Eventual Smut - Blog Posts

tethered in red - dazai x reader

bound by a deepening obsession, the story follows a mission gone wrong—an ambush laced with betrayal, bloodshed, and the terrifying possibility of loss. as the world around you burns, dazai holds you like it’s the last time—loving you with a desperation only born from death. its raw. its unhinged. its the kind of love that destroys and saves at the same time.

warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic violence,injury, blood, obsessive love, breakdowns, nsfw, angst, betrayal, possessiveness, mentions of death.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

the cigarette between chuuyas fingers burned low, the ash hanging off the end like a whisper away from collapse. you were sitting on a rooftop just outside the port mafias southern compound, the wind stirring strands of your hair across your face, the dying sun bleeding out behind the yokohama skyline.

your back ached. your ribs were still sore from last week’s assignment. but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

it was him.

dazai sat beside you on the ledge, one leg dangling, the other pulled to his chest, his chin resting atop it. his eyes were fixed on the city, but you knew he wasn’t seeing it. he was far away. somewhere in the dark, fucked-up parts of his mind that not even you were allowed to follow.

chuuya flicked the ash off his cigarette, exhaling a long drag. “he’s been like that since yesterday,” he muttered, nodding toward dazai. “ever since Mori called you in.”

your stomach twisted. you knew the pattern. the summons. the silence. dazai always shut down right before something bad.

you reached for him anyway.

“osamu.”

his eyes didn’t move. but he answered.

“hmm?”

“is something wrong?"

a pause.

and then, softly, “no.”

⸻

the elevator to moris private chambers always felt like a descent into the underworld. your stomach dropped as the lift sank below the normal levels, into the depths where sunlight and mercy couldn’t reach.

the hallway outside his office was cold. clean. the kind of sterile that hospitals tried to mimic but never quite captured. like a morgue pretending to be a sanctuary.

you knocked once.

the door opened itself.

inside, mori sat behind his desk, tea steaming gently beside an untouched chessboard. elise stood nearby in her doll-like form, eyes unblinking, mouth curled into a cruel half-smile. the air tasted faintly of antiseptic and copper—like blood scrubbed just a little too late.

“come in,” mori said, gesturing.

dazai walked ahead of you. his shoulders were tight, his hands buried in his pockets. you followed in silence, every instinct screaming at you to turn around.

“you’re both here because i trust you,” mori said, steepling his fingers. “there’s a traitor. a former associate named yanagi. he’s been leaking intel to the government. we believe he’ll be at a decommissioned shipyard tonight. the location is secure, minimal risk.”

you frowned. “then why us?”

mori smiled, and it made your skin crawl.

“because i want to be absolutely certain he doesn’t walk away.”

that was the first red flag.

the second came when dazai asked, “you said minimal risk. you're sure?”

mori didn’t blink.

“positive.”

but dazai didn’t believe him.

you could see it in the way his fingers flexed. in the flicker in his eyes. in the silence that followed.

“fine,” dazai said at last, before adding on coldly, “but if anything happens to her, ill ensure you regret it."

moris smile never changed.

"oh. i'd expect nothing less.”

⸻

the docks were drowning in mist. the air was wet, thick with salt and steel. you and dazai moved like shadows through the decaying ruins of what used to be a shipping port — cranes long dead, containers left to rust like forgotten coffins.

something felt wrong.

the silence was too complete.

your heart thudded in your chest as you scanned the area. “we are being watched,” you whispered.

dazai didn’t answer.

then the fog shifted.

masked figures on the rooftops. behind the crates. lurking in the shadows.

too many.

far too many.

it was a setup.

you didn’t have time to shout before the first bullet shattered a pipe beside your head, spraying steam and fire. dazai tackled you to the ground as a barrage of gunfire tore through the air.

then came the knives.

the screaming.

the blood.

⸻

the world erupted into hell.

bullets split the fog, hot lead searing through steel and air. your body moved on instinct—rolling behind a rusted crate, your breathing ragged, ribs screaming. dazai was already on his feet, two guns drawn, eyes wild like a cornered wolf. not a strategist. not a trickster. a killer

you counted eight, then ten.

too many.

this wasn’t a takedown.

It was an execution.

your fingers shook as you reloaded. “they knew we were coming,” you hissed, throat raw.

“no,” Dazai spat, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “mori knew.”

that truth tasted worse than blood.

the first wave came fast—black masks, gleaming knives, footfalls like thunder on wet steel. dazai moved like water, bullets slicing through skulls, a knife in his off-hand spinning a man’s body into the air like a ragdoll. blood sprayed across your cheek—warm, thick, coppery.

you didnt have time to think.

you stabbed upward into a chest, felt the rib crack. pulled free. kicked. shot. the violence was mindless, primal. you didn’t know who you were killing anymore. only that it was you or them.

and then it happened.

a blade slid into your side.

you gasped—eyes wide—as warmth flooded your ribs.

you turned, instinct firing too slow, too late.

the masked man grinned behind blood-stained teeth—his knife lifting again.

but dazai screamed.

the kind of scream that tears through your spine and nestles in your bones.

it was raw. animalistic. like something in him snapped.

he was on the man in seconds. tackled him. pinned him. punched him. over..

and over.

and over.

blood coated dazai’s knuckles like war paint. the man’s skull caved in before he was even dead.

and dazai didn’t stop.

you reached out, voice trembling. “osamu—stop—”

but his eyes were gone.

gone.

lost in a place no one could reach.

you had to grab his wrist to pull him back to the surface.

he blinked.

breathed.

his chest heaved like he’d been drowning.

and then he saw you. really saw you.

the blood at your waist.

the pain in your eyes.

his hands were shaking.

“oh god,” he whispered, “you’re bleeding—you’re bleeding—”

you collapsed into him, darkness curling at the edges of your vision.

⸻

you came to in the back of a black sedan, the engine roaring like a beast through the night.

rain lashed against the windshield in violent slashes, the sky sobbing above Yokohama.

dazai was holding you, cradling you.

one hand pressed against your side, the other brushing your damp hair back from your face.

he was covered in blood.

yours. theirs. his own.

you blinked, throat dry. “…are we dead?”

chuuya barked a laugh from the front seat. “not yet. almost wrecked my car picking your dumbasses up, though.”

you tried to sit up. dazai stopped you with a gentle but firm hand.

“don’t move,” he whispered. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. strained. “you’re still bleeding.”

you looked at him.

really looked.

his eyes were wild. his pupils too wide, his jaw clenched tight.

you reached for his face. “you saved me.”

his hands tightened on you like he was scared you’d vanish. “no. i failed you. i let him send us into that trap. i didn’t see it. i should’ve known.”

your vision blurred again—not from pain this time, but the sheer weight of his guilt.

“it’s not your fault,” you murmured.

but he didn’t answer.

just held you tighter.

⸻

The Safehouse — 3:02 a.m.

the room was warm.

quiet.

the chaos was gone, but it lived inside your skin now.

the safehouse was nothing more than an old warehouse in the outskirts of the city—converted into a loft with makeshift walls, one bloodstained couch, a mattress on the floor, and a single bulb casting soft yellow light.

you lay on that mattress, wrapped in clean bandages, sweat still clinging to your skin from the fever. your side ached like hell.

dazai sat beside you, shirtless, arms slicked in dried blood and fresh bruises. he hadn’t left your side in hours.

“why are you still here?” you whispered.

his head tilted, eyes tired. “where else would I go?”

you looked at each other

and in that silence, something broke.

he leaned down—slow, unsure at first—until his forehead pressed against yours.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it cracked. “i thought you were dying in my arms and i couldn’t do anything.”

his lips brushed your brow. your temple. your nose.

“i wanted to kill them all. i did. and it wasn’t enough.”

your hand rose to cup his jaw. “i'm still here.”

his eyes closed.

and when they opened—something unhinged glowed behind them.

“you don’t understand,” he murmured, “i need you. if you ever die, i die with you.”

you shivered.

not from fear.

but from knowing he meant it.

⸻

dazai hadn’t stopped touching you since the moment chuuya dropped you off. he hadn’t let you stand, hadn’t let you breathe without his hand ghosting your skin like he needed confirmation that you were still real.

his fingers trembled where they rested on your hip, just above the edge of the bandage that wrapped your ribs. he looked down at you like you were a dying star, burning too hot—too bright—and about to vanish.

you saw it in his eyes.

that brittle kind of love that turns to ruin if it’s not touched back.

you shifted, your palm brushing over his bare chest. "osamu,” you whispered. “im here.”

that’s all it took.

he kissed you.

not gently.

this wasn’t a kiss, it was a collapse.

a collision of everything unsaid—all the times he didn’t say he loved you because he thought he’d lose you anyway. his lips bruised yours, frantic and deep, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he needed you to anchor him to earth.

his voice was hoarse against your mouth. “i need you. i need you right now.”

You nodded silently.

that was all the permission he needed.

⸻

nsfw

touch like prayer.

dazai stripped you slowly, even though his hands were shaking. he pulled your shirt over your head like he was peeling back armor, revealing battle wounds he blamed himself for.

his fingers ghosted along your side, where the gauze clung tight. his lips followed, kissing everything except the wound. reverent. careful. like if he touched it, it would kill him.

