#<- wont be able to sleep for hours probably

[silverskye13]

The Best Seat in the House

Summoning Helsknight is easy. Their souls are so inextricably tangled, they are nearly the same person. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. Its

Welsknight is flying through the end. He has the coordinates to his destination memorized, like a lodestone in his heart. There is something about a person's blood sweeping so deep into the ground that makes the connection almost physical, like a thread pulling. He thinks this must be what sends doves and pigeons home. Why salmon swim upstream. There's something about blood

It's mutual, this dance. Hatred and disgust and thrill. It's beyond words, somewhere deeper, in the roots of teeth and the marrow of bones. Inextricably tied, souls and blood.

Helsknight is the perfect knight.

Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit.

Bloodlust.

Helsknight is the perfect knight.

They don't talk anymore. They don't need to. Words fail. Words circle and circle and circle and go nowhere.

It reads our thoughts.

Helsknight isn't waiting for him when he lands, but Welsknight can feel him on the other side of everything, like an itch beneath his skin. Like if he just found the right place, the source, where the itch is the most intense and bothersome, he could set a blade to his skin and dig Helsknight out.

In a way, that's what he's doing.

And yet they play the game.

By the time Welsknight has folded his elytra and put on his breastplate, Helsknight is there. The itch in his skin is crawling across the surface, spider legs and teeth; a brand, a flaying. He turns to face his other half.

Helsknight is a perfect knight. He's a fortress, a wall, and he's right there with a sword in his hand. Welsknight's strongest images of him are of blazing eyes in the depths of a blackened helm, all netherite and embers. Maybe it's hels that scours him black, the baking heat and unending fire. Maybe it's just that he's standing by Wels, and Wels is light and life and brilliance and

Welsknight is not a perfect knight. If he were, Helsknight wouldn't exist.

And the universe said the darkness you face is within you

There is something brutally honest about a battle like this, here, bared for the void, and the universe. A person can lie with words, but swords, like angels, can only speak the truth. In the face of death, they can only be who they are.

Helsknight is death and terror. He must be, because that is what Welsknight feels every time they meet.

One step, two, a mirrored circle across the end stone. There is no dust here to kick up, no gravel to throw. This island in particular is stark and flat. No upper hand, no useful terrain. Three steps, four, swords in hands. No shields, only armor, and the places it fails. Welsknight's breaths are long and loud and reverberate in his helm, wash back across his face with heat and condensation.

Helsknight is sparks and smoke and perfect form. The red plume in his helm sometimes sparks with the glimmer of his eyes. There is no moon in the End, and Helsknight's fire is an island of firelight in starry black.

Silence draws out between them like a blade.

Five steps

Six

And the universe said

Helsknight springs first, because he always does. Welsknight can feel his impatience like goosebumps, a phantom thrill of expectation. Welsknight meets him, because to be too far to one side is to be too close to the End. The ringing clash and slithering screech of metal on metal is like lightning and thunder in the perfect silence. They test each other, feints and parries.

Helsknight is impatient, and Welsknight shudders with it. He is always impatient. It's a thirst for blood, and a thirst for efficiency, and pride in the decisiveness of his hand. Helsknight would kill him gladly in one stroke if he could. His is not the joy of suffering, but the joy of superiority.

And yet they play the game

They break apart. Welsknight needs time to recover and reassess. Neither of them is wounded, but Helsknight is powerful and sure, and Welsknight's wrist stings, and his elbow twinges. Too many solid strikes caught instead of deflected. Too many tests done wrong. Mistakes. Too many mistakes.

Helsknight is humoring him. There is derision in the air like the scorn of distant thunder. It makes Welsknight mean, feeling it passing over. If Helsknight wanted, he could press his advantage until Welsknight was off the edge of the world. Welsknight can feel his other half's sense of superiority. It stokes the embers of Welsknight's own pride. He wants to rip the smugness out of Helsknight with his bare hands, bloodied to the elbow.

The red in Helsknight's eyes glimmer, a dare, an invitation. Come and try, he says, come and try. He says it with every line in his body, with the way he holds the point of his sword just a little too far out, a Fool's Guard. An invitation to where the plates of his armor gap at his armpit, reticulate near his waist. An invitation in the tilt of his head, slightly upwards, to look down. Slightly upwards, where the gorget and the helmet separate to show a hint of vulnerability.

