Synopsis: Marty needed money. And unfortunately, you were the best person he knew to achieve such a thing.
Tags: Silly stuff that I took too seriously, if you even consider this as an established relationship, kissing, partners in crime, questionable vision on romance (by me), Moses the dog, Marty is a fucking bitch, but also incredibly hot.
Warnings!!: Movie spoilers!
Word Count: 4.6k
a/n: Chugged down half a liter of energetic last night, watched the movie with a 130bpm, chugged another half, wrote this. I'll revise and proof read this in the morning, I promise! I just really wanted to get the feelings out
“1500 dollars? Are you absolutely insane? That’s what I make in a year!” You snapped at him from across the phone. It wasn’t uncommon for Marty to disappear for god knows how long and then come back asking for money. But vanishing for eight months, never calling you, and coming back asking for more than either of you could possibly have was absolutely insane.
“No, that’s what we made in two days on the bowling alley last year.” Marty corrected. His voice was rushed, breathless, as if he were running before talking to you. Currently, in the back of a random store that he begged to use the telephone, he had called you as a last resort on everything going wrong in his life. Which was, at least, three times a year. “You’re so good at that, I’m sure we can find a way together, just like before. Come on, you’re smart, I’m nothing without you right now.”
“That’s a pretty funny thing to say when you seemed fine on your own for the last eight months.” You shouted back at him, voice rising for a second before you lowered it again, afraid someone else could hear you. “Not a single call or letter. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“I was busy, for god’s fucking sake. I would’ve called you more if I had the time.” He hissed, hands tightly curled against the wall he was holding for dear life.
“If you had the time, or when you needed money again?” You asked.
“Don’t say that.” He warned.
“You’re an asshole, Marty. That’s what you fucking are. In what planet do you live to think that I would possibly want to help you with anything right now?”
“Can you meet me somewhere?” He coaxed, the tiny hint of despair and hope in his voice simultaneously audible. “Let’s talk. Let me see you again, please.”
You knew eight months weren’t enough for a person to change. Especially someone like Marty Mauser, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in seeing that his first resort was always the sweet talk of his. The one he knew that would eventually convince you. “No, I can’t.” You explained. “I’m working, Marty. You should try that sometimes, then you’d have the money you need.”
On the other side of the line, Marty’s eyes lit up. “Working? Are you at the store? Perfect, I’m going there right now.”
“What? No, no, don’t fucking come in here-” You tried to argue, but Marty had already ended the call and was very likely going to arrive at the door in less than ten minutes, depending on where he was. Placing the phone back into the base with a little more strength than necessary, you tiredly looked around the state of the store you worked at. Some older people looking at the shelves, two kids placing candy in their pockets as if neither you nor the cashier could see them. Fortunately for them, you weren’t paid enough to care.
Waiting by the back door, you fully expected Marty to turn the corner at the alley and arrive, just like he did any other time. Instead, you looked up to see a bag being thrown from the other side of the wall that separated the place you worked and the Chinese restaurant by its side, followed up by a Marty jumping alongside it.
You weren’t even sure if you should be surprised anymore. After so many months away, he changed absolutely nothing, running to you with the same asshole of a grin on his face and those glasses you had no idea how he didn’t break yet.
“Motherfucker-” Seeing him grab his bag and coming your way, you didn't hesitate to curse him out, but Marty, in a desperate attempt to shut you up, quickly grabbed a fistful of the jacket you were wearing and pulled you closer to him, crashing both your mouths in a weak effort that, maybe, you could forget your wish for him to die just for a second.
Just like everything that came with Marty Mauser, the kiss was quick and intense, his hands dropping the bag by his side just to hold onto you properly, one hand tightly gripped at your waist, and the other on the back of your head. You cursed yourself and the lack of desire to push him away, because, after everything, part of you was terrifyingly glad that he was alive and there with you. The young man’s desperate open-mouth kisses with murmured “I missed you” and “I love you”’s in between, making you melt in a way that pissed you off.
When both of you finally separated, the passion of the moment quickly went away, your own justifiable anger creeping back.
“Son of a-” You were about to speak again, but Marty shut you up again with yet another quick and lighter kiss, something that was starting to get on your nerves.
“I know, I’m a bitch, I missed you too, I also thought I died.” He pulled away abruptly, coming inside the shop and almost running past you. “Gotta use the phone.”
Scoffing, you cleaned your mouth on the back of your hand, closing the left open door of your shop and turning around to go after Marty, who was already at the telephone dialing some number and waiting for it to ring.
“Care to explain?” You asked, observing the man with the phone to his ear and his foot tapping nervously against the ground. “The whole looking like I just ran a marathon thing, maybe?”
“Armed robbery, the police is after me.” He answered so casually that the desire inside you to punch him in the face only grew.
After a long second of silence, where you questioned your own kindness and mercy for not calling the police yourself right now, you just sighed and passed a hand through your face. “Amazing.” You murmured.
The phone continued ringing for more time than it was supposed to be, with Marty’s nervous tapping becoming more aggressive until he eventually gave up and threw the phone back in the base with more force than necessary. You were sure the thing would break if it depended on you both. “Fuck.” He cursed, passing a hand through his hair before turning to you. “Lend me your car.”
“Absolutely the fuck not. You said you wanted to talk to me. That’s your definition of talking?” You questioned, still looking over at the store to see if your coworker at the register even cared about what you were doing in there. Gladly, twenty-year-old guys with a job they hated didn’t usually care if someone else was currently fighting or making out on the back of the store you wished to quit from. “At least explain what is happening.”
Marty groaned in frustration, taking off his glasses and squeezing his eyes shut, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to pay a 1500 dollar fine to play the next tournament.” He spoke at once, finally opening his eyes and placing his glasses back on to look properly at you. “Can you please help me? I am desperate. I am begging you.”
“Tournament?” The words registered in your mind, and the moment they made sense, it was like a punch directly to your guts. “Ping-pong, Mauser? Are you fucking kidding me?”
It wasn’t like you didn’t support him in the whole ping-pong dream he had. You saw him playing before, and you knew he was good. Very good, in fact. You just weren’t exactly in favor of witnessing Marty throw away his life for something he wasn’t sure would even pay in the end.
“I’ll pay you later.” He reassured you, lowering his voice and trying to take hold of your hands. “Anything we manage to get, I’ll pay you ten times later, I swear.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, and you know it.” You said, voice more worried than you’d like to sound to him. “You’re gonna get yourself killed like that. It’s what you want?”
“You know I’ll be fine. I always end up fine.”
“By god’s sake…” You cursed under your breath.
“Listen, listen. After I win, I’ll take you out to a nice dinner.” He whispered sweetly, smile back at his face as he brought one of your hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “We stay at a good hotel, with a nice room service, and we have sex on a giant bed against silk sheets. What do you think, huh?”
“Stop talking.” You pulled your hands back, thinking about the worst that could happen if you happened to indulge in whatever scheme he was planning to do that day. And unfortunately, the idea that the worst case might be Marty spending some months in jail didn’t seem so bad.
Marty Mauser was the biggest regret you had in life. He was lucky to be so convincing at times, at least enough for you to lose your morals for the day.
You reached a hand to the side of his face, resisting the urge to punch him right there or to kiss him senseless. “Okay.” You admitted defeat, thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’ll help you out.”
And for a moment, just for a moment, the suffering seemed to pay off when a more genuine smile appeared on Marty’s face. “Thanks.” He said. “I love you.”
Marty still wanted your car, and you'd rather cut off your own hand than have him even touch the key to it. Maybe it wasn't the best car to ever exist, but it was everything you had. That being said, now one of the parts in Marty's plan seemed to include you being his personal chauffeur.
“Bowling alley again? I think going to another city is safer this time, the usual place might have someone who wants to beat you up.” You discussed, remembering the very aggressive and very real death threat Marty received the last time he set foot there. If it wasn't for you going with him, he surely wouldn't have left in one piece.
“No, we have to get the dog first.” He spoke without thinking.
You blinked. Once, twice. “The dog?” You asked. “What dog?”
Just now knowing what he said, Marty cursed himself. “Yeah, so…” He wondered how to explain it simply. “A rich guy lost his dog not too far from here. And I know where the dog is. We can take a lot of reward money from that man if we get it back to him.” Marty told, omitting the fact that he practically robbed the old man, stole the dog, lost the dog, and was almost shot trying to get it back.
“Doesn’t seem that bad.” Were words you immediately regretted, because it was, in fact, the shittiest and worst situation you could have ever been in.
The supposed place that the dog was in, according to Marty, was a house in the middle of nowhere, in the sketchiest part of the road, right after a gas station you never seen before. It was the type of place people died in horror movies, the ones you’re sure a serial killer would drag you just so he could hear and get off from your screams without anyone noticing, before he skinned you alive.
“Oh, god.” You immediately regret everything you have ever done in your life. Especially that exact moment you first exchanged a word with Marty when you both were 12 years old. Now, looking at the house, you weren’t sure if a nice dinner and silk sheets were enough to justify whatever you two were about to do. “Are you sure this dog is here?”
“Of course I’m sure, I saw him here.” He reassured, completely confident of his answer. As soon as you stopped the car, Marty went out, heading straight to the house’s door. “I won’t take long, I promise.”
Watching Marty go away, you couldn’t help but feel nervous, as if this was meant to go very, very wrong on one way or another.
“Marty.” You called, and he immediately turned around again. “Come here for a moment, please.”
At the request, he immediately went closer to the car again, talking to you through the now open window. “Yeah?” He questioned, observing as you said nothing, but opened the glove compartment and took out a gun from it, handing it to him.
“Give me peace of mind, just take this.” You spoke, hand lingering a bit too much against Marty’s.
Marty, who didn’t even notice the fact that your hand was in his, considering a gun was also right there. “Where you get that?” He asked, a little surprised.
“What do you mean by ‘where you get that’? It’s my gun.”
“Hell you mean ‘My gun’? Since when did you get a gun?”
“Since you decided to enter a place where you’ll likely die without one. Stop asking questions and just go.”
Marty felt the need to question a little more on why you, of all people, owned a gun, but he really thought that should be one of his smallest problems at hand.
Nodding, he finally took the gun and started heading to the side of the house, where you could see him looking through a window before turning to you and giving a thumbs up, which you reciprocated.
The next moments reminded you why you considered Marty the biggest source of your anxiety since you were younger, as the scene unfolding was horrifying. A few barks started to be heard, something you could only imagine was the dog he said was there. After that, Marty somehow managed to open one of the seemingly rusty windows, carefully going inside.
A heavy silence filled the place for almost two long minutes before the worst sound possible could be heard from inside. A shot. And then more silence after.
“Oh god, he died.” The thoughts inevitably went through your head before you could stop them. But before you could make the logical decision of going away as fast as possible, you saw a very alive Marty banging the door open and running towards the car.
“Start the fucking car!” He spoke, something you didn’t need to be told twice right now.
You opened the passenger seat’s door for Marty, and when you looked in his direction, you saw a smaller thing running behind him. For god sakes, there was a dog.
Although right after the dog, a person also stepped out of the house. A man. A man with a shotgun pointing at both of you. One that shot not too far from Marty’s feet, which not just made him run faster, but also made the dog start barking again.
“Marty, the gun. Where’s my gun?!” You questioned.
“I lost it when I heard the shot!” He explained, finally entering the car as you stepped on the gas and turned around before another shot managed to get one of the tires.
“You what-” You almost choked on your own anger. “Oh, you fucking coward.”
“Moses!”
“Who?!”
“The dog!” “He exclaimed, door still open, even if you were starting to accelerate onto the road so that you two could get away from the maniac with a shotgun. “Slow down!” He shouted, looking through the open door as he tried to coax Moses to run faster and enter. “Come on, boy, come on!”
“There’s a maniac shooting us, leave the damn dog!” You argued, thinking that both of their lives should have a little more value than some old rich man’s dog and whatever reward he might give. Something that Marty seemed to be disagreeing a lot right now.
“Slow the fuck down!” Marty would scream again, and, in the moment of anger, you stepped so hard on the brake that the tires made a god-awful noise. Still, it was enough for Moses to reach the car and Marty to push him inside and pass the dog on top of him, placing the animal on the back seat. Meanwhile, you started the car again, trying not to be distracted by the other shot that managed to hit the side view mirror.
“I’ll pay for that.” Almost in reflex, Marty spoke, but both of you knew this was just for the sake of saying it.
“You fucking won’t.” You felt the need to argue, even if it was far from the best moment to do that.
