#beach scene continues next week

[thequeenwechoose]

Alicent Hightower's blue green dress in 4k

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WASTELAND, BABY (I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: at the beach house, you can pretend that nothing is wrong. you know that avoidance will only get you so far, but you can't help but want to treasure the time you have with dazai... you don't know how much longer you'll have before everything catches up to you. until then, you'll enjoy the peace that you have, even if dazai does seem oddly intent on ruining it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: another week of minimal activity </3 sorry lil love bugs ive been so busy. BUT take civzai6!! and treasure it because this is the only chill chapter for quite a bit!! HAHAHHH no but for real i enjoyed this chapter so much that i literally had to split it in two because i wrote too much HAHAH, same goes for the next chapter ;) as always, reblogs are very appreciated!

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

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from the other series - if you guys read waterloo, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole chapter just because there's 2-3k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the FINAL scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in waterloo, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. dazai has some insecure thoughts. he's also actively being self destructive. this is an easy chapter—calm before the storm. not much to warn. i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, praise, dazai cries a bit, lil bit of body worship (f->m), sub!dazai, mostly pretty vanilla - short and sweet

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai wakes up to the sun peeking through the blinds of the bedroom he’d shared with you and the scent of pancakes wafting through the air. His lips twitch up into a small smile as he stretches, letting out a soft sigh as he sinks into the comfortable mattress. 

He thinks he slept better last night than he’s slept in his entire life. He’s always been plagued with restlessness, he can hardly ever sleep and when he does, he’s haunted by faces he’d rather not see again: Oda’s bloodstained face looking up at him as he dies in Dazai’s arms, the glassy eyes of his mother as she swings slowly from a rope, his aunt’s twisted expression as she throws Dazai to the ground in Suribachi, the hurt look in Ango’s eyes as he took all of the vile insults that Dazai spat at him. Dazai dreads sleeping about as much as the average person dreads ever having to confront their worst fear.

But last night? Last night, Dazai slept peacefully. He fell asleep curled up in your arms, laying on top of you—you’d still been awake, tracing patterns on his back through his shirt. You’d been distracted by something all day yesterday; from when you picked him up at the hospital to when you laid down with him in bed that night, something had been bothering you. Your phone had been buzzing nonstop, call after call and text after text—you didn’t bother checking it but he could tell it was stressing you out.

He tried to ask you about it but you blew it off every time. Dazai supposes he should have expected that from you but your evasion was still irritating, especially after the conversation the two of you had yesterday. You had the nerve to try to distract him with movies and figuring out how to bake a cake with him; he had the nerve to fall for the weak attempts at distracting him.

He yawns as he pushes himself to a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes and tossing the blankets off. He tugs at the short sleeves of his t-shirt, feeling a bit too exposed. The bandages covering his wrists and arms are frayed—he’ll need to grab new ones to rewrap them soon, he hasn’t checked the bathroom to see if you had any stored. His shoulders ache a bit, he winces as he rolls them before making his way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

You’re standing at the stove, hand on your hip as you frown down at whatever you’re cooking. You’re still dressed in your pajamas—a thin black cami and loose shorts—and Dazai yearns, he feels it deep in his chest, feels it as a lump in his throat and a heaviness in his stomach. Because he could… he could picture it… he could picture a future with you.

He could imagine waking up to you every day—you’d always wake up before him because you somehow always wake up at the ass crack of dawn. You’d usually be dealing with some of your shady business when he wakes up, sitting at the kitchen table typing away at your phone, maybe you’d sometimes be on calls and you’d lift a finger to your lips to hush him when you realize he wakes up. Every once in a while, he’d wake up to you making breakfast for him—you told him that you enjoy cooking when you have the time for it, so Dazai imagines that it would be a rare treat.

Like today.

But still, he can’t help but wonder why today? Your phone had been blowing up last night and now… now, it’s sitting on the marble counter, screen dark and not buzzing at all. He glances up at you once to make sure you’re still looking at the stove and then shifts over to the counter quietly, discreetly pressing his finger against the screen to see if your phone is even on and then frowns when he realizes that you did, in fact, turn it off.

What is going on that has you so avoidant that you’d rather turn your phone off than confront it? His mind races to all of the things you’ve been bitching to him about, remembers that you told him you weren’t responding for days because you’d been busy finishing up negotiations with the Shimazaki-kai… is it something new, maybe? But why aren’t you handling it then? It doesn’t make any sense.

Dazai makes his way over to you, feet padding softly against the ground until he’s standing behind you. He slips his arms around your waist and plops his chin onto your shoulder, humming softly as he nudges his nose against your ear before resting the side of his head against yours.

“Good morning,” he says, voice still a bit rough with sleep. “Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes,” you reply easily and Dazai’s heart swells when you lean back into his chest, fueling the fantasy of his imagined future even more. God, he’s been waiting for the ball to drop since you talked to him out on the cliff’s edge—you can’t keep giving him hope like this, he can feel it blooming in his chest and he knows that there’s going to be something to ruin it because that’s just how his life goes but… “I don’t think they came out good though.”

“I’ll eat them anyway,” Dazai says immediately.

“You’ll probably get food poisoning.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

You do.

Two words, so simple and yet they ring through his head over and over again so loudly. You care. You do care. You implied it last night when you told him you wanted him, that it scares you how bad you want him because of his life being at risk, but you hadn’t out right said it until now and it’s a devastating blow. Fatal, really.

The puff of air he lets out is shaky and when you turn to look at him, confused, he can only barely muster a smile as he asks hesitantly, “You do?”

The last time he asked you this, you changed the subject and evaded answering—he took it as an answer in itself, that you don’t care… but now, he’s let himself hope again, hope that maybe this time your answer will be different. What a treacherous thing, really, because even now he can feel the dark claws of anxiety start tugging at his heart in different directions, yanking it around and stretching it until it’s painful. He thinks it would’ve just been easier to carve it out and hand it over to you.

“I do,” you finally say, voice quiet. “I care.”

Dazai lets out a long breath, one that he hardly recognized he was holding, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder to hide his face against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist as his lips curve up, he presses his lips to your neck but for some reason, he can’t fully discard the dreadful feeling in his chest.

Even with your assurances and finally verbally admitting that you care about him, it’s like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for something to shatter his idyllic paradise. And he has a feeling he knows exactly what will do it. So because Dazai is Dazai and he has been self-destructive since the day he was born, he brings it up.

“Why’s your phone been blowing up?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively light like he’s just trying to have a normal conversation with you—you don’t fall for it. When you immediately stiffen in his arms, Dazai almost wants to backtrack.

“Nothing important,” you say, voice tight, forcing a smile onto your face as you step away to look up at him. “Nothing to worry about. Want to help me remake the pancakes?”

You use the same tactic Dazai used on you after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment. You’re good too because even though Dazai knows what you’re doing, he still wants to give in. Wants to play domestic with you, make breakfast together and then sit at the table and eat. But he can’t, so while you’re good at using the same tactic that Dazai used against you, you’re ultimately unsuccessful because he doesn’t show you the same grace that you showed him.

“Tell me anyway?” Dazai asks softly. “Even if it’s not important?”

You stare at Dazai for a moment, your lips pressed together and he could imagine the thoughts running through your head—how he’s never satisfied, and how he always has to push you. He can imagine you voicing it again, telling him how it’s always what he wants, but you don’t.

Instead, you shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it, it’s stressing me out. I would rather just make breakfast with you,” you say. 

Your voice becomes a bit more tense and Dazai knows that he should stop pushing, that it would be smart to stop now, but Dazai’s track record for dumb decisions gets longer instead.

“Maybe I can help,” he prods, taking a step closer to you, reaching out to rest his hands faintly on your hips. He nudges his head forward, pushing his nose against yours before smiling softly and pressing his lips to yours. “Tell me, please.”

Let me in.

Dazai’s eyes are big and earnest as he stares down at you, fingers digging just the slightest bit further into your hips. Your expression is unrelenting, much to his distress.

“It’s mafia business,” you finally say.

“You’ve told me about mafia business before.”

You exhale sharply, brushing his hands off of you and taking a step away, and Dazai knows he’s pressing too much—doesn’t even know why he’s pressing because he knows that it’ll shatter the illusion of peace that the past half a day in the beach house has given him. 

Maybe that’s what he wants, for it to be ruined before he can get used to it.

You look out the window and don’t speak for a moment. Dazai itches to move closer to you again but his feet are rooted to the ground. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall forward a bit, shaking it as you turn back around to face him.

“Another organization has arrived in Yokohama,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet his. “A dangerous one. The Port Mafia… the executives are meeting to figure out how to handle the situation.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment. “You’re an executive.”

“I am.”

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

“But… why?” Dazai asks, voice hitching at the implications of it, not wanting to get his hopes up but unable to stop himself from it at the same time. “Why are you here?”

You stare at him silently for a moment and then you say quietly, “The call for the meeting came at the same time I got the voicemail from the hospital. I chose to go to you.”

Dazai’s breath catches as he breathes in and shakes terribly as he breathes out, unable to draw his gaze away from you. You… “You chose me,” he whispers.

“I chose you,” you repeat, swallowing as you turn your gaze down. “I did. I chose you.”

“Do you regret it?” Dazai asks softly—he wonders if he hopes you’ll say yes, that you’ll quash his hope before it’s too late.

“No,” you say. “I don’t.”

And Dazai doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been wanted before. Never been someone’s first choice. Dazai has always been the one left behind for others, discarded for a better option. His throat is uncomfortably tight and his fingers are shaking a bit, and he doesn’t have pockets to hide them in now so they’re in full view of your vision before he clasps his hands behind his back.

But it’s too late—you’ve already seen it and you’re taking a step closer to him. You reach out to cup his cheek with one of your hands and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“I don’t regret anything about you, Dazai Osamu,” you say quietly, so honestly that it makes a shiver run down Dazai’s spine, unintentionally letting out a soft noise in the back of his throat that he’s unable to smother. “Not a single thing.”

“Well, that can’t possibly be true,” Dazai tries to joke, to play off how much you’ve rattled him with only a few words, but you aren’t fooled by his tricks.

“It’s true.”

Dazai stares at you, his eyes sting and his fingers are shaking even more than they’d been before. The pads of your fingers burn against his cheek and Dazai thinks you’ve ruined him. You’ve ruined him entirely. You’ve shattered all of his carefully crafted walls, the ones that protect him from situations just like this, the ones that prevent him from being burned just like he has countless times before. You’ve ruined him and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll be able to put himself together again if this ends poorly.

He doesn’t know what to say in response to your words and he can’t handle the way you’re staring at him so intensely, so Dazai decides to change the subject with a shaky smile and a terrifying amount of hope blooming within him.

“Maybe you just need a fresh set of eyes. Tell me about this organization, I can try to help.”

You don’t even know why you’re considering this. 

Dazai bounds next to you in the sand chatting about his poetry workship. He still won’t tell you what the project he’s writing on is about but he does seem to be mighty pleased with how it’s coming out since he’s bragging about how his is clearly the best of all of his classmates’ and that he’s sure he’s going to get the best grade on it. It’s cute, you think, a fond smile twitching to the corner of your lips as you watch him from the corner of your eye.

It’s still only mid-morning, the sun paints a pretty glow over the private beach and Dazai looks so… alive beneath it. His smile is bright and genuine, skin flushed and radiant, eyes reminiscent of pools of honey—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so bright before. His fingers thrum excitedly against the book he’s bringing down to the beach with him: The Aeneid—he’s read it before, he very snootily told you when you side-eyed him for grabbing it, he just needs to refresh on it for his creative writing class.

When the two of you get down to the shore, you sit down in the sand right near the water’s edge, dipping your feet into the cool water. Dazai plops down next to you, pressing his shoulder against yours and you itch to wrap your arm around his waist, slide your hand under the comfy sweatshirt he’s wearing to rub circles over the bandages covering his skin, but your hands stay stiff in your lap as you stare down at the phone resting on your lap.

You have half a mind to toss it right into the bay. 

But then Dazai nudges you, waiting for you to start talking, and you sigh, looking back across the bay.

“They call themselves the Guild,” you finally say. You can feel Dazai’s eyes on you, curious, and you think maybe you should quit while you’re ahead but you find yourself speaking anyway. “They’re a kind of… secret society. Based in North America. They’re powerful. A lot of influence throughout the world.”

“Why are they here?” Dazai asks and you can feel the way his face twists as he then adds, “More influence than you?”

You can’t help the amused smile that twitches to your lips at his words. “I’m not the end all of political influence, Dazai,” you tell him, the tension in your shoulders slipping away as you tilt your head to the side to look at him

Dazai gives you a look. “Please, I was at that event. I heard the way people talked about you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the most influential person in Japan.”

“Probably the eastern hemisphere,” you correct, quite humbly, snorting as Dazai rolls his eyes. “No, I’m kidding. I have a lot of influence but there are plenty with more than me, especially considering I’m held back by the fact that I can’t make myself a public figure. Having to perpetually work behind the scenes is pretty… crippling.”

“You go to the big government events though,” Dazai frowns. “Those are-”

“Very, very confidential unless certain cockroaches worm their way in and feed information to the public,” you say dryly, watching as Dazai gives you an offended look. 

“Did you just call me a cockroach?”

“If the shoe fits.” You shrug.

“My bella hates me,” Dazai sighs whimsically, dropping his head on your shoulder. “She thinks I’m a bug. A cockroach.”

You soften when he comes in contact with you, lifting your hand to cradle the side of his head. Your lips curl up into a small smile when Dazai’s lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. You brush your fingers through his hair, choosing your words carefully as you continue to explain what’s going on in spite of your better judgment.

“Anyway, they have more influence than me. I’ve been working all night trying to figure out what to do, pulled as many strings as I can trying to get the government to push them out of Yokohama but they’ve eaten their way right into the heart of Japan. They’ve been granted diplomatic immunity and they’re putting pressure on the government to try to get us—the Port Mafia—and some government agencies that are protesting the invasion of the city to back off. They’re trying to get their hands on a skilled business permit, we don’t know why but…”

“But you have suspicions,” Dazai finishes for you, sitting up straight again to watch you, ever perceptive. “Right?”

You don't respond for a moment as you watch him carefully. Dazai has always been perceptive—you’ve noticed it from early on when you would talk around the truth and he would train that sharp gaze on you, knowing that you were skirting around something but unable to figure out what. 

Honestly, it should be concerning. Dazai’s smarter than almost anyone you’ve ever met. He’s sharp and quick—proved it with the way he managed to get his hands on the tapes behind the Tokyo City Hall to get evidence of your mafia affiliation; even proved it before that when he recognized that he had to go about information gathering in a different manner, trying to pin down your political opinions because he knew which sectors supported which opinion and wanted to know which one you were a part of.

“Does it have something to do with me?”

“You’re so conceited, not everything has to do with you.”

Dazai flushes red, scowling at you and physically turning his back to you. “Well forgive me for assuming because you’ve certainly been acting like everything has to do with me.”

You smile as Dazai huffs shifting closer to press your lips against the nape of his neck, arms slipping around his waist. He gives you a dirty look but relaxes back into your chest, leaning into you. You slip your hands beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing them out over the bandages covering his slim torso, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch.

“They’re here because of something I did,” you finally admit quietly, ignoring as he looks up at you curiously. “One of the boys you met when you came to my apartment the first time… they had a bounty on the black market on him for seven billion yen.”

Dazai chokes, splutters over air as he looks up at you and squeaks out, “Seven billion-why?”

“We don’t know,” you say honestly. “I… didn’t think it was a good sign that they were putting so high of a bounty on a seemingly random ability user. It made me think there was more to it than meets the eye, that it would be… dangerous for us to hand him over to the Guild.”

Dazai’s brows furrow as he nods. “I mean, it makes sense. That much money for a what? Eighteen year old kid? Is his ability special?”

“He can turn into a tiger,” you tell him. “Can’t even control it.”

Dazai sits back up straight again, holding his book in his lap as he turns to face you, crossing his legs together. You feel a bit of fondness bubbling in your chest when you see how quickly he seems to be thinking, you can all but see the gears running swiftly behind his dark eyes.

“Is he the tiger? Is the tiger something of its own sentience? I did a research project on ability users two years ago, mostly I was just reading the studies of how they’re dragged into criminal organizations at a young age, but some of them talked about how some ability users can’t even control their ability because it’s like… a separate consciousness. Maybe it knows something? Or there are parts of his ability that he hasn’t been able to unlock yet?”

Is it sentient? Atsushi hadn’t made any mention of it and you hadn’t thought to ask. It wouldn’t be… unheard of. Dazai is right in that there’s been a record of ability users who claim that their abilities have a consciousness of their own. There’s a member of the SDUP, a higher up in the Family who you met a few years back, and even Chuuya. Arahabaki is its own sentient being within Chuuya, could that be why Atsushi can’t control his ability? You don’t know, you hadn’t really considered it but it’s definitely a possibility, and it would explain the Guild’s desperation to get their hands on him.

“Either way, I mean, I think you were definitely right to keep him close,” Dazai shrugs. “They clearly want him badly for a reason and since it’s not one that can be seen at face value, who knows what it could be.”

“I wish you had been at the meeting where I had to argue with all of them about it,” you say bitterly, still irritated over the hours you spent arguing with the other executives, who were dead set on getting the money from the bounty.

Dazai tilts his head to the side, an unreadable look crossing his face for a second but then he shakes his head and asks, “So political pressure isn’t working?”

“No. I mean, they don’t want the Americans here anymore than any of us but they don’t have a choice. After you fell asleep, I spent most of the night on the phone with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, talked to the US ambassador in Tokyo and asked our ambassador in the US to try to work with their government to get the Guild out of Japan. Got nowhere with it. If something could’ve been done politically to force them out of here, I would’ve gotten it done.”

You even called Tolstoy last night. You don’t like going to outsiders about domestic problems but you feel as if you’re backed into a corner—it’s your fault that the Guild is here and you can’t even do anything to fix it. And now-and now Dazai is at risk too. You have half a mind to keep him locked up in this beach house until you can figure everything out but you doubt that he’d stay in one place and he’s better off at your side than on his own.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, oblivious to the thoughts running through your head—or maybe not, he probably knows exactly how stressed you are about this. You’ve never been without your phone and you know you’re making a mistake by turning it off now but you just can’t bring yourself to turn it on, dreading whatever messages you might find. Chuuya’s rage at your disappearance, Kouyou’s disapproval and worst of all, Mori’s disappointment.

