#I mean if they’re in my time zone at least

[rosicheeks]

🤦🏽‍♀️

[ozcarma]

truly, who do I need to pay to write more sigmakane fics.

[enfinizatics]

dear americans,

as a polish queer woman and human rights activist, i know exactly how you're feeling right now and what to expect from these elections. i lived through the 2015-2023 regime of pis, a right-wing populist party that divided families in the same way trump did. i’ve experienced the rise of fascism in poland, the influence of far-right parties like konfederacja, and their “santa’s little helpers”—ordo iuris, an ultra-conservative catholic organization (banned in many countries, mind you) that helped enforce a near-total abortion ban and runs anti-queer campaigns in public spaces. i supported the black protests in 2016 as a middle schooler when they first tried to ban abortion. as an adult, i actively participated in the 2020 women’s strike, running from police tear gas daily after they finally passed the ban. i supported friends who faced charges.

i’ve lived through intense homophobia in poland as a queer teen and adult. i survived the first pride march in my hometown, where far-right extremists threw stones and glass at us. i endured the anti-queer propaganda spread by the ruling party in state-owned media. i survived the “rainbow night,” poland’s own stonewall moment in summer 2020, when police arrested around 50 queer activists following the arrest of margo, a nonbinary activist. i survived the "lgbt-free zones," the targeted violence, the slurs from strangers on the street, and the protests i held against queerphobia. it was hard as fuck, but i survived.

but just because i survived, it doesn’t mean others did. many women died because of the abortion ban—marta, justyna, izabela, dorota, joanna, maria, and many others who didn’t survive pis’s draconian anti-abortion laws. milo, kacper, michał, zuzia (she was 12), wiktor, and other queer and trans kids and young adults took their own lives because of the relentless queerphobia.

despite all of this, our experience in poland can serve as a guide now. here are some tips for staying safe and how we, polish queers and women, organized under the regime:

safety first, always. if you know someone who’s had an abortion, no you don’t. if you know someone is trans, no you don’t. if you know people who help with safe abortions, no you don’t—at least not until you know it’s 100% safe to share. if you are queer or have had an abortion, only share this with people you trust fully. most importantly, not everyone has to be an activist just because they’re part of a minority. if it feels unsafe to share that you're queer, trans, etc., then don’t. it doesn’t make you any less queer.

use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

stay anonymous online. if you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

organize and build networks. community is everything now. support each other, foster independence, because your government won’t have your back. set up collectives, grassroots movements. create lists of trusted professionals—lawyers, doctors, etc.—who can offer support.

to lawyers and doctors: please consider pro-bono work. this is what got us through poland’s hardest times. your work will be needed now more than ever.

for protests or risky actions: always write a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your arm with a permanent marker.

get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project;

for safe abortion info or involvement: get familiar with womenhelpwomen.

stay radical, stay strong, stay informed: The Anarchist Library

if i forgot to (or didn't) include something, don't hesitate to reblog this post with other resources.

[bahablastplz]

Prove it: Seungmin x Reader

Kim Seungmin, your best friend, is so fucking smug all the time. You make the mistake of implying that no man can finger a girl the way they do in porn, and you make the mistake of challenging him when he tells you he can. Content: Smut Warnings: Fingering, slightly mean Seungmin, degradation WC: 1700 Read part 2 here

“Porn isn’t real.” Seungmin blinked at you from where he sat on the other end of the couch, unamused. The TV was playing something in the background, but neither of you had been paying attention for quite some time. 

“Obviously. Everyone knows that,” he says, annoyed. “Care to share why you’re bringing this up now?” 

You turn your phone around to show him the video you were watching–some girl getting fingered and enjoying it a bit too much, moans increasingly loud as she squirts and creams all over the guy’s fingers. 

“Dude, are you seriously watching porn right now?” He laughs at you, incredulous. “Watch the fucking TV at least.” 

“You’re not watching the TV,” you point out to him. Your friend has been lazily scrolling on his phone for at least 30 minutes. 

“Yeah, but I’m not watching porn while I’m supposed to be hanging out with my best friend.” 

“Fine, fine!” you say, throwing your hands up in surrender. The conversation goes quiet and you ignore the blush that crawls up your face at your friend’s words. 

“What part of that wasn’t real though?” He asks, finally breaking the silence. 

“No girl gets fingered like that and it actually feels that good,” you say. “She was obviously faking it.”

Seungmin doesn’t look up from his phone. “Maybe you’ve been hanging out with the wrong guys.” 

You scoff. “Like you would know, Kim Seungmin. I doubt you’ve ever even fingered a woman before, let alone made one squirt.”

He finally looks up from his phone, lifting a brow. “Are you implying I don’t get any?” 

“Not implying,” you say. “Just stating the obvious.” 

You and your friend have been known to tease one another relentlessly so this was nothing new. The absolutely neutral expression on Seungmin’s face, however, threw you for a loop. You find yourself backtracking, talking again way too fast and digging yourself into a deeper hole. 

“He was moving his hand way too fast!” you say. “It didn’t even look like he was even touching her clit. Yet there she was, seemingly cumming all over his hand! It just doesn’t seem real, you know?” 

“There are other erogenous zones other than the clit,” he says. He’s staring at you now. “I’m telling you, if no guy has ever made you feel that good from fingering, they’re doing it wrong.” 

“And you would do it right?” you challenge. You’re trying to fluster him–he’s simply way too calm for this conversation, and you hate being the only one who’s heart is beating way too fast. 

“I would.” He says it like it’s a fact. It pisses you off, how sure of himself he is. Seungmin, your best friend, who is seemingly nerdy and shy and quiet, who is now looking at you with all of the confidence in the world. Arousal pooled in your stomach as you thought about one fact you knew about your friend: He never took on a challenge he knew he couldn’t win. 

It has always been evident in the way he engages with his own friends. They would make bets with one another, each one more ridiculous than the next, and Seungmin would egg them on and only participate if he was sure he could do it. He would always be nonchalant about it. “I could beat you,” he would say, and they would always take the bait. As if he weren’t even trying, he would always win. That infuriating piece of knowledge, the idea of finally being able to prove him wrong is what motivates you to say what you do: 

“Prove it.” 

He lets out a small chuckle. “If you’re trying to proposition me, you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

“What?” you stutter. Once again he’s managed to get the upper-hand, noticing how embarrassed you get at his words. 

“You want me to finger you that bad? You’re going to have to ask me nicely.” 

You start to backtrack. “Who said I was–” 

“So you don’t want me to finger your pretty little cunt until you cum all over my hands? Hmm? You don’t want to squirt all over my fingers?” He says it as simply as he would if he were talking about the weather. 

You want to deny him now. You want to brush it off, tell him to fuck off, and go back to doom-scrolling and pretending to watch TV. But you don’t. 

“Hmm?” He asks again, taunting you. 

“I do,” you reply finally. 

“Then ask nicely,” he tells you. He moves closer to you on the couch, phone still in his hand. You want to pick it up and throw it across the living room. Maybe that would get a reaction out of him. 

You glance down on his phone, looking to see what he has been looking at that has got him so preoccupied and uninterested up until now. You’re surprised to see nothing but his home screen. Bingo. There was nothing all along. 

“Please,” you say, smiling sweetly at him. 

“Please what?” Now he was getting on your nerves. 

“For fuck’s sake, Seungmin! Please finger me! Please, please make me cum all over your fingers!” You cry out, exasperated. Your words are sarcastic but you get the reaction you wanted from him nonetheless; he reaches over you and grabs the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down with your panties in one swift motion. You’re left completely bare for him. 

This has now crossed over into uncharted territory. Instinctually, you close your legs. Are you really ready to show yourself completely to Seungmin just to prove a point? Just to show he’s wrong and that his cockiness in his ability to finger a girl is all for show?

“Nope,” he chides. “You wanted it so bad, you don’t get to hide from me.” His hand on your knee sends electric sparks up your body. 

Yes. Yes, you were. 

You spread your legs open wide for him, watching his face. He was seemingly unaffected by your actions, the ghost of a grin on his face. He makes a show of reaching over your body, ignoring your core completely to push two fingers past your lips. Your brows shoot up in surprise and he lets out a small breath that’s reminiscent of a laugh.

“Suck.” You do. You let your tongue swirl around the digits in your mouth, getting them nice and wet for him. You do so almost obscenely, moaning slightly at the taste of his fingers and letting spit fall down your chin. He responds by shoving them further into your mouth, pumping them in and out and eventually far down enough that you gag all over them. Your reactions are no longer for show now; he’s already managed to shut you up. 

When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, it’s with a string of saliva. He reaches in between your legs and finally makes contact with your folds. His touches are featherlight, teasing. He’s watching the way your chest rises and falls, your labored breathing, the way you want to close your thighs again not to hide, but to finally relieve the pressure between your legs and he smirks. 

When his wet fingers dip into your hole you can hear them because you’re already soaking wet. He shallowly thrusts his fingers in and out, gathering your wetness and bringing it up to spread it across your folders. He taps your clit with his fingers, gentle and not with the intention that you need. 

“Seungmin, if you don’t stop teasing me I swear to God–” 

And he shushes you. When you go to protest once again, his fingers finally meet your clit. He rubs circles around it, rhythmic and systemic in his ministrations. He’s working you up, slow and steady until you’re completely putty in his hands. He switches between stimulating your clit and fucking his fingers up into your entrance, occasionally curling them and hitting that spongey spot that has you holding your breath.  

When your eyes meet his, the look he gives you is devious. 

He leans forward, spitting directly on your soaked pussy. You gasp. 

“Is this all you needed? Wanted to get on my last nerve so fucking bad, didn’t you baby? Did you just need my fingers to shut you up?” 

You whine at his words. When his fingers dive into your entrance again the pace he sets is brutal, thrusting into you fast and hard. The palm of his hand hits your clit every time his fingers bully into you. 

“Seung–too much,” you say. 

“Shhhh,” he tells you again. “You wanted it so fucking bad, baby. You can take it.” Your hips buck up to meet his hands and you start to pulse around him–he can tell you’re getting close. His fingers leave your entrance and attack your clit, soaking wet as he rubs furiously but with precision. It’s that motion that has you cumming so hard you’re seeing stars, possibly harder than you ever have in your entire life. The noises that come out of your mouth are not your own, they can’t be. You can’t give him that satisfaction–but you already have. 

When you come down from your high you’re glaring at him. He removes his fingers from your center and looks at you, smug, as he slips them into his mouth with a grin. 

He turns his head and scoots back down to the other end of the couch, smiling to himself as he scrolls on his phone once again. You look at him, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Yes?” He says to you. You must have been staring for a beat too long. 

“You didn’t make me squirt,” you point out. It’s a baseless accusation, a way to try to salvage your bruised ego since you both know he’s already won. 

He simply points down to his shirt which has been soaked from your orgasm; you didn’t even notice. “Told you,” he says. 

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes. You pull your pants up and cross your arms, watching the TV and pretending not to care. 

“I bet that I can make you squirt all over my cock,” he says with a smile. He doesn’t look up from his phone when he speaks. 

You already know what you’re doing when you meet his eyes and say, “Prove it.”

*** A/N: Seungmin has been bias-wrecking me a little too hard as of late. This man is too fine.

Masterlist

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[wonderjanga]

How would the League react to learning that Marvel was in the war? (Or have you already done something on this-)

I don’t think I have ever written something on this. The only thing similar would have to be the one where he started out in the 1940s as a hero and was there for almost every major war. And if I have, I don’t think I’ve gone into much detail about Billy in the wars. So anyways.

Flash: “You were in a war??”

Marvel: “I was in wars. The nineteen hundreds were so war filled now that I think about it.”

GL: “Which ones?”

Marvel: “All of the major ones besides the first Great War.”

GL: “So World War 2, Korea, Vietnam, and everything else?”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

Flash: “Wait, where were you during WW2…? I remember hearing about you in all the other ones but that one.”

Marvel: “I was mostly on the home front because of Hitler’s magic spear.”

GL: “What…?”

Marvel: “Hitler had this magic spear that could control superheroes so Roosevelt kept most heroes away from the front lines. I wasn’t apart of the All-Star Squadron, and I technically wasn’t supposed to be there, but I did wanna hang out with my buddies so I would go and fight there too.”

Flash: “You talk about hanging out with your buddies like you wouldn’t be hanging out in a war zone. Also, Hitler had a magic spear???”

Marvel: “Yeah? You didn’t learn about that in history class?” *forgot that’s supposed to be classified information*

GL: “No??”

Flash: “Does Germany still have it?”

Marvel: “No? I think the Blackhawks do. Or maybe someone else?”

GL: “You don’t know where it is?” *sounds extremely concerned*

Ever since this interaction, Hal and Wally have now seen their buddy in a new light. Like every time his face goes practically emotionless, (Ref to this post) what if he’s experiencing war flashbacks or something?

Villain: *laughing maniacally and holding someone hostage*

Marvel: *face blank, thinking how to do this*

Flash: *thinks he’s having a PTSD episode* “Cap.” *zips over* “Cap, breathe.”

Marvel: *pauses his thinking and looks over to him confused* “Huh?”

Flash: “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.” *doesn’t really know what he’s doing but is trying his best*

The villain was just awkwardly standing to the side, having been forgotten. Meanwhile, Billy’s just completely confused, but he did go along with the breathing thing Flash wanted him to do for whatever reason. That seemed to make the speedster stop worrying about… whatever he was worried about.

Martian Manhunter accidentally over heard GL and Flash talking about this and as someone who probably has PTSD from watching a lot of his people die in the war against the white Martians, he now invites Marvel at have tea with him because he heard it can calm human nerves. …the Captain is human, right?

Some of the other GL’s were also a little happy at this because this means Cap is technically a military man and they’re military men and women so yippee. Or at least it was a yippee until Hal told them about Marvel having PTSD. Again, Billy doesn’t, it’s just that after the breathing thing that he went along with, it confirmed for Flash that he did have shell shock.

When heard about this he actually went to ask Marvel if he wished to join a veterans group

Batman: “It’s for people who went through war the same as you did.” *gives Marvel a little brochure*

Marvel: “Thanks…? But I can just talk to the JSA, All-Stars, or the Squadron of Justice if I have to.” *sounds confused*

Batman: “Then I guess you could use that for your civilian identity.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “Maybe.” *doesn’t think they’ll accept someone who looks twelve but is just going with it*

[loveinhawkins]

Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.

He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”

Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”

“Slime?” Lucas offers.

“Sludge,” Erica corrects.

“Goop,” Max says decisively.

“Shit,” Dustin says.

Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”

He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.

“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”

Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”

“—not important.”

Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.

Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.

If ever there was the time for sincerity…

“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”

The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”

Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”

Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.

“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.

“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”

Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”

Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.

“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”

And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”

“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”

“The… invitation?”

“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”

“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”

“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”

“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”

Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.

But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—

“The red one?”

Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”

“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—

“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.

[coquettetoji]

{💌} BF ARMIN HCS

armin as your boyfriend hcs 😁 (fem reader)

— sigh you already know he’s the purest boy on earth so him as a boyfriend?? that’s your husband even in the first 2 weeks

— gets you “just because” flowers at least 2 times a week

— he gives you the dictionary thesaurus encyclopedia definition of PRINCESS TREATMENT.

— he will hold your hand everywhere, kneel down to take your shoes off/put them on for you, knows the side walk rule, sends you $$ without you even asking for any and oh my god he’s just so perfect.

— likes to do your hair for you regardless if your hair is pin straight or super curly, he will learn your exact routine in order to take care of it for you

— you’ll never stop hearing “why do you need to do that when i’m here?” nonstop. even for the stupidest things like getting the remote across the sofa. 😭

— his love language is words of affirmation and acts of service, he’s just always there to help you

— will trail behind you like a lost puppy at all times, literally follows you almost everywhere just in case you ever need him to do something for you

— his whole instagram feed is just you, you and you ** EXHIBIT A

— his follower ratio is also insane i’m saying like maybe 10 following (you and friends + fam) and then a good 60k followers

— most definitely has an “i ❤️ my girlfriend shirt” and wears it proudly with a pretty smile

— in public terms, he’s definitely touchy but not as touchy as when you guys are alone

— holds your hand, guides you with a hand on your lower back, has a hand around your waist, and wants you as close as possible to him in public but keeps it to a minimum

— when you guys are alone however, lord you can never get rid of him >>>

— will whine out a “where are you going? 🙁 i’ll come with you” at 3am when you need to pee.

— his favorite spots to kiss you are on your forehead, and yours cheeks, just because he likes to see your eyes go all dazed and happy when he does

— he does that hot thing where while he kisses you, you can feel the smile start to form on his lips

— his favorite pet names to call you are the typical domestic sweet and cute ones that just make your heart melt: baby, princess, love, pretty girl, calls you a good girl when praising you 😸

— your personal photographer everywhere, he knows to get all the angles and most of the pictures on your ig are taken by armin

— loves hugs, hugs are loved by him and just likes hugs, did i mention he loves hugs?

— does that thing where he hugs you from behind, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest esp when you guys are with friends or at parties

— he loves when you run your hands through his hair, he has the fluffiest softest hair ever definitely whimpers when it just feels way too good

— the most soft spoken boyfriend ever, he will never raise his voice at you even when he’s mad or upset (which is rare)

—takes you out on dates often and they’re always the best planned out dates ever (candle lit dinners, picnics

— will hold your heels in one hand after a date where your feet hurt while clutching your hand in the other

— whenever you start talking he sometimes just blanks out staring at you and how pretty you are which then just ends up with him blabbering “mhm’s” and “yeah yeah i get what you’re saying” while being completely zoned out staring at your face

— he always blushes when you show affection towards him first out of nowhere like when he’s talking to you about something and you just reach up and kiss his cheek, he’ll completely lose his train of thought.

— i’ve mentioned this before and i’ll mention it again, he’s a golden retriever boyfriend

— i mean he literally follows you around like a puppy already, he just acts like one in general whenever he’s around you

— he’s definitely a naturally quiet person around people he doesn’t know and kinda reserved but he just falls apart around you with a soft look of fondness in his blue eyes

— i just think of the childhood bestfriend trope when it comes to him or academic rivals

— he takes pride and hangs on to every single compliment you say to him. like throw one “you’re so handsome” at him and he’ll keep it like an id in his pocket

— like if eren said to him, “you’re ugly as fuck” armin will just shrug and smile saying “ _______ doesn’t think so 😁😁” just so smiley god he’s adorable

— in the domestic aspect of armin as your bf, he’s definitely super sweet and just soft with you

— breakfast in bed, cooking for you on the daily, + cleaning the dishes after too, taking care of you when sick

— helps you get dressed when you’re tired, does your hair for you, brushes your teeth for you while softly tilting your chin up between his thumb and pointer finger JUST UGH I NEED HIM SO BAD

— he will get on his knees for you any day of the week 😁 (for anything not just that guys)

— final conclusion and something i think he does that’s really cute

star moments of armin as your bf

★ keeps your hair tie on his left wrist in case you would ever need one

★ gets on his knees to take off your heels or shoes for you

★ never lets you open the car door by yourself and when helping you out or in he always kisses your forehead

★ took it upon himself to memorize every order of food or drink you have and your whole makeup collection to replace it if you ever ran out

★ cried happy tears when you told him you love him for the first time back (he defo told you before you did LMAO)

— overall just the sweetest boy and boyfriend ever 💞💞💞💕💕💓💓💗💗

[sonotpattismith]

it's britney, bitch

pairing: choso kamo x reader word count: 10.6k inspired by: oops!… I did it again by britney spears content: fluff, friend zoning, friends to lovers, car accident, a lil corny, a lil angsty, choso being my baby girl princess, suggestive content, 18+

“Can’t you just sleep with him or something!” 

Everyday you came closer and closer to making an abrupt u-turn on your decision to become a teacher. Inhaling deeply to collect your thoughts before you smacked the teenage boy in front of you, you blinked slowly at him, a clear sign that you were losing your patience. Your students knew it too, evident in the way they slowly inched away from you. 

