your thoughts from the clutches of your nightmares.

Sometimes, he believed, his presence did rob you of those nightmares. Maybe, just maybe, the monster he thought he was could be the guardian he aspired to become. Under the watchful eyes of the moon, your features would relax, the tension easing, your breaths becoming more measured and calm. In those moments, Sukuna felt a profound sense of purpose, far from the destructive path he had once walked.

Sukuna could only gaze at you in awe each and every time. To him, you embodied the very essence of beauty and power that his previous life had taught him to fear but now urged him to revere. The Ryomen shiden-zukuri, known for their formidable marvel, of its wondrous magic and spiritual depth, were indeed a marvel of the world, yet none seemed as wondrous as Ryomen Hiromi at that moment. Doubt clouded his mind—was he worthy of such attention, of your kindness, or even your presence?

His internal turmoil must have shown on his face, for your expression softened as you looked at him, your magical display subsiding as you returned to the warm and reassuring figure he had come to know. With a tender smile that seemed to calm his racing heart, you reached out, your touch gentle and reassuring.

“You don’t need any excuse to be by my side, Sukuna,” you told him softly, your voice as soothing as the night breeze. “You are one of us now. You do not ever have to leave.”

Your words, simple yet profound, pierced through the fog of his insecurities. They were an affirmation, a welcome, a promise of belonging that Sukuna had never dared to hope for. Your acceptance served as a powerful antidote to his self-doubt, reinforcing the fledgling sense of identity he was just beginning to explore under your guidance.

"Still, to your question, you change perceptions not by hiding your past but by owning your future actions," you responded with a determined nod. "Show them who you are becoming, not who you were. Every day gives you a chance to write a new page. And remember, you are not alone in this. I am here, uncle is here, and we will support you through every step, every stumble."

Sukuna's eyes, reflecting a mix of reassurance and residual fear, met your steady gaze. "And what if the elders are right? What if I am too much of a risk?"

You smiled warmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Then we take it as a challenge, Sukuna. We work harder, learn more, and prove them wrong together. You are part of this clan now, and that means something. You have the Ryomen blood of resilience and courage starting to flow in you, even if not by birth, by choice and by bond."

You had always refused to say ‘you’ to him for moons now. You always say ‘we’. You always made sure he was not alone.  That he would not face the world alone. Perhaps, it was true—how the heart only beats for the gods, like those monks at the temple say in their sermons. 

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Sukuna's mouth, the first genuine one since the meeting began. "I don't know if I deserve this chance, Hiromi–sama."

"Deserving isn't something that’s always given, Sukuna. Often, it’s something you take upon yourself to prove," you countered, standing up and offering him a hand to rise as well. "Let’s start this journey, shall we? Step by step, day by day. You're not just proving it to them; you're proving it to yourself."

As they walked back towards the gathering, Sukuna felt lighter, bolstered by your faith in him. The road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but the promise of becoming more than his past defined was a compelling beacon. With you by his side, the journey seemed not just necessary, but hopeful.

As they approached the warmly lit banquet hall, the sound of laughter and conversation spilling out into the night, Sukuna took a moment to look over at you. Your confidence in him, your unwavering support—it didn't just make him feel accepted; it made him feel expected, like his presence was something to be celebrated rather than merely tolerated.

"Thank you, Hiromi–sama," Sukuna said, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resolve. "For believing in me, when not many would. For letting me be with you.”

You smiled, your eyes reflecting the flickering lights of the banquet hall. "We all deserve a chance to prove ourselves, Sukuna. And sometimes, we need someone else to see that potential in us before we can see it in ourselves."

“I realize these things because of you, Hiromi–sama.” He says shyly, looking down at his feet. “That’s why I’m thankful.”

“Then I should thank you too, Sukuna.”

He looked confused. “For what, Hiromi–sama?”

“For taking a walk with me,” you said, your words floating softly in the cool air. “I know that it was quite a lecture, this walk. But I must thank you still. For the company, for the peace. It was the best walk I’ve had in a while.”

Your tone carried an earnestness that made Sukuna glance at you, noting the genuine smile that touched your lips and the relaxed ease in your posture that you rarely saw during formal clan gatherings. It was as though the walk had not only distanced them from the physical space of the banquet but also from the roles they habitually played within the clan. Here, under the canopy of stars and the gentle rustle of leaves, they were simply two individuals sharing a moment of tranquility.

Sukuna’s response was thoughtful, touched by the sincerity of your gratitude. “Hiromi–sama, I should be the one thanking you,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not just for the walk, but for everything today. For standing by me, for bringing me into your world and treating me as more than just…..” 

He hesitated, searching for the right words, aware of how much you had put on the line by supporting him so publicly. “It means a lot to me, more than I can properly express. This walk, this evening—it’s more than just a pleasant time. Everything. Everything is more than anything to me. It’s a symbol, I think, of a new beginning. Of being seen for who I could be, not just who I was.”

You stopped and turned to face him fully, your expression softening further under the moonlight. “Sukuna, seeing potential in others is easy. Helping them see it in themselves, that’s the true challenge. And you’re rising to it beautifully. You are now the pride of our clan, too.” You reached out, your hand lightly touching his arm in a gesture of camaraderie and reassurance. “This walk, these talks, they’re as much for me as they are for you. We all need reminders that we’re not alone, that change is possible and worth striving for.”

Resuming your walk, you continued in companionable silence for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts about the day’s events and the future that lay ahead. The pathway wound through the meticulously maintained garden, past flowering shrubs and under arching trees, their leaves whispering secrets to the night wind.

“As for the lecture,” you added with a playful smile, turning to look at Sukuna again, “consider it part of the learning process. We both have much to learn, after all. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather learn with.”

Your words, light yet laden with truth, struck a chord with Sukuna. He smiled, realizing how much this journey with you was transforming him. Not just in how others saw him, but in how he saw himself. The night might be drawing to a close, but for Sukuna, it felt as though his true journey was just beginning—with you by his side, the path seemed not only clear but inviting.

The pathway meandered gently, lit sporadically by lanterns that cast a warm glow and stretched their shadows long and thin across the ground. As you walked, a comfortable silence settled between you, filled only by the natural sounds of the night—the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of a breeze through the leaves. It was a peaceful backdrop that allowed both you and Sukuna to reflect on the transformation each was undergoing.

Finally, Sukuna broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "Hiromi–sama, before today, I often felt like I was looking at a road mapped out by someone else's hand. But now, walking this path with you, it’s like I’m seeing the horizon for the first time on my terms. It’s liberating and daunting all at once.”

You listened, your expression one of understanding. "It's a journey that many fear to start, Sukuna. The road to self-discovery is never straightforward or free of obstacles. But you’re not just on any path—you’re on one that you are helping to pave. Every step forward you take, you're laying down your own stones."

As you reached a small bridge that arched over a tranquil koi pond, you paused, leaning on the rail to look down at the slow-moving fish gliding under the moonlight. The scene was picturesque, almost too perfectly serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had often marked Sukuna’s past experiences.

