#//if my work will allow it.......... ill ask tomorrow

[serpulalacrymans]

I need to go.. I need to think...

I know it's hard to tell sometimes but I really do appreciate everyone.. Please don't think I don't..

[autism-corner]

whoever decided that a mental illness should have negative effects needs to DIE.

[phagodyke]

wheres the "why is it so saaaad" image with the cat with big sopping watering eyes ouauauuugh how I feel is the embodiment of that

[stamplerfag]

Hey, you're not a bad person. If you don't know any better then you simply didn't know any better. That doesn't make you worthy of shame or hate. You're not a bad person.

no, i know im being very hyperbolic about it all and not giving myself any grace. but it feels like my only options are "dont question anything ever so your brain doesnt eat itself alive" or "dont ever forget how bad everything is because youre doing a disservice to everyone if you forget." and im doing the first one because ive spent so long doing this specific thing and feeling very guilty over things that i have no control over and its not good for me. but i know its morally incorrect to be happy in a broken system

and i cant stand the idea of being happy and doing well when its morally wrong to do so. and when other people observe me being happy they will scoff at me and hate me. i dont want to do things wrong ever or disagree with anyone and i would do the right thing if i had the rulebook, you know. but there isnt one because theres no concrete metric to measure the meaning of life and value on. so i will always be "living wrong" because nothing means anything in truth. and i dont want to be wrong to people

[readymades2002]

genuinely it is difficult having cultivated the like. taste in fiction that i have now that i am in a place where i'm trying to talk to people more and make friends and so on and so forth and this is the field i'm having to play on with them. i don't think anyone has to be critic-brained (i do think its good to recognize that media is Authored and to look at things with both eyes open but some people simply enjoy things in other ways and i may get irritated by that but i don't suppose its Wrong) and i have in fact met people who Will meet me in that field but it doesnt change that the field i like to play in is much different and no one is expected to meet me there in the same way i am expected to play ball with marvel fans

[simplyundeniable98]

look at me t.s.

Pairing | Thomas Shelby x Female reader

Summary | When Mrs. Shelby requests Tommy in the room with her for the birth of their first daughter everyone is shocked. Men aren't supposed to be in the room with their wives as they give birth, it's just not how it is supposed to be... well all men aren't Thomas Shelby.

Warnings | Mentions of childbirth, pain obviously she's literally giving birth, maybe ooc Tommy? idk. Reader is a little mean to her doctors but she's in pain cut her some slack. MDNI because I said so. Foul language.

Word Count | .06k

~This is loosely based off of the scene in Queen Charlotte when they won't let George into the room to see Charlotte. If you know what I'm talking about I love you~

All dialogue in italics is spoken in Romani.

"Mrs Shelby forgive me but husbands aren't usually in the room during the birth" The doctor spoke hesitantly as his eyes flicked nervously around the room.

Everyone seemed to speak hesitantly around her. I guess that was what you get when you become a Shelby. Everyone around you is constantly terrified to tell you no or disagree. It was like being royalty in a sort of fucked up way.

Polly Gray cut the doctor a look as she walked over to you and put a reassuring hand on your forehead.

"Polly please" you cried in pain "I need him here." Nothing from the old wive tales could compare to the pain you were feeling. You had been pushing for hours now with Polly at your side but nothing was working. Your daughter simply just would not budge. Polly had made the comment early on about her already showing traits from her father.

"I don't care what usually happens. If Tommy Shelby is not in this room in the next five minutes, I will personally end you." You spoke with a hiss pointing at the doctor.

You weren't usually this aggressive, but given the fact you were in pain and used to getting what you wanted all the time, the circumstances were different.

Polly sighed as she looked down at you and began to head out of the room.

"What's wrong, is she okay?" Tommy spoke immediately as Polly exited the doors of your room.

"She's requesting you Thomas" Polly spoke in Romani so as to not alert the other doctors of your request.

"She wants me in the room with her?" He spoke hesitantly as he looked towards the door.

Polly nodded and Tommy immediately started towards the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Shelby but I cannot allow you to be in the room." The doctor outside of your door spoke as his eyes flicked down to the floor to avoid Tommy's sharp gaze.

"Tell me, doctor, do you like your job?" Tommy spoke with a raised brow as he waited for his response.

When he didn't reply Tommy bent down to reach his gaze "Hmm? I asked you a question doctor, do you like your job?"

"Yes. Yes I like my job" He murmured still avoiding the sharp blue eyes that were currently staring daggers at the man.

"Well if you intend on staying alive long enough to keep it, I suggest you move out of my way." Tommy stood up straight and tilted his head towards the door.

The doctor nodded and stepped aside, letting Tommy enter the room. "If I hear one more word from anyone about my presence in this room, I will have a peaky blinder on each and every one of your doorsteps first thing tomorrow morning" Tommy spoke before anyone could protest.

"Tommy" you gasped as you finally laid eyes on your husband. "I've been asking for you"

"I know, I know. But I'm here now eh? I'm here now." Tommy bent down to give your forehead a kiss as you winced.

"I cant do this Tommy" you cried "I want it to be over"

Tommy's heart broke at the sight of you. His wife. He wished he could just take all of your pain away and keep it for himself.

Tommy bent down to kneel at the side of your bed as he cradled your face in his hands.

"Look at me. Hey, Look at me, love." He spoke softly as you turned your head to gaze at him with teary eyes.

"You can do this. I know you can. You are the most headstrong women I know, and ill be damned if you give up now." You giggled at his lighthearted teasing and nodded.

"And you don't really have a choice love. This baby has got to come out in one way or another." He smirked at you as you rolled your eyes at your husband.

"Okay Mrs. Shelby its time to push" Your doctor spoke as Tommy placed a kiss on the hand he had ahold of and nodded at you.

"Let's meet our daughter Mrs. Shelby."

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[janeyseymour]

She

an anon requested this song fic based on Dodie's song. It's a really beautiful song about longing... and i attached is my own cover of the song if you'd like to hear my version of it :)

WC: ~2.6k

From the first day you began working at Abbott, you knew Melissa Schemmenti was an ethereal being. She was perfect- stunningly gorgeous, hilarious and quick witted, fiercely protective of those who she cared about- never one to back down from a challenge or threat that presented itself. And somehow you wormed your way into her heart- you still don’t really know why or how. 

Apparently, you were the absolute opposite of someone who would find themselves interacting with Melissa. You were just… you. You were young. You were positive and fun-loving, coming in with your hair done up nicely and always wearing something that had flowers on it. You were far from the blazers and jackets that she wore, but also just as far from the leather that she was usually clad in- your style was more Janine-esque. And oh how she loved to make fun of her colleagues outfit choices most days with her big skirts and ill-fitting sweaters, the clogs and shoes that didn’t have laces. The difference between you and Janine was that your clothes were shaped to your body, showing off your figure instead of hiding it- you wonder if that’s why she doesn’t make comments about your bright and sunny disposition.

But she liked having you around- she made it a point to keep you close to her during staff meetings, lunches, and outside of school- going as far as letting you come over for dinner and making you various meals.

And after so much time spent with the redheaded woman who loved to play hard and tough but was actually one of the sweetest souls, you find that you’ve developed feelings for her. The more time you spend with her though, it makes it harder and harder to mask and keep under wraps. Because she means everything to you, but you doubt she’ll ever know that. And oddly, you find that to be okay because you would rather have her in your life as a friend than as nothing at all. 

——

But are you allowed to look at her like that? Could it be so wrong when she’s just so nice to look at?

You’ve had ample time to look at Melissa- she’s always sitting next to you or across from you if you’re at her house. You would be lying if you said that you never stole a glance at her figure- it’s killer. But what really draws you in is her face and the way that she is so expressive with everything she does. Her eyes light up when she’s happy, and the way that she scrunches up her nose when she finds something so delightfully adorable melts your heart. The redhead’s smile is radiant, and you swear it could light up even the biggest of cities all on its own. And when she’s sad, you see the way that her usually sparkly emerald eyes dull just slightly in disappointment or regret. It’s in the way that she bites her lip subconsciously when she’s hesitant or nervous about something. 