“i almost lost you,” he murmured, breath hot against your ribs. “and I haven’t even—god, i haven’t loved you enough yet.”

you cupped his face. “then love me.”

and oh. he did.

he kissed your neck like it was sacred. bit lightly beneath your ear, then soothed it with his tongue. he pressed his mouth to your shoulder, down your collarbone, until your skin was flushed and trembling beneath his touch.

and then—your back.

he guided you onto your stomach with a tenderness that broke you.

his mouth followed the line of your spine.

one kiss at a time.

vertebrae by vertebrae.

a trail of heat and worship.

“you don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you are the only thing in this world that makes me want to stay.”

and when he pushed inside you—it wasn’t slow.

it was urgent.

raw. desperate.

his breath hitched in your ear, hands digging into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.you gasped, body arching into him, feeling everything.

the stretch. the fullness. the emotion.

he moved like he was memorizing you.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “perfect. i don’t deserve this— i don’t deserve you.”

your hand reached back to find him, to tangle in his hair, to ground him.

“'samu” you whispered. “please. i need all of you.”

he lost it.

thrust harder. deeper.

your breath caught with every snap of his hips, every low, desperate moan he pressed against your skin. he worshipped every inch of you—your back, your neck, the shell of your ear—like he was imprinting himself onto your body.

abd you—you burned.

your body sang for him, trembled beneath him, opened to him like he was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

when the first wave hit, it shattered you.

you sobbed his name, nails clawing at the sheets, as your orgasm ripped through you—hot, sharp, endless.

but he didn’t stop.

he couldn’t.

bot when he was this close to losing everything.

he flipped you gently, kissed the tears from your cheeks, slid back inside while you were still sensitive and trembling.

round two was even worse.

even deeper. slower. but devastating.

he looked into your eyes the whole time.

watched you come undone again.

held you while you cried into his mouth.

and still—he didn’t stop.

your legs shook. your throat was raw from moaning his name. yoy couldn’t think anymore—couldn’t speak. you just felt.

he finally came with a gasp like a man dying.

your name on his tongue like a last prayer.

he held you after. breathless. sweating. shaking.

his voice cracked against your neck. “youre mine. i don’t care if it’s selfish—i need you to be mine.”

you nodded.

“always.”

and in the silence that followed—he kissed you again.

softer this time.

but no less desperate.

⸻

thank u for reading!! if u made it this far lmk what u thought as this is the first fic ive ever wrote 🙏🙏

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Ch 3: Hail To The Queen

Several weeks have passed now, and fall is in full swing, bringing with it a bite to the air that has you bundling in sweaters. This is your favorite time of year, when the leaves begin to change, the air shifting in such a manner that feels as if it’s taking you to the distant past; somewhere that ghouls and goblins roamed free, someplace where quirks were witchcraft and the world was made of magic. It always hits you with this sense of nostalgia for a time you never even lived in.

With Halloween now upon you, this meant that Musutafu was celebrating with a festival—something you had pre-planned to beg everyone to attend with you—but to your surprise, you didn’t really need to. Since this was a costumed event, everyone had agreed after your first “please” to go. You had assumed it was because there was such little risk of them being identified as villains when they were thoroughly disguised, and in that sense, you had assumed correctly. However, there was another underlying reason that they were all so eager to go to the festival tonight. 

They wanted to see you all dressed up. 

Dabi is already waiting on pins and needles for you to exit Toga’s room. He usually would find dressing up for Halloween to be pretty childish, and, well, lame. But with you so excited, he had to swallow his pride and throw something together. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, so he grifted himself a set of vampire fangs, then added two dots on the side of his neck with a red marker. It was subtle enough to show he totally didn’t spend the last twelve hours trying to decide what to do, but still had that sexy edge to it.

Everyone had agreed to share you equally, but he knew better than anyone else that as soon as you walked out in your costume, even if it was you dressed as something stupid as hell, all of those promises would be out the window. That meant he needed to be the best of the best tonight. The coolest, the hottest, the most desirable. With his alt Lestat look, Dabi was convinced that he had this in the bag.

He was even more sure of himself when Twice entered the room dressed as a black cat with a moon on his forehead. Still donned in his typical suit, he was wearing a headband featuring two pointed ears, a tail, and even little paw gloves. 

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi chides him.

“Oh yeah?” Twice has a haughty air about him that leaves Dabi worried, “Well I just so happened to have the thought to ask what her theme was. She wouldn’t say the exact person she’s going as, but she and Toga are dressing as characters from Sailor Moon. I’m Luna,”

“No, you’re a stupid asshole. She’s not gonna take you seriously dressed like that. Fuck, it’s like you’re trying to give the rest of us a leg up or something,”

“We’ll see how you feel when this gets a laugh out of her. Women love funny men,” Twice holds out his hand to check the nails of his paw, still confident in his decision, contradicting himself in the next breath, “I could take it or leave it no matter what she thinks,”

“Whatever, cat-boy,” Dabi sneers under his breath. 

The next to enter the room are Shigaraki and Spinner, both of whom also appearing to have gone with a humorous costume. Shigaraki’s costume looks to be about as low-effort as Dabi’s, having taped a blue construction paper “e” to his hoodie and circled his eyes with what was more than likely Toga’s eyeliner. 

“Are you.. what the fuck, Shigaraki? A dead E?” Dabi asks, tongue occasionally grazing his fangs. 

“Tss,” Shigaraki replies, crossing his arms and casting his eyes to the floor, “Stupid guess. And like I’m telling you. Find out when Yumemi gets here,”

Spinner is in a white button-up shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Dabi opens his mouth to roll a snide comment off of his tongue, when Toga flounces into the room wearing full Sailor Moon attire. 

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice!” She announces, the heels of her boots clicking against the hardwood. She seems to have really gone all out, the buns on her head having each a tendril of hair let down to resemble Usagi’s classic hairstyle, the Spiral Heart Moon Rod being waved around as she speaks to Twice about what a good Luna he makes. 

“Toga, you’re Sailor Moon?” Compress questions her as he walks through the door, already deflating, “I thought Yumemi was Sailor Moon. That’s why I’m going as Tuxedo Mask,”

His shoulders slump visibly beneath his suit, the disappointment palpable as he wistfully drops the rose he's holding down at his side, red petals unceremoniously scraping his trousers.

“Wait, so you and Twice both knew she was doing a Sailor Moon thing?” Spinner looks as if he’s about to throw up. He runs his hand nervously across the back of his neck.

“Well of course. We’ve had a week to properly coordinate, thus, I acted accordingly and asked for her plans myself,” Compress regales this information with the flick of his wrist. 

Twice’s face becomes animated within his mask, “All you had to do was think about what she wanted to do,”

The feeling washes over Spinner, Dabi, and Shigaraki simultaneously. 

They had greatly underestimated the lengths the others were willing to go to for your hand.

Shit a brick through a fucking window, how did they not think to communicate with you? They’ve been outsmarted by both of these assclowns. Bested by a wannabe circus ringleader and some himbo with a traumatic brain injury. And now they’re going to look thoughtless. They didn’t even consider what you were doing. At least Toga would've had the excuse of obsessing over her crushes had she dropped the ball like this, but them? No. You’re their crush. There’s no excuse for that. They’re going to have to step up their game. 

The clicking of heels upon the floors catches the group's attention. When you walk into the room, you’re beaming, the atmosphere electric with your excitement—and burning with the heat coming off of you. You’re not one of the sailors, or a cat, or some other cutesy little character they expected. 

You’re dressed as Queen Beryl. 

Your hair is tucked back behind a bright red wig, eyes winged with black liner, lips painted a vibrant shade of ruby. Atop your head is the crown Beryl wears, and your shoulders are horned with a homemade prosthetic on each side. And that fucking dress… It’s floor length and purple, tastefully low-cut, hugging the absolute hell out of your waist and hips. With a giggle, you point your scepter at the room. 

They hadn’t even noticed it. 

“Doesn’t she look so hot as the Queen?!” Toga is the first to bring it up, sparing any decency she’s ever known, gazing up at you as if you really did have dominion over them all. She nudges you until you turn to the side and then, emphasizing your bottom, declares, “Your ass is killer in that dress, Mimi!” You blush deeply at her praise. 

The men, having what is essentially permission to look, fix their collective eyes to your ass. 

Yeah. 

It’s fucking killer.

“Oh God,” Spinner mutters to himself, and Mr. Compress elbows him, a reminder to be polite around a lady such as yourself. He picks his jaw up, “Y-you look just like her. Seriously, great job,”

“Absolutely stunning,” Compress adds.

“Atsuhiro, you’re Tuxedo Mask!” You clasp your hands together at the recognition, and he bows with a grin, “And Twice, I can’t believe you actually went as Luna! You’re hilarious, like I am weak, you even have the tail,”

Twice lifts his mask to mouth “told you” at Dabi as you buckle over with laughter. 

“Let’s see, Shigaraki…” He tenses at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “You’re not the ghost of an E are you?”

“No, but good guess,” Shigaraki mumbles, and Dabi tosses an offended look his way.

“When I said that you fuckin’ told me—!”

“I’m Internet Explorer,”

Shigaraki looks proud, smug even, when you bounce up and down I'm a fit of giggles. 

