As a trauma survivor, viewing people and pictures in black and white is a reality until the truth hits us that people are not exactly sorted. They're actually a mix of love and poison. This way or that, they're complicated.
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Hello author, I hope you doing well and I would like to ask you an one shot if that's not bother you. I'm sorry in advance for the spelling mistakes, English is not my first language. (ā āā ļ½”ā ā¢Ģā āæā ā¢Ģā ļ½”ā )ā ā
Fandom : Bungou Strays Dogs
Theme : slightly angst/fluff&comfort
It's an Mori Ougai x GN!Reader, Friends to Lover ( their love eachother but didn't still confess )
Plot : The reader runs a cafe and has the ability to change and go in people's dreams as long as they knows their names.
Mori often frequents the cafe because Elise enjoys the desserts sold there. Mori and reader are friends because of this.
The reader don't know that's Mori was the Boss of the Port Mafia at the start and Mori don't know about Reader's ability at the start.
So one day, Reader notice that Mori don't feel very well because Mori have nightmares and bad sleep so innocently the Reader wish to make him feel better and decide to change and manipulate the dream's of Mori next night and discover that's the nightmare Mori have is about his past trauma during and the reader decide to comfort him. The reader also discover at the same time that's Mori is the boss of the Port Mafia.
Next day, Mori confront the Reader about this and after an discussion, they confess to eachother.
The end
I hope you would have an great day, goodbye author ! <ā (ā ļæ£ā ļø¶ā ļæ£ā )ā >ā¤ļøā¤ļøā¤ļø
A/N: This...is not my best work. I'm in the middle of finals but I had this started and wanted to finish this adorable scenario. Might edit it later cause some of the dialogues are very cringe. Thank you so much for the request, love! This story was a joy to write, and I hope it brings you the comfort and emotion you were looking for. I really admire your idea and your kindnessāplease donāt worry about your English, it was perfectly clear and heartfelt! Hope you enjoy!! (Ā“ļ½”ā¢ įµ ā¢ļ½”`) ā”
TW: themes of trauma, war, death, medical imagery, and implied assassination. Please read with care. (Ėļø¶Ė).ļ½”.:*ā”
āWelcome back,ā you said, voice warm. āYour usual seat today?ā
Moriās lips curved into a polite, familiar smile. āOf course,ā he replied, removing his gloves with slow precision. āAnd Elise, I assume, will insist on the parfait again?ā
āYes, yes!ā Elise clapped her hands together and darted toward the window seat, the one she always claimed, already pulling her legs up into the booth like she owned the place. āWith extra cream this time, okay? You always forget!ā
āI donāt always forget,ā you replied with a teasing glance. āBut fineāextra swirl, just for you.ā
She gave a little victorious āhmph,ā folding her arms and watching the dessert case with laser focus.
Mori chuckled under his breath as he settled into the seat across from her, brushing a speck of lint from his coat sleeve. āSheās been talking about this parfait since last week. I believe Iāve been threatened with exile if we didnāt come today.ā
āShe does have excellent taste,ā you said, stepping out from behind the counter with a small notepad in hand, though you already knew their order by heart. āCoffee for you? Black, no sugar, a dash of cinnamon?ā
āAlways.ā He nodded. āYou remember better than most.ā
āI pay attention.ā You offered him a quiet, knowing smile before scribbling the order anyway, more out of habit than need.
As you turned to head back toward the kitchen, Elise leaned over to whisper to Moriāloudly enough for you to still hear.
āYou two should just marry already,ā she said with exaggerated annoyance. āYou keep staring.ā
Mori raised a brow and cleared his throat, uncharacteristically flustered. āElise.ā
āWhat?ā she huffed. āIām just saying what everyone else is thinking.ā
You bit your lip to hold back a laugh as you disappeared through the doorway to start on their drinks and dessert.
Behind you, Mori sighed. āChildren,ā he muttered, but there was the faintest softness in his voiceāsomething not quite annoyance. Something else entirely.
Instead, he wore the same worn white doctorās coat, frayed slightly at the cuffs, like it had lived through more than it should have. His hair, once neatly parted, now fell messily around his temples, and he hadnāt shaved in daysāhis jaw shadowed with a soft stubble that made him look more tired than dangerous. If anyone noticed, they probably assumed he was just a fatigued hospital worker on a break. Someone normal. Invisible.