Helsknight is a fortress.

And yet they play

One step, two, circling. Swords pointing and guarding. Three steps, four, Welsknight only knows he's caught his breath, because the heat of it is rolling across his face again. His hair is sticky with sweat, and threatens to thread into his eyes. Five steps. Helsknight blinks slowly, boredly. The bloody red light of his eyes winks out and returns. Six steps.

Welsknight attacks first this time. It's a lunge he knows will miss, but he sweeps the blade up anyway and feels the clamor of disrupted momentum as he's deflected away. Helsknight bursts forward a fist and punches Welsknight hard in the center of his breastplate. It kicks away some of his air, surprises him, surprises him again when that same hand snaps up to grab his gorget and pull, threatening to drag Welsknight off his feet. Helsknight's knee comes up and Welsknight catches it, throwing his shoulder into Helsknight's stomach.

They fall hard on the stone.

And yet they

It's tangling limbs, and wrestling, and that little bit of air Welsknight lost is felt, because he can't catch his breath. They're both on top of and below each other. The horizon is yellow and black and stars and stone, twisting. Swords are useless this close, but they grip them desperately anyway, because to lose a weapon is to lose the fight.

Helsknight is the first one who manages to get to his feet. He is a dark tower rising, the kind of thing that eclipses and imprisons. Welsknight can taste blood in his mouth from Helsknight's elbow ringing hard against his helm. His vision is a spattering of stars and colors that aren't supposed to exist.

Helsknight waits, impatient and seething, for Welsknight to get back to his feet. Sometimes, Welsknight wishes the flower of chivalry wasn't so good at reducing him to a pile of steel and guts. He might bring himself to respect it, if it didn't.

Welsknight is tired. He can't catch his breath. His vision still tilts slightly.

Helsknight is a dark tower risen.

Take a breath now.

Helsknight springs. When his sword lands on Welsknight's, it sends lightning through every nerve. Welsknight retreats a step.

Take another.

Another. Another. Metal on metal. Welsknight's only thought as he parries and steps backwards, is that he continue to circle.

I will tell the player a story.

Helsknight's satisfaction is cloying. It fills Welsknight's mouth with a taste like vinegar and rot. Welsknight's guard breaks. He can see his mistake and do nothing about it. Helsknight's sword shivers and rings as it rebounds off his chest plate and plants its tip in Welsknight's armpit, where the plates in his armor gap. The wound isn't deep. It dips in and out of his skin so quick and seamless, Welsknight feels the trickle of blood long before he feels pain.

It contains the truth safely, in a cage of words.

Helsknight's two-handed stroke steals Welsknight's sword from his hands. Welsknight leaps the next sword strike, rolls, and gets a cut on his ankle for his trouble. Standing is a labor.

He still can't catch his breath.

Helsknight's blade has so little blood on it, only the handspan at its tip glitters darkly. Why, then, does Welsknight feel so shaky. Dread of the inevitable prickles his spine, and chasing it like a hound is Helsknight's vindication. I knew I was better, I am always better.

Why do we even play these games?

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story

Helsknight waits for Welsknight to pick up his sword. He is a shark circling, mad for a few drops of blood. Welsknight stands in the center of the island and waits, turning, for Helsknight to spiral towards him. They are a disaster, a collision course, gravity pulling. They are the inevitable, and their blood pulls them to each other just as much as thought and wit and loathing.

A lodestone in their souls.

Helsknight springs.

And yet they play the game

Welsknight gets a single lucky strike. His sword tears between two of Helsknight's plates, and he feels the soft resistance of flesh against his blade. It's low on Helsknight's hip, painful, but far from deadly. Helsknight proves it by slamming the pommel of his sword into Welsknight's faceplate. If it weren't for the nose guard, his nose would be broken. His eyes still phosphor from the hit, a world of infinite, blinding stars. His feet are kicked out from underneath him.

And the player started to breathe faster and deeper, and it realized it was alive

Welsknight reaches for his dropped sword again. Helsknight doesn't back away from him this time. Welsknight deflects the stab that would have killed him, swings the pommel of his sword against Helsknight's knee.