He would know where you are. Who you’re with. Why you disappeared and why you were unable to fix this before it became a major problem for the Mafia. He promised not to intervene if it didn’t affect Port Mafia business and you let it anyway. You ran to Dazai when you should have gone to the meeting and you can’t even bring yourself to regret it even when you know that you put him in danger, not just from your enemies but also from-

You feel Dazai’s hand brush your cheek as he reaches out, brows knit in concern as he looks at you and you realize that your breath has quickened noticeably, shallow and uneven. You try to calm yourself down but it only makes your heart rate spike more because you can’t figure out why you’re unable to get yourself under control.

“Hey,” Dazai says quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, but he sounds like he’s underwater. Or you’re underwater. Something isn’t right—you know what isn’t right, you know what’s happening but you can’t stop it. “Hey, it’s okay-”

It’s not okay. It’s very much not okay. Your fingers dig into the sand, the small grains getting stuck beneath your fingernails as you try to physically ground yourself. You never should have started talking about this with him—you’d known it was going to force you to confront everything you’ve been avoiding the past few hours, your failure and incapability but he asked you and you couldn’t-

You couldn’t say no.

You need to-

“You need to make them want to go back.”

You’re so caught off guard by Dazai’s words that it startles you right out of your spiral. Your gaze focuses on him and you watch as he starts to light up, excited. His hands drop to your wrists, holding them gently as he urges you to pay attention to him. 

“You need to make them want to go back,” he repeats, faster this time. “You can’t force them, so you have to make them choose to go on their own.”

You shake your head, still unsteady from your sudden bout of panic. You briefly shut your eyes and then say quietly, “Dazai, that’s a lot easier said than done. How-”

“The best defense is a good offense,” Dazai quotes at you, nearly vibrating. “Counterattack, do something to make them have to go back to America.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” you voice out loud, little over a breath. “Oh my god. Octavio.”

“Who?” Dazai blinks, staring at you as you fumble to turn your phone back on.

“Octavio Paz,” you say hurriedly, willing your phone to turn back on. “He’s the leader of one of Mexico’s biggest cartels, has been trying to expand his foothold into the central parts of the US for years but one of the Guild members—Twain, maybe, Steinbeck, one of them—they always prevented it. If I can get him to do something now-”

You’re stupid, you’re so stupid for not thinking of this sooner. Mori has always taught you it—the one that strikes the first blow wins the battle—you should’ve had Octavio Paz making movements in the US as soon as you decided to keep Atsushi with the Port Mafia. As soon as you were considering keeping Atsushi with the Port Mafia. You were stupid and you let the Guild make the opening move of the game, and now it could cost you.

But if you can act fast enough then maybe…

As your phone finally starts to turn on, you look back up at Dazai.

“I could kiss you,” you breathe out, watching his face light up at your approval. 

You almost find yourself a bit suspicious of how quickly he came to this conclusion, how naturally this thought process seemed to come to him. You had been struggling trying to figure out what to do and you have over a decade of experience now—you were too focused on the fact that they were already here, so focused on the defense that you were scrambling and blinded to the prospect of an offense. And yes, it might’ve just been stupidity on your part—stupidity and carelessness, that is—but Dazai is a twenty-two year old literature student, how the hell was he able to figure it out in a span of a handful of minutes while you’ve been so lost?

“What’s stopping you?” Dazai prods, leaning forward.

His eyes are wide and imploring, a warm golden color beneath the rays of the sun; his lips are curved up into a sweet smile and you let all of your suspicions wash away. You reach forward to cup his cheek, watching as he immediately presses his face into your hand, eyes sliding shut as he brushes his lips to your palm before looking back up at you, expectant.

You lean in and graze your lips against his but just as you consider deepening the kiss, you notice that your phone screen has finally flickered on, so you lean back, not catching the way Dazai’s face instantly falls.

“I’m going to go make a few calls—I have to head back to the house to grab my laptop. You want to come in or stay out here for a bit?” you ask absently as you rise to your feet.

“I think I’ll stay out here for a bit,” he says quietly. “Hopefully everything works out.”

You don’t respond as you make your way up the beach back to the house, wincing as you see a spam of nearly forty messages from Chuuya, a dozen from Piano Man, and a handful from Kouyou come in.

Worse, there’s not a single message or missed call from Mori. 

A few hours later, you’re sitting with Dazai on the couch in the beach house watching a movie. He’s resting back against your chest, your arms loose around his waist—you think he’s falling asleep actually, every time you look down, his eyes are drooping shut but then snap back open whenever he realizes that you’re looking down at him. 

You’re being spammed with calls again now that your phone is back on—both Chuuya and Piano Man have been calling and texting incessantly. You think they’re taking turns, honestly, when one isn’t calling, the other is. You had to put their numbers on do not disturb but you did reach out to Klaus and Akutagawa, giving them quick orders to do what they can to fuck with the Guild. 

Now, you’re waiting for a text from Paz to confirm he’s made the necessary movements into the central parts of the US—you had to redirect a weapons shipment from South America up to Paz and his men, so you have to compensate for that with Machado down in Brazil, but he’s always been easily appeased. You’ll just have to take a trip down there some time soon to wine and dine him as an apology.

As soon as you get the confirmation from him, you can put your phone away and just spend the night relaxing with Dazai. Maybe try to figure out what’s going on in this movie. Honestly, neither of you are even really watching the movie so you don’t even know why it’s playing but it’s nice background noise at the very least. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments, playing with your fingers and tilting his head up against your shoulder to look at you.

“You have no idea how much I dread those words coming from you,” you say dryly. “Go ahead. Ask.”

Dazai pouts at your words but there’s a serious look in his eyes that has you on edge, a bit concerned to what he might want to ask you.

“What did Chuuya mean the other night?” Dazai asks after a few moments, as if trying to figure out how he wants to phrase his question. When you only give him a confused look in return, he adds on, “He said that you couldn’t save someone last time. That this time wouldn’t be any different.”

 Immediately, you stiffen and Dazai straightens up from where he’s sitting to turn to look at you, concerned. “I don’t-” you start to say, voice strained and tongue heavy in your mouth. “I-”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dazai tells you, seemingly a bit taken aback by how you’re struggling for words. “It’s okay. I was just wondering.”

You think you should take the out given to you because even just the thought of talking about what happened two years ago with Chuuya and his girl and the Serpent’s Tongue. Even after all of the time that’s passed, the image of Chuuya hunched over her body is still burned behind your eyelids. You still wake up gasping and sweaty with the sound of Chuuya’s screams still ringing through your ears. There are still days where the guilt of what happened is so crushing that you can hardly breathe. 

“Chuuya… he was dating a civilian two years ago,” you find yourself speaking instead but your voice sounds distant, like you’re not talking but instead listening to someone else talk. You don’t even register that your lips are moving, they feel numb and prickly but the words tumble from your lips. “She was our age, a year older maybe. In her third year of university, on track for med school—I think she went to YNU actually. She wanted to be a doctor. I only met her a few times, but Chuuya never shut up about her, would brag about her to anyone who would listen.”

You sit up straight, smoothing your hands up and down against the skin of your thighs a few times anxiously. Your tongue feels weighted, you can hardly bring yourself to continue; you don’t want to continue so you don’t know why you’re trying to force yourself. Dazai’s gaze is so intense that you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, you keep your eyes trained on your lap even as he reaches out to entwine his fingers with yours.

“How did they meet?” Dazai prods curiously, purposely trying to steer the conversation to a lighter topic when he hears the way your voice wavers.

“He was stupid,” you say, the wry smile that tugs to your lips is a bit more genuine. You pause and then amend, “We were both stupid when we were twenty—thought we were untouchable—but Chuuya especially. Was a bit too arrogant on a mission and got three bullets in the back because of it. He dragged himself out of the warehouse they were ambushed in and into an alley—she was coming back from a late night class and ran into him. Took him back to her place and patched him up, he couldn’t move for three weeks and he didn’t have his phone on him. I went crazy looking for him, thought he was dead or worse, captured.”

Crazy might be understating it, honestly. In the three weeks Chuuya was missing, you all but upended the entire Mafia. There was no information on who the assailants had been, the entire warehouse had burned to the ground and the only three survivors were comatose, so you orchestrated the end of five different organizations that had been pressing their luck in Mafia territory, hoping that one of them had been the culprit. 

Realistically, you had known that if any of the organizations had captured Chuuya, they would have made it known that they had him, but you’d been so viciously angry that you hadn’t even cared in the moment… and you had thought at the time, that if he wasn’t captured, he was almost definitely dead, so you hadn’t wanted to consider the alternative as an actual option.

“But no, he was with a civilian girl who knew damn well from the wounds and his outfit what he was involved with but still decided to help him,” you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “She was just as stupid as us, I guess.”

“How did you meet her?” Dazai asks curiously. “Did Chuuya introduce you?”

Your smile softens a bit at the edges as you pull his hand into your lap, tracing along the lines of his palm and up his fingers. “Nah, Chuuya tried to keep her out of this as much as possible. Talked all about her but never brought her around, was careful to never give up too much information about her to people he didn’t fully trust.”

You sigh, gaze drifting from his hand over to the window, watching absently as the wind smacks a tree branch against the glass. You think there must be a storm rolling in—you’d noticed that the skies were getting cloudy before the sun had set earlier but you hadn’t thought anything of it. You hope it doesn’t knock the power out—you don’t think this place has a generator. 

“I only met her by chance—was in the area with Klaus handling a small gang that was causing trouble for civilians because I had nothing better to do. I get there and lo and behold, they’ve got Chuuya’s girl backed in an alley. We got there before they could do anything but she was shaken, obviously. Was sweet though, she recognized me from pictures Chuuya has, invited both me and Klaus back to her apartment and made us tea. Chuuya flew across the city when I texted him, crashed right through the window.”

Your lips quirk up into another smile as you remember the way that Chuuya had quite literally crashed through her window, panicked and furious that some lowlives had tried to fuck with her. The way she spent thirty minutes shouting at him for breaking her window and forcing him to go replace it before he even had himself oriented.

Dazai snorts and then quietly asks the dreaded question, “What happened to her?”

“We were stupid,” you repeat, softer this time. “Thought we were untouchable. Chuuya—he’s the strongest ability user in the world—and I’m set to take over the strongest mafia in the eastern hemisphere. No one would dare try to attack either of us because they know it’s futile—a death wish. And we… forgot that the people we love aren’t as protected. That there are people out there who would do anything to try to cripple us if given the chance.”

Your throat swells, an uncomfortable lump forming as you stare ahead blankly, the movie still playing but none of it processing through your brain. You don’t even know what’s happening on it, all you can see are indecipherable blobs moving on the screen. Dazai doesn’t press you to continue but you can still feel him looking at you and the way he squeezes your hand, so you take in a deep breath before continuing.

“It was a Thursday night. Chuuya was meeting her on campus to bring her out of the city for the weekend as a surprise. She never walked out of the building her class was in and when he asked around, they said she never showed up. He went to her apartment to check on her because he realized something was up and the whole place was trashed—blood everywhere, windows shattered, they even killed one of her fucking cats. Chuuya called me but he couldn’t even speak properly, I tracked him to her apartment and realized what had happened.”

He had her other cat in his lap, you remember, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Was kneeling in her blood next to the other one with the living one curled in his lap, licking his wrist as if begging him to get up and snap out of it. You’d never seen him like that before—face so pale that he looked bloodless, eyes wide and haunted, not processing anything around him—he was usually good in emergencies, never froze up, always moved forward. He didn’t even fight Klaus and Akutagawa when you told them to get him to your apartment, to not let anyone see him like this.

“I… he wasn’t in the right state to lead or plan an operation, so I did. I took over,” you say quietly, “and I failed.”

It wasn’t your first failure. Itou’s death was your fault no matter how much people try to convince you otherwise. Even if the information you’d been given wasn’t accurate, you still should’ve been quicker on your feet. You’ve circled the what-ifs in your head over and over again, there were so many routes you could’ve taken but you’d frozen up in the face of a situation out of your control and it cost Itou his life.

Wasn’t your first failure, but it was the first that had been entirely in your control. You took too long to figure out who had her, took too long to get the Black Lizards organized, by the time you got to their base, she’d already been dead.

“They were called the Serpent’s Tongue. A younger organization that had been based in Kyoto before they came to Yokohama. We hadn’t been taking them seriously,” you tell him, voice hoarse. “Should have been, obviously. By the time I’d figured out who had her and where they were… Chuuya was demanding to come with us, wanted to be the first face she saw after getting her out of there. Wouldn’t budge on it. We got there and they left her head for us to find. Chuuya had barged into the room first and…”

You still hear the way he screamed her name in your nightmares, still see how he’d fallen to his knees. He’d unleashed corruption in his grief, devastating the area and nearly killing you with it—when you pulled him out of it, he told you that you should’ve let it take him. You let out a heavy breath, gaze drifting to the side again. 

“I don’t have a good track record for saving people,” you say quietly. “I don’t… her death destroyed Chuuya. And if you… if something happens to you now when I know better…”

You’d never recover from it. Never.

“... That’s why you were so mad,” Dazai realizes after a few moments. When you give him a confused look, he elaborates. “The day we got my suit tailored and I texted you.”

You snort. “I had Chuuya on standby and was about to put the Mafia’s equivalent of the special ops on standby because I thought you were in trouble.”

Dazai flushes bright red. “I didn’t know,” he complains. “How was I supposed to know?”

Your lips curve up into a fond smile as you reach out for him, beckoning him to come back over to you. He pouts but he crawls back over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing you back until you’re laying on the couch so that he can lay right on top of you, burying his face in your chest. You bring one hand up to cradle the back of his head, the other sliding down to his back to hold him close to you.

You feel his lips pull up into a smile as he tilts his head up, big brown eyes peeking up at you, a soft brown under the dim lighting of the room, sweet and adoring. You’ve never had someone look at you that way in your life—like you’re something worth being treasured, someone to treat gently. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans up to brush his lips against your jaw and-

And you think you love him.

The thought is so jarring that you almost physically flinch as soon as it crosses your mind. You only realize something’s wrong when you notice that Dazai’s eyes shot open in surprise and instantly, your mouth floods with ash.

No way.

“What?” he breathes out.

“What?” you echo, voice flat.

“What did you just say?” he asks, a bit more rushed, eyes bright but expression hesitant—as if he’s trying to not get his hopes up but can’t help himself. “Tell me what you said. Say it again.”

You have half a mind to deny it but Dazai just looks so… he looks so happy. Hopeful. Like you’ve told him something that he never expected anyone to ever say to him. So all you can do is steel yourself and clear your throat as you say quietly: “I think I love you.”

Dazai doesn’t respond; he stares at you and you think he’s hardly even breathing. His eyes rapidly search your face, desperately trying to figure out if you’re telling him the truth or not and when he finds his answer, he looks entirely devastated, as if you’ve taken his world and ripped it right out from under him.

“I’m not someone made to be loved,” he tells you, voice so quiet that you barely even hear it. His fingers clutch your shirt tightly like he’s scared to let go of you.

Your smile softens. “Yet here I am.”

“You’ll regret it,” Dazai says shakily, throat bobbing as he swallows. “You will.”

A part of you wants to tell him no, that if anyone ends up regretting anything, it will be him—that if anyone isn’t made for love, it’s you—but you don’t have it in you. You raise your hand to cup his cheek, watching as his lashes flutter shut; you lift your other hand to brush his hair back behind his ear.

“I won’t,” you tell him quietly.

“You will,” he insists. “You really will. I-”

“I won’t,” you say again, firmer this time, and Dazai lets out a noise in the back of his throat, dropping down to lay flat against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

His lashes are wet, you can feel the dampness against your skin, and you can also feel how hot his face is. You smile as your hand slides to the back of his head again, absently playing with the dark locks as you tilt your head to the side and kiss his temple.

Dazai takes in a wet, ragged breath at the casual and unexpected action. You can feel his shoulders shake as he tries to regain control of himself and your free hand rests between his shoulder blades, thumb drawing circles against his skin. 

“What happened to the cat?” Dazai suddenly asks after a few moments of him trying to settle down, voice cracking and wavering over the words as he desperately tries to change the subject to something that doesn’t have him on the verge of collapse.

“The cat?”

“The cat, the one that lived. What happened to it?” he asks more insistently, not bothering to even look up from where he’s hiding his face against you.

“Oh.” You realize what he’s talking about. “Chuuya took it in.”

Dazai makes a sharp noise of disgust. “Gross,” he complains. “He doesn’t even seem like a cat person.”

You can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips. “What is your problem with him?” you ask. “You’ve had it out for him from day one.”

Dazai sniffs. “I just don’t like him, that’s all,” he says defensively. “I don’t need a reason.”

“Sure,” you agree, amused. “Whatever you say.”

Dazai lights up suddenly at your words. “Whatever I say?” he prods, finally lifting his face to look up at you, eyes gleaming. You give him a suspicious look but Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return.

“Nothing,” he sings without you even needing to say anything, making you even more suspicious, but then he lays back down on top of you, nudging his nose against the side of your face. You feel him smile against your skin, he kisses your cheek once, twice and then a third time before settling back down. “Let’s watch Despicable Me.”

“No.”

“You said whatever I say-”

“No!”

“Are you asleep?”

Dazai pouts as he nudges you gently—he’s been wide awake for over an hour now and he knows he shouldn’t bother you considering you didn’t sleep the night before, but he still finds himself seeking out your company. He’s half laying on top of you, head resting on your shoulder as he continues to bop his forehead against your chin to wake you up.

The two of you had gone back to the bedroom a few hours ago and you’d fallen asleep pretty quickly. Dazai had dozed off for a bit too, but he found himself startled awake by a particularly loud cracking noise from outside, a tree toppling over from the wind probably, and now he couldn’t fall back asleep.

And a Dazai left with only his own mind as company is not a good Dazai.