“First of all,” You gritted through your teeth, but you were still unable to hold back the amused smile that crept up your lips at the fear in Itadori’s face upon seeing your temper flare. “That is so unbelievably inappropriate for you to say.”

At once, the pink haired boy was bowing apologetically at you, submissively waving his hands out in front of him as if it would grant him your mercy. “Secondly, you’re being mean. He just wants to spend time with you.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Kugisaki scoffed, kicking at Itadori to stop his groveling. “You’re not the one who has a six foot curse following your friends around and scaring away everyone at the mall!” 

You pinched at the bridge of your nose, wondering how your lesson plan, which you’d insisted on having outside for the sake of your hyperactive students, had been bulldozed by the conversation of Yuji’s newly discovered brother. The trio seemed desperate to get any space from him, especially the younger brother in question. In truth, you felt bad for Choso Kamo— Yuji was all he had left, and being a big brother was all he knew. Still, you could understand why the group of teens were growing increasingly annoyed by the older man’s budding into all their plans. Not bad enough to sleep with him to get him off their asses, but bad nonetheless. 

“They’re right, he’s definitely creepy.” Fushiguro agreed gruffly, finally turning to face you with his usual blunt expression. 

“Give him a break.” You huffed, glancing back down at your book in hopes of finding a way to veer back on topic. “You did kill his only other family members, so technically this is on you guys.”

“Actually that was just Itadori and Kugisaki.” The raven-haired boy reminded. His two friends whipped their heads back at him with icy glares. It was Yuji who finally turned back to you with his hands clasped in front of him pleadingly. 

“C’mon, Sensei, he’s a handsome guy. Take him out!” He begged, ignoring the way the redhead beside him scoffed at his use of handsome in describing the man. Suddenly, his brown eyes drifted behind you before settling in horror. “Oh god, he’s coming over here.”

“Stop it!” You growled lowly, peering over your shoulder to see Choso in the distance. The school had agreed to take him in with the understanding that he was being closely monitored. In truth, despite his intimidating appearance and his dubious status as a half-curse, you didn’t feel like you had much to worry about with regard to him. In his time at the school, he’d been helping out (or attempting to) with combat training for the students in Gojo’s absence. Sure, he was a little awkward, and the ever present dark circles around his eyes were kind of unsettling, and he didn’t really know how to hold a conversation that well— but he seemed nice enough. Then again, it was usually Itadori he spoke to and hung around with, so you didn’t know him that well. 

Snapping your head back over to the trio before you, you huddled in closer to them with a firm expression. “Listen, Choso is only just now learning how to live as a human and not a curse. So, no, I cannot just date him. You need to lighten up on him, he did a lot for you— for all of us.” 

“And I’m grateful! But I just want to be able to hang out with my friends without him lurking behind us. Please, can you at least talk to him?” Itadori pleaded, his voice dropping into a whisper as his brother drew closer. You sighed deeply, taking in the desperate look in your student’s eyes. After all, these three had been through enough as it was. A chance to just be kids again was the least you could grant them, and maybe teaching Choso some basic human boundaries wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

“I’ll do what I can, but be nice to him.” You warned, straightening your posture as you saw the tall man approaching your group out of the corner of your eye. Smiling politely at him, you took note of how his ghoulishly pale complexion seemed to glow under the sunlight. It emphasized the deep blood mark that ran across his nose, reminding you that he wasn’t entirely human despite how he appeared. You thought his change in wardrobe helped ease that villainous energy he seemed to radiate, having swapped his typical robes for mainly black attire— t-shirts, crewnecks, loose fitting bottoms. Choso seemed to prioritize mobility and practicality above all else, if he was even putting that much thought into what he was wearing at all. 

“Oh, I thought class would have been over by now.” The half-curse commented, nodding kindly (albeit a little awkwardly) at you in greeting. 

“We’re actually…” you trailed off, taking note of the time on your small, wrist watch before huffing in annoyance that these students had managed to monopolize the entire end of your class with this dilemma of theirs. “All done for the day, apparently.”

“Did you still want to see that worm film, Yuji?” Choso asked casually, and you couldn’t help but empathize with him and the way he was trying so hard to connect with his younger brother. The younger brother in question was having none of it though, glancing obviously at you with wide and urging eyes as if to say do something. 

“Actually Choso, I was hoping to get your help on something, if you don’t mind staying back?” You babbled off the top of your head, trying to rack your brain for anything you could occupy him with. His dark eyes peered over at you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. 

Okay, maybe these kids are onto something— he is kind of freaky. 

His dark brows furrowed just a fraction before he looked back over at Yuji, who seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation. 

“It’s for a lesson plan I was hoping to do on blood manipulation. I thought maybe you could come in to show the kids a few things?” This seemed to peak his interest more, and you watched his shoulders fall slowly with the beginnings of acceptance. As if you needed to seal the deal anymore, you elbowed at his arm playfully, a motion that had him ever-so-slightly jerking in the opposite direction. “Gotta keep things interesting, y’know?”

“That would be so cool!” Itadori gushed dramatically, but you could see the desperation behind his eyes— he just wanted Choso to agree so his friends could go to the movies in peace tonight. The half-curse perked up a bit at his brother’s enthusiasm, and you thought you saw a ghost of a smile on his usually gently set pout. Your heart clenched guiltily at the way his eyes lit up.

“I can stay behind.” He offered, finally turning to face you with a newfound motivation. “We‘ll have to watch it another time then, Yuji.” 

“You got it, bro!” The pink-haired boy cheesed enthusiastically before the trio rushed off, likely worried the man would change his mind. Your head shook silently at the eager students, and as you looked back at Choso, who was now staring expectantly at you with his usual stoic expression, you almost started to regret your decision. 

The awkward tension continued to settle around you as the two of you got back to your classroom. His comically large frame was squeezed uncomfortably into one of the desks, shoulders stiff as he watched you write down discussion points for the lesson. You tried to get more of his input on what he thought would be good to include, but he seemed hesitant to participate. 

“Choso, you’re kind of the expert here.” You urged teasingly, tapping your pen idly against your lesson notebook. He glanced up at you with that familiarly subtle pout on his lips. 

“I don’t know if I’m the best person for this. Yuji doesn’t seem to think I’m a very good teacher.” 

His explanation had your heart sinking a bit. You made a mental note to lecture your students about their treatment of the new member again.

“You can’t listen to Itadori, he’s just a kid.” You laughed softly, setting your pen down to give your full attention to the reserved man before you. Biting your lip pensively, you wondered if now would be a good time to weave some suggestions into the conversation. 

“He listens to you though… pays attention.” Choso  murmured, and it was clear in the distant look in his dark eyes that his mind was elsewhere. There was no malice or jealousy in his tone, just a pensiveness that set his already sharp features into a firm gaze. “You’re good at what you do. Yuji and his friends like you.” 

You smiled bashfully at his unintentional compliment, but you didn’t miss the subtext in his words— but they don’t like me. Pursing your lips, you stood from your chair and walked around to lean against the desk he was occupying. You knew it didn’t have anything to do with whether he was a good teacher or not, it was his lack of understanding of how to be human and how to connect— especially given the fair age gap between him and Yuji. 

“You’re not a bad teacher, Choso.” You assured with a knowing smile. His arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he was trying to make himself smaller as he sunk further into the cramped seat. “It’s not even about whether you’re a good teacher or not, you know. They’re kids, teenagers at that. You can’t just force that respect.” 

As he peered up at you through his dark lashes, the vulnerability that shone through his curiosity made him appear far less intimidating. The wispy, stray bangs that fell from his buns brushed against his furrowed brows, and you fought the urge to push the offending pieces from his face. Despite the clear confusion on his face, you desperately hoped he would catch on to what you were putting down. 

“You’ve gotta be cooler, Cho!” You encouraged with a light shove to his shoulder. 

“Cooler?”

“Yuji’s at an age where he’s gonna want to hang out with his friends— do stupid stuff, you know? You have to let him be a kid.” 

He sighed with a frustrated pout on his lips. When his dark eyes met yours again, there was a quiet desperation in them. It made your gaze soften— it made him look more human. 

“I want to be there for him… like I couldn’t be for my younger brothers.” 

You felt your shoulders slump in sympathy for him. There was a lingering guilt that settled in your chest for ever having thought of him as anything less than a man trying to right his wrongs in life. Then again, you weren’t sure that Choso knew who he was as a human yet either, much less how to be there for others. 

“And you are. Just not in the way you think is best for him. You have to let him come to you. Don’t try to insert yourself in with all these younger kids, Cho.” You laughed half heartedly, and his lip quirked as if he was at least attempting to reciprocate, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you try so hard to fit in with them, he can never see you as his big brother. Big brothers bail you out of trouble, teach you how to drive… that kind of stuff means a lot to them.” 

The tall man sat up in the desk suddenly, the metaphorical wheels turning in his mind. Still, there was that furrow of discouragement that formed a thin line between his brows. The blood mark across his nose scrunched up with the rest of his face in a manner that had you biting back an amused grin. 

“I don’t know how to drive though.” 

You had hoped to finish up your lesson plan and go grocery shopping after work that Friday afternoon, maybe curl up on the couch and watch a movie you’d already seen twenty times. So, you weren’t sure how you ended up slamming the driver’s side door of your car shut, huffing in determination as you prepared to give a makeshift driver’s ed class to the half-curse now occupying your passenger seat. Choso sat stiffly in the leather seat, hands clutched against his thighs as he watched you intently, awaiting your instruction. 

“Okay, first and foremost, put your seatbelt on.” You ordered, turning to buckle yourself in as well. “When you teach Yuji, always make sure he has it on. These kids don’t fear death these days.” 

As you rambled on distractedly, you caught Choso’s apprehensive figure in your peripheral. He watched you click in your buckle with furrowed brows before looking back at his own chair unassuredly. An apologetic smile settled on your lips, and you reached over him to grab his seat belt for him. He tensed as your hair brushed against his jaw, the lingering scent of your shampoo distracting him from the task at hand. Nonetheless, he tried to focus back in as you pulled the device across his chest and nodded in the direction of the buckle. 

“Here, click it in here.” 

You held the belt out for him, and he nodded slowly before taking it from you and clicking it into place. With a satisfied nod, you teasingly pulled on the belt to assure it was secure across his chest. 

“All good to go, Captain.” 

Choso questioned why he wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, and you had to quickly remind him that you weren’t about to let him operate the thousand plus pound machinery without at least seeing someone do it first. Ever eager to learn, he was leaned over the center console most of the time, curious eyes taking in how your foot moved steadily over the pedals and your hands’ placement on the wheel. 

He must have asked fifty questions about what each button and knob did— and was more amazed at the fact that he could control the temperature in the car than any of the other features. It wasn’t raining, but you turned on the wipers just to see the look on his face. It was difficult focusing on the road ahead of you when you had a grown man in your passenger seat experiencing a modern car for the first time. After seemingly having seen enough, the man leaned back into his seat with a pensive hum, eyes a bit brighter than they were when he first sat down. 

“And you think this will interest Yuji?” He questioned doubtfully, as if he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes being thoroughly entertained by the car’s functions. 

“Learning to drive is a rite of passage— freedom. He’s human, of course it’ll interest him.” You explained nonchalantly, eyes focused on the turn you were making. From your peripheral, you saw Choso’s shoulders fall, and the implication of what you said hit you at full force. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not sure I understand the part of me that’s human.” He confessed. With the car safely paused at a red light, you turn to look at him, only to find him looking down at his own lap as if it held all his answers. “So maybe I can’t understand Yuji.” 

When he looked up at you, the look in his eyes was so determined— so sure of his revelation. It was clear he was attempting to come to terms with the fact that the path he’d chosen meant that he may never connect with his younger brother the way he so ardently hoped for, or anyone else for that matter. What you saw though, as you stared back into his chocolate eyes, was a man experiencing the very epitome of humanity; uncertainty, guilt, fear.

“Remember how cool you thought my windshield wipers were? That’s the human in you. You teaching yourself something new just so you can be a good older brother? That’s all human, Choso.” You explained firmly, watching carefully as the blood mark on his face seemed to grow darker as his nose and cheekbones flushed red, the line thinning out in a manner that was barely noticeable had you not been so close to him. You smiled fondly at his bashfulness. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re more human than curse.” 

“It doesn’t feel that way.” 

“Then I’ll remind you.” You offered nonchalantly, facing forward once the light turned green. Not only that, it was clear he was getting flustered with all the sudden attention on his vulnerability. “I’ll tell you whenever I see it.” Stealing a glance at his burning cheeks, you hid your smile. It was silent for a beat as he contemplated your words.

“My face feels hot.” He finally admitted.

“That’s the human in you, Cho.” 

“Right.” 

The weekend came and went quicker than you hoped. Following your driving crash course turned therapy session with Choso, you both agreed to reconvene the next week so he could actually get behind the wheel. Despite your planning getting cut short, you still intended to have that lesson on blood manipulation with the students, seeing as it was difficult trying to come up with topics that would peak their interest every week. Deciding that you didn’t want to spend your afternoon cleaning blood off the walls of your classroom after the lesson, you opted to take this one outside again. So, you sat against the cool grass, looking over the haphazard notes you had taken the week prior as you awaited the students’ arrival. 

When you heard the crunching of the crisp grass growing closer to you, you perked your head up with an enthusiastic smile to greet what you assumed would be the trio. Instead, you were met by the passive gaze of Choso. 

You had texted him to confirm that he was still coming, something you didn’t even know he knew how to do until Yuji droned to you about the countless hours he spent trying to explain emojis to his brother. His response was a stiff ‘Yes.’, followed up by five thumbs up emojis. Despite this prior confirmation, you weren’t sure why you were still surprised to see him. You offered him an encouraging smile, patting the spot beside you in the grass. 

“Try not to look too excited, Cho.” You teased as he came down unceremoniously to sit beside you. The half-curse donned a fitted black t-shirt, complemented by dark joggers and his typical boots that he evidently was so attached to. His hair was ever presently in those messy buns, bangs strewn about his forehead. 

“I am excited!” He perked up suddenly, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. As the cool wind blew in his direction, he reached up to shove his bangs out of his face. “I want to be… cooler.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in your chest at his words. There was a small part of you in the back of your mind praying that the kids actually seemed interested in the lesson today for Choso’s sake. As you watched him fight with the offending hairs in his face, you sucked your teeth in amused frustration.

“Do you want me to fix that for you?” You offered with a soft smile. He peered over at you with a questioning furrow in his brow. You jutted your chin toward his unruly buns. “Your hair— so it’s not in your face during the lesson.” 

“Oh,” He muttered, slowly lowering his hands into his lap. “Okay.” 

It took him by surprise when you made quick work to shift onto your knees in front of him. His dark eyes stared widely at the firm look of determination on your scrunched face as you gently worked the elastics out of his hair. The more curious part of your mind had you leaning back a bit to watch as his hair fell freely down, just barely grazing his shoulders and framing his sharp features. A gentle shiver threatened to run down your spine as he gazed up at you in fascination. 

Tearing your eyes away from his, you forced yourself to turn your attention to his hair. Gripping the sturdier hair tie you had around your wrist between your teeth, you slid it off your hand as you worked to gather his chocolate locks. The half-curse felt his eyes involuntarily droop down to watch the way your lips pouted against the black hair tie that dangled from your teeth. 

It was another one of those moments, Choso thought to himself, where he couldn’t for the life of him understand the very body he resided in. He couldn’t understand why he had such an urge to commit the image before him to memory, or why the gentle scraping of your nails against his scalp made him feel as though he was melting into the grass below him. A deep hum resounded, pulled from the depths of his chest as he tilted his head into your touch. 

You smiled knowingly, watching as his blood-mark twitched against his nose in tandem with the flush of his cheeks. 

“Your human is showing, Cho.” You teased softly. Making a point to take a bit longer than necessary in smoothing all his hair up into your hand, you allowed your nails to scrape gently up the nape of his neck, earning the not-so-subtle shiver that shook his broad shoulders. 

“It feels nice.” He almost sounded as though he was attempting to defend himself, though in reality, he was coming to understand that perhaps there was more to the human side of him than he had ever anticipated. There was a blossoming desire in him to explore it, and he determined as you finished the kempt bun at the top of his head, that was just what he’d do. 

When the student’s arrived, they rose a brow at the man’s new hair-do as he straightened his shoulders to face them. The sudden attention made his confidence falter a bit, but he stood up nonetheless to begin the lesson as you two had briefly gone over. 

It would have been a bold-faced lie to say that Choso’s dominating presence during the lesson didn’t distract you. Maybe it was the fact that the hair that once concealed some of his chiseled face was now tied up and out of the way, you thought as his brows furrowed in determination with each demonstration. Better yet, perhaps it was more plausible to assume that a newfound confidence seemed to shape his aura as he explained the cursed technique he’d been mastering for so long. He was completely in his element, movements fluid and oozing with poise with each ripple of his biceps under the sleeves of his snug, black shirt. 

The final nail in the coffin of your uncharacteristic distractibility was just seconds after he’d performed what seemed to be his pride and joy: supernova. As the fragments of crimson burst individually at a safe distance from the students, you didn’t miss the way he tilted his head back to look at you. Truthfully, he didn’t understand his own reaction either, but there was a burning in his chest. It was as if he would implode on the spot if he didn’t catch your reaction to the impressive technique. As the two of you locked eyes, and Choso took note of your parted lips and raised brows, he couldn’t suppress the smallest of prideful smiles from disrupting his once stoic expression. 

There were countless, futile attempts to push down the memory of the oddly intimate moment as you watched Choso climb into the driver’s side of your car later that afternoon. It was nearly impossible though, suddenly hyperaware of the way the veins in his hands flexed as he gripped the steering wheel apprehensively. The bun you had placed his hair into had loosened in tandem with his day to day movements, stray strands of his bangs hanging around his solemn expression. 

In your almost shameless staring, you missed the way he was looking expectantly at you. Snapping from your daze, you smiled as nonchalantly as you could at him, eyes fluttering around the vehicle. 

“Remember step one?” You tested him with a teasing quirk of your brow. 

His dark eyes drifted from yours to look around the various buttons and knobs before he perked up, reaching behind himself to tug on his seatbelt as he peered toward you for approval. With a soft laugh, you nodded and turned to pull your own belt on. As you settled back in your seat, you were caught off guard as Choso reached over and tugged firmly at the belt across your chest twice, just as you had done to him during your first lesson. 

“All good to go?” He repeated your words back to you with a shy smile. 

Your heart warmed at his innocence, and you couldn’t possibly find it in you to correct him. So, you only nodded with a doting smile playing at your lips, hoping that whatever Choso learned of humanity would never taint the innate kindness already everpresent in his heart.

It was both comical and positively nerve-wracking to watch the half-curse drive experimentally around the vacant parking lot. His already pale knuckles seemed impossibly whiter due to the tight grip he had on the wheel, tense shoulders barely touching the back of his seat. For the first few minutes, it was a constant back and forth between jolty excelarations forward and abrupt, harsh brakes that sent you ragdolling against the passenger seat. 

After some guided trial and error, Choso had been managing some choppy, albeit better, loops around the lot for a few minutes now. From the corner or your eye, you took in his rigid posture and furrowed brows, wondering when he would relax a bit. 

“You’re doing good, Cho.” You encouraged as you plugged your phone into the aux. 

That familiar sensation of pride overtook him, and the corners of his lips twitched up at the sound of the nickname you had so casually assigned to him. It sounded so sweet coming from you, as if there was an unspoken bond he had with you, one unlike anything he’d ever experienced or understood before. His internal battle for understanding was cut short when an unexpected tune began blasting from the speakers, making him jolt back in surprise. 

You yelped at the sudden slam on the brakes, hands flying forward to steady yourself on the dashboard lest you be tossed around anymore. 

“Choso, oh my god!” You laughed despite your state of shock. His head whipped around to stare incredulously at you.

“What is that?” The half-curse urged, eyes darting frantically between you and the speakers. 

“I was playing some music! I thought it would help you relax a little.”

“Make it stop.” He demanded pleadingly. “I can’t concentrate.” 