Even if you couldn’t make out exactly what the old man was screaming at both of you, it seemed a lot like a bunch of slurs mixed with words that weren’t even in your vocabulary. Meaning it wasn’t very different from anything you or Marty hadn’t been called before on the street at some point in life for one reason or another.
“Are you sure you remember how to do that?” Marty teased, opening the door of the car and stepping out. The bowling alley was a familiar place now, with happy and yet terrible memories at the same time.
“Oh, shut up.” You scoffed, opening your own door and locking the car when you closed it.
Maybe you couldn’t play ping-pong. Not as good as Marty, at least. But if there was one thing both of you had in common, was the annoyingly good capacity to lie. And in this country, lying was such a good way of making money.
Lies and smooth talk could take one really far. Marty’s plan usually consisted of riling up people enough for them to start betting higher and higher. And unfortunately, he was convinced you had a natural talent for making men put more and more money on the table for the simple fact that it was you telling them to do so. It was awful, but it worked like a charm every time.
The epitome of this method was the 19 to 21 game he won 150 dollars from three different people. The same one that you managed to make a guy put 70 more dollars on the table against Marty, who won the game and got the money fair and square.
Fair and square, until they got angry enough to blame you for their terrible choices at betting, or until they started threatening to kill Marty with the ping-pong rackets.
That was the part both of you had to run.
And tonight, it wasn’t so different.
That ping-pong table was Marty’s playground, and you gave him five hours and twenty dollars to have the most fun he could. And, preferably, get enough money so that he could go to Japan play, and you’d be able to search for another job when you got back, because you were sure that one was over by now, considering your lunch hour ended a long time ago.
The car was left by the back door of the alley, windows open, and Moses still lying on the back seat. You knew Marty wouldn’t do it, so, during the time he was playing, you’d go to see how the dog was and give him some water.
You weren’t proud to say that the next few hours went by like a blur. The first time Marty took hold of the racket and a place on the table, and no one could take him out of there anymore, you lost yourself going around the ones watching and betting, always convincing them to put money against Marty because “That guy can’t be so good. It’s luck. He’ll surely lose right now.” and all you received was a “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” and there went five more dollars to both of your pockets.
At least it was fun. To see Marty winning, and how the pile of money by his side only grew with each passing game.
14 to 21.
6 to 21.
17 to 21.
2 to 21.
You could complain that winning the games only made his ego grow even more, which was starting to become a problem, but you often reached a point where you didn’t care anymore. The money you’d win was a good incentive to be quiet.
Both of you had fun. Maybe a little too much. Somehow, enough for you to forget the small detail that Marty was still being searched by the police. The police, who were currently entering the place and looking directly at him.
“Hey. Hey, Marty, come on, let’s go.” You called, tapping on his shoulder, eyes desperately switching between the man and the three armed policemen coming on your way. “The fucking cops are here, and we need to leave right now.”
“Wait, wait, I’m- I’m counting this, calm down.” He dismissed you, continuing to count the bills at the table with a large smile on his face.
“Marty, let’s fucking go.” You quickly grabbed the biggest amount of money you could from the pile he was counting, shoving it into your pockets and dashing out to the back of the place, knowing that Marty would follow you up when his brain finally managed to comprehend the situation.
“What the fuck was that for!?” He yelled, before he finally seemed to get his brain out of his dazed state, looking in the direction of the main door to see a police officer with a gun in his hand running towards him. “Oh, fuck.” He mumbled, hands clumsily grasping at the major amount of remaining money on the table he could before sprinting away to where you went.
“Hey! Stop right there, Mauser!” He heard one of the cops screaming at him, but that only made him run even faster.
By the time he was out of the back door and onto the street, you were already at the car, honking loudly while screaming for him to get in.
Marty ran to the passenger’s seat, opening and entering the car so fast that he almost managed to hit his head. “Go, go, go!” He shouted, noise that wasn’t going well alongside the braking from Moses in the back seat.
“Stop rushing me.” You yelled back, stepping on the gas pedal as Marty closed his own door right before you two turned into the corner and began driving away.
For a single second, things seemed fine, or seemed they were going to be fine. Until you heard a shot from one of the cops, a shot that certainly managed to hit the back of the car and startle you, who instinctively turned into the first street you saw to try and lose them.
Looking at the back of the car, Marty tried to tranquilize you when he couldn’t see the police anymore. “It’s fine, it’s fine, we lost them.” He wasn’t completely sure, but was afraid that if you got any more nervous than now, they would straight up crash the car.
Moses continued barking, which you couldn’t exactly blame him for doing, considering the situation you two placed him in. With an accelerated heartbeat, you only managed to loosen the grip on the steering wheel when you reached the road about ten minutes later.
For once, Marty was quiet for a while. Maybe afraid that, if he dared to speak a single word, you’d take the gun from the car’s panel and use it against him. Even if he was sure you wouldn’t want to kill him, perhaps you’d still consider shooting him in the leg. The silence was calm for once, if not considering the almost shallow breath coming from the dog behind you both.
“Where are we staying tonight?” Marty carefully tried to ask, voice strangely quiet so as not to anger you more.
“Motel.”
“Okay.” He accepted, turning around to see how Moses was. The dog, currently without the collar, seemed to be breathing a lot better and lying down across the seat. Marty turned to his front again, looking at you by the corner of his eye. After a while, with the intention of testing the waters, he placed a hand on your thigh, little brushing his thumb against the cloth that covered them.
You sighed. “I’m not angry.”
“You are.” He corrected.
“Yeah, I am.” You sighed, taking a glance towards him before focusing on the empty street again. Anger was far too little for what you felt, but right now, you felt more stupid than angry. Stupid because, after everything, you were still allowing Marty to be in the car, and not making him walk alone in the dark. “You did… good today.” You hestatntly spoke, placing your free hand on top of his. “Very good.”
Marty smiled at the praise. For once, not one of his asshole grins or smirks, but a brief and genuine one, the same when you agreed to help him in the first place.
“I handle the paying. Don’t talk to anyone.” You warned Marty, who raised his hands in a mocking surrender and went over to pace around the entrance of the motel, knowing better than to go against what you ordered him to do.
Moses couldn’t stay in the room with both of you, but there was a small dog space outside, which was just all the guests’ dogs tied to some trees, where he would have to stay. At least you went to ensure he would have some water, promising you’d find some treats for him when morning arrived.
Paying two more dollars just to use the shower was painful, but you really didn’t want to sleep in the same room as a man who was stinking like desperation and frustrated dreams. At least now you were clean, and using one of Marty’s shirts because he was the only one with a bag with clean clothing there, and your work clothes were disgusting after using them the whole day.
He bathed first, and by the time you came out of yours, he was already sitting in his bed, counting the money both of you managed to grab before running off.
“How much?” You asked, sitting by his side.
Marty placed the last bill on top of the pile, a triumphant smile on his face. “620 dollars. Not bad for a first day.” He laughed, reaching over to a separate pile and handing you. “310, your part.”
You took hold of the money, and knew you would have to count it later to see if Marty was telling the truth about how much there was. But maybe this could wait a little; you were far too tired for this. “Thanks.” You spoke, sincerity and calmness finally present in your tone. “Try to rest a little, alright? We decide what to do tomorrow.” You tapped friendly on his back, standing up with the intention of passing out on your bed.
Instead, the moment you were going away, Marty grabbed onto your hand, not letting you go.
“Sleep with me, come on.” He proposed, trying to lightly pull you back closer to him. “After everything that happened today, let me make up to you.”
“In those cheap beds?” You let out a laugh. “Those things are rotting, they’ll crumble at the weight of two adults for long.”
“No, they won’t.” Marty denied, just for the sake of disagreeing with you, probably one of his favorite pastimes since forever. “You’ll have your silk sheets later, and until then, you have the best part of the deal right here.”
“Awful beds?” You amused.
“Me.” He said back, attempting again to pull you closer.
This time, the growing smile on your face betrayed your attempt to continue mad at Marty for giving you the worst day of your life. One that, after being almost shot two times, running away from the police and a crazy man, and taking care of a stolen dog, you surely deserved to have a handsome man on top of you just to decrease the amount of stress you were in.
Some things I think I'll change, but I'm just too tired for that rn. Honestly will do a smut drabble of the end later this week. Thank you so much for reading!
Guys, the smut is probably not happening I'm so sorry. I'm far too asexual for that, it doesn't end up good.
i like that all of the ouran manga is just kyoya knowing everything thats going on almost immediately and not telling anyone until they already figured it out themselves
The idea of love, genuine love, was a terrifying notion to Osamu Dazai. Sure, he was a flirt at times but the idea of genuinely falling for someone was something else entirely. So, when he found himself falling for you, a large part of him wanted to run or push you away. Osamu was too weak for you to do that though. The idea of being the cause of any of your distress was awful. And doing it on purpose? Forget it. Even if he did think it would be for your own good.
Of course, there were still times where he’d try convincing you that you shouldn’t be with him. You were too good for him. This was the crux of most of the arguments you two had. Osamu was selfish enough to let you win and keep you with him though. He’d deal with the guilt of it later if it came to it. You were a vulnerability that he never expected to have. He knew that something in him would irrevocably shatter if you died.
Which is why when he kisses you, he kisses you like it’s the last time he will. It always lingers like he’s trying to memorize you. Of course, there are times he does quick kisses but it’s not what he’d prefer. He loved you and that was terrifying. His only lifeline after Oda and even if he knows that you can take care of yourself, it seems so fragile.
As much as he talks about dying or committing a double suicide with you, he’d never go through with it if it meant hurting you. His life might not mean much to him, but your life is everything to him. It’s not an exaggeration or cheesy for him when he says that you’re the light of his life. His kisses were almost a silent goodbye, just in case. He loved you and it was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to him.
Dazai x reader who matches his freak but is also opposite to him idk
feat :: 16!PM!Dazai Osamu -> 22!ada!Dazai x reader
wordcount :: 2.200 words
idk this is so random but i spent 3 consecutive hours on this
a/n :: I might or might not have read The Complete Manual to Suicide after falling in absolute love with Bungo Stray Dogs (I don't want to die i swear I was just curious) so yes everything I quote is actually in the book
You met him for the first time while he was on an (sort of) undercover mission, when you were sixteen. It was evening, a festival; full of music, food and laugher in front of the river. He was there to find a traitor.
You were not exactly part of the plan.
Dazai's eyes wandered across the crowd, looking for something, someone that looked off, suspicious, or could lead him to right way. Sure he had a picture of that man, but it's not exactly easy to find someone specific in the middle of so many people.
You were a girl his age, alone or at least not in the company of your friends in that moment, and he was starting to think what he was looking for wasn't as easy as he thought to find.
"Hey." He walked up next to you and waved a hand in the air with a smile. "I think I lost my friend in the crowd."
You turned to look at him, your eyes widening involuntarily as you notice his attire. White shirt, black tie and coat, bandages on his neck, wrists and face? But it was not only that which surprised you. His eyes... Well, his eye, actually. He was smiling, but his black irid was staring right into your soul, like that of... A siren, maybe? He looked like a siren.
You tried to brush it off and smiled back, being courteous. "Yeah? What do they look like?"
"He's twenty. Blonde hair slicked back and big glasses. Have you seen him maybe?"
You looked around, thinking. "Hmmm... no, I don't think so. But there are so many people... maybe you could call him? to check where he is."
He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I should. Thank you anyway."
"Don't worry, 'hope you find him." You waved a hand as he walked away an disappeared in the crowd.
What an odd one, you thought, but then, it takes all sorts.
That night, right when you were about to leave, you saw him sitting apart on the balustrade in front of the river.
He doesn't look like someone you should want to talk to, you told yourself. But... before you could stop yourself, you were already stopping a few steps behind him.
"Hey. Didn't find him?"
He stayed still for a moment, watching the water flow as if he didn't notice you, then he turned his head and looked at you. For a fraction of a second, his face looked completely different from before. His only visible eye was totally empty, dull, as if clouded by a think layer of fog, and he looked like he was not actually conscious of your precedence. But it was just a moment.
"Hey, it's you." He said with a cheerful smile all of sudden. "Nope, I didn't. Guess he left."
With that, he fell silent again and looked back at the water.
You stayed there for a few seconds, trying to come up with something to say, then you shift a foot on the pavement. "Yeah, alright, well... Goodnight." You muttered, taking a few steps away from him.
"Goodnight." He whispered back.
Your steps grew slower. That boy, he will... You looked back. "It's past midnight, won't you go home?" You asked before you could think about it.
This time the silence was longer. "Maybe. In a little while." His voice sounded weaker, tired.
"What's your name?"