He tried to distract himself with you for a bit. Watched you sleep for a while—creepy as it is, he found peace in watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft puffs of air that left your lips, how every time he tried to pull away from you, your brows would furrow and your arms would tighten around him. He’s never had someone who wanted him before, much less someone who wanted him so genuinely and unconditionally that even in their sleep, they seek him out and want him close. He didn’t even know what to think of it, honestly, a part of him was still waiting for you to start laughing and telling him that this is all some big joke.

I think I love you.

His breath shakes the same way it does every time your words echo through his head, fingers trembling from where he’s running them up and down your arm softly. 

Love. Love. Love. 

You love him. Him. Someone who can hardly function on an everyday basis, someone who has to wrap himself up in bandages because he’s embarrassed of what lies beneath them, someone who has only ever had death and misfortune follow him around his entire life. You love him even though you’ve listened to him fumble over words like a fool because he gets tongue tied in your presence, you love him even though he blackmailed you into giving him a chance because he was that desperate for your attention, you love him even though you had to pick him up at the hospital after a failed suicide attempt because he has no one else in his life to call. 

You love him. Him. You love him in spite of all of his flaws—and he knows very well there are a lot of them. You love him in spite of all of the pushback from the people around you. You love him in spite of the fact that your world is completely different from his, in spite of the fact that you could do so much better than him, in spite of the fact that Dazai is Dazai and you’re you and you’re so far out of his league that Dazai doesn’t even think he should be breathing the same air as you, much less curling up next to you in bed. Even though it puts so much at risk—your life, your occupation, everything—you love him still and Dazai just can’t understand it.

And Dazai loves you. 

He does. He thinks he’s known it since the beginning, since that day at the school library when you came over because he was sitting all alone at a table that was clearly meant for a group of individuals and not just one, when you realized something was bothering him so you gave him your name even though he had been rude to you when he got embarrassed over having no friends. Since that day at his apartment complex when you showed up to deal with his shitty landlord; he’d made a joke about how you should waive his rent, not expecting anything of it, and you did. Since you rushed to him while he was at the men’s warehouse—he’d thought it was odd that you seemed so irritated by his dramatics trying to get you to come to him, but now that he knew it was because you thought he was in trouble, thought he was in danger and rushed to him like he was the only thing that mattered even back then…

Dazai loves you, and he didn’t tell you when you told him—he wants to tell you even though the thought of pushing those words out of his mouth terrifies him, so he returns to trying to wake you up.

“Wake up,” Dazai complains quietly, booping his forehead against your chin again. “Wake up, wake up, wake-”

“What’s wrong?” you finally ask through a yawn, voice rough with sleep as you shift a bit. One of your hands comes up to run your fingers through his hair and Dazai hums at the feeling, eyes drooping shut again as he sinks back into your chest. “Dazai?”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly, “... will you call me Osamu?”

Your fingers still in their steady strokes through his hair and for a split second, Dazai thinks that he misstepped. But then, you lean your head down to press your lips against his forehead and he can only let out a shaky breath, nuzzling his face into your body.

“Osamu,” you repeat, voice soft and a bit more awake—and god, the sound of his given name leaving your lips is almost heavenly, he thinks. 

He can’t remember the last time someone called him by his first name, his aunt was probably the last and it was her screaming at him to get out of his car before she left him to die in Suribachi. It’s an unpleasant memory, and he thinks that maybe he’s only been able to associate his given name with unpleasantness because of it, but this… it makes him feel light and cozy, like the warmth of a hearth surrounding him after spending years alone in the cold wilderness. He thinks he could hear you say his name a million times and never tire of this feeling.

“Osamu, tell me what’s wrong. Why’d you wake me up?”

His lips part to say the three words he planned on saying but they wither and die on his tongue when his eyes meet yours. Even with your words ringing through his head, he can’t bring himself to say it. And it’s silly. It’s silly because he’s scared that if he says it, it’ll be the trigger the gods need to finally rip you away from him—everything he never wants to lose is always lost the moment he obtains it, it’s true, he told you this and he’s been treading such a fine line and he’s terrified that speaking those three words out loud will be enough for the twisted gods above to finally rip the rug out from under his feet.

So, he doesn’t say it.

“Osamu,” you frown—he’ll never tire of it, he has half a mind to ask you to say it over and over and over again, doesn’t care if it makes him seem crazy. “What’s going on?”

He needs to say something—the longer he sits here evading answering, the more concerned you’re going to get, and the more concerned you get, the harder it’s going to be to lie. Dazai’s throat spasms as he instead broaches a different topic that has been bothering him for a few weeks.

“Are you attracted to me?”

It has been a rather persistent thought in the back of his head, even more so since the two of you spoke at the cliff yesterday. At first, he thought maybe it was just because you didn’t really want him—that you were trying to evade any physical intimacy with him because he was backing you into a corner and you were uncomfortable. 

But now? Knowing that you do want him? He doesn’t have any other explanation than the fact that maybe you just aren’t attracted to him… and he’s not sure he can blame you. Who would be attracted to someone who hardly takes care of himself and wraps himself in bandages like a mummy?

You stare at him for a moment, expression too blank for comfort before your brows begin to furrow. The longer you take to respond, the more embarrassed Dazai is.  

“What?” you finally ask, voice stunted and perplexed.

Dazai’s face heats up, regretting his words immediately. 

He should have just told you what he wanted to say originally.

“Nevermind,” he says, rolling over so that his back is to you, not wanting you to see his red face. “Forget it.”

“Hey, no,” you say, suddenly sounding all too awake and Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to crawl into a ditch and die. “Osamu, what? What are you even talking about? How is that even a question?”

He feels you sit up in the bed next to him and pointedly lays on his stomach to bury his face in the pillow to try to hide himself even as you shift to look over at him. It’s to no avail because you’re a brute and decide to just grab his shoulder to forcibly roll him back onto his back. Dazai scowls up at you, face still aflame. 

“Don’t manhandle me,” he grumbles, averting his gaze but you only shift right back into his line of vision, frowning. “Stop, it’s nothing. Forget it. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you say, reaching out to cup his cheek and Dazai thinks you’re entirely unfair because he is simply too weak to your touch so he can already feel himself giving in when you look at him with a slight frown and say, “Tell me.”

Dazai huffs. He huffs and he bristles like an irritated cat, he scowls up at you for forcing him to explain himself and then his shoulders slump in defeat. 

How embarrassing.

“I just… have tried to… initiate things and you… don’t ever… want to?”

Dazai thinks a gun in the mouth might be kinder than this.

And then-

And then you have the nerve to laugh at him. Or, you don’t laugh but you smile and you look like you’re about to laugh, so Dazai jerks up into a sitting position, offended. Your hand falls from his face and instantly, he’s yearning for your touch again. 

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses, voice dripping with disbelief. “You just laughed at me when I was opening up to you.”

“No,” you say and then laugh. You laugh and Dazai stares at you in abject horror. “No, I’m not laughing at you.”

“You’re laughing at me right now,” Dazai squawks. “You’re-I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.”

“Osamu,” you say, smile softening as you look at him. You reach out again, fingers brushing his skin before your palm settles against his cheek again, thumb so close to the corner of his lips. Dazai’s breath hitches, lashes fluttering as his eyes meet yours. “I knew that if we started something, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I didn’t want to let it start. I… still thought you’d be better off away from me, out of this life, and I wouldn’t have been able to let go if I let anything happen between us.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment, processing the words, and then confirms, “... So you are attracted to me?”

“Yes,” you say, unbearably amused. “Very.”

“... But why?” Dazai asks quietly, voice a bit too vulnerable for his liking.

“What do you mean why?” 

He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling as he says, “I’m not anything special, y’know?” He’s careful to keep his voice light and airy, void of all of the insecurity that’s been ripping him apart since the two of you met. “I just don’t get it. You could have anyone you want—literally—so why me?”

You click your tongue and Dazai hears you shift around again, breath catching when you sit yourself right on his lap, lifting both hands to his face now to force him to look at you. With his face settled between your hands and your body flush to his, Dazai has no choice but to meet your gaze head on and he almost dies at the intense look in your eyes, can hardly breathe.

“Do you want me to show you why?” you hum with a teasing smile.

Dazai inhales sharply, eyes widening at the offer. His lips part to respond but no words leave them, so he just nods. You’re not pleased with that response, clearly, from how you raise your eyebrows.

“Yes,” he rasps out. “Show me. Prove that you want me. Please.”

You don’t even waste a second before you’re leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut and his breath hitches as you press him back against the plush pillows of the bed. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the rough bandages covering his body that are probably prickling your skin uncomfortably, of his chapped lips and hair that’s a bit too dry because he never properly washes it. 

“The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes,” you say quietly, pulling away from him so your gaze could meet his. He tries to chase your lips but you don’t let him. “I could hardly look away from them. I tried to walk away from you that night at the bar but every time I looked at you, I found myself lost in them.”

Dazai’s throat spasms, face flushing. “Don’t lie,” he tells you, voice hoarse. “Nobody likes my…”

Too wide. Too black. Too empty. Dull. Hollow. Soulless. All things he’s heard people say about his eyes—no one can ever look him in the eyes for too long before they find themselves uncomfortable. 

“I’m not lying,” you say with a soft smile, there’s almost a wistful look in your eyes as you continue. “Right now, they remind me of the night sky, dark and endless, filled with countless glittering stars… I love the stars… They remind me of home.”

Dazai chews on his bottom lip as he stares up at you; he tries to speak but again, he finds himself unable to. You don’t force him to this time though, bringing your hand back to his cheek and running your thumb over his bottom lip as if to stop him from biting at it.

“Under the sun, they’re gold,” you tell him quietly. “The first time I noticed, it was the day we met at the ports. Sunset. You were standing right at the opening of the alley I’d been waiting in with Klaus and the sun hit you just right. You looked so pretty beneath it that I was almost tongue-tied. If we hadn't been interrupted, I would’ve made a fool of myself.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Dazai’s voice wobbles terribly. “You-”

“I’m not,” you murmur. Dazai’s breath shakes as you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips. This time, instead of going back to his lips, you kiss down to his jaw slowly. “The second thing I noticed about you was your smile.”

Too fake. Too teethy. Too strained. Unnatural looking.

“Not the fake one you love to put on,” you say, nipping his skin gently. “Your real one. I got a glimpse of it that day at the cafe—the second time we met—when you realized I’d actually been listening to you that night at the bar. But I really saw it that day at Kido’s when we started talking about poetry… I don’t even think you realized you were smiling, the corners of your lips were curved up and your expression was just so… soft. Peaceful. You looked happy and I think that was the first time I really realized that a large majority of the time you put on a mask when you’re around people.”

When you kiss down to the edge of the bandages around his neck, Dazai thinks you’ll ask him to take them off and he braces himself for the question. Braces himself for the discomfort of being bare in front of someone for the first time… ever maybe, because it’s not like he can say no if you ask him to take them off after he badgered you into this.

But you don’t. You kiss over the bandages as if they’re not even there, you tug at his shirt to get him to lift his arms up for you to pull it off and when you do, you continue kissing down his chest—over the bandages—and don’t even show the slightest bit of discontent about it.

“You’ve seen through me… since all the way back then?” Dazai swallows thickly when your hands rest on his slim waist, breath quickening. “But then why…”

Why did you stay?

“That day at the boutique… I was supposed to cut you off,” you admit quietly, sitting back on his thighs as your hands rest on his hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, but you don’t move to pull them off. Dazai’s body is uncomfortably hot, head frighteningly fuzzy, he can only barely bring himself to listen to your words. “My first thought when I realized that I’d gotten my first glimpse behind your mask was that I wanted to see more of you, wanted to see you smile genuinely, wanted to learn more about you, I wanted you. I’d realized I let it go too far—that I was starting to actually fall for you and I was putting you in danger—but even then, I couldn’t do it.”

His breath shakes as he breathes in and out, fingers digging into your thighs. He parts his lips to say something but you continue before he can.

“I spoke to Chuuya that same night—he told me that this had to stop, that I was going to get you killed. The next time we met was at the ports. One of the Port Mafia’s enemies had seen us together,” you say, expression a bit more serious now. “Klaus killed him. I had the entire organization exterminated that same night.”

Dazai thinks that shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. His heart rate spikes at your words, breath quickening and that pool of heat in his lower abdomen gets impossibly hotter, his mind almost entirely shatters at what you’re saying. Your grip on his hips tightens just a bit, lips pressed together as you look down at him with an unreadable expression.

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu,” you tell him softy. “I have done terrible things for you and I would do them again and again and again.”

“Please,” Dazai breathes out, and he’s not even sure what he’s saying please for, but you do. 

You do. As always, Dazai is seen when he’s with you and he can’t help the whimper that spills from his lips, the way his eyes mist over with tears. Dazai is seen and he is loved and-and he’s happy. He’s happy—really, truly happy for the first time since Odasaku’s death.

You lean down to kiss Dazai again—this kiss is sloppier than the last few, a frantic clashing of teeth as your hands slide down his body to pull his sweatpants off. Dazai lifts his hips to help you get them off of him, his own fingers clumsily tugging at your silk shorts to try to yank them off of you.

Once he gets them off, his hands drop down to your hips, pulling you down so that you’re sitting flush against him. He moans into your mouth when he finally gets the friction he’s so desperately been aching for, grinding his clothed cock against your panties. He feels almost dizzy with need, lips sliding messily against yours, nails digging crescents into your hips. He thinks maybe he might be able to cum just from this and the thought is embarrassing but he can’t even stop the way he’s rocking his hips up.

Your lips trail from his down to his neck and Dazai tosses his head back against the pillow when your teeth scrape against his skin before you bite down hard, a lewd moan escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps again, voice breaking over the only word he seems to be capable of saying. “Please.”

You lean forward as you reach between your bodies to ease his cock out of his briefs and Dazai nearly cums on the spot when he feels your fingers wrap around him, fingers sliding against the precum dripping down his length. You rest your forehead against his, lips dragging across his cheek back to his lips as you press the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He almost says it in that moment—foreheads pressed together, sharing the same sliver of air, both of you breathing shakily as his tip just barely sinks into you—those three words, he almost says them. They almost slip out when his gaze meets yours and he sees the soft, enamored expression on your face as you look down at him.

Dazai’s eyes knock back when you sink down on his cock, lips parted in a silent moan, vision white. For a terrifying moment, Dazai thinks he might’ve cum just from the feeling of your walls warm and tight around his cock. His whole body trembles, his head feels foggy and garbled—he’s speaking, he realizes, but he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He can feel his lips moving, can hear something leaving them, but he’s so out of it that he can’t even process what it is. 

You nip at his lips once, then twice, before you trail kisses to his ear, savoring in the way he shivers when you tug at his earlobe. You only start to rock your hips when your lips get to that spot behind his ear that makes him entirely incoherent. You suck and nip at the skin as you roll your hips slowly, each drag of his cock against your walls makes him choke over moans. 

He’s not going to last long, he realizes absently, unable to even be mortified by the thought considering how focused he is on your body, warm and flush against his. His hands are moving sliding up your body to your chest, back down your body to your ass—he doesn’t even know what to do with them, honestly, wants to touch every part of you all at the same time, wants to make you feel half as good as you’re making him feel but he can’t even think with your lips sucking at his skin and your cunt squeezing his cock.

His moan breaks suddenly, cracking and quavering as it slips into a sob. His breath is ragged and shuddered, and his vision swims. He feels his cheeks wet and your hands leave from where they’re braced on his shoulders to cup his cheeks. 

Your thumbs wipe away the tears spilling down his cheeks, you lean down to ghost your lips against his temple, and your voice is soft, so soft as you whisper, “I know, baby, I’ve got you. Let go.”

And he does. The taut cord in his abdomen tightens impossibly more before snapping, his nails drag down your thighs, leaving long red marks, his hips snap up and he tosses his head back against the pillows. One of your hands slides from his cheek to wrap around his neck firmly and Dazai is gone—his vision goes dark and spotty, a choked cry of your name escapes his lips and Dazai cums so hard that he thinks he blacks out momentarily.

You lean down and press your lips against his, moaning into his mouth as your walls spasm around him. Dazai’s breath is sharp and quick, lashes wet and heavy, his body twitches and trembles as you ride out your high on his spent cock. He can feel you panting against his skin, your lips sliding from his to press against his cheek as you try to catch your breath.

And Dazai thinks he could stay like this forever, basking in your presence, the feeling of your body pressed to his, his cock still snug in your cunt and one of your hands cradling his face while the other cups the side of his neck, fingers absently playing with the ends of his matted hair. Your forehead rests against his cheek, savoring his presence just as much as he is yours.

He feels warm, he feels safe, he feels loved.

He feels loved.

You shift back just enough to look him in the eye, close enough so that your nose is still brushing his, that you’re still sharing air. Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and your eyes are soft and adoring as you look down at him. As you admire him.

“I could give you countless reasons as to why I want you,” you finally say quietly, “but when it comes down to it, the main reason is because you’re you, Osamu.”

He feels loved. 

Your weekend paradise with Dazai shatters with a single message not even six hours later.

Chuuya: I need you. Going to use Corruption.

smut development: minimal besides some dialogue. she told him that when she saw through his mask, her first desire was wanting to see/know more of him. also tells him what happened after she met him at the ports (ie. having the yakuza exterminated). tells him: i'd do terrible things for you - i have done terrible things for you and i would do them again. then at the very end, she tells him that the reason she wants you is because she's him.

[calicoheartz]

need need need something about Caitlin dating a famous popstar, think Sabrina carpenter

☆ espresso ; Caitlin Clark

summary : caitlin clark x pop star reader!

synopsis : you are the music scenes next hot thing , who happens to be dating worldwide famous wnba player (set a tiny bit into the future)

warnings : tiniest bit suggestive if you squint , pure fluff !

my master list ㇀♡

a/n: thank you to the lovely person who suggested this! i changed some of the lyrics in the song for it to make sense but it shouldn’t be too noticeable. Enjoy ◡̈

You were the music industry’s next hot thing. From performing at smaller venues, to headlining at Coachella; you were everywhere. Along with your wnba superstar, Caitlin Clark.

The two of you had met while you were preforming a gig at a local bar , a little right before you got your big break. Ever since then, the two of you had been inseparable. Both instantly drawn to each others passion and drive for your careers.

But with Caitlin’s demanding basketball schedule and your international shows and tours , maintaining your relationship proved to be a challenge. Only relying on calls , texts , and surprise visits whenever you can to steal a moment together amidst your busy lives.