“Okay, okay.” You continued to giggle softly as you paused the Britney Spears song you had chosen, watching as the sudden, exaggerated tension in his shoulders seemed to fall. “C’mon— it’s Britney, bitch!”

His brows twitched down at your explanation as he slowly began driving once again. Peering at you quickly from his peripheral, he pursed his lips at the playfully disappointed pout on your face. 

“I’m sorry… bitch.” 

All at once, your neck snapped toward him, jaw slack as a shocked laugh bubbled up from your chest. 

“Choso! You can’t just say that to women!” You could barely get out your half-hearted scold with the force of your laughter. Hunching over in your seat, you reached out to pat his arm, a motion that had him more flustered than the pop song had just moments prior. He felt the heat creep up onto his face, once again feeling left out of something it seemed like he should have understood. 

“You said it to me.” He defended. 

“Yeah, but I was— it was… ugh, I have a lot more than driving to teach you, Cho.”

Later that night, as you had finally showered and settled into bed, you tried desperately to bite down your tickled smile at the texts you received from your ever-entertaining driving student. 

I asked my brother what that word meant

I’m sorry

I don’t think of you that way

As your lessons progressed, you saw the way Choso’s confidence behind the wheel grew. His posture wasn’t so rigid, and he no longer gripped the steering wheel as though it might fly out the window. One thing that hadn’t changed though, was the way he would turn to you each time he was about to begin driving to tug affirmatively at your seatbelt. No matter how many times you had witnessed it already, it never failed to have you internally gushing. 

With much convincing, Choso had finally agreed that he was ready to go out on a main road. For a while during this transition, he was back to his stiff-spined posture and trigger-happy brakes. This apprehension didn’t last nearly as long as it did the first time around though, and soon the half-curse was successfully completing smooth turns and semi-straight parking. 

It would be a lie to say that Choso didn’t become more intriguing to you each passing day, what with his fierce loyalty and innocent curiosity. You couldn’t help but wonder, as you peered at the concentrated jut of his pink lips from your peripheral, which parts of humanity he had been spared from, and if attraction was one of them. Perhaps a bit too apprehensive to assume, there were little moments that made you question how you appeared through his eyes. 

They were in the miniscule reactions; how swiftly his cheeks would flush with every passing graze of your fingers or arms, or the intense way he seemed to stare into your soul each time you were explaining something otherwise irrelevant to him, with his lips parted and his eyes starry in their exploration of your face. Then again, maybe you were simply seeing what you wanted to. 

Forcing your eyes away from his statuesque side profile, your gaze fluttered about the dashboard of the car in a desparate search for something that would distract you. Landing on the radio, you stole one more glance at his calm demeanor before testing the waters and connecting your phone once again. 

In an unnecessarily stealthy pursuit, your fingers snuck up to turn up the volume just a hair on the song Choso had so abruptly shut down days prior. For a moment, his grasp tightened around the wheel at the sudden noise. His eyelids fluttered rapidly for a second, glancing down at the radio before he relaxed once again. With a triumphant smile, you raised the volume to a reasonable level and settled back against your seat. 

“Is… is this Britney?” He questioned, stealing a glimpse at the way your head swayed steadily to the rhythm. The contented smile on your face made him want to ditch the attention he had on the road in favor of watching your building choreography in the passenger seat. The car swerved a bit, making his eyes shoot back to the road and jolt the steering wheel straight. If you noticed, you didn’t mention it. 

“You remembered.” A tickled smile lit up your face.

A subtle warmth settled in his chest at the approval in your tone. For a few moments, he allowed the rhythm of the upbeat song to fill the air around him, trying to understand why you seemed so engrossed in it. After a while though, you caught the way his head began to bump subtly to the song. The sight had your heart melting for a moment, the way he was so worried about not being human enough, yet so blissfully unaware of just how alike he was to those he felt so alientated from. 

“Chooo,” You sang teasingly, leaning in closer to him and not missing the way his lips twitched up at the nickname as they always did. He hummed in question, sparing you a quick glance as if it would scald him to stare at you a second too long. “Your human is showing.”

This seemed to fluster him a hint. A swift puff of air blew through his nose as he smiled halfheartedly at you before looking back at the road.

“I think it always is when I’m with you.” Choso didn’t seem to pay any mind to the implications of his little confession, staring off at the road before him with that same, easy grin on his face. It hit you with the force of a hundred punches to the gut though. The smile on your face slowly faded in favor of a softer gaze, feeling as though your heart might soar up your throat and out your parted lips. Upon noticing your sudden silence, the man in the driver’s seat glanced at you in question, an insecure expression overtaking his face upon seeing your solemn face. “Did I say something wrong again?”

You quickly shook your head, blinking back the mistiness that almost fogged up your gaze. 

“No,” You reassured, smiling warmly at him as he spared you another apprehensive glance. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Cho.” 

You tried— you tried so hard not to let your thoughts wander too far each time his unintentionally tender words replayed in your head over and over and over again. Choso didn’t understand what he was saying— that’s what you told yourself so as to stop the way your face seemed to flush each time you thought of him. On the other hand, the fact that he didn’t know what he was saying somehow made it all the more real to you. No, because if he didn’t know what he was talking about— he was responding solely to what he was feeling. 

Still, despite how much the signs were all pointing there, you couldn’t bring yourself to act on it. A part of you felt as though you would be taking advantage of his lack of experience. Choso was still learning about the intricacies of humanity, of his body, and his feelings. Even so, you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and you compromised with yourself that friendship was innocent enough. 

Friendship was innocent, was what you repeated to yourself as his contact seemed to light up your phone more and more with each passing day. The way you couldn’t suppress your smile each time was innocent, even if your thoughts were anything but whenever you happened to pass by when he was training with the students. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him though, so you allowed your breath to be taken away every time his fiercely determined eyes would find yours from across the field. The sweat would drip from his brow, and he’d wipe at it haphazardly before raising his hand to offer a cheerful wave.

The bun you’d put his hair in hours prior, something he always sheepishly stood at the door of your classroom to ask of you since that first time, made his strong features stand out freely in the sun. His jaw was definite, his eyes piercing despite the warmth they always seemed to hold just for you, and his arms bulged and god— you couldn’t possibly keep your thoughts innocent forever. Innocence was a notion lost on you with each dream you’d have of those veiny hands of his discovering just how enticing humanity could be as his fingers dig into your thighs. 

You’d wake each time feeling more guilty than flustered, because his name was lighting up your phone again and his messages were innocent. 

Cho: I keep hearing that song in my head

Despite the weight of sin that sat in your chest, you still smiled from ear to ear, brows furrowed in curiosity as you responded to him to ask what song he was talking about. 

Cho: Britney 

Cho: the one from the car

A boisterous laugh bubbled up in your chest at the thought of this strapping man having a Britney Spears song stuck in his head, of all things. The devil on your shoulder also whispered in your ear that this meant he was thinking about you, but you brushed it off just as you did the heat between your legs that you had woken up with. With a few rushed taps to your screen, you sent him the link to the music video for the song he was talking about.

You must have forgotten how easy it was to amaze someone so new to the human world, so you weren’t expecting his gobsmacked reaction. Your phone nearly buzzed off the nightstand as you tried to sneak in a few more minutes of sleep. It would have been an absolute crime in your book to not see this type of excitement up close and personal, and later that day you two huddled at your desk, having to repeatedly push Choso’s face away from the laptop as Britney Spears’ iconic Oops… I Did it Again music video lit up the screen.

“I should’ve known,” You mused as he begrudgingly sat back in the chair he’d pulled up beside you. “Every straight teenage boy’s first crush was Britney Spears.”

This made him finally tear his eyes away from the music video to look at you with that confused expression that he seems to have perfected. Rolling your eyes playfully, you waved a hand at the screen.

“You know, everyone thinks she’s really pretty— that’s what having a crush is.” You explained halfheartedly, not wanting to miss the monologue that had always been your favorite part of the song. Beside you, you heard Choso hum thoughtfully. 

“I think I have a crush on you then,” He stated so simply that you couldn’t bear to face him right away. Surely your face had painted itself a red as bright as the latex suit Britney was wearing in the video. “But I guess she’s pretty, too.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to ignore his comment all together for the sake of your own sanity. As the seconds ticked by, feeling as though time was moving through molasses to catch up, you saw him glancing at you from your peripheral. After the fourth look over, you spared him a questioning look, amusement almost outweighing your bashfulness. 

“Do you have a crush on me?” The question, despite being so juvenile in nature, overdramatized gossip you’d hear at a high school cafeteria table, his eyes held such sincerity that it nearly made you break your resolve, because you did. You did have the biggest, most out of proportion, high-school crush on Choso, more so than you’d ever had when you were actually in high school. Perhaps it was doing him a disservice to not be upfront with him, but you didn’t trust yourself to deal level-headedly with the consequences should you answer him truthfully.

“You can’t just ask people that, Choso.” You attempted a light-hearted laugh, hoping he couldn’t see the lingering flush on your cheeks.

“Why not?” 

“Well,” You racked your brain for an appropriate answer, but the way his dark eyes scoured your face made it difficult to focus. “People ask stuff like that when they want to date you— you know, be in a relationship.”

“And you don’t want to date me?” 

“Choso, it’s—”

“Humans don’t date curses?” There was no malice in his voice. Instead, it sounded as though he’d come to a groundbreaking discovery himself, but it didn’t stop your heart from breaking nonetheless. Ditching the music video that had auto-played on your screen, you took one of Choso’s hands into your own. 

“We’re friends, Cho.” You explained softly, watching the way he blinked slowly at you before glancing down at your small hand, and he liked the way his enveloped it wholly. “Aren’t you okay being my friend?”

The half-curse nodded solemnly, but there was something in the way you phrased it that made his stomach churn uncertainly. There was a finality in your tone that made him question if he really was okay with it. It felt as though he’d hit a roadblock on his journey to self discovery, one that he felt you and you alone could clear if he could ever figure out what the hell it was that he was supposed to be asking for. The fact was that he didn’t know though.

So, Choso agreed to whatever you would give him, because anything was better than nothing at all. You continued sending him songs, and he continued listening to them while thinking of the way you’d sing them in the passenger seat each time. He didn’t understand why no matter how much he saw you, it burned deep in his chest each time you’d leave. 

The interaction didn’t leave you anymore clear headed either, your imagination running wild with the possibility of allowing yourself this one thing. Each time, you flicked the little devil off your shoulder, more determined with every passing day to snap out of this infatuation for a man who was in no position to be in a relationship. With every wandering thought that was squandered in your mind, Choso was waking up in a cold sweat with feelings he wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to ask you about. 

You had tried everything— journaling, pros and cons lists, looking at yourself in the mirror and telling your flushed reflection to snap out of it, but they all seemed to be in vain. Once even the students started to catch onto the frequent togetherness and wandering glances, you knew it was time to seriously kick this thing. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle Yuji’s not so subtle hinting at his brother, which always went straight over the half-curse’s head, of course. 

That’s why when one of the sorcerer’s you’d always see in passing, stopping by the school before and after his infrequent missions, asked to take you to dinner, you agreed. You nodded with a feigned bashfulness and ignored the way his eyes seemed to linger a little too long on an area of your body a little too far from your eyes to be considered an accident. 

After all, there weren’t a lot of men your age around campus, so perhaps you had just forgotten what it was like to be paid such attention to by an attractive guy. Maybe all you needed was someone to remind you that there were other fish in the sea.

That, of course, didn’t stop the twisting in your heart when Choso’s name appeared on your phone that afternoon just before you stepped into the shower to get ready. 

Cho: Can we go driving today?

Cho: maybe we can go to that bakery you always point out but never stop at 

Cho: I promise I know how to park now!!!

Smiling wistfully at his enthusiasm, you chewed on your bottom lip as your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. In the contemplation of your response, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be than in the passenger seat with Choso, driving with no real destination in mind. Shaking those thoughts from your traitorous mind, you quickly typed up a response before laying the phone face down on the counter, not brave enough to wait for his response.

I can’t tonight, Cho, I have a date.

Of all the possibilities you had panned out in your mind as you got ready, anxiety brewing with every churn in your stomach of how this night might go, none of your guesses ended like this. None of your mock scenarios involved the very man you had been working so hard to forget standing outside your room, fist raised with a prepared knock. 

“Choso?” You questioned breathlessly, watching as he slowly lowered his arm and took in your appearance. 

You certainly looked a lot different than you normally did while at work, which is usually when he’d see you. Your hair was down and styled sleekly as opposed to the messy updo you typically kept it in. Choso couldn’t put his finger on just what it was, but he knew there was a more distinct pop around your eyes that nearly made him weak in the knees. Your lips were shining, your perfume was making his head spin, and it wasn’t for him. All the attention you always gave him, your patience and your kindness, but he didn’t feel he could ever possibly be satisfied if this part of you wasn’t for him too.

“You… you look really pretty.” Despite his sweet words, his voice sounded almost disappointed, but he didn’t give you a chance to question him before he continued. “Why can’t we have a date instead?”

The deep breath you took in was calculated as you looked down at your feet, unable to look him in the eyes because Jesus— he was making this hard. You composed yourself before looking back up at his hopeful eyes. Forcing a small smile, you gave his shoulder a half-hearted punch. 

“You really want to try that bakery, huh?”

“No, I don’t care about the bakery.” His blunt response almost made you laugh while his dark brows furrowed in determination. “Yuji told me if I don’t want you to go on this date that I should tell you.”

Closing your eyes in frustration, you made a mental note to add that to the list of things you needed to scold your problem-child student about.

“Choso, Yuji’s just a kid. He doesn’t—”

“But I don’t. I don’t want you to go on this date. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. I can’t tell you why because I don’t understand it either, but I don’t want you to go, okay?”

Your protests died in your throat. Shifting from one leg to the other, you wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly insecure about all the effort you’d put into your appearance tonight. Peering back up at him through your lashes, you pursed your lips.

“Can I be honest with you?” You asked quietly, and he quickly nodded. “I don’t want me to go on this date either.”

The ecstatic grin that broke out across his face almost made all your wasted makeup efforts feel worth it. At once, your resolve had crumbled once again at the hands of Choso’s innocent sincerity. 

“So we can go on a date instead? I can drive us to the bakery.”

“This isn’t a date, Cho.” You quickly reminded him with a defeated smile, placing your keys in his awaiting hands. “And you just said you didn’t care about the bakery.”

“That was before I knew you’d be going with me.”

You were sure he’d be the death of you, but you were too blissed out to care. The windows in the car were rolled down, wind bursting through and ruining your done up hair, leaving you to resort back to your trusty updo. Choso’s cheeks would fall off soon, you swore as you glanced over at the smile that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten into the car. With a shake of your head, you willed yourself to look away, biting down your own smile.

A familiar opening beat spilled from the speakers, and you gasped dramatically.

“It’s our song, Cho!” You shouted, reaching over to turn the volume up on Oops… I Did It Again, which had arguably become his favorite of all the songs you had introduced him to. 

Our song— the term had the same tingling effect on him as your nickname for him did, and the way you turned your entire body to face him when he was talking to you. It made him feel closer to you, like he had a little slice of you that no one else would ever see. Maybe that was why this song was his favorite— because it was one that you could never resist shouting out the lyrics to, and he hoped that you would always allow him the privilege of these little solo performances. 

“Do the lines with me— I know you know them!” You quickly demanded with a pointed stare in his direction before getting into character. It made his cheeks flush, because he did know the lines, every last one of them. 

“Britney, before you go, there's something I want you to have.” His theatrics weren’t quite on par with yours, but you’d let it slide because his shy tone was so endearing. 

“Oh, it's beautiful, but wait a minute, isn't this?” 

“Yes, it is.” You bit back a delighted laugh at his eagerness each time it was his turn.

“But I thought the old lady dropped it into the ocean in the end?”

“Well baby, I went down and got it for you.” He tore his gaze away from the road to recite it to you with a knowing smile. Leaning toward him dramatically, you clutched onto his bicep as you gushed out the final line.

“Aww, you shouldn't have.” 

Choso wished he could have laughed with you at the conclusion of your dramatic reenactment, but you were holding onto him in a way that you never had before, and he could no longer tell if that look in your eyes was part of the performance or not. Heaving out a breath, his eyes dipped down to your unusually glittering lips, and suddenly he knew what you meant all those times you told him he was more human than curse. The feeling he was acting on wasn’t one he’d ever come to know in his countless years living as a curse— this was instinctual and new and so human. 

Still, he wouldn’t know just what those human instincts of his would guide him to do, because his attention had been on you for too long, and he sped right past the stop sign that neither of you were paying mind to. It just took one blink of his eyes, and the passenger seat of the car was getting rammed into, and the grip you had around his arm tightened before falling all together. 

Choso was yelling out your name, though neither of you could hear it over the sound of your car screeching across the road. After what seemed like ages, it came to a shrieking halt, and he suddenly wished that you had gone on that date after all, because he was calling your name, and you weren’t responding to him. He could barely see you past the airbag, but he still clutched at your hand as if it would pull you from whatever slumber the impact had placed on you.

Blood had always been his saving grace, his weapon, and his pride, but all he felt as he stared back at the way yours began seeping out was raw fear. 

Wrenching the belt off of himself by snapping it at the base, Choso yanked the driver’s side door open before stumbling out. There was blood dripping from a cut in his forehead, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to stop it. His vision almost seemed to blur as he reached through the shattered window in an attempt to pull you out. People had pulled over at the scene, yelling at him to not move you until an ambulance came.

He didn’t understand what they were saying, and he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just reach in and pull you from the mess he’d put you in. Just moments ago, the half-curse could swear that finding his humanity was the most incredible thing he’d ever done. That idealization was fleeting now, because humanity was what made him take his eyes off the road, and humanity is what might assure that you don’t leave here as unscathed as he would. 

Choso was quickly learning a hard truth about humanity, and it was that he didn’t want to experience it without you. 

He called Yuji shortly after the ambulance came, telling him he couldn’t get in with you as he was so desperately trying to do. His brother, at least, had more experience with these things and could understand the foreign jargon they were spouting at him. In the boy’s frantic, breathless translation after speaking with the doctor, he was told that you were fine, only having passed out from the air being knocked from your lungs with the impact of the airbags. Other than some gnarly bruising, minor cuts from the glass, and a broken arm thanks to the awkward position it was squished into on the passenger side that had taken the hit, you’d be fine. 

Well, you certainly didn’t feel fine upon initially waking up a few hours later, but you supposed you were doing alright considering. Before you could even fully process where you were when you squinted your eyes open, rushed apologies were already slipping past Choso’s lips as his hand clutched at yours. Blinking back the stinging in your eyes, you quickly turned your head to face him, bewildered by his grief-stricken appearance. 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” He has stood up from his chair, staring down at you with those pleading, puppy-dog eyes of his. “I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Cho,” You stopped him, your foggy mind finally having caught up to what had happened. Slipping your hand from his grasp, you placed a reassuring palm on his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re human, you make mistakes.” The title fell so casually from your lips, as if you had forgotten his genetic makeup all together. It sounded so sure coming from you, that he began to believe it too. Releasing a slow breath, Choso leaned into your hand before you brought it up to ruffle his loose hair affectionately. “But no more Britney in the car, okay?” 

“No more Britney in the car.”

You took a week off following the accident for your bruising to heal at least, but you had been discharged from the hospital only a day after the accident. It was admittedly nice being able to laze around for a while, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss your students. Still, they made it a point to stop by every once and a while with food or treats. 

You hadn’t seen Choso since your discharge, and you were beginning to worry that he was keeping his distance because of the unnecessary guilt he was carrying. He texted you every so often to ask how you were doing and was quick to respond to your messages, but you still missed his almost daily presence in your life. 

It had taken you some time, but you were soon able to recall the moments just before the accident— how he had been looking at you, and how it had almost made you stop caring about your self-imposed friend-zone. Friends or not though— you just wanted him here, laughing with you and staring at you with those big, confused eyes of his that were so good at testing your patience. 