‘That’s so smart, oh man! I can’t believe you thought of that!”

Heat blooms across his face, keeping to himself about how he’d looked up clever Halloween costumes to impress you. 

“Spinner, I love mundane Halloween. Can I guess or do you wanna tell me?” You ask him with a grin. 

He watches your cleavage as you bring your hands to close, arms pressing at your chest. God, the room feels so incredibly small. And since when is he the type to get an eyeful of someone like this? It’s making him feel kind of scummy, but fuck, you’re just so perfect. 

Oh shit, you’d asked him a question. 

What was it again?

Right. 

“Go a.. g-go ahead and guess,” he stammers, forcibly removing his eyes from your body, his cheeks now covered in a smattering of pink. 

You tap your finger to your chin, “Are you… waiting for your slacks to get done drying?”

“That’s close.. But I… I’m a work from home business man,” the explanation feels hot on his tongue with the way you’ve focused your attention on him. 

You bark out a laugh, ecstatic and all too pleased with his answer. 

“You guys absolutely kill me. I like all you guys so much, seriously. Are we all ready to go?” 

The group nods emphatically, all of them following behind you like ducklings in a neat little row out the door. On any other day, it would be a fight for who got to walk beside you. Today, though, they would be fools to squander this view from behind. You look delicious. 

All of you are cloaked in the darkness of night for a majority of the walk to the festival, lead by the light of the moon, warm splashes from lanterns lighting up patches of your skin when you reach the grounds. Harvest glow seeps through the bare, knobby branches of the trees. The smell of confectionaries, caramels and sweet kettle corns alike, waft on the breeze. 

“Smells like candy apples,” you exhale these words, somewhat hazy. 

“Do you like those?” Shigaraki asks, making certain he won’t miss a single thing about you from here on out. 

“Well, yeah, doesn’t everyone?”

All ears seem to perk up, then the group disperses, the lot of them hurrying to the food stalls. 

Your eyes dart around frantically for any familiar face that still lingers, and you watch as Toga books it to the goldfish scoop, chirping about how she’s going to win so many prizes for Ochaco and Izuku. 

“Hey, wait!” You lurch forward, but are pulled back by your arm, a hot grasp keeping you in place. 

“Hold on,” Dabi croaks, and you turn to meet his gaze over your shoulder, “We can go do stuff on our own. I’ll get you a treat or something later,”

Dabi saw the opportunity and took it, swooped in like a stalking vulture. He was more than grateful that the others all bolted to those long as hell food stalls. Now he has you all to himself.

“O-okay, yeah. You wanna go play Katanuki?” Your voice comes out shy and girlish in a way you weren’t quite anticipating. 

He starts toward the Katanuki tent, and you quicken your stride to keep up with him, lights and sounds bleeding into the air around you on your way. The stands are all lined in neat rows, their coverings colorful and bright, people both in and out of costumes manning the front to accept payments. You can tell when you've reached the Katanuki tent by the smell of the sugar sheets. The two of you offer up two tickets when you reach the stall, and take a seat at a wooden bench to poke at the sugar wafer, the lines of his face harsh as he needles the shapes. He looks somewhat irritated that the sugar is melting a bit in the heat of his fingertips, hissing in vexation.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised you wanted to hang out with me,” your tone is hard and half a whisper. 

He lifts a brow, “Why?”

“You just always seem like you don’t want to be around me,” you confess, and he cracks the little heart he was needling at. 

Pain flashes briefly in his eyes before he flattens back to his baseline, lips sloping gently into a frown. 

“That’s.. that’s fucking stupid. I don’t not want to be around you, I…” the words feel impossible to pry from his mouth.

“You can tell me if I’m irritating you,” your voice plays at being content, but the way your eyes are getting all welled up and glassy says otherwise.

A lump forms in his throat. 

You care so much about his opinion of you. 

“No, I… you’re not. I wanna be around ya, doll,”

Dabi thumbs nervously at the Katanuki sheet, his stomach coiling, heart fluttering behind his ribs. You're so beautiful in this moment. Even when you've dressed yourself up as a Sailor Moon villain, you're prettier than any flower he's seen. You’re pale, shrouded in the moonglow, lantern light flickering in your eyes, which has a peculiar feeling curling within him. And like the little ghost you are, you’ve been haunting the chambers of his mind, each nook and cranny there having previously been devoid of anyone to occupy it. What does he even do with this? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? He’s horny for you, sure, but this feels like more than just wanting to sleep with you. This feels like it's coming from somewhere deeper. 

You sense how unsettled he is in such a way that’s only so intuitive due to your quirk, having honed pulling the true emotions from people more times than you can count. It’s easy to tell he’s nervous. Maybe you shouldn’t have made an assumption like that. You place your hand atop his, tracing your fingertips gently across his knuckles, your touch soothing and soft. His breathing is stutter-stopped, pulse pounding rapidly. When he locks his turquoise eyes onto yours, he feels like he’s going to be sick, something winding him up until he’s positive he’ll snap. 

“It’s okay,” the comfort you give him is simple, but warm, the smile spreading over your face so genuine and kind. 

Those dinnerplate eyes of yours tug at his heartstrings, dry up his mouth, have him impulsively curling his fingers around yours which drape so delicately into his palm. He can’t recall a time when someone touched him so sweetly, so purposefully. He couldn't wrap his mind around why your own impulse isn't to recoil. Look at him. He's covered from head to toe in burn marks, more monster than man. This combined with his checkered past had him writing off the odds of someone actually liking him. Why do you seem like you care so much, then? 

As you brush your thumb over the marred heliotrope skin that joins to his hand, he shudders as if he’s cold, the look you’re giving him settling into his bones like radium, and you glow all the same. He’s thought so many times about how he was going to kiss you the second he had the chance. But now that the opportunity has risen, he can’t will himself forward. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, sinking, watching you through the dreamlike lens that you’re always covered in.

“Would you.. would you want to..” The words won’t come out, the plush strokes of your hand a distraction, “There’s a ferris wheel…” He gets to his feet abruptly, gathering up how to say, “Let’s get on the ferris wheel,”

You grin brightly, “I’ve never been on a ferris wheel before,”

“First time for everything,” he states plainly, already heading in that direction. 

You’re expecting it this time, so you catch up with him quickly and tell him, “Well I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi,”

He stops in his tracks, and you run into his back, the tiny gasp you let out only adding to the shiver that racks through him. You were being serious when you said that, he could tell. It wasn’t something you were teasing him with, but it still felt taunting somehow, the words echoing through his head: I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi. His toes curl at the thought, the curve of his cheek visible as he casts a moon-eyed glance over his shoulder. He studies your face, the gentle slope of your shoulders, the swell of your hips, eyes tracing the length of your legs. You’re too gorgeous. It shouldn't be allowed.

“Let’s go, then,” he turns and continues to lead the way. 

You two wait in line for a few minutes, him having to snarl at several other men who were eyeing your figure, flashing a blue-flamed fingertip at some asshole who pointed you out to his buddy. Not that he blamed them. You are hot, after all. But they needed to do a better job at sneaking looks, lest he have to lay someone out, which he was not above doing in the slightest. The man taking the tickets gulps as you two approach. And it's kind of weird, but he seems to be flat out refusing to make eye contact with you, despite your friendly demeanor.

The cab of the ferris wheel is roomy, a space on each side for people to sit, and you choose to sit right next to him. When you’re seated, the little stall shaking back and forth, you reach out for him without thinking. He goes stiff as a board, so tense he can feel every muscle in his body as you grasp his shirt in your fist. He sucks down a breath when you return your hand to your lap and separate yourself from him. He hates how much enjoyment he gets from knowing your first instinct was to cling to him for safety. Dabi wasn't someone who people tended to think of as safe. He was strong, and he was skilled, and he was sturdy--but he couldn't think of a single other time another person had reached for him like that. He touches the place on his chest where your hand had landed, whole body buzzing. 

“Sorry, I, uhm—I didn’t know it would—ah!” The stall moves again, tilting as it begins to take the passengers in a circle, and you press your weight against him. 

Dabi is sweating like a sinner in church when he tries to seem calm, “’S alright, doll, you can hold on to me,”

Now would probably be the perfect time to ask you out. You’re cuddled up to him, watching the festival lights flashing from up here in the sky. But you’re also trembling like a little leaf being blown around in the wind. You’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his waist, face nuzzled into his chest, heart beating so hard that he can feel it hammering through you. 

“S-sorry,” you apologize once more, a lilt in your voice that resembles the way you shake, “I don’t mean to ruin the fun,”

Your fingers dig into the flesh of his back, nails grazing him slightly through the fabric of his shirt, and he mirrors this for you as best he can, rubbing small circles where the dress exposes your crystalline skin. 

“You’re not ruinin’ shit,” his voice is barely audible in the crisp wind that whips past the two of you. 

“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” you chuckle nervously. 

“Yeah?” Dabi sounds a bit surprised. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, “I really like you,”

He fumbles this information around in his mind, flounders with it, completely and totally short circuits. You’d just told everyone how much you liked them not an hour ago. This could mean anything.

As a friend?

As a lover?

As something more than that?

How exactly do you like him?