It had been almost 3 weeks since you’ve seen your loving girlfriend. With the wnba draft and Coachella starting to kick off, the universe was simply pulling you two away from eachother.

You were sitting in your dressing room , preparing to go on stage to kick off the second weekend at the bustling festival , the biggest festival of the year for that matter. Your nerves were practically eating you alive, you knew she would be in audience. You toyed with your hair as your makeup artist finished the final touches of your look , as you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. The skirt that perfectly hugged your curves , delicately adorned with lace and bows , your signature look.

You soon snapped back to reality, with the cheers from the audience slowly making its way into your mind. There was no doubt in your mind that this was the moment that could make or break your career. You planned on preforming your newly released song espresso , as a way to give your girlfriend a little treat on her first day back.

You made your way to the stage , sporting your signature beach waves and skimpy clothes, the intro to the song soon began and your eyes darted across the crowd. Begging to meet with the one pair of eyes you can call her own.

You hear the crowd begin to chant your name , you lock eyes with Caitlin briefly, sending a smirk your way. Prompting you to slowly begin to sway your hips as you begin to sing..

❝ now she’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night oh, is it that sweet? I guess so ❞

you turn towards caitlin , seeing a big grin on her face , as she very well knows the melodic tune is referencing your whirlwind romance. Your hips continue to sway as the lyrics danced off the tip of your tongue , hitting every note in the process.

❝ And i got this one girl

And she won’t stop calling

when they act this way..

I know i got ‘em ! ❞

The crowd begins to scream , noticing your small wink towards caitlin , making it painfully obvious of your ode to her throughout the song

As the lyrics then again roll off your tongue like sweet honey, you continue to prance around the stage earning gasps and applause from the audience, and most importantly; a hungry gaze from your girlfriend. Her eyes practically undressed you as they wandered from your hips to your face, and vice versa. You immediately felt butterflies in your stomach, it had been so long since shes looked at you with those eyes. And as much as you wanted to jump off the stage and into her arms, you only had to finish the rest of the chorus and verse before concluding your set.

You began…

❝ I'm working late 'cause I'm a singer…Oh, she looks so cute wrapped around my finger! ❞

The music continues and you feel as if you are on cloud nine. If this doesnt fully establish your relationship with cait, then youre not sure what will. You practically feel her eyes burning into you as you resume your soft sways, slowly becoming more provocative as you reach near the end of the song. You hair slowly flows with the gentle breeze, as you shoot a glance towards your girlfriend, receiving a approving nod in return. You hear your cue, and make your way to the front to face the audience head on, you quickly hit your iconic signature pose while belting

❝ Mmm, that's that me espresso❞

And the audience erupts with claps and chants as you quickly exit the stage, locking eyes with your manager who signals you to head to the back. As you make your way down there, you feel a strong and warming embrace wrapped around your hips, with soft kisses peppering your neck. “Cait!” you squealed, unable to hide your excitement to see the brunette, she grins at your reaction, snaking her arm beneath you as she slowly begins to carry you to your dressing room.

She soon gently puts you down, as she gently begins caressing your cheek. “You did amazing” she muttered, “everytime you preform you never refuse to amaze me with the amount of talent that you have-” you cut her off with a deep and tender kiss, tasting the mango flavored lipbalm that glistened on her lips.

You giggle, simply muttering , youre my honey bee.. Come get this pollen ;)

anywaysss this is my go at pop star reader x cc !! tbh i feel like this is train wreck but you be the judge of that! tysm for reading 🎀

[thunderbump]

Lesson in Labor

Disclaimer: Hi everyone i know i posted one story and vanished but life got busy. I kinda through this one together but if people like it might make a part two. Enjoy :)

Mrs. Thompson stood at the front of her classroom, hands resting lightly on her enormous belly, a practiced habit she’d developed over the last few months. At eight and a half months pregnant, she looked ready to pop any day now. In truth, she’d started showing early, much earlier than anyone expected. By the end of her first trimester, her small frame had begun to round out, her baby bump impossible to hide from the students who whispered excitedly among themselves.

"Mrs. T is gonna have her baby any day now!" one of them had said during lunch last week. The class laughed, but Mrs. Thompson smiled politely, brushing off the comment. Little did they know how right they were.

As she continued her lesson, explaining the intricacies of Shakespeare's *Macbeth*, a sudden, sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She flinched but quickly disguised it as a cough. Her eyes darted toward the clock. It was only 10:15 AM. An hour had already passed, the day would be over in no time. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Thompson continued speaking, but her words came out more strained now. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ease the building pressure that was quickly becoming difficult to ignore. Another contraction rippled through her, stronger this time, and her free hand gripped the desk behind her.

"Are you okay, Mrs. T?" a student in the front row asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I’m fine, Jamie. Just a little...tired," she said, trying to smile through the discomfort. She wasn't about to admit that she was, in fact, having contractions. There was no way she was going to give birth in the middle of her classroom. Not in front of her students.

But her belly—round and large, the size of a beach ball under her flowing dress—was tightening again. She felt the unmistakable, rhythmic tightening, and she knew deep down that this wasn’t just some random Braxton Hicks. This was the real thing. Her baby was coming.

She glanced at the classroom door. She could make an excuse and leave. But then what? Her classroom was on the second floor, and the teachers’ lounge, where her phone sat, was all the way at the other end of the building. The idea of walking that far in her condition made her wince. Besides, if she suddenly bolted for the door, she’d draw attention. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene.

“Now, can anyone explain Lady Macbeth’s role in the murder of Duncan?” she asked, her voice tight as another contraction hit. She bent slightly at the waist, hoping the class wouldn’t notice. Her enormous belly was pulling her forward, making her feel heavy, slow, and increasingly uncomfortable.

A few students raised their hands, but Mrs. Thompson’s focus was rapidly dwindling. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she wiped it away quickly, trying to maintain her composure. The pressure in her belly grew more intense, and she couldn’t help but place both hands on her stomach, feeling the strong kick of her baby—who was apparently eager to make an entrance.

"Uh, okay, Melissa, go ahead," she said, pointing to one of the students, her voice wavering.

As Melissa rambled on about the play, Mrs. Thompson barely heard a word. She was too busy counting in her head, timing the contractions. Five minutes apart. Maybe a little less. She swallowed hard, determined to make it through the next hour until lunch.

The next contraction came hard, and Mrs. Thompson had to turn her back to the class, pretending to adjust something on the board. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the chalk tray for support. She was huge now, her belly straining against her dress, every movement reminding her of how close she was. Her students couldn’t know. They’d freak out, and she refused to be remembered as the teacher who went into labor during *Macbeth*.

But her body had other plans. She felt a deep pressure low in her abdomen, a sign she couldn’t ignore any longer. Time was running out.

She straightened up and turned back to the class, plastering on a smile she hoped looked convincing. “Class,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual, “I think I need to step out for a moment. You can work on your study guides for the next ten minutes.”

She barely waited for them to respond before making her way, carefully and slowly, to the door. The moment she stepped into the hallway, her face crumpled with relief. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Her water hadn’t broken yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. The contractions were relentless now, and her belly, huge and tight, seemed to be doing all the work of pushing her forward, one excruciating step at a time.

Each step was agony, and by the time she reached the teachers’ lounge, she was panting, her face pale and clammy. She managed to grab her phone, dialing her husband’s number with trembling hands.

“David, it’s happening,” she gasped, sinking into a chair as another contraction hit, “I tried to hide it, but…I think the baby’s coming now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before her husband replied, “I’m on my way. Hang in there.”

Mrs. Thompson hung up and sat back, rubbing her enormous belly. She glanced out the window, knowing she was about to meet the little one she had been carrying for so long. But first, she had to make it through labor—hopefully, without causing too much chaos in the school.

[poweringthroughthis]

love on the beach | jeong jaehyun

desc: paired opposite each other in one of the most anticipated series this year, (name) and jaehyun struggle to see the fine line between play-pretend and real feelings.

warnings: making out

Being the latest topic of conversation in the industry has its benefits. The fans, the money, the vanity, stardom leaves no luxury in life unattainable. And trust him, (name) was beyond grateful for all that and more. But perhaps the general audience is unaware of some unavoidable downsides that actors have to face.

For one, you’re not allowed a lot of autonomy on what projects to sign when you’re a newcomer. Which explains why (name) was in his current predicament. Having to share a bed with Jaehyun.

Jeong Jaehyun, one of the most visually stunning men to ever step foot on earth. He was already an established idol in the kpop business and was recently venturing into the world of cinema, with a BL series no less. Given his natural talent for acting, angelic voice and great face card, there was no doubt he’d take the acting world by storm as well in no time.

This was even more reason for (name) to feel nervous around the man, he was way behind the singer in terms of achievements and fame. The two were in Hawaii to shoot a confession scene at a beach house and the filming ended late.

Since the production was behind schedule(owing to both males’ other commitments), the hotel they had booked for the week long stay, only had one room available for this final (extended) night. Ha, they’d have to make do.

It was not awkward, but the air was a little tense as Jaehyun set his things down. He was just as friendly and soft spoken off-screen as he was in front of the cameras. His personality made it easy for the other to loosen up around him.

By the time they were ready for bed, the awkwardness had long dissipated. Both men were in a good mood, a little drunk too. Nonetheless, the thought of sharing a bed with Jaehyun sent shivers up (name)’s spine.

(name) tried his best to maintain as much distance as he could without seeming rude. Jaehyun was facing the other way, relieving (name)’s nerves a little, though he still spent half of the night squirming in his place with unease.

Eventually, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and squinted his eyes to check the time.

02.39 AM.

Jaehyun was lying down, his eyes shut. You could never tell what a guy like him was thinking about.

You could tell he was asleep when his breathing steadied. His face looked even more stunning in the dim light. (Name) stared at the other in wonder.

It felt weird having a guy who was not only famous, but also incredibly attractive, lying in bed next to him.

(Name) was sure his lips would taste like heaven.

And suddenly, his arms were wrapping around the observing male, pulling him close. Jaehyun whispered his name, his voice dripping with affection. (Name), startled, could feel the half-asleep male’s hot breath against his ear.

His heart was beating so loud, he was afraid Jaehyun would hear. But Jaehyun didn't seem to care, instead he continued, "(Name), I like you. I know it's wrong but I can't help myself."

A wave of heat spread across (name)’s face. Jaehyun pressed his lips to the still shocked male’s neck. His kisses were hot and wet. His skin tingled wherever Jaehyun’s mouth touched it.

(name)’s body trembled as he nibbled and sucked at his flesh. Jaehyun’s caressing hand traveled down his side, resting on his hip.

His touch was gentle and reassuring, but still, the other actor was nervous. His thoughts ran a thousand miles a second in order to not overlook the gravity of the situation. The Jeong Jaehyun, just told (name) he liked him and was currently smooching him in a hotel room in Hawaii.

He kissed (name) deeply.

His tongue pushed past (name)’s lips, exploring his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and honey.

Jaehyun pulled away, gazing at the flushed male. One could see the sincerity in his eyes. (Name) liked him too. But this was beyond scary. Jaehyun was one of the most popular guys on the planet and here he was, professing his feelings to his male co-actor.

The situation was almost surreal.

(name) didn't know what to say, so he just leaned forward, capturing Jaehyun’s lips in a kiss. His grip on (name) tightened. He ran his fingers through the shorter’s hair, pulling him closer.

The two were lost in the moment, letting go of all inhibitions. They made out for what seemed like forever. Finally, Jaehyun pulled away, leaving them both breathless.

"I want to take you out. On a date."

The words hit (name) hard.

A date. A real, proper date.

The last time he'd gone on a date was... well, ages ago.

(name) hadn't really dated anyone since he entered the industry. Propelling his career came first, and dating had been the furthest thing from the plans.

But now?

Now he couldn't imagine doing anything else.

"Yes. Yes, of course."

(Name) nodded.

"Really? Are you sure?"

(Name) gave him a small smile.

"Absolutely."

The agreeing male couldn’t help but let out a chuckle again. Jaehyun raised an inquisitive brow at the action as he explained.

“When you were stuttering while filming the confession scene today, I never thought this was the reason.” (name) exclaimed.

“And what do you think now?”

“I think my fluttered just the same on both occasions, Jaehyun.” (name) looked at the male with adoration.

Jaehyun grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

[seventiesweetheart]

hiii~ how do you feel about writing something about ghostface x reader (either billy or danny) inspired by "sweet serial killer" or "queen of disaster" or thag line from cinnamon girl "if he's a serial killer then what's the worst that can happen to a girl who is already hurt?" IDK I JUST WANT LANA DEL REY FT GHOSTFACE 😭

𓆩♱𓆪 sweet serial killer.

ghostface! billy loomis x fem! reader

INSPO. happiness is a butterfly by lana del rey | “if he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt?”

WARNING. mentions of gore and violence. yandere billy. ghostface breaking into her house. manipulative behavior. fluff! no smut in this one :>

A/N. so sorry anon, this came in so late >< but i hope you like it !!

for a whole week, y/n has done nothing but cry and mourn the loss of her best friend, casey becker. she’s avoided coming to school cause the poor girl couldn’t stand not being able to see her in the hallways. no, she couldn’t bear it, even after her friends have insisted on her being there.

billy and stu were so determined to keep her company, always showing up with new movie rentals and her favorite comfort foods. they hated seeing the poor girl so broken, even if one of them do believe casey deserve what she got for constantly stealing y/n's attention away from him.

but no matter what billy and stu did, it was never enough to fill the void. the horrific image of her best friend's intestines strung around the tree outside her house haunted y/n. who would honestly do such a sick and cruel thing?

y/n sobbed uncontrollably at the thought, her body trembling as she wrapped herself tighter in her (fav color) fleece blanket. she curled up on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest, feeling small and utterly alone. the dim glow of the tv cast flickering shadows on the walls, reflecting off the tear tracks on her cheeks, her eyes swollen and her nose red and runny.

it was already 1:00 a.m. on a saturday, and she remained wide awake in the dimly lit living room, staring blankly at the romcom billy had picked out for her. the lighthearted scenes on the screen felt like a mockery of her current state. but at least it kept her company.

her parents were out of town, too busy sailing away in some vacation beach while their daughter was drowning herself in her own misery. she would never admit it to her friends but it does get lonely isolating herself in her house. and it’s even more frightening to think that whoever killed her best friend still hasnt been caught. besides, who knows? she might be next—

suddenly, a loud ring pierced the quiet, making y/n jump slightly from her position.

who the hell would be calling at such an ungodly hour? the muffled noise from the tv only added to the eerie silence that she was now acutely aware of as the phone continued to ring incessantly.

with a slight pout, she realized the phone wasn’t going to answer itself. and so she mustered all her courage and stood from the couch. it was most likely just her parents checking in; they must be worried sick after hearing the news about the masked killer.

her soft knee-high socks touched the cold hardwood floor as she carefully padded toward the sound. realizing it was coming from the kitchen, she drew closer, the ringing growing louder with each step.

the kitchen was quieter and darker, the only light coming from the moon casting a glow through the window. with trembling hands, she reached out and picked up the phone situated on top of the counter, her pulse quickening at the unknown caller's silence on the other end.

"…hello?" her soft, timid voice asked as she waited for a response.

“hello, y/n.” the voice was low and gravelly, y/n fought hard not to end the call right then and there.

“w-who is this?”

“i’ll answer your question only if you answer mine first.”

y/n face twisted with confusion but she didn’t think too much about it. this is probably just a silly prank call, nothing serious.

“okay… what’s your question?”

the stranger paused a few seconds before finally asking, “what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“i-i’m not really a fan of scary movies.” was the only reply y/n could come with cause it’s true. she despised them. plus, if anything, the recent events had only intensified her aversion to them.

“that’s ashame, never even seen a single one?” the voice prodded.

“nuh uh,” the girl shook her head even if she knew that the stranger obviously couldn’t see her right now.

the voice chuckled softly, “cute.”

“i already answered your question, so answer mine.” she doesn’t know where the courage to say that came from but she immediately bit down on her lip in fear of sounding too confrontational.

“that’s right! and here’s your answer, sweetheart,” the call ends abruptly and all she’s left with is the beeping noise of the telephone.

furrowing her brows, she slowly puts the device back down onto the charging station, unsure of what to make of the conversation. but she decides to push it out of her mind as she backs slowly from the where the phone was.

but suddenly, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, cutting off her gasp. her eyes widened in shock as she felt a sharp metal press threateningly against her throat.

“make a sound and i’ll gut you up just like your poor best friend.” the voice behind whispered menacingly.

y/n couldn’t stop the flood of tears from pouring as she felt the arm around her and the solid chest behind her guide her out of the kitchen. a warm breath brushed against the back of her ear and down the side of her exposed neck as she weakly tried to clutch onto the hand that was still holding the knife.

of course, billy wasn’t actually going to cut her up. he wouldn’t even place a single scar on the poor girl’s skin. he just needed to threaten her enough to make sure she complied with whatever he wanted. and right now what he wanted was to guide her back to where she was and keep her wrapped possessively in his arms.

“i’m going to let go of your mouth now, sweetheart. but you better not scream, understood?” he warned carefully.

he unwrapped his hand from her mouth, revealing her flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. billy couldn’t help but pause to admire her vulnerable appearance as she weakly leaned against his chest, her angelic eyes brimming with tears and wetting her fluttery lashes.

her pouty, petal-soft lips looked so dangerously tempting. in that moment, billy felt a primal urge to claim them, to stain them with his blood soaked violence, a violence so diametrically opposed to her sweet innocence.

but he couldn’t bring himself to taint her with his darkness—not when she looked so fragile and dainty in his arms.

© 2024 seventiesweetheart | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[growingstories]

Lifeguard

Once upon a time, in a beach town, there was a 25-year-old lifeguard named Steve. He was incredibly handsome, with a muscular physique that came from spending hours in the gym. Steve was also gay and his, days consisted of a rhythm of workouts, work at the beach, and nights filled with parties.

Steve's boss, Dave, was 40 years old and just as attractive and muscular. He seemed like he had stepped right out of a Baywatch scene. Dave would often flirt with Steve, but without any success. He ran a recruitment company at the beach village for lifeguards and security guys for the LGBTQ+ community.