He sat up a little straighter. Why were you so clingy? You didn't even know him.
"Dazai. Osamu Dazai."
You just observed him for a moment. "Do you like the river that much? Sorry if I assume so much without knowing you, but what will you do once you're alone? The success rate is as high as eighty percent."
He stiffened, his head slowly turned around, his wide eye staring at your face. "What?" He breathed out, then fell silent for a few seconds. Currently, the overall usage rate of this method in Japan has declined, yet it still ranks among the top five methods adopted each year. The success rate is as high as eighty percent... "...No wonder it's so attractive..." He whispered tentatively. Was it possible? That you read it too? And you remembered? And you understood? No, it must've been just a coincidence. Surely, now that he completed the quote you'll look at him like you have no idea what he's talking about, like he's crazy.
But you didn't. You just smiled slightly and shrugged. "Maybe so. Still, dying at this age would be sad. There are so many things we haven't seen yet."
His gaze stayed fixated on you, a mix of confusion, surprise and appreciation in his expression. "How do you know?"
You kept looking at him with a calm smile. "What?"
"The quote... what I wanted to do... everything... how did you know?"
"The quote? I read the book. You? Your eyes."
He blinked. "My eyes?"
You nodded. "Yes. When you turned around. Sitting on the verge of the river, looking like that... it was obvious."
"And the book? Do you want to die?"
You look up at the moon for a moment. "Not really, no. But I've heard of it, and I wanted to read it. It's.., fascinating, in a way. You've no idea how hard it is find it. I'm surprised someone else read it."
He stayed silent, observing you. "Me too." What could you find so fascinating about a guide tu suicide if you didn't want to die? There were so many things that just didn't look right in that moment.
You smiled and titled your head. "'Want to come down?"
He elooked you up and down. Coming down? Now? And leaving his only hope of dying for another day?
Almost thirty seconds passed.
His feet hit the floot.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Y/n."
"Y/n..." He repeated.
In the days that followed you fastly grew closer.
He was weird, eccentric, completely nihilist, always looking like he didn't care about what was happening, facetious, slightly unsettling in his way of being charming. You, on the other hand, turned out to be lively, energetic, passionate about the weirdest things, obsessed with quoting what you think is cool, zestful and overall incredibly in love with life and at the same time fascinated by everything that had something to do with death and suffering.
Almost as soon as Dazai started caring about your presence, he told you about his job. He thought that you had to know him for who he really was, and if you wanted to then also to hate him for who he was. After all, it was what happened with everyone else.
He told you everything. In absolute detail. In too much detail, actually. Within a day, you knew he was climbing the ranks of the Port Mafia to become an Executive and he was the leader of the Port Mafia Boss' personal special task; you knew that no one could survive his 'interrogations' and that he joined the organization at the age of fourteen, year less year more (to read: year less).
"Wow." You said when he stopped talking. "That sure is a lot of stuff."
He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah it is. I mean, I'm a very important person."
There's a moment of silence.
"You're okay with it?"
"I don't know," you said, sitting on your bed "do you plan to kill me?"
"What? No. I mean, unless you want to die yourself, in that case..." he looked up at the ceiling of your room. "In that case it's different."
"Well, I don't plan on dying right now."
"Good."
"And do you plan on ever killing someone I care about?"
"No." He repeated automatically. Then he added, "Wait, it depends. Do care about me?"
You laughed. "Yeah, I do. But... I mean it's different. You're something different. I know about that, so you weren't exactly included in the list."
He looked over at the books on your shelves. Classics, mysteries, sci-fi, the Guide.
"So... it's okay?" He whispered. It was weird, trying to befriend someone. Trying for real, not just for a mission.
"Yes, it's okay."
Dazai Osamu was the weirdest guy you have ever met. You were the weirdest girl he has ever met. But that was exactly the reason why you got along so well.
"Y/n-chan," he called out, walking out of the cafe with two coffees in his hands. He put them down on the table and sat down with you. "Espresso for you, right?"
You nodded with a smile. "Yes, thank you."
He smiled back. It was a rare sight.
It was almost a week after his confession.
He looked over at the people passing by. You do too.
After a few seconds, you spoke. "Today I've read of the Oenanthe crocata."
He blinked. "Of the what?"
"The Oenanthe crocata." You repeated. "It's a venomous plant that causes spasms and makes you smile when you die."
He looked back at you. "Ah, really? Must be fun to try."
You shook your head, sighing. "No, it's actually a very painful death. It can cause violent convulsions, dizziness, delirium, intense nausea, vomiting, acute abdominal pain, respiratory paralysis, or cardiovascular collapse."
He looked at you surprised. "Wow. That's a lot of information."
You shrugged, smiling. "Made my researches. Might always be useful."
Another time, you were walking down the streets of the city when suddenly you tugged at his sleeve.
"Hey, I was thinking," you say" this might sound weird, but is it like... physically possible to turn a throat inside out?"
He stared at you with a frown. "Should I be worried?"
You giggled sheepishly. "No, no! It's just, I've been wondering for a while. Like, cutting from the inside and turning it inside out, like a pocket."
At that poit he was seriously staring at you with a very surprised and unsettled expression. "I don't know... I never tried or saw someone do it, I don't know. I suppose you can."
A moment of silence. He frowned. "You seriously have weird thoughts, damn."
Once, you were sitting on a bench looking at the river, under the starry night.
"Do you think it is truly possible for people to understand each other?" You asked.
Dazai shot you a glance. "To understand each other? As in, why they do what they do or what they believe about the world?"
"About everything. How can I know you really understand what I tell you? Maybe you think you do, and instead you misinterpret it and then I believe your answer makes sense because I already know what I want to hear and I project it onto your answer."
He stared at you, then looked back at the water. "You're a very angsty teen, you know?" He looked up at the sky.
"I think... maybe we don't. Maybe I think you are something that you're not, and you believe I am something different from what I am. But... I don't know. I wouldn't know. To my eyes, humans never understood each other in any way, so I don't know. Maybe it is so. Maybe we just see the world in the wrong way. Who can say? Maybe it's just you and me, us, and on the other hand everyone else understands each other."
You nodded and kept silent.
"But you see the world so differently. I mean, you live it differently. Differently from me and from othes. You... you want to live, I can see it, but you're also so... so... I don't know how to describe it. Everything is so deep with you."
You looked at him and rested your head on his shoulder. He stiffened.
"I love life. I'm scared of the thought of dying at an early. I want to see the world. I want to meet people. I hope that by doing so, at something point, maybe I will find someone like me. Or that I will be so fulfilled with what I love that I won't care."
He slowly wrapped his arm around your waist, staring at the water.
"Is it so? I think... I hope you will."
Dazai's hand moves to your hair, ruffling under the sunlight. It's spring, the flowers bloom in the garden. The river reflects the shimmers of the sun.
"So, did you in the end?"
You blink. "Hm? Did I what?"
He looked at you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Find someone like you. Be fulfilled."
"I found you."
"And I'm like you?"
"You are... not totally. But it doesn't matter. I love talking to you. I love hearing you talk about the world, I love when you listen about what I think. I love you mind."
He smiles slightly. "My mind, hm?"
"Yes."
"You know me like no one else does."
You nod. "I know."
"This might be the closest I'll ever get to happiness."
The sun filtered through the windows of the Armed Forces Detective Agency, catching the dust motes that danced around Osamu Dazai’s head as he hummed a tuneless melody.
He wasn't working, he rarely was but today, his lack of productivity had a very specific, very deliberate target.
You.
"My dear, sweet, industrious Bell," Dazai sighed, his voice trailing over your shoulder like silk.
He was leaning so far over your desk that his chestnut curls brushed against your temple. "The way your brow furrows when you’re looking at those boring expense reports... it’s truly a tragedy. A crime against beauty! How can you focus on numbers when the world is so full of color and mystery?"
You didn't look up, though you could feel the heat of his presence. "The 'mystery' right now, Dazai, is why you haven't touched a single file on your desk in three days. Kunikida is vibrating. I can hear his teeth grinding from across the room."
"Let him grind," Dazai waved a bandaged hand dismissively. "He’s a man of schedules. I am a man of inspiration. And currently, my inspiration tells me that you need a break."
Before you could protest, you felt a light weight on your head.
Then another.
You glanced up into your computer monitor’s reflection and blinked. Dazai was delicately balancing a stack of colorful origami frogs on your head, his expression one of intense, mock-professional concentration.
"Dazai," you warned, trying to keep your head still so the paper tower wouldn't collapse.
"Don't move, Darling! This is a delicate structural feat," he whispered, his face inches from yours.
He smelled like sandalwood and old books a scent that always threatened to undo your resolve. "If you drop them, I’ll have to start all over again. And I have hundreds of them."
"Where did you even get these?"
"I spent the morning making them while you were in the meeting," he chirped, adding a fifth frog to the pile. "I call them the 'Leaping Lords of Productivity.' They are here to guard your sanity."
You finally turned your head, causing the paper frogs to cascade down your shoulders.
Dazai let out a theatrical gasp of horror, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him.
"My hard work! Ruined by the coldness of my favorite person!"
"I have work to do, Osamu," you said, though the use of his first name made his eyes sparkle with a dangerous sort of delight.
"Work, work, work," he mimicked, suddenly dropping the act and leaning in close.
His hand snaked out, not to pick up the frogs, but to snag your favorite pen right out of your fingers.
He twirled it between his knuckles with practiced ease. "If you want this back, you’ll have to catch me. But I must warn you, my Little Bell, I’m feeling particularly slippery today."
He winked, a flash of pure, unadulterated mischief in those dark eyes, and spun on his heel, heading toward the lounge area.
By the time you cornered him in the breakroom twenty minutes later, the atmosphere had shifted.
The golden hour had arrived, painting the room in deep oranges and long, dramatic shadows.
Dazai was sitting on the windowsill, one leg tucked up, staring out at the Yokohama skyline.
The pen was resting on his knee, forgotten.
When he heard your footsteps, he didn't jump or make a joke.
He just turned his head, the light catching the bandages that wrapped around his neck, highlighting the sharp, handsome line of his jaw.
The "mischievous" mask hadn't slipped, it had simply dissolved into something far more vulnerable.
"You caught me," he said softly, his voice devoid of its usual sing-song lilt. "I suppose I should surrender my prize."
You walked over, intending to grab the pen and give him a piece of your mind, but as you reached out, his hand closed gently around your wrist.
He didn't pull away. He just held you there, his thumb tracing the pulse point of your skin.
"Do you ever feel it?" he asked, his gaze searching yours. "The way the world tries to pull everything apart? Everything is so fleeting. People, buildings, memories... they all eventually just... drift."
This was the "yearning" Dazai.
The man who looked at the world and saw a void, but looked at you and saw a reason to stay on the edge of it.
"I feel it," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. "But you’re still here."
Dazai pulled you a fraction closer, leaning his forehead against your stomach as you stood before him.
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist.
He looked up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a terrifying amount of devotion.
"Because you're here, Sweetheart," he murmured. "You’re the only thing that has any weight. When I’m teasing you, or making you laugh, or even making you angry... I feel like I’m actually standing on the ground. Not floating. Not falling."
He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
His touch was so soft, so impossibly tender, it made your breath hitch.
"I'm a selfish man," he whispered, his voice cracking just a little.
"I want to keep you in this room forever. I want to build a wall around us where the rest of the world can't find us. Would you hate me if I never let you go?"
"I think I'd be okay with that," you replied, your hand finding the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair.
Dazai let out a small, broken laugh, pulling you into a firm embrace.
He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in as if you were the very air he had been denied for years.
There was no mischief now only a deep, aching love that he usually kept buried under a thousand layers of bandages and jokes.
"My miracle," he breathed against your skin. "My beautiful, patient miracle."
The sun is setting, and the office is quiet. Dazai is currently holding you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
The walk home from the Agency was usually a cacophony of Dazai’s dramatic complaints about the "cruelty of gravity" or his sudden, inspired detours to investigate a particularly sturdy-looking tree.
But tonight, the air in Yokohama was thick with the scent of salt and late-blooming jasmine, and Dazai was uncharacteristically grounded.
He walked close, closer than usual, his shoulder constantly brushing against yours.
His hand was firmly entwined with your own, his fingers laced through yours as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin.
"You’re being very quiet, Osamu," you noted, glancing at him.
The streetlights flickered to life, casting his face in alternating strobes of amber and shadow. "Is the Great Dazai finally out of words?"
He let out a dramatic, wounded sigh, though he didn't pull away.
"My Little Bell is so observant! It’s true. My brain has been short-circuited by the sheer radiance of the person walking beside me. I’m thinking of suing you for emotional damages."