And you would gladly allow them to continue doing so, you determined as they stared down at you following over a week of their absence. Choso’s towering figure hovered anxiously in your doorway, eyes grazing over your nearly healed cuts and braced arm. He tried not to let the guilt eat away at him, but it was showing all over his face, making you sigh softly. In an attempt to alleviate some of the unspoken tension, you offered a playful smile.

“You find another karaoke partner or something, Cho?” You teased, watching some of the tension fall from his shoulders at your banter. “You haven’t come to see me all week.”

“I’m sorry, I was—” He stopped himself, glancing over his shoulder at nothing in particular before looking back down at you and attempting a smile of his own. “I have something for you.”

“Choso, if this is some prank Yuji put you up to, both of your asses are getting it.” You threatened as he led you outside, his large hands covering your eyes as well as half your face. 

Behind you, he smiled, not exactly sure what his ass would be getting, but you seemed assured enough about it. You bumped into his firm chest as he came to a sudden halt, and you tried to focus on anything other than the feeling of being pressed up right against him. His thin, black t-shirt was doing little to hide the chiseled architecture of his torso though, and you were just a woman after all.

 Before you had much of a chance to soak in the feeling, his hands fell from your face and onto your shoulders. Squinting your eyes open for fear of what might jump out at you, you instead saw your car parked right in front of you— well, not exactly your car, but the same make and model. 

“Cho, isn’t this—”

“Yes, it is.” He interrupted with a boyish excitement in his tone. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he placed the key ring on your finger. 

“But how did you buy it? I mean—”

“Well, the school has been giving me stipends every month for helping out. I never really had any use for the money.” He explained, his fingers digging gently into your shoulders as he fought away an unexplainable bashfulness. “So, I went with Yuji to the shop and got it for you.”

Blinking back the tears that were burning at the corners of your eyes, you turned around to face him. His loose hair swayed softly in the breeze as he looked down at you with a shy smile, his chocolate eyes shifting anxiously between you and the car.

“You didn’t have to do this, Cho.” 

“I wanted to.” He affirmed with furrowed brows. You watched the mark across his nose twitch with the reddening of his cheeks, smiling at the way his body was built to betray him. “I… I want you— to go on dates with you and to not just be friends anymore.” 

“Choso,” You sighed, taking a small step away from him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes I do.” There was a firm confidence in his tone that you had rarely heard from him, and it made your eyes widen as he took a step closer to you. “I know you make my face do that weird thing where it gets hot whenever you smile at me. I know every line to all your Britney songs because you get so happy when I sing them with you. I know it made me mad when you told me you were going on a date and it wasn’t with me. I know when we got into the accident, and you weren’t responding to me it scared me.”

Unsure of what to do, he just knew he wanted to be close to you, and he placed his hands awkwardly on your shoulders. You were staring up at him in astonishment, soaking in each gut wrenching confession. 

“I might not have all the right words for it, but I know I always want to be your date. So, don’t make a decision for me because you think I don’t understand it, please.”

His plea smacked you right where it hurt. All this time you’d spent trying to remind him of his own humanity, but you wouldn’t allow him to express it the way he felt was right. It was in all his little quirks, in his innate kindness, and the warmth in his fingertips— Choso was experiencing humanity at its most beautiful, and you could no longer bring yourself to keep it from him. 

Wrapping your good arm around his neck, you pulled him down to steal his first kiss from him— one he was more than willing to part with. He stood stiffly against you, all his senses lit ablaze without any guide of where to go from here— he just didn’t want it to end. So, his hands fell from your shoulders and wrapped around your middle, pulling you flush against him in the way that had felt so nice to him earlier. The abrupt tug made you gasp against his lips, your hand that clung to his neck reaching up to tangle in his hair.  

A soft whine fell from his lips, and he stumbled forward, pressing you against your new car in a desperate attempt to simply swallow you whole. Your teeth were tugging at his bottom lip, and god— he didn’t know that was an option, and his head was spinning as his body seemed to react for him, hips jolting forward to pin yours against the door.  

In a desperate haze, you fumbled with the key in your hands to unlock the car, reaching behind you to tug the back door open blindly. You fought against his iron grip to fall back onto the brand new seats, panting up to watch as he stared down at you with clouded eyes. Tugging on his hand, he seemed to get the message quickly, climbing clumsily on top of you before chasing your lips once again. 

His scent surrounded you, trapping you within his aura without any hope of escape. Your good fist tugged as the thin fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to you as your hips bucked up instinctively. He choked out a gasp at the feeling, and it made you pull away from him, the recollection that this was all incredibly new to him crashing back down to you. 

“Cho, you okay?” You asked between pants, dodging his desperate attempts to find your lips once again. Finally opening his eyes, his irises appeared nearly pitch black from his blown out pupils. 

“I want you, I want more of you.” He babbled, suddenly a man possessed. If he had known humanity could be like this, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so scared of it in the first place. Choso didn’t even know what he was asking for, he just knew it felt like he might die if he wasn’t this close to you all the time. 

“Slow down there, tiger.” You laughed, trying to calm your own ragged breathing. The man hovering over you looked like he could cry, and you placed a chaste kiss to his jaw. “You haven’t even taken me on a real date yet.” 

His face scrunched in confusion, and he filed this under customs he didn’t quite understand yet. Despite his confusion, he respected your wishes and halted his craven pursuit. As rational thought slowly began working its way back into his lust filled mind, he took note of the unfamiliar sensation below his belt. It was as if you could read his mind though, watching in barely disguised amusement as he glanced down at where the two of you remained connected.

“Why is my—”

“It’s the human in you, Cho.”

a/n: yayyy the choso fic that has been sitting in my drafts for three months

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[ghostlyglimmer]

The Fun Zone Part 1

You can find more chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

Danny Fenton leaned against the register at The Fun Zone, his eyes half-lidded with the bored expression of someone who had already been on shift for far too long. The arcade’s lights flickered with their usual neon brilliance, and the sound of pinball machines, whirring go-karts, and kids screaming in the indoor playground provided a steady background cacophony. It was chaos incarnate, but Danny didn’t mind. The job paid surprisingly well for a Gotham gig, and it let him afford textbooks and a halfway decent apartment.

That, of course, didn’t make up for the downsides—namely, the fact that the place was a gang front. Danny had figured it out about two days in. The suspicious packages delivered after hours, the shady clientele that frequented the private lounge, and the way his manager, “Big Sal,” always seemed to have armed goons lurking nearby. None of it really phased him. As long as he kept his head down, he didn’t see any reason to care.

But apparently, the local vigilantes did.

“Hey, kid,” a gravelly voice startled Danny out of his stupor. He looked up to see the Red Hood himself looming over the counter, his arsenal on full display. Guns, knives, and explosives hung from his tactical gear, his crimson helmet reflecting the pulsing lights of the arcade.

Danny blinked. “Welcome to The Fun Zone. Can I get you a family pack for laser tag, or are you just here to threaten the boss?”

Red Hood’s head tilted slightly, his helmet hiding what Danny assumed was either a glare or the equivalent of a facepalm. “You know this place is run by a gang, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny deadpanned. “And they pay me twenty bucks an hour plus tips. Do you want to buy tokens or not?”

Hood seemed taken aback, the air of intimidation slipping just a little. “Do you even care that they’re criminals?”

“As long as they don’t ask me to do crime, I’m good. Rent’s expensive, man.”

Before Hood could respond, the double doors to the bowling alley burst open, and in stormed Big Sal, flanked by his usual goons. Sal was a mountain of a man, with slicked-back hair and a perpetual sneer that seemed permanently etched into his face. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Hood.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Red Hood,” Sal growled. “You’ve been poking around my turf for weeks. You think you can just walk in here?”

Hood drew a pistol in response. “I don’t think. I act.”

The goons raised their weapons, and Sal barked out orders, but before the situation could escalate further, Danny loudly cleared his throat.

“Hey!” he said, waving a hand lazily. “Can you guys not do this in front of the register? I just mopped over here.”

Both Sal and Hood turned to stare at him.

“What?” Danny shrugged. “If there’s going to be a shootout, at least take it to the parking lot. I’m not cleaning up blood.”

Hood’s shoulders shook with what might have been a laugh, though his voice remained gruff. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“First week on the job, I had to break up a fight between two dads who got into a brawl over mini-golf,” Danny replied flatly. “This? This is Tuesday.”

Hood holstered his pistol, much to Sal’s visible annoyance. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Danny said. “So, if you take over this place, do I still get to keep my job?”

Sal sputtered indignantly. “You little—”

“You shut up,” Hood snapped, leveling a finger at the gang boss before turning back to Danny. “If I take over, yeah, you can keep your job. Might even give you a raise for putting up with this crap.”

“Cool,” Danny said, as though he hadn’t just witnessed a life-or-death standoff. “Want a soda while you’re here? Employee discount means I can get it for like, fifty cents.”

Hood stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m starting to think you’re the most dangerous person here.”

Danny smirked. “Nah, I’m just good at customer service.”

As Hood turned back to deal with Sal, Danny leaned against the counter again, sipping a soda he’d poured for himself.

The standoff between Red Hood and Big Sal continued, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Danny, however, remained entirely unfazed, sipping his soda and watching the drama unfold as if it were a reality TV show. His coworkers, who had been hiding behind various attractions, occasionally peeked out to catch glimpses of the action. None of them seemed inclined to intervene. Not that Danny blamed them—this was well above their pay grade.

Big Sal, realizing that Red Hood wasn’t going to back down, snarled and gestured to his goons. “You think you can just walk in here and take what’s mine? This is my turf, Hood!”

Hood’s voice was calm but laced with menace. “Not anymore, it’s not. You’ve been running weapons and drugs through this place for months. The Fun Zone’s under new management now. So, unless you want to end up in Arkham—or worse—you’ll walk out of here while you still can.”

Sal bared his teeth, but before he could respond, one of his goons hesitated and took a step back. “Uh, boss? Maybe we should listen. It’s… it’s Red Hood.”

Sal shot the man a glare that could curdle milk. “Coward.”

Hood tilted his head toward the exit. “Smart guy. He should take you with him.”

The goon glanced nervously at Sal, then at Hood, and bolted toward the doors. A few others followed, their loyalty clearly not strong enough to stick around for what was about to happen.

Danny watched the exodus with mild amusement. “Wow, Sal. You really inspire loyalty, huh?”

“Shut up, kid!” Sal barked, his face red with anger. “You’re on thin ice.”

Danny raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. If I were you, I’d consider an employee morale retreat or something.”

Hood let out a low chuckle, his guns still trained on Sal. “You’ve got guts, kid. I’ll give you that.”

Danny replied with a shrug. “So, what’s the plan here, Hood? Are you shutting this place down, or do I need to update my résumé?”

Hood’s answer was interrupted by a sudden crash from the go-kart track. Everyone turned to see a group of kids who had somehow bypassed the barricades and were now gleefully racing around, oblivious to the standoff happening mere feet away.

“Seriously?” Hood muttered, lowering his weapons slightly. “This place is chaos.”

“Welcome to The Fun Zone,” Danny said with a wry smile. “Where the games never stop, even during a hostile takeover.”

Hood let out a heavy sigh, clearly debating whether this was worth his time. Finally, he holstered his weapons and gestured for Sal to leave. “You’ve got 24 hours to pack up and get out. If I see you here after that, you won’t be walking out.”

Sal opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. He stormed out, slamming the doors behind him, leaving Hood, Danny, and a scattering of terrified employees behind.

Hood turned back to Danny. “You still want to work here?”

Danny shrugged. “Depends. You hiring?”

Hood stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got nerve, kid. Fine. You’re hired—you get a fat raise and fewer shady dealings. Just… try not to question too much about what happens in the backroom.”

“Cool,” Danny said, finishing his soda. “Do I get a new uniform, or do I keep the one with the mustard stains?”

Hood sighed again, rubbing his temples. “I’m already regretting this.”

Danny grinned. “Welcome to management, boss.”

[amazinglyashy]

hi! Can I request (if u don’t mind) smth abt the LND charecters when they’re feeling depressed and how the mc conforts and takes care of them? If u don’t want to it’s fine

Been super tired lately, so this was both a chore and a help to write! :'D Hope you enjoy, it helped me start breaking through my own funk!

LaDS men feeling down, and how you cheer them up-

Sylus -

Sylus's work is quite… mentally taxing, to say the least. Even with how used to it he's become, some days it definitely takes a bigger toll on his psychic.

He's capable of evil actions, but he's nowhere near cruel in his heart. No matter what he tries to make others believe, you know best just what he's feeling on the inside.

The best way you've found to help him clear his head, is asking him to take you out for a ride.

It works the best in the evening, when he's the most awake and the N109 zone is more quiet.

Something about the way you grip around his waist, your arms wrapped tightly around him as you press your helmet against his upper back- it did more to drive away the fog than the speeds that would flash across the speedometer on your drive together.

It was never a cure all, but it was a start.

And you were more than willing to spend a night or two here and there, if it meant helping to cheer Sylus up.

Rafayel -

It's easy to tell when he's depressed.

After all, the canvas is still blank, and the paint cups of water are still clear and unmuddled.

That, and he's pouting severely.

It's just as easy to help him slowly out of a funk, though.

After some protests and rude remarks, you can usually coax him outside for a walk along the beach- more severe cases call for a picnic, which you're happy to cater if it means helping to cheer up his tired mind.

It's sweet, watching him close his eyes as the two of you sit in the sand, his expression unreadable as his hair blows lightly around his face from the breeze.

It doesn't always help give him a big leg up out of a depressive episode, but sometimes it's enough to help give him the inspiration he needs to keep going without burning out.

And sometimes, that's more than enough.

Xavier -

He's tricky- he can be quite thick-headed on occasion. Especially if either of you has a lot of work that you need to get done.

He's the worst at resting when he needs it, and even more horrible at giving himself a break when he's finally reached the point where a break is actually extremely necessary, so he's sure to bicker with you lightly when you insist on taking him somewhere to help cheer him up.

He'd rather stay home and sleep, honestly.

But he's a bit more willing to cave, when you hand him a jar of tokens and drag him towards the claw machines.

It's not his favorite activity per se, but it's something that the two of you started doing together. It was your thing, together, and the chaos and banter that came from it- no matter how tired he was- was enough to help start breaking down the walls of his burn out.

Even just a little bit.

Zayne -

He's hard to read, it's a wonder if you're able to tell when he's down, especially if you already have a lot on your own plate to deal with.

It's not that you don't care, or can't read him, it's more- he keeps his feelings so closely hidden, that it's difficult for even someone as close as you are to him to see what he's truly feeling.

You manage, though.

It's easiest to cheer him up on the fly- he's always loved the little things with you, so finding a starting point and winging it from there seems to be the best course of action whenever you need to pull him out of a spiral.

And you've found that a good starting point is a restaurant or bakery tucked away on a list in your phone just in case this sort of situation arises, picking one randomly to take him too or make him drive the both of you to, without telling him.

Usually the surprise itself is enough to make him smile, but if it's not, you have plenty of time.

Plenty of time.

[kentopedia]

i miss when we first met

FEATURING. dazai osamu x f!reader & f!reader x chuuya nakahara — wc: 15.1k

SUMMARY: you'd always been in love with Dazai, but you started to doubt that he'd ever cared for you in return. chuuya, though, had never shown you anything but true affection.

CONTENTS: nsfw 18+ ONLY, pm!dazai, pm!reader, mostly dazai x reader but…, unhealthy relationship dynamics, voyeurism, cheating, manipulation, smut, degradation, guns, angst, dazai is very bad at expressing emotions, pet names, horrible communication, unrequited (?) love, the list goes on bc they’re in the port mafia just be warned

note: this took me like 4 months to finish & i am so so nervous to post it lmao. i wanted to write something different & this is very outside my comfort zone! :) but it's dazai's birthday so i figured i might as well share it today

You rolled onto your side away from Dazai, still breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

Beside you, he had shifted onto his forearms, moving up against the headboards to sit up straight. The covers fell off of him, revealing the marks that you’d left all over his body, the scars from a life lived in the mafia.

Under the red silk sheets, you were silent, your head settling into the pillow as you stared at him.

He’d deny it, but he was beautiful, a tempting, alluring creature that you couldn’t get enough of.

But you also knew Lucifer had once been God’s most beautiful angel, and it only made sense that Dazai Osamu would hold the same kind of exquisiteness.

Dazai closed his eyes, rolled his neck as he leaned back, stretching out all of the stiff muscles. He didn’t touch you again, kept a distance as he wiped the sweat that had dried on his forehead, the fluids that had stained the sheets between you.

He used to talk to you, after something so intimate. Used to hold you in his arms and trace your skin with a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. He hadn’t always been cruel when he fucked you, hadn’t always put his own needs before yours.

Of course, Dazai had never loved you. That was something you were certain of in your very core. But he’d held at least some shred of respect for you before becoming the head of the Port Mafia. Now, you didn’t think he saw you as anything more than a means to an end.

It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter that Dazai spoke to you minimally when you two weren’t alone, that everyone in the Port Mafia knew you were nothing more than the woman who slept in his bed.

It didn’t matter because you loved him. You’d stood by his side since the beginning, since he’d recruited Chuuya, since he’d lost Oda.

Since he’d killed Mori.

You’d been with him through all of it, seen every horrid side to him, and you’d never once wanted to escape. Dazai had his claws in you, and he had them in deep. The thought of being anywhere but with him had never crossed your mind.

“Akutagawa told me what happened yesterday.”

You blinked, snapping out of your haze as Dazai regarded you with cool, condescending eyes. He was peering at you from over his shoulder, picking his dark button-up off the floor. The skin on his back was red from scratches, the lines dragging through his taut skin.

“Did he?” you said, looking down at your nails. You hadn’t expected anything less. Akutagawa did everything in his power to get exaltation from Dazai. “I’m sure his report was thorough.”

Dazai’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, a darkened tint flashing in them. “That’s all you have to say?”

His voice was unamused, icy, and it reminded you that no matter how many times you crawled into his bed, let him use you however he wanted, he was still your boss. He was Dazai Osamu, the man whom everyone in Yokohama feared.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Your gaze twisted away from him, unable to meet his hardened expression completely. “I was distracted. It was my fault entirely.”

Dazai made a noise in the back of his throat as he moved out of the bed. He sauntered across the room, so quietly and cat-like, and you buried yourself deeper into the mattress, wanting to sink into it completely.

“You’re lucky, then, that Akutagawa was able to deflect the bullets.” He began replacing the bandages that had slipped off of his face, covering his cheek with disgust.

He let you see him completely when it was just the two of you. It took every ounce of your self-control not to read into that, to wonder if it was just a habit leftover from when you were younger.

“I am lucky.”

Truthfully, you’d only hesitated for half of a second, momentarily lost in your own loop of suffering, and your opponent had gotten an edge on you. They’d shot at you, then the bomb, nearly prematurely blowing up the building.

“After decades of work, I would’ve thought you’d know better by now.” Dazai sighed wearily, like your presence irritated him. It probably did. “I’ll consider moving you. I’m sure there’s a place for you where you can’t get yourself killed if you fuck up.”

“Dazai—” you swallowed, a horrid tasting stinging your mouth as you remembered your time with him had come to an end. He was back to being Mori’s underling, the man who looked at the city like it was nothing but a chessboard. “Boss,” you remedied quickly, all too used to addressing him differently. It was difficult, sometimes, to recognize where Dazai began, and the Port Mafia’s boss ended. “It was a stupid error. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever done something like that before?”

Dazai hesitated momentarily, before tensing his shoulders. He didn’t answer your question. “Don’t let it happen again.” A warning was in his eyes when they met yours through the mirror. “I don’t have the patience to find a replacement for you, and Akutagawa’s too valuable an asset to lose to a seasoned professional’s careless mistake.”

You exhaled, looking back down at your hands. The ones that had already been stained in so much blood, wrought with crime and bad intent. “Understood.”

You finally climbed out of the bed, missing the warmth that it gave you, even though Dazai’s cold body always sucked it away. He laid so stiffly next to you most of the time. You remembered when he used to sleep with his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

As you dressed, Dazai kept his eyes on his work, never paying you any attention. You felt discarded, useless, and you wanted to hate him, wanted to hate yourself for longing to wrap your arms around him, hug him from behind.