You. You.

Helsknight drops, a hand on his battered joint. Then he lunges, and they are wrestling again. Blood from Helsknight's wound spatters Welsknight, makes one of his hands slick. He holds his sword in both hands and uses it as a staff, trying to ward away Helsknight's blade locked against it. With the force of his shoving, and the weight of him bearing down, Welsknight's arms are giving.

You. You.

His arms are giving. The crossed blades are too close to his neck. He kicks. He grunts.

Helsknight is a dark tower, the kind that eclipses vision. His eyes are red stars in the dark, distant and bloody.

You are alive.

One of Welsknight's arms collapse. His brief hope this might pitch Helsknight off-balance flickers out before it can really settle.

Helsknight is a perfect knight. Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Welsknight can feel it like a wound on his skin. Like blood in his eyes. Like iron on his tongue. Like a netherite blade so close to his neck he can't catch his breath.

I want to help them speak the word they fear.

Helsknight kept his blades sharp. It probably had something to do with perfection. In the moment before blade touches skin, Welsknight searches his other half. He finds what he expects to see.

Disgust at what is happening, and blood and pain and struggle. Resentment at being brought here only for this one thing, for this spiral to an end. Vindication of his skills, pride in his efficiency, disdain for Welsknight's clumsiness.

Welsknight does not find what he expects, as well.

He does not find remorse.

He does not find guilt.

He finds only a subtle annoyance where those things should be, disdain that Welsknight bothers to search at all.

Welsknight smirks. He doesn't need the reminder that his other half is evil, but it is nice to know, even if he's lost, he's still right.

The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Helsknight is alone on an island in the end. He is surrounded by the remains of Welsknight's gear, and the spattering of his own blood against the end stone. Whenever Welsknight dies, when they fight here at the end of the world, with nothing to distract each other from each other, it feels like Helsknight has woken up for the first time in a long time. The smothering thoughts, emotions, intensities of his Hermit lift and dissipate, and it feels like he has finally caught his breath for the first time in years.

Helsknight sits on his knees on the stone until his joints ache, and his hip burns, and his leggings are a mess of blood, and he breathes. Long, deep, like cold water in a desert.

Finally, he stands. It takes effort. He has to use his sword as a crutch. But he stands. He looks out at the nothingness, at the end, at the jaws of the universe in every direction.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream.

Helsknight snorts derisively.

"I would rather sleep," he says.

He vanishes back to hels.

[mondaymelon]

guess which boyfailure just broke down crying in a culver's !!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

[oceanmoss]

I'll be like I'm sooo nonchalant idgaf and then I'll have a panic attack so bad and so long I mistake it for a heart attack and call an ambulance 😭😭 idk girls still not sure wtf is going on but they did heart tests and things seem fine and blood tests and x ray and now waiting for the results + dr who will apparently come in ???? 8 hours???? wtf

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

1x16 | The Blind Fortune Teller 🔮🃏

And to think the way this scene - and the absolutely masterful performance by Cameron Monaghan - snowballed into what can only be described as Schrodinger's Joker for the rest of Gotham's run

[souvenir116]

I'm choking... halfway through 300 studying questions since 5 hours and I can't even comprehend anymore so I just make nonsense code names for each stupid muscle and nerve 😁 I do believe this is not how learning works but. Who cares 😁

[gay-fordeath]

.

[honestmouse20]

i hate summer so much yall

it's already 80 during the day here and my ac doesnt work. Everyone telling me they love the summer is wrong and crazy. come back and tell me you love the summer when your bedroom is 80 degrees at 4am.