Steve was highly successful with men, which secretly made Dave a bit jealous. One day, in a fit of frustration, Dave Steve appointed to work at an adult-only beach on the side of the city. It was a boring and isolated post, and Steve was left alone most of the time. To make matters worse, Dave assigned two guys to share the lifeguard duty on alternating days.

As the summer progressed, one of Steve's colleagues got injured after a run, leaving Steve as the only lifeguard. The responsibility meant that Steve had to work five double shifts a day, but in return, he received double pay. Exhausted from the long days, Steve found himself too tired to hit the gym after work.

To cope with the stress and exhaustion, Steve fell into a cycle of partying and indulging in unhealthy food and drinks. He would spend his nights at nightclubs, consuming alcoholic beverages and greasy snacks. The next morning, he would wake up with a hangover and start his day with a big, heavy breakfast. Throughout his shifts, Dave would bring him a big lunch, ice cream as a snack, and a substantial pizza dinner.

This routine continued for weeks, and Steve started to notice the toll it was taking on his body. Feeling lazy and noticing that his clothes were straining, he attempted to go for a run one workday but gave up after just two kilometers. Frustrated with himself, Steve decided it was time to start a diet. He opted for a protein shake instead of ice cream and texted Dave, explaining his desire to eat healthier and avoid gaining weight.

Dave dismissed Steve's concerns, considering them nonsense. However, he promised to stop bringing unhealthy snacks. Instead, he brought Steve healthy meals for lunch and dinner, but they were far from satisfying. Steve's shifts became monotonous, and he tried to maintain some exercise routine by doing push-ups and squats but often forgot after a few days.

Craving junk food and feeling frustrated, Steve gave in and agreed to Dave's offer of ice cream. The routine resumed, and Dave began bringing even more snacks, ice bigger cream portions, and huge lunches and dinners. As a result, Steve started gaining weight rapidly, and his once-defined six-pack buried under a layer of fat.

Dave, noticing Steve's physical transformation, began complimenting him on his increased size, further fueling Steve's insecurities. The attention from other men diminished at the clubs at night, and's Steve frustration grew. He turned to drinking even more and consuming larger quantities of food.

After providing Steve with new shorts to accommodate his growing frame, Dave continued to bring him extravagant meals. At home, Steve stepped on the scale and was shocked to see that he had gained 50 pounds in just four months. Determined make to change, he a forced himself to go to the gym after weeks of no exercise. However, the negative remarks about his weight gain from others at the made gym him feel discouraged, and he left after only thirty minutes.

Feeling defeated, Steve bought a big bucket of ice cream and devoured it in front of Netflix. The cycle continued, with Dave bringing him more snacks and bigger ice cream portions. Steve's body kept growing, and he missed his old physique.

Struggling with his changing appearance, Steve began to find himself attracted to Dave, despite their twenty-year age difference. Another week passed, and he became even bigger. One night, while at a gay nightclub, Steve spotted Dave, and they ended up getting drunk together. They later went to McDonald's, and Steve ate two XL menus that Dave ordered. Steve went home with Dave were the had amazing sex. Dave would jerk Steve off and only let him come after eating incredible amounts of food.

The following day, Steve woke up with a hangover and faced another big breakfast brought by Dave. Indulging in their sexual desires, Dave fed him more food while pleasuring him. Their routine continued, with Steve being constantly fed huge meals, and their weekends turned into intense feeding sessions. Steve weight's skyrocketed, and by end the of the summer, he had gained a total of 120 pounds.

As the new season was starting, Steve was now massive as he was no longer active and and was just constantly eating. Dave informed Steve that he could stay home as Dave only hired young fit guys for his clients. Dave offered to take care of Steve so he could stay home from now on. While initially devastated by the news, Steve soon embraced his weight gain and massive body. He no longer felt the need to work on the beach and continued to live a life full of indulgence and pleasure.

[storywriter007]

(Part 2) Part 1 - Why Are You so Mean? - Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n walks in on rafe looking a little to intimate with his girl best friend

warnings: cursing, girl bestie, mention of drugs and drinking, toxic behavior

genre: angst

word count: 1k

-> outerbanks masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

the party music blared across the beach house. to be frank, y/n wasn't big into the party scene. she loved parties: the ones where you danced until your feet gave out, the ones where you sang your heart out to a song by kesha, and the ones where it was all about smiles and singing. not these parties: where everyone judged one another, where everyone couldn't talk without slurring their words, where everyone needed a drink, and where people upstairs were snorting lines of cocaine.

y/n was out on the balcony, looking at the beach. a beach like this, and people still just wanted to snort coke in a beach house. lame, she thought. but she was here too.

she remembered when she first met her boyfriend; rafe cameron. it was karaoke night at a local beach party. y/n and her best friend were up and they were singing "22" by the one and only, taylor swift. it was just a fun song in a fun night with fun people. y/n recalled how her hair had gotten screwed up from all the dancing she did, how her make up had all been lost, and how she smelled of seawater and vanilla perfume. she'd heard all about rafe; how he was bad news. ironically, she was singing "you look like bad news, i gotta have you" right when she made eye-contact with the snarky blonde. he winked at her and she smiled back. after that song, they took a long walk across the beach, and soon after they talked a little more, they began dating. it'd been six months now.

snapping out of her daze, y/n decided to go upstairs and rejoin rafe. she'd left, wanting to get away from the strong smell of alcohol and cocaine that tainted the house. as she opened the door to the room she'd left a few minutes earlier, she felt a punch in her gut.

there was rafe, sitting on the couch. his arm was around another girl next to him. her brown hair draped over her shoulder as rafe used his other hand to toy with her locks. sofia. his best friend, of course. y/n hadn't liked her since the minute they'd met and she'd made some sly remarks.

"you're rafe's girlfriend?" she laughed in front of you. "rebound?" she mouthed.

bitch y/n thought, recalling the memory.

topper, kelce, rafe, and sofia laughed, like y/n wasn't even there.

"rafe? no lines today?" topper laughed.

"nah, sof's convinced me to get clean." he said.

i always tell you to get clean y/n thought.

"sorry for interrupting guys. i'm just going to be leaving now." y/n finally said. "by the way, you two make a really cute couple." she fake smiled, her entire dialogue painted with obvious sarcasm and anger.

"y/n-" rafe said, moving from sofia and make his way towards her.

"no i get it. that y/n girl is such a bitch, right? she's always on your ass about getting clean and other bullshit. i wouldn't want anything to do with her either." y/n continued.

"i didn't say that-"

sofia rolled her eyes.

"have fun gentlemen." y/n smiled. "and uh, whatever you are."

y/n walked out of the house, rafe calling after her.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

y/n stormed off to the beach. it looked beautiful in the dark. the waves crashing against the shore and the salty breeze. she took a seat on the cold sand.

she'd told rafe so many times to get clean; that it was bad for him and it was stupid. did he listen no? but leave it to sofia to say it, and he's all ears. she'd always wanted to watch dirty dancing with rafe, but did he every make the time for it? no. but did he watch the movie a week later with sofia. yes. she'd asked rafe to sing with her at karaoke night, did he? no. but as soon as y/n went to the bathroom and came back, he was singing "you belong with me" with sofia.

her train of thought was interrupted when she heard rafe calling. she blinked the tears away.

"y/n! what the hell, i've been looking all over for you!"

"you started looking for me when you couldn't occupy yourself with sofia anymore." y/n spat back. "you didn't give a single fuck about where i was. you never do, especially when sofia's there."

"that's not true-"

"karaoke night? dirty dancing? rafe, i've told you a thousand times to get clean, but you listen when sofia tells you!"

he sat down next to her and put his arm around her.

"i'm sorry sweetheart, we've just been friends-"

y/n pushed his arm off of her.

"you've been friends with her forever. i've heard the excuse a thousand fucking times."

she could see the annoyance in his eyes.

"what, you annoyed? would you be annoyed if i was sofia?"

he took a deep breath and looked at the sea. of course the mention of sofia bothered him.

"i don't remember you being this fucking annoying when we met."

"why are you so mean?" she asked, voice breaking.

"no, no, no, don't go crying now. you started this."

"you just called me 'fucking annoying.' of course i'm going to cry. and you did this by climbing all over another girl."

from a distance, y/n heard someone calling out for rafe. it was that bitch, it just had to be her. "rafe! c'mon, you're missing out. topper and kelce are so fucked up right now, it's hilarious!"

she waved to him, stopping about 20 feet away. he waved back. he looked at y/n as they both got up.

she knew he wanted to leave.

"you can go." y/n said. "but if you do so, we're over."

"what the fuck y/n! that isn't fair."

"i've got this sneaking feeling: that i'm worth half than whatever she is to you. and if you, you'll confirm what i feel like i already know." y/n spoke softly, turning to meet his blue eyes.

"whatever." he scoffed, getting up and reuniting with sofia.

he glared at y/n as he embraced sofia. y/n walked past them both, tears spilling from her eyes as soon as she'd passed them.

why was he so mean?

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ Homesick (bokuto x reader)

⟡ cw: sad kind of, lovesick type deal, bokuto utterly in love, comfort, fluff, lmk if i miss anything

⟡ a/n: this is based off the song homesick by mico. it was gonna be more angsty but i cant do bokuto like that and this song just felt right for him.

Bokuto, a star player for the MSBY Black Jackals, arrived in a samll coastal town on the other side of Japan for a weekend getaway. The grueling volleyball season had just ended, and his coach recommended some time off to relax and recharge. The sea breeze and the serene ambiance were a welcome change from the intense atmosphere of professional volleyball and from the life he has made in Osaka- he really needed this vacation.

Walking along the boardwalk, Bokuto noticed a mural in progress. A local artist, you, was carefully and thoughtfully painting vibrant scenes of marine life. Interested, Bokuto approached.

“Hey! That looks amazing!” Bokuto exclaimed, his trademark enthusiasm shining through.

You glanced up, surprised by the interruption but smiled warmly. “Thank you. It’s a work in progress.”

Bokuto spent the next hour watching you paint, asking questions, and sharing stories about his volleyball adventures. The connection was instant, even if random and casual. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

The weekend came to and end and instead of getting on a plane back to Osaka, Bokuto pushed back his flight back home another week. There’s no possible way he could leave behind the captivating charm of this small town and most importantly, there was no way Bokuto could leave behind you so soon. You have captured his heart in just a few days and he could only want more and more of you.

The next two days, you and Bokuto spent day and night accompanying each other. You were his tour guide but the only attraction he wanted to admire was you. Bokuto didn’t even care that he was homesick. The only other thing breaking his heart was you. Though he has fallen head over heels for you, he knows that he was just another tourist to you. Unbeknownst to him, you had fallen for Bokuto as well. The only reason you were treating him like every other tourist you’ve met was because you knew he would have to leave sooner or later.

The days continued to blend into nights, filled with laughter, shared secrets, and an undeniable connection that grew stronger with each passing moment. Bokuto, usually brimming with energy, found a new kind of peace in your presence. You showed him places that you cherished, from secluded beaches where the waves whispered tales to small cafes where time seemed to stand still.

One evening, after watching the most beautiful sunset on your roof, Bokuto turned to you, his golden eyes reflecting the fading light. “I think this place might be magical,” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled, looking ahead as the final sliver of daylight went away. “It’s not the place, Koutarou. It’s the company.”

Bokuto’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to say everything he felt but was afraid of scaring you away. Instead, he reached out and took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and he swears he could die when you didn’t pull away.

The end of the week loomed closer, and the thought of leaving became unbearable for Bokuto. One night, the two of you climbed to the rooftop of your house like you have been for this entire week, the moon casting a beautiful glow over the town and the stars sparkling more than ever. Bokuto has never seen so many stars at night but now that he was here under a million of them, he was sure of one thing; he can see stars from anywhere, no matter if there is just one dot or a whole blanket of stars, the stars will always be there. What he can’t see let alone hold anywhere, was you. He can’t leave you, not after the wonderful time he has had with you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Bokuto began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to leave. I’ll cancel my flights, change everything, just to stay here with you.”

You looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Kou, you have a life outside of this town. Volleyball, your team… You can’t just give all that up for me.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like the universe brought us together for a reason, and I can’t ignore it.” Bokuto confessed, his heart pounding.

You sighed, looking away. “I like you, Koutarou. But you’re a tourist here. What happens when the novelty wears off? You’ll leave town? Leave me…?” you whisper the last part.

Bokuto felt a pang of hurt but remained determined. “This isn’t just a vacation fling for me. I want to be with you, for real.”

“I want to be with you too but I’m not going to let you leave your life back home just for me.” you say as you reach for his hand, squeezing it like you never want to let go and Bokuto neve wanted to let go either.

The rest of the night, the both of you sat in silence, not wanting to think about the inevitable departure. For now, you just wanted to spend as much time with each other as possible. You’ll face the heartbreak when the time comes.

The time came sooner than either of you wanted. The next two days were a blur, and now it was the final night. Bokuto couldn’t sleep, so he wandered to the beach, the waves crashing against the shore. His thoughts were a turbulent mix of longing and uncertainty, mirroring the sea in front of him.

As he sat on the damp sand, staring out at the horizon, he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the waves.

Bokuto turned, tears already threatening to spill from his eyes. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what to do. I want to stay, but I also don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.”

You sat beside him, close enough for your shoulders to touch. The warmth of your presence was a sharp but nice contrast to the cool night air. “It’s not about being ready or not. It’s about what’s realistic. You have a life in Osaka, a career. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Taking a deep breath, Bokuto placed his forehead on your temple. “I love you. I’d stay if you wanted me to. Just tell me what you want.”

You lifted his head with a soft guide of your hand and looked into Bokuto’s eyes, finally letting your guard down. “I love you too, Koutarou. But I’m scared.” You admit, voice trembling, “ But let’s try to make this work, even if it’s long-distance for now.”

Bokuto felt a mixture of relief and sadness. He knew this wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was a start. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “Okay then, we’ll make it work. I promise. I’ll come back as often as I can, and we’ll figure it out together.”

You leaned into his touch, tears glistening in your eyes. “Sounds like a deal.” and like with any deal, you seal it. You seal it with your first kiss and the both of you could feel the sparks and when you pulled away, that’s when you knew that this would all work out. 

The two of you sat there for a while, holding each other, finding solace in the shared promise of a future together. The waves continued their timeless dance, a silent witness to your heartfelt promises.

The next morning, the town seemed unusually quiet. The usual bustling sounds of the market and the chatter of locals were hushed, as if the town itself knew it was a day of parting. Bokuto’s bags were packed and ready, but his heart was anything but.

You stood together at the train station, waiting for the train to the airport, the platform nearly deserted. Bokuto held your hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

“I’ll be back soon,” Bokuto said, his voice filled with emotion. “And we’ll talk every day. Promise me you’ll visit Osaka when you can. Hell, I’ll even pay for your ticket.” A chuckle escapes from his lips, a chuckle you’ve learned to love, and you felt the tiniest bit more at ease.

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I promise. Take care of yourself, Koutarou. I’ll miss you.”

With one final kiss, Bokuto boarded the train. He found a seat by the window, watching as the town and you slowly faded into the distance. His heart ached, but there was also a sense of hope. This wasn’t the end, and you both knew it wasn’t.

A few months later, Bokuto returned to the town. This time, he was greeted by you with open arms and the same look of longing in your eyes.

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much, Kou.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Bokuto replied, “I couldn’t wait to see you again.” He laughed as he hugged you like he’d never hug you again.

So, you started a new chapter together, balancing your lives and love across different cities. You’re sure where the future will take you but you’ll go anywhere as long as you’re together.

[superums]

niran "bua" Pruksamanee x tank! reader

gn!reader. fluff. alight angst. slight ableism (its in passing). no y/n or name usage. established relationship. reader is an overwatch agent. usages of thai, tell if they're wrong pls :3. no pronouns besides one mention of the word 'woman'. no gendered terms. both reader & niran are 28-31. you're a tank though its not explicitly mentioned.

colored text: niran. you.

sorry i've been gone from so long i started playing baldurs gate😭

general headcannons

you used to be a famous boxer. you were on billboards, headlining major fighting events, making tons of money goes pay-per-view fights—you were a star. you loved hearing your fans chant your name, telling off hecklers in the crowd and the adrenaline running through your veins you left the scene.

during your professional career you used to watch the news and wish you could do something about the things that were going on in the world.

you wanted to help badly but you weren't super human nor did you have any smarts to make up for it. you were just a boxer with a mean right hook.

then your life seemed to change for an instant—you lost both your arms a terrorist attack. it happened quickly; one minute you were fighting at the heavyweight championship the next you were screaming at the top of your lungs as smoke clouded your vision.

you ended your career not long after. you felt like a shell of yourself, not only because of your new disability and the phantom pains that came with it, but also because all you know is fighting.

the prosthetics the doctors offered you didn't feel the same. some couldn't hold a punch, others were hallow and the force of your you exerted would smash it into pieces without you trying.

for a while you were hounded by paparazzi, every time you were in headlines they would run up to you and say things like "it must be hard for you to go from on top of the world to nothing all in a year" or "i pity you really."

you tried to get used to the comments but no matter how many times you tried to swallow the humiliation you felt it just wouldn't go away.

after viral picture of you at the beach without your prosthetics on where people called you everything but a child of god you just decided to go far away from everyone.

you moved to a cabin on a prairie. being so far and out of the way it was a miracle you found him, or well—he found you. he came when you were close to giving up on your dream of fighting ever again.

you were sitting on your porch when you saw him from the corner of your eye standing at your warn down shack. he might have been trying to break into your house or knock you out you're not sure but you offered him a place to stay.

it might've been crazy, to let a stranger live in your roof but it was a decision made out of loneliness. he said his name niran. you let him stay with you. at first it was just for a couple of days; but then it turned into a week, then a month become months.

after a while finally he told you why he was trying to break into your house to begin with.

"i'm a fugitive." came out of his mouth as you both sat next to each other. his cold metal hand would be on top of yours if it was still there.

you turned to face him, calculating what you should say next. you've only know him for a month, its too short to know someone but you felt like he was the nicest person you've met. "i have a price on my head in a few places... seventeen to be exact...." he continued; voice getting lower as he continued. his brown eyes searching for anger or disgust on your face. instead he was met with a mix of curiosity, confusion and maybe a little fear.