“What’s got you dancing in here?” you ask as your eyes take a glance at the redhead’s voluptuous figure. Your eyes quickly flit up to her face though, and her eyes are brighter than usual, and you love the way that her smile meets her eyes.

“Just a good day,” she grins at you. “My cousin lost a bet, so I don’t have to make dinner tomorrow night!”

“Oh?” you raise a brow.

Melissa nods. “So, we’s getting Vin’s hoagies tomorrow. You’re still set to come over, right?”

“You know it,” you chuckle back. “As long as you promise I ain’t gonna get sick off ‘em.”

“You won’t. Half those reviews are full of shit.”

-

She doesn’t look thrilled coming into the break room for lunch today. Her eyes are dull, and there just isn’t the same pep in her step that there usually is when she sees you. She sits down quietly at her designated seat, keeping her head down and her mouth shut. She hardly touches her lunch that day.

“What’s got you down, Red?”

“I’m fine,” Melissa blinks quickly a few times. She tries to bring back the sparkle 

in her eyes, but it’s lacking. And it’s still lacking come the end of the day when the two of you walk out together.

“C’mon,” you say softly. “Tell me what’s going through that pretty head of yours.”

She sighs. “I think I have to break it off with Gare.”

“Oh?” you raise a brow as you adjust the strap to your backpack.

“It’s just not working out anymore,” she says quietly. “He wants more than I can give him now, and maybe ever.”

You reach out and take her hand gently. “I’m here if you need support.”

“Thanks,” she says through a sad smile as she squeezes your handle gently before dropping it.

——

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep, she tastes like apple juice and peach.

Your phone rings to life at the ripe hour of one in the morning. There is your favorite coworker’s smiling face; and with you knowing what she was going to do earlier in the evening, you answer.

“Mel?” you ask, trying not sound as though you weren’t just in one of the deepest slumbers of your life.

“Please… come over.”

“Are you okay?” you ask her softly as you pull the covers back and slip on the sneakers by your bed.

You hear her sniffle. “Not really… no.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” you promise her.

And you are. Without the hustle and bustle of the city to detour you, you’re able to pull up to her townhouse in just seven minutes. When she opens the door, you can immediately smell the scent of lemongrass that is coming from the diffuser over in the corner, and she looks exhausted- as if she’s just woken up herself. But she’s also holding a glass of wine, so you really don’t know what you’re walking into. 

“Mel?”

“I- I thought I was fine. I was drinking some of the apple wine that you know I like and I dozed off on the couch. When I woke up… it hit me that I’m- I’m single again,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Okay,” you reply just as softly as her. “That’s okay. I’m here to keep you company.”

She nods as you reach for the bottle of peach wine that she keeps for you at her house. After she’s finished off the apple wine, she pours herself a glass of the peach.

The two of you begin to spend much more time together now that she doesn’t have to go out with Gary for dinners and for various events that his company would invite him to.

——

Oh you would find her in a polaroid picture.

Since her breakup with Gary, you and Melissa have been joined at the hip. It makes her feel less lonely, and you don’t mind being able to spend time with the woman that you’ve realized is essentially the woman of your dreams.

The two of you are currently out thrift shopping when you come across an old polaroid camera. You pick it up with wonder in your eyes. Melissa comes up behind you with a smile dancing across her lips.

“You should get it,” she says quietly. “It’s cheap, and it’s definitely vintage at this point.”

One of the people working there sees that you’re interested in the device and makes her way over. “It’s got a roll in there too. Works nice. We tried it out when it got here.”

You grin, keeping it in your hands. When the two of you leave the store, the camera stays safely nestled around your neck. 

It’s a rather sunny day out, so the redhead has her sunglasses on and looks like she’s practically glowing. Without her noticing, because she’s walking across the street, you snap a picture of her. The Polaroid comes out, and you dry it quickly as you catch up with her before looking at it. 

Yeah, she belongs in that polaroid picture. When you show it to her, she rolls her eyes. But then she gestures for you to take another. You hold the camera up to your eye, and she rolls those striking green eyes again.

“With you in it, ya goof,” she instructs.

Your lips form into a small ‘O’ before you take it off your neck and face the lens so that you’re both hopefully in the frame. She playfully pretends as if she’s kissing your cheek when you do snap the photo. The film comes out, you dry it, and when you look at it… wow. Your heart swells, and she looks at it in approval as well. 

It stays on your fridge. 

——

She means everything to me.

She just does. It’s that simple. She’s Melissa Schmmenti, and you would be a fool for not seeing her for the absolutely goddess-like woman that she is.

——

I’d never tell. No, I’d never say a word. And oh, it aches. But it feels oddly good to hurt.

You would never, ever tell her of the feelings that you’ve developed for her. Not after she’s been so upset about breaking it up with Gary. Besides, you know she says things like ‘decisive women are hot’ but what does that really mean in the grand scheme of it all? And even if she was attracted to women, who’s to say she’s attracted to you- that you’re her type at all?

And somehow, you’re okay with not telling her of your feelings. Because at least you’re lucky enough to have the woman in your life. If you were to confess your feelings and then she was never into you, it would crush you. You wouldn’t want to lose her forever. So, you hurt in silence. And it feels oddly good to hurt over this one- because at least she’s there.

——

And I’ll be okay, admiring from afar, cause even when she’s next to me, we could not be more far apart.

You sit outside of your classroom for your preps most days, responding to emails and grading papers, because you like the change of scenery. It doesn’t hurt that you usually get to see Melissa Schemmenti roaming the halls to chat with her work wife or with any of your coworker friends.

You can always smell her and hear her before you can see her, the lingering scent of lemongrass and clacking of her heeled shoes letting you know that she’s on her way down the hall. When she passes, you smile up at her. She smiles back, giving you a gentle wave, before continuing down the hall towards her classroom.

Sometimes she brings her own things out to work with you- or at least next to you. But you’re still worlds apart. Her single days now consist of going out and staying out to forget about all her problems, while you enjoy the warmth of your home. She tells you about the different people that she meets out at the bars and how they’re good company at the time, but she’s not destroyed when she parts ways with them. You know deep down that you won’t be out at the bars trying to pick anyone else up anytime soon- not as long as your feelings for the redhead are as strong as they are.

——

Cause she tastes like birthday cake, and storytime, and fall. But to her, I taste of nothing at all.

Coworker birthdays usually mean birthday cakes, gatherings, and just enjoying the company of each other. And at the beginning of the school year, your birthday falls on a Saturday. So naturally, you surround yourself with those that you love- your coworkers. Your parents are too far away, you don’t necessarily have friends around here. So, the Abbott crew is at your townhouse, happily sitting outside and enjoying the last of the Summer air with a few beers in hand before the crisp Fall air pushes in.

Melissa had taken it upon herself to make your birthday cake this year, and it’s perfect. It’s absolutely divine, and you can’t help but watch as she eats her own creation. She knows its damn good- you can see her smirk as the others praise her baking. 

As night falls, the cool air sneaks in, and you’re reminded that Fall is just around the corner. And as the moonlight, along with the streetlights out front, light up your backyard, stories begin to come out of times before you had joined the Abbott crew.

Barbara tells you all of how her and Melissa came friends, Mr. Johnson tells stories that you take with a grain of salt but deep down now that there are little bits of truth sprinkled into his tall tales. Melissa lets all of you know that compared to when she started, y’all are soft.

You hang onto her every word, and she looks to you occasionally, but her eyes mostly stay on her work wife as she reminisces about what she claims to be the good ol’ days.

Those tales that haunt the halls of Abbott somehow turn to other stories that don’t revolve around Abbott.

Compared to some of the other people in her life, you realize, you mean nothing to her at all. 