“I’ll send you with Chuuya tomorrow,” he said, scanning reports and assignments that he’d thrown aside lazily last night. “An easy assignment outside of Yokohama. Think you can manage that?”

“Just give me the job.” You snatched the paper out of Dazai’s hand, and he didn’t say a word, only watched as you perused it. It was, really, the simplest task he’d given you in the past few weeks. You’d felt like he’d been overworking you just to avoid you. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

Dazai’s smile widened, sinister, and wicked. He brushed his hand delicately over your shoulder, against your neck before patting you on the head. “I trust you won’t let me down.”

Going against every sensible atom in your being, you smiled wearily. His minimal display of affection warmed you, a deep pang settling in your soul. “Have I ever?”

“No.” He held a sort of awed fascination, twisting a part of your hair between his fingers. “How lucky someone must be to be my greatest enemy. To get the kiss of death from an angel is not such a bad way to die.”

He held your cheek in his delicate fingers, and you were putty in his hands, wishing that his eyes would soften, even by a fraction. That his hand would cup around his cheek like he meant it.

Instead, he pulled away, and you felt cold, cold, cold, drowning in your own emptiness.

You scoffed, trying to regain some power in the situation. “I’m no angel.”

“Hm,” Dazai hummed, dropping his head in his hands, resuming a spot behind the desk, the deep red chair much too similar to the one in his office, the one that Mori had inherited from the previous boss. “Perhaps not to others.”

And you grew hot, feeling that, maybe, Dazai was giving you a compliment.

It was at times like these that you saw the semblance of your previous relationship. When you could tease him without feeling the weight of his superior rank looming over you. When you could kiss him without tasting venom. When you didn’t have to wonder if it would be appropriate to touch him, or if you should keep your distance.

You wanted to quit him. Really, you did.

He was a horrible, loathsome person.

You’d never be able to stop loving him.

“I could never be any sort of heavenly creature, Dazai. My spot in hell was sealed the moment I sided with the Devil.”

Dazai laughed, the sound raw and dry, so humorless. “I hope you don’t mean me. Flattery will get you nowhere,” he tsked, the tip of his tongue scratching against the back of his white teeth.  

You certainly hadn’t meant that as a compliment.

“Should I say goodbye before I leave?” you asked wryly, doubting that he’d even want to see you again. His image burned against the back of your eyelids, and you drank him in, hoping that when you died, his face would be the last thing you saw.

Dazai didn’t grace you with a simple yes or no. Instead, he glanced up briefly, his one eye exposed, mere centimeters of skin uncovered. “Goodbye.”

You nodded; lips pressed tightly together as you accepted the dismissal. With a sigh, you were out of the room, wondering why you hadn’t just showered before you left. Most of your clothes were in Dazai’s closet anyway.

You didn’t see him again before you left.

The assignment Dazai had given you was a few cities over, a task of infiltrating an enemy organization who’d gotten a little too close to the Mafia’s boundaries. It was simple enough, especially with Chuuya at your side, though the whole ordeal had you away from home for a weekend, and far too much time with your own thoughts.

Dazai had set the two of you up in a suite, one with two separate bedrooms and a shared living space. It was much more luxurious than you even needed, with a view overlooking the entire city and an extensive bar in the kitchen. The furniture was a deep, black leather, every accent dark in color.

It was conspicuous, but you’d grown too used to extravagance after being with Dazai. You allowed yourself to indulge in it.

A silly notion, really; the place you slept every night was much more lavish.

You scrubbed the blood off your face, your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror without recognizing the person before you. The water at the bottom of the shower was a macabre shade, staining the tiles as it swirled down the drain.

Shivering, you tried to reconcile all of the things you’d done, shelve them away before you could wonder if all of it was really worth it. If Dazai was really worth it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, your skin rubbed raw, Chuuya was sitting at the bar, a freshly cracked bottle of wine before him. His back was tense, muscles strained as he regarded you with weary eyes, the darker shade under them obvious and alarming.

“Took you long enough,” Chuuya snorted, pouring himself a glass. The bottle was aged and dark, the label faded. He must have brought it along with him; it certainly hadn’t come from the hotel. “I was getting bored.”

You made a face, taking the seat beside him. “Well, there was a lot of blood.” You reached over to snatch the bottle, pressing it to your lips before he could protest.

“Help yourself, then,” His expression was sour, but his acerbic tone held a hint of amusement. “Do you know how expensive that is?”

“No.” You shrugged, taking a sip. Money had stopped meaning anything to you a long time ago. “Should I care?” The liquid warmed your throat on the way down.

“Probably not. You’ve surely got enough cash behind you to buy me another one.”

“Right.” You snorted and wondered how much of that stuff you’d have to drink before you’d stop feeling a thing. Thoughts of the crumbling bond that you and Dazai shared wouldn’t leave you alone. “And you don’t?”

Chuuya laughed, twirling the glass in his gloved hand. There was a hardened edge to him that you didn’t like. Opposed to Dazai, Chuuya had always been much more open with you, more willing to share his thoughts. “Well, we can’t all be Dazai’s favorite. You’ve got the keys to the kingdom, my dear. Whatever belongs to the Mafia belongs to you too.”

“Favorite?” You spat out the word, darkening at the mention of Dazai, the man who never seemed to leave your brain. It was always Dazai, Dazai, Dazai. The youngest executive there had ever been, the one who’d become the head of the Port Mafia just a few years later.

You hated him. Wished you could burn the memory of that haunted man entirely.

“Hm?” Chuuya leaned forward like he hadn’t heard you.

A bitter flavor blossomed on your tongue when you thought of saying his name out loud. “I don’t want to talk about Dazai right now.”

You brought the bottle to your lips again; it was starting to feel lighter.

“Why?” Chuuya’s eyes dimmed as he stared at you, looking for something hidden in your irises. A secret that wouldn’t be there. You’d always been too easy to read. “Did something happen?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about Dazai, and you immediately think something’s wrong?”

He blinked. Hesitated. “Well, I spent my teenage years listening to you talk about him like a lovesick fool. The subsequent years watching him stare at you in the same way.” He took the bottle away from you, tipping his head back. “Something must be wrong.”

You felt a flush at your neck, the skin itching with sweat. It was cruel of Chuuya to allude to any emotions from Dazai, when you knew they weren’t there. “That’s not true.”

Chuuya sighed. “Isn’t it?”

Although his temper had always been much worse than yours, you felt the same sort of anger claw at your back. The urge to scream at him became almost insuppressible. “Dazai doesn’t care about me like that.” You flopped down on the bar, alcohol fuzzing the edges of your senses. It felt nice, warm.

Maybe being away from the Port Mafia was better for you than you thought.

“Don’t be stupid.” Chuuya’s eyes had narrowed when your head fell forward, his fist clenching around the bottle.

“Stupid?” You immediately sat up, blood rushing straight to your head. Who was Chuuya to come and tell you everything he thought he knew? It was laughable, really. “He doesn’t care, and I think I’d know. Fuck you, Chuuya.”

You slammed your fist down on the table, hurt. You didn’t understand why Chuuya would side with Dazai when he knew how much the situation troubled you. How often had you bared your soul to him, told him how Dazai’s aloofness had hurt you over and over again?

His eyes softened, an apology immediately leaving his lips. “I’m sorry—”

“Are you?” The words were vehement. Chuuya was shamelessly against your relationship with Dazai, always coming up with one reason or another to get you out of it. Now, it seemed, he was trying to defend it. “Dazai cares or he doesn’t. You can’t keep changing your mind based on the situation.”

“Dazai does care.” Chuuya said the words like they pained him to leave his mouth, each one dragging a dagger against his chin. “You think he’d keep you around if he didn’t?”

You did. You knew that you had use outside of Dazai’s feelings, just like Chuuya, just like Akutagawa. Just like every menial grunt who had a shred of value for the Mafia.

“He cares that I have value to him.” A sigh left your lips, and you sunk your chin onto your palm, feeling like nothing more than the dramatic woman in a Shakesperian tragedy. Really, you couldn’t remember when you’d become so pathetic. “What will become of me when I can’t sink a bullet into the skull of his enemies anymore?”

Chuuya frowned, the wrinkles deepening on his forehead. “No one can predict what Dazai will do.” He let you steal his half-full glass of wine, keeping the bottle safely tucked away from you. “Would it make much difference to you if we could?”

“I suppose not.” You’d grown tired, the subtle buzz of alcohol coming in quick on your empty stomach. “Nothing matters much anymore. I’ll never leave the Port Mafia.” Saying the words out loud made it more real than you’d intended, even though it was a fact that had sunk deep into your bones the day you’d met the dark-haired, suicidal bastard. “Why do I have to love him, Chuuya? Why can’t I love a good man?”

You thought, why can’t I love you instead, and left it unsaid. The words might have been too cruel. You knew the pain of unrequited emotions.

“Because you’re in the Port Mafia. Good men would know to stay away.” Chuuya drummed his fingers against the countertop before reaching out, contemplative. Though you remained unmoving in your seat, his hand still retracted before he touched you, as if burned. There was caution in his movements, every action calculated—Chuuya was usually the opposite, as intelligent as he was. “Besides. You’ve never tried to let Dazai go. You don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you said defensively, though even to your own ears, the statement was weak. Dazai was an addiction, and you’d go back to him time and time again. Even when, sometimes, you weren’t so sure there was anything good about him. “I just don’t know how. What would I do out there in the world without Dazai?” You laughed, amused. A normal life didn’t seem possible—you’d have no idea where to start.

Chuuya’s face pinched in disgust. “Take over the Port Mafia. Kill him and run it yourself.” He huffed, running a hand over his eyes, exhausted. “There’s a solution. If you really want to get rid of him.”

You blinked back at him. A moment passed; you’d forgotten he was looking for a response.

“I suspected as much.” His shoulders slumped, defeated, as you drew back in shame. “How long will you talk yourself into this endless cycle of torment? Dazai isn’t the same man that you fell in love with, and he never will be again.” He met your eyes, cold and guarded. “There’s nothing to be done about that. If you want Dazai so badly, put up with every single part of him. I’m tired of listening to the same grievances, time and time again.” 

Chuuya made to stand, but you stopped him, grabbing his wrist lightly. He glared at you from over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to convey your apology sincerely. “You’re completely right. I’ve never tried to let Dazai go, and maybe I can.”

You didn’t give Chuuya time to formulate a response. Before he could understand what was happening, you leaned forward, catching him off guard, and planted your lips on his.

For one singular moment, Chuuya had kissed you back, tasting your mouth in its entirety, before he shoved you away, scrubbing his skin like he’d been burned.

“Don’t do that.” He had a hand in your face, scolding you like a child. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

You stared at him; his dark eyes were full of an emotion you had never seen before. “Why not? You said I should try to let him go.”

“Not by kissing me, fucking hell.” Chuuya hissed, his voice just above a whisper like someone else was listening in. Something vile had been unleashed in him as he gesticulated around wildly. “You’re Dazai’s.” He scoffed. “Do you think any smart man would do anything with you, knowing you sleep in that monster’s bed every night?”

You sniffed, sticking your jaw out. Maybe, you’d been wrong all this time. Chuuya was like everyone else, wasn’t he? Holding you at a distance because you cared for the wrong person.

“I’m not leaving the Mafia. I’m not leaving Dazai.” You reached across the table, grabbing one of his cold hands. “I just want to be someone else for once. To know what it’s like for someone to care about me so completely.”

“It’s not going to be with me.” Chuuya yanked his hand away, laughing mirthlessly. “I never thought you’d try to manipulate me like this. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Your eyes flashed, infuriated. Chuuya looked at you with some kind of betrayal, like he wasn’t the exact same way, like he wasn’t the same kind of vile person that you were. “I know you’re in love with me, Chuuya. I know you’ve looked at me since we were sixteen years old, wished so badly I would look at you the same way.”

His jaw clenched, the anger giving way to something else. “Don’t start.”

“You’ve wanted me all this time, haven’t you?” It was a genuine question; one you’d always been too scared to voice. Chuuya was the only person you considered to be a friend and knowing that he felt that way about you would ruin your friendship completely.

Though you had one sip too much of alcohol running through your veins, and you’d spent two days wondering how you could stop feeling a single thing for Dazai. Rationality had left you entirely.

Chuuya was silent, still watching you with hesitance.

“You’re the only person in the Mafia who really cares about me, aren’t you?” you said, softer, wondering if you could lure him in. Spring him into a trap you’d both be certain to regret in the morning. “You’re the one who talks to me about everything, who watches out for my well-being. Who’s never looked at me like I was anything but the prettiest girl in the world.”

And though Chuuya still didn’t trust your actions, his eyes had softened just a hair, his body releasing the tension. “You are.”

You smiled, but his compliment made you feel nothing but guilt. “Then why won’t you let me kiss you, Chuuya?”

“Because.” He scraped a hand over his face, breathing heavily like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to resist you “Dazai will kill me, you understand? He’ll kill you.”

“Wouldn’t you at least like to know?” You invaded his personal space. Each word you spoke cracked him a little bit more. “I know you’ve imagined me spread out before you, entirely exposed to you. How I’d look with my hips arching off the bed, crying out your name—”

“Stop it.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You felt like you were losing your mind. Something had cracked in you, and you couldn’t come back from it. Things would never go back to the way they were after those careless words had been tossed into the world. “You’ve always wanted me, so why, when I’m giving myself to you completely, won’t you accept?”

Chuuya swallowed. His voice had grown thick with desire. He raked his eyes over you cautiously. “You’re asking a lot from me, baby.” He held your cheek, grazing the bone in the gentle way that Dazai had forgotten. “Believe me, I want to. But you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I haven’t,” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. The touch of another person felt so nice against your icy skin. “I’m okay. I’m not drunk.” You weren’t—the alcohol had just made you brave enough to ask. “Please, Chuuya.”

He swallowed thickly. “He’ll kill me.”

“And he’ll kill me. Just as you said.” You met his eyes completely, wondering why you couldn’t care for this man in the same way, why his lips weren’t as alluring as Dazai’s, why his voice didn’t set a blaze deep in your stomach. “Do you really care whether Dazai thinks of me as his?”

His cheeks were flushed, eyebrows pinched, and you spotted the moment he began to draw back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

Then, you panicked, eyes becoming glassy as he released you, turning to retreat back to his bedroom, and you scrambled for another way, a way to bring him back to you.

“Chuuya, please,” you said, desperation in every syllable, and when he turned around, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “I just want to know what it’s like with a person who loves me. Can’t you give me that?”

That was it. That was all you had to say. When Chuuya bowed his head, you knew he’d given in.

“Why do you think I can give you what he can’t?” Chuuya’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.”

“No,” you said. “You’re not that kind of man. You’re Chuuya. The only person that’s always been there for me.”

He hesitated, momentarily, before sweeping you into his arms, his touch the softest you’d ever felt. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if Dazai kills me.” Chuuya spoke into your mouth, carving the words into your aching heart. “You were always going to be the death of me, anyway.”

His lips were upon you again, kissing you with the hunger of a starved man, and you gave him back as much as you could, which was the despair of a lonely woman. His touch was one of loving hands as guided you back into the bedroom tenderly.

When your back hit the bed, he asked if you were okay, asked if everything was comfortable. The concern in his eyes had rarely been seen in Dazai’s own—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken care of you first.

“I’m fine, Chuuya,” you promised again and again, and you smiled, caressing the soft skin of his jaw.

His lips pulled back in return, and then your shirt was thrown over your head, carelessly tossed towards the corner of the room. Though, no matter how many articles of clothing you lost, the necklace that Dazai had given you still rested against your collarbone.

You cupped your palm around it, trying to avert Chuuya’s gaze as he stared down at the precious metal, something conflicting in his cool irises.

“It’s okay,” you said, doing your best to distract him. You wouldn’t take the necklace off. It didn’t matter how much Dazai had hurt you; you needed the reminder of the absolute infidelity you were committing. “Keep going.”

Feeling more anxious than you had before, you kissed Chuuya, trying to dispel the bile that gathered in the back of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chuuya said, kissing every inch of your face, his hands hovering over your chest. “I could look at you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”

Chuuya’s sentiments warmed you, but words weren’t enough. You pulled his vest off, then the buttoned-shirt and every other intricate article of clothing he wore.

It felt wrong. His height was wrong. His skin felt too warm under your palm.

“When did you fall in love with me?” you asked, breathing heavily. Desire pooled in your abdomen against your will, your own heart betraying you. Still, it was nothing more than the most basic reaction of human nature, raw and primal, unaffected by the organ that was jailed within your ribcage.

Chuuya was surprised by the question, and he paused, his face just inches above your stomach. “I think I realized when I was seventeen.” He huffed out a laugh, inhaling your perfume. “It was the first time I saw Dazai kiss you. I thought I was going to be sick.” He continued kissing down your body, sliding your pants past your hips. “I’d always wanted you. I guess I just didn’t realize until then.”

You exhaled, feeling tears spring to the corners of your eyes, ones you suppressed.

Dazai had given you flowers that day. You remembered how they smelled, the rainy spring breeze. The way the sun reflected in his brown irises, melting them into candied honey that brightened his entire complexion.

“Then take me, Chuuya. If you’ve wanted me for so long, then fuck me like you mean it.”

His dark eyes flashed, but his gentle caresses never turned rough, never sped through a single moment you had together. You smiled, your expression peaceful and open when he finally slid your panties off, your cunt throbbing as his finger brushed against your swollen clit.

Chuuya took his time with you, singing praises that you hadn’t heard in a long time, and you came once around his slender fingers, the ones that were much less skilled at knowing every place you enjoyed being touched.

When he finally sunk inside you, you still felt empty, unfulfilled. You tried to lose yourself in his mouth, in the taste of wine and Chuuya, and dug your fingers into his back.

“Feel so good around me, baby.” Chuuya whispered into your skin, imprinting the words into your neck. He was careful not to leave any marks, though he wanted to, wanted to claim you as his own. “Taking me so well.”

You tugged on his hair as he kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, his breath hot and heavy. Though you cried out, you kept your voice quiet, still fearful that someone might hear, might know exactly what kind of betrayal you’d committed.

Chuuya thrust into you slowly, so much gentler than Dazai, hitting the spot deep inside of you that had you arching off the bed. “Fuck,” he said, choking on his own breath. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” He was full of desperation, his hands digging into your hips.

“Chuuya,” you said, holding his head between your palms.

He gave you the brightest smile in return, sad and meaningful. “I know. I can feel you squeezing me tighter. Let go for me, doll.”

His hair was just as soft, but it wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t short enough. His kiss didn’t feel the same, and you felt tears blurring your vision as you realized you’d never wanted him, you only wanted Dazai, and this was all wrong.

Still, you came around him, as he was buried deep inside you, but his name never left your lips, not even as a breathy whisper, because the one that was sitting there was Osamu.

And when he pulled out of you, you stroked him with practiced laziness, moving your hands in the way you knew Dazai liked, even though Chuuya felt so much different in your palm.

Chuuya kissed you as warmth flooded into your hand, and then he was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the bed next to you. He kissed you over and over, holding you tight, and you smiled, satisfied, because at the least, you knew this was what love felt like.

You’d never get it from the man you wanted, so you’d take it from Chuuya, even if it made you feel rotten inside.

The room smelled like sex and betrayal, and Chuuya took care of you, carried you out of the bed for a bath, and gently rinsed away the sweat and grime.

You were silent for most of the time, only reassuring him when he asked if you were alright.

For the first time, maybe you were. You imagined a future where you could learn to love Chuuya, a future where you were finally able to rid yourself of Dazai and start over again.

But it was nothing more than a delusion, a dream that would never happen. Dazai was a part of your soul. You knew that and Chuuya knew that, even as he closed his eyes next to you, the woman that would never give her love to anyone else. Your heart beat and bled for Dazai Osamu, every inch of your being meant for him. It would kill you to let him go, and if he died, you’d die right alongside him.