I usually sleep prety well these days but tonight i can't seem to stay asleep, even with my fan on and pointed right at me. The ac is on too, set at 65 but the themomerter in my room says otherwise. we've been texting the landord Repeatedly. The Ac repair man never calls

[rainingincale]

sigh 😔

[slugg]

erm hehe whah huh

[90th1k1k0m0r1]

the company i work for is bankrupt

[victim9d]

the texts have been Sent

[tojipie]

prison bf series linked here !

content: lots of angst, ptsd, hurt + comfort

────────────────────────

thinking about how much prison changes toji and how different he is the day he gets out. how 7 years of repenting for his crimes completely warps his brain and leaves him with lasting habits he will probably never get rid of.

you don’t quite realize how almost a decade of seclusion from the world’s developing tech affects him. it’s silly, how he doesn’t quite get what an air fryer is or how it works, lashing out and trashing the poor machine after hours of trying to heat popcorn in it.

how he sits cross legged on the floor in front of the couch messing around with the voice-to-text feature on the TV remote, giggling to himself when the text comes up wrong.

how he doesn’t seem to care for his old phone anymore, discarding the dated piece of technology in favor of a burner with a little keypad so he can text you. how he still finds himself whispering on phone calls with you in public, the residual fear of getting caught is something he still wont shake.

you’ve slowly come to realize just how much he hid from you while behind bars. the things he didn’t want you to see, the toll it took on both his mind and body. you trace the new scars on his abdomen one lazy afternoon, feeling him go completely rigid once he realizes he can’t hide them from you anymore.

they’re deep. fleshy pink slashes with raised edges mirroring the scar that runs through his lip. “you should’ve seen those other guys.” he tells you with a hesitant chuckle, trying to ease your mind. you believe him when he says it, recalling countless testimonies from terrified jail guards who’d witnessed his wrath firsthand.

he thinks he might get them covered up, adding to the endless expanse of ink that litters his body. his latest pieces have all been dedicated to you, and lord knows he wants every reminder of you etched into his skin.

toji hides his grief from you. hides how his heart goes into overdrive in large crowds, head constantly whipping back because his mind still believes the men around him want to drive a shank through his neck.

you still notice though. you notice how he sleeps in the fetal position now, knees drawn up as far as they can to protect as much surface area as possible. he holds you when he can, usually when it’s still light out. pressing soft kisses to your hairline and humming a song you cant quite decipher.

he yelped the first time you bear hugged him from behind, whipped around and held you down by your neck until he eventually came to his senses and broke down with a whimpering apology. you’d forgotten about it since, though you notice how hesitant he is to sleep with his back to you now.

you want to tell him that it’s ok. that it’s normal to see aspects of his former life in his new one. especially after spending so much time in it. that it’s normal to be scared when things take him by surprise and suddenly he’s been transported back behind the walls of a dingy 4-person cell.

he’s still able to provide the same luxuries he was able to gift you when his sole form of income came by means that were more than immoral. old connections come to the two of you, offering positions at their respective companies to help the older man get back on his feet.

what toji can’t do is stay sane working a normal job.

don’t get him wrong, the money is good, maybe even better than what he was making before. he just wishes being a CFO wasn’t such a fucking bore. he used to wear suits to feel good about himself, mindlessly indulging in the luxuries he took for granted.

now it’s just his uniform, what he’s expected to wear as he crunches numbers in a penthouse office. he can’t even light up as he does it, his probation officer would probably smell it on him and make him piss in a damn cup.

he misses being stuck in a locked room 22 hours a day. at least there he knew he’d never be able to get his hands on any bud. the drugs in prison aren’t the kind that you want to mess with, toji knew that even before he had an inkling that he’d be spending nearly a tenth of his life in there.

he asks himself if he even deserves a job like this, a job where he has so many assistants that he practically does jackshit all day, twiddling his thumbs on a 10 thousand dollar couch while he contemplates if he should just say fuck it and roll a joint.

he wouldn’t do that though, not after how proud you were to see that he’d turned his life around as soon as he got out. maybe he’ll start using nicotine patches instead.

toji loves you. that much is obvious. you see it in the way his body shows its vulnerability around you. the way his muscles soften when you lay on top of him while the two of you binge films on the couch. the way he’s still too shy to ask you to lace your fingers with his in public, scared you’ll somehow be corrupted by hands that have dealt out an immeasurable amount of harm.

you tell him to just take it one day at a time on the mornings where you send him off to work, tightening his tie and smoothing down his collar to show off the ink he has there. and toji thinks he’s never loved anyone else quite like how he loves you.