You continued, your voice soft but firm. "Remember, change isn't just about leaving behind who you were; it’s about moving toward who you want to be. And you have everyone in the clan, especially me, rooting for your success. We believe in you, Sukuna, not just for what you can offer us, but for who you can become.”

The affirmation brought a genuine smile to Sukuna’s face. "Thank you, Hiromi–sama It's hard to believe sometimes, that I have found a place not just to stay, but to belong. And to think that I can contribute, that I can be part of something bigger—it gives me hope.”

You turned from the pond, continuing your walk back towards the house. The moon was high, casting a silver light that seemed to guide your way. You glanced at Sukuna, your gaze assessing yet kind. "And that hope is what will drive you through the darkest times. Just as the moon guides us tonight, let your hopes guide you when the path seems unclear."

Sukuna nodded, absorbing your words. The concept of hope as a guiding light was powerful, and he felt its truth resonate deeply within him. As you approached the residence, the sounds of the night began to give way to the soft murmur of voices from inside, signaling your return to the world you had temporarily left behind.

As you reached the door, you stopped and faced Sukuna once more. "This walk may end here, but our journey together is far from over. Remember, step by step, day by day."

With a final reassuring smile, you opened the door, stepping back into the light and warmth of the clan home, a symbol of the community you were both a part of. Sukuna followed, feeling not just like a guest being led, but like a member walking alongside his equals. Each step was a step forward, and with your support, he was ready to face whatever the future held.

As you entered the banquet hall together, the atmosphere shifted subtly. You made sure to settle him beside your uncle, who was seated on your right. Conversations continued, but there were curious glances and speculative whispers. Sukuna's presence alongside you, clearly as your companion and equal, sent a powerful message to everyone present. Your status as heir to the Ryomen clan lent your actions an implicit endorsement, and your obvious confidence in Sukuna, as a new member of your family, your future right hand man, challenged any lingering doubts about his place among them.

Throughout the evening, you made sure to introduce Sukuna not just as a newcomer but as a valued member of the clan. You shared stories of his progress and his efforts to integrate and contribute, framing his past as a testament to his resilience and his future as a promise of his potential. With each interaction, Sukuna felt the weight of his old identity—the cursed, the outcast—shedding away, layer by layer.

"It's not going to be easy," you whispered to him as you paused by the grand window overlooking the clan's ancestral grounds. "Change never is. But every step you take is a step forward. Remember, you're not alone in this."

As he stood there, beside you, Sukuna felt a newfound fortitude. The doubts that had once clouded his vision began to dissipate, replaced by a resolve that was anchored by the support and belief you showed in him. With you by his side, guiding him with wisdom born of experience and a deep understanding of the very traditions he was learning to navigate, Sukuna found himself not just ready but eager to meet the expectations laid before him.

The notion of earning acceptance in a world that had once seemed wholly alien to him no longer appeared so formidable. Instead, it beckoned as a worthy challenge, an opportunity to prove his worth and carve out a place where he truly belonged. Your assurance that every step was a progression made him view each day not as a burden but as a building block towards a larger goal—a mosaic of efforts that would collectively shape his destiny within the clan.

Your presence—a constant reminder of strength, perseverance, and the potential to overcome adversity—instilled in him a courage that he hadn't known he possessed. It was this shared strength that transformed his perspective, making what once felt like distant dreams now seem within tangible reach.

The moon above, a silent witness to his inner transformation, cast a silver glow that seemed to light up the path at his feet. It was as if nature itself conspired to remind him of the luminous journey ahead. The cool breeze, whispering through the trees, carried with it a sense of anticipation and the sweet scent of the gardens below, reinforcing the sense of renewal and growth.

Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart beat.

He doesn't think he'll ever forget this feeling.

And he never truly did, not even as years passed.

Ryomen HIromi was all he'll ever love in humanity.

And he'll always go back to this night, this walk.

facts about the story !

hiromi at this point was sixteen - seventeen; sukuna is only three - four years younger.

her father, isamu and her mother, akiko, have been estranged for many years, more so because she's supporting her family, the fujiwara and their ambitions.

hiramu has always maintained her will never be a good husband, so he never really sought it out despite his brother arranging for him to meet eligible ladies.

the ryomen adoption system requires a sponsor - hiromi is sukuna's sponsor and that's why she speaks for him. however, someone else has to be give him his name. hiromi convinced her uncle to do it and he agreed. this changed during genmei's time, they can now be both.

sukuna still hasn't adapted to the ryomen way of life. the ryomen clan is the strictest in way of life. they wake up before dusk and do all their training, tasks and work before it gets dark. they immediately sleep after dinner.

hiromi doesn't sleep very well, but her reverse cursed technique aids in that. still sukuna is always too concerned about her that he insists to the medicine wing that she needs the best stress relief tea. the medicine wing became endeared by him for his devotion to hiromi over time.

sukuna is technically now the fourth heir of the ryomen, being adopted as a son into the main line. in the future, because of sukuna, the ruling line of the family can no longer adopt anyone, to prevent usurpations.

suzaku gojo has known hiromi since they were children, and is very fond of her. he was very good friends with hiromi's elder brother, akimu - who he sparred and rode horses with as a young boy.

the elders of the ryomen are very conservative too, but because isamu has all the power, they can't step on what he does or what hiromi does as often as they would like. inviting the other clan elders is another choice to make hiromi's life hard.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk au #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #jjk x you #jjk x oc #jujutsu kaisen x oc #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x oc #sukuna ryomen x oc #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x oc

[blood-grove]

— school fights

— dad!ghoap & reader scenario based off my fics here :3

— tws; ofc fighting mentions, injuries , annoying adult (principal)

a/n; this isnt a chapter to odd adjustments just a scenario so pls dont treat this as a next chapter !

Fuck Fuck Fuckkk.

I was so fucking screwed.

But honestly the kid deserved it.

God my fist hurt so damn bad, I just tried rubbing it despite the fact I'm pretty sure I bruised my knuckles pretty badly.

Managed to sock him in the face though god damn it hurt.

I've never really gotten into fights much barely at all really, and it's been good at this school so far.

All into this one fucking kid decided to start fucking up your day for two weeks straight, You didn't even know what you did to cause this.

You weren't the tallest person either which also didn't help your situation Nearly comically shoved in the locker, Always having to quickly rush to your next class just in case the long open hallway would flood and stop up with foot traffic.

The relentless harassment, and the honestly uncreative insults thrown at you.

You just snapped.

John had packed me lunch usually I didn't ask since honestly I never got used to asking for things I felt everything they've gave me so far was enough, I didn't want to be spoiled even though there was a nagging voice saying I wasn't being spoiled.

This sort of parental affection made me feel spoiled, Made me feel like I almost had too much.

The principals voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Are you listening?!"

No.

"Yes.."

"I've already called both of your parents both of your behaviors were inexcusable- And you? Biting one of your classmates?!"

I slightly flinched.

Yeah I did bite them.

But that was also deserved, I hated this school's stupid no-tolerance policy, Nearly the whole class was there saw it.

They all saw him dump that milk carton on my head my hair still damp, I tried to just walk away but being shoved onto the ground was my final straw as I punched him, and then we were both on the floor he was bigger than me and obviously, And I wasn't made for fighting he had landed a few more hits on me than I had on him.