"Oh? And what are the damages?"
Dazai stopped in his tracks, pulling you around to face him in the middle of the sidewalk.
The mischievous glint returned to his eyes, but it was softer now, tempered by the vulnerability of the sunset.
"The damages," he said, stepping into your space until your toes touched his shoes, "are that I can no longer contemplate a peaceful exit from this world without wondering who would make sure you actually eat lunch. Or who would protect you from Kunikida’s terrifyingly organized lectures."
He reached out with his free hand, his fingers dancing along the edge of your jaw before settling in the crook of your neck.
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a gesture so intimate it made the bustling city sounds fade into a dull hum.
"I had a plan for my life, you know," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "It was a very simple, very dark plan. And then you walked in with that look in your eyes, the one that says you see exactly who I am and you aren’t running away and you ruined everything."
"I'm sorry for being such a nuisance," you teased softly, though your heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"You are the most wonderful nuisance in existence," he countered.
He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. "I find myself wanting to do things that are entirely 'unlike me.' I want to buy a house with a garden. I want to wake up and see your messy morning hair. I want to spend forty years annoying you until you finally snap and push me off a bridge yourself."
He let out a soft, airy laugh, but his eyes remained intensely focused on yours. "It’s terrifying, Darling. To want to stay. To actually yearn for tomorrow because I know you'll be in it."
He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, and finally, a lingering, feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth.
It wasn't a kiss of passion, but one of profound, soul-deep relief. It was the kiss of a man who had finally found a shore after drowning for a lifetime.
"Let's go home," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and steady.
"I believe I still have your pen in my pocket, and I fully intend to make you 'earn' it back with at least three more kisses and a promise to make me crab for dinner."
He pulled back, his usual smirk returning, though it didn't quite reach the raw honesty still swimming in his gaze.
He began to swing your joined hands between you as you resumed your walk, his step light and bouncy.
"And maybe," he added, his eyes twinkling with a fresh spark of mischief, "if you're very, very good, I'll tell you the secret meaning behind the seventeenth paper frog I put on your head."
"There were only five, Dazai."
"Ah! So you were counting! You truly do adore me, my Little Bell!"
As you reach the door to your apartment, the "softness" of the evening settles into a comfortable, domestic glow. Dazai is lingering at the threshold, his hand still holding yours, unwilling to break the contact.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air in the small apartment seemed to thicken.
The streetlights outside filtered through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across the floorboards.
Dazai didn’t move to turn on the lights. Instead, he leaned back against the door, still holding your hand, pulling you gently into the narrow space between his body and the wood.
"Osamu? The lights—"
"Shh," he breathed, his voice a low vibration in the quiet. "The dark suits me better, don't you think? It hides all my rough edges."
But as he pulled you flush against him, there was nothing rough about the way he held you.
His arms wound around your waist, his chin dropping to rest on your shoulder.
He was heavy, letting his full weight lean into you, a physical manifestation of how much he relied on your presence to keep him upright.
"I have a confession, my Little Bell," he whispered into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin with every syllable. "I didn't actually steal your pen because I wanted to play. I stole it because you were looking at the paper with such focus, and I was jealous of a piece of plastic."
You let out a soft huff of laughter, your hands coming up to rest on his forearms, feeling the texture of the bandages beneath his coat. "You were jealous of a pen?"
"I am a very petty man when it comes to your attention," he admitted shamelessly.
He began to nuzzle into your hair, inhaling deeply.
"When you aren't looking at me, I feel like I'm fading out of existence. Like I'm just a ghost haunting the Agency halls. But then you look up, you scold me, you call my name... and suddenly, I have bones. I have a heart. It’s quite an inconvenient feeling."
He shifted, his hands sliding down to find yours again, interlacing your fingers and pinning them gently against the door on either side of your head.
It was a position of dominance, yet his eyes, even in the dim light were swirling with an almost painful tenderness.
"I want to be loved by you," he said, the teasing lilt finally vanishing entirely.
It was a raw, naked truth. "Not just the 'Detective Dazai' who makes jokes. Not just the 'Mister Mystery' of the underworld. I want you to love the part of me that is afraid of the dark. The part that doesn't know what to do with a quiet Saturday morning."
You reached up, freeing one hand to cup his cheek.
His skin was cool, but he melted into your palm, closing his eyes and letting out a shaky sigh. "I already do, Osamu. I love all the versions of you. Even the one who makes paper frogs when I'm trying to work."
Dazai’s eyes snapped open, and for a heartbeat, he looked truly overwhelmed.
Then, the mischief flickered back, a defense mechanism, perhaps, but one laced with genuine heat.
"In that case," he murmured, his face descending toward yours,
"I think I deserve a reward for being so incredibly brave and honest."
He didn't wait for your permission.
He claimed your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly soft. It tasted like longing and bottled-up years of loneliness finally finding a home.
It wasn't the frantic kiss of a fleeting moment; it was the slow, steady burn of a man who intended to stay.
He broke the kiss only to pepper your face with smaller ones on your forehead, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.
He was being "lovey" in the way only Dazai could be: slightly obsessive, incredibly clingy, and utterly devoted.
"Stay right here," he whispered, maneuvering you toward the sofa.
He sat down and pulled you unceremoniously into his lap, wrapping his long limbs around you like a sprawling vine.
He tucked his head under your chin, his arms locking around your middle.
"Dazai, I still have to make dinner," you teased, though you were already melting into his embrace.
"No," he mumbled against your chest, his grip tightening playfully. "No dinner. Only this. I am a starving man, and I require exactly three hours of cuddling to survive the night. It’s medical. Very serious."
You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension bleed out of his frame.
He was a creature of chaos, a man who had seen the worst of humanity, yet here he was, purring like a cat in your arms, yearning for nothing more than the simple warmth of your heartbeat against his.
"Three hours?" you asked, smiling.
"Minimum," he insisted, looking up at you with a cheeky, lopsided grin. "And if you move, I’ll have to start the timer all over again. It’s a very strict rule, Sweetheart."
The night deepens, and the city of Yokohama hums outside the window, but inside, the world has shrunk to the size of a sofa and the sound of two people breathing in sync.
Dazai is finally still, finally at peace, his yearning quieted by the simple reality of you in his arms.
The next morning, the Armed Detective Agency was unusually… quiet.
Usually, the first hour of the day was soundtracked by the rhythmic thwack of Kunikida’s fist hitting his desk and Dazai’s dramatic wailing about the "cruelty of the morning sun."
But today, as you walked through the door, you were met with a sight that made the entire office pause in mid-motion.
Dazai was at his desk.
He wasn't napping.
He wasn't reading his suicide manual.
He was… hum-singing a soft, romantic jazz tune while actually organizing his case files into neat, alphabetical stacks.
The most alarming part? There was a small, delicate flower tucked behind his ear, the same kind that grew in the window box of your apartment.
Kunikida stood frozen by the coffee machine, his glasses sliding down his nose. "He’s been here since 8:00 AM," he whispered as you approached.
"He hasn't complained once. He even offered to help Atsushi with his paperwork. I’m calling the hospital. He’s clearly had a stroke."
"Or a miracle," Ranpo piped up from across the room, leaning back in his chair with a bag of chips.
He glanced at you, then at Dazai, a knowing, cat-like smirk spreading across his face. "Though I think the 'miracle' is currently wearing a slightly wrinkled blazer and trying very hard not to blush."
You felt the heat creep up your neck as you sat down at your desk.
Dazai didn't look up immediately, but the humming grew slightly louder, more melodic.
"Good morning, my Little Bell," he chirped, finally spinning his chair around.
His eyes were bright, devoid of the usual shadows that haunted them in the early hours. "Did you sleep well? I find the air in Yokohama is much sweeter today, don't you think?"
He leaned over, sliding a small, folded piece of paper onto your desk. When you opened it, you found a tiny, perfectly folded paper frog. Inside its "mouth" was a single sentence written in his elegant, loopy script:
I’m still counting the seconds until we can be 'medical' again.
"Dazai!" you hissed, shielding the note from Kunikida’s suspicious gaze.
"What?" Dazai asked, his expression the picture of wide-eyed innocence.
He reached out, his hand lingering just long enough for his pinky to hook around yours under the cover of the desk. "I’m simply being a productive member of society! A man inspired by the beauty of his surroundings!"
"You're being a menace," you whispered, though you couldn't stop the smile from tugging at your lips.
"A menace who wants to know if you're free for lunch," he countered, his voice dropping into that soft, yearning register that was for your ears only.
"I found a place that serves the most mediocre crab, but it has a very private booth in the back. Perfect for… discussing agency policy."
From his desk, Ranpo let out a loud, theatrical groan. "Get a room, you two! Some of us are trying to solve crimes and eat snacks in peace!"
Dazai just laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made the rest of the Agency members exchange bewildered glances. He didn't care.
For the first time in his life, Osamu Dazai didn't mind the audience, because the only person who truly mattered was currently squeezing his hand back under the table.
He leaned back, his mischievous grin softening into something deeply, undeniably lovey.
"Lunch it is, then. Don't be late, Darling. I’m a very impatient man when it comes to my heart."
𓂃⋆.˚ dazai is much softer than people give him credit for, but most of that softness is hidden underneath layers of jokes, deflection, and deliberate nonsense. if you’re dating him, you’ll quickly learn that he rarely says exactly what he’s feeling. instead, he shows it in a hundred small ways that are easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’ll make fun of you constantly, but never in a way that actually hurts. teasing is one of the main ways he shows affection. if he stops teasing you altogether, that’s usually when you should start worrying.
𓂃⋆.˚ he pays attention to everything. absolutely everything. dazai notices details most people would never pick up on, and when it comes to you, that ability becomes even more ridiculous. he’ll remember things you’ve mentioned once in passing months ago and casually bring them up later as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
𓂃⋆.˚ constantly talks nonsense about double s*icide, but he could never actually see you die. his whole existence would shatter into a thousand pieces. now that you’re his soulmate he thinks he’s finally found a reason to live, and although that may sound terrifying to him, he loves the idea of living happily with you.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you tell him your favorite snack, he’ll somehow always have it around. if you mention a place you’ve always wanted to visit, he’ll remember. if you tell him about a childhood memory, don’t be surprised when he references it weeks later.
𓂃⋆.˚ one of the biggest signs that he loves you is that he genuinely listens. dazai spends most of his life pretending not to care about things, but when you’re talking about something important to you, he becomes surprisingly attentive. he’ll ask questions, remember details, and bring the topic back up later because he actually wanted to hear the answer.
𓂃⋆.˚ he loves having you close, although he’d never describe it that way. he’ll casually sit beside you on a couch even when there are plenty of empty seats. he’ll lean against your shoulder while reading. he’ll find excuses to occupy the same space as you without openly admitting that’s what he’s doing.
𓂃⋆.˚ physical affection with him feels natural rather than dramatic. he’ll take your hand while you’re walking and act like he didn’t even think about it. he’ll drape himself across your shoulder while complaining about work. he’ll absentmindedly play with your fingers during conversations without realizing he’s doing it.
𓂃⋆.˚ sometimes you’ll catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re distracted. not in an intense way. more like he’s quietly observing, making sure you’re okay, enjoying the fact that you’re there. the second you notice, he’ll immediately ruin the moment by making some ridiculous joke.
𓂃⋆.˚ despite how playful he is, there are moments where you can see how tired he really is. dazai carries a lot more than he lets people know, and occasionally that exhaustion slips through the cracks. on those days, he tends to stay close to you without necessarily talking much.
𓂃⋆.˚ he doesn’t like being vulnerable. even after falling in love, vulnerability doesn’t suddenly become easy for him. there will be moments where he almost opens up, changes his mind halfway through, and makes a joke instead. learning how to read between the lines becomes part of loving him.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you’re having a bad day, he notices immediately. he might pretend not to at first, but suddenly he’ll start trying much harder to make you smile. he’ll send you stupid messages, show you ridiculous videos, or deliberately act like an idiot just to hear you laugh.
𓂃⋆.˚ dazai understands pain better than most people. because of that, he’s surprisingly gentle when you’re hurting. he won’t force you to talk if you don’t want to. he’ll simply stay with you until you’re ready.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’s the type of person who remembers exactly how you take your coffee, exactly what kind of weather you like, exactly what expression you make when you’re annoyed, and exactly what tone of voice means something is wrong.
𓂃⋆.˚ he loves hearing you laugh. genuinely loves it. there are moments where he’ll stop talking for a second just to watch you smile, and although he’ll immediately cover it with another joke, you can tell it affected him.