────────────────────────

taglist ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin

[ever-4sunlight]

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 (𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏)

Includes: dottore, pantalone, childe, arlecchino

warnings: Sexuallity headcannons (my own opinion) and very bad English, mention of yandere actions in arlecchinos part

pronouns: none

1/2

𝑫𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆

He is... Lets just say a little weird but talks much he will tell you about who he experimented on all night long you wont be able to sleep

If he is tired he gets annoyed easily so dont talk much when hes not in the mood

hes a smart person why should he do what you say? He will command you around

He will 'accidentally' test some of his syringes on you when your sleeping

He wont have much time to spend with you he has to work on his experiments! Nothing is more important then his job

If your to lonely he will send on of his clones to cuddle with you while he can work without feeling bad for not spending time with you

He is totally against kids why should he raise some idiots that will be disrespectful when they grow up?

Im pretty sure that when he ever has free time he wont tell you how much he loves you but will show you how much he loves you

If he hugs you his hands will be placed on your waist if he has time to touch you he will touch you

He will give you everything you want (no child) not personally of course he has to work so a clone will do that for him

possible Sexuallity: confusing me as much as kazuha. _.

His love language is probably: physical touch

𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆

Hes tthe richest harbinger of all he will get you whatever you want it doesn't matter how much it costs everything for his love

He is working must of the time so he will send you little gifts

If he ever has free time he will probably go out with you doing whatever you want shopping or going to a restaurant he doesn't care he will go there with you

He would probably buy you a kitty or a puppy against the boredom when hes working

Buy you every type of clothing you want it doesn't matter to him how much it costs he has the big money

Hes not completely against kids but he's working to much to help you raising them and giving up his job is no option so think about it

He wont have much time to spend with you but he will feel bad leaving you alone all the time

As long as your safe everything is alright so he doesn't have to worry

If he comes back from work he will always have a gift for you and the hours you've waited

If he hugs your he wil lay you on his chest and just stroke your hair talking until you sleep

Possible Sexuallity: bi sexual

His love language is probably: gifts and words of affirmation

𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆/𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂

Here we go with our all loved ed sheeran also known as tartaglia he is joking around like a little kid he loves you more then everything in this world

He is definitely not the smartest of the harbingers after all he is the 11th fatui harbinger the weakest and the dumbest? Im not calling him dumb im just not calling him smart

He is a harbinger he has practically no time like the other ones T-T

But i swear to you if he has a free day he will attack you with affection cuddling you for hours and telling you how much he loves you not letting go until he has to work again

If none of his fellow harbingers are near he will talk about his brother and his sister while holding you in his arms

He will hold you by your waist having his chin on your shoulder whispering into your ear how much he loves you

He will Probably never tell you what things he has done because hes scared that you will hate him for the bad things hes done

He wants kids! 100% he just wants to see mini versions of you running around (if your male just adopted or just think in omega verse:D)

His sexuallity is probably: im not sure... Bi or pan?

His love language is probably: physical touch and gifts

𝑨𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒐

There wwe go with or harbinger mommy shes not only sexy but overall just the perfect definition of toxic<3 but we still love her and she loves you too!

She's VERY possessive and if i say VERY I MEAN VERY she gets jealous by having you just talk to someone else thats not her your hers after all

Shes cold... Not only are her hands cold but shes just someone who barely shows emotions but no worries! She still loves you

If she comes home its late and your probably already asleep but she just cant help but lean your head against her chest when she lays down beside you she just wants to have her lover close!

If you disobey her your probably getting locked into your room to keep you away fron the 'danger' outside

The only person she trusts you with is herself obviously shes the one she can trust the most shes a father! She knows what she's doing

When ttalking about kids shes neutral... Just keep the screaming thing away... But at the same time its hers and it needs protection and care

Shes not talkative so dont annoy her to much!

Her sexuallity is probably: i would actually say shes a lesbian._. But for the more judgmental audience i say bi

Her love language is probably: acts of service

[nhoirr]

𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖆𝖑𝖑

— 𝔖𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰

drabbles. “GOJO HOURS."

“LOVESICK LOVER — !” : When he's away from you.

GOJO SATORU is not a patient man, especially when he's kept long time away from you.

'I miss you,' 13:42

your phone dings with a message you've been anticipating all this while, all this afternoon you spent fidgeting in place; waiting for something, or well—someone.