But not to you.
To you, he was the man who drank his coffee far too bitter, who hunched slightly when he read from crumpled medical texts in the corner, who only relaxed when Elise laughed with her mouth full of cream. Youād grown used to the image of him like thisāunkempt, quiet, a little frayed around the edgesāand maybe thatās why you liked him even more.
Here, in this little pocket of the world, he let his guard down. No title. No grandeur. Just a man who always chose the corner booth, who always said your name a little softer than necessary, who always seemed a little sad when he thought no one was looking.
He was rough around the edges, yes, but he was real. And you had come to look forward to that quiet presence more than you dared admit.
You knew so little, really. Only that he often sat silently while Elise devoured sweets with childlike glee, her voice rising with delight as she demanded more whipped cream or argued with him about dessert etiquette. And you? Youād linger longer than necessary at his table, refilling his cup when it was still half-full, offering a quiet smile and a few easy words.
Over time, the distance between you had shrunkāsubtly, naturally. You learned he liked lilacs, though he never said it outright, only commented on the small vase of them once with the faintest curve of a smile. Youād noticed the way he paused before answering your questions, as if weighing how much of himself to offer. You respected that. Never pushed.
āRintarou,ā you called him, and he let youāno correction, no deflection.Ā
No one had said itānot yetābut the space between friendship and something more was growing thinner with every visit.
You slid his coffee across the table, hand brushing his by accident. He didnāt pull away. But his eyes... were tired. More than usual.Ā
You approached the table with his coffee in hand, setting it down with the gentle clink of ceramic against wood. Elise was too busy humming to herself while scribbling in a coloring book to notice anything, but you caught it the moment you looked at himāRintarouās eyes were duller than usual, ringed faintly with exhaustion. His posture wasnāt as straight, his shoulders slouched just slightly, and he hadnāt even bothered to brush the sleep lines from his cheek.
āYou didnāt sleep well, did you?ā you asked softly, sliding into the seat across from him, your tone more concerned than casual.
He looked up, blinking once like youād caught him off guard. āIs it really that obvious?ā
You gave him a small, lopsided smile. āNot to most people. But Iāve seen you when youāre... composed. And this isnāt it.ā
His fingers curled loosely around the coffee cup, but he didnāt lift it right away. āYouāre observant.ā
Rintarou was silent for a moment. His gaze dropped to the steam curling up from his cup, and something unreadable passed over his faceā almost weariness.
āI justā¦ wanted to check,ā you added gently, as if afraid you might have overstepped. āIf thereās anything I can do. Or if you just want to talk. Or even if you donāt want to say anything at allāIām here ātill closing.ā
He looked at you then. Really looked. And in his eyes, there was something raw beneath all that restraint. He gave a short, humorless breath through his nose. āNo, Iām alright.ā he said, then softer, ābut thank you.ā
There was something tender in his voice when he said thatālike the act of offering had meant more than your words. He finally brought the coffee to his lips, sipping it slowly. You didnāt push, just stood there with him for a moment in comfortable silence.
That night, you sat alone in your quiet apartment, troubled by the image of him. Your ability was a rare one. You could enter and influence dreams, as long as you knew someoneās name. And Rintarou Moriāyou knew his name. You had never used your ability without telling someone. But this felt... different. He looked like he needed rest more than anything else. You only wanted to help.
So you closed your eyes, whispered his name, and fell into sleep.
The dream was a suffocating void, alive with pain and regret.
You found yourself in a makeshift field hospital, the air thick with antiseptic and screams. Young Rintarouāhis once-crisp white coat stained by sweat and mudāraced between bloodied stretchers. Heād been a war doctor first, stitching wounds and administering morphine under relentless shellfire. Here, his hands shook as he tried to save soldiers heād never know again.
Then the scene blurred, shifting to a dingy back-alley clinic, flickering lanterns casting half-shadows. Heād worked there next, an underground doctor tending to the cityās worst and desperate. His coat hung heavier, the fabric threadbare, but his eyes burned with quiet determination as he patched bullet wounds by candlelight.
Finally, the memory twisted, hard and sharp, dragging you into the dim, echoing halls of the Port Mafiaās headquarters. The air was cold, still, and heavy with finality. There, in the shadows of power, Rintarou knelt beside a frail figure collapsed on a silk-draped bedāhis predecessor, the old boss. The manās hair was ghost-white, slick with sweat, his breath shallow and rattling like wind through cracked glass.