𓂃⋆.˚ despite all his flirting, he’s actually much more sincere than people expect when he’s in a real relationship. the flirting becomes less about impressing you and more about making you smile.
𓂃⋆.˚ one of the most intimate things dazai can do is simply be honest. not clever. not manipulative. not performing. just honest. those moments are rare, but when they happen, they mean more than any grand romantic gesture ever could.
𓂃⋆.˚ loving dazai often means realizing that the happiest moments for him aren’t dramatic ones. they’re the quiet moments when you’re sitting together doing absolutely nothing. because after spending so much of his life feeling disconnected from people, having someone whose company genuinely brings him peace is something he treasures more than he’ll ever admit.
port mafia dazai as your boyfriend
𓂃⋆.˚ port mafia dazai is much more difficult to understand. he’s younger, colder, and far more convinced that nobody can truly reach him. if you’re dating him, then somehow you’ve managed to become one of the very few exceptions.
𓂃⋆.˚ unlike agency dazai, he doesn’t openly seek comfort. in fact, he’d probably rather throw himself off a building (literally) than admit he needs emotional support. but he’ll still end up gravitating toward you without realizing it.
𓂃⋆.˚ he spends a lot of time simply being around you. he won’t necessarily explain why. sometimes he’ll sit in the same room while you’re doing something completely unrelated. sometimes he’ll show up unannounced and act as though it was perfectly normal.
𓂃⋆.˚ his version of affection is often hidden inside ordinary moments. he’ll bring you something he knows you like and pretend it wasn’t intentional. he’ll remember details about your schedule. he’ll notice when you’re exhausted and casually suggest that you get some sleep as if the thought had only just occurred to him.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’s still incredibly teasing, but the teasing feels more personal because he pays such close attention to everything about you. unfortunately for you, that means he knows exactly which comments will make you flustered.
𓂃⋆.˚ dazai is frighteningly observant, and when he cares about someone, that observation becomes even more intense. you’ll mention wanting something once and he’ll remember. you’ll casually talk about a childhood memory and months later he’ll reference it out of nowhere.
𓂃⋆.˚ he doesn’t trust people. that’s probably the biggest thing to understand about him. trust is difficult for him even under normal circumstances, and during his mafia years it’s even worse. because of that, every piece of vulnerability he gives you matters.
𓂃⋆.˚ if he falls asleep near you, it means something.
𓂃⋆.˚ if he tells you what’s actually bothering him, it means something.
𓂃⋆.˚ if he lets you see him on one of his bad days instead of disappearing, it means something.
𓂃⋆.˚ he isn’t naturally reassuring with words. if you’re insecure about something, he’s more likely to show his affection through actions than through long emotional conversations.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’ll quietly solve problems for you before you even know they exist. he’ll make things easier without drawing attention to the fact that he’s doing it.
𓂃⋆.˚ there are times when you catch glimpses of how young he actually is beneath everything else. moments where the strategist, the executive, and the terrifying prodigy disappear for a second and he’s just a teenager who looks exhausted. those moments usually happen late at night when neither of you has the energy to pretend anymore.
𓂃⋆.˚ despite how detached he acts, he becomes very attached to the people who genuinely matter to him. he just expresses it differently. instead of asking for attention, he’ll suddenly appear beside you. instead of telling you he missed you, he’ll find some excuse to spend time with you.
𓂃⋆.˚ if someone hurts you, his reaction is honestly a little terrifying. not because he loses control, but because he actually doesn’t. dazai is at his most dangerous when he’s calm. in any case, he’s so scary that you could see him in your nightmares.
𓂃⋆.˚ one thing that stays true across every version of him is that he wants to be understood. he might act like he doesn’t care, but he does. probably more than he should. if you’re one of the few people who sees through the masks and chooses to stay anyway, that becomes something incredibly precious to him.
𓂃⋆.˚ loving port mafia dazai means loving someone who doesn’t really know what to do with being loved back. someone who expects people to leave eventually, who keeps parts of himself locked away, and who constantly acts like nothing affects him. but it also means being loved by someone who notices everything about you, remembers everything you say, and quietly makes space for you in a life where almost nobody else is allowed to get close.
I been a fan of your work for a while . Also I love the way you write keep going also make sure you take care of yourself . Can you please make pm Dazai fluff like when he’s first realizes he’s inlove with someone but just doesn’t know what to do .
GOOD AS NEW — O. DAZAI
"love is such a complicated thing" 𝜗ৎ.
tags / lylas notes: 𝜗ৎ . sfw / # 0.7k / imagine / dazai x reader / in which: dazai osamu experiences what its like to fall for someone like you / jelly is indeed yum-yum < 3 thank you sm for this request; ALSO THANK U FOR THE KIND WORDS, you take care of yourself as well, ❤︎ drink lots and lots of water!! / domestic fluff / port mafia dazai / 18!dazai / comfort / silent realizations / apologies if this is buns , i finished this while being sick :(
he wasn't in love.
he was broken. it's all dazai's ever known — ever felt. life spent walking a tight-rope between life and death, drowning in his own mind and distractions. love was something he's never thought of — thinking it was a waste of time and mentality. at best, it was a passing curiosity — from something between he questions to what he despised.
well, that was the case until he met you. warm, gentle, and heartfelt eyes met with his — a sudden wave of emotions washed through him like a rifle wave, practically silencing him, he was so memorized by you. his eyes fixated on you, even after you looked away or would walk by him — his heart suddenly feeling right, clenching his long black coat tight only proved his point.
he wasn't in love.
the way your hand would brush against his while handing him a book or a drink — growing flushed when you never noticed you never realized half the time. when you spoke to him with such a gentle and soft tone, not what he's used too. he's used to mori's commanding voice or chuuya's loud, obnoxious, screams at him — he liked hearing you talk.
he wasn't in love.
the way you stayed with him as he cried at night — curled up in a ball, clenching the sheets on the bed, your hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. you didn't say a word, letting him sob. your hand soon rubbed left and right across his shoulder blades. you stayed with him until he drifted asleep — that, was the night he realized.
osamu dazai — the port mafias demon prodigy — has fallen in love with you. he takes days to make his final decision, and when he does — he stopped functioning.
his brain would fog up when talking to you, his heart would bump heavy against his chest when he sees you smile or laugh, or how you would get close to him and tend to his wounds and scars.
which is what brought him to where he is now — sitting on top of a balcony of an abandoned building, the yokohama lights bleeding into the night sky, watching you fuss over a small scrape on his hand.
he couldn't stop staring at you. your hands fumbled with the roll of bandages you've kept handy — when you went out with dazai, you would keep a roll with you just in case — maybe you could wrap his heart up back together while your at it.
he watched you wrap the gauze around his hand gently, careful not to scratch him — "you have to be more careful, osamu." you whispered, enjoying the silent moment on the rooftop with it. for once, away from all the mafia drama and toxic life styles — him and you finally getting a moment of peace.
"careful?" he forced a cocky smile, "i hate to break it to you, but my whole charm rests in being reckless," despite his smug response, you kept your serious face — only this time you looked him dead in the eye. eyes speaking much more louder then any scream or cry ever could.
he froze. that's when it hit him. the realization he's been doubting all this time. the questions that rested heavy in his chest these past days — finally answered and it wasn't what you said, or what you did.
it was the way you looked at him. steady, exasperated, and unshaken. no matter how twisted his jokes are or how deep into the dark state of mind he wandered the world with — you saw him.
not a mafia executive, not as the demon prodigy — but as osamu.
his chest tightened, all the overwhelming answers come falling down on him like a pile of bricks. for once he didn't have a clever remark, or a teasy joke to full the silence. he just sat there — stunned, mouth dry, lips parted, the world tilting around him like an uneven hourglass.
you gently tap his wrist, smiling at yourself. "there. good as new," admiring your final knot, the bandage all snug around his palm — dazai looks down at his hand, slowly back up at you.
"you have no idea what you do to me, [name] and i wish i could understand — just why it's you,"
he bows his head down, silently thanking you and you only smile fondly — and for the first in forever.
osamu dazai and no idea what to do.
end notes. yaya two posts in one day — i've been more tired recently (im still sick ... ) so I'm lowkey proud i was able to finish at least two requests today ❤︎ working on others!!
He wonders if he can stay in this moment with you forever. Just a little too much to drink, just a little closer, just a little more touch of vulnerability. This feeling is foreign and Dazai doesn’t know if he can risk this before you will inevitablely be snatched away from him—he doesn’t know if he can risk loving you out loud.
So for now, you’re both sixteen years old and tangled up in a world of violence while your hearts reach out to one another. His bandaged fingers slip between the knots in your hair while your face hides away in the crevasse of his neck and your eyes flutter close for the blessing of twilight.
Dazai is sure, these violent delights have violent ends. Nothing will last forever. His hands are stained forever with the bloodshed under moonlight, yet, he still reaches out to intertwine limbs with yours on a shitty sofa. A small smile creeps upon his cracked lips. Dazai reaches up towards his own face for the first time this evening and pushes the bandages wrapped around his face to the side. Let him admire you closer with his whole heart for a night.
Racing down the dark hallway, your footsteps barely made a sound after years of training in stealth and deception. Only the moon seemed to acknowledge your presence, casting your shadow on the wall every time you passed a window. Contrasting the stillness of the night, your mind raced with questions and confusion.
ılıılı making out with p.m dazai osamu gone wrong
request by: anon (the og request asked for 15-16-year old dazai and reader, but putting ages seems weird especially since they're young, so i just made it port mafia dazai if that makes sense)
dazai, freshly recruited into the port mafia at fourteen, already had a reputation for being dangerous, brilliant... and a massive pain. you, somehow, had the misfortune (or luck?) of catching his interest. maybe it was your wit. maybe it was your style. maybe it was the snake bite piercings he claimed "made you look like you'd bite."
things had escalated - slowly at first. banter turned into flirtation. missions turned into long walks. and eventually (like three years later), behind the secrecy of one of the mafia's quieter corridors, you’d started kissing. like two dumb teenagers in the middle of a literal crime syndicate.
it started off fine. hands on collars. biting smiles. dazai making some offhand joke about how "your lips taste like rebellion." you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him.
the problem came when he tilted his head, just wrong enough for your snake bite piercing to catch on his braces. yes. braces. even the mafia didn’t save you from teenage dental work.
at first, it was just a weird pull. you both paused. blinked. and then- “...are we stuck?” “don’t move-” “i knew your piercings would kill me eventually.”
you tried to back away. he tried to laugh it off. it only made it worse. “great. just great. this is how we die. tangled up like star-crossed idiots-”
in desperation, you sent a message for help. you should’ve gone for anyone else. anyone. but no. somehow, mori ougai, the boss himself, walked in with medical gloves on, like this was a surgical emergency.
the silence in that room could have killed you. “really, dazai-kun?” mori’s voice was delighted, in that creepy, unhinged way of his. “braces and piercings. fascinating.” you, red as a tomato: “please just untangle us.”
it took a full ten minutes, some pliers, and one extremely awkward silence to get free. when it was over, you and dazai both practically launched yourselves to opposite sides of the room, embarrassed beyond saving.
later that night, dazai passed you a note. it read: let’s try again sometime. without the metalwork. p.s. you still looked cute stuck to me.
☆ Mori "acts of service"s his way into a relationship
☆ Morinozuka "Mori" Takashi x reader, 6.2k words
☆ fluff, getting together, cw for mentioned classism, y/n used for reader
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you attempted to drag your soaked form out of the fountain, the cruel giggles of the girls that pushed you in still ringing in your ears even as their yellow skirts disappear from your line of sight. Just your luck, the second week of school and you'd already been identified as a viable bullying victim. Biting your lip to keep the tears at bay, you hauled your bookbag out of the water before stepping out yourself, more worried about keeping its contents intact than the fact that you looked (and felt) half-drowned.
Sinking to your knees on the cobblestone, you cautiously opened up the bag before breathing a sigh of relief. None of your textbooks looked damaged, your notebooks were only a little damp at the edges, and your wallet was still secured inside. You silently sent a thank you up to the universe for giving your past self the idea to splurge on a waterproof bag before the new school year. While you may have had rainy days in mind when you bought it, it apparently being bully-proof was a very welcome bonus. You were already here on scholarship, there was no way you could afford to regularly replace your things. Especially since it looked like you already had a target on your back for the crime of daring to sully Ouran's prestigious halls with your commoner self. Stupid rich brats…
A long shadow fell over you. You cursed under your breath and braced yourself for more abuse, clutching your bookbag to your chest as you lifted your head defiantly. But instead of the mocking visage of a count's daughter or a mogul's son, your gaze met cool grey eyes and an impassive expression. You blinked up at the newcomer, cataloging him from the tips of his spiky black hair to his immaculately polished shoes. He was big, for a lack of a better descriptor. Handsome too, in a cold and stoic sort of way. Though there wasn't so much as a wrinkle in his uniform, he had the glow of someone who had just finished a rigorous round of exercising, the sun glinting off the leftover droplets in his hair from his post-workout shower. The sudden sound of his voice jolted you out of your scrutinizing train of thought.