So I bit him.

Hard.

Then the teachers finally got in threw the small crowd of students and pulled us apart.

"What are you some kind of dog? Do your parents teach you nothing?"

I just stayed silent gripping my pants leg as avoided eye contact, Why was I getting torn into for self-defense? Her shrill voice was getting on my nerves at this point getting to them bad.

I doubted things would go any better if I completely shut down, But eventually, she let up on me and went over to the teary-eyed boy no doubt from my bite of just to gain sympathy I couldn't care.

I just pulled my legs to my chest as he chewed on my lip focused on the ground.

This discussion was just hell, I wanted to throw up, yell, and vomit all once.

We both were getting suspended for a week, You would be put in sperate classes as if that was going to stop any other interaction from happening.

And you were supposed fucking apologize?.

"What?" I spoke up finally as the principal looked over at me Simon looked over at me as well had luckily arrived before the other kids' parent came which would have basically felt like my doom feeling like they were just going to gang up on me and guilt me till he came.

"You bit another student-"

"He dumped milk on me he's been fucking with me for two weeks!"

"Watch your language-"

"I-" I stopped as Simon slightly glanced over at me and I just gave up at that point as I bit my lip nearly crumbling up the apology paper I was given.

I was sniffling quietly by the time we left the office.

"Wait here." Simon finally said something as he headed back into the office leaving me to sit down on a nearby bench as I sniffled tears streaming down my face.

Simon came back out a few minutes later.

"Where's the paper?" Simon looked over at me as I handed him the paper as he just ripped it up tossing it into the trash.

"Why'd you do that?-"

"Do you want to go get ice cream?"

"..Yeah."

"Ow"

"Sorry.." Simon mumbled as he wrapped up my bruised knuckles and hand, My other holding my ice cream cone.

"Well get it wrapped up in ice at home.." I just nodded as he shifted getting up from his crouched position and picking up his own cup of ice cream.

He sat back down and we sat in silince for a while as we ate out ice cream.

"..Are you upset?"

He glanced over at me.

"Yes."

"I-"

"For not telling us you were being bullied."

"Well..I..I just thought.." I just sighed I went quiet looking away I could hear him shift taking another spoonful of ice cream.

"..If it happens again tell me.." I looked over at him as he shifted.

"You don't have to write that apology letter.."

"W-Well you ripped it up so..Yeah I thought so.."

"I'm going to the gym tomorrow.."

He paused as he shifted as he got up to throw away his ice cream cup.

"I want you too come."

"I-..Why..?"

"So I can teach you how to punch someone properly."

a/n; idk what to put here so this is it lmao

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #dad simon riley #reader #simon riley #child reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #cod

[aurumacadicus]

i'm not sure if tumblr is lying to me or not about when you responded to my ask but i only just got the notification for it, so. if you're still doing the 1-161 stony ficlet challenge, can i request 123 if that one hasn't also been taken? ps i'm really loving the ones you've posted so far, they're great! <3

Thanks! It's been a lot of fun!

--

Steve grit his teeth as Tony carefully, casually prodded his thigh with the toe of his left foot again. They were fighting, and he couldn't tell if this was an olive branch or a deliberate attempt to make him lose his cool.

They didn't fight often. They argued a lot, of course. He and Tony both had very strong personalities, and they also had very strong opinions. More difficult still, Steve was from a different time, and while he'd made great strides in acclimating himself to the time (and while Tony had been very patient as he learned) some things he said and believed still had them butting heads sometimes.

Tony prodded his thigh again, and Steve sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He would not give Tony the satisfaction of reacting.

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention," Tony finally declared, prodding him again.

"We are fighting and I'm still mad at you," Steve answered curtly, looking back down at his book. He figured that was attention enough, with the mood he was in and their fight still hovering at the edges of their conversations.

The ball of Tony's foot stayed pressed to his thigh a moment longer before he slowly drew it back. "Oh. Sorry."

Steve slanted his gaze over at that, brows furrowing together at the tone of Tony's voice. It was the one he used when he knew he'd misstepped but didn't understand why. He looked genuinely upset before his emotional shutters came back down as he returned his gaze to his tablet. He pulled his feet in closer, tucking himself tighter into the corner of the couch.

Steve watched him, considering, then carefully asked, "We... are still fighting, aren't we?"

"Of course. Obviously," Tony scoffed, prodding at his screen a little harder than he usually might.

Steve waited a beat, but Tony didn't plow on like he usually did when he was angry. He'd had no problem shouting for hours yesterday, but Steve had no doubt he'd come up with new things to shout if he was still very upset. He cast around his mind for what Tony's sudden change in heart and remembered, frowning, that Colonel Rhodes had huffed out a frustrated, 'well, his parents never apologized to each other, at least not in front of him, so he thinks fights just stop eventually and you carry on as usual.'

Tony must have just been... ready for things to carry on as usual. Steve set his book in his lap and sighed again, tipping his head against the back of the couch. He'd been the second one to sit down on the couch. Tony must have thought that was an olive branch. And maybe it had been, he realized, turning to look at Tony again. Maybe, unconsciously, he'd been ready to end the fight, too. But not like Tony wanted, where they simply stopped talking about it and returned to life as normal.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, because he was. His ma always said it took two people to fight, after all.

Tony prodded at his tablet a couple more times, then turned his head a little, peering at him out of the corner of his eye. "...For what?" he finally asked, skeptical.

"For fighting," Steve answered simply. He'd learned early on that if he said too much, Tony would have more to read into.

Tony turned his head away, then looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "...I'm... sorry... too," he finally said, slowly, like he was waiting for Steve to spring some sort of trap after each word.

It hurt a little, Steve could admit to himself. But luckily, he'd learned that it wasn't his own shortcomings as a boyfriend that caused Tony to be suspicious of something he thought was a good thing; the lists of people who had hurt Tony in the past were all available online, after all. Not necessarily under that label, but Steve was pretty good at reading between the lines.

And it was a step in the right direction, Steve figured. Acknowledging their wrongs to each other was certainly better than just letting them go unsaid. They could have a discussion about it later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh and they had time to decompress.

Until then, Steve reached out to grab Tony's ankle and drag his leg back out, and Tony squawked as he was pulled across the cushions. "C'mere."

"Brute!" Tony howled, trying to claw his way back across the couch, but Steve's grip on his leg was immovable. "Stop fucking dragging me everywhere you want me, you neanderthal, I--"

"You what?" Steve asked, flipping him easily, and immediately dug his thumbs into Tony's arch, exactly where he knew Tony got sorest. Tony let out a moan, and Steve knew he had won, at least for the moment.

#aurumacadicus answers #daeshikoba #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony

[jelzorz]

176.

Soren has a dragon that he's had since he was three.

It's one of the few genuinely happy memories he has from his childhood. Most days he struggles to remember any at all—so much of it was posturing and conflict and useless efforts to win his father's pride. It was not the simplest childhood, certainly not the happiest, but Rexy is still in his quarters, and when Soren looks at him, he thinks of games and laughter and the warmth of his mother's arms against the winter cold.