He can’t figure out how to ask you that without seeming pathetic and desperate, though. So he does the next best thing and sits there with it like a fucking loser. Lets it eat away at him. 

This totally won’t keep him up every single night for the foreseeable future. 

It’s then that he resigns himself to pulling you closer to him, syncing his breaths with your own, relishing in the way you let out little gasps and squeaks when the wind rocks the ferris wheel. The time with you goes by much too quickly. You’re being lowered and let off of the ride before he knows it, the other members of the league waiting on the ground, hands full of candy apples—aside from Toga, who’s struggling to hold onto all of the toys she’s won. Dabi pulls a self-satisfied face at everyone while you step off of the ride, pierced tongue poking from his teeth, both of his middle fingers extended. 

“Jesus, that thing was scary! You guys, it just kept moving, it was like—!” You make a swaying gesture with your hands, puffing out your flushed cheeks, pinched dark with wind and exasperation. 

Dabi smirks when he realizes some of your lipstick has smeared. 

Did you guys kiss?

No.

But they were all going to think you did, and that was a close second to actually getting to kiss you. 

Toga shoves a bear in your face, explaining to you the names of all these stuffed animals, and who they’re assigned to. You smile down at her, happy to be a part of her antics. 

“This is from me,” Shigaraki boldly interrupts the conversation, handing you the treat he's acquired, “It’s got chocolate and caramel on it,”

“Well mine’s covered in marshmallow fluff!” Twice pushes the apple in your face, “Looks like it sucks,”

“Yeah, but the one I got has special almonds on it. They were grown right around the corner,” Spinner wiggles his as he speaks. 

Mr. Compress holds his apple as if it’s on display, “This one is a classic candied apple. You can’t beat the classics, I’m afraid,” 

You’re incredibly overwhelmed with all of the options, “Woah, I cannot eat all of these. We should get a plate and cut them up. That way, we can all share,”

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. He does not like sharing. Not even a little. 

But everyone else has begrudgingly complied, so he will, too. 

You all gather at a picnic table, Spinner slicing all of the apples with Toga’s pocket knife, showing off his skills in the process. You press your hands to your cheeks with excitement. 

“So many to choose from,” you whisper to yourself. 

“Allow me, Yumemi,” Atsuhiro removes his glove to take a slice with well-manicured fingers, “I wouldn’t want your hands to get sticky,” 

You tilt your head, unsure of the expectation he has of you. Upon seeing your confusion, Compress pinches your cheeks together, carefully coaxing your mouth to open. 

“That’s it, there you go,” he breathes while placing an apple slice on your tongue. 

Your whole body heats up. Something about this interaction feels sexually charged. Perhaps you just weren’t used to this much attention from men your own age. Older men tended to be very straightforward and brash, telling you upfront that they wanted to have sex with you; so surelysomeone would’ve mentioned it by now if they wanted to. You’re just overthinking things. Atsuhiro is a really old-fashioned guy. He more than likely really doesn’t want you getting your hands all gross from the candy apples. Still, you feel a tightness in your belly with the way he watches you chew, his finger and thumb still languidly idling on either side of your jaw.

Shigaraki sucks down the slice he had picked for himself, nearly choking, coughing as Dabi grits his teeth. Twice and Spinner simply blink in utter disbelief. Toga unhinges her mouth like a baby bird expecting to be fed, her canines gleaming.

Finally, things click. 

Everyone is picking up apple slices, offering you bites from their own hands, overwhelming you once more. 

“Guys,” you sigh, somewhere between exasperated and flattered, “One at a time,”

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Synopsis: At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

●Mature themes ●Minors DNI ●Sexual Implications ●Suggestive Themes ●Eventual Smut

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Chapter 1: Dibs

"C'mon, Yume! Couldn't you do your Uncle Kagero this one teensy little favor?" 

You bat your lashes at him, smiling, gentle as a dove when you ask him, "Do I get a cut of the finder's fee?"

Giran's eye twitches before he takes a long drag off of his cigarette. He hates that you're this well-versed in his career. It would be so much fucking easier if his kid sister didn't marry one of the most notorious villains the West could import, thus all but guaranteeing your involvement. In fact, both sides of your family have a long line of villainy, nearly each and every branch on the tree some kind of Yakuza or general criminal all the way down. You were hanging out in the back room of Uncle Kagero's office before you were out of diapers, absorbing this lifestyle since you were a zygote. Pushing back on giving you a cut this time would prove to be futile.

"Fuck--fine. You win, you get a quarter of their finder's fee," he relents. The cherry of his cigarette glows in the shadows of his dusty room as he rests his legs atop the corner of his desk, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Half or I'm not doing it,"

He nearly chokes, "What makes you think I'd give you half, you little shit!"

"Because you seem pretty desperate to bring this guy someone for his team. I'm guessing you need the money. And if you need the money bad enough, you'll settle for half of it," you say this all with the sweetest smile that you can muster. 

You've got him over a barrel. 

Giran taps his index finger on the chipped varnish of his desk, sucking at his teeth, bitter ash wafting through the air. The weather is mild now, but it's only fall. Winter is going to be thrust upon him before he knows it and then he's going to need heat this place. And he would rather freeze to death than ask your mom for cash to get the heat turned back on. Was he some high profile super villain? Of course not. But he made his money with his own two hands. Phoning his niece for a favor didn't count. 

Especially not if you were getting a cut.

This way, you're just another employee at a family business.

"Alright, I'll give you fucking half, Yumemi. Christ. Shoulda never taught you how to negotiate," Giran chuckles under his breath as he speaks, understanding the part he's played in your character, "Don't forget to tell your ma this time, yeah? She'll kill me if she finds out I'm why you didn't come home again,"

"Uncle, I'm an adult. Like, a real adult, I'm twenty four. Mom and dad need to learn to cut the cord already," you tell him with a roll of your eyes.

Giran pinches at the bridge of his nose, frustration becoming palpable, "Yumemi--"

"Alright, alright. I'll text her,"

"Thank you," he sighs. 

His amnesia doesn't work on your mom since she inherited the same quirk, so it's not like he can worm his way out of this situation if something goes awry. At least you're being reasonable about this aspect. Giran relaxes his shoulders and leans back in his chair. Your quirk fetches a pretty penny. On top of that, he can all but guarantee they'll agree to take you on immediately, as cute as you are. Might as well not throw away a sure thing. Half the cut isn't so bad, he thinks. 

"So who am I working for?" You pry, "Is it that guy who has beef with Gang Orca again?"

"No, not this time. Think a little younger,"

Younger? You were one of the youngest people in established villainy. Who the hell was he talking about?

He sends out a text that you sneakily read from over his shoulder to a person named Kurogiri:

I've got someone special for the league

"Pack your suitcase," he says, "I have a feeling they're not gonna turn you away,"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗————˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You both step through a hazy black portal and into a bar, now face-to-face with the text recipient. He's more mist than man, though he would have to be solid under there somewhere with the way he wipes down shotglasses behind the counter, glass squeaking with every swipe. 

"Hello, Giran," a voice calls out from Kurogiri, in spite of his lacking a mouth, "Shigaraki Tomura and the others have yet to return, but they will be back momentarily," he turns his attention to you, yellow eyes flickering, "Are you our potential member?"

"I believe I am. My name is Saito Yumemi. It's very nice to meet you," the introduction you choose is quite the same as you always use, polite and pleasant. 

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well," Kurogiri responds in kind. 

He seems to be a mild and reasonable man. If this is who you'll be working with, you aren't worried about loaning out your quirk. 

Giran opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as he does, a portal is opened just to your left, revealing a small group of people who look to be somewhere around your age at a glance. Upon closer inspection, it appears as though you're in the median age group, though it's a bit difficult to tell with how they're dressed. Each of them gape awkwardly, caught somewhat off guard at your presence. A man with a heteromorphic quirk shuffles nervously, carding his fingers through pink hair as someone in ragged, dark clothing flecklessly stares. Another member, who looks to be dressed as a magician of sorts, dons a mask which shifts to an expression of shock. The others shift their weight from one foot to another as they wait for an explanation. A blonde girl in a school uniform is the first to approach you, fangs glinting as she flashes you a toothy grin, her demeanor much more cheerful than what you're used to. 

"I'm Toga Himiko!" She introduces herself immediately, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

"Hold on," a man with shaggy blue hair rasps from behind a hand, "We don't even know who this is yet. Giran. Who did you bring? She doesn't look like she would.. do this,"

"Shigaraki, let me introduce you to Saito Yumemi. She was born and bred into villainy, so don't worry, she's not as soft as she looks," Giran explains as he puffs a cigarette from between his teeth. 

"Hmm. What can she do?" Shigaraki continues his questioning as the others all mill around in the liminal space behind him. 

Giran grins, "Yumemi's quirk is Parasomnia. It allows her to put people into a dreamlike state, where they become, let's just say, very impaired. She can inflict nightmarish hallucinations on whoever her quirk is affecting if she so chooses. She's just gotta know their names for it to work," 

"Do aliases work?" Shigaraki pries for more information. 

"She--"

"It needs to be the full name. However, it's mostly just villains who are unregistered. If you're trying to take down heroes, this won't be a problem since they'll all have hero licenses, or will at least be on the path to obtaining one. It can only work on one person at a time, though," you interject, preferring to speak for yourself.