——

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep. She tastes like apple juice and peach. You would find her in a polaroid picture. And she means everything to me. Yes, she means everything to me. She means everything to me.

As your sitting on your couch alone on a Friday night, you stand to get some more wine from the fridge. Hanging on the metal box is that sweet picture of the two of you that you took on your polaroid. The other picture of just her is hanging there as well, as much as she tells you its ridiculous for you to have it hanging there- but you can’t help admiring her beauty. 

Just as your about to sit back down and dig into yet another mindless binge watch of your favorite television show, the doorbell rings.

It’s late, so you don’t answer- pretending to be asleep.

“It’s Mel, and I know you’re still awake,” you hear her voice call.

You make your way over to the door and open it. She looks… well she looks as beautiful as ever with her hair tied up messily and clad in her Eagles apparel, but she also looks beyond exhausted. But she’s here.

“You okay?” you open the door as you invite her in. Her smell lingers as she brushes past you, two bottles of wine in hand.

“I can’t sleep, as much as I tried, and I knew my favorite night owl would still be awake,” she tells you as she settles on your couch. She opens the first bottle- one that has hints of apple. Then she opens the other- a peach wine.

“You brought peach wine?” you raise a brow.

“I know it’s your favorite,” she shrugs. “What are we watching tonight?”

As the night continues on, you stay awake. But her head falls gently on your shoulder as she gives in to her exhaustion and is taken away into a dream- unable to stay awake with you and watch the world pass by in a gentle silence. 

You glance down at her. The frown lines or smile lines that are usually in her face are gone as she’s completely relaxed against you. Her warmth makes your heart swell. And she… she does mean everything to you- even if she’ll never know it. 

[miridiums-writing]

Hey could you write like a Thranduil x y/n thing? I kinda need it right now.

No Escape

Thranduil x reader fan fic

Imagine : If only you didn’t look so similar to his passed wife, maybe you could have made it out of the elven kingdom with the others.

Authors note : im sorry ive been gone so long, im back now though I promise. Ill set up a new masterlist and we can all forget my old works don’t exist because I hate them all.

The forest was so dark, you and the rest of the company trying to navigate through the winding trails. It was all going fine and well until you all realized you were gong in continuous circles. Seeing the same trees, the same oddly shaped rocks over and over that you all realized something was wrong. “lets just set up camp for now and try again tomorrow.” You insisted, noticing the frustration of the others. “Fine,” Thorin conceded. “We get out of here tomorrow though, we have to keep pushing forwards.”

With that you all settled down for the night, you went off to gather some wood for a fire with Bilbo, unsurprisingly your favourite of the company given how down to earth he was, plus the pure entertainment factor he brought to the group at times due to his cushioned upbringing. “Do you think we actually will get out tomorrow?” Bilbo asked, clearly more worried if that could be the case than he let on. “’course we will, we’ve gotten this far haven’t we?” You reassured, patting the top of Bilbo’s head in hopes of calming his anxiety. “I suppose so.” He mused, adding another stick to the bundle you had already gathered. “Exactly,” You said with a warm smile. “Nothing left to bring us down now except the dragon.” Bilbo seemed to grimace at this. “Don’t remind me” He grumbled. You just laughed lightly. “You’re far too negative, always hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. That’s why you’re here, you little burglar.” “I’m not a burglar.” He reminded. “Well, you’re the best we’ve got, maybe when we’re out of this forest I can help train you how to be stealthy.”

The light banter between the two is quickly cut off by a very loud thump against the forest floor, almost shaking the ground between the pair of you. You immediately dropped the pile of branches to the moss ground, breaking into a sprint back to the others, you could here them in the distance fighting when you’re path was blocked by the biggest spider you’ve ever seen in your life. It was a large black, hairy thing, immediately trying to shoot webs in your direction to catch you. Adrenalin jumped you into first gear, dodging by a hair at the first shot, and bringing your bow and arrow from your back to aim at the spider, aiming right between the eyes and firing the shot. The shot lands. The spider falls, only for three more to appear in its place. This was not going to be easy.