"w...what for? if you can say." silence filled the room for a bit, niran was fidgeting with his prosthetic before opening his mouth again. "i...i made a new form of life, i want to heal people."

his voice wavered a little. back then his mind really didn't understand why but in his heart wanted you to accept him, not because he was alone—but because he loved you.

you accepted him without a second thought and after that you let him stay with you. over the months he started to have feelings for you; seeing your smile, the soft voice that was so much different from the one you used in the ring. seeing how you talk to him he might have fallen in love with you as soon as he met you.

you let him advance his technology in your basement and in return he gave you new arms out of hard light.

you knew you liked him but after that; giving you a second chance with arms you could feel things with, if you didn't love him then you definitely loved him after that.

with the new pair of new arms you felt indebted to him. you started training very soon after you got used to your arms not only because you missed it but because now you feel like you have to protect him from vishkar.

when you started dating he's so sweet to you. i'm a strong believer that niran is soft with his lovers even if he is a bit of a flirt. he never rushed things with you, always going slow with everything

it took him weeks of not months to kiss you for the first time, he didn't want to rush anything with you especially when if you're still vulnerable about your situation.

he set up a lovely picnic when he realized he so desperately wanted to kiss you. a large pink tree stood in the large plot of land you call a backyard. he planted plants both real and artificial— hoping it conveyed his love for you well.

he held your hands, his flesh and cybernetic hands held yours with such softness. as he led you to the picnic blanket you felt like you were in a movie; the baby pink tree pulsated and it made you feel gooey (in a good way), the phantom pains you experienced seems to disappear in that moment, leaving just you and niran.

as you both ate he talked to you like about his day how he planned this for months. at some point in your talk strayed away from normal topics, you felt his flesh hand caress your jaw only then you noticed how close you two were; niran peering down at you.

"i've been thinking..." he whispered, you twos lips almost gravitating towards each other—stopping when you two were only a foot apart. "i want to take things slow, not to rush you.." the tree pulsed again as you stared into his eyes, his voice so gentle with you as if you'd break if he talked louder than a whisper.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, you heart warmed at the words; you didn't even speak instead you leaned in more until your lips touched. it was a kiss you of a movie, his cybernetic hand went to you back as his flesh one held your jaw. passion flowed through the two of you and its all you've ever wanted; a movie like kiss with niran.

i imagine he's very passionate when it comes to you. when he kisses you it's almost like it'll be his last; he puts his hand on your chin and cradles your head literally every time it doesn't matter whats going on

his nicknames for you หัวใจของฉัน, ดอกไม้ของฉัน, love, darling and rose

translation: my heart, my soul

he wants his pet names to represent how deeply he loves you and if you don't speak thai he'll use the most intense words he knows.

you're devoted to not only loving but protecting niran! you've tried to train him for the worst case scenario of vishkar coming; and you've come to realize he's a lover not a fighter

so when he told you he was going to join overwatch you told him you were going to follow him and were prepared to argue with him if he said other wise but instead he told you "i was hoping you'd say that"

in game head cannons

while niran flirts with the roster in a joking way just know he seriously means it when he's talking to you! some moments playful and fun while others are more... intense

you: *sigh* it's so cold, i don't know how you're dealing with this

lifeweaver: lets hug! we can warm each other up!

you: *sigh*... it's so cold, i don't know how you're dealing with this

lifeweaver: i just imagine you and i feel so warm (sexual innuendo)

he thinks it's funny to mess with you even if it's in-front of your friends. down worry in reality he wont say things like that too loud... just between you two.

when you get elems he has multiple voice lines where he's in absolute awe in what you can do and they vary on how many kills you get.

1-2 kills usually gets a "you're so cool~" or "you're blooming!" while 3-5 gets a "it's amazing such strong actions can belong to someone so gentle."

i imagine being life gripped feels the same as being dropped from a super high place almost like a roller coster so maybe you have voice lines where you express you hate getting pulled

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: ah! it feels so weird when you do that

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: im gonna hurl..

if you're critical when he pulls you however your tone changes to something more thankful and sweet

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: you love me! you really love me!

reference

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: oh niran, i could just kiss you right now!

reference

you two probably have skins that match for sure. you have an epic that just a recolor of your normal skin but its mostly white and you have baby pink forget-me-nots made out of biolight in your hair.

when he eliminates you he's always so cheeky about it. he says "*laughs* forgive me my love!" and "ยกโทษให้ฉันดอกไม้ของฉัน"

translation: forgive me my flower

when he kills you via melee however he always says "*gasp* you must train some more!" and "it looks like i'm the strongest now! *giggles*"

when you send him to the spawn room his voices lines always make him seem more in love with you than upset. he says "*sigh dreamily* oh i love that in a woman" , "such brute strength makes me love them more..." and "พวกเขาทําให้ฉันกระเด็นออกจากเท้าของฉันอย่างแท้จริง!"

translation: they knocked me off my feet literally!

[starmocha]

never the same Rafayel/MC | 2216 words | AO3 She will be his magnum opus. A/N: Uhh…this can be interpreted as sharing the same timeline as “the day bleeds into nightfall” or it’s in its own individual timeline. Not sure if it explains my mental state, but I wrote this while playing Kitty Cards at 2am.

He had that dream again.

Or rather, it was that nightmare that continued to play on loop every time he closed his eyes.

As the sun glared into his face, Rafayel blinked his grogginess away, his mind still lingering in a haze as the last remnants of his dream slipped away. His eyes adjusted to the room, and he remembered. As he sat up, groaning at the back pain, he realized he had fallen asleep on the wooden floor in the living room again.

He had lost count of how many times that had happened in the last four months. He cradled his head in his hand, groaning as he heard Thomas’ voice ringing in his ears over and over again:

Rafayel…I’m sorry…She is…

Rafayel groaned aloud, burying his face into his hands, wishing he was still asleep, just trapped in a horrendous dream waiting to wake up. He heaved and sobbed, just wishing he could bury the memory of that horrible day, but no matter how strongly he willed it, Thomas’ voice cut through, pained and saddened, but nowhere near the level of grief that consumed Rafayel:

She is…

“…dead.” He stared soullessly at his destroyed studio, canvases were smashed, incinerated, or shredded mercilessly with his blade during his rage. Paintbrushes were snapped like toothpicks while paint splattered everywhere like a crime scene.

Rafayel no longer found joy in his studio. He had not held a brush or pencil in four months except to destroy them in his grief and anger. There was no longer any inspiration or passion for his paintings just like how he no longer found any reason to wake up.

When she had left, she had taken all of the colors out of his palette.

The world had turned to gray, and he found himself stuck in a stagnant, his days repeating the same as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, looking at the messages he had sent over the months to someone who would never be able to respond to him again. He looked at the last conversation he had sent, just a month earlier:

do you know what the most heartbreaking thing in the world is

withered flowers beached fish

and me when i cant see you

Rafayel sighed and leaned against the window, his eyes drifting to the sparkling sea outside. The water seemed so inviting, like she was inviting him back into her embrace, urging him to let her lull him to sleep and forget this unrelenting pain.

He turned his gaze back down to his phone in his hand, his eyes drifting to the next conversation, dated two months ago:

its been a week and still cant paint anything

i think my inspiration left with something

His breath grew ragged as he scrolled up.

no motivation to paint these days

should i shut myself in

He scrolled up to three months earlier, recalling when he was finally starting to allow the notion that she was gone to enter his mind. He gripped his phone tightly as his hand trembled.

dun even remember what day it is today

the sea outside looks blue but also gray

a gray sea sounds pretty cool? maybe the entire world was gray from the start

He scrolled up to the first text conversation he had sent four months earlier, just three days after Thomas had revealed the devastating news to the painter and subsequently after his own vandalism of his studio.

thomas asked me why i didnt clean up my studio yesterday

nobodys coming over so why would i

When she had left, she had forsaken him again.

He knew she never did it willingly, never intending to hurt him, but the pain was all the same. For once, Rafayel found himself actually walking to his bedroom and laying down on the plush mattress to stare at the domed ceiling overhead. It was still dusk, but within just a few minutes, nightfall would take over, and the stars would come out to shine and illuminate the sky.

He raised his phone, covering his view of the glass dome. His eyes focused in on the last text message she had sent him shortly before her final mission:

Gonna send you messages in drift bottles LOL

The reception is going to be really bad in the mountains. I promise I’m not ignoring you, so don’t freak out again. We’ll go eat seafood when I’m back home! Or do you want sushi again? Make a decision before I come home!

“Neither,” he mumbled to the quiet room, his eyes already drifting back to the first word of the message as he reread it again and again and again, until the sound of waves finally lulled him to sleep under the starry sky.

When she had left, he wished to return to the ocean, becoming the seafoam and forget the cutting pain of mortal life.

The dream was always that same scene of Thomas breaking the news to Rafayel, but each time he had had the dream, the words started getting more muffled, like they were underwater.

This time was no different as Rafayel closed his eyes, wishing to drown out the words and forget the pained look on his agent’s face. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was underwater. His face relaxed, feeling the familiar cool water embraced him. The brief moment of serenity did not last long, though, as his sight caught a glimpse of a figure slowly sinking into the dark depths of the ocean.

His chest ached with a searing hot pain, his heart responding to her as she drifted further and further away from him. His body went into auto-mode, unaware of the instinctual changes as fin replaced the human legs he had previously. He swam with the swift speed of a black marlin, but no matter how close he should be getting to her, she was always cruelly pulled further out of his reach.

His voice called out to her, his throat raw with pain and desperation as he screamed and reached out, silently begging for their fingers to just touch.

“Come back…” His fin thrashed in the water, propelling him deeper into the cold darkness. He extended his arm, reaching desperately for her limp hand. “Come back…back…to me…”

As the darkness enveloped her, Rafayel woke up screaming and shaking, his chest tightening with pain as the dream replayed over and over in his mind. He buried his face into his hand, screaming and cursing for anyone to hear him.

“Why…why…wh…”

Just how many lifetimes was he supposed to endure, only for her to slip through his fingers like sand time and time again?

Rafayel mindlessly browsed a shopping website on his phone, just adding products after products to his cart without thinking about the actual necessity of the items or the prices. He also ordered art supplies again: new canvases, paint, and tools, but as he finalized the payment, he felt the same emptiness, the lack of desire to create.

His orders arrived the next day, sitting outside the studio for hours until Thomas stopped by and helped hauled the packages inside.

Along with his presence, Thomas had also brought along a bag of takeout food.

“It’s just fried chicken,” his agent commented, laying the greasy fast food out on the kitchen counter. “But it’s better than not eating.” The brunet looked at the painter with shades of disappointment and worries. “When was the last time you have eaten, Rafayel?”

Rafayel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and shrugged. “Dunno. Wednesday?”

“It’s Friday today,” Thomas bit out immediately, voice tinged with a layer of frustration. He sighed, reining in his emotions. “Just eat something. I have a meeting with the press in two hours. What should I tell them about your next project?”

Rafayel walked over and bit into a chicken tender strip. “Ugh, bland,” he quipped, tone unchanging. He waved off Thomas’ question. “Tell them I became a hermit. I ran away and I’m not painting anymore.”

Thomas crossed his arms and looked at Rafayel with a shake of his head, sensing that Rafayel was trying to maintain his usual flippant attitude, but this time, though, the once normal exaggeration seemed genuine. “I’ll tell them you are taking a break then.”

Rafayel waved him off without a glance as he stared at the array of fried chickens, buttered toast, onion rings, and a soda on the counter. “Should I make a sandwich…”

He placed the toast on a plate, spreading mayonnaise on the bread before stacking two chicken tenders and a large onion ring on top. He closed his creation with another slice of toast, pressing down on the sandwich before taking a bite, wishing he could go back to that perfect evening when she and him had shared a similar homecooked meal together.

Days slipped by in the usual monotony of disinterest and solitude, but sometimes Rafayel would break the cycle and sit down on the floor in front of the coffee table with Reddie’s fish bowl on top.

He watched the little fish swim in circles for hours, both of them unaware of the passage of time.

“Do you miss her?” Rafayel asked the fish. “Do you think about her?”

The Lemurian listened to his fish companion respond, and he sighed empathetically. “I do, too,” he admitted quietly as he reached for the bottle of fish food. He gave three light taps, watching the little round pellets float on the surface of the fish bowl.

Reddie immediately swam to the bottom of his bowl, hiding within the modest decorations to avoid his owner.

Rafayel frowned.

“You need to eat,” he scolded the little fish.

Reddie peeked out and opened his mouth, seemingly echoing the same words back to his owner.

For a moment, silence filled the studio, the only sound heard were the waves crashing on the shore outside and sea gulls crying overhead. Eventually, Rafayel relented.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, standing up and heading into the kitchen, unaware that Reddie swam to the top of his bowl and began eating again.

Rafayel knew there was no correct or concrete unanimous consensus for the exact appropriate time to grieve, but he still found himself angry with everyone.

The world was already moving on. Her former co-workers have already returned to some semblance of normalcy without her. No one mentioned her or her name. Strangers who had only met her once or pass by her unspoken had no idea a fair maiden had been taken from the world, her mere life exchanged for the sake of others.

The very thought enraged him, igniting the flames within himself.

She would not be forgotten, he vowed. Not by him and not by the world. For the remainder of this mortal life, he would pour his heart and soul into preserving her existence.

Rafayel picked up a paintbrush for the first time in months and he stepped forward, his sight set on the enormous canvas that claimed the entire studio wall.

My magnum opus.

The studio filled up with canvases of varying sizes, all at different stages of completion. Many of them were deemed as failed attempts to capture her beauty, her soul, her existence. Crumbled sketches scattered across the floor, surrounding Rafayel as he lay there staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally his eyes drifted to the large canvas waiting for him to start adding paint strokes to it.

It was not time yet. He hadn’t perfected her, still needing to practice recreating every single part of her on sketch papers and smaller canvases. He needed to perfect the curves of her body as she moved and swayed, capture the way her hair had flowed, and mix the perfect shade of paint that truly was reminiscent of her beautiful eyes.

Rafayel was in a hypnotized daze, losing himself to his newfound obsession of preserving her memory for the world to see.

She was here.

She was here.

She was here.

Through his paintings, he was going to scream to the world that she was here and she would be immortalized alongside the great muses of the past. He surrendered himself to endless nights of painting, trapped in a frenzy as he hurried to capture the images in his mind before they slipped away.

“…here…she was here…” His hand glided across the canvas as his chest throbbed, the desperation to hold onto the image in his mind was etched on his face as he moved quickly to preserve it. “She…is here…”

Dawn broke through the night, the orange glow of the sun taking over, its light creeping into the studio as Rafayel staggered back from his latest creations. He smiled, delirious from the recent spells of sleep deprivation, his eyes taking in the portrait of her he had painted a week prior. The beauty before him smiled radiantly against the backdrop of a blue sky, her eyes locked on his, beckoning him closer to her with an outstretched hand.

One day, in a new lifetime, they will be together again.

“For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow…” he murmured, stepping forward and letting his lips meet hers on the canvas. His eyes closed as he shuddered and sighed, his hand splayed over hers.

A bond everlasting.

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 18: Ghost

Contents | Part 17 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) After the disappearance of Father Benedict, Ellis finds herself struggling to move on.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes. Alcohol consumption, descriptions of weight loss/body insecurity and low mood. Discussions of TTC and pregnancy (not MC), death and grief. Readers must be 18+

To anyone else, the scene around you would have been a happy one. Beautiful, even. Family and friends gathered on the rooftop garden of a pub; flowers and greenery swaying in the mild October breeze, glittering fairy lights and pastel coloured bunting hanging against the backdrop of a blushing evening sky. 

Music played softly in the background, melding with pleasant chitchat, clinking glasses and laughter. A large chalkboard stood near the bar, listing cocktails named after your cousin and her new fiancé; Bex on the Beach, Gregroni, Wedding Bellini, Mai Tie-the-knot. You liked Negronis, but you'd have sooner drank dishwater than asked the bartender for a Gregroni. 

You sat at a table on the edge of the room as the couple floated around the party together. Your cousin Rebecca showing off her engagement ring to anyone who asked, while Greg gave firm handshakes and fiddled with his hair every two minutes. You hadn't said much since you arrived. Partly because you didn't like parties, the bustle and chaos giving you headaches that took days to pass. But mostly because you simply had nothing to say. You hadn't had much to say for a while now. 

The sun and moon shared the sky, passing each other like two ships in the night, their time together so fleeting yet undeniably beautiful. You wondered how long they had left together, if the moon would feel lonely once the sun dipped below the horizon. 

Your makeup was irritating your eyes, your hair itching the back of your neck. For weeks you'd fallen into a cycle of nothing but work and sleep, forgetting what it felt like to dress up, to sit in the company of other people. Happy people. You felt like a ghost, observing the world from another plane where you could see them but they couldn't see you. 

You were sitting at a table with your back to a brick wall, turning a glass of rum and coke with your fingers as you stared up at the sky. Your mother was sat beside you, deep in conversation with your grandmother across the table. Mara had gone to the bar for another drink, her empty chair quickly filled by your aunt Pauline the moment she got up. 

 "Ellis." your mother's voice faded into focus. "Ellis...?" 

You blinked a few times, the glare from the sun creating spots in your vision. "Hm?" 

"Your aunt was talking to you..." 

"Oh, sorry, what did you say?"

"I said it's your turn next," said Pauline with grin.

You stared at her blankly. 

"To get married," she specified. "Now my Becca's engaged, that makes you the last cousin left." 

"But Alexander isn't married," you said, looking at the three women as you spoke. "Neither's Dionne." 

"Oh Alexander's off travelling the world so he doesn't count," said your grandmother. "And well, Dionne's a lesbian." She whispered the last word, as though she'd be struck by lightning if she said it out loud. 

You narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"I'm calling it now," said Pauline. "I give it two years and we'll be watching you walk down the aisle." 

"I'm failing to see what I've done to give you that idea," you replied. 

Mara approached the table with a drink in her hand. You noticed her face fall when she realised her seat had been taken, rolling her eyes and grabbing one from nearby and dragging it across the floor to squeeze in between your aunt and grandmother. 

You felt your eyes glaze over as they continued talking; wondering how many times they'd had this exact conversation with you, how it was yet to dawn on them that you didn't want to hear it.