You turned away from Chuuya, burying your face in your hands, completely unaware that he’d left the bed to sleep in the other room.

You didn’t talk to Chuuya the next morning, not when you took a private car back to Yokohama, not when you stepped foot back onto the Mafia headquarters. Things between you had soured, just as you’d suspected, and you didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t think there was any way to go back from what had happened.

Higuchi was waiting for the two of you when you walked in the door, her blazer perfectly pressed, and her shirt tucked. She greeted you with a half-smile—gesturing towards the stairs. “The boss wants to see all of us for a meeting. He said you two would be arriving at this time.”

You nodded, and Chuuya scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand his superhuman ability to know what’s happening all of the time.”

Swallowing, you followed Higuchi, trying not to hear the foreboding nature of Chuuya’s statement.

Most high-ranking Mafia members were in attendance, with Dazai at the head of the table, the dark wooden chair beside him eerily empty and welcoming. You took a seat, and Dazai’s eyes ran over you, smoothly and hastily, before a small smile appeared on his features. “No injuries?” he said, and though his tone was professional, you could hear the slightest bit of concern.

“None,” you said, and something in your voice cracked, ever so slightly.

You were such a fool. You’d never be able to hide something like this from Dazai.

He eyed you suspiciously, before sliding his glance over to Chuuya, who was as cool as usual. His face was shadowed by his hat, hiding any evidence of a sleepless night.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, tucking his palm into his hand. “Debrief.”

Your partner gave Dazai every last detail, summarizing as best he could, and sliding in the occasional sarcastic remark as he leaned back casually in the chair. Dazai listened with boredom in his expression, drumming his fingers against the table until Chuuya’s monologue was complete.

He turned to Akutagawa, who bowed his head an immediately launched into his own assignment.

You blinked—you hadn’t realized that Akutagawa’s squad had been sent elsewhere. It made no sense for Dazai to send you with Chuuya when your own division had a separate mission.

The meeting wrapped up quickly, and the members scattered, going their own separate ways for the afternoon. Chuuya refused to meet your eye as he got up from the table, one of the last to leave the room.

As you stood, Dazai closed a hand around your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse.

“Was the hotel alright?” he asked, his head titled curiously. “You look tired.”

You took a sharp breath.

Fuck.

“It was fine, Osamu,” you said, and when his name slipped easily from your tongue, something in him changed. He loosened the hand on your wrist before releasing it entirely, the bandaged palm falling into his lap. “Thank you.”

Dazai nodded, turning away from you, and you’d forgotten that there were still other people in the room. Akutagawa, who lingered with morbid curiosity, and his sister, who had always sort of pitied you for your tumultuous relationship, bore witness to the brief interaction.

Behind them, Chuuya stood tense, his back straight as he crossed the threshold, sparing you only a glimpse before exiting into the darkened hallway.  

“Alright,” Dazai said in a hushed voice, his face schooled back into the usual, guarded expression. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t much of a response, and he didn’t elaborate, keeping his steely eyes ahead as some low-ranking members trudged in for a meeting with their boss. He’d be busy all afternoon, it seemed.

You swallowed, and left, knowing that it was fruitless to try and keep a secret from him.

Chuuya waited for you outside, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a contempt that hadn’t been there before, such a contrast to the loving man you had seen last night. “This changes everything, you know?”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he scoffed. “I was the fool. I made my choice.” Chuuya sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I meant what I said, though. Yesterday. It was all true, and if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

You felt a chasm open in your chest, and you wished the floor would’ve swallowed you whole. You were losing everyone, it seemed, and maybe, Dazai really did have a point with his talk about suicide.

When you stepped into the bedroom, Dazai was sitting on the edge of the bed, the setting sun casting a shadow of his own reflection. He was twirling a pistol around his pointed finger, staring at the wall with blank eyes.

You shut the door quietly, your hands shaking against the golden knob.

Though you hadn’t made a sound when you walked through the door, Dazai’s gaze was on you immediately, sensing your entrance.

You’d never been able to slip past him.

“You’re back early.” Those were the first words that came to your mind, your voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He was regarding you with disdain, his jaw set coolly. His hair turned bronze in the evening rays, loose strands scraping against the bandages.

“I am.” His jaw clenched, examining you with a singular, dark eye. You felt exposed under his gaze, laid bare for him to see no matter how much you shrouded yourself with. “You sound like you’re unhappy to see me.”

Dazai ran his finger along the trigger like he’d never held such a weapon before, the gun becoming an object of morbid fascination. 

You exhaled. There was so much space between you, a distance you weren’t sure you’d ever cross again. Though you thought you knew Dazai better than anyone, in that moment, he was unreadable—a chapter of pages that had been torn out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, standing tall. Despite your nerves, you were fixated on Dazai, always drawn to him like a moth to a flame, desperate to uncover the very thing that could kill you. “I miss you every time we’re apart. You’re no stranger to my feelings.”

You could offer him that, at the very least. An undeniable truth before everything between you shattered.

Dazai stood, his dark coat billowing out behind him as he finally came to face you, suddenly seeming much taller than you remembered. And with one look, you knew that he knew. He’d always been too smart for his own good.

“I’m not certain of that any longer,” he laughed, though it was a bitter sound that clawed its way up his throat. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, instead.” Dazai stood before you with a smile that was so sweet it was almost sinister. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”

You weren’t sure which one of you would blink first, caught in some deadly staring contest. Most people would’ve surrendered to him by now.

 “Why?” you jutted your chin out, refusing to give in to him in any way. If you were going to die, and you were, you would make sure Dazai knew everything you’d never told him. “You already know.”

“No.” He poked the gun into your cheek, right beneath the sharp bone. He’d clicked the safety off moments before. “I want to hear you say it. You betrayed me.”

When you refused to say a word, Dazai hissed and cocked the gun. He pressed it to your temple, the metal cold against your delicate skin.

“Say it.”

You sniffed. He wasn’t giving in, and instead, stood there silently, unmoving until you finally caved. There was something about the color of his eyes. No matter how much they hardened, you still remembered the young man he used to be. The one who wasn’t quite so cold, who picked you flowers, even with blood dripping down his arm.

“Fine.” You narrowed your eyes. “I fucked Chuuya.”

Dazai blinked. Then, he started laughing. Crazily, maniacally. You saw too much of your old boss in him that it made you sick.

“Shameless.” Dazai took a step back and dropped the gun to his side.

“What?” you sneered, pressing yourself up against him, refusing to be intimidated by the man that had been yours for years. “Should I be ashamed?”

Dazai’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. “Yes,” he said, fists curling at his sides. “After everything I’ve done for you.” Dazai grew quieter, flicking a strand of hair out of your face. “Do you feel no remorse?”

“You can’t be serious. What have you done for me, Dazai?” You grew still, grabbing his wrist before he could touch you again. “You’re not upset I was with another man; you’re just upset that it was Chuuya.”

You poked him in the chest, a hot stream of air exhaling through your nose.

“I gave you everything, didn’t I?” The two of you spoke at each other, avoiding the answers, never acknowledging what the other had to say. Around and around you went, an endless circle until one of you finally conceded. “I’ve given you the world, and you still wanted more.” Dazai finally broke free of your loose grasp, stroking your cheek. “What can Chuuya give you that I can’t? I ask for nothing but honesty.”

There was no jealousy in the tone, no sorrow; it was the most genuine question he’d asked you in months. The inquiry of a man who’d lost sight of himself in the past few years, and who’d somehow, over time, forgotten what it meant to care for another.

“You gave me nothing,” you said, but somewhere along the way, your cheeks had grown wet. You’d been struck by the sudden affection in his voice, the softness harsher than a slap to the face.

He was a horrible man, the worst kind of man. Yet, you couldn’t imagine a life without him, a world where you existed alone.

The truth rested at the edge of your tongue. It wouldn’t solve much, your affection for him never had solved much, but at least he would understand.

“This was never about wanting more. I never wanted Chuuya. You’re a fool if you think that.”

Dazai was silent. You pressed on.

“I wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ve devoted my entire life to you. I do everything you ask.” You were breathing heavily, big gulping breaths that contained minimal oxygen. “I asked for nothing in return. Nothing but for you to care about me, and you never did.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai laughed humorlessly.

You ignored him, your confession leaving on one heavy breath, a string of words incomprehensible to your ears. “But Chuuya loves me. He always has, and he made certain I knew that.” You paused, averting your eyes. The entire city could be seen from the window over his shoulder. “He told me all of that, and you know what I thought the whole time?”

Dazai scowled.

“I wished that he was you instead. I wanted it to be you so badly, I wanted it to be you saying those things to me, kissing me like I was the most important thing in the world.” You took his wrist again, pressing the gun back to your temple. The cool metal was almost soothing against your skin. “Please, Dazai. Give me this one last thing. I’m begging you to kill me. I can’t take this any longer.”

His finger rested on the trigger.

“I want it to be you. I’ve never wanted to die at anyone’s hands but your own.” His hand felt just as it always had in your palm, his fingers much longer, but his skin so soft. It was almost comforting, how familiar he was, and you longed to be a part of him, to bury yourself deep within him and wear his skin as your own.

Dazai’s expression twitched, and you smiled at him, the taste of salty tears spilling into your mouth.

As you closed your eyes, you prepared for the noise, hoping your blood splattered on Dazai’s coat and stained it, the proof of your existence inerasable. You hoped that Dazai would grow to regret it, would realize that your love for him was close to unconditional.

But the violence never came. The cool metal fell away from your skin, and when you opened your eyes again, Dazai’s shoulders had slumped, the very image of defeat.

“Do you honestly think I can bring myself to kill you?”

“What’s the matter?” you asked, blinking your eyes open. You reached for the gun again, but he drew back, as if stung. “Afraid to lose your best assassin?”

“No.” Dazai’s eyes were hard, his frown set deep into his face. “I’m afraid to lose the woman I love. The most important person in the world to me.”

You stared. Blinked. Then, the worst kind of emotion washed over you.

You swallowed over and over, trying to get the bile out of your throat. You’d wanted to be done, wanted to escape. And yet—

“Don’t say that.” you shook your head, backing away as Dazai inched closer, too close and you felt yourself getting sucked back in, remembering that you’d loved him for years, and you’d never love anyone else. “Fuck you, Dazai. Stop toying with me, and just kill me."

“I love you. I thought you knew that my darling angel.”

You were crying harder, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you. You don’t care about me.”

“No?” Dazai had grabbed your wrist again, but it was so soft. “I thought you were smarter than that. Did you think you were partnered with Akutagawa at random, and not for the sole reason that I knew he’d do everything in his power to protect you? Did you think I moved your seat next to me at meetings because you were nothing more than my stupid whore? Bought you everything you ever wanted because I couldn’t stand you?”

“Yes,” you said, sniffing, feeling yourself melt where he touched you, itching to reach up and pull the bandages off his face, see the beautiful features beneath them that he hid from the world. “You don’t care about me."

“I do care,” he said, fingers grazing your chin. “I’ve killed for you. I took over the Port Mafia so I could give you everything you wanted. Why wasn’t that enough?”

“Because I never wanted that. I never wanted any of this. I wanted you, Dazai Osamu. That was all.”

Dazai frowned, and then he bowed his head, kissed your neck, then around your earlobe, and it was the softest you’d ever felt in your entire life, a gentleness you hadn’t known he was capable of. When his hands snaked around your stomach, pulling you back against him, you were lost in his adoration.

“You never said anything,” he said, kissing your shoulder, breaking the tension in the muscles. You were his, in every lifetime, you’d be his. “I thought you were… happy?”

“How could you think that? I’m not happy, Dazai. I’ve never been less happy.”

“Not even when I tell you that I love you?” he kissed your knuckles.

“Do you love me enough to be a better man? Do you love me enough to let me sleep in your bed and see your whole heart instead of the fragmented pieces that you sliced up just to hide?”

“Yes.” The word was resounding, resolute. “I love you enough to forgive you.”

You held him at a distance, lips falling apart easily. “But I don’t want to forgive you.”

“You will.” Dazai smiled, that irritatingly knowing smile of his that you’d fallen for in the first place. “You will because I mean it this time.”

“You never apologized,” you looked away, trying to find the strength to move. You were enraptured, in every fiber of his being. “You never will. You never do.”

“I never knew anything was wrong,” he frowned, and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, and you had him so close that you just wanted to forget anything had ever changed. “How was I to fix it if you never told me?”

His words were full of poison, but his voice was so soft you couldn’t help but fall back into him. Perhaps, you should’ve said something. Maybe your actions had never been enough.

“How long have I been at your side, spent hours listening to your every word, even when they didn’t make sense to me? You should’ve known, Dazai. I shouldn’t have to tell you something like that.” Your words were losing their bite, and his lips quirked up, knowing that you were slowly coming back to him, clearing you of the sins you had committed.

He was hesitant, thoughtful, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. And perhaps, that was the final straw in your resistance, his gentle kiss enough to set your soul on fire.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Dazai said, his lips ghosting over yours, handing over the apology like a gift. “Won’t you give me a chance to fix it now?” It felt like a bad idea. Dazai wasn’t deserving of any more chances; you’d already given him years of second chances, had always given him the benefit of the doubt.

“You expect me to believe you’ll let us off scot-free?” you said, your face deadly close to Dazai’s. “What about Chuuya? Will you kill him in my place.”

“You’ve got me in your hand, love. If you want me to punish Chuuya, just say the word. I’ll kill him if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. That was the farthest thing from what you wanted, but you worried that if you sounded too enthusiastic, he might just follow through with it.

Instead, you pulled him to you, grabbing the dark tie that he wore around his neck. He grinned into your lips, his saccharine smile seeming much too deadly to be all that sweet. “Do you honestly think I believe a word that you’re saying?”

“You want to,” Dazai said, curling his hand around your jaw, his fingers brushing your ear. “That’s what matters the most.” He kissed your lips, and you could taste the difference, all the love he poured into it this time. It wasn’t like kissing a statue. “It’s all true, anyway.”

You broke away, breathing. “I won’t do this anymore, Dazai.” You finally had his hand in your own, placing the gun back to your temple. “You’re not the man you once were, and you’ll never be him again.” The smile that graced your lips was sad, though it was knowing. Things were always going to end this way.

Dazai’s face wrinkled as he tried to decipher all the words you’d never spoken. “I’m not the same man, that’s true, but my affection for you has never died.” He cupped his other hand around your cheek, hesitantly keeping the gun to your temple, squinting with his head bent.

“You’re the leader of the Port Mafia, and such a ruthless man wouldn’t let a betrayal go unscathed.”

There was a wave of silence while the two of you stared at one another, sifting through the situation with hardness in your jaws, the tension palpable within the air. Dazai straightened, clarity in his irises as a smooth smile burned onto his lips.

“Is that what you want?” he said innocently. “You want to be punished for your insurrections?”

Your mouth grew dry, but you held your ground firmly, swallowing back all the uncertainty. Perhaps you didn’t want to die. Perhaps you did. You just hated the gaping hole inside of you that never seemed to leave. “I want you to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Dazai laughed, then the hilt of the gun was against your temple once more. He held your chin steady between his forefinger and thumb, regarding you with thinly veiled disgust. “You’ve never wanted that before. Not when I asked you to die alongside me, to follow me far into the afterlife.” He sighed, releasing your chin before cocking the gun. “This isn’t about death at all.”

“What—”

“You want me to claim you, is that it?” He clicked his tongue before leaning forward, sneering. “Perhaps it’s that other way around. You want everyone in the Mafia to know I belong to you, hm?’

You blinked, though you began to feel weak in the knees, the eyes that you knew so well suddenly intimidating. “I never said—” but even then, your voice wavered, unsteady and uncertain of the immediate heat that had swirled under your skin.

Dazai’s mouth curled, a gruesome smile there. “I know you better than anyone. I’ve always known exactly what you want. Even though I shouldn’t forgive you, I can’t help myself.”

You swallowed, and Dazai had taken a step forward, pushing you with him, the gun still swaying at your temple, even when the backs of your thighs hit the bed. You fell onto the mattress, and he was on top of you, his finger caressing the trigger as he collapsed.

Dazai had never scared you, not even when he was a child you’d barely known, the teenager shaped in Mori’s image. Though, now, the unreadable expression on his face was alarming you, and you wondered if all this time, you should’ve been fearful.

Still, even with your underlying hesitance, you felt a wave of desire crash over you at the sheer need in his eyes. It wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with, but there was something else there. Maybe it was the love you’d just never noticed.

“Osamu,” you said in a quiet voice, not afraid, but not confident either. Your finger brushed the point on his wrist—it was the same heartbeat you’d always recognized.

“What?” he said, taunting you menacingly as he towered above you. “You were so bold just a second ago? What happened, darling?”

Unable to do anything but blink back at him, Dazai brought his thumb to your lips, brushing it across the plump skin before dipping it into your mouth.

Unprepared, you nearly choked, eyes blown wide as you stared back at him. Though, there was a command within his eyes, and you obliged, sucking as you watched the saliva drip down to his palm. Dazai pulled it away from your mouth with an obscene pop, giving you a sweet smile from his position above you.

Despite your humiliation, you shifted your hips on the bed, bringing your thighs together to provide you with a fraction of relief. Dazai’s eyes flashed at the movement, his smirk widening with an amusement.

“You’re nothing more than a dumb slut, aren’t you?” Dazai’s hand ghosted of your stomach, settling on the inside of your thigh momentarily. You ached with need, swallowing your pride and any demands that you could make of him. “Had Chuuya all to yourself this weekend, and still expect me to fuck you senseless.”

Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth before shutting it, lips still covered in your own spit. “Osamu,” you began, attempting to diffuse the situation, to explain that what had transpired between you and Chuuya meant nothing, but he never gave you the opportunity. “It wasn’t—”

Dazai’s gaze hardened, the adoration disappearing the moment you dared to speak. His fingers deftly wrapped around your throat, thrusting you into the mattress with enough force to quiet you entirely. “Shut up. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll ask. Understand?”

You could do nothing but nod, hating yourself for the ache that had grown more and more intense in your core, desperate for some sort of contact. Dazai, distracted with his own task of tearing your top off, had failed to notice the breathing that had grown heavier, the flush of heat that spread on every inch of your body.

His slender fingers finally removed the confining pants, a task he did skillfully with one hand still wrapped around your throat. Then, his fingers were against your aching cunt, and you twitched, letting out a heavy sound from the singular movement. You could feel yourself pulsing against nothing, desperate for his fingers between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he said, his fingers lazily dipping through your folds over your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you. How can you be this fucking wet?”

“Please,” you said quietly, your own hand aching to take over, if only to provide yourself that relief that he refused to give you. Every time you shifted into his hand, he brought it away, taunting you with the release you so craved.

“Please?” Dazai was mocking, cruel, every bit of the person people expected him to be. The one he never had been with you, not until recently. “You’re nothing more than a greedy little whore. Must have been why you fucked Chuuya without a second thought, huh?”

You were silent, staring him down with a clenched jaw. Your brain was twisting, betraying you, turning into empty cells within your skull, and you weren’t sure how to handle the accumulation of emotions that you felt for the man before you, the one who’s love had always been purposeful and merciless.

“Well?” he said, tightening a hand to close off the air to your lungs, trapping you with his strength. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and when your words sounded choked, when you clawed at his wrist, he loosened his grip just a hair, the only indication that the man you loved was in there at all. Still, your hips acted of their own accord, shifting further into his hand. “I’m sorry, Osamu, I am.” You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he finally slipped his fingers under your panties, rubbing your aching clit. “I wanted you; I needed you and you were never there, but Chuuya was, and—”

You were a stammering mess of desperation and regret, feeling unglued under Dazai’s hands, like the words you’d been meaning to say could finally come out. He was the only one who’d ever listened to you completely, who you’d felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. Yet, it had been so long since you’d let yourself be open with him, and now that the opportunity arose, you were too weak to deny it.