"Are you alright?" he asked, cocking his head slightly as he looked down at you. His voice rumbled out of his chest and washed over you, the timbre deep and commanding. As though triggered by his question, you quickly became hyperaware of the way the spring wind hit your wet clothing, forcing a series of shivers out of you. Your hair was plastered to your forehead and steadily dripping down your back, and you were certain you were kneeling in your own personal puddle of fountain water. The realization of the sorry sight you presented, especially in comparison to his perfectly kept appearance, had you holding your bag tighter and looking away from him, half-heartedly praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
"Do I look alright?" you ground out, teeth gritted as you pointedly kept your gaze trained away from him. Hopefully he'd get offended and buzz off so you could finally get some space to put your pride back together and start walking home.
Unfortunately, you so rarely get what you wish for.
The tall boy let out a soft "hm" before dropping into a squat, putting the two of you on the same level. The duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder hit the ground with a smack and you internally cringed at the casual carelessness rich people seemed to be prone to. He reached out to touch you before apparently thinking better of it, shifting instead to put himself back into your line of sight. A very petty part of you was tempted to turn your head away from him again, but all things considered he was the nicest person you'd met at this school so far, regardless of how low that bar was.
"That was a silly question. I apologize." That damn voice again. It had a soothing quality that, if anything, annoyed you further. Not only was he born into wealth you probably couldn't even fathom, but he had to look and sound like a dream too? The universe was infinite in its unfairness.
You turned your attention back to him only to notice he was digging around in his bag, his face set in concentration as he searched for…whatever it was he was looking for. You heard the sound of wood knocking on wood as he rummaged through his things (what on earth did he have in there?) Before you could voice any coherent thought or opinion about his actions, fluffy white material filled your vision.
"I know it's not much, but I swear it's clean, and you should dry off as best you can. It wouldn't do for you to fall ill and have to miss school at the beginning of the term." It took all your willpower not to gape and stare at his display of generosity. It was a trick, or a prank, or something. It had to be. No one that went to this school looked like they even knew the meaning of the word compassion. But as a hard gust of wind cut clean through your clothing and chilled you to the bone, you figured you might as well take your chances.
You set aside your bookbag and gently, as if it was a dangerous explosive rigged to blow any moment, you took the towel from his hands. It was soft, softer than you thought a towel had any right to be, and felt heavenly in your hands as you turned it over. A flash of gold caught your eye, and you brought the towel closer to your face to inspect it. On one corner, the letters "MT" were immaculately embroidered in gleaming thread.
"MT?" you repeated aloud, your eyes flicking up to his. "Are those your initials?"
The boy nodded. "Yes. My name is Morinozuka Takashi. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
You huffed, caught somewhere between ebbing irritation and creeping amusement. "Well you're certainly the first person to feel that way, at least among your peers." You lifted the towel to your hair, deciding to do something about the small river carving a valley down your back. Mori moved from a squat to a sit, clearly thinking nothing of the possibility that the ground might dirty his uniform. He waited patiently as you methodically dried off, the relief of going from dripping to just damp clearly evident on your face. Once you were done you made eye contact with him, a grateful smile gracing your features.
"Thank you, Morinozuka. I'll wash this and return it to you as soon as I can, I promise." The look in your eyes was earnest, but he waved a hand at you as if to dispel the notion.
"You can call me Mori. Also don't bother yourself. You can keep that one, I've got plenty."
"What? No, I couldn't possibly-"
"I insist."
"Well I insist on paying you back somehow. I don't like owing people, and it's obvious you've done me a pretty big solid here. So, say what you want and if it's within my power and my budget I'll make it happen."
Mori cracked a smile at that, small but genuine, and you realized with a mix of delight and horror that the expression only made him more handsome. "Well, I'll have to take some time to think of something I want that you can provide, but to start I'd like to know your name as well."
You nodded, figuring it was only proper that the two of you be actually introduced. "It's Y/N."
He cocked his head again. "And that's your given name?"
"Yes."
"What's your family name?"
"Does it matter? It's not attached to any titles."
"Of course it matters. Not being wealthy doesn't make you undeserving of respect."
It's stupid, really. The sentence was objectively true, baby's first lesson in class consciousness. It was the barest of minimums. But after two weeks of being surrounded by droves of people who genuinely believed that the circumstances of their births made them deserving of special treatment and gave them permission to trample over the less fortunate for their amusement, it didn't feel like a given. It was grounding to hear this boy, dressed in clothes that probably cost more than both your parents would make in a month, easily and freely admit that he wasn't more important than you because of his last name. Reminded you that a whole world existed beyond Ouran's gilded walls, and when the year was up and you'd served your time the real world would be ready to rescue you from this cherry blossom fever dream.
"Alright then. It's L/N." The smile you gave him was soft, and it only grew as you heard him repeat after you, the syllables of your name rolling around his mouth.
"So you're the new third year transfer everyone is talking about?" he asked, his eyes glimmering with interest. "The whole class is still buzzing with the news of this year's scholarship winners." You tried not to grimace at the thought of the entire third year class talking about you behind your back, but you must not have been very successful if the way Mori's expression turned sympathetic was anything to go by.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sure it's been a difficult adjustment for you."
"Difficult is putting it mildly." You blew out a shaky breath, trying to focus on the way the late afternoon sun filtered through the jet black strands of Mori's hair and not on your own complicated feelings about your enrollment. "When we got the results of our end of year exams from my second year, I was second overall. The person that beat me had also nailed the Ouran scholarship, which was fine by me, really. But then it came out that they had cheated on the exams and their scores were nullified, making me top of the class. I'm still not entirely sure why I inherited their scholarship as well as their rank. Maybe the board of directors was feeling particularly philanthropic that day, who knows. What matters is me and my folks realized there's no better shining star on a resume than a diploma from this place, so we got our paperwork in order and I was shipped here. I feel like I should be grateful that such an incredible windfall came my way, but now I'm in a school where I can't even afford the uniform and I feel like a fish in the desert."
Mori nodded as you concluded your mini-speech. "I won't say I understand where you're coming from, because it would do your feelings a disservice for me to pretend our backgrounds are similar. But I do know that you earned your position here, and you shouldn't let anyone tell you otherwise." Mori lifted himself from the ground at last, slinging his duffel bag back over his shoulders before offering a hand to help you up as well. You hesitated for a moment, but the sincerity in his gaze banished any of your lingering doubt. You placed the gifted towel in your bag before slipping it on and ran a quick hand over your clothes, trying to return to as presentable a state as possible. Then you reached up and took his hand.
Your palm was smaller than his, and the warmth of him began to leech into you almost immediately. You stifled a soft yelp as he hauled you up with shocking ease, bringing you to a standing position with very little work on your part. Almost desperate to keep what was left of your dignity intact, you moved to extract your hand, but he held you firm. The quizzical look you shot him was countered by another one of his small smiles.
"L/N, I believe I've changed my mind. I would like to cash in that favor now." Your eyes widened slightly at his admission, but you gestured at him to continue. "I want you to call me Takashi."
You couldn't fight back the laugh that burst out of you then. A single clear sound that echoed through the courtyard before you slapped a hand over your mouth, though your eyes still crinkled with mirth. Mori waited patiently for your outburst to die down, the smile never leaving his face.
"Really?" you managed to say at last. "That's all you want?"
A nod. "That's all."
Your smile then was the largest yet, pure and unrestrained. "Okay. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. From this day forward, you're Takashi and I'm Y/N."
"You'd let me use your given name as well?"
"Why not? It might be presumptious of me, but I think we're friendly enough, no?"
Something unreadable flashed in his eyes before they returned to a neutral state. "Yes, I'd say we are."
Mori walked with you to the gate of the school, even going so far as to offer to call a driver to take you home, but you insisted that you'd encroached on his kindness enough for one day. You walked home that day with a warm feeling in your chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun.
Whoever your guardian angel was, that son of a bitch was a real slacker.
You gazed forlornly through the library window at the downpour outside, which had already been raging for hours and showed no signs of letting up soon. The forecast for the day had been clear, sunny skies, so like any sane person you'd left your umbrella at home. Well, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, the weatherman was a good for nothing liar, and the weather had taken a sharp turn right before classes let out for the day. Most of the student population had simply hurried to their limos and sped off to spend the rest of the rainy day in their heated homes, but your only mode of transportation to and from school happened to be your own two legs. It wasn't even as though you lived far away, but the 20 minute walk looked deeply unappealing as the rain fell in thick, gray sheets.
You had hoped to wait it out by getting some extra studying in, but nearly two hours later you were out of homework and the storm still raged on. Groaning, you slammed your books shut and started packing your things, resigned to putting on your big girl pants and trying not to eat shit as you sprinted home.
Preoccupied with your own misery as you left the library, you rounded a corner and walked face first into a solid wall. You barely managed to avoid being knocked on your ass, stumbling back a couple of steps and cursing as you rubbed at your nose. You looked up to shoot a petty glare at the offending object only to realize what you'd mistaken for a part of the building was actually a human being, and a very specific one at that.
Mori was standing before you, looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and concern. He had his familiar duffel bag over one shoulder, and a large umbrella in his left hand. You immediately felt butterflies (and a touch of envy) erupt in your stomach, even as mortification began to creep up your spine.
Unfortunately for your blooming crush newfound friendship, the fact that you'd caught Mori alone that afternoon was nothing short of a miracle. During school hours him and his cousin were attached at the hip, not to mention his dedicated gaggle of fangirls that wouldn't dream of letting you anywhere near him. The Host Club (which you'd been shocked to discover he was a member of) kept his afternoons full as well. The most you had managed to squeeze from him in 3 weeks were a few smiles and nods before and after class, so having his full attention again was a delightfully overwhelming sensation. You scrambled to straighten out your clothes and hair and make yourself look like you hadn't just been moping about in the library for hours.
"Takashi! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" You said, trying to inject some cheer into your voice as you apologized. Mori shook his head and took a step closer to you.
"Please, the fault is mine. I should have been more aware. I must admit though, it's good to see you again Y/N."
Ohhh he was trying to kill you. He was on a mission to make you spontaneously combust. You let out a nervous chuckle and looked away, praying he wouldn't pick up on how out of sorts you felt. "We see each other in class every day, don't we?"
"Yes, but we haven't had a chance to truly speak with each other. I've found myself missing your presence."
A 20 minute interaction 3 weeks ago and he was missing you? Maybe your guardian angel needed a raise after all. Not trusting yourself to respond without saying something crazy, you turned your attention instead to the rain still battering the school's windows, a frown returning to your features as you were reminded of your predicament. Following your gaze, Mori's eyes darted to the window, then back to you.
"Are you planning on walking home in such heavy rain?" Mori asked, his brows furrowed slightly. You heaved a sigh.
"I don't exactly have a wealth of choices. Of all days not to bring my umbrella…"
Mori seemed to make up his mind then, and held out his umbrella to you. But before he could open his mouth to verbally offer it, you beat him to the punch.
"No. Absolutely not. I refuse to let you inconvenience yourself for me a second time. Keep your umbrella."
"I can't let you walk home unprotected in this weather."
"I don't want to be your charity case, Takashi."
His lips quirked down into a small frown and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, his grip on the umbrella tightening. After a few seconds of obvious inner turmoil, he ironed out his expression and fixed you with a piercing stare.
"At the very least, let me walk you home." It wasn't a request, if anything it was a demand. You wondered if he was capable of selfishness at all.
Just as you opened your mouth to deny him, a loud clap of thunder rang out that you swore made the building shake a little. You glanced at the window, then at his umbrella, and the protest died in your throat.
You sighed and adjusted the strap on your bookbag. "Okay. I can see there's no use trying to change your mind. Just, I don't know, don't get your hopes up about the state of my house."
Relief flashed over Mori's features. He followed you as you began making your way towards the school's entrace, perfectly matching his long stride to your pace.
"To be honest," he said, his tone contemplative, "I don't think I would care if you lived in a shack under a bridge. Nothing could make me look down on you."