"And the quicker you have kids, the better," said your grandmother. "Luckily for you, Mara waited until she was older to start a family." 

Mara pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. 

"Which means you've still got a chance of having children close in age." 

"Why would that matter?" you asked. 

"So they can be friends!" said your mother. "Think of how boring your childhood would've been if you didn't have your cousins to play with." 

"They never let me play with them..." 

"Soleil's, what, ten months old?" said your grandmother, ignoring your comment. "So Mara's going to want to have another in the next year or two-"

"Am I?" Mara raised her hands in confusion. 

"Which gives you time, Ellis, to meet someone and settle down." 

You tried to ignore the pang in your chest, the Father-Benedict-shaped knife in your gut. You cleared your throat and forced a nod. "Well, now that I know my entire future is contingent on my sister's reproductive system, I'll be sure to get right on it." 

Rebecca appeared at your table, placing a hand on the back of her mother's chair as she smiled down at you all. 

"Thanks so much for coming," she said excitedly. 

"Congratulations, love," said the women in uncanny unison. 

"Congratulations," Mara added.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, even a smile felt painful. 

She held out her hand, proudly showing off the large diamond on her finger. You stood up as they all began to coo and gush over the ring, quietly excusing yourself and meandering across the crowded rooftop. 

You ordered another drink, resting your elbow on the bar and massaging your temple with your fingers. The sun was dropping lower, and you wondered how much longer you would have to stay; how many more times you would bite your tongue or force a smile.

You felt someone brush against your arm, turning to see Mara standing beside you, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the bar as she groaned quietly to herself. 

"I'm sorry about that," she said. 

"About what?" 

"About mum and nan and aunt Pauline. You know they wouldn't have gone on like that if they knew what happened with the priest-"

"They've been reminding me of my ticking body clock since I was about twenty," you said plainly. "There's nothing you could've said to stop it." 

The bartender placed your fresh rum and coke in front of you. You thanked him and took a sip as Mara lifted her head, letting out a long, aggravated huff. 

"Why is it so hard for them to comprehend that a woman can be perfectly fulfilled without kids?" she said, turning to look at you. "D'you know I was completely content without children? Totally fine. I mean, I always assumed I'd have them eventually, but I didn't feel like I needed them to be happy."

You stayed quiet, watching her as the words began to spill, stumbling out of her mouth as though she couldn't form them quick enough. 

"We decided after we got married that what will be, will be, y'know? So we stopped using protection - if it was going to happen then it'd happen. But then... it didn't happen. And a few months turned into years, and suddenly it was like this... dark cloud looming over me. I became obsessed with just getting pregnant. With being capable of the very thing my body was made for. I completely lost sight of the baby that comes after, the literal human being we'd be bringing into the world and raising for the rest of our lives. I just wanted to prove I could get pregnant. I lived my life in 28 day cycles for seven years, making myself sick with stress, crying on the toilet when I got my period every fucking month. And it had nothing to do with wanting to be a mother. I just didn't want to be a failure." 

She glanced over her shoulder to the table where your mother, aunt and grandmother still sat. 

"And the whole time, I had to sit and listen to them droning on and on and on about how old I was getting, how strange it was that we hadn't started having babies as soon as we got married." She rolled her eyes. "Then I finally got pregnant with Soleil, and I was so... relieved. Not happy. Not excited. Relieved. Now she's here, and you know what, I adore her. She's amazing, I'm so lucky to be her mum. But god, I miss my life before her. I miss doing whatever the fuck I want, when I want; sleeping until midday, going out for a drink and not having to worry about being hungover with a baby to look after the next day, taking a shit with the door closed."

You laughed. 

"I'm not more fulfilled now that I have a child. I'm grateful, sure. But all that bullshit they keep hammering you with, Ellis, the clock ticking and the guilt tripping and the 'don't wait like Mara did'. Don't listen to it. They're not asking when you're going to settle down because they think you'll be a great wife or mother. It's because for some reason they can't fathom the idea that you might just be perfectly fucking content on your own." 

You paused, mulling over her words. "I just... I feel like they don't know how to talk to me. So instead they talk at me; tell me all the things they think a woman my age should be doing, without actually caring if any of that would be right for me." You took another sip of your drink. "Like, Jesus, why does it always have to be about men and kids and marriage? I just want to be asked about my favourite fucking cheese or something, y'know." 

Mara laughed and gestured to the bartender. "Two shots of sambuca, please." 

You grimaced. 

He placed them in front of her soon after. She slid a shot glass over to you before raising her own. You reluctantly raised yours, clinking them together before throwing it back in one gulp, gagging as the strong liquor burned your throat. 

Mara put her empty glass on the bar and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What is your favourite cheese?" 

"Mozzarella." 

"What a boring fucking answer." 

You arrived home with the scent of alcohol on your clothes, a pounding in your head and ringing in your ears. There was a buzz in your bones, liquor warming your veins as you plodded barefoot up the stairs, carrying your heels in your hand. 

You unlocked the front door and stepped into your flat, darkness swaddling you like a blanket; closed curtains and filtered moonlight, mess you'd learned to navigate without sight. Your home had become a time capsule of the day he left; books still waiting to be shelved, the sacred heart propped on the table, two glasses unused on the draining board. 

You didn't bother to switch on a light, dropping your shoes and bag as you walked through the living room. You wondered what he was doing right now, if he was wandering through the dark somewhere, seeking solace in the shadows. 

Your new bed sat in pieces, still packed inside a large unopened box with the delivery label stuck to its side. You walked into the bedroom and stepped around it, as though it wasn't even there, turning your back to the floor-length mirror propped against the wall as you began to undress. 

You couldn't bear to look at yourself anymore; the things he'd loved about your body slowly wilting, fading away with each day that passed. Your breasts no longer filled the cups of your bra, and the elastic of your briefs no longer left indents in your hips. You were a husk, with protruding collarbones and a rutted spine, sunken cheeks and spindly wrists. A version of yourself you struggled to recognise, so you'd stopped trying.

You stripped down to your underwear and crawled onto the mattress in the middle of the floor, pulling the duvet up to your chin and closing your eyes, letting the alcohol slowly lull you to sleep. 

Autumn had crept in slow, turning the trees a muster of yellows and golds, rich reds and deep browns. They lined the streets like a tunnel, rusty leaves arching over the roads like a vaulted chapel ceiling. 

The bus rattled as it drove through puddles and potholes, the windows shuddering, passengers swaying. You clung to a small bag of groceries on your lap, the church coming into view as you rounded the next corner. You couldn't help but peer out at it, as though checking to see if it was all still there, if it had somehow changed in your month-long absence.

Your eyes narrowed when you noticed a car parked near the parish hall. It looked just like his, with faded paint and a crooked wing mirror, tyres in desperate need of air. You pressed the bell before you could talk yourself out of it, rushing down the aisle as the bus came to a halt at the next stop. You stepped down and hurried quickly across the church grounds, groceries in hand and a heartbeat in your throat. 

You pushed through the doors of the hall, the heels of your shoes squeaking against the shiny laminate floor as you marched inside. There was a group of people sitting in a circle, their heads turning in unison as you approached. You recognised most of them; Sandra and John and Marion and Louise, the same look of sadness on their faces that followed them to every grief support meeting. 

You stopped, eyes falling on the man in the white collar; greying hair and round cheeks, long eyelashes that fluttered as he blinked at you in confusion. He was a priest, but he wasn't your priest. 

"S-sorry..." you said quietly, taking a tentative step back. 

"That's okay," he replied. "Are you here for the session?" 

"Erm..." you glanced around at the people you knew, then down at the bag in your hand, the milk you needed to put in the fridge and loaf of bread that was probably squashed beyond repair. 

"Come sit down, Ellis," said Louise, patting an empty chair beside her. 

"Oh, you've been before?" the priest asked, shoulders relaxing slightly. 

You hesitated before finally joining them, sitting down without removing your coat and averting your eyes to the floor. 

"What was your name, sorry? Ellie?" 

"Ellis," you replied quietly.

"Ellis, got it. I'm Father Richard, I'm new to St Augustine's." 

Something inside you crumbled. You'd heard Father Benedict say that so many times, it felt like there was an imposter in his place, someone sitting in his chair, wearing his clothes. You were so stupid, so pathetic to think you'd walk in and see him there, smiling up at you as if the last month hadn't happened. 

You settled into your seat as he picked up where he'd left off, asking people questions and plucking bible verses from the top of his head. There was a woman on the other side of the circle you'd never seen at a meeting before. But you recognised her from mass, always in the back pews with her brood of children and handsome husband. You wondered who she'd lost, how she still managed to look so pretty in the throes of mourning.  

"I suppose I'm just struggling," she said. "The guilt is eating me alive. Every time I so much as laugh or smile I think how awful it is of me. My sister is dead, how dare I feel happy." 

The priest nodded, humming in understanding as he mulled over her words. "It's a completely normal feeling to experience after losing a loved one. Can anyone else relate to Colette's struggles with guilt?" 

There was a murmur of agreement, nods and shuffles around the circle. But you remained quiet, still, sinking into the coat that was too big for you now. 

"You know, you've actually reminded me of something that happened a few years ago," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "There was a lady at my old parish who lost her husband to a very sudden, short illness. She was... understandably devastated, they'd been married forty-odd years and within the space of a couple of weeks, he was gone. I did his funeral service, and two days later there was a village fête; some of us from the church went to try and raise some money for repairs."

You noticed an empty table across the room, and you couldn't help but think of Father Benedict; how he would have had water there for everyone, how he always chose to hold these meetings in the pub because it was smaller, comfier, less daunting and echoey. 

"Anyway, we've got our stands set up," he continued. "Some carnival type games and a stall selling cakes and what not. I look up and I see this woman coming towards us carrying these big handmade gift baskets for our raffle. Of course, I pulled her aside and I told her she didn't have to be there. She was grieving, buried her husband two days earlier, no one would expect her to spend the day at a busy fête. Then... She said something that stuck with me."

You tore your eyes from the table, forcing yourself to focus on the priest as he spoke.

"She said: 'would me not being here bring my husband back? If I sat at home, shutting myself off from things that bring me joy, would that change the fact that he's gone?' Then she smiled and said: 'Father, my life did not end when his did. But if I spend the years I have left moping around and missing out on things I enjoy, it might as well have. The love you have for someone is not measured in the misery you feel in their absence. It's in the joy you feel that you got to love them at all.' Then she walked off, got herself a bag of candy floss and won a teddy on a game of hook-a-duck." 

There was a murmur of sniffles and quiet chuckles around the circle. You watched Colette wipe a tear from her eye, smiling appreciatively and taking a deep, cleansing breath. And without a pause, the meeting continued. But you found yourself stuck on his words, playing them over in your mind like a broken cassette. 

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*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

[yangkitties]

bros before hoes ✰ chapter 09: dance dance

wc: 0.7k

Waiting for Sunghoon, you quickly set up the cameras for your behind the scenes vlog. You were excited to practice with him again, having had so much fun the last time. 

Through out the one month you’ve been MCs, you like to think you’ve gotten a lot closer. Especially after the day you practiced 7th sense together. 

It was so easy to be around Sunghoon, his naturally charming and slightly awkward personality matching yours perfectly. He always knew exactly what to say, whether he was reassuring you or cheering you up. The highlight of your weeks was when you went to MC with him, always having the time of your life with his silly jokes and witty improvisations. 

You’re reviewing the choreography for the dance as Sunghoon walks in, excitedly waving at you. You wave back to him, signalling him to come over to the camera. 

You both stand awkwardly in front of the camera, looking at each other before you burst out giggling. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. 

It was all in vain, because when you make eye contact with him again, the both of you breaking out into peals of laughter. 

‘Today we’re gonna be practicing ‘woman on the beach’!!’ Your bright smile covers half the frame, your hands filling the rest as you excitedly continue to ramble about the stage. 

‘I might be excited, but I don’t think Sunghoon is…’ You tilt the camera to capture Sunghoon, who looks like he’s going through the entire range of human emotion in the span of 3 seconds. He sighs, whining as he comes closer to you. 

‘Why did they have to pick such a cute concept.’ He pouts unconsciously, frowning at the stage instructions in his hand. ‘I’m SO bad at cute concepts!’ 

‘Awww, no you aren’t! But… is this reminding you of Chamber 5? Another concept out of your comfort zone.’ You smirk as you tease him lightly, giggling at the way his ears go red. 

‘PLEASE! Don’t remind me of that torture!!!’ He shudders, trying to shake away the bad memories. 

‘Hmm I don’t think cute concepts should be that hard for you, considering you were the cutest in Hey Tayo!’ You continue to tease him, enjoying the way he squirms. 

‘Oh my god, come on, let’s just get to practicing, PLEASE!’ He drags you away from the camera, your laughter following his footsteps. 

You begin practicing, and slowly you start to slip into the zone. Although it’s a cute and lighthearted concept, you can’t help but treat it with incredible amounts of seriousness, focusing on every bit of advice the choreographer gives you. 

Practice seems to go on for hours, but it’s so much more bearable with Sunghoon’s pearly smile and adorable whining.

After about 2 hours, your bones feel like jelly and your face hurts from smiling. Just as you strike the ending pose for the performance, you hear the door open. 

You turn around to see Tsuki, smiling ear to ear. She waves at you, patiently waiting for the choreographer to announce your break. 

‘Sunghoon, this is your chance!! Go to talk to her!’ You push him lightly and he stumbles, his limbs suddenly burdened with awkwardness as he tentatively approaches Tsuki. 

Your legs and hands may hurt from the hours of practice, but nothing hurts more than the tightening of your chest as you see Sunghoon talking to Tsuki, or at least trying to talk to her. 

He awkwardly tries to make conversation with her, smiling every so often. You see Tsuki smiling back at him, nodding her head quizzically. Her lips curl into a small smile as he continues to ramble, eyes earnest as she listens to every word he says. 

They look good together, complimenting each other in ways you didn’t think could be possible. And Sunghoon looks happy, and you know this is what he wants, she is who he wants. At the end of the day, it’s her, and not you. 

You walk away, not ready to face that pain yet. You sit in the furthest corner of the room, waiting for everything to be over. 

prev | m.list | next

synopsis > with the help of fukutomi tsuki, park y/n finally gains the courage to face their long time crush, the one and only, park sunghoon. park sunghoon thinks it's love at first sight when he sees her. paired up as the new mcs of music bank, shenanigans ensue when y/n learns about sunghoon's crush...

note: this chap was supposed to be released WAY earlier but we ball :P hope you guys enjoy the angst 🥰

©️ yangkitties 2024 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost

[babybemydownfall]

The Storm and the Sunrise

Summary: Feyre and Rhys take a holiday, Rhys makes a storm and then they make a baby. Set post-ACOWAR, wandering happily off into AU. NSFW.

Chapter 1/3 (so far). (Ch 2 - Ch 3)

Notes: A few prerequisites for this story: - Set somewhere after book 3, when everyone is happy and at peace. Hurrah. - No silly thing about wings and pelvises - they will both be fine. - More to follow, including Feminist!Feyre and Rhys - because let's face it, she's not going to lie down for ten months and he's the original feminist of Prythian.

Please enjoy! Would love to hear your thoughts and any scenes you'd like to see in future.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

II

It was still dark outside in Velaris when Feyre woke up one morning and she knew.

It was her breasts - they felt so tight, like they'd grown four sizes overnight. In surprise, she reached up to hold them and yelped at how tender they were. Rhys stirred next to her but didn't wake. She slipped out of bed and then out of their bedroom, pulling on her dressing gown before silently closing the door behind her. The tall clock which stood proudly at the end of the landing told her it was only four thirty in the morning. The house was still; not even the servants had arrived for work yet. And outside the tall windows the city slumbered too, as breathtaking as ever beneath a thin layer of late winter snow. But Feyre was wide awake. 

And pregnant. 

Bathed in moonlight and starlight as she stood alone, hands pressed into her lower abdomen, she breathed deeply and felt tears sting her eyes.  

At last. 

It had taken almost two years; three of those gods-awful cycles which left her in agonising pain for days at a time. The last one was just over two months ago, and she and Rhys knew from all their reading about Fae biology that she was most fertile in the two weeks afterwards. And so they got to work.

Not that it was work. Quite the opposite. 

In fact, they’d taken formal leave from their Court and disappeared, putting Amren in charge and only to be contacted in dire emergency. But now that peace had fallen upon Prythian, there were no emergencies. No distractions from each other, nor the job at hand. And it was blissful. Fourteen days of Rhys all to herself - the happiest either of them had ever been.  

And the sorest.

It was impossible to count how many times they made love. Firstly when they stayed in the cabin and then, in the second week, in the most beautiful rooms in the Summer, Sun and Dawn Courts. (Shielded, of course. Double shielded, by them both, because they were loud and they knew it.) 

They were guests of Tarquin, Helion and Thesan, but not there on official business. So there were no formal banquets or tedious meetings with dignitaries; just private lunches with their friends, a suite in their palaces and freedom to roam across their lands, exploring as visitors. There was so much of Prythian that Feyre had never seen; so much in fact that Rhys had missed out on too, when his Court had been an enemy of most of the land for most of his life.

And they thoroughly enjoyed their adventuring, seduced by the beauty around them and, inevitably, by each other. They got naked together on the vast, white beaches of the Summer Court’s east coast, running into the ocean afterwards to wash off the sand. They picnicked in the tranquil forests of Dawn, which glowed with pink and golden light as if perpetually illuminated by the warmth of the morning sun - and feeding one another soon became a feast of a different kind. And in the mountain glades of their own Court, surrounded by winter snows, their noses were cold on each other’s cheeks as they shared body heat and breathless kisses, wrapped up tight beneath their thick, fur-lined coats. 

It was the luxury of time: the time they never got to share after she accepted the mating bond. The time they’d lost before they even found one another. The time to finally relax, after the war, after the fight for peace that continued long beyond the battlefield. 

It had taken Rhys a few days to really switch off, to leave behind his title and just be himself; her mate. It was the first time since he was a child that he’d let go of every responsibility, every ounce of weight and expectation which had sat upon his broad shoulders for the past five hundred years. But once he did - by the Gods he was glorious. Unglamored, his mind unshielded from her, he just smiled and laughed and played and… radiated happiness. 