"Show me," he insists, "Toga Himiko is her given name. So show me what you can do,"

The girl in question simply smiles, willingly parking herself in front of you.

"Okay, then. Come at me," Toga doesn't even flinch before she lurches in your direction with a knife she's pulled out of her skirt, giggling and giddy with bloodlust.

"Toga Himiko," you call to her, voice wispy, echoing in a dreamy haze. 

She stops dead in her tracks. 

"You look so tired. Aren't you tired?" Toga's eyes become heavy-lidded and glossy as she sinks to her knees, her smile reduced to a slight nudge at each side of her mouth, arms like lead at her sides, "What do you see?"

"I see.. UA high school," she's compliant and monotone, head bobbing before she drops onto her back entirely.

"What's your favorite color, Toga Himiko?"

"Pink. Oh, there's pink clouds. Just look at them," she looks as though she's about to float away.

"They're nice, aren't they? Now, why don't you tell me that secret you wanted to share. Remember?"

"Yeah. Of course I remember," Toga is now splayed out on the floor like a starfish, "I'm in love with Izuku and Ochaco. They're the best. I really want their blood,"

"As you can see, I'm able to get information this way. If suggestion doesn't work for them, I can put them into something similar to sleep paralysis, which usually does the trick. Works better if they tell me what they're afraid of but I can make them see anything, good or bad. It doesn't do any physical harm, but psychologically, it's quite damaging. If I don't keep talking to her, she'll wake up on her own when this wears off in about two minutes. I'll also need to rest if I use it for more than a couple of hours,"

It's quiet for a few beats, the room so still you could hear the breath of a mouse. 

"And what do you go by?" The silence is interrupted by Shigaraki. Two crimson eyes peer out from splayed, rigid fingers, haunting and vibrant. A chill runs down your spine. 

"I prefer to go by Nyx when conducting business, but I don't mind being informal when it's just us. You can call me whatever you would like in private," your uncle flinches at your words, the five male members of the league training their eyes on you--most of them flustered and blushing--all the while you're none the wiser. 

Mom and dad have always been villains, which means you didn't go to public school. Your whole life has been a slew of private tutors and playdates that were arranged by your collective parents, not by yourself or the other children. After around age ten, this was exclusively female companionship, your father becoming very cautious of his only daughter. As a result, you're polite, studious, and well-spoken... but horribly under-socialized. Namely with the opposite sex.

Shigaraki's eyes won't meet yours when he says, "Welcome to the League of Villains," he makes a vague motion with his hand, "Kurogiri, give Giran his fee. I'll show her to her room,"

"Why do you get to show her?" The man with piercing blue eyes and dark hair approaches. He smells like the smoke from a bonfire. 

"Because I'm in charge, Dabi, not you," Shigaraki bites. 

"Then shouldn't one of us take her to her new quarters so you're free to pursue other duties?" The magician interjects, offering you a gloved hand as he bows to you, "Mr. Compress, at your service. I'll be happy to show you to--"

"I should probably do it. You guys are super busy, and m-my room's on the way, so, it'd make more sense for me t'do it. Hey, I'm Spinner. It's nice to meet ya," the guy with the Stain getup says, eye contact fleeting.

"Did you do the dreamy thing? Was it neat?" Toga springs up from her spot on the floor, recovering quicker than you had expected, "Why does everyone look all red and sweaty?"

Giran rolls his eyes until you're sure they're scraping the back off his skull as Kurogiri hands him off a wad of cash, "Figured you'd fit right in here. I'll give ya your portion when things settle down. See ya, Yume," and with that, he's stepping through a portal. 

He's lucky you know he's good for it.

"No, you all have to work on your skills. Gotta fine tune those super cool skills. It's best if I walk her to her room," says a guy in a full body catsuit, a terse, "Piss off, assholes!" soon to follow.

"I said I'm walking her down there, Twice. Don't bother," Shigaraki sneers in such a way that you can tell he's becoming irritated.

"Counterpoint," says Dabi, "Fuck you, I'm doing it,"

Hubbub ensues. You're not entirely certain what you've done, but something has obviously set them off, the lot of them squabbling like elementary kids who want the same toy. Is this what younger guys are like? Seems like they'll fight over anything if walking someone to their room is such a commodity to them. How strange.

Toga doesn't speak a word when she takes you by the hand and leads you down the hall. The sharp chatter of bickering can still be heard as you two crest the doorway into a small room at the back of the bar. In it, there's a twin bed, a lamp, a nightstand, and a trunk for personal items. It's more of a prison cell than a room, but you've stayed in worse for smaller cuts of finder's fees. You'll just pretend it's a dorm or something. 

"Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, Yumemi?" She asks you, plopping onto your bed like it's her own. 

"No, not right now. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering," Toga kicks her legs, "I think it'll come up sooner or later is all,"

She flashes you a certain look, one you're not sure the meaning of, before she traipses back to the den of the bar, stating she'll be back later for a sleepover. You're not used to the company when on missions like this, but you're not opposed to it. In fact, what you mostly are is surprised, since you've recently put her to sleep and wrang the secrets out of her. Maybe she's used to having quirks tested on her, or maybe she genuinely doesn't care. Either way, you're grateful to have someone around to show you the ropes. Every villain organization runs a little differently and it'll make the adjustment that much easier this way. 

When Toga enters the den, the guys are still bickering, poking at one another's chests and stage whispering threats. 

"You're all so adorable," Toga coos at them, pressing her hands to her flushing cheeks. 

All of them snap their eyes to her. 

"Where's Yumemi?" Dabi asks, separating himself from the group to lean against the wall.

With a snicker, Toga explains, "I took her to her room since nobody else could decide who got to do it,"

"And that's Miss Saito to you," Mr. Compress chastises him with a shift of his mask. 

"She said we could call her whatever we wanted," is Dabi's retort.

"Wrong, fucker. She said I could call her whatever I wanted, so long as we're alone," Shigaraki corrects him as he mindlessly scratches at his neck. 

Spinner crosses his arms, "Boss, c'mon, that was the royal you, not YOU you,"

"Dibs," Dabi proclaims, flames sparking in his cerulean gaze. 

"You can't call dibs on a lady!" Compress snaps his spine ruler straight.

"Yeah, Dabi, she's a person. Don't dibs her like she's a bus seat," Spinner gives a scornful, sidelong glance as he speaks.

"Doesn't matter. I called dibs, that means I get to shoot my shot first,"

"That's not how this works!" Shigaraki grits through his teeth.

"Oh? And how would you know, virgin?" Dabi spits his words like venom.

More chatter breaks out as Toga grins wildly, content to observe the show these clowns were putting on for her in the circus of their own making. Life is good. 

"Hey, hey, wait a minute!" Dabi commands the room, all eyes focusing on him when he asks, "Where the fuck is Twice?"

There's a knock at your door, followed by a, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, come on in," you're taken aback somewhat, having not expected anyone to need you again so soon. 

Twice breaches the door, waving his hand and smiling visibly even through his mask. 

"Just wanted to properly introduce myself. I'm Twice, but feel free to call me Jin. That's my real name. Use whichever you want," he stands with his hands on his hips, another voice countering the previous statement with, "Screw introductions, call me Daddy! Mmff.. Sorry. The other guy isn't always polite,"

Ah, so that's why he's called Twice. Makes sense. 

"That's okay, I've heard way worse. Trust me. I'll stick with Jin when we're here, and you're welcome to call me Yumemi. Unless Daddy is still on the table," you simper with your last sentence, and he jumps in his spot. 

"W-what? Okay, I, uh--" he stammers hard, poking his index fingers together. 

"Oh, I was only joking! I'm sorry if I upset you,"

"No, it's not that, just--"

"Who's upset in here? Better not be our little doll," a smoky voice rasps out before revealing Dabi through the entryway. 

"We were just introducing ourselves properly," you say, rising from the edge of the bed. You extend your hand to Dabi, "I don't think we've said hello just yet. I'm Yumemi,"

He accepts your hand into his own, his palm sweltering, "Dabi. Pleasure's all mine. If you ever need anything at all, even if it's in the middle of the night--"

"Then she'll come to me because I'm the head of this entire thing," Shigaraki cuts him off, still covered in several hands, which you're praying are plaster. 

"We're all loyal to the tenets of Stain, though, Shigaraki. Ain't gonna bother any of us to help her out. I mean.. me, personally, I know I'd come by during any hour of the day or night. 'Cause that's what we do as a team, even if we're not the boss," Spinner pushes his way into the room, shoulder-checking Dabi and Twice to fit into the close quarters. 

"I am personally and readily available for your entertainment, Miss Saito," Compress bows as he enters the room in a cloud of smoke. 

So is he actually a magician after all? 

"Please, call me Yumemi when we're off duty," you tell him, and he captures your hand in his own, the silk of his scarlet glove soft to the touch. 

"I'm flattered to have such a privilege," he says, voice taking on a plush tone.

"Ah-hah!" Spinner points at Shigaraki, "I told you it was the royal you! She meant all of us!"