You reach back grabbing another arrow and letting it fly, hitting each spider as they came with pristine accuracy. Even with such accuracy though from years training, it didn’t seem to be enough. The arrows quickly started to dwindle, before running out. Not having enough time between spiders to scavenge for your arrows, leaving you eventually cornered, and empty handed. Though just as one of the spiders went to launch itself at you it got violently thrown backwards by...an elf?

~~~~~

You couldn’t decide whether you preferred the spiders, or this. Getting dragged, cuffed, towards a rathe impressive looking castle. Not that you’d ever say that allowed, in fear of further angering Thorin who already looked like he was plotting the elves deaths in detail, shouting, swearing and struggling as he went. You kept your head down, not sure what was about to happen, but not wanting to anger the elves, especially after they went out of their way to save their lives. Even if it meant they’d ended up getting dragged to the dungeons. You had graciously been given a cell alone. Given you were the only woman in the group it seemed only fair. You got yourself comfy against the wall, listening to the others chat amongst themselves on what to do, waiting for a quiet moment to bring up what felt like the most important thing to worry about. “Where is Bilbo?” You said, cutting through the whispers. The others immediately went silent at that. He wasn’t among them, you hadn’t seen him since before the spiders. “Maybe he’s doing what he does best, burgling the keys.” Baldin grunted. You just hoped he was right.

All talk of escape was cut off by guards coming down, leading Thorin from his cell to meet the king. When the dungeon door closed behind them all of you sighed. If Thorin was angry, which he was, all hope of doing this civilly was going to be immediately snuffed out by his rage. The wait for Thorin to come back was long, and silent. Talk of escape had died completely as you all waited tensely for him to return. And return he did. His eyebrows furrowed in rage, cursing under his breath as he was pushed back into his cell resulting in a loud bang as his body collided with the floor. No words needed to be spoken for them to know it hadn’t gone well. The already depressing reality hit like a train. Unless a miracle happened. This was it.

~~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning to banging against the bars of your cell. You were crumpled against the wall, your back strained from the position you’d slept in. “Get up.” The guard said gruffly, starting to poke you with the sheathed sword to fully wake you up. “Get up!” The demanded again, much more aggressively than previously. You slowly started more your cramped body up off of the floor. The cell door opened and two guards immediately grabbed your arms ad started dragging you out of the dungeon to who knows where. The walk was long and winding, it felt like they were taking you on a confusing route on purpose to make sure you didn’t know the way out. Or maybe the halls really were this confusing, who knows. Either way you eventually arrived at a rather impressive looking door. Large green wooden panels made up the door with large tree roots encasing the doors, twirling around the doors handles.

Someone from the other side opened the doors leading to what seemed to be a throne room, with a tall blonde haired man sat on top, a rather dramatic crown upon his head, adorned with gems and jewels to mimic a berry branch. He watched closely as you were dragged in, forced to kneel down in front of him on the ground. His expression seemed to change from mild annoyance to surprise as you got closer. Now kneeled before him, the man stood, towering over you as he stared down at your face, almost like he didn’t believe it. “Oh, it’s you” He said, relief and sadness laced his voice. His legs seemed to give out under him and kneeled down staring at your face with tears in his eyes. “Oh my dear, how I’ve missed you. I though- I thought you died.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as his hand reached for your cheek, fingertips gently grazing your cheek. You stared at him blankly. Not a flicker of recognition behind your eyes as he acted as if you were supposed to know him. Confusion took over his features at your lack of response. “Calatheil? My blossom, why are you acting like you don’t know me?” Now it was your turn to be confused, “That’s not my name, I’m (Y/N).” You said in response. The man went quiet after that, staring holes into the floor. “But you look like her.” He said, his voice firm, like it was a fact. “That doesn’t mean I am her”

The man went silent again for a moment, anger passing over his face before disappearing. “Of course it does,” He said. “You’ve just forgotten is all.” His words were firm and absolute. “Ill just need to remind you, my poor wife” You looked at him as if he was insane. “But I’m not. I am not your wife, I’m sorry. But I’m not... I wanna go back to my cell now.” The man laughed without humour. “Absolutely not, my wife shouldn’t be around such vermin.” “Do you mean the dwarves?” you asked, going on the defensive, they were your friends, were they odd absolutely, but that didn’t mean you loved them any less. “Of course I do! You’ll be going no where near them ever again. Guards, take her to my room, and do not under any circumstances let her get free!” He ordered, standing up from his crouched position and heading back to his thrown. “And bring me Thorin! I may be inclined to allow his freedom under a condition.” You were once again grabbed by guards and dragged out. “No! I’d rather cells, don’t you dare, I’m not your wife! Let me go!” Your shouts died down as you were dragged further away, thrashing in an attempt of any escape, managing to get one arm free only for more guards to hold you, overpowered once more by the numbers. The struggling silenced to Thranduil as the door shut behind you.

[prim-and-rotten]

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 girls night

pairing: (fem)yandere!bestfriend x reader

summary: during a relaxing sleepover with your best friend, you try to cancel the next in favor of a new guy.

a/n: not sure I like how I ended it but ill post it anyway. a tame one for my first

warnings: implied stalking and murder at the end

delicate fingers draw random shapes around your back. jasmine is humming softly to her playlist in the background, a private one, tailor made to suit both of your tastes. it's melodies are blurred and distant, dulled by the heavy blanket of exhaustion enveloping you.

your nights spent together always come to a close like this. Next to two emptied wine glasses sitting at her bedside table, you're now both laying on the softness of her queen sized bed. skincare done, another matching set of glossy polish sticking to your nails, dressed in warm matching pjs she bought a few days prior for the occasion, and hair put up in another heatless overnight curl hack you found online.

"are you falling asleep already?" you can hear the cheeky grin in her voice. the sun is down and the lights are dim, the clock at her bedside table reading 23:36. "It's friday, sleepyhead... i was hoping we'd stay up a little longer." with a quiet snicker, her hand is now resting flat against your back, and it takes a stupid amount of strength in you to not whine and ask her to keep going. really, how could she blame you? she always goes out of her way to make you as comfortable as possible and then acts confused when your eyelids start feeling heavy.

"what else did you have planned for tonight?" you stay still, knowing that if you get her talking and focused on something else she'll go back to aimlessly drawing shapes into your back. and she does. "i was thinking we should watch another scary movie." a sigh escapes you. "you always pick the worst, it's gonna keep me up all night." she snickers again, a bit louder this time now that she knows you're not asleep. "oh no, you'll have to spend more time with me. how terrible!". her hand is on your arm now. "come on, you know that's not what i meant."

a silent beat passes, and her comforting touch almost lulls you back to sleep. almost.

"fine. then before you sleep, let's pick out a recipe for sunday's dinner. you should come over earlier so we can make it together, it'll be fun. i'm getting tired of takeout." she's playing with your hand now, admiring her work and already thinking of what color she should paint your nails next once they start chipping.

sunday. you have your sleepovers on fridays and sundays. sometimes when your schedule allows it, you have them on saturdays too. it's something you've been doing together since high school, and while your schedule now is a little more busy due to school and your part time jobs, you still try to stay consistent with your established routine. you have to pick up your coworkers shift tomorrow, so the next one should be on sunday. wait... you changed plans for sunday. right, your date. you never told her about that. shit.

"actually, i can't do sunday.." she pauses. "why? I thought you're free," the dissatisfaction is clear in her tone. you already know how she's going to react once you tell her, but you can't come up with a lie on the spot. so with no choice left, you finally turn to her and hesitantly begin to explain.

"do you remember seth from last week?" her eyebrows furrow. you met seth after she regrettably left you unattended for a quick trip to the bathroom at the frat party you dragged her to last week, one she really, really did not want to go to. if there's one thing jas hates, it's sweaty frat boys making moves on her and worst of all you. she couldn't care less about making new girl friends either because she already has you, and in her eyes you're all she really needs.

"no." that's a lie. yes she remembers, unfortunately so. when she saw you two tucked away at a corner a little too close for comfort, she almost gagged. she walked, no, practically ran to you to drag you away from his filthy hands. what could he possibly have said to you to put that smile on your face? it's not the kind you give to her, it's cute and shy and your cheeks are red and she can't tell if it's the alcohol in your system or him who made them bloom into that pretty color. seth, whose name honestly rolls off her tongue like shit. seth, the greasy frat boy with the ugly mug. the one you're somehow actually interested in. great.