He's still pretty fond of him, even now. He's dusty and old and beat to shit, his left eye loose, his dye faded, and Soren's not going to pretend he doesn't pull him down sometimes to defend him from invisible armies (a perfectly normal twenty-eight year old thing to do, thank you), but Rexy's definitely seen better days too, and Soren thinks of the twins that are supposed to be arriving any day now and thinks it might be time for a little bit of a makeover before Rexy goes back into the fray.

"That's so sweet," chuckles Callum, as he examines the loose stitching at Rexy's ear. "But I gotta be honest, Soren, I dunno that he's gonna make it even if I do fix him. Kids can be really rough."

Soren doesn't doubt it. Callum and Rayla's little girl is barely eighteen months old and she's a terror to anything in the castle smaller than her. "I still think it's worth trying," he says. "If he goes down, he'll go down in battle, and there's no nobler end for a toy."

"True," snorts Callum. He fiddles Rexy's loose eye and tugs it free. Soren tries not to wince. "You've had him forever though. I know he means a lot to you. Are you sure you wanna let your soon-to-be kids tear him up?"

"Mm." Soren shrugs, a little sentimental, a little heartbroken, but resolute all the same. "I don't really have anything else to pass on," he says quietly. "I've been thinking about it for ages, and I—" He huffs. "I just think that Rexy'll watch over them the same way he watched over me. Does that make sense?"

Callum laughs good naturedly and nudges his arm. "Yeah," he says. "I get it." He glances at Soren from the corner of his eye then, and Soren can feel the way Callum studies him, his mentality, his readiness to be a dad. "Are you okay?"

"Mm," says Soren again. This time he shifts uncomfortably, because the thought is terrifying almost more than it is exciting. "I just want to be a better dad than mine was."

Callum smiles and pats his arm. "You've got nothing to worry about there, bud. You're going to be just fine."

"Big assumption," snorts Soren.

"Call it more of an observation," says Callum. "You've done the work. You're always doing the work. That's half the job right there. The rest is just love. Isn't that right, Rexy?"

He raises Rexy then and pitches his voice up an octave. "Don't worry, Soren, I'll keep you in line."

"Good gods."

"Get used to it, man, funny voices are like ten percent of the job."

Soren swats at him, and Callum dodges it only to almost fall out of his chair. "So you'll fix him?"

"I'll do my best," says Callum with a chuckle. Then, more genuinely, he adds, "You're nothing like your dad, Soren. You're going to be fine. Rexy will make sure of it."

Soren barks out a laugh. "I'm sure he will."

(And he does).

#inspired by that one post of Soren and his toy dragon <3 #i also know that callum stitches an antimagic blanky so i imagine he can also fix a plush dragon #also also i specifically did not name the mother of sorens children but if you know you know #(the twins belong to raayllum) #rayllum #(tangentially) #in anticipation

[sn00pism]

"Do you have a heart? Within."

WC! Kunigami Renskue x reader

He was handsome, that you'd give him.

But oh God was he an asshole.

You really hated his guts, at least you thought you did, maybe annoyance was the word for what he made you feel? You couldn't stand rude or mean people, you really didn't get what his problem was.

However, when you asked Chigiri, the Kunigami that Chigiri described was with him in the Blue Lock program was a completely different person than the one you had interacted with the last few weeks in class. Maybe somehing happened to him? You didn't know exactly what but it must have been terrible for him to do 'a complete 180' as Chigiri described. You really wanted to stop paying attention to him, stop interacting with him, yet you couldn't help glancing his way when he entered your shared class.

Something that drew you to him, maybe you were kind of a masochist? Those BL manhwas were starting to get into your head. Daydreaming about this rude guy, built like a brick, mean to everyone but you, traumatised by something terrible. You could fix him. And as much as you wanted to convince yourself you could, it was anything but realistic.

Kunigami looked down on everyone and mostly stayed out of your way when you came over to study with Niko or Chigiri, yet, you found your eyes never leaving his figure when he exited his room, eyes glued to his toned arms and, dare you say, pretty face. Maybe you were delusional, always bringing stuff to share with them and without realising it, getting him something too even if you knew he wouldn't take it. You couldn't help being kind to him even if he proved to be indifferent to you gestures.

Seriously, what the everloving fuck was wrong with you? You'd be better off liking someone like Yoichi from your mandatory sports class or even Yukimiya from english literature, but you had to get your eyes on the rudest, most insufferable guy on campus.

In an effort to completely put distance between you and Rensuke, you stopped studying over to their dorm, opting for going to a small café near campus and changing your seat over to the far back.

As a few weeks passed by, you kind of forgot about your small infatuation with Rensuke. After all, I seemed it was nothing short of a crush.

In this past weeks, you began speaking with a guy in your class, doing some paper on the hero's journey in fiction books, you grew closer quickly and before you knew it, you had a date.

This of course prompted you to talk about it excitedly with your friends, during a break you had from class. And later on, bragging about it to Ryusei, who complained about not scoring a date with Rin's brother of all people.

And as the day came, you found yourself waking up slightly earlier to get ready, your make-up and outfit casual but sweet, nothing too big or flashy.

Once you got there, no one had arrived at the place you were supposed to meet in.

He's probably late, after all you're thirty minutes early. You'll wait.

After twenty minutes had passed from the time you'd agreed on, you began getting anxious, checking your phone for any messages or calls you might have missed from him but none arrived. Deciding to call him up, immediately noticing he had been online a few minutes ago. The call went unanswered, a simple 'sorry, I think we are not a good match.' following up in the message app you had been checking for the last twenty minutes.

Are you serious?

You began to feel stares on you, couples whispering to each other while looking in your direction. Maybe it was your anxiety, but you couldn't shake the sadness that washed over you like a wave, drowning you in self-doubt and insecurities.

Was something wrong with you? Was it that you came on too strong? Were you boring? Weird?

Sighing and preparing to leave, ego bruised and tears of humiliation begining to appear in your lashline, someone sat right in front of you.

A voice you recognized apeaking up over the chatter of the place.

"Hey"

"Come to laugh at me, Rensuke?"you bit you lip, tears threatening to fall. "Really not in the mood now," you looked down, the first tears sliding down your cheeks "Please just go.." you spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper. You seriously felt like just going home and crying while playing a funny Ryan Gosling movie to cheer you up slightly.

"Now why would I do that?" You stared at him dumbfounded, "I'm here to keep you company while I rest." He flagged down a waiter, ordering a piece of your favourite cake and a glass of water, "Besides, really needed some water, forgot mine."

You scoffed softly, although it sounded more like sigh, "You don't eat sweets, what are you really doing?" You looked up at him, drying your cheeks and looking down at you hands. You didn't want to look at him more than necessary, each time you looked at him, your heart began to beat a like faster, but you didn't want to make assumptions that he was here for you, besides, the pain of being rejected and stood up was still fresh in your chest.

Rensuke looked at you, seemingly bored, but never taking his eyes off you.

"Are you done interrogating me?," he thanked the server gruffly, taking a fork and a small piece of the cake. "I was just on my run and happened to see you." he psuhed the fork near you, motioning for you to take the utensil, "Heard you talking to Shidou the other day, weren't you supposed to be on a date?" you took the fork and took the bite, it made you feel a little better.