“I was always here,” Dazai said harshly, and you were almost certain that his anger was genuine, the tone breaking in his voice a result of true sadness. “You never came to me, and I thought that’s how you wanted it to be.” His fingers sunk into you, and you threw your head back into the pillow, moaning sinfully with the lewd sound of him sinking in and out of you, the wetness collecting with every movement.

“You never showed me you cared,” you cried out, certain that there were tears streaming down your cheeks, and you should’ve been humiliated. It was humiliating—the way you were clothed in nothing, crying as Dazai laughed at you, taking full control over your body. How he could’ve done anything to you in that moment, and you would’ve let him, because that was just how much you wanted him.

“And Chuuya was the solution?” He grabbed your cheeks with the hand that had once been around your throat, pinching them to make you look at him. “You going to pass yourself around the rest of the Mafia, sweetheart? Who’ll get a taste of you next? I’m not so certain even Akutagawa would pass up the opportunity.”

His words were senseless, meant to hurt you, and you still couldn’t stand the anguish that was in his eyes.

“No,” you said, and you leaned up, wanting so badly for his lips to be on yours, to feel some semblance of the connection that you’d always had with him. “I wouldn’t, Dazai, I’m yours.” You choked on the sounds of your own moans, your thighs shaking with every change in pressure. “I’m yours. Please, I need you.”

You were certain there were marks on your neck from his fingertips, and Dazai ghosted his mouth along the delicate skin there, biting at the soreness from before. You jerked, digging your nails into his back as you drew closer and closer to your climax.

“Don’t make demands.” Dazai leaned back, and you missed the closeness, the sharp scent of him lingering in your space. “Chuuya hasn’t been a part of this conversation yet. Should we get him up here? I hadn’t considered what to do with him, but this might suffice.”

Dazed and drunk on the feeling of his hands all over you, it took you a moment to process what he was saying. His hand was already swiping through his phone, picking the number of the man that you least wanted to see.

“No, Osamu, don’t—” you cried out, and yet, you made no move to stop him. Instead, you remained pliant on the bed as he sunk another finger into you, his thumb moving in agonizing circles against your clit.  He tucked the cellphone under his chin, smiling at you maliciously, controlling you with every blink of his lashes.

You had always had trouble resisting him. Now was no different.

Chuuya answered as you released another moan, and Dazai was grinning wickedly, as if some larger scheme had finally come together, the culmination of everything he was plotting. “Boss?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, and you flinched, locking gazes with his deep brown irises, the color so alluring and beautiful, a shade that had darkened with each misfortune you’d endured together. You hated him, you did, but there was a fine line between the two, and your love for him would die with you, would transcend whatever simple rules the afterlife placed on Earth. “How quickly can you make it up here?”

You could hear the hesitation on the other side; Chuuya didn’t say anything for a moment.

“A couple minutes, I think. I haven’t left the building.”

“I’ll give you a couple minutes then.” Dazai’s words were clipped as he hung up the phone, throwing it to the arm chair a few feet away from the bed.

His attention was back on you completely as you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure before Chuuya came into the room. Though it was so hard when the pools in his irises were pulling you deeper, locking you into a heaven that you’d never been able to reach.

Dazai pulled away briefly, his soaking fingers leaving your body to alleviate his cock from the confines of his dark pants, hovering before you.

You swallowed, not able to remember the last time your desire for him ached this badly. Your eyes trained on the very part of him that you wanted inside of you, the tip flushed so beautifully. There was nothing on your mind but him, how you wanted every part of him, even if it meant enduring misery after misery, and Chuuya was right—if you were to love Dazai, you needed to love every part of him, even when it seemed impossible.

A whine escaped you and you were reaching out to him, knowing he’d never let you live down your humiliation, but the future was not a part of your logical thinking, not now. “Want you inside me.”

“Surely you can hold off for a few minutes,” Dazai said, though the way his toned chest pressed to your own, and how he kissed your face with a tenderness you’d forgotten made it nearly impossible for you to refrain. “So desperate for my cock.���

You wanted to touch yourself—you would’ve, had you not been so nervous of the fact that Chuuya could come in at any minute.

“Tell him to leave,” you said, dragging your fingers through his hair, finally kissing him like you’d been wanting to, and the sound was sinful, heavy with lust as you forced a taste into his mouth, wishing every part of him was a part of you too. “I don’t want him or anyone else, just you, I promise—” 

Dazai cut you off and ignored your pleas; he smiled against your lips, though it was anything but kind. “I think he’ll enjoy seeing you like this, won’t he? You’ve got such a filthy mouth on you when you’re fucked properly.” He kissed his way down your chest, resting his face just above your breasts. “I bet Chuuya didn’t see this side of you, did he?” Dazai licked a circle around your nipple, tugging it between his teeth. “I’ve done nothing but call you names and you’re dripping all over the sheets.”

You shook your head, feeling pained by how badly you wanted release.

“Of course not.” Dazai sat back up like he could sense Chuuya approaching from the other side of the door, his presence bold and detectible. “He’s forgotten what’s mine, after all.” He smiled at you once more, kissing you with a kind of love that only he could portray, the kind that was nowhere close to innocent. “Don’t cum until I tell you to. Be good for me, okay?”

Dazai had always known what to say to you, even when your relationship was falling apart, even when you hated him more than you loved him. His words could be so tender, the praise melted in with the unkind quips of his tongue. It was the gentlest tone he’d used since your clothes had come off, and you couldn’t help but melt under him, nodding like you’d give him anything he asked of you.

Of course you would.

Dazai traced your features delicately, grinning maniacally, ears attuned to the quiet that broke from the footsteps approaching. His cock was lined up against your dripping hole, and it took every ounce of restraint not to plant yourself on it, trying so hard to please him, the sinful man who held too much power over you.

“You’re so pretty like this, aren’t you? My beautiful little whore, always willing to take whatever I give you.”

“’Samu,” you babbled, blinking away the tears as you latched onto him, wishing you could spare yourself the humiliation, but too drunk on him to care. He shifted you forward, taking your thighs in his hands and placing them around his waist. “I can’t take it all at once—”

“You’ve done it before. Do it again.” He growled, squeezing your throat once more in one smooth motion, thrusting into you. And though you had doubted how prepared you were, he slid into you easily, already so loose and pliant from his fingers. “See? Never forgot the shape of me, sweetheart. Even after you’ve been with another man.”

You let out a choked moan as Chuuya walked into the room, lost in the ache and the burn and the pleasure that came with loving and fucking Dazai.

There was one singular pass of silence before Chuuya spoke, letting the door shut with a quiet click on the hinge. “Boss—” Chuuya was hesitant, though his eyes were immediately drawn to you, raking over your blissed-out form. “You said to—” His hand was still on the knob, though he was distracted, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, ashamed but so full of want that it ached.

“Come in, Chuuya,” Dazai said sharply, his words solid and commanding, and you couldn’t help it when you clenched around him, drawing him further into you with nails scraping down his back. “We should discuss something.”

“Well, can we talk about it when you’re not in the middle of fucking your girl?” Chuuya asked, swallowing down the desire he hid so poorly. His cheeks had flushed, words just on the edge of stumbling and slurring together. “Another time, maybe.”

“This is the perfect time, actually,” Dazai stopped moving, already breathing heavily above you as you stared, whined, needing so badly for him to stop teasing you. “Besides,” his eyes drifted knowingly to Chuuya’s obvious erection as he laughed darkly. “I don’t think you mind so much.”

Dazai pulled back painfully slowly before sinking into you with a quicker thrust, your back arching off the mattress to catch even more of him inside of you. A barely noticeable sweat had broken against his hairline, and you stared at him, mouth slightly agape in awe at the boss of the Port Mafia, the one you somehow had wrapped around your little finger.

Your breathing had grown unsteady as his cock got deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting where you’d never been quite able to get with your fingers, the thickness of him catching on every sensitive part inside of you. His hand was back between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit, and you weren’t sure you could last much longer, not as he carried on a conversation with Chuuya, who watched you with darkened eyes, barely holding himself back.

“Please, Osamu,” you were practically begging now, your cheeks glistening with wetness as you clawed at the muscles between his shoulder blades, surely leaving bruises all down his spine. “Please, please, let me cum.”

Dazai made a tsk noise in the back of his throat. “Not yet. I don’t think you deserve it quite yet, does she, Chuuya?”

Chuuya sniffed, shifting uncomfortably as his pants grew tighter. “Gonna punish her all day, boss? Such a pretty thing should get what she wants, shouldn’t she?”

Dazai dropped his chest closer to you, going deeper into you, and you cried out his name, though your eyes were still locked with Chuuya, as if he were going to be your savior. You remembered how gently he’d touched you, how careful he was, and you wondered why you’d ever wanted that at all.

“Chuuya thinks he can fuck you better than me, darling, but you know that’s not true, don’t you? He’d spoil you too much, but this is what you want, right? You want to be called a stupid fucking cockslut.” Dazai grinned against your lips, whispering in a breath that only you could hear. “Just so that at the end of it all, you’ll be my good girl.”

You whimpered, soaking him as you clenched harder. Your brain had gone numb from the feeling of him. Dazai was smiling viciously, but you could see the underlying tenderness.

“She looks so pretty right now, doesn’t she Chuuya? Not a single thought in that beautiful little head of hers.” He smiled at him knowingly, dark hair flopping into his eyes as the rest of the loose tendrils stuck to his forehead. “You’re lucky. You’ve gotten two chances to see her now. Twice as many as most men who fantasize about fucking a woman that sleeps in another man’s bed.”

Chuuya’s voice was raw, his words cracked. “You’re sick, Dazai,” he said, clenching his hands into fists. “Putting on a show like this just to punish me.”

“You and I both know you’re enjoying this.” Dazai traced your cheeks sweetly, kissing your lips deeply. You let out a strangled breath into his mouth, something on the precipice of a moan. “Can you do one thing for me, pretty girl? One more, then I’ll let you cum, how’s that?”

You nodded, desperately, as Dazai’s fingers finally dipped back down, rubbing agonizingly light circles.

“Tell Chuuya who’s making you feel this way,” Dazai said, pushing your face away from him to stare straight into Chuuya’s dark eyes. “Tell him who you love the most.”

“You,” you gasped out, clenching tighter around him. What an easy request to make—you’d never loved anyone else. “I’m in love with you.”

Dazai sniffed, though he was patient, slowing his thrusts almost to a stop. “Not good enough. I need you to be more specific.”

You cried out, locking your ankles onto his hips, trying to force him back into you. But Dazai didn’t budge, watching you until you provided the answer that he so desired. “I love you, Dazai.”

He frowned, shaking his head once more. “My name. Say it. It sounds so sweet from your lips.”

“Osamu,” you choked out. “I love you, Osamu. I love you. I love you.”

Dazai finally smiled above you, gently tracing your cheeks with his thumb as he slowed down the pace of his hips. “I love you too, darling.” His words were soft, whispered into your lips before he turned away, meeting eyes with Chuuya across the room. “See?”

Chuuya was glowering, stiff as a board, his face pink, and his legs shaky. “I got it, Boss.” He choked out, though his eyes were on you, unable to leave your body, even as he tried so hard to be polite. His aching cock strained against his pants, and he breathed sharply, swallowing over and over. “Do I need to be here any longer?”

Dazai laughed, and you thought he looked so pretty when he did that, his smile flashing wide and alluring, the corners of his eyes crinkling marginally. “Never said you had to stay. I figured you’d want to watch her come undone one last time.”

Chuuya, for as noble as he wanted himself to be, made no move to leave, glued to the spot on the floor beyond your bed. He was just across the room, but you couldn’t focus on anyone but Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, the man who you’d killed and bled and committed horrible acts for.

You said his name again, scrambling to bring his attention back to you, hands on his face with a desperation you didn’t realize you’d possessed.

And Dazai, with the kindness of a man he wasn’t, placed his hands just above your stomach, leaving kisses across your chin as he thrust into you, sweetly, menacingly, one last time. “You did so good, my love. You can cum now. Make a mess all over my cock, beautiful.”

You jerked, squeezing around him as you felt the pressure in you finally release, the colors shifting and changing between your high as Dazai brought you in and out of an orgasm, his words reaching your muddled brain with soothing noises. Your body twitched as your muscles spasmed, sweat gathering in the space under your knees. There was little in your mind, save for the dark-haired man that had quickly become your whole world.

You smiled lazily, lacing your fingers with Dazai as you slowly began to come back to yourself. The world around you was empty. Chuuya had all but disappeared into a block of nothingness as you stared into the world itself. If there was no Dazai, there was no you, and it was as simple as that. He was everything you’d ever wanted—you’d be a fool to ever left him go.

As you regained your breathing, still sensitive all over, Dazai came inside you, spilling hot release into you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too busy being satisfied with the feeling of him all over you.  His hands never left you—he was delicate, caring, pressing loving touches into your skin as you recovered from your high.

“I’m yours, Osamu,” you said, closing your eyes as you basked against the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up against him, bury yourself in the warmth of another body. 

He smiled against your cheeks, lips flushed and bruised. “I know you are,” he said to you only, before pulling away. You shivered, but opened your eyes, and he’d already held the gun out to you, presenting it as an offering. “That’s why you’ll be the one to kill him.”

It took you all of ten seconds to remember who him was, and that the man who had borne witness to your most intimate moments with Dazai had not disappeared and was still gawking at you from the corner of the room.

“What?” you asked stupidly, your jaw falling open.

“You heard me.” Dazai pressed the pistol into your palm, curling your fingers around the handle. It was like ice against your hot body, and though it’d been years since your first time firing such a weapon, you suddenly felt like you were there again, uncertain, and afraid of the dangerous firearm. “Kill him.”

You stared at Chuuya, the honest man who, even despite his rough exterior, had been there for you since you were kids. You remembered how the three of you had been so close, for such a long time, until Dazai had gone and killed Mori and fucked it all up.

It felt wrong. The entire situation was wrong, and it never should’ve come to this.

“It’s Chuuya,” you said with tired eyes, something in your voice pleading and desperate.  

Dazai shrugged, holding you close against him as you struggled to sit up in the bed. Your muscles ached and you were still so sensitive, but reality was coming back to you. This was all a mess, and you wanted so badly to feel shame at everything you had done, but you were trying so hard just to–

“You’d think I’d let him live after what he did?”

“Osamu.” You weren’t sure you could bear it. You’d always sworn to kill whatever adversary Dazai and the Port Mafia faced, but Chuuya would always be an exception. You wanted him in your life as much as you wanted Dazai, someone you could trust without fail, who would listen to you complain even when it hurt him. “I won’t do it. He’s my friend. I thought he was yours too.”

Dark eyes full of disdain met your own, and he pinched your jaw once more, a mixture of devastating anger. “I can’t allow a traitor to live. I’ll kill him if you won’t. Then, I’ll kill you. Then myself.”

You shoved him away, suddenly wishing you weren’t so exposed, on display in the middle of the room. “Then fucking do it already, Dazai. What are you waiting for?” A tear broke free from your eye, and you wiped it furiously, not giving him a chance to mock you.

“Stop.” Chuuya finally spoke, his voice drawing your attention like a commandment, and you fell silent, refocusing on him as he bowed before you, dropping to his knees. Eyes locked onto your own without a single fear, cruel acceptance surrounding dark pupils. “It’s alright. I deserve to die. I’ve broken your trust, boss. I might as well be a traitor to the Mafia.” He swallowed, though he was unwavering. “I don’t want to live with this feeling any longer.”

“Don’t say that.” you spat, hating that such a strong man was giving himself over, exposing every weary weakness that he’d come to carry. “You don’t mean it.”

“I do.” He sighed, straightening his spine as he leaned forward towards your hand, much as you had done before, and you realized that this was such a sick, twisted change of fate. That the affection you’d always doubted was real after all, but Chuuya was still left playing the fool.

Perhaps, you were of the same vein, wanting desperately to die in the heavenly hand of the one you loved most. You could understand him for that. You could grant him one final wish.

“Do you regret any of it?” Dazai asked, as the wheels in your head spun, the decision dawning upon you, handed over from the ancient tragedies, rival even to the gloomy romances of Shakespeare.

Chuuya shifted towards the other man, looking into his cold, distant eyes. “No,” he said honestly, his jaw set. “I don’t regret it because now I know she’ll never love me. She’s all yours Dazai. Always has been. Always will be. Does that satisfy you?”

There wasn’t an ounce of fury in his expression when Dazai smiled back.

“You heard him,” Dazai said, lifting your limp arm by the elbow, pointing it like a skilled tutor. The gun was on Chuuya’s forehead, between his eyebrows, and your finger was on the trigger. Dazai’s whisper was like the Devil on your shoulder, and you were falling fast, your last shred of morality burnt from papery resolve. His hand supported your weakened muscles, guiding you along like you’d never before committed such an act. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes before cocking the gun, mustering up the last bit of strength you had left. Chuuya couldn’t have looked more prepared for death, and you basked in Dazai’s prideful smile as he branded it into the crook of your neck.

“You’re certain?” you said to Chuuya, once more, hand no longer shaking despite your guilt.

The man, nothing more than a victim, nodded, and he had the audacity to smile, to look peaceful about his release from this life.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my sin.” “It’s mine to carry, just as it is yours,” he scoffed, eyes hard with resolve. “Of all the things that would land me in Hell, I hardly believe this is the worst.”

You nodded, regrettably, and took a steely breath, erasing the heat the stung behind your eyes.

Then, you pulled the trigger. You waited for Chuuya’s brains to stain your floors, for the remnants of his skull to shatter all across the wall behind him. For the life to slowly drain from his stunningly bright eyes, leaving you with nothing but a corpse that would rot away wherever Dazai chose to toss his body.

Though, none of those things happened, and you stared at each other with fierce incredulity, knowing that you’d unwillingly become puppets in Dazai’s dramatic play, a show put on for no one’s entertainment but his own.

You’d been completely senseless, an idiot, really. The gun had felt lighter than usual, and you’d ignored it, even when you should’ve known it housed no bullets.

“Dazai?” you said in a low voice, dangerously, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. An anger you’d never felt before had bubbled up inside of you, your heart thundering with a fierceness you hadn’t realized was a part of you. “There’s no bullets.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed, taking the gun away like it was but a toy, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. “I’d never kill the strongest ability-user in the Mafia. You both should know me better by now.”

You scowled, the ugly expression marring your face, and Dazai frowned, leaning forward to appease you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You played me for a fool. Was all of this an act?” you cried, wondering if maybe Dazai had been lying this entire time. Maybe all those sweet words he said had never been true, and you had fallen for them anyway, like the mindless pawn you were.

“Which part?” Dazai asked, but you could tell that he knew what answer you sought, what lies you wanted to unveil.

“You know which part,” you said, moving away from him, not sure what emotion to grant control. You felt an intense amount of fury, misery, and pity for yourself, who’d never asked Dazai for anything but to be on your side, and he still couldn’t give you that. “Fuck you, Dazai.”

Your lip quivered, but if you’d begun to cry, shame would swallow you up and drown you in the dark abyss of misery. You would have no other choice but to throw yourself out the window, where everyone in the Port Mafia could bear witness to all the ways that Dazai had ruined you.

“Boss—”

Chuuya’s sentence was cut off sharply.

You’d tried to climb out of the bed, but Dazai had grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could escape from him once and for all. Though he spoke to Chuuya, his eyes were hard on you, never leaving the set he stared into as you swallowed over and over, trying to think of anything but the sick feeling in your chest.

“You can leave now, Chuuya. Consider this your lucky day.” His voice was icy, threatening, and though Chuuya lingered a moment before climbing to his feet, he spared you nothing but a small glance in return.

You inhaled, then exhaled, trying to stop the simmering of blood within your veins, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on your wrist. As you sat there in silence, waiting for him to be the one to break it, you started to wonder how much of this was really Dazai’s fault, and how much you were the one to blame.

“It was a test.” Dazai tried to bring your attention back to him, letting only a fragment of emotion drain into his voice, though it was enough to slowly, slowly pique your fascination once more. “That was all.”

You wet your lips, though your tongue was just as papery. “So none of it was real.”