"you don't? i don't remember you drinking that much." your voice is quieter, like you're trying to tread lightly. because of course you are, she's doing a pretty terrible job at hiding her disgust, and at this realization she tries to tone it down for your sake. "yeah I don't, remind me." so you do. just in case you drop some details about the conversation you had at the party, so she doesn't have to ask outright for all the details and out herself for being obsessive. but you don't add anything new about the party, instead, you tell her you had been texting for just a few days now. he has your number. yuck.

"you've been texting and you didn't tell me?" she can feel the tension in the room now, the same room that was previously occupied by nothing but warmth and comfort. she's trying to backtrack now, putting away the face of slight disgust she had put up and replacing it with a smile of disbelief at an attempt at making you feel less guilty. she knows why you wouldn't tell her right away, this isn't the first time she's reacted to this kind of thing negatively. this is not a habit she wants you to form, so she needs to do some damage control. to make you feel comfortable with talking about your love life again. how is she supposed to protect you from these greaseballs if she doesn't know you're speaking to them in the first place?

so she brings back the playfulness that was there before. she's playing with your hand again to put you at ease, so that you hopefully start rambling about him, and luckily you do.

he approached you at the party and you found him funny so you exchanged numbers. you've been texting back and forth for the past 4 days. you think he's cute and charming. he asked you out 2 days ago, and your schedules only allowed for the date to happen on sunday. you're really looking forward to it. how unfortunate.

"isn't it a bit early? i don't really trust him." you let out a chuckle at that, "i could count the amount of people you trust in one hand." touché. "i'm just looking out for you." you sigh. "i know, but you don't have to. i can handle it." she raises an eyebrow at that, and you know exactly what she's about to say. "don't forget who was left picking up the pieces every time you got stood up. I don't mean to be a dick by bringing it up but i'm the one who's left having to take care of you, and i hate seeing you cry over the same breed of asshole over and over again." there's another beat of silence.

shes right of course, so you can't really come up with another rebuttal. "you know where to go if something happens," and you do. every last date you've gone to ended with you spending the night at her place, the one place you feel comfortable going to for anything, with puffy eyes, a box of tissues and a big headache. the conversation ends here.

it's silent again, and all you can hear is the music playing and the air conditioner whirring. it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep, you've turned to your side and jasmine continues to play with your back until she hears the telltale sign of light snoring. she can't join you just yet, not until she's done with her research.

not until she knows his schedule and has a plan laid out. the guilt of being the sole reason you keep getting stood up does eat at her at times like these, because she knows it makes you insecure. what else are you supposed to think? but it's okay, because at the end of the day it's always her you come back to, and she's pretty damn good at bringing your confidence back up if she does say so herself. it's her you seek out for comfort, and if she can't have you for herself, she'll do anything to keep it that way.

[dragon-ascent]

Paraphernalia

You are an avid collector of Rex lapis merch...and your husband is Rex Lapis himself.

★彡fluff, fun stuff, zhongli finds you amusing as always

Zhongli had revealed his identity to you much before you two had gotten married. You’d been very respectful and told him how much you admired him as both a man and a deity...but oh boy, if Zhongli thought that was where your devotion ended, he was in for a long ride.

“Oh my freaking gosh! Eeeee!”

At your squeal, Zhongli is immediately at your side. “What is the matter- ah.” He sees the pamphlet you’re holding and suddenly it all clicks into place. 

You clutch your husband’s arm, barely able to contain yourself. “New Rex Lapis plushie launching tomorrow! Eeeee! Let’s go down to the store as soon as it opens!”

Zhongli kisses your forehead, his heart fluttering at your enthusiasm. “Allow me to take a look.” He gently takes the pamphlet from your hands and peruses it, then looks up at the bed you two share...where you also keep your enormous pile of Rex Lapis plushies. “Erm...dear, what is different about this new one?”

“Look!” You point at what the new plushie is holding. “It comes with a free Mora coin plush! I haaaaave to get it!”

It’s worth it, really. There’s nothing Zhongli cherishes more than seeing you happy. And when he finds you the next day curled up in bed, napping away with your brand-new Rex Lapis plushie pressed to your chest, he finds his heart melting like the sweetest chocolate on a summer day.

Of course, with how fanatical you get sometimes, you get so caught up in all your Rex Lapis paraphernalia that you almost forget who Zhongli really is...

“I’m doomed! I have blasphemed!”

“Did you sit on the lap of one of the Statues of the Seven again, dear?” Zhongli inquires without even looking up from the morning paper. “I told you, it does not count as-”

“Even worse! The new glow-in-the-dark Rex Lapis keychains are all sold out and I missed my chance to buy them!”

At this, Zhongli gazes at you sympathetically as you huff and puff around the room, equal parts agitated and distressed. He knows how much your collection means to you. “I see. Well, you can get one when they restock, can you not?”

“No way!” you cry out, staring at Zhongli like he had just grown horns and a tail. “The restocked keychains will be B-grade ones! I need to own only first-edition, top-quality merch!”

“Ah. Oh dear...” 

“What would Rex Lapis think?” you wail, flopping into your husband’s sturdy arms. “Rex Lapis, what do you think of me?”

“I don’t think ill of you, darling, I never could,” Zhongli assures, planting a soft kiss to your temple. “I still love you regardless of how many Rex Lapis-themed items you possess.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice!”

Zhongli chuckles. “I’m saying that because I love you, and married you for love. I never once wondered how many keychains in my image you obtained before I slid the ring onto your finger.”

Your lip wobbling, you ask, “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I do, my beloved,” he answers softly, kissing the spot under your ear and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Come now, let me show you just how much.”

Of course, even when he offers you tender, affectionate consolation, Zhongli still ultimately wants to see you at your happiest. So wherever he can, he tries to pull some strings~

“Darling,” Zhongli calls after a long day of work. “I’m home!”

“Welcome home!” You run over to him and give him a peck on the lips. “How was your day?”

“Quite eventful,” he answers, “especially since I managed to procure a very important item.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “An important item? What is it?”

Zhongli smiles, holding out both of his hands, fists closed. “I shall let you find out.”

Utterly intrigued, you look at both closed fists, trying to gauge which one has the item. It must be quite small to fit in his palm...what important item could be that small? 

Pushing away the question since it was sure to be answered within a few moments, you go with your gut and pick the right hand. Zhongli’s smile widens and he opens his palm...

Gasping, you let out a squeal. “Is this...what I think it is?!”

“The very same.” 

Still in disbelief, you take the keychain and observe its details. “It - it really is a first edition glow-in-the-dark Rex Lapis keychain...oh my gosh...but how..?”

Zhongli pulls you into a hug, chuckling at they way you seem to vibrate in his arms in excitement. “I managed to get ahold of a scalper and...persuade him to sell it to me at regular price.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You beam, singing his praises while waving the keychain around happily. “I love Rex Lapis sooooo much!”

Your husband kisses you, practically glowing at your happiness. “Rex Lapis loves you too, my beloved.”

[shadow4-1]

Getting Drunk Imagines w/ the 141 Boys + Alejandro, Rudy, & König (SFW)

I was getting drunk for my besties birthday, and at the bar I was hit with the idea. What would it be like to get drunk with these guys one on one?

Tags: Light kissing, romantic undertones, no smut. (MDNI, this is still 18+ content imo)

Captain Price:

It was a night of liberty that he, unfortunately, wasn't allowed to enjoy himself. He had too many reports to write and a multitude of things to prepare for. Laswell was breathing down his neck, and by God, was there nothing worse than that.

He eyed the team group chat with a sigh, watching as the boys drunkenly sent nigh illegible messages to each other. He'd wanted to join them at the bar, some lil' hole in the wall place with decent enough booze and decent enough eye candy. But he couldn't. He was a Captain, and he had responsibilities.

There was a knock at the door. He was annoyed at the prospect of being torn away from his already time intensive work. This impromptu meeting would be cutting into whatever free time he might get tomorrow. Despite his annoyance, he opened the door to invite the guest in. Huh, it was you. Weren't you supposed to be out with the boys and under the watchful eye of Ghost?