'i'll come home soon.' 13:43

the message rings out from a sender that was no other than your lover—GOJO SATORU, who seems to have been impatient at work; he's been gone for less than an hour, though you couldn't blame him when you felt the same.

'I want to be with you." 13:43 — not even two seconds later, your phone gets bombarded with messages.

Often it would be like this when he's gone, busy with exorcising curses.. hours to days of no contact, to sudden barrages of messages come in endless downpour; you couldn't even begin to count how many times he'd say — 'I want to come home.' every time, and every moment he has.

its silly, how he makes the butterflies burst in your stomach. You wonder how he feels so near when he's so far—perhaps distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

'Hey, don't leave me on read!' 13:45

At his reminder, you can't help but imagine him saying this. Bickering about your imprudence to dare leave him on read, you quickly tap away at your phone.

—'take care of yourself,' wouldn't be much too cliche to say right..? should you be adding anything more? it felt like your message was too short, maybe you should throw in a—'ill wait for you.' too, in there.

.. okay maybe too much—you internally cringe at your own words, attempting to delete the message.

Though unfortunately, your finger slips to press send a bit too hastily, not even given a chance to delete the message when he's seen it in a heartbeat; you could only close your eyes and pray he wouldn't tease it out of you all day, he wouldn't let you live this down.

at long last—your phone dings and you couldn't help the curiosity, peeking reluctantly at what he had to say.

'I don't think I can wait.' 13:50

but you could guess he probably won't be able to come home tonight; he probably has a lot to finish, he wont be home anytime soon..

so.. that makes you wonder, during this time of night—just when you were about to close your eyes..

"who.." Theres sudden motion, noise of shuffling before the sheets slowly dip and you sink into the softness of the bed. Although your eye lips felt heavy, you peel open your eyes—the blurred figure of a man answers with his voice, "Are you asleep yet?" he—the familiar voice of a man you've been waiting for all day, whispers in your ear.

He hovers above you, leaning over so much that the bed creaks, "Don't sleep on me, sweetheart." he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, another one to your neck—till he littered your body, every inch of your skin his lips could find; his lips latches on to you, as if a leech.

and one last time, he presses a long kiss to the side of your lips—as if asking for you to wake up through your groggy state of mind.

"keep your pretty eyes open for me, will ya?"

through your hazy vision, you could make out that charming smile of his that you've engraved into your mind—the image of a man you love so dearly, your heart treasures so.

and you know he loves you too—just as much.

your phone dings with his last text you never got to read before he came home—

'I love you.' 24:59

your impatient lover probably couldn't wait another day to come home, not when you were waiting for him—not when he'd miss your welcome greeting, not when he still hadn't kissed you goodnight.

and god, that was all he could always think of when you're not in his moment of sight.

'I'm coming home.' 00:09

how unfortunate, that the moment you wake in the morning after, you would never get the chance to read this message.

©NHOIRR — DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE NOR PLAGIARIZE ANY OF MY WORKS!

[📨] — Yes I'm working on the series, but i've been thinking about this scenario for a while.. I had to get it out of my head somehow.

<-. come back to navigation?

[stuffeddeer]

I GOT A SILLY IDEA AND IT WONT LEAVE ME ALONE

IMAGINE LIKE DAZAI AND S/O LIVE TOGETHER AND BOTH WORK AT ADA BUT S/O DOES NOT WANT TO BE LATE LIKE NOT EXACTLY KUNIKIDA SHE WOULD LIKE TO JUST SLEEP AND HATES GOING TO WORK EARLY BUT JUST DOESN'T WANT TO BE LECTURED BY KUNIKIDA AND SHE LIKES TO LIKE WAKE UP EARLY SO SHE HAS TIME SO SHE JUST HAS LIKE AN ALARM 4 HOURS BEFORE THEY SHOULD EVEN LEAVE, JUST FORCING HER EYES OPEN😭😭😭 AND DAZAI IS IS NOT HAVIN IT HOLDING ONTO U IN BED FOR DEAR LIFE AND TRYING TO GET YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP😭😭😭😭 AAAAAAARCTKVGRJVKTKVT

He turns off your alarm once you’ve fallen asleep.