You looked back at him, immediately noticing that his hair was slightly damp and there was some sweat sliding down his neck and face. "But this place is far from your dorm, you're telling me you went out of your route to get some water?" your heart raced in your ribcage, hoping he had done that romantic thing the main leads do when they realise they like the protagonist and chase after her, but you didn't want to get you hopes up, look where that got you. That was fiction after all, this was real life and the facts are that you got rejected because of whatever reason and Kunigami probably hated you along with ninety percent of the campus population. Your shoulders sagged in dissapointment as another wave of sadness rushed out of nowhere.

"I did, yeah." He looked away, sighing at you defeated state. Maybe this was his fault, maybe he should've said something sooner to avoid this mess. He took a swig of his water.

You looked at him with a small frown, motioning to his half empty glass, "You're free to go then, won't keep you hostage any longer." Kunigami shook his head, looking out the window next to you, "It's fine, I'll wait for you to finish up."

He turned his head towards you bored, emotionless eyes staring directly into yours. There was something different on his eyes you had never noticed before, did he want to say something?

Kunigami found that he couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth, the feeling of almost losing you because of this stupid date, the fact that his chest ached when he found you sitting far away from him in class, the way he wouldn't see you in the dorms, studying or watching anime with Niko. Before he knew it, he had to come to accept the fact that he liked you. Every small glimpse he could get of you around campus felt like a breath or air on his strained lungs, he longed to find you waiting for his football practice to finish, looking towards the bleachers hoping to see your figure waving at him, but he never got the courage to even accept these feelings. He wanted to erase them, go back to the machine they had designed him to be, cold-hearted, mean. A wall had erupted between everyone and his feelings, yet you broke through it like it was made of glass, and all it took was a smile. Whenever you went to study, you'd buy them snacks, you got him something everytime, even if he never showed any affection to you. Before he knew it, you had him completely hooked. The old Kunigami resurfacing, soft, firm but gentle.

"I came here, because I was worried.. I just.." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "You probably hate me, and won't want to hear what I have to say... but please just hear me out, you can tell me to piss off if you want after I finish." You sat looking at him stunned, you had never seen Kunigami act so different, he seemed almost desperate to say whatever he wanted to tell you. You nodded at him to keep going. This was weird.

His eyes softened "I like you." He dropped his head into his hands, the weight of his words and feelings sinking into his heart, thoughts of you leaving him there, rejecting him, distancing yourself from him even more had his chest thightening. He found it hard to breathe. The glass wall broke, his feelings flooded him like a wave, had you created a gap between you and him because you hated him in the first place? Had he said something wrong? Mean? Had he pushed you away the way he pushed his friends away? The thought made hot tears line in his eyes, breath shaky. He swallowed, trying to calm his racing mind and heavy heart, "I'm sorry, I never wanted to be mean or rude to you, I like you so much."

You blinked, you had never seen Kunigami cry. You reached over to grasp his hands buried in his face, gently peeling them away from his cheeks, warm and wet with tears, your heart raced and a small smile made its way into your face. Kunigami looked up at you, misty eyes looking into your softened eyes, waiting for the blow that would make his heart break again.

"I like you too." The words stunned Kunigami and he shook his head, heart stuttering in his chest against his will. "No you don't, I know you don't..." his eyes watered again, looking down to you joined hands as you reached one to cup his face, "Yes, I do" Kunigami looked up at you, seeing the smile in your face, warm, sincere.

"Then why-?" you didn't let him finish his question, shaking your head and looking down. "I was being stupid, should've told you how I felt since the start instead of playing around." You smiled at him, gripping his hand again, "How about we go and watch a movie? I think that'll be a good first date, don't you think?"

Kunigami stared at you for a second before his lips broke out into a slight smile, eyes full of warmth, heart sighing in relief and happiness. How long has it been since he felt this at ease? Always looking to be better, pushing his limits, withdrawing from connecting with others to avoid getting too close, letting them get too close.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything in english, let alone fiction. I'm sorry if the pacing is kind of weird, I'm kind of used to slow burn and I kinda rushed this one, I'm sorry!

Thanks to @pinksodacan for being my beta reader and editor! Eternally grateful bub.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x y/n #blue lock scenarios #blue lock x reader #bllk kunigami #blue lock kunigami #kunigami x reader #kunigami rensuke #kunigami x you

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 10

“Ah! Casper my boy!” Exclaimed Zeet. It was the older engineer geckin who had been supporting the young man's progress as a brand new mech pilot. The blue geckin had been the one in the first instance to suggest to the young man that he give piloting a try and so far had been a stalwart ally and straight shooting voice of reason for Casper.

Despite the engineer’s enthusiasm, Zeet had never led Casper astray, nor had any of his machines failed the young man. The human felt he could trust this geckin, as far as his equipment went at the very least. 

“Good morning Zeet, I understand it's the moment of truth?” Replied Casper, calmer than he expected. Qik stepped into the room not a single step behind the human and marched over to the correctly sized chairs. She pulled out the centre one and sat directly in front of the High Commander, the black and purple geckin in charge of the geckin people’s military actions.

She would be the one in control of the upcoming operation.  

This was when Casper noticed that there was a small crowd of geckins already sitting on the other side of the broad table that dominated the room. With only two chairs on ‘his’ side, it was quite obvious where he was meant to sit. Casper couldn’t help but squint and narrow his eyes at the people arrayed in front of him. Wasn’t it a bit heavy handed? Zeet, Wren, the High Commander and a slew of other geckins that the man had yet to have met, at least as far as he was aware of. Were they all needed to brief the pair of mercenaries?

Zeet seemed undeterred. 

“Indeed! The moment of truth! Oh, I can’t w-” Although the older alien couldn’t finish his sentence as a curt, sharp voice cut him off and he went silent instantly.

“Enough Zeet. Casper, why not sit with your… colleague?” Suggested the High Commander, not in the slightest giving him another option. Her tone was mocking, but he had no doubt she held little regard to either Qik or the pair of them.

Casper didn’t say anything, and instead calmly walked over to sit and join Qik at the table. She was perfectly still and a perfect picture of cold, calm and calculating. Casper kept his silence, and waited for someone else to speak.There was a pregnant moment of silence. 

The High Commander was the first to break the pause and spoke in a haughty tone.

“As per your contract Qik, we have need to run an op on the same planet as before.” She explained, blinking slowly and looking down her short snout at the lopeljack mercenary. Qik was unphased. 

“What’s the gig?” She asked without missing a beat.

“They’re amassing a sizable mechanised force in the former cities. Orbital operations are still at a stand still, neither of us want to have to report the loss of a ship.” The Commander explained, waving a hand dismissing the orbital fleets as if it were a non-issue. 

“So you want us to cut them down?” Qik asked, fishing for details.

“Exactly.” The purple and black geckin replied without assisting. Her eyes blinking slowly again, she kept them focused on Qik, pointedly ignoring Casper. He made no attempt to insert himself, he trusted Qik implicitly. The lopel stared the geckin down for a moment before breaking her gaze and shrugging, leaning back into her chair.