He raised a brow as you sheepishly, sank into the seat before him. Your body seemed more relaxed than usual. He rested his head on his hands and watched as you tried to make yourself as small as possible in the rather large office chair. Before he could question you, Soap barged into the office, out of breath and excited. He asked if Price had seen you, not even bothering to glance over the tall back of the chair. No, no he hadn't. With that, Soap was gone, and Price had questions.

You shrugged and admitted that you had asked Soap to bring you back to base for a "forgotten phone" only to ditch him. You loved the boys, so much. But as of lately, they had been getting too rowdy for your tastes. You much preferred a quiet, more relaxed environment to drink.

Priced hummed and sat back in his chair. He asked if you liked bourbon. You shrugged. He offered you a glass of some. You agreed.

The night went on. The two of you conversed about a multitude of things. Some of them were work related, but some were more personal. The two of you bonded over a shared interest in countryside life, the logistics, and how you wanted to set up a self-sustaining lifestyle. You both found yourself laughing and drinking even more. Eventually, the decently filled bottle had been emptied out. You covered your mouth in a display of shock. You two had done that?

Price couldn't help himself. He laughed, loud and boisterous. He couldn't remember the last time his belly ached with such amusement. The word escaped from his lips without him thinking.

"Cute."

Cute? You clammed up but he could tell it was a certain type of shyness. It brought him back to a memory of his first girlfriend in primary school. They'd held hands and pecked shyly away from the prying eyes of other people. The office was warm and secluded. During the conversation, you'd moved closer to him. You were only an arms length away.

You called his name. Something about the way you said it was too much for him. He cupped your jaw and kissed you senseless. All logic, all common sense was damned as he licked across your tongue.

Lieutenant Riley:

You weren't stupid. You knew that this was an honor very few, if any would be afforded. You tried to keep your eyes off of the very few belongings he did have within his quarters.

A sickness had broken out across the base your team was stationed at. It wasn't deadly, just a contagious strain of the flu. Despite being vaccinated, the bug was still going around. All of the other boys, including Price, had fallen ill. As the team's field medic, you'd wanted to help them, but everyone fought against it. You couldn't get sick. It'd jeopardize everyone's safety on the field. Meanwhile, because of the many layers he wore, Lieutenant Riley was also unaffected.

You were dying to do something, anything, than continue to be stuck on the sidelines. Ghost had offered a drink to ease your nerves. You took him up on it.

You sat in his desk chair as he pulled out a full bottle of whiskey from a locked box beneath his bed. He then sat on his bed as he uncapped it. He offered you the first drink, which you graciously accepted. The liquor burned badly on the way down, but you weren't a lil' bitch, and were determined to keep up with your unflappable lieutenant.

Eventually you lost track of how many times you'd passed the bottle back to him. Your body felt warm and delightful. You couldn't help but smile. He asked you what was funny but you didn't reply. Instead you sucked down another greedy gulp of alchohol. It didn't taste nearly as acrid as it had at first. It was almost pleasant at this point. Uh oh.

Simon drained what was left in the bottle with a few heavy gulps. A little bit of excess amber liquid dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Before he could move to wipe it away, you did it for him. Your thumb brushed sweetly over the seam of his lips and over the slight stubble of his chin. He sighed out, seemingly enjoying the touch.

You blinked, and the spell was soon broken. You pulled your hand away and couldn't meet his hungry eyes. You hadn't meant to overstep like this. You tried to stand up, tried to leave, but it was obvious Simon was just as under the influence as you. He grabbed your arm, seemingly off balance. He pulled you into him despite that not seeming to be what he wanted. The moment became an awkward push and pull as the two of you tried to navigate whatever this was.

"Just c'mere, love."

Eventually, you caved, and pecked him on the lips. He grumbled in contentment, and soon, the two of you were laying flat on the bed.

Sergeant MacTavish:

Taking leave was never something you looked forward to. Every time you were forced to, you'd always end up alone at your parent's vacation home. It was a scenic little place, but it was always a boring affair. That was, until you realized Johnny had gotten his new flat a few minutes away.

He'd given you a "tour" of the one bedroom apartment. A total bachelor's pad, complete with shitty futon and painting covered hole in the wall. You'd brought him the nicest bottle of whatever your parents had laying around (its not like they were drinking it anyway). He'd graciously accepted it and opened it.

He didn't have glasses so he offered to just pour the liquid down your throat. Of course you brushed him off. He always flirted that way. But you did manage to get a few swallows down before passing the bottle back to him. The two of you settled down for a movie and a dinner consisting of takeout food.

Despite the two of you getting drunker and drunker the vibes were great. Eventually the two of you managed to get to the bottom of the bottle. You pulled the last little bit of liquor into your mouth, but before you could swallow, Johnny whined for it.

"Please, hen. I wan' th' rest of it."

Feeling a tad cheeky, you obliged him. He pressed his lips to yours and you let him drink the last of the alcohol straight off your tongue.

He couldn't get enough, and the next thing you knew, he'd pinned you down to the futon. Soon enough, your mouth tasted more like him than any booze you've ever had.

Sergeant Garrick:

The two of you had a habit of going on long drives off base when you could get a chance. It gave you both a well needed break from the hustle of the 141 team. Occasionally, you'd pack food, but the two of you also liked to stop and get greasy food from local fast food restaurants.

A drive-thru bar? Gaz was shocked, what a truly American thing. Despite his reservations, the two of you opted to get more than your fair share of mixed drinks. They were supposed to be for the boys too, but halfway back, you both agreed that the ice in some of the drinks would be melted by then.

Gaz pulled over into the parking lot of a grassy park, wet with dew and rather pretty bathed in the hues of the sunset. The two of you enjoyed a meal and as many of the assorted flavors of booze you got your hands on. Gaz turned on the radio and soon enough the quiet was broken by the sound of your tone deaf hollering.

The two of you calmed down and got to talking. It was nice. Gaz always has such a level head. You told him that, and you didn't miss how his face lit up.

"This is why I only associate with pretty people. They're always so sweet."

You chuckled and flushed with heat at his comment. You shot back that if he thinks you're so pretty, why hadn't he made a move yet?

You aren't surprised by how he kissed you sweetly over the center console.

Colonel Vargas:

Ever since Valeria escaped, Alejandro had changed. He was still as intense as ever, but his attitude had taken a dangerous edge to it. He tried to not snap at your fellow members of the 141, but it was obvious he was having a hard time adjusting. This night was no exception.

The other boys had scoffed and left the rec room to go outside and smoke. They had grown tired of Alejandro's constant growling and his thinly veiled comments about them cheating at pool. You were the only one left willing to put up with his out of character behavior.

You'd texted Rudy about it, and he suggested you get the Colonel drunk. As ridiculous as that sounded, you agreed that maybe you should listen to Los Vaqueros' second in command. You had a few shit beers you were saving for a time like this.

You offered them to Alejandro and he thankfully accepted your offer. The two of you drank and chatted as you played pool. It was in his nature to be competitive, and so when you began to win, he grew snippy. It wasn't the mad, annoyed kind of snippy he was towards the boys. This was more challenging in almost a...hungry sort of way.

"You think you can beat me? Ha! I'll fuck you up, cabrona."

You laughed at him, rolling your eyes. That seemed to have been wrong thing to do. He cornered you up against the pool table, tossing your pool stick onto it, completely ruining your game. He tells you not to fuck with him unless you really want to feel the consequences. Again, he's not threatening per se, but almost demanding.

You can almost taste the beer on his breath. His cheeks are flushed a cute little pink. You tell him that. He pins you to the pool table to force his tongue down your throat.

Sergeant Major Parra:

It's just a check in. Alejandro would happily go back home to Las Almas if he wasn't so hot on Valeria's tail. Instead, he sent you as a representative of the 141. Rudy is just so happy to see a familiar face. Los Vaqueros welcomed you in with open arms.

They showered you in gifts. So many beers and shots of tequila were fed to you that you lost count. Eventually, the night slowed down, and you had no choice but to lean on Rudy for support. He was so kind, he steadied you so well despite the fact he was just as drunk as you. Giggling, the two of you tripped and fell into the brush at the perimeter of the base. It was so funny that neither one of you couldn't stop laughing until your sides ached.

You both laid there, out of breath, minds swimming, looking up at the southern stars. He took the chance to hold your hand. You kissed his cheek.

"I'm glad you're here, amiga."

Colonel Konig:

No one in KORTAC really liked each other. All relationships were based on respect and rank. All new meat, aka you, were at the bottom of the pecking order. You got shit gear and even shittier respect.