You could feel a prickling heat creep up your cheeks. Was it the Host Club that taught him to drop compliments as easily as drawing breaths? He never even seemed remotely fazed by anything that came out of him mouth, no matter how flustered it made you.
The two of you stepped outside, Mori's sturdy umbrella already up and shielding you from the downpour. It took a bit of maneuvering to keep you both dry, considering the height difference and the fact you had to walk a half step ahead to lead him to your home, but soon the two of you fell into a good rhythm.
"Do you live very far?" Mori asked, eyes taking in a part of town he'd either never seen or only noted in passing as his driver sped him off to more important locations. You shook your head, chancing a look back at him.
"No, it's only about 20 minutes from the school, plus we're basically halfway anyway so we should get there soon." He nodded at your response and adjusted his hold on the umbrella, stepping a little closer to you in the process. You tried to ignore the shiver that ran through you at the proximity.
"You know, Takashi," you began, fidgeting with your bag strap to give your hands something to do. "it feels like you're always saving me from water based situations." A nervous giggle left your mouth as you glanced sideways at him. He let out a hard exhale and his mouth twitched up, but it was more than enough to send your stomach's resident butterflies into a frenzy.
"Maybe you angered a water spirit in your past life, and now I have to rescue you from its wrath." His tone was even, but the mirth in his eyes as he glanced at you was clear as day. You rewarded his efforts with a soft laugh and a smile, and your heart sped up as he mirrored your expression.
True to your word, it wasn't long until the two of you came upon your street. You pointed out which house was yours and Mori dutifully walked you to it, not dropping the umbrella until you were both safe under the shade of your covered porch. You were suddenly extremely grateful that your father had insisted on a more western look for your home.
"I really can't thank you enough for this, Takashi. It would've been miserable trying to get home on my own." Mori nodded, accepting your thanks with humble grace.
"It was nothing, truly. Like I said, I enjoy your company." The heat again. You busied yourself with fishing your keys out of your bag and unlocking the door, hoping to hide your flustered expression from his view. Once the door was open, you looked back at him.
"Aren't you going to call your driver to come get you?"
He nodded again and reached into his pocket to grab his phone. You gave him the exact address to relay to his chauffeur before moving to head inside. You were halfway over the threshold before you noticed he wasn't following and turned back to look at him. He was standing where you'd left him and staring at your retreating form, rigid as a statue.
"Takashi," you called out, trying to shake him from his weird trance. "It's cold out here. You should come in while you wait for the car to arrive."
Mori's mouth thinned, and you swore his cheeks were dusted with pink. "Is that…I mean, your parents aren't home. It wouldn't be proper."
You would've laughed if he didn't look so serious. "My folks are doctors, they're never home. Besides, it's only for a little while. You're not going to try anything, right?"
His eyes widened at your implication and the pink turned to a deeper red. "I would never!"
"Then there's no issue. Come on, I can make us some tea." You gestured for him to join you, but he simply stayed rooted where he was.
"It wouldn't be proper," he repeated, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. With a sigh, you closed the door and moved to stand close to him.
"If you're going to wait outside, I'll wait with you. You're on my property which makes me the host, and my mom would have my head if she found out I left a guest out in the cold."
"You don't need to."
"I want to."
For a long moment, Mori just stared at you. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, the blush on his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears. Eventually, he seemed to resign himself to your stubbornness. He dropped his bag on the floor, shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the outer wall of your home. He turned his face away from you, content to kill time by watching the rain fall.
He looked ethereal with the glow of the streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement and onto his skin, his hair slightly damp from a few miscalculations with the umbrella. You were momentarily seized by a longing so great it was almost terrifying, crawling up from your stomach to shove aside your lungs and nestle itself next to your heart. Before your brain could catch up to the whims of your body, you had already closed the distance between you and him. His gaze snapped to yours, and the gentle heave of his chest stopped. His gray eyes looked almost black, twin singularities ready to consume you whole. Slowly, you brought your hand up to tug at his unbuttoned blazer, and before you could blink he was off the wall and on you.
His perpetually warm palms cradled your face with heartrending gentleness as he curled around you, his large frame occupying your every sense. One hand was fisted in his jacket, the other grasped at his shirt. His earthy cologne filled your nose, and his breaths sounded louder than any thunder. His eyes bored into you, pinning you, dissecting you, picking apart everything you were and had ever been. Then he glanced down at your lips and you were gone.
You couldn't say with certainty whether you initiated the kiss or he did, but in the end it was a pointless line of questioning as both parties were eager participants. His mouth slotted against yours like it was meant to be there, and your lips moved against his like they were made to do so. One of his hands slipped from your cheek to hold the back of your neck, and it only served to melt your brain further.
Just as your lips parted to deepen the kiss, the rumble of an engine startled you both out of the solitary bubble you had created. A sleek Cadillac rolled down your street, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who it belonged to. Mori let out out a disappointed huff as he disentangled from you, his features lined with reluctance as he straightened out his clothing and hefted his bag over his shoulder once more. The car rolled to a stop in front of your house and you silently cursed the driver. Was a spontaneous road blockade too much to ask for?
You turned back to the boy in front of you, wondering briefly if he would stay the night if you begged. Before your frazzled mind could put any half-baked plans into action, Mori was squeezing your shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face.
He leaned down to murmur softly in your ear. "I'll see you at school," he said before moving past you, down the porch steps and into the car. You watched the driver rev the engine and peel out of your neighborhood, your eyes glued to the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner. Groaning, you scrubbed a hand over your face as you turned to head into your own home. It was going to be a long weekend.
You had practically skipped into school Monday morning, eager to see Mori again after the weekend had dragged by. But he wouldn't meet your eye when you walked into class, and he was noticeably absent from all the places the two of you usually crossed paths. No matter what you tried you couldn't get even a shred of recognition from him, much less catch him alone. Confusion, anger, and more than a little hurt bubbled up in you at his blatant avoidance. Did you do something? Had he gotten cold feet? The uncertainty made your stomach churn and kept you up at night, mind racing with possibilities. Each conjured scenario was more heartbreaking than the last and the speculation only served to make you feel even worse.
By Friday your patience was on its last leg. You resolved to get to the bottom of this one way or another, for the sake of your peace of mind if nothing else. A part of you wanted to have faith in him, to extend him the benefit of a doubt and believe there was a totally benign reason for his odd behavior. The rest of you was rooted in reality.
One of your mother's patients had gifted her a voucher for a high end boutique that she had immediately passed on to you, insisting that a young lady should update her wardrobe at every opportunity. The district the shop was located in was far outside your usual stomping ground (and usual budget) but the weather was good and your Saturday afternoon was free, so you reasoned you might as well embrace the distraction.
As if your frustration had pierced the heavens and sent a message straight to the universe, you got off the bus and immediately caught sight of a familiar duffel bag and head of spiky black hair. He was dressed casually, sporting only a black tank top and athletic pants, but the height was unmistakable. He had his back was to you as he made a beeline for what you assumed was the kendo dojo you had spotted on the way here, but you'd be damned if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers.
The shopping trip long forgotten, you channeled a week's worth of irritation into your legs and ran him down, all but throwing yourself in his path. As predicted, his well-trained reflexes kicked in and he skid to a stop to avoid the sudden appearance of an obstacle in his path, giving you the chance to watch his face morph from confusion to dread in real time.
The way guilt painted every inch of Mori's features, one would think he was on trial for murder. The way anger painted every inch of yours only served to lend credibility to that assumption.
"We meet again at last. Were you banking on avoiding me forever, Takashi?" Despite the sour taste his name left in your mouth, you couldn't muster any real animosity towards him. All you had to draw from was a deep well of hurt, one you hoped this conversation would get rid of, one way or another.
Mori's grip on his bag tightened and his eyes darted between you and the rest of the sidewalk, as if considering whether to just sidestep you and continue on. You would hardly be an obstacle if he was really intent on getting past you. But he remained rooted in place, his voice low and resigned as he spoke.
"It's good to see you, Y/N." The nerve of him to say that while he refused to focus on you, his dark eyes looking at everything but your form right in front of him, stoked the fires of your righteous fury.
"Oh I'm sure. Tell me, what did you win?"
Mori's face morphed back to confusion, and he finally settled his gaze upon you. "Win? What do you mean?"
"Come on, Takashi, it's not my first day on Earth and it certainly isn't my first day dealing with immature boys. It was a bet right? 'Win the heart of the transfer and win a magnificent prize!', something like that, yes? Well I want to know what the prize was!" You couldn't quite discern the emotion on his face, but it looked vaguely like horror.
"It wasn't…I wouldn't…there was no bet."
"Oh so you ditched me all on your own, then? Even fucking better." You could feel the telltale tightness in your chest and pressure in your eyes that signaled an oncoming crying fit, but you suppressed it with all your might. You wouldn't shed tears for him. At least, not in front of him.
Mori took a half step forwards, the hand not holding his bag extended slightly, like he was fighting the urge to touch you. "Y/N, it's not like that, I swear. Please let me explain."
You crossed your arms and held your ground. "I'm listening. Prove that you weren't trying to make a fool out of me."
Mori inhaled deeply before letting it out long and slow. He ran a hand through his unruly locks and you really should've received a Medal of Honor for holding yourself back as the movement caused his arms to flex sinfully.
"I…I'm sorry, first and foremost. I was selfish. I was so caught up in my own emotions that I failed to consider how my shortcomings would affect you. It pains me to have caused you pain. Please forgive me." He bowed his head to you, and the genuine hurt in his voice gave you pause. He certainly didn't sound like someone who had masterminded a plan to embarass you, but you'd withhold judgement until his reasons were revealed. You silently gestured for him to continue and he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"To make it simple I was…" He trailed off and took another deep breath, gearing himself up to confess what had been weighing on him. "I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of my feelings towards you. When I first saw you, sitting by that fountain, I thought you were beautiful, but it wasn't deeper than that. At least, I convinced myself it wasn't. But after our conversation, I found myself thinking of you constantly. As a host I interact with pretty girls every day, but their smiles never affected me like yours had. I treasured every interaction between us, no matter how small. And then last week, the fact that you trusted me to get you home safely, being so close to you…I was besides myself. I acted…irrationally."
"Do you regret it?" You asked, almost scared to hear the answer.
"No." His answer was quick and firm, leaving no room for doubt or second thought. Your heart fluttered in your chest. "No I don't, but I think that's what scared me so much. I'm not accustomed to wanting things. I know that sounds callous, but I'm being literal. I've never had a great deal of wishes or desires. I believed I was entirely content with what I had." His hands moved to rest on your shoulders, and you didn't move to stop him. You barely dared to breathe.
"I was wrong. Y/N, I was so wrong. I want you with everything I am. I know you have every right to be upset with me after my behavior this week, but if you give me the chance I'll make it up to you tenfold for as long as you'll have me."
You didn't think. In truth, your mind had been blank from the moment he said he wanted you. You gazed at his face, his perfect, handsome face, carved from stone and glowing in the afternoon sun, and your body moved on pure instinct. You cupped his face and pressed your lips into his.
The kiss was softer than the first, but no less sweet. Vaguely you registered his arms wrapping around you, drawing you into him. He pulled away much earlier than you would have liked, but the smile on his face soothed your disappointment.
"I assume I'm forgiven?" He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. You snorted and lightly smacked his bicep, though made no move to exit his embrace.
"Yeah, yeah, you're off the hook. Also, have you ever considered writing romance novels?"
A sharp exhale. "You think I could?"
"You have a gift, my dear."
He chuckled and, to your dismay, extracted his form from yours. He grabbed his bag from where it had fallen (when had he dropped it? You had no clue) and glanced at the nearby dojo.
"As much as I loathe to leave you, I do have a prior engagement." You frowned, more than a little reluctant to part so soon after learning your feelings were returned. Then, a lightbulb moment.
You reached into your back pocket and dug out the voucher. You gave Mori a glowing smile and batted your eyelashes, waving the coupon like it was the winning lottery ticket.
"You could go. I won't stop you. But there will be more kendo practices in the future. I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime here."
He quirked an eyebrow. "The chance to do what, exactly?"
"The chance to take your girlfriend shopping and pick out my outfit for our first date."
You could just barely hear his sharp inhale but it had you suppressing a smirk all the same. Hook, line, and sinker.
His eyes darted back to the dojo, then to you again, and you could tell his mind was made up. You extended your hand to him and he took it without a moment's hesitation. The grin you flashed him as you began to tug him in the direction of the boutique was near blinding.
"And what exactly are we doing on this first date, dearest?" He asked, matching your pace easily. You shrugged.