“Seems straight forward, I would have thought you would have used us in something more valuable.” She mused aloud, interlocking her fingers and gazing lazily at the geckin. Casper’s eyes narrowed a fraction just as he noticed the scale below her right eye twitch. A tell?

“I am a geckin of my word. This is the first combat operation we need to deploy against. The choice is our own mechanised force, which is a cost and a risk, or we rid ourselves of the two drains upon our resources.” The aloof geckin explained, again, waving her hand in the air without her elbows leaving them table. 

“Drains?” Casper asked, unable to bite his tongue in time. The geckin finally turned her attention to the human. 

“With your contracts complete you will have no need to stay and we can invest in professionals that mind their business.” Replied the commander, obviously peeved at the pair of them. 

The geckin turned her attention back to Qik, despite only being a foot tall, Casper was near certain he saw the mental image of a tank turret, slowly traversing as the High Commander turned and stared at Qik. 

The lopel merely stared back. 

“Make no mistake, we are not pleased with your interference with Casper and his training.” She explained curtly. Qik shrugged and pulled a uncaring face. 

“I trained him how I would train any pilot, just as you’ve asked me to do for the last hundred you sent my way. He’s no different.” She defended calmly. Casper had no idea if that was true. Did she use all her trainees as body pillows? 

He kept this thought to himself.

“And yet he’s the first to demand his own contract?” The High Commander demanded.

“Ask him yourself.” Qik offered, gesturing at Casper to her left. The young man tried not to have a heart attack. 

“Well?” The High Commander inquired, staring a hole through the centre of Casper’s forehead. Casper swallowed and gathered his thoughts, not sure if he was ready to be put on the spot already. But the man had, had plenty of time to think and consider the matter. Clearing his throat, he offered his explanation, as honestly as he could. 

“I’m not geckin ma’am. I would assume your pilots are quite loyal to your people?” He asked slowly. 

“Every one of them.” She replied without hesitation. 

“I am grateful for your help, but I’m not geckin. There was no plan for me to stay long term. You got me dropped into your lap. This was just an accident, you couldn’t have expected me to stay?” Casper asked, trying to appeal to her common sense. A human to babysit wasn’t exactly a boon to anyone, let alone a government or private organisation that would apparently need to prove he was happy on a regular basis?

Casper wasn’t expecting the cold, sharp, humourless grin to spread across her face. 

“Hmph, quite the contrary. We fought for a sizable number of humans to be provided to the geckin territories.” She explained, almost off handedly. It hadn’t been what Casper had expected her to say in slightest. He frowned, outright confused. 

“What, why? You don’t know us.” He demanded. 

“Politics, as with everything.” She offered, waving her hand as she did. 

“So not the kindness of your heart then?”

That got a snort of derision from the small creature. She leant forward and interlaced her fingers, resting her snout beneath her fingers while staring Casper directly in the eye as she spoke next. 

Her words were low and intense. She believed every word she uttered with every fibre of her being. Casper was certain of that. 

“You are not an idiot so don’t be naive. No. The geckin people are under attack by the cowardly ssypno and their gluttonous nobility. All the while, their queen sits idly while our freedom is crushed within their coils.” The High Commander explained, baring her teeth as she spoke.

“Our very existance is up for debate amongst the high tri-table and we will not merely sit by while the next hunt begins.” She pulled her arms apart, one hand slapping against the table while the other pointed at Casper to emphasise her point. 

“Demanding our fair share to the human population that was being divided amongst the other races was a method of establishing our legitimacy to be sat at the table, as frustrating as it is to have to resort to such methods.” She explained, waving awake the unpleasant concept as if it bothered her like a fly.

Casper blinked, turning over this information in his head.

“Humans were… divided up amongst the other races?” He asked. 

“Yes. Humans have captured the hearts and minds of every race across the stars. The general populace of every sentient race demand we ‘save’ you.” The geckin snorted. “I will be blunt as there is no harm in being honest at this point.”

She paused, but Casper gave her every ounce of his attention. This was not knowledge that was available to him. He needed to hear this. The High Commander locked eyes with the human and spoke with conviction. 

“I do not care if your people die. But while you’re alive, you are the perfect tool for my people. A shield to aggression. No ssypno force, noble or royal, would *dare* attack a base, city or maybe even planet if there was a single human present.” The High Commander revealed, shocking Casper to his core. He felt his lips part, as if to retort, but no words came out. 

“You’re the perfect shield.” She pointed out as if the sky was blue and water was wet. 

Casper turned this concept over in his head as he considered this from every angle. He was staring at the wood grain of the table, but wasn’t seeing it. 

Until he made the connection, and looked back up at her. 

“But now I want off the planet.” He pointed out. 

“So we will lose control of you and lose your protection.” She finished. Almost smug in that Casper had to have had this information explained. She was not talking as if she was in a poor position. Why? What was giving her this confidence? 

“Why do I feel you have another card up your sleeve?” He asked. 

“An odd saying, but yes, my tail has yet to fall off.” She retorted. She paused, and allowed Casper a time to stay there, in his ignorance. Qik also said nothing, but was still avidly watching her. The lopel eyes intense and serious. 

Eventually, the geckin spoke again. 

“I wonder… How will the many bleeding hearts of the galaxy feel ‘if’ or rather, ‘when’, the ssypno forces fire on a human?” The geckin tilted her head.  “We will record and present every moment of your operation. Success or failure, we remove at least some of their forces from the board and weaken the ssypno’s desire to fight.”

The wicked grin returned as the High Commander leaned forward, pressing her fingertips and claws into the table, leaving curled wood at the end of new grooves in the priceless wood. 

“The ssypno people will see their nobility attacking their precious humans and revolt. That… is the value you hold.” The High Commander concluded, grinning and licking her absent lips. 

Casper had no retort, nothing he could say. He would be used regardless of his actions. Qik however, didn’t care. A job was a job and the sooner she and the human completed it, the sooner they could get to the other side the spiral. 

“Fascinating as it is, can we finalise the contracts?” Qik asked disinterestedly, suspending her hand in the air as if offering a solution. The High Commander affixed a ‘smile’ across her features while the rest of the geckins remained perfectly impassive. Casper didn’t like it immediately and the hairs on the back of his neck all slowly raised on end. 

The only exception to this and seemingly oblivious to the ongoing power players, was Zeet who immediately piped up and began to present his PDA, turning it briefly.

“Oh! Yes! I have some marvellous plans for you to-”

“Zeet. Shut.” The High Commander demanded. Zeet paused immediately, returning to his chair and hiding the screen from view. Qik narrowed her eyes, glancing from Zeet, back to the High Commander.

“Something you’re not telling us?” She asked, obviously sensing the same issue Casper was. The High Commander acted surprised and grinned again. 

“Oh no. You will deploy as you have done in the past with your equipment.” She offered. Qik outright frowned and her voice dropped an octave. 

“...What of Casper’s rig?” She demanded, deadly serious. 

“Casper doesn’t own a rig.” The High Commander offered, seemingly confused as to why Qik would ask. . 

“How do you expect him to fight?” The lopel asked, audibly speaking through clenched teeth.