You'd always been scrappy. And so clawing your way into the good graces of the higher ups had been relatively easy. What you hadn't expected was the backlash and annoyance of your fellow operatives. If it hadn't been for O'Conor pushing you to take his spot at poker night, you would've had a nice quiet evening. Instead, you had no choice but to beat Horangi and Hutch and turn them into angry dickheads. A part of you didn't blame them as stolen barrels of liquor had been freely flowing the entire night.

Horangi growled at you, half in English and half in Japanese. He pointed angrily at your face, his nigh unintelligible words getting more and more scathing. Just as he was getting around to calling you a cheater, someone snapped their fingers. Immediately, the entire room went silent. Konig scoffed something in his native tongue but switched to English shortly after.

"If any of you bother maus again, I will bother you." He chuckled darkly.

Immediately everyone packed up, grabbed their things and left the recreational area. Horangi hissed at you but left his lost money on the table. He also left his glass of liquor behind. Deciding to enjoy all of your spoils, you stole his cup and began to drink.

Konig hummed at you, seemingly enjoying the view of you drinking down the juice of your pissy comrade. He offered you his untouched glass. You humored him, sitting on the table as you chose to nurse his drink instead. You thanked him for standing up for you. He shrugged, and let his eyes hungrily devour the sight of your body.

As you got to the bottom of the glass, you quickly realized that you had allowed yourself to walk right into this trap. You were alone with him, and no one would be coming to bother you for the rest of the night. König's eyes felt like fire on every exposed piece of your skin.

You licked your lips and pondered the situation. You had nothing to lose.

You smiled at him, leaning back farther on the table. You curled your finger at him in a beckoning motion. He kicked the chair away as he quickly moved to stand over you.

You supposed there were worse ways to attain power among thieves.

[iwannascreameurekaa]

pjo characters as quotes from my classmates, parents, siblings, and grandparents.

Yipee

Will: "does anybody need the heim-ill-ick?”

Hazel (prob to Nico): “i’ve never smoked… EVER. and if you smoke, i’ll hit you.”

Percy: “he looks like a street person?”

Leo: “i thought i got salt and pepper, turns out it was salt and salt.”

Piper: “i’ve never been attached to a cat.”  

Hazel: “The power of INTERNET👹”

Frank: “that was rude.” 

Percy: “every cat that doesn’t have a tail is named bobby.”

Piper: “just put your coins in your bucket.”

Jason: “if i was barbie, my feet would hurt all the time”

Nico: “it’s giving me skin cancer as we speak.”

Hazel: “she told me to give her when i die so i thought i might as well give it to her now.”

Piper: “did you steal my brush again? quit stealing my brush you little brush thief!”

Percy: “you’ve got 4 of grandma!”

Leo: “i’m a heavy drinker today” *takes a sip of his fourth glass of water*

Annabeth: “you squeezed her so hard she dropped a cheerio.” 

Leo: “and thoust asked if Jason was a cracker(a white person) and Jason replied”no i’m at least 2 or 3 whole crackers since there’s quite a bit more of me than you”

Hazel: "ohhhh my goodness don’t put your feet in her face.”

Leo talking about Piper: "she is a luddite, against technology, close with the Amish community."

Piper looking Leo and Jason directly in the eyes: “no dying allowed in here”

Percy after TOA: “if somebody wants to steal my car, i want them to steal it! not come in my house, shoot me, take my keys, and then take the car. LET ME SLEEP I DONT CARE!”

Will: “me and Nico go on dates to funeral homes”

Hazel: “you have a problem with a joint?” She was talking about her elbow 😭

Leo: “if i get hungry, rats will get skinned.”

Piper: “if this truck goes any slower it’ll have to put out a mailbox.”

Annabeth: “oh you stepped on the cow? well it’s better than the cow stepping on you”

Frank: “and it just sucked the carpet right up”

Hazel "back in my day" Levesque: “i had a lot of beagles when i was young, and finally i had one that lived.”

Leo: “are you looking for regular markies?”

Jason: “i’m gonna go to work tomorrow with a hangover.”

Will: “i’m not very artistic(autistic)”

Jason: “i never added salt to the pepper”

Piper: “keep your toes to yourself”

Piper: “you guys are an embarrassment.”

Jason: "can you pass the salt? i like my stuff salty”

Will: "The only Christian song I know is let it go" 

Context for the next one: my friend had a slick back high pony tail when we had this conversation so that gives you a visual of what Piper was

Leo "what's your next album gonna be called?"

Piper: "'my hair is straighter than my friend'."

Leo: 😦

Piper: "What in the gay man!"

Hazel: "If you stop being a karen then maybe you would actually be successful at life"

Piper: "You should start day dreaming about getting a husband"

Annabeth: "George Washington is the off brand version of me"

Hazel: "Ideas were such good ideas they became the symbol for ideas"

Leo: "did you mean lightbulbs"

Hazel: "..... yes"

Piper: "There's a fly on your butt" *waves at it and it flies away* "that's not your property sir"

Leo: "Yeah you gotta pay for that"

Nico: "Does he have a speech impediment?" 

Will: "He has a brain impediment"

Jason: "I bet he was having Funtime"

Piper: "why do you always say Funtime"

Jason: "I'm not saying sex!"

Leo prob to his tool belt: *suggestive voice* "give me that minty mint"

Leo to Hazel, who doesn't know what any modern slang means: "check it homeslice"

Hazel: "the gambling may run in the family, but at least pokers fun!"

Leo: "im a turkey... cock cock!"

that's all I have rn lmao

[houpss]

REST

🧊–return to masterlist ¡! ✥

"Good day, this is JYP ENTERTAINMENT. 26.12.2021 Lily Hwang of Stray Kids is taking a rest due to worsening panic attacks and anxiety disorder, which is why her activities are suspended for a while. All of Stray kids' next events, comebacks and promotions will be released without her participation until she is fully recovered! We ask fans for understanding and all possible support, she asked you not to worry about her.JYPE will consider the artist's health a top priority and will do everything possible to support Lily's speedy recovery."

Then this statement from the Company shocked everyone and everyone was very upset by this development of events. Hundreds of thousands of letters of support were written to Lily in the bubble, they never forgot about her and encouraged her. MANIAC's comeback came out without her participation, but the students were so upset because Lily was in the teaser and in the video, but she was not in the promo or other songs.Lily appeared for the first time since her return to the bubble in May (01.05.2022), writing two messages:

[🐻]::Y/n!! hi, I feel much better. did you hear that the boys will have a world tour?:) Please visit it! I promise you'll like it (06:19 a.m)

[🐻]::I miss you and the boys, pain makes us stronger (08:32 a.m)

○○○

On the first day of the STRAY KIDS world tour in Seoul, Lily came to the concert with Mingi and Tenshi (she was the only one who was very scared), sitting in the front rows and she was shown on the big screen at the end of the concert, the boys burst into tears and were very happy to see her because they didn't know about her arrival at the concert, Lily also cried, and then she was allowed to go up on stage and they all stood there together and cried,they hugged so much:((( I can say that it was a difficult concert without Lily and the first concert after the pandemic, the boys were very upset and happy to see Stay again, but so tearful because of Lily. (this moment went viral everywhere), (date 05.05.2022)

On July 31, 2022, the video and song TIME OUT were released, with the release of which Lily left the rest, and the students were in great shock and also cried when they saw Lily in the video and heard her voice, everyone was incredibly happy about it. Then Lily wrote in the bubble:

[🐻]::Next to Y/n I am stronger, I promise to work and work and make my baby Y/n happy (11:02 p.m)

[🐻]::War is over (reference to the song) (11:07 p.m)

[🐻]::Oh...do you want for me to stay with you? (11:10 p.m)

[🐻]::During these seven months my life has become better! all thanks to Y/n's support~ (11:12 p.m)

[🐻]:: I missed you too, baby! let's continue to work harder so that we move forward together (11:15 p.m)

[🐻]:: I traveled a lot and went to a psychotherapist, so I felt better... (11:18 p.m)

[🐻]:: My close friends and boys helped me a lot (11:27 p.m)

[🐻]:: I don’t regret that the MANIAC comeback was without me! so Y/n saw the boys' talents to the fullest (11:28 p.m)

[🐻]:: Should I live onair tomorrow??

[🐻]:: I'll carry it out! and we'll have fun! (11:30 p.m)

[🐻]:: And now I'm going to bed! soft dreams, baby 🩷 (11:35 p.m)

Lily suffered all these seven months, she was terribly ill. She did not leave the room, did not eat, and did not communicate with anyone. Even SKZ couldn’t get her out of this state, not to mention Lily’s friends. Then Donghyun arrived from New York and, together with Kiri and Tenshi, began working on Lily’s condition. They organized a tour for her to different countries: Italy, France, Canada, Greece, UAE, Japan, Great Britain, and she also visited the Maldives. Lily even thought about committing suicide if it weren’t for Seungmin, who saw the prerequisites in time and sent Lily along with Chan to a psychotherapist (Lily refused to go alone). She wanted to quit K-pop completely, but her close people stopped her. What about Lily's parents? They didn’t know about it, or rather, Lily’s mother knew and quietly sent her money for treatment, but her father simply didn’t care. he abandoned his daughter back in 2017.

I can say that everyone handled Lily's rest differently, but it was hard. I think Felix and Jongin were the most depressed,Changbin hid his fears within himself , Minho became more irritable and Jisung was anxious without Lily...what about Chan and Hyunjin? They saw Lily most at this time, perhaps she only let them in and sometimes Felix, she didn’t want to see others. Seungmin observed the situation from afar and he was the one who helped her the most, but is not visible.