The operation is covert, sneakily unwrapping his arms from around you to try and not wake you up. It takes a bit of effort, forcing his mind to let go of the comfort that comes from embracing you, but it’ll be worth it when he’s able to do so for longer when the sun comes up. Slowly, he’ll twist out from underneath the covers and away from the fluffy mattress you occupied, tiptoeing quietly over to your side of the bed.

Dazai slips your phone off of your charger before quickly (and yet still quietly!) fleeing the bedroom you two shared. You weren’t a light sleeper, but if you caught Dazai you’d probably banish him to the couch for the next few nights. Once in the hall, he’d input your password (your birthday, how cute dumb!) and open up your alarm app. Two alarms graced Dazai’s vision, one for nearly four hours before your shift starts and another for 15 minutes before, which is when you two leave for the Agency.

With a grin, he slides the on button to off for the four-hours-before alarm, deciding to benevolently leave the 15-minutes-before alarm on. It was most assuredly out of the goodness of his heart and not because he knew you’d be angry learning he shut off one of the alarms, much less both.

Maneuvering quickly back into the bedroom, he plugs in your phone and sets it back on the nightstand before throwing himself on top of you.

“’Sssamu..?” You murmur, your words slurred from sleep as you shifted beneath him.

Feeling proud after a job well done, Dazai peppers kisses along your cheeks before climbing back under the blankets. “Sorry, go back to sleep. Just am excited to hold you.”

“You were already holding me,” you pout, eyes still shut as sleep starts to take over once more.

The brunet says nothing as he pulls you back into his arms, eyes shutting easily as he thinks about tomorrow morning.

Used to your usual alarm clock, your body wakes up around four hours before naturally. Dazai coaxes you into staying in his arms, mentioning several times that you’ve never forgotten to turn on your alarm before - you must’ve just awoken earlier than normal. But that's fine, you two can just stay in each other’s arms until the actual alarm goes off, right?

[god-syndicate-if]

Because I'm a huge sucker for fluff I have to ask; What's something MC could say/do that would make the ROs feel all gooey inside?

Oh I do love these types of asks. Since idk which you mean, I'll take the sfw option for "feel all gooey inside"

Riley: Surprisingly difficult to make flustered as they'll take outright flirting as a joke. But subtle things will make them think of you for a very very long time. A small touch when you're trying to move past them is big, they'll focus on the spot your fingers were at for hours. For more direct ways you can defend them. Not even physically but if someone says something bad about them, or even slightly below neutral, then calling that person out on their shit (Before Riley gets a chance to) will make the, flustered and retreat.

Franco: He loves to make people flustered. If you blush easily he'll focus on seeing what he could do to make your ears red or to make you stumble over your words. But flirt back at the right time, make him lose momentum when doing so and he probably wont be able to regain composure for hours. You seriously just need to sit back and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. (He also likes being ordered around just a bit but you didn't hear that from me.)

Verne: They're a little possessive, ngl. They handle it well and don't show it but it doesn't stop them from being jealous when they shouldn't be. If you're together then phrases like "I'm yours" will make them smile. If you really want to make them go wild wear their jacket or shirt, especially in public.

Mitch: Help him with a project. He works on his car a lot. If you come in and just spend time with him it'll make the time go by a lot quicker. but if you actually help him, even if he has to teach you something or if you have to teach him something, he'll really enjoy it. That night he'll be almost asleep and just remember small touches when passing tools, eye contact over the engine. He'll remember you grease stained and sweating and he'll have a hard time going back to sleep.

Sigourney: Chivalry goes a long ways. Make her feel important and that you care and she'll fall for you pretty quick. But don't stop at her, she wants to feel important but doesn't want you to step on other people to do it. If one day she leave home and sees you feeding a stray cat or something she'll go back inside and scream into a pillow.

Dame: Legitimately at this moment in time? Just pay attention to them. Come back from the shop with their favorite coffee and they'll hold on to it until it goes cold. When you're together they like breathy whispers a lot. Like a lot a lot. Lean in and say something (even innocuous and innocent) and they'll refuse to look you in the eye.

Rebel: Rebel wants to you see you at your best. Especially if you're physically exerting yourself. It doesn't matter what it is but if she watches muscles strain she'll refuse to look away, afterwards your touch on her will make her go wild. (if you've got someone's blood on you when you do she'll never let go.)