“I suppose we could…  supply a firearm, for free.” The purple and black striped geckin offered pleasantly, as if that was reasonable or acceptable. 

Qik was on her feet in an instant, hands on the table, looming over the geckins as best she could.

“This will be a breach of contract, under the ‘unreasonable’ clauses!” She announced, pointing down at the table and punctuating her words. Casper merely sat back and let her work. The geckin merely shrugged, unphased by the lopel’s display. 

“We would contest any claim, but we… being reasonable, are willing to offer an amendment to Casper’s contract.” The High Commander offered, leaning back and spreading her hands and arms out, as if a benevolent trader.

The room went still and the temperature dropped. 

“What kind?” Qik asked in a calm, steady voice. Too calm. Too steady. She was on edge.

“We will provide a mech of high quality, free of charge until the completion of the operation and contract.” The geckin offered calmly. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop. 

“What for?” Casper asked. Qik glanced in his direction, but otherwise kept her eyes on the geckin, who was now pointedly ignoring the lopel.

“Hmmm, you’re certainly not a simple feral creature like some suggest. There will be a clause that is in our favour.” She admitted. 

“What is it?” He asked. The High Commander leaned back and glanced to her left, Casper and Qik’s right. To Wren. The biologist who had been caring for Casper since the beginning. She hadn’t done a great job, but the young man couldn’t fault her attempts to ensure he was okay.

Wren spoke calmly in a practised manner. She seemed to recite her words from memory, rather than form them on the fly.

“In the event of the need to eject the pilot casket, the operation is declared over and the loaned mech and all its contents and components are the property of the XixTech organisation.” The green geckin concluded before sitting back down and going silent. She too, adopted a haughty expression, lifting her muzzle slightly and staring Casper down somewhat. 

It honestly didn’t seem like much of an issue. It wasn’t his mech, he’d get his own rig later. Casper breathed in to dismiss and accept the terms, he had no want to take their property, but stopped when Qik’s hand grabbed his thigh. 

He glanced over to her as she spoke without breaking eye contact with the High Commander.

“All components?” The lopel demanded.

“Quite.” A nod. 

“No deal.”

Casper blinked, turning to Qik. 

“What? I can’t fight on foot! I need that rig.” He demanded, thinking about fighting tanks on foot with a single rifle! Qik or no, he’d more likely fall and blow his own head off than destroy a damned tank!

Qik’s expression when she turned to him gave him pause however. Without waiting, she spoke and explained in a slow, clam voice. Devoid of emotion. 

“Casper, the pilot in the casket, is included in this.” 

Wait.

“If you need to eject, then XixTech will, literally, own you.” Qik concluded. 

Wren cleared her through before speaking as everyone turned to her. 

“More specifically, as their representative; I will own you.”

Casper frowned, seeing the green doctor in a new light. 

“Why?” He asked, confused as to why she’d go this route. If she had asked for anything, he’d likely have just given it to her. She needn’t of gone this way. 

“Ignoring that I don’t need to answer that, we can learn more from you.” She began, coolly. “From your connection to the machine to how you handle the load. I hasten to add, it need not be a bad life, you could work *with* me in researching this.”

Casper said nothing, she continued.

“Or I could put your brain in a jar and ask you questions where you are devoid of distractions like light or sound. I would reward cooperation with stimulation. Otherwise it would be a perfect void for you.”

The green geckin shrugged. 

“Either way works for me.”

The lopel stood and swiped her hand through the air, dismissing the whole geckin side. 

“No deal. My company is on their way, they will have several things to say about this coercion.” She warned before turning and breathing in to speak with Casper, but was cut off by the High Commander.

“So be it, but you’re not being asked here.” The purple and black geckin turned to the human and pointedly asked; “Casper? Your choice. Freedom, with the chance of failure, or stay here as our permanent resident. We will offer you opportunities to pilot mechs, albeit under our direct control.”

The High Commander turned back to the lopal, although still spoke to Casper. 

“We have learnt from our mistakes with our dear Qik here.”

Qik raised her hand, her fingers splayed and brought her palm down in a vertical swipe, holding it in place as if to highlight her words. 

“Casper, don’t. There's another way.”

The young man doubted it. The geckins were too sure, the contracts seemed too tight. 

“Is there?” He asked. 

“The company has lawyers, these idiots aren’t the first to try and strong arm a deal.” She offered. The geckin High Commander retorted again, with an almost gleeful tone.

“No, but we are the first with a human. We checked, your laws are fantastically logical and detailed. It even lists the species… unfortunate ‘human’ is not included.” The finished with a sharp grin.

“They’ve got us cornered.” Casper pointed out.

“No, theres another way.” Qik said, her eyes almost frantic as she mentally searched for an out, finding none. 

“Qik.”

“No, just… give me a sec.”

“Qik do you trust in your training?” Casper asked quietly. 

“What?” The lopel asked, glancing up at him. He was still sat in his chair as she stood over him. Her fur was beautiful and shiny. He didn’t want to cause her distress, but there wasnt a way out here.

“Do you trust in what you’ve taught me? Could I survive in a fight?” He asked pointedly. 

Qik said nothing, searching his face for something. He smiled and shook his head.

“I’m not trying to trick you. Just honesty.” He pressed. 

She grimaced and wore a tight smile. 

“I’ve taught you all I can. Everything else comes from experience.” She explained, her shoulders sagging. 

“Like fighting technicals?” He suggested. Qik frowned, then turned to the gathered board of geckins. 

“If… Is it just technicals? By requirements, you need to tell me your intel now.”

One of the side geckins spoke, reviewing a datapad. 

“Only scuttle tanks and stationary emplacements. We need those emplacements destroyed, but we do offer bonuses for every additional unit destroyed. The bigger the better.” He offered. His lighter tone a stark difference to the hard tones of the others. 

“No enemy pilots?” Qik checked. 

“The ssypno are still scrambling after you took out the former ace.” The High Commander offered. Qik turned back to Casper and sighed. 

“I think… You got a good chance.”

Casper merely nodded then turned in his seat to directly address the High Commander.

“I’ll accept the contract if you give me a fighting chance. Give me a good mech and I’ll agree.”

“Deal.”

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #rabbit #lopeljack

[hanakoofthejungle]

HuskerDust Sinatra playlist (to be updated)

Given Husk and Angel's time when they were alive, Sinatra's songs would no doubt fall into their mutual category of favorites. I believe Angel would very much like Sinatra's crooning considering Sinatra's melancholy voice, him being also Italian and having alleged connection to the Italian mob. Husk spent so much time in casinos so surely he knew all of these songs like the back of his hand.

Below are the songs that I find would fit well into their inner thoughts and stages of their relationship. When Sinatra sang, he didn't just sing a song, he was telling us something from his heart which I imagine is what Husk wanted to say to Angel and vice versa (and there are duets :))). You will see that Husk was allocated more songs than Angel. This is because I firmly believe Husk is the more sappy and sentimental one in the relationship.

Who knows :)) these songs might inspire some fanfictions. Whatever you imagine, Sinatra can provide :)))

One song might have different version sung by Sinatra. The ones listed here are the most fitting in my opinion. These are all youtube links because some came from nice musical films/music shows and some aren't available on spotify.