"No, it's not a privilege, really. I'm just me. You're all welcome to call me by Yumemi any time. As my dad always says, formalities are for heroes,"

The room has become a blaring fortissimo of conversations, insults saturating the air, curses you've never even heard before hurled like hidden rocks in snowballs. 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

The Worst Wingman - Dust and a Goddess

(Chapter 1 / 3)

Jean x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: mentions of homophobia

Summary:  Jean knew you better than anybody else, so why was he so good at picking the worst people on the planet for you to go on dates with. You were persistent to find a boyfriend this year and you thought Jean could help you find the perfect man, but apparently he loves to watch you suffer. If only you knew the perfect man for you was the one setting you up on all of these dates.

Notes: I posted this on my Ao3 first, but I thought I’d post it here too. So, please enjoy!

First Saturday

Another Saturday night meant another shitty date with another uninteresting and weird guy. You knew Jean hand-picked these dates that he sent you off with, but it seemed he didn’t know you or them at all. Every single date was just another bust, undeniably and irrefutably.

And, this date was just another on the already long list of bad dates.

“So,” Your date said with a smile, “You’re good friends with him, aren’t you?”

You nodded with the wine glass close to your lips. He had asked you the same question nearly fifteen times in the last fifteen minutes. It was as if he couldn’t believe it himself. As if he were surprised, or maybe even a little bit jealous.

“Yeah,” You said with a fake smile, “We’re in the same friend group. I met him freshman year, when I became close friends with Mikasa and she introduced us-”

“How is he?”

“Huh?”

The redhead smiled wide, “How is Eren? What’s he like as a friend?”

You raised your eyebrows and placed your glass back on the table, “Eren?”

The redhead nodded excitedly. He was nearly on the edge of his seat, leaning towards you like a child about to hear a war story from his grandfather. It was odd that the boy had gotten caught on the idea of Eren being friends with you when you had just explained how Jean was the one who set you up on the date.

“Eren is- um,” You looked around the small restaurant, trying to find inspiration for a way out of this conversation from the other diners, “He’s cool.”

The boy is physically upset about your discretion, “And?”

“And,” You involuntarily continued, “He’s- uh, he’s very nice. He-uh he helps me with my homework, and helps me study quite a bit.”

It was all a lie, but only partially. Sure, somebody in the friend group was really nice and helped you with homework and helped you study, but it wasn’t Eren. It was Armin who was the nice one, but you didn’t know Eren well enough not to switch the two names when talking with the boy in front of you.

“That’s awesome,” The redhead said with an admirational sigh, “I bet he’s super helpful. He’s definitely the type to not give up until you know everything, for sure.”

“Oh.” You grinned at your empty dinner plate. “For sure. He’s the best. He’s super dedicated, and he always makes the harder information easier for me to understand. He’ll word it in ways that he knows I’m more comfortable with.”

“I’ll have to join you two, sometime.”

You looked at the boy with furrowed eyebrows, “You want to join me and Eren while we study?”

Boy, is he going to be upset when he finds out Eren is actually an adorable blonde boy with big ocean eyes who’s not nearly as blatantly mean. Also, it’s a bit strange the redhead wants to go on a study date with you and somebody else. Isn’t he at this date for you? But, all he’s asked you about all night is Eren.

“Of course,” The boy said with a smile, “I would just love to see him again.”

You giggled lightly to yourself, “Do you want me to get his number for you?”

Though the comment was purely a joke, the boy didn’t flinch nor smile. He just stared at you with a look of defeat in his eyes and he almost looked angry. His eyes never left your face, his mind not finding an ounce of humor in your question.

His reaction caused your smile to quickly falter, “Do you actually have a crush on him?”

The redhead rose from his seat, “I have to use the bathroom.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Right now?”

“Yes,” The boy’s voice came out harsh, “Right now.”

“Oh, okay.” You watched as the boy walked off towards the bathroom. And, once he was out of earshot, you pulled your phone from your purse sitting on the back of the chair and phoned Jean.

The phone only rang once before the call was picked up. He spoke a half-assed greeting above the sound of yelling in the background. You knew he was with Connie and Sasha tonight and you knew they were playing video games from the noise coming from behind his voice.

“Don’t hey me,” You spat angrily through the phone, “This guy is insane, Jean, he’s fucking weird.”

Jean was now laughing, “How is he weird?”

“He keeps asking about Eren.” You took a quick peek at the male’s bathroom door. “He offered to go on a study date with me-”

“That’s nice of him.”

“-And Eren.”

“Oh,” Jean said, “That’s weird. Eren doesn’t even study with you, he’d have to be smarter than you to be of any help.”

“I may have lied to him.” You took a quick swig of wine from the glass and then turned back to the bathroom doors.

“Aw,” Jean said with a smirk, “Poor Floch.”

“Floch,” You said excitedly, nearly knocking the discarded fork from your plate, “That’s his name! I forgot it about two hours ago, but didn’t have the heart to ask him.”

Jean was uncontrollably laughing on the other side of the phone. It wasn’t like these types of calls were foriegn to him. You normally called Jean in the middle of a crisis, and most of your crises these days happened mid-date when the boy did something weird and left to go to the bathroom.

“You’re a horrible date,” Jean said between his giggles.

“It’s not a normal name.” You held the wine glass to your lips. “I wouldn’t have forgotten his name if it were Brian or Nick. It’s his mom’s fault I forgot his name.”

Jean smiled into the phone, “Now, you’re blaming his mom for your ignorance, how cruel.”

You couldn’t help but grin as well, “Also, I think he has a thing for Eren.”

“Really?” Jean takes a moment to remember something. “That actually makes a lot of sense. I met him through Eren because they were in the same chemistry class last semester. He seemed reluctant to go on the date with you until Eren told him he should, then he was all for it. I thought it was weird, but not weird enough to be concerning.”

“It’s not weird nor concerning,” You said sweetly, “He just has a crush and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, it’s endearing.”

“He’s actively homophobic.”

“What?” You peek at the bathrooms and notice nothing has changed. “You set me on a date with an active homophobe?”

Jean shrugged, “I didn’t think about it.”

You shook your head angrily, “After this date, I am coming straight to your apartment and I am giving you a piece of my mind, Jean Kirstein.”

“Oh no,” Jean said with a smile, “I’m really scared, she used my last name.”

“You should be really scared. I’m bringing my baseball bat and everything.”

You took another peek at the bathroom and then checked the timer on the call. Seven minutes and fourteen seconds was how long you had been on the phone with Jean and how long Floch had been in the bathroom. Sure, it could be reasonable, but you still got a weird feeling from the whole thing.

“‘You okay?” Jean asked endearingly once the silence between you two had settled.

“He’s coming back,” You lied, “I gotta’ go.”

“Okay, just-”

The call ended quickly with one press of your finger. You put your phone back in your purse and let the bag fall to the side of the chair. You looked around the beautiful restaurant and tapped your fingers impatiently against the clothed table.

You leaned to your side in order to get closer to the couple beside you. At the table sat two people: one with long brown hair and wide glasses dressed in a tux and the other with short dirty blonde hair also dressed in a tux.

“Hi,” You said to the brown haired person to your immediate right, “Could I ask a favor of either of you? It’ll only take a minute, I swear.”

The brown haired person smiled widely, “Of course!”

“My date, a redhead, went to the bathroom nearly twenty minutes ago, and I can’t go into the boy’s bathroom-”

“You want me to go?” The brown haired person’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I can go see if he’s still in there, or if he’s sick, or if he’s dead - God forbid, but how interesting, right?”

You nodded with a smile, “Yes, thank you, please. I’m sure he’s not dead, but I’m just worried.”

“Don’t worry until I come back with news.” The brown haired person stood up and left, heading towards the bathroom.

You watched the nice brown haired person go off towards the restrooms. You watched them weave around tables, even stopping now and then to peek over diners’ shoulders, looking at what they had decided to eat for the night. They were strange, but in an endearing way - something you weren’t entirely used to seeing on these dates.

“You know,” The blonde guy spoke up suddenly, snapping you back to reality, “They’ve done that a few times on our dates before, as well.”

“Hm?” You turned to the brown haired person’s date.

The blonde guy smiled, “My date, they get interested in something in the bathroom and don’t bother coming back out for half an hour. The first time is scary, but you’ll get used to their curious mind.”

You grinned weakly at the nice man, “Yeah, I have a feeling there won’t be anything to get used to because there won’t be another date.”

The blonde boy furrowed his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“He wasn’t the best date I’ve been on, nor the best person I’ve been on a date with.” You turned towards the bathroom in time to catch the blonde man’s date making their way back across the restaurant with a frown. “In fact, he’s the first date to ever crawl out of a bathroom window to get away from me.”

“I’m sure that’s not what happened,” The blonde man said with a worried glance at his date. You weren’t sure how you knew it, but you were entirely sure of the redhead’s escape.

“He’s gone, dear.” The brown haired person placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as they sat back in their seat. “The window was pried open, I assume he crawled out of it.”

You nodded with a fake smile, “Thank you, for checking. I can pay-”

You reached for your purse, but the brown haired person shook their head, “No, no. Don’t even try to pay me. In fact, let us pay for your meals, it’s the least we can do.”

You shook your head quickly, “No, I can pay for them, but thank you.”

“No, he left you high and dry and-”

“You’ve already done enough for me tonight.”