“What do you mean?” Dazai came to sit in front of you, his skin pale in the dark lighting, and you could see the cracks in his facade, and maybe this splinter in your failing relationship would slowly begin to heal itself. “Everything I said was very much real.”

His soft fingertips traveled up your arm, curling around your shoulder, across your collarbone, before settling in that delicate space between your jaw and your ear. There was a starry look in his eyes, the twin pair that had been exposed.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” you said, scrunching your face in remorse, wanting to slither away from him, even as he drew you closer, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he wore, the liquor that he favored when you were away. His hair had been freshly washed, and the smell of shampoo still lingered, even under the thin layer of sweat.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” Dazai countered, the hurt not veiled in the slightest this time, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you were looking away, wondering why he was pulling you close to his chest when he should be hating you with the passion of a thousand fiends. “How could I trust you after that?”

You parted your lips to speak, but your jaw was locked, and the inside of your mouth tasted like cotton.

“I’m not a good man,” Dazai said, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, and you squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to his bicep. “You’ve always known this. Yet, for as often as you talk about me with disgust dripping from your words, I’ve never sought to bring you pain.” He breathed in deeply, and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how much longer it’d be before you wept. “You’ve caused me pain.”

You tried to cry out, to tell him that you never thought it would hurt him, but he’d seen the very same in you, hadn’t he? You’d never given him any indication that the coldness in his words was bothering you, that the blurred lines of your relationship were getting confusing and hurtful, and he had done the same.

“We’re not good for each other, Osamu,” you whispered quietly, your lip quivering. The weight of your voice shattered against your vocal cords.

He let out a breathy laugh, smiling against your forehead. “On the contrary, I think we’re the perfect fit.”

For what reason he believed that, you weren’t sure.

You clenched your jaw tight, but it didn’t stop the feeling of tears from overwhelming you, hot droplets that spilled heavy from your eyes, running off your chin to Dazai’s chest. Your hands shook, clenched around his arms so tightly you were sure you were breaking the skin.

Dazai pulled away, monitoring your face with concern. You hated the way he looked at you with such pity when he was the reason for such pain. Yet, you couldn’t help but curl into him, warm, never wanting to escape from his reverence. “Why are you crying, my sweet angel?”

Nausea soured your mouth, and the regret that tinged you, tainted you, was vastly overwhelming. It was horrible in a way that you’d never felt.

It struck you, then, that you’d been blind to Dazai’s every affection, too ignorant to notice the ways that they had shifted as his life did. He no longer held your hand over the table during meetings, but the chair beside his was just as grandiose, and he greeted you with something of a smile when you walked into each room. He no longer accompanied you on assignments, but you were always taken care of, in a hotel most people couldn’t afford with a partner that could singlehandedly take out a hundred men. He no longer picked you flowers from a wild field as he’d done as a boy, but the vase on the table always held a beautiful bouquet of deep, red roses, without a single wilting flower.  

Chuuya, all this time, all these years had been right. There was no use in loving Dazai if you couldn’t stand him in his darkest hour, the bitter ugly side of him that no one wanted to see.

You’d never thought about it, really, but you’d changed just as he had. Everyone in the Mafia had blood on their hands, was ruined in more ways than one, and you were no exception. If loving Dazai meant loving those parts of him, then loving you meant just the same.

The tears fell harder, and Dazai seemed panicked, stricken, always so oblivious when it came to the affairs of your heart, and sometimes he tried, but you couldn’t hate him if he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said pitifully, knowing from the spoiled heart in your very chest had ruined everything. “I’m sorry.” You said it again and again until Dazai was shushing you, running a large, cool palm down your back, the only way he knew to soothe you.

“I wish I’d never done it. I wish I’d just spoken to you, asked you, anything—” you wiped your face, heavy breaths stuttering before Dazai took your hands away, and erased the tears for you. “I just thought you hated me. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Dazai smiled sadly, because no one had taught him to love. How was he to know that he’d been doing it wrong all this time. “I wish I’d seen it before. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He sighed, dropping his head to your shoulder with a weariness that he’d been born with. “I’m sorry.”

A tingling sensation began under your skin, and you were warm all over, realizing just how much that apology had meant to you. For some reason, it felt like coming home.

The strong grip that nostalgia had on you gradually began to melt away.

[honeybunhottie]

Oo headcanons for Chris or Josh crushing bad on Alt!reader? maybe like a gothic or metalhead style?

feel like both would be absolutely geeked about some scary looking women!!!

- 🦐

Omg I love this idea! Sorry in advance if this is totally off, I'm not super knowledgeable about the styles or culture but I tried my best! Please keep sending requests!!

Chris and Josh with an Alt! Reader

We’ll do this before the events of the game because I feel like they’d have too much going on otherwise.

Chris

This man LOVES alt baddies and I can say this for a fact

My source? I’ve never known a nerdy man who didn’t like an alt baddie

He and Josh are jokesters through and through. And also lowkey pervs

I can just imagine one day Josh is teasing him about never getting any

And then here walks by you, dressed head to toe in an outfit that’d probably make his mother scream

And he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Immediately his friends catch onto his (frankly, not subtle stare) and start teasing him

Eventually they have some pity and tell him your name at least.

This man makes it his mission to have an interaction with you

Spends at least a month stalking observing you in the hallways

What outfits you wear, what your friends wear, your fav eyeliner brand, how much you hate your lab partner, your plans after school, all of it

One time you bumped into each other and dropped your notebook

Papers flying everywhere and all

He helps you collect them all, and when your fingertips brush his hand feels like it’s evaporated. He didn’t know it was possible for appendages to feel like sparkling water, but here it was happening

When you say a simple “Thanks, Chris” he swears his heart stops

He kicks himself for the gaping stare he gave in response as he stuttered out something unintelligible. Like it seriously keeps him awake at night 

He knows he’s bordering on the weird line of things, but there’s literally no chance you guys would cross paths otherwise (in his mind at least)

Because little does he know, the was also a fact about alt baddies

I’ve never met one who didn’t VICERALLY NEED a nerdy man

Yep, you have noticed this blond nerd always around

Yes, you did think he was cute

And yes, your friends absolutely do notice

Eventually, they get tired of your mutual pining because it’s more than obvious that neither of you has enough balls to ask each other out. 

They set up a plan with the other squad to set you up, because everyone is tired of these two dorks fumbling around each other

They decide to pull the “make group plans but nobody shows up” card for the new movie coming out

Chris is chilling in the hallway on his phone,anxiously glancing at the door every other minute because why the hell aren’t they here yet?

He freaks out when he sees you walk in, dressed even cooler than usual, all by your lonesome. 

You seem lost, looking for something before checking your phone. You sport a flustered look afterwards.

At the same time, Chris feels his phone buzz with a text too

‘Have fun man!’

‘Good luck!!’

‘Take ‘em to the bone zone buddy!’

He rolls his eyes at the last one before realizing what they’re referring to

He looks up from his phone only to get jumpscared by you standing right next to him

“Looks like we’ve been set up”

He immediately starts apologizing before you put a finger to his lips to shush him’

“I’m kinda looking forward to this”

Lord help him

He’s still singing Josh’s praises years later though, so something worked out right!

Josh

I loveeeee Josh

And nothing about this man screams subtle to me

Will he immediately tell you to your face how hot he thinks you are?

Probably not

Will he find every opportunity to hang out and find things in common with you?

Yes, 100%

This man is around every corner, every turn with that bewitching stare and stupid laugh

I feel like he would love your alt style. I mean he’s super into horror movies and the darker side of things, I feel like he’d enjoy someone different.

Flirty jokes galore, he loves making them, he’s kinda weird like that

He loves it if you match his energy too

He’s always asking about what music you’re into, have you seen that new movie? There’s this new haunted house coming soon.

He loves quality time, and he wants to become friends before he makes a move or anything.

Once you guys are FRIENDS, then he starts making moves

This man is playing chess while we are playing checkers

I have a feeling that it’s not too noticeable at first

Lots of jokes still

Lots of “jk jk, unless…”

Nahhhh

Unless…

He’s always getting you the new album for your fav band, or buying you cool stuff when he gets dragged to the mall with his sisters.

Is a firm believer that it’ll happen if it happens

And is very content to just ride along with you.

Overall, 10/10 we love them both

[enteroctopusdarkysilis]

✨Kamino’s citadel challenge !✨

I am…very excited about this one. I’ve had this vision for a long time, and I’m so happy it’s ended up looking like that.

Now, there are a lot of things I’ll go into details along close ups under the cut; the only thing I’ll mention above is that I’m very grateful for TCW’s episode guides’ artworks, without which this would have been quite a hassle.

Okay ! Before diving into all the details and things, here is a view from above, to really display how big it is. Dimension-wise, the plank I built it on is around 110*70cm.

Now of course, the first detail which is noticeable is the floor, because, well, it’s everywhere.

This was probably the most challenging part of the build, because making a grid out of Lego is tough. Most of it is rows and rows of dark square, light lines, separated by 1*n tiles. It was the easiest way to get this pattern with as if it were just tiles; because this is one of the objectives I had here : most of this MOC is smooth, except for a few zones (usually voluntarily).

The fact I used this technic means that the floor in most place isn’t very stable, but it actually holds up pretty well because of some hidden connection points with the foundations underneath, which are mostly hidden under the cover blocks.

Here for instance, I’m using modified 1*2 bricks with a Technic hole : it hold the cover block, and it also attaches the floor to the foundation.

Of course, another problem I ran into were slopes. Much harder to get a smooth effect with the technic I’ve used, so it’s a bit wonky and unstable. Also, most them are not aligned properly, which is visible in the picture above (and some area have some really big misalignments because of a few problems I probably won’t bore anyone reading this with).

Now, since they’re also here, I can deal with the cover blocks. These were, among the details, the hardest to figure out, to get a good size while keeping some texture. Eventually I came up with this design, which, ironically enough, uses the same technic the floor uses, in a different orientation.

Another detail : the miradors :

This is one of the first elements I had in place, because I needed them to get a good sense of scale (and was made better by an existing concept art of a tower alone). Most of it does not have anything noteworthy, except for one illegal technic I used (can you spot it ?)

The pillar holding the roof of the mirador is using a technic I had in my toolbox for a long time, but had never had the occasion to use : if you take two 'brick' bricks and attach them perpendicularly on a snot brick, the small space separating the lines of 'bricks' align to let a 1*n tile in. It’s somewhat reliable (for an illegal technic) and an easy way to get octogonal shapes.

Now, before looking at the Citadel itself, let’s turn around for a minute.

This point of view obviously isn’t the intended one, but it’s still worth noting, if only for some composition.

Notice that the wall here is quite small (smaller than the miradors, even), and light gray; it’s in contrast with the towering dark gray wall on the other side, behind the citadel, which technically should give at least some impressions even to the people who never saw TCW.

Anyway, it’s also on this view that we can see most of my slope struggles, including the central one, which is the biggest I had to do.

And I can’t not mention the most important element :

What would be the challenge without a squad of clones to take it on ? These clones (4 privates and a sergent) are ready to fight ! Well. Kinda. I wish I could have actual cadets, but they are not part of the Lego universe (and the floor was enough of a fee, I can’t afford to get customs figures too). I wish I had the Dominos though. I have TBB Echo, and I plan to get my hands on Fives at some point, but they wouldn’t fit here, sadly, so instead I used some movie accurate clones (because all the others are used for a project I still haven’t posted..maybe later…)

Notably, I at some point tried to get the elevator to work - needless to say it was a disaster (it’s too close to the plate underneath to make something working).

Now, without further ado. The citadel.

I’m very proud of it. I got the proportions just right (I actually made some measurements to make sure of it), and there is just enough texture to not make it bland while leaving it as artificial. This alone took roughly 8-10h (which were all spent during an accidental all nighter, whoops), but it was worth it. It’s completely empty inside, and, in fact, the wall behind it isn’t full as well, anything behind the citadel is opened. The spikes are simple 1*3 angle plates illegally connected, and the walls’ small details were made with a bunch of modified 1*2 plates, there isn’t anything really special in it.

The only really complicated zone was the middle tower, because I had to put all the cannons while keeping it clean and smooth, and including the vertical lime lines. It was a fun challenge. And I included the 'flag' At the top, too, just a red transparent cone on a stick (there’s no need for more), which peeks above the gray wall (for composition and because of a lack of pieces).

Anyway, such a long project deserves one behind the scene photo :

Yes, my desk is messy (and include my mandatory tea cup).

On the left, you can see my remaining floor tiles, which have not been used yet; and just under the citadel, you might notice the foundations visible; it’s a checker of 2*2 tiles which gives my floor a good base to be fixed on. There are also some slopes which haven’t been placed yet (in front of the background miradors), and at this steps, there were no cover blocks or walls yet.

As far as my tools go, you might notice brick separators scattered all around my work environment (I never have enough of those), as well as a tablet in the bottom right hand corner (which i use to check and measure concept arts), and in the middle, the red triangle is an official (albeit old) Lego measurement tool which counts in stud, Lego bar holes and axe length.

Also visible, finally, is the bottom of the foundations, which are stacks of 1*2 bricks (each of the three floor layer is separated by a height of 3 bricks), which means that looking directly under it can lead to watching the dark basement of my build (which isn’t aesthetic…).

Anyway, if you read until here, thanks, I guess ? I still have a few TCW related stuff (a small one next week, some other in the foreseeable feature), so feel free to stick around and maybe leave a note, if you feel like it ? That’s it, bye !

[binothesteptrashcan]

Ok it’s ranking Fives time and I’ve definitely forgotten a couple but now they’re all dead anyway so whatever also Season 4 Spoiler Warning

1.Brisket Five- Iconic. Apparently always wrecking shit for the other Fives and seems to take pride in it. I feel like he was the one who created the commission bc he just has that aura of I Want to Cause Problems. Wish we got a full episode on him and why he’s named Brisket Five and the other shit he wrecked instead of ep 5.

2. Apocalypse Five- I mean he tried to kill Homewrecker Five what more could you want in a man. Only second because he missed.

3.News Paper Five- Great with numbers even by Five standards. Opens up questions about the news paper itself like what timeline is it from? Is it a Five produced newspaper? He is in a timeless zone why is he reading a newspaper? Is it just for the crossword/sudoku? It’s probably just for the crossword/sudoku.

4.Drunk Five- me too buddy me too. Presumably got kicked out of the deli/diner/whatever it was and I hope it was because he saw Homewrecker Five coming and was preparing to get rid of the lowest common denominator.

5.Waiter Five- I don’t trust him no real Five would ever work customer service willingly there’s something else going on but he also serves Homewrecker Five a sandwich without enough sauerkraut and sucky coffee so points for that.

6.Booth Five- Boring. Bland. Might as well be Shitty Exposition Five and his only redeeming quality is that I must assume he was trying to motivate Homewrecker Five by telling him to give up so he would do the opposite and save everyone which clearly backfired.

7.Literally Any Other Five I’ve Missed- idk like Old Man/Technically Mentally Younger Five from seasons past or Baby Five or Pre-Time Travel Five you get the picture.

8. Homewrecker Five- Last and certainly Least what the fuck dude. Why are you like that. Why did you give up on your family your entire life has been about getting back to them and keeping them safe like you didn’t even try? Also why not go get Delores????? why did you not tell Lila about the way home immediately????? What the fuck is wrong with you????? Why are you working for the CIA and how did you not notice your boss was in a fucking cult he had a tattoo????? Fully convinced Five from seasons 1-3 was actually either Brisket Five or Waiter Five and he got fucked over by some cosmic entity and is being forced to work customer service and is currently biding his time before he goes and saves his family for realsies.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[waitingonher]

hiii!! I saw your Percy x Hecate reader and was wondering if you could do a percy x Aphrodite reader?? 🫶🏽🫶🏽

percy jackson dating a child of aphrodite

pairing: percy jackson x reader

content warning: coupley things

word count: 916

author's note: hi!! sorry this took so long (finals r around the corner) enjoy tho! i also put my own gas station order in this LOL

you and percy have got to be the most attractive couple on the planet. honestly, it’s an unspoken camp rite of passage to have a crush on at least one of you two. everyone literally has their own story about how they have/had a crush on either you or percy (or both) it’s crazy. 

percy is such a green flag!! 

HE FOLLOWS THE SIDEWALK RULE. no matter where you are, you WILL be walking on the inside. 

you could be on a super dangerous quest being chased by monsters and percy would still make sure he’s running on the outside. like i’m pretty sure being ran over is the least of your worries… but it’s still cute.

percy is actually so obsessed with the fact that you can speak french/other romance languages. he’d make up any excuse just to hear you speak them.

all of a sudden he’s paying attention in his spanish class and he needs your help pronouncing certain words!! 

or one day he’d randomly come up to you and would start speaking to you in french??? turns out he’s been secretly learning it without you knowing?? percy’s 387 day duolingo streak is all because he wanted to hear you speak your language more. he’s definitely dedicated!

sometimes when you’re talking, percy would suddenly be like “wow, she’s so pretty???” and he’d (accidentally) zone out, just completely admiring you. he knows that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, but sometimes he just has to take a moment to take it all in. 

shopping dates with percy!! 

you’d ask him which top looks the best on you and then he’d tell you all of them?? he really thinks you can afford all 10 shirts you showed him.

“perce, between those three pants, which one looked better on me?” you ask, holding one of the pairs against your body.  your boyfriend looks deep in thought before coming to a decision, “all of them,” he declares. “babe,” you groan, “you can’t choose them all, choose one.”  percy looks genuinely worried when he realizes he has to actually decide on one, because he thinks that you looked absolutely gorgeous in all of them. so he comes up with the only other idea that makes sense, “well i don’t mind buying them all for you. besides, you looked super great in them.”  you immediately shake your head, “percy, i’m not about to let you drop $150 on three pairs of pants. that’s actually insane.”  “but-”  “no percy.” 

HE KNOWS WHAT COLOR JEWELRY YOU WEAR. percy absolutely refuses to be one of those lousy boyfriends who don't even know what kind of jewelry their girlfriend wears. 

he’s been patiently waiting for the day when someone asks which color you prefer.  

this guy has your gas station order down to a tee! 

percy walks up to the passenger door with a plastic white bag in hand. he opens the door and begins to take out its contents, “thanks perce! you got my-”  “i got your arizona, the green tea flavor, and your hot fries. and yes, i made sure to shake all the bags to make sure i got the one that was optimally filled,” he responds, a smug expression spreading across his face.  with an impressed look, you nod your head in approval, “wow babe, you’ve really got my order down.”   percy nods his head pridefully, “i know.” 

dates where you two have to dress up are one of his favorites!! 

him seeing you all dolled up…whewww…someone call 911 for him. 

despite how much percy hates dressing up, he’d do it if it means he gets to see you all dressed up. 

percy makes you flower bouquets!! 

they’re always so unique and special every time?? you didn’t even know that camp had such a wide variety of flowers until he started making you bouquets. 

and he always makes sure to keep a flower in his cabin so he knows when it’s time to make you a new one jdfsklds

one of percy’s favorite things to do with you are little skincare nights! 

you’d come over to his cabin and you guys would light some candles and make tea. overall it’s a very calming ambience! 

even though it’s terrible for his skin, percy has an affinity for peel-off face masks. every single time, without fail, he’ll make some sort of joke about how he’s shedding. LMAO 

you look over in the bathroom mirror to see your boyfriend applying the very thing you hate, a peel-off face mask, “love, why can’t you be normal and use a sheet mask for once? or even a clay one like mine?” you point to your face.  percy takes a quick glance at you in the mirror and shrugs, continuing to apply the mask onto his skin, “those ones are lame, and it’s not fun if i can’t peel it off,” he responds, very concentrated on spreading the mask around. you cringe when he gets a glob of the mask onto his fluffy headband.  “well the formulas aren’t really good and it’s super irritating for your skin, babe,” you tell him, hoping that the thought of a damaged skin barrier scares him out of using peel-off masks.  “y/n, you can have the good skin. i’m fine with a damaged skin barrier or whatever,” percy replies, trying to remove the mask from his headband.  you roll your eyes, “whatever, lizard face.” 

you two are actually a match made in heaven <333