[twisted-sickfics]

Hell is Forever (But Thankfully Colds Aren’t)

thank you sm to anon who requested sick sneezy adam, i absolutely loved humbling this little asshole <3 love this guy and i hope you guys enjoy me torturing him

~

“Ugh, kill me now,” Adam groans for the umpteenth time that day. “I thought this was supposed to be heaven. Why are there still fucking colds in heaven?! hhuh… hh’TSHOO!”

“It’s by design,” Lute says, completely unfazed by the fact that Adam seems to refuse to cover a single sneeze. “If Angels were immune to illness or injury, that would take away our sense of purpose and self-preservation. Plus, it teaches us humility, something you desperately need.”

“Great,” Adam says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I bet it was that stupid princess and her spooky gremlin girlfriend that did this to me. *snff*”

“Through the hologram?” Lute asks, unimpressed.

“Through the fucking hologram!” he bemoans. “Hell and their crazy, weird-ass germs. I’m gonna exterminate the fuck outta those sinners when I get down thehh… hhH’HASSHOO!“

“Bless you,” Lute says. “What is that, the tenth time today?” It’s a joke intended to ruffle his feathers a bit, and it seems to accomplish just that.

“Oh, shut up,” Adam says, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose loudly. He attempts to throw it like a basketball into the nearest trash can and misses. “I’m gonna kill whoever gave me this fucking cold. I feel like shit. How do I know if it’s the flu or just a cold again? Or is it something worse and I’m finally gonna kick the bucket?”

“You’re not dying,” Lute says, thoroughly exasperated. “You just have a cold and it’ll get better in a few days. The best thing to do is rest so you don’t make it worse. If you keep talking so much, you’ll hurt your throat.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?” Adam asks boisterously, though he immediately falls into a harsh coughing fit right after. “Lute—” he says between coughs, "I’m dying—”

Lute looks at her commander and briefly wonders about how difficult it would be to ascend to power. No, she decides, not today. She moves over to Adam’s side and pats his back in the least awkward way possible (for her). “Just breathe,” she says as gently as her voice allows. “It’ll pass.”

And it does. Adam catches his breath soon after and tries to brush it off as though nothing just happened and he didn’t just see the gates of heaven, well, outside of his day job.

“You’ve only been given a couple of days to rest,” Lute reminds him, not wanting to fall behind on important business. Heaven is very demanding, even for its higher-ups. “Think you’ll be fine by then?”

“No,” Adam says, and it’s starting to sound like he’s being genuine. Maybe. “Can’t imagine I can shake this in two days. I’m really getting my ass kicked here.” He blows his nose again, an unsettling gurgling sound.

Lute can’t believe this is her life. Yes, she is Adam’s lieutenant, but surely this is above her pay grade? Still, something inside her stirs and she can’t just leave him alone when he’s this miserable, can she?

Adam started feeling a little off the day prior, but he chalked it up to getting less sleep than usual. It was only when he woke up today that he realized just how fucked he was. He called Lute immediately, saying that he needed her for something very important. Apparently the “very important��� thing is waiting on Adam hand and foot while he complains and throws tissues outside of the trash can.

“I might be able to get you a third day off if you really need it,” Lute says and she doesn’t miss the way Adam’s eyes light up in a way they haven’t all day. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic. “But only if you’re not feeling better by tomorrow. I can’t having you shrugging off work when we have another extermination coming up.”

“Sounds goohh…good *snf* Hang on, I’m gonna…gonna snee— hH’ESCHIEW! hhH’ETCHHIU!“

“Bless you—”

“HH’ATSHHiew!”

“Bless you—”

“hH’ESCHHIU!”

It’s getting annoying at this point. Adam sneezes again and rubs his nose with his sleeve, which Lute winces at because of how much his nose was dripping just moments ago. She’ll have to clean that later, won’t she?

So far, Adam has asked for cough drops, a new box of tissues, a heating pad, the temperature to be turned down, more blankets, less blankets, more pillows, and a cup of tea. None of these things he attempted to get himself nor did he ask for any of them at the same time. It’s been a tough day for both of them.

“What, you’re not going to bless me?” Adam asks, pushing her buttons. He sniffles and Lute doesn’t know how much longer she can go hearing his sneezing, coughing, and sniffling. Not to mention his incessant talking that seems to stem from a place of boredom.

Being one of the only people Adam trusts enough to let into his circle (genuinely, and not just to use them for one of his whims) has its perks and its downsides. This is definitely one of the downsides.

But honestly…it’s not that bad. Lute has taken care of whinier people at some point in all of her years of existence, and this doesn’t even come close to that. It’s annoying, but it’s just Adam. Adam may be annoying, but he’s safe.

And if she were in his position, she would want to be taken care of and doted on too. She can’t really blame him, especially when he’s feeling as awful as she knows he is. His throat sounds better than it did earlier that morning, but he’s much more congested and lethargic. What he really needs is some rest, so what Adam doesn’t know is that there may or may not be a light sleep aid in his tea. She thought it would have kicked in by now.

Lute glares at him in response, and Adam laughs which just leads to more coughing. “Watch this be allergies,” he half-says, half-wheezes before he catches his breath.

“I don’t think it is, sweetheart,” Lute says coldly. She knows Adam isn’t allergic to anything other than fragrances and last time she checked, she’s not wearing any. There’s no way it’s anything but a nasty cold. He didn’t have a fever the last time she checked, and he doesn’t feel excessively warm when she leaves her hand on his back for a second longer to check his temperature.

There’s now a slight heaviness to his eyelids that he didn’t quite notice before. It’s making him feel out of it. “You really think those demon fuckers got one of our own?” he asks, suddenly quite serious. “That means any of one us…”

The suddenness of the question catches Lute off-guard. “Cease that line of thinking,” she demands. “All of us will be fine. It’s unfortunate that one of our own fell, but that will be the last angel they ever harm. Once we get down there on Extermination Day, we’ll—”

“hhH’ESSHHIU!”

“Never mind,” Lute sighs. “Just focus on recovering and then we can talk strategy later. Need anything from me right now? I can go get you some more tea if you need it.” It’s an offer she expects him to take her up on in a matter of seconds, but he’s oddly silent for a moment after she asks.

“Nah,” he eventually decides, “‘m fine like this. Just…hang around for a little while longer, yeah?” It’s the biggest show of vulnerability Adam is willing to display. Actually asking for help? For someone to stick by him in his rare moment of weakness? It’s almost unheard of.

But not impossible, evidently.

And who is Lute to ignore a direct request from her commander? It’s definitely not because she wants to stick around and make sure he’s alright. And it’s certainly not because she’s genuinely rly worried about him. Definitely not.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I suppose I have some free time.” Her entire schedule has been cleared just to look after Adam, but whether or not he knows that is debatable. “Sneeze on me and I’ll kill you,” she warns.

“You really think I’d do thahht… HH’ETTSHIEW!”

Thankfully, Lute has the foresight to quickly grab a tissue and cover his sneeze. “Bless you,” she says. “And stop spreading your germs everywhere. You don’t want to get anyone else sick, do you?”

“Ub, I do’t really care,” Adam says, taking the tissue from Lute’s hand and blowing his nose for what is starting to feel like the millionth time that day. “I just want this fucking cold to be finished with me and move on to the next guy.”

‘The next guy’ will probably be Lute at this rate, with the way he’s sneezed on practically every surface of this room by now. A small part of her doesn’t want to blame him because he genuinely seems to have no clue what he’s doing when it comes to just…being sick. But that’s only a small part of her.

“Why am I so tired?” Adam asks, yawning loudly. His eyes start to droop shut, but he manages to keep himself awake for now. He rolls over in bed and sniffles.

“Who knows?” Lute knows. “It’s probably just the cold making you tired. It’s good to get some rest, anyway. Have you actually slept at all?” Knowing Adam, the answer is probably “no.” The lack of a sense of self-preservation is astonishing.

As expected, he shakes his head. “I just can’t sleep when my nose is all clogged, y’know? It’s a little better today though, so I might actually be able to sleep tonight.”

Good boy, she thinks. Go to sleep and stop being my problem. Instead, what she says is, “I think it’ll do you some good to try and rest. You sound terrible.”

“I sound perfectly fine,” Adam insists, though the congested sniffle he gives immediately afterwards doesn’t exactly lend itself to his point. “Just tryin’ to…sleep…”

He’s slowly starting to doze off. Lute keeps herself still, trying not to startle him so he’ll actually fall asleep. It seems to work because she can hear his congested snores in a matter of minutes.

Great, her shift is over. For now. But…why does she feel kind of bad? It’s not like Adam’s never been sick before, but getting sick right after announcing an extermination in sixth months is unfortunate timing. Plus, he does seem really sick. No healthy person would sneeze that much.

“Sleep well,” she says softly, making sure Adam is really asleep before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

He’ll be fine, but a part of her is worried about what’s to come.