“-You don’t deserve to pay for a meal you didn’t even enjoy.”

While the brown haired person was distracting you with a back and forth battle of who would pay for what, the blonde man waved down a passing waiter. He mumbled something to the waiter, pointing at your table over his shoulder. The blonde man pushed a small plastic card into the waiter’s hand. The waiter nodded pityingly, running off quickly towards the hostess’s table at the entrance.

“No,” You said with another shake of your head, “You don’t have to pay for a taxi, I don’t need one-”

But, you did need one considering Floch was your ride here.

“No,” The brown haired person continued, “Let me pay for your wine. In fact, have our wine. It’s the least we can do.”

“No, I don’t need more wine-”

The waiter was back and the blonde man finally spoke up over the argument between you and his date. He held two slips of paper in his hand and looked at you both with a small smile.

“Hange,” He said to make his date stop debating with you, “It’s okay, she doesn’t need your insurance card. And, ma’am, don’t worry about the bill, it’s already been paid for, and you don’t owe me anything in return. I’ve been in your shoes before, and I wish somebody would have done this for me.”

“Sir,” You said quickly, “It’s really not that big of a deal-”

“Not anymore,” The blonde man said with a smile, “Next time you come to this restaurant, just bring somebody you trust. I promise, not everybody is as awful as that boy.”

You bit your lip to keep the newly created tears from falling. You couldn’t help the overload of emotions happening in your throat and eyes. You didn’t normally cry so easily in front of strangers, but these strangers were overly generous. And suddenly, you were remembering the last ten dates that all ended just as horribly. It seemed like nothing was working out in your favor anymore.

“Thank you,” You said with a large smile contradictory to the tears that now fell down your cheeks, “I-I don’t know where to find those not awful people, but I really hope I will someday.”

“Oh no!” Hange said as they quickly wrapped you in a tight hug. “Moblit, look, you broke her.”

Moblit giggled with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry I broke you, dear.”

You shook your head into Hange’s shoulder, accidentally wiping the tears on the shoulder of their black tux. You couldn’t express to Moblit how badly you wanted to find not awful people, and how badly you wanted a date that didn’t end horribly. It was just more complicated than that, and it seemed awful people were the only ones Jean could offer you dates with and the only ones he thought deserved dates with you. So, what did that say about how he viewed you as a person?

You spent a few minutes crying into Hange’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently about boys and school and your pot-smoking next door neighbors who are way too loud when they have sex. They listened to your tangent intently, nodding along, as if they could understand any of your words.

Once you had wiped the tears from your face and thanked the couple profusely some more, you made your way from the restaurant. You knew you could call a taxi to Jean’s apartment, but the weather was nice and his apartment wasn’t too far away. So, walking seemed like a convenient money-saving way of getting the whole date out of your mind.

You walked down the street of town, but once you got to campus, you slid the heels from your feet and into your hands. You walked across campus with your shoes balancing on your fingers like the morning after a horrible one-night stand.

Eventually you made it to Jean’s apartment building and found your way to his front door within a few minutes. You knocked on the wood with your heel and weren’t too surprised when the door opened almost immediately. Jean stood in the doorway, still shouting at the other two over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Jean said once he finally turned his attention to you, “How was the-” You swung the heel swiftly into his stomach, earning a surprised grunt from the boy.

“Don’t mention this date ever again.” You said the threatening words with a glint of anger to your voice, but your face was pressed into a sweet smile.

Jean nodded slowly, “Will you at least tell us what happened?”

You sighed, “Later, I’ll tell you, but I know Connie will bully me for it.”

Jean nodded some more, “Later?”

“The least you can do is let me stay the night.” You raised your eyebrows at the boy. “Since you made me go on the worst date of my life with a homophobic jerk.”

“Okay,” Jean said with a grin, “But only because you’re practically begging for me.”

You swung the heel into his stomach a second time, but he grabbed it before it could give any damage. You both looked intently at each other, your eyes glaring annoyedly and his eyes admiring the sight in front of him. This was exactly what you expected from him, this is exactly how he acts after these dates. He’s always the one to pick up and put back the broken pieces once the doll breaks, even if he’s the reason the doll fell in the first place.

Once you walked into the apartment, you left your shoes and purse by the door, right beside Jean’s shoes. You waved a quick hello to Connie and Sasha - who were too distracted shooting zombies to see you - as you walked past them in the living room and found your way straight to Jean’s room. You knew the apartment like the back of your hand, you had been here a million times.

You walked across the small room to your drawer that Jean keeps all of your clothes in for when you stay. You pulled it open and picked out a pair of cheetah print pajama shorts and an old t-shirt from an now irrelevant ex boyfriend. You threw the clothes on his bed, getting ready to change just when the door suddenly opened.

You turned to the door with tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows as Jean joined you in the room. He leaned against the now closed door, physically keeping the others from joining as well. He crossed his arms against his chest, taking in the sight of him - you in your satin black dress you wore on nearly every date.

“So,” Jean said finally, “What happened?”

You sighed, “He crawled through a window.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrowed, “He crawled through a window?”

“Yes, when he went to the bathroom and I called you. He crawled through a window to get away from me.” You looked anywhere around the room but the boy. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey,” Jean moved from the door, coming across the room to you, “Nothing’s wrong with you. Something’s wrong with him.” Jean held you at arm’s length, his hands on your shoulders. “Not only did he leave you, but he has a crush on Eren of all people. I’ve seen birds at the park who are more attractive than he is.”

You grinned sadly, “I bet people don’t crawl through windows to get away from Eren on dates.”

Jean ran his hand down the side of your head, “Eren doesn’t give them the chance, I don’t think he’s ever been on a date.”

“But, people would go on one with him.” You finally looked up at the boy in front of you, trying to keep the tears from spilling the second time today. “He’s not undateable. I’m undateable. I’ve scared guys away every Saturday night for the last two months.”

“You’re not undateable,” Jean said sternly, “You just haven’t found the right one. And, you won’t find the right one if you don’t keep going on these dates. Every horrible date means you’re one more Saturday closer to your soulmate.”

“And, what if I don’t have a soulmate? What if I’m damned to die alone?”

“Then, I’ll die with you.” Jean brought you in for a tight hug, your face snuggling into his firm chest. Jean whispered his words, mostly to himself, “I’d give up 200 soulmates if it only meant I could die with you.”

You closed your eyes against the soft fabric of Jean’s shirt. It was hard to trust his words when there seemed to be so many contradicting factors. Maybe tonight was a total bust, but next Saturday was a new day. You could try again next Saturday, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that. And, every Saturday for the rest of your life until you found your soulmate, even if that seemed like a pointless mission.

You’d do it for both you and Jean, it was the least you could do.

First Sunday

You woke up in Jean’s bed with his body close to yours. It was a standard cuddling position for your friendship: face-to-face, his arms wrapped around your side, your arms cradled against your chest, and your legs intertwined. Despite the normalcy associated with the position, you still woke up with a dorky smile and butterflies floating around your stomach when you saw him sleeping in front of you.

Today was no exception.

You grinned ear to ear as you watched the peaceful rise and fall of Jean’s tanned chest under the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. You watched as his lips parted against the pressure of the pillow under his cheek, a small stream of spit rolling from the corner of his mouth and onto the fabric of the pillowcase below. Every Saturday night ended with tears and regrets, but every Sunday morning began with sweet dreams and a special sleepy boy.

You turned away from Jean, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The only way to successfully grab the phone was to also pull yourself from Jean’s grasp and from between his legs. It was a horrible price to be paid, but it had to be paid nonetheless.

You checked your lock screen, reading over playful messages from your roommate asking about how good Floch was in bed - assuming you had stayed at his house since you hadn’t come home. And, a few confused messages from Eren asking you who Floch was, why he was texting him, and how he was connected to you.

You locked the phone and turned back to Jean. You were expecting the boy to still be napping peacefully, but he instead stared sleepily at you. Your face had been in a grimace from the mentions of your date last night, but Jean’s honey brown eyes quickly dissipated any negative feelings.

“Good morning,” You whispered, “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning,” Jean said as he shifted his head and wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. He was hoping you hadn’t noticed the wetness and that you weren’t questioning the wiping motion he made at his cheek. “And I-”

You smiled, “From the drool spot on the pillowcase, I’ll have to assume you slept well.”

Jean’s cheeks turned rosy, you could see the physical embarrassment on his face. He wasn’t the type to accept humiliation so easily, he was always one to fight back. Just his humiliation isn’t enough, if he’s going down, he’s taking as many people he can take with him. So, you weren’t sure why you were surprised when he swiftly sat up, grabbed the pillow, and attempted to shove the wet spot into your face.

You yelped, rolled, and sprung from the bed only a second before the pillow could land on your cheek, right where it was heading. You were up on your feet quicker than you ever thought you could be, your body still feeling the aftereffects of sleep. You looked down at the boy in front of you, the pillow still tightly gripped in his hands and a mischievous smile smacked across his face.

“You little bastard,” You said with a shocked smile.

Jean smiled back, “I’m actually quite big.” The words were meant as a joke about his body’s size, but both of your dirty minds immediately jumped to the size of something else on his body. “In more ways than one.”