The pining stage (sprinkled with some self-loathing/insecurity in case they didn't think their feelings were mutual)

Husk

These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)

These foolish things remind me of you You came you saw you conquer'd me When you did that to me I knew somehow this had to be

It could Happen to You

All I did was wonder How your arms would be And it happened to me

Half As Lovely (Twice As True) (or Husk's insecurity about himself being just a washed-up drunk while Angel could have anyone he wants, also mention of Angel's facade. This is the perfect song :))))

I'm only one of those who thinks of you and sighs, Just another who knows your laughter and lies. I wish that you were someone who was half as lovely, twice as true. I love you, I love you, too much it seems, for any fool can see, With your heart so crowded with other dreams, how can you dream of me?

Bewitched

I'm wild again, beguiled again A simpering, whimpering child again Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I Couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep Then love came and told me I shouldn't sleep Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I Lost my heart, but what of it?

Angel

I Don't Know Why (I Just Do)

You never seem to want my romancing The only time you hold me Is when we're dancing I don't know why I love you like I do I don't know why, but I do

I fall in love too easily (This fits Angel so well)

I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast I fall in love too terribly hard, for love to ever last My heart should be well schooled, 'cause I've been fooled in the past And still I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast

Glad to be unhappy

Unrequited love's a bore And I've got it pretty bad But for someone you adore It's a pleasure to be sad

Prisoner of Love

Alone from night to night You'll find me too weak to break the chains that bind me. I need no shackles to remind me, I'm just a prisoner of love.

The confessing stage

Husk

Zing! Went The Strings Of My Heart

Dear when you smiled at me I heard a melody It haunted me from the start Something inside of me, started a symphony Zing! Went the strings of my heart

Then Suddenly Love (I can imagine Angel kick the door open :)))

I never heard bluebirds, the songs that they sing, I never get crazy, not even in spring, Then suddenly love struck me like lightning, Love it blew up a storm, Love suddenly grabbed me, and ooh, was it cozy and warm 'Cause I found you, now I no longer just exist, Ooh, what a change, it started from the time we kissed

Angel

I Get a Kick out of You

Some they may go for a cocaine I'm sure that if I took even one sniff It would bore me terrifically too Yet I get a kick out of you

I've Never been in Love before

I'm full of foolish songs And out my song must pour So please forgive this helpless haze I'm in I've really never been in love before

Husk and Angel

You're Awful (A silly duet confession of love :)))

Husk: Those words that everyone knows But my thoughts gets mangled, And all the words get tangled, But since you asked me, here goes: You're awful, awful good to look at, Awful nice to be with, awful sweet to have and hold. You're nothing, nothing if not lovely, Nothing if not dazzling, nothing but pure gold, You're frightening, frightening me when you say That you might go away, You're boring, boring into my heart to stay. You're cheap, dear, cheap at any price, dear, Cheap for such a diamond, Cheap for such a pearl, What I said before, I'll say again, You're awful, awful nice to be my girl. Angel: You're old, dear, old with worldly wisdom, Old like Gorgonzola, old like finest French champagne, You're so-so, so-so, so-so kinda charming, So-so kind of witty, so I can't explain, Husk: Can't stand you, I can't stand you giving some fellow the eye, Can't stand you in the arms of another guy, Who needs you? Need you to distraction, Need you too this crazy, need you rain or shine, Both: I'm the one who needs you, And I think you're awful, awful nice to say you're mine.

The dating/domestic bliss stage (sprinkled with some angst/couple fights)

Husk

[How Little It Matters] How Little We Know

Who cares to define what chemistry this is? Who cares, with your lips on mine, how ignorant bliss is? So long as you kiss me, and the world around us shatters, How little it matters, how little we know.

I Could Write A Book

If they ask me, I could write a book About the way you walk and whisper and look I could write a preface on how we met So the world would never forget And the simple secret of the plot Is just to tell them that I love you a lot Then the world discovers as my book ends How to make two lovers of friends

That Old Black Magic

Those icy fingers up and down my spine The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine The same old tingle that I feel inside And then that elevator starts its ride And down and down, I go 'Round and 'round, I go Like a leaf that's caught in the tide

Too Marvelous for Words

You're much, too much, and just too very very To ever be in Webster's dictionary And so I'm borrowing a love song from the birds To tell you that you're marvelous Too marvelous for words

Polka Dots And Moonbeams

In my frightened arms, polka dots and moonbeams Sparkled on a pug-nosed dream There were questions in the eyes of other dancers As we floated over the floor There were questions but my heart knew all the answers And perhaps a few things more Now in a cottage built of lilacs and laughter I know the meaning of the words? Ever after? And I'll always see polka dots and moonbeams When I kiss the pug-nosed dream

Witchcraft

'Cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft And although, I know, it's strictly taboo When you arouse the need in my My heart says yes indeed in me Proceed with what your leading me to It's such an ancient pitch But one I wouldn't switch 'Cause there's no nicer witch than you

Dear Heart (Husk waited for Angel to come home from work)

Dear heart, wish you were here to warm this night My dear heart, it seems like a year since you've been out of my sight A single room, a table for one It's a lonesome town all right But soon I'll kiss you hello at our front door And dear heart, I want you to know I'll leave your arms never more

Husk and Angel

We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye

We thought that love was over, that we were really through, I said I didn't love her, that we'd begin anew, And you can all believe me, we sure intended to, But we just couldn't say goodbye. The chair and then the sofa, they broke right down and cried, The curtain started waving for me to come inside. I tell you confident'a'lly the tears were hard to hide, And we just couldn't say goodbye. The clock was striking twelve o'clock, it smiled on us below, With folded hands, it seemed to say, we'll miss you if you go. So I went back and kissed her and when I looked around, The room was singing love songs and dancing up and down. Now we're both so happy because at last we've found That we just couldn't say goodbye.

Kisses and Tears

Kisses and tears, it's up to you If we laugh or we cry through the years Unless you trust me, whenever a doubt appears Your future with me will continue to be kisses and tears You're crying again, you're sighing again Can't we patch it up this time? I guess it's alright, we've finished our fight It's just about kiss-time

Nothing in Common

Our two goals are apart as the poles are As lovers our roles are completely miscast Let's make a clean break And not take any chances 'Cause outside of thinking you're something divine And outside of wanting your lips close to mine We've got nothin' in common We've got nothin' in common at all

How Are Ya Fixed for Love

How are ya fixed for someone to watch the rain with? To stroll down the line with? For someone to just go a little insane with? How are you fixed for memories? Memories that shine so bright? If we let fancy take us We could make us a few tonight How are ya' fixed for someone who'll fit your arms like a glove? Hey, tell me baby, how are ya' fixed for love?

Bonus: Sinatra's Loser, baby a.k.a Here's To The Losers

Here's the last toast of the evening, here's to those who still believe All the losers will be winners, all the givers shall receive Here's to trouble-free tomorrows, may your sorrows all be small Here's to the losers, here's to the losers, here's to the losers Bless them all!

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin hotel husker #hazbin husk #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel dust x husk #huskerdust playlist #Spotify