You watched, heart tight, as the old manās eyes snapped open. His voice came in a fevered whisper, slurred and manic: āKill themā¦ kill them allā¦ā
And Rintarouāhis expression unreadable, his face like carved porcelaināleaned in close. With steady, surgical precision, he withdrew a blade. Not a weapon of war, but a surgeonās knifeāsterile, deliberate, clinical.
Without a word, he drew it across the old manās throat.
The blood was quick and silent, soaking into the sheets like ink. There was no cruelty in the act. No pleasure. Only cold necessityāand a trace of sorrow so deeply buried it almost went unnoticed. The bossās last breath rattled like a judgeās gavel.
You stepped forward, the memory still settling around him like ash. The air was heavy with blood and silenceātoo many silences. The soldiers he couldnāt save. The desperate voices from that backroom clinic. The soft, wet sound of a throat being opened by his own hand.
They flickered in and out of focusāghosts circling him, bound not by malice, but by memory. And Rintarou knelt at the center of it all, unmoving. Not resisting. Justā¦ enduring. Shoulders stiff. Eyes blank. A man who had learned to carry his sins in silence because he thought no one else should have to.
You knelt beside him, your presence a ripple in the stillness. One hand reached out, brushing his sleeveājust enough. Not to erase what had happened, but to offer something else.
With the faintest pulse of your ability, the scene around you began to bend and soften. The dark walls of the Mafiaās inner sanctum melted away, brick by brick, and were replaced by open sky. Cold stone gave way to soft grass. The air warmed. Light returned.
And yetā¦ he didnāt move.
Even in the dawn you offered, Rintarou sat frozenājaw tight, fists clenched in his lap, as if terrified that letting go of the past would dishonor the dead he carried with him.
You looked at him, truly looked. Not as a doctor. Not as a killer. But as a man whoād lived through more than anyone shouldāand survived it alone.
And for the first time, in the quiet hum of his dream, you whispered, āYou donāt have to keep reliving it to prove you remember.ā
He didnāt answer, but his breath hitchedājust once. And in that stillness, you saw it:
You met him behind the counter, offering his coffee without a word. But he didnāt take it right away.
āYou,ā he said quietly, eyes never leaving yours, āwere in my dream.ā
You stilled.
His tone wasnāt angry. Not quite. But it carried a weight that settled in the space between you like a blade laid gently on a table.
āI donāt remember everything,ā he continued, tone calm but direct, ābut I know enough. You changed it. You saw it. You saw me.ā
Your throat tightened. āI didnāt mean to invade your mind, I swear. I didnāt even knowāat firstāthat it was that kind of dream. You looked soā¦ tired. I just wanted to help.ā
Rintarou studied you in silence, his expression unreadable.
āYou went where no oneās ever been,ā he said finally. āMy memories. My regrets. You saw what I did. What I became.ā
āI did,ā you said. āAnd Iām still treating you the same. Still here. That should tell you everything.ā
His jaw tightened, like he wasnāt sure whether to be relieved or ashamed. āYou saw me kill him.ā
You nodded.Ā
A pause.
A beat.
āMy real name is Ougai Mori. Rintarou is just what Elise likes to call me.ā
There it was. Clear. Direct. A confession offered not with pride, but with unflinching honesty.
The words hung between you like a blade suspended mid-air.
You stared at him for a long moment, trying to match this quiet manāthis gentle regular with worn sleeves and a sweet tooth for Eliseās sakeāto the shadowed title that made the underworld tremble. And yet... it wasnāt hard. Because you had already seen what others hadnāt: the surgeonās precision, the commanderās burden, the man beneath the weight.
You exhaled slowly. āSo thatās the name behind the nightmares.ā
You stared at him, the words settling between you like smoke that didnāt quite sting. It should have frightened you. It should have driven you back. But instead, you stepped closerābarely noticeable, just a shift in breath, in presence.
āā¦I figured it was something like that,ā you said softly, voice steady. āAfter everything I sawā¦ the weight you carry, the things youāve doneāyes, I know who you are now. But it doesnāt change what I see when I look at you.ā
You stepped around the counter and walked up to him. Close enough that you could see the worry he almostāalmostāmanaged to hide.