You shouted at the boy between the giggles escaping from your throat, “Jean! Seriously!”

Jean shrugged, laughing along at his own joke, “I’m sorry, I had to!”

“You didn’t have to do shit!” You made your way to the bedroom door. “I’m going home!”

“One bad joke and now you’re leaving.” Jean leaped from the bed, following you to the door. “At least let me make you breakfast first.”

You turned to him with an intrigued glint in your eyes, “Will you make me waffles?”

“Sure,” Jean said as he playfully shoved your shoulder, “I’ll make you waffles.”

“With chocolate chips?” He walked in front of you, leaving the room with you following behind him like a child.

“Yes, I can add chocolate chips.” Jean tried to hide the grin spreading across his cheeks. “Do you want bacon and sausage as well?”

“Shut up,” You said from behind his back, “You know that I don’t.”

His voice sounded sweet, “Yeah, I do know.”

You stood against the counter, only a foot away from where he stirred the waffle mix. You watched as he eyed the waffle box intently, then poured the four other ingredients into the bowl after the dry mix. He looked a bit confused as he moved the spoon around the bowl, as if he was deathly afraid of missing something but not wanting to give the impression that he’d be stupid enough to miss something.

You knew where the coffee was kept and how to work his coffee machine and while you waited for it to brew, you watched Jean with a weak smile across your face. He could feel your eyes on him. Jean tried to ignore the weight of your eyes, not wanting his cheeks to go red though his chest was already inflating from the action.

Jean spared a glance in your direction, only a few seconds before the coffee finished brewing with a loud splash. For those few seconds when both of your eyes were held on each other, time seemed to slow. You could read the admirational glint in his brown eyes and he could read the appreciative glint in your eyes. Before the moment could go much further, you turned away and grabbed the coffee pot and mugs.

You not only knew which coffee beans Jean preferred, but you also knew how he liked his coffee. You poured a little bit of his roommate’s creamer into his mug, and then the tiniest bit of sugar as well. After the coffee was finished, you handed him the mug with a quick smile.

Waffles eventually found themselves on plates and forks eventually found themselves in between fingers. You both ate breakfast against the kitchen counter, Jean leaning down farther than you had to. You moved your fork against the softness of the slightly underdone waffles - he didn’t know just how much batter was supposed to go into the waffle maker at once.

Jean suddenly spoke up by your side, “Are you free this Saturday?”

You turned to the boy, “I normally am. Who’s next?”

“I have a friend on the football team.” Jean ignored your initial grimace to the statement. “He’s nice and desperate, the way you like ‘em.”

You turned back to your waffle with a small pout, “Maybe I should give guys a break for a little.” Jean raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll just become a nun and write off men altogether.”

“You can’t do that!”

Your head snapped back to Jean, “I can’t?”

“No,” Jean said, “You can’t.”

“And, why can’t I?”

“You just can’t.”

A thick silence had settled in the room, the only sound being the scraping of forks against the porcelain plates. You wondered why Jean was against you becoming a nun. You assumed it was because he was the type to fight persistently, so possibly the idea of giving up on something indefinitely was foreign and upsetting to him. You knew he indirectly reflected onto other people, yourself included.

After a few more moments of silence, Jean started walking away. You watched him as he moved across the living room, heading straight towards his bedroom. Right before the boy could get to the door, he turned to you with a single raised eyebrow and a cocky grin.

“Hey,” Jean said from across the room, “Do you wanna go to the bathroom before I do?”

You looked around the kitchen with a confused look on your face, as if the apartment could give you any clue as to what he was implying with his words. You didn’t have to use the bathroom, nor did you ever insinuate within the last twenty minutes that you did.

You tilted your head curiously, “Why would I need to go to the bathroom before you?”

Jean smiled at the idea of his next words, already proud of himself, “Just to make sure I can’t crawl out through the window.”

Jean laughed as you pretended to throw your fork across the spacious apartment. He was proud of his joke, and you had to admit that you weren’t as upset as you should have been. Last night, the idea of your date crawling through a window in order to get away from you was the worst thing that had ever happened. But with Jean, it was just a funny memory.

Jean came back to the kitchen after a few moments, still giggling lightly about his joke he made nearly two whole minutes ago. You ignored his cockiness by trying to fight the smile forming on your face.

Jean leaned towards you, wrapping a muscled arm around your shoulders. Being pressed against his body in this way made you now realize how he smelled. He smelled of a rich cologne of rose and mahogany. You hadn’t noticed the cologne before he left for the bathroom, but it could have very well slipped past you.

Jean spoke from above you, “I’m glad you aren’t still upset about last night.”

“I never said that.” You looked up at the boy, his arm still around you. “But, I am starting to see the humor in the situation.”

“Good,” Jean said with a smile, “It’s not nearly as bad as that guy who asked if his mom could join you for the date.”

You cringed at the thought, “And, I said yes.”

“And, the one who asked for a vial of your blood.”

You shrugged at the taller boy, “At least he asked, there was the one guy who stole my hair scrunchie without asking first. I think he used it so he could clone me.”

“Yeah.” Jean quickly remembered another awful date. “And, the one who gave you a yarn doll of yourself as a first date gift.”

You smiled widely, “I’m nearly a hundred percent sure that it was actually a Voodoo doll. I’m glad I accepted it before I told him no to a second date.”

Jean grinned down at you, only an inch or two from your face. It was hard not to smile when looking at the boy. He was beautiful and reminded you of an ancient sun god. From his tanned skin, to his lively brown eyes, and his deeply inviting smile. It was hard to look at Jean and not feel your heart skip a beat, especially when you were so close to him.

“They’re all funny stories now,” Jean said, “So, that’s good.”

You moved deeper into his arm, “Funny stories that I don’t need.”

“But, funny stories nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled sarcastically, “Thanks to you.”

“Hey!” Jean was pulling you into a quick bear hug as you laughed against his chest. “I try to find the University’s best guys for you! They are truly the school’s finest.”

“Then, why do they all suck?”

He didn’t answer your question because he wasn’t sure he knew why. He didn’t know why he threw these horrible guys onto you, under the impression of them being good matches. But, in his defense, it was hard to find somebody of your quality.

You were a goddess amongst mortals and these men could never be enough for you. And, if these men were mortals compared to you, then Jean felt he wasn’t even a mortal. He was the dirt hiding in the crevices of somebody’s shoe, he was the dust somebody breathed in before they yawned. Jean felt he could never equal up to you, but maybe these other guys could get close. And, maybe - just maybe - if he helps you get a boyfriend, then he wouldn’t think about you being a goddess so much.

Next Chapter

The Embrace of Love and Death, Chapter 5: Playing with Knives

Chapter summary: Lae’zel puts Astarion and Miss Fortune through the paces, training them relentlessly until they learn to work together better. Things get flirtatious between the rogues as they get to know each other better, and Shadowheart puts Miss Fortune on the spot to reveal their past.

Read the full chapter on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/64221298/chapters/166716742

Excerpt:

“It’s time for the two of you to start warming up,” the warrior commanded as soon as she noticed Miss Fortune was done eating. There was no room for bargaining or arguing in her tone. “You will go to the clearing, you will stretch every muscle, do push-ups, sit-ups, and squats to exhaustion twice, and lastly you will run until I decide to come stop you. Then, I will train you until I am satisfied that you’ve learned the lesson at hand.”

Miss Fortune could hear Astarion complaining under his breath the whole way to the clearing, and when they arrived he turned on them with a huff.

“Why don’t you just leave me at camp to watch the cook pot?” He demanded, waving his hands wildly. “Why put us through all this just to keep me on the road with you?”

“Is that what you want? To stay in camp?” They asked as they began to stretch their arms and shoulders.

“Wha—I didn’t say that,” the vampire countered, beginning his own stretches. “It’s just, wouldn’t that be easier?”

“And miss out on your witty banter and gorgeous face all day? Doesn’t sound easier to me,” Miss Fortune grinned.

“Oh, well in that case…” Astarion feigned sheepishness, brushing a curl behind his pointy ear. “Glad to see someone around here has good taste.”

“And you would know after last night, wouldn’t you? How good my taste is?” Miss Fortune dropped to the ground to begin stretching the lower half of their body. They chanced a quick glance up at the vampire and noticed an almost imperceptible shudder of ecstasy as he presumably recalled the taste of their blood. The half-elf had to look away quickly, hoping he didn’t catch sight of the hot blush razing across their cheeks.

“Aha! How delightful. Yes, you were scrumptious, my sweet. But to whom am I speaking today? Because it’s certainly not the same sad little bird who was ready to curl up and die last night.” Astarion followed suit, practically bending himself in half with seemingly no effort. Miss Fortune tried unsuccessfully not to let their eyes - or mind - drift too much at the sight. There was no denying that he had a great body, and the incredible flexibility had them feeling some type of way.

So I'm waiting a fic about jayvik because interacting with jayvik fans has been like wearing an oxygen mask in this moment of my life

If you're into modern AU, scientific competition, slowest of burns, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, petty lab wars, soul mate shit, then i will leave you the link :)

I leave you with some screenshots of fluffy moments because God knows we need those in this economy.

Please feel free to interact if you feel so inclined. Makes my day every time.