"I figured we could plan it on the way."
He laughed and intertwined your fingers with his, and the warmth that bloomed in you had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
aren’t you lovely? | closeted-trans!jax x fem!reader
a sequel to ‘if i was a worm’, can be read as a standalone
ao3.
masterlist.
pairing: closeted-trans!jax × fem!reader
divider credit: @steviebbboi
summary: “Whattya think?”
He felt her lean back in his lap, voice lifting to her regular volume, making space for him to find his reflection in the vanity behind her.
His eyes opened slowly.
“I look…” Absentmindedly, he relinquished his hold on one of her sides, gloved hands lifting to prod as the underside of his eye, watching with twisting lips and an arching brow at the slight pull at his skin served only to make the shimmering pinks of his eyelids glitter more. “Stupid.”
wc: 2.4k
Jax was almost certain that he was holding his breath.
Because he wasn’t sure how else to explain the slight burn in his lungs. Or the nervous thrum echoing through his veins. Or the feckless twitch of his fingers against the loose fabric of his lover’s blouse.
Not because of the familiar weight of the doe straddling his lap and pressing her chest to his as she leaned just a little closer, attention warped solely around the careful ministrations of her hands.
He’d gotten used to that.
They’d been closer, with fewer layers of clothing between them.
What he wasn’t used to, however, was the strange tickle of feathery brushes sweeping over his closed eyelids, leaving sparkling trails of colorful eyeshadow in their wake. Nor the wet drag of a wand of eyeliner gliding across the crease of his eye, or the careful press of faux lashes to his skin.
She hadn’t said much since she’d started. Just request that he tilt his head a certain way. Or relax his bones when she felt his hands dig a little too hard between her ribs. Or proffer narrating compliments and coos every so often.
Each one only served to light that sparking nervousness burning in his chest a little brighter.
Because she could be lying. She could be playing the long game and toying with his heart and feigning admiration for the deconstruction of his masculinity.
He knew she wasn’t.
It didn’t make his heart beat any slower.
“Whattya think?”
He felt her lean back in his lap, voice lifting to her regular volume, making space for him to find his reflection in the vanity behind her.
His eyes opened slowly.
And he couldn’t admit if the gradualism was out of habit. Or of the dawning realization that as soon as he did, as soon as his eyes slid open and he was instantly met with the sight of his own visage reflected back at him, he wouldn’t be able to erase the reality that he’d let somebody apply femininity to his face. That he’d let somebody see him donned in glitter and powders.
He could feel her eyes on him, so open and earnest and hopeful, affixed to his shifting expression as he leaned forward and let the glow of her vanity lights illuminate his dubious visage. They caught in the newly applied powders canvassing the space above his eyes, shimmering innocently with every slight turn and tilt of his head.
Jax felt something twist inside of him, something cold and mean and burrowed deep in his nerves. Something that plucked at his heartstrings with cruel intentions, urging his hands to halt in their nervous twitching against the doe’s torso and instead push her away. To rub and claw at his face until it was rid of the glittering dust and drying eyeliner and carefully applied little lashes.
He swallowed tightly, letting his grip on her shirt curl a little tighter as his feet dragged against the ground, rolling the chair she’d pushed him into close enough to the mirror that there was no denying what was being reflected back at him.
Jax felt something else twinge inside of him, something warm and shattered and buried in the deepest crevices of his heart. She hadn’t touched his cheeks yet, or anything below his eyes, but his face was still aglow with blooming warmth and brightening shades of pink.
“I look…” Absentmindedly, he relinquished his hold on one of her sides, gloved hands lifting to prod at the underside of his eye, watching with twisting lips and an arching brow as the slight pull at his skin served only to make the shimmering pinks of his eyelids glitter more. “Stupid.”
“Don’t be rude. I haven’t done this in years,” she countered his deprecation almost immediately, swatting at his nose with the plume of her brush. “You look great.”
His pulse jumped.
He slumped back against the chair, knowing it was a losing battle to even attempt to dissuade her compliments. His knee bounced rhythmically, eyes cast to the side and arms crossing over his chest as the doe stretched back to retire the equipment she’d used on his eyes. “I’m not going out like this.”
“You don’t have to,” she assured, hands blindly patting down the flat of the vanity behind her in search of a particular set of tubes. With her free hand, she slipped her fingers behind the hem of his overalls pocket, fishing out the plastic bottle she’d stowed away for quick access should he have freaked out. Should he need to know it was there if he needed it. “That’s what makeup remover is for.”
She shook the bottle demonstrably, with every intent to flick the lid open if he asked her to.
She found herself just as surprised as the rabbit was when his hand latched onto her wrist, pushing the offending jostling liquid away from him. Almost instinctual, like a panicked resort.
Jax released his grip, hand hovering over her forearm like he’d been stung by a hot plate.
“So, how’s it feel?” She emphasized, brushing past the reflexive urge to push the liquified eraser away from his visage, smug expression tilting as she slipped the makeup remover back into his pocket.
“I- I don’t know,” he stuttered, eyes flitting between her nearing visage and anything else, hands grasping at the air, as if anticipating the physical manifestation of an apt description. He settled a repeated utterance of the word “Stupid.”
“It’s new. Everybody feels stupid the first time,” she shrugged, so causal and easy, like it wasn’t a big deal, searching hand finding the row of laid-out glassy tubes and snatching them up. Her fingertips slipped under the front of his overalls, using the lax grip to pull herself back into an upright seated position. She let out a breathy sigh, shoulders loosening as she produced the fruits of her searching with an eager grin and a twinkle in her eyes. “You wanna try lip gloss?”
“I…” He faltered, gaze darting between the assortment of colored tubes and the deer’s expectant face.
Pink, red, glittery, girly.
He could say no. He could tell her to fuck off. Without censorship too.
His knee bounced rhythmically, nervous energy bubbling beneath his skin and assimilating into his joints before he muttered out the side of his mouth, all shy and dodging; “You pick.”
She hummed at his slow acquiescence, dutifully plucking one of the more subtle colors, ensuring that there was a little bit of shimmer before she proffered a playful; “Wanna match?”
“Sure,” he murmured back at her, gaze downturned and avoidant, even as a wet pop prologued the gentle swipe of a spongy wand against his mouth. He kept his eyes fixed to the side, stubborn in his refusal to bear witness to any step in this transformation she was conducting at his behest.
It was only when the tentative weight of the applicator retreated from his lips, when she pursed her lips and encouraged him to do the same, when she murmured an airy ‘there ya go’, when she cupped his face between her two hands and turned his head until he had no choice but to find her eyes, did he let his gaze wander up.
And, as soon as wide, squared pupils met soft, round ones, he was rewarded with a gentle whisper of; “You look lovely.”
Jax’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, flustered heat igniting across his cheekbones with a renewed vigor. His ears twitched around the adulation. Because she’d said it so quietly, whispered into the inches between their mouths, meant only for him and so undeniably earnest that it made his heart squeeze and stutter.
He felt a familiar itch tickle behind his eyes, one that he blinked away with a dismissive click of his tongue, reflex goading him into an attempt at humor; “I thought we were supposed to ma-“
She swallowed his complaint with a chaste press of her lips to his, bare lips slotting over shimmering ones. It commenced in a familiar melt of mouths and an affectionately foreign transference of rouge and lacquer, in a habitual roam of hands, of fingertips tracing intimately familiar outlines and pulling warm bodies just a little closer.
Slow and belated, seconds after she’d pulled away, Jax’s eyes fluttered open. Lips tingling with the lingering feeling of her mouth on his, his gaze flitted down to the mouth he’d developed a frightening gravitation for in the months since that same mouth had uttered quiet and desperate assurances under the scarlet glow of a lonesome lamppost. Since she’d pulled him from the dregs of abstraction and back into the harsh realities of digital eternity with nothing more than whispers of irrevocable adoration and a promise to torment him with teasing words and playful barbs.
He felt it when his pupils squared and blew, when the dim lighting of her bedroom caught in an enticing twinkle across her lips, shimmering more when her mouth twisted into a crooked grin.
“There we go. Matching,” she murmured against his lips, relinquishing the careful hold her thumb and forefinger had on his chin, the edge of her thumb grazing the smallest imperfection tarnishing the skin at the corner of his mouth. “Smudges and all.”
He hummed distantly, eyes drifting from the enticing, glittering frame of her mouth to the bare skin of her cheeks. To the slight crinkles at the corners of her eyes, eyes that were occupied with watching intently as her thumb nudged at the bottom edge of his lips, fixing the gloss and perfecting the outline of his mouth.
“You missed a spot,” he blurted, softened expression smoothing into something wry and warped with playful malice.
Her brow arched and her mouth opened to question his critical assertion, unwittingly tilting her head in to Jax’s waiting palm. He sandwiched her head between his two hands, holding her captive as he hauled her face into his and peppered her face with a sticky, glittering smatter of kisses.
From the corners of her eyes to the flushed curve of her cheekbones, he dragged his mouth and bestowed a flutter of open-mouthed presses to her skin. He left behind a messy patchwork of lip gloss marks and smudging expressions of affection, lips wobbling in a losing battle against a stretching grin when he felt the doe his lap start to whine and writhe against his ceaseless painting of her skin.
“Ugh, Jax!” She exclaimed, recoiling from his incessant mouth with a sharp downturned twist of her expression, lips pulled into a pouty moue as her knuckles nudged at her cheekbones in a vain attempt to wipe away the residual stickiness coating her skin. She grunted at him, brows dipping low over narrowed eyes. “My face is sticky now.”
“I can make it stickier,” he countered, quick and teasing, brows jumping and voice lowered as his lids dipped and his grin sharpened into a coy smirk, peering up at her from beneath his newly acquired lashes.
He watched with squared pupils and an arrogant grin as her face fell and color erupted across the curve of her cheekbones behind the faded and smudged remnants of his kisses, shoulders lifting with the rumble of a devilish snicker at her expense. One that was interrupted and muffled by familiar hands overlapping over his open mouth, shoving his face away from her burning expression with an eepish condemnation of his suggestive remark; “Ew!”
The edges of his eyes crinkled as his laugh remained harbored beyond the stifling press of her palms. He tilted his head back to detach the firm touch of her hands.
And she let him, compromising the loss of contract by poking at the center of his forehead with a chastising frown and a pouty; “We were having a moment.”
“Moment’s gone,” Jax needled back at her with a dismissive bend of his wrist. He cocked his head to the side as gloved fingertips skittered along familiar curves before they settled into a reflexive squeeze over her ribs. And, with a sharpened grin and careful hands, he let his knees part, slim thighs sliding open and jostling the doe in his lap.
His hold on her torso kept her from tilting out of his lap and into a heap on the floor. But he did nothing to steady her, nothing to impede on the mean little chuckle that left him when her hands latched onto his shoulders in a desperate bid to keep herself upright. And, when she glared up at him, all wide-eyed and disgruntled, Jax could only respond with a coy tilt of his head and an impish grin, jerking his head in the direction of the space between his legs. “So, you gonna get on your knees, or what?”
She recovered from the inconsiderate overhaul of her balance as quickly as it took for her surprised expression to settle into something flat and playfully exasperated, readjusting the placement of her knees, thighs closing either side of the rabbit’s before she let her weight settle on him fully.
His expression didn’t shift at the intentional loss of space between them. Still so arrogant, and so outwardly certain, fingers furling just a little tighter in the fabric of her blouse.
But he couldn’t hide the cartoonish bloom of pink that dusted across his cheeks.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she warned, eyes narrowed and lips twitching in a losing battle against a wry smile. Her fingers curled a little tighter around his shoulders, guiding him into a backward push until his spine was aligned with the plush material of her chair’s backrest.
It was only once he had nowhere to go and nowhere to look aside from the lidded expression inching closer to his own, only when his eyes were fixed on the face backlit and haloed by the heavenly glow of her vanity lights, did she relinquish her hold on his shoulders.
Her hands ventured in differing directions.
One floated over the curve of his shoulder until her fingertips brushed the denim straps of his overalls, gliding over stitches and buttons until her fingers could slip under the upper edge of the garment. Her other hand charted the familiar terrain of his throat, until her fingers found the underside of his chin and she could tip his head back just enough so that her mouth hovered over his.
She fisted the material in her hand, just enough to halt his wordless attempt to close the space between their mouths, lips grazing over the glittering outline of the bunny’s as she murmured into his mouth with a teasing lilt of tone; “Or I’ll tell Caine you’re acting out and get him to neuter you again.”
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masterlist.
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origamiaround
gamechangershow
titsay
stormborns
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
romaincrisis