āYou didnāt become a monster,ā you said, voice steady despite the storm inside you. āYou became a man carrying more than anyone should have to. You made choices that no one else wanted to make. Iām not going anywhere.ā
A long silence passed. He looked at you, really looked at you, with those dark eyes that had seen far too much. And for a moment, something softened in themāsomething fragile and human and achingly real.
āI should have walked away from this place the moment I realized what I was beginning to feel,ā he said, voice low. āBut I couldnāt. I told myself it was for Elise. For the quiet. The coffee.ā
He smiled faintly. A sad, small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. āBut it was always you.ā
Your breath caught.
āI stay because you make me forget,ā he continued, ājust for a little whileā¦ what Iāve done. What I am. You remind me that thereās still something gentle left in me.ā
You reached out then, fingers brushing his coat sleeve before taking his hand completely. It was warm. Solid. Hesitant.
āI donāt want you to forget,ā you whispered. āI want you to rememberāand still believe thereās something worth holding onto. Something good. Something soft.ā
His fingers curled around yours.
āā¦You make me want things Iād convinced myself I didnāt deserve.ā
āThen let yourself have them,ā you said, voice a little shaky. āLet yourself have this.ā
A silence fell again, but this time it wasnāt heavy. It was full of something softer. Something waiting.
And then, without another word, he leaned inātentative, careful, like he was giving you every chance to step away.
You didnāt.
You closed the distance, pressing your forehead to his, your hand still wrapped in his. There was no rush. No urgency. Just the quiet bloom of something long overdue.
When you finally pulled back, he was smilingānot the sharp, practiced smile youād seen so many times, but something smaller. Warmer. Real.
āIād like to stay,ā he said, his voice barely above a breath. āIf youāll have me.ā
Not All Dark Wings Are Red Flags: In Defense of Rhysand š¤āØšļø
After talking about Tamlin... letās talk about Rhysand!
No, really. Letās talk about him ā because for a character whoās literally written to be the fantasy, he sure gets called toxic a lot.
Itās a conversation that keeps resurfacing in fandom spaces: āHeās manipulative.ā āHe hides things.ā āHe has too much power.ā And sure, if you squint hard enough and remove all context and character developmentā¦ you might be able to argue that.
But hereās the thing: Rhysand isnāt toxic. Heās complicated. And there's a very big difference.
š§ First of all: He was introduced as a mask.
Letās not forget A Court of Thorns and Roses was written through Feyreās point of view ā and Rhys, at that point, wanted her to mistrust him. He wasnāt trying to be liked. He was trying to protect his people, himself, and Feyre, in the only way he could under Amaranthaās rule. The Rhys we meet at the beginning is not a complete man ā heās a cornered animal with claws out.
š But the deeper we go, the more we see the real version.
By A Court of Mist and Fury, we learn that Rhysand is one of the only characters who respects Feyreās autonomy. He gives her choice, time, space. He doesnāt lock her in a house, doesnāt silence her pain, and certainly doesnāt pretend to know whatās best for her. He challenges her, but never controls her.
š He understands trauma ā because he lives with it.
Rhysand doesnāt arrive in the narrative as a knight in shining armour. Heās broken, strategic, full of pain ā and still able to offer gentleness. Unlike the male love interest in book one, he never tries to rescue Feyre from herself. He helps her become who she wants to be, not who he wants her to be. That's not toxic ā thatās healing.
š "But he kept things from her!"
Yes. Because trust is something thatās built, not automatic. Because he wanted her to choose him, not feel obligated to him. Because sometimes, people make the wrong call ā even when their intentions are good. And importantly: when Feyre does confront him, he listens. He apologises. He grows.
š§ø Being powerful doesnāt make him a threat ā how he uses it is what matters.
Rhysand has immense magical, political, and personal power. But not once does he use it to force Feyre into anything. Thatās the point. He could, but he doesnāt. Because real love is consent, balance, and agency. Heās an example of strength that chooses restraint.
š At the end of the day, Rhysand is a fantasy.
Yes, heās written to be alluring, clever, strong, and just a little bit smug. But above all: heās written to be safe. The man who waited. The man who saw her breaking and didnāt rush to fix her ā he knelt, and said: Iām here if you want me.
Thatās not toxic. Thatās emotional literacy in wings and starlight.
Parenthood has a way of softening the edges of old wounds. You start to realize that forgiveness isnāt about erasing the past ā itās about understanding it through a more compassionate lens.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