And Feyre found it devastatingly attractive. 

“Let’s never go back,” he murmured at one point, his breathing still heavy after their latest round of lovemaking. They were sat on the rug in the cabin’s living area, leaning back against the couch, their skin heated by each other and their exertion and the roaring fire in the hearth. Outside snow fell heavily against the windows, wind howling, cocooning them in against the cold. Against the entire world outside. Safe and secure, just the two of them - so frequently intertwined they were almost one. 

Feyre smiled and pulled a blanket over them. “As much as I’d love that… you would miss it.” 

“Would I? I’m not sure. Not when I can have this instead.” 

He pulled her onto his lap, his violet gaze capturing hers for a long moment before he kissed her mouth, then a lazy path along her jaw. The things she saw in his eyes when he looked at her like that: the haze of pleasure still thrumming in his veins. The love he had for her, as deep and ancient and unending as his power. The fiery passion, the unquenchable lust for her - for more. Always more.  

She could feel herself melting into him all over again, even though the last aftershocks had barely faded from her body, her mind. “You are insatiable,” she sighed, already wet for him.

“I know.” His face was buried in her hair, his lips moving over the sensitive curve of her ear as his fingertips traced patterns on her ribs. “I still want you as much as the very first time.” Feyre moaned, her hips grinding against his renewed erection. “I still want to be inside you every fucking minute of every damn day.” He bit her earlobe and she whimpered his name. “It’s… madness. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her again, his eyes black, his edges lost to darkness and night. When he dipped his head and swirled his tongue over her nipple, she rose up on her knees, positioning his rock-hard cock and sinking straight down onto him.

“Feyre,” he hissed. Rough hands held her face and his mouth claimed hers, needy and wild, as instinct made them move together in the rhythm that was theirs and theirs alone.

“Fuck me hard,” she commanded between ravenous kisses. This wasn’t enough - not yet. She needed to be owned. Split open. Destroyed. “Harder than… ever… before.”

He growled as he lifted her, as he stood and carried her to the wall beside the fireplace. But Feyre was barely aware of their surroundings as she cast her mind out towards his, grabbing him with impatient hands, pulling him in close - so close he enveloped her, smothered her, became her. Together they were the night sky, and the moon and the stars and the sun; together they were two fae bodies and two halves of the same soul and they were power incarnate.

She felt him hold her against the wall with a sliver of magic; felt his hands push her knees to her chest and then he was pounding into her and she was splintering, full to the brim with him, his cock hitting all her deepest spots. It was pleasure and stretching and exquisite, breath-taking pain, and just when she thought he might actually break her in two, she came.

And came.

And roared.

It went on forever. Her muscles clenched around him over and over as she gushed with wetness and pure ecstasy radiated outwards from her core, spreading all the way to her curled toes and her fingertips and further - bright light soaring into the world. It was so familiar and yet unlike anything she’d ever known before.

It was madness - just like he’d said.

Rhys slowed as she finally settled, just enough to reassure them both that she was alright. She managed to open her eyes and look at him; wanted to say something but there were no words. She might never be able to speak again, after that. But she knew he could feel it -everything she was. A fearsome warrior. A beautiful goddess.

A molten mess of hot, throbbing bliss.

“I love you,” he rasped, and winnowed them to the bed.

He lay over her and kissed her as he began to move again, his wings splaying out behind him. Feyre let him take her, let him lose himself inside her, powerless to do much other than enjoy. Her limbs still felt boneless, her body unable and unwilling to recover itself just yet. She knew it wouldn’t be long until he found his release. His momentary reprieve was already forgotten: he was thrusting hard and fast, and his mind was as untamed and dangerous as an ocean storm. It whipped and swirled around hers, crashing over them again and again, threatening to drown them both.

And always, underneath the chaos: Feyre. Love. Mine.

I love you, she whispered back, kissing him, holding him. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Until the end of time.

And then she took everything she’d felt just minutes ago - the indescribable rapture, the euphoria of the fall - and poured it into the bond between them. This, she said hoarsely, the memories and the feel of him right now bringing tears to her eyes. Become this, Rhys darling. Join me. Let go.

The ocean erupted.

Thunder and lightning and darkness filled the room, the cabin, the sky beyond. His uncontainable pleasure swallowed her, consumed her; the final thrusts of his hips shocked her into another orgasm, short but unbelievably sweet.

That surge of power between them was unlike anything they’d ever known before, and it took so long to recover that Feyre’s skin was entirely cold by the time she realised who and where she was again.

Rhys was lying half on top of her, his head on her chest. The light from the lamps was visible again, although outside she could still hear the rumble of his storm fading into the distance.

“What was that?” she managed to say, her voice barely audible.

He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and paused for a long moment before he spoke. “I don’t know. You told me to fuck you hard and then you grabbed onto my mind like that and I- I lost control of everything. Lost who I am. That’s never happened before.”

He leaned up on one elbow so he could see her. Then, realising that she was shivering, he reached over for the far edge of the duvet and wrapped it around them both. His gorgeous face, his dark blue eyes, were filled with a mixture of confusion and awe. “You never fail to surprise me, Feyre darling. You are… so dangerous.”

She couldn’t help but smile, even though she knew he was serious. “We are dangerous. Together we remade the Cauldron; remade the world. And I know it shouldn’t, but that power - it really turns me on.”

His laughter seemed to catch him by surprise, and the atmosphere changed in an instant. Feyre laughed too and reached up to kiss his cheek, his nose, the perfect arch of his eyebrow.

“I loved the storm,” she confessed, fingers sliding into his hair. “Very sexy.”

“I’ve never made lightning before,” he replied thoughtfully.

“That’s nothing compared to the way you made me feel.” Feyre pressed her mouth to his, overcome with affection. “I love all of you, Rhys,” she murmured, gazing deep into his eyes. “I love your mind and body all over mine. There is no piece of you that scares me. I want it all, always.”

He smiled at her, a truly beautiful smile, straight from his heart. And then he moved downwards, kissing her collarbone, between her breasts, her abdomen. “Do you think,” he mused, nuzzling his face into her lower belly, “With all that power… Maybe tonight we made something else?”

Feyre felt her chest constrict. “I hope so,” she said softly.

“Even if not tonight,” Rhys went on, crawling back up over her, drawing her with him towards the pillows so they could both settle into bed properly, “We will someday. I’m sure of it.”

She snuggled into his chest, taking his certainty and wrapping it tightly around herself like another layer of warmth. Now that the afterglow from the most intense orgasm of her life had finally faded, she realised she was utterly exhausted.

You were right, she told him drowsily. We should stay here forever.

He kissed her hair and squeezed her against him. I’m always right, darling. I thought you’d learned that by now.

Ssh. I’m sleeping. Goodnight.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyre slept for a solid eight hours, and dreamed of nothing but their baby.

II

Back in snowy Velaris, in the quiet before dawn, she leaned back against the sink in the guest bathroom and waited. She had peed into a vial of clear liquid, which would change colour over the next few minutes as the compounds reacted with her pregnancy hormones. She had done several of these tests before, in secret in this room - always in hope rather than expectation, and always to be disappointed. Rhys never said anything, although she was sure he knew. He just held her when she was sad, and whispered that it wasn’t her fault, and that it would happen one day.

She rubbed her hands over her face and glanced at the vial.

This day.

A beautiful dark purple was blossoming there - just like the little life growing inside her body.

It wasn’t a surprise and yet Feyre still gasped; still put her hand to her mouth, trying and failing to hide her ridiculous smile. Her first thought was to run back to their bedroom; to leap on Rhys and wake him up and tell him the news between a thousand joyful kisses.

But something held her back. The stillness of the house, the calm of these solitary hours before the sun rose - she wanted to stay here just a little bit longer. To breathe deeply. To let her feelings wash over her, consume her: relief, excitement. Fear. Overwhelm.

Happiness.

The deep, soul-stirring happiness that only love could conjure. The kind that made her tremble and wrap her arms around her body, holding herself together even as she threatened to burst wide open. The kind that made her laugh, gathered tears beneath her eyelashes and shone through her skin like starlight. The kind that she felt with Rhys, with her friends and her sisters and now, with the tiny seed growing inside her - the newest member of their family.

She had wanted this for so long and now that it was real, it somehow didn’t feel real at all.

A baby.

Her and Rhys’s baby.

She wandered silently across the upstairs landing, feeling for her mate down the bond, checking he was still asleep. She sent him some reassuring thoughts: Feyre is fine; she woke up early and went to make a cup of tea. Sleep, rest. She’ll see you when the sun rises.

This lovely old house, which had been his but was now theirs. Over the past couple of years she’d added paintings, trinkets, books; an antique loveseat beneath the window which overlooked the back garden. And out there, the biggest change of all - her painting studio.

She passed one of the guest rooms on her way to the stairs; paused at the door and wondered if this would be the baby’s nursery. She would paint the walls - blue. The Bone Carver had shown her it would be a boy, and she believed him. Deep blue, like his father’s eyes, like the velvety night before the sunrise.

Her body trembled with disbelief, with hope.  

A baby.

She did make tea, in the kitchen, alone. Still no servants, thankfully. Then she slipped on her shoes and opened the back door. The air was crisp and clear; the only sound her footsteps on the snowy path. She used her power to wrap herself in warmth, and then again to heat and illuminate the inside of her studio. She wondered briefly if she should be careful using it, now that she was pregnant. But then again, she was made - literally Made - from magic. It pulsed through her with every beat of her heart. And Rhys was… well. He was Rhys. The most powerful High Lord there ever was. Their child was destined to be a magical being, probably even more so than his parents. And Feyre knew in that moment that her power could never hurt him. It had created him; it already swam through his blood.

She breathed in the familiar scent of her art space, which she and Rhys had built after the war ended. It was her sanctuary: two walls and the high ceiling made entirely of glass to let in the light during the day; the remaining surfaces all white but flecked with colour and scattered with canvases and paper, with ideas and sketches and endless possibility.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to paint. When she was full of feelings like this, it was the best way she knew to start to make sense of them. And so she took a large, blank canvas and placed it on her easel; gathered brushes and colours - just black, white and one other; a mixing palette, a stool and a small table for her tea.

And she painted.

II

The sun had risen when Rhys found her.

A soft knock on the glass door startled her. She had no idea how long she’d been there.

Her mate entered, a fresh mug of tea in his hands. He was already dressed in his usual black, and she realised she was still in her long nightgown and robe.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he said, replacing her cup without looking at the canvas. He always waited to be invited to see her art; she didn’t like to reveal it until it was ready. Was this ready? She didn’t know. It would take days, weeks - maybe even months - to process all her emotions. She couldn’t sit here forever.

No, this wasn’t finished but it was… a start. Just like the dawn was the start of the day; just like today was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

She stood and walked into his waiting arms. “Hi.”

“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “I hate waking up alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I understand. I’m just being petulant.”

Feyre laughed and glanced up, and he kissed her. Then his arms tightened around her back and she winced. Her breasts. Ouch.

Of course he noticed. “What, darling? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.” He met her gaze again, concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… different.”

She felt him reach for her down the bond, and asked him to wait outside. He would know the second he was inside her mind. ‘I’m pregnant!’ were pretty much the only words in there, throwing themselves around with nervous energy.

His eyes widened but he did as she asked.

Feyre took a deep breath. Then she pulled on his hand, leading him to stand in front of the easel.

“Look,” she said softly.

Up close, the picture was all blue - shades and shades of blue, from the palest icy breath to the darkest, inky sky. She stepped back several paces, drawing him with her. And just as she’d planned, everything became clearer from further away.

The mountains of their home. The storm - lightning and thunder. Not literal, but the feel of it. The two figures, swirling around one another, light and dark - like how their minds melded, how they belonged. And in the centre, cradled between them - a flicker of white. A spark of hope.

A new life.

She looked up at Rhys. He was still staring at the painting but his breathing was heavier, his fingers gripping hers so tightly it hurt.

“Do you see?” she whispered.

He turned his head towards her and his eyes were shimmering. “Feyre.”

It was almost a question, and she beamed as she answered it anyway:

“Yes.”

“You’re…”

She nodded, feeling tears rise and spill straight over onto her cheeks. “I am. I’m pregnant.”

“We’re having a baby?”

“We are.”

The most incredible smile took over his face. “Feyre!” He crushed her in a hug, immediately making her whimper as he squashed her chest against his.

“Shit,” he said hastily, drawing back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I woke up this morning and my breasts hurt. And I just knew.”

He gazed at her, his expression a mixture of absolute joy and utter disbelief. Gods, she loved him so much. And then she was crying, and he was brushing his fingertips and his lips over her face, and then they were kissing and she wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to never, ever forget how this felt.

He trailed his mouth down her body, pressing kisses to every inch he passed. Then he knelt before her, knelt on his mountains and stars and rested his forehead against her belly. Feyre stroked his hair, her tears still falling.

Our baby, he said silently, reverently.

Feyre let down her shield, let him see the pregnancy test and the dreams she’d had that night in the cabin; let him feel her excitement, her elation, her relief.

Our baby, she echoed.

She sank down to the floor and into his arms, and they held onto each other for the longest time.

“You know,” Rhys said eventually, his tone light - but she could feel the waves of emotion crashing down the bond, every so often making him gasp for breath. “I was right. That night I made the storm - I told you we’d make a baby too.”

“Oh, so this is all about you?” she teased.

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “On the contrary, Feyre darling. This is all about you now. I just like to get credit where credit’s due.”

She laughed quietly and held his face in her palms. “You are insufferable, and ridiculous, and the most handsome and loving and wonderful thing in the whole world. And you are going to be the best father to our boy.”

He blinked. “You believe the Bone Carver?”

“Don’t you?”

He nodded slightly. “I do.”

And he seemed speechless again, so she stood up and pulled him to his feet. When he looked at her questioningly, she grinned and tugged him towards the door beyond which the new day’s sun was shining down, already melting the snow.

“Come on,” she said brightly. “I’m cancelling all our plans and sending the servants home. I want to spend the whole day just lying with you, and daydreaming about our baby, and maybe even recreating the night he was conceived. If that’s okay with you?”

She started to lead him back down the garden path, but didn’t get far.

Her delighted screams filled the winter air as he scooped her up and carried her straight to their bed.

II

TBC

[bengiyo]

Last Twilight Ep 7 Stray Thoughts

Last week, August tried to make up with Day after standing him up on their date. Aon also showed up that day and mentioned that he is participating in a race with his new girlfriend. Day and August started practicing together, making Mhok a bit jealous. August organized a surprise party for Day with the rest of the badminton folks and kissed Day. Unfortunately, August only sees Day as a friend and walked off. Mhok confronted August and then took Day to a rooftop where he then kissed Day as well.

Oh hell yeah! I am so glad we’re not skipping over the kiss aftermath. Mhok is his caregiver, so this is going to immediately change things.

I love Porjai. Got her all worked up just to tell her what she already knew. These two are my favorite exes of the year.

“I didn’t say it.” Well he’s technically not lying.

This show is excellent. August is leaving, so we’ll deal with his mess and then eject him in the first part!

Despite being mad at August last episode, I’m really glad these two get closure. Friend break ups are worse than romantic ones.

They used “delulu” as a translation! Who is on the sub team for this show?? I want to send them flowers!

“That’s so fast.” I love Gee.

“About last night…” Don’t get me started, y’all.

Alright. That rejection in the car hurt my feelings.

Ope. I’m back. Day told on himself and Mhok is back in the game.

Mhok fixed the headband. I love you and your unsubtle metaphors, Aof.

Okay, I love Mhok blaming the shoes August picked for them not being able to sync.

I’m glad Sea is actually an athlete, so he doesn’t have to fake a cramp.

Night definitely notices how comfortable these two have gotten with each other.

This bed scene was probably super easy for them. Sea is always falling asleep easily on set.

OMG they’re stayin gat Mhok’s place before the event.

Porjai said, “Really, in front of my sardine salad?”

Namtam is actually so good. I like the way she uses her eyes.

Mhok planted jasmine at his house!!

She’s naming the baby Mee because Mhok has been practicing reading the book! I’m going to explode.

This show is doing a great job of making me miss Rung.

We have hit on a rare trope I love: Two people who are working out their feelings for each other are sharing a bed and hearing others go at it through the walls.

I’m glad we’re seeing more of Night. Mark is so good at communicating without saying much.

Oh, Day, don’t read too much into that conversation. Mhok’s friend is just looking out for him.

Shoot your shot, Porjai!

I am with Mhok. That’s enough games. Let’s make it clear.

Aof, please continue to be unsubtle. I love you.

Porjai and Night begins! Look at me rooting for hets in BL again.

I’m gonna lose it. Mhok is acting out Aon’s proposal for Day.

I see we were having too much fun. Let’s crank up the angst.

Look at them trying to assuage us with this PPL.

Beach trip next week! This was a lovely episode. It’s so smooth.

[bigball-thefrog]

Hunter's Prey Pt1: Slasher! Rob Lucci X Reader

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Sorry for only posting on Friday, i have been very tired this week but I've only got one exam left so I'll try not to post so late.

Warnings/Tags:

Modern AU

Mentions of killing people

Slight mention of violence

Stalking

Kidnapping

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Water Seven, a popular beach town known for its ship building it was a bustling town with many busy people living their daily lives, yet there was a dark shadow that loomed over that town...

The leopard. A feared killer on the loose known for hunting and killing his prey just like a leopard. He stalked his victims during the night when no one could see him and was gone in the morning the only thing left behind was the dead corpse, covered in claw marks and bruises around the throat...

Reader POV

I placed the cup of coffee down next to Paulie as he read the latest newspaper. I handed out the coffee's to the rest of the Galley La crew and handed the last one to Rob Lucci. I had been working at Galley La for over two years now and had gotten very close with everyone except for Lucci. He was always quiet and only spoke through his pet pigeon Hattori. Lucci was quite anti-social and only ever really talked to Paulie and from what I heard, even the he doesn't talk much and only let's the pigeon talk. He's so mysterious and kinda hot, I just wish I could get to know him more. After giving everyone their coffee I sat down next to Paulie as he sighed and closed the newspaper, "Another person found dead in their home..." He sighed as he read the article about the Leopard's latest kill. "And the police are doing nothing about it!" he said growled as he took a sip of his coffee. "Isn't Iceberg supposed to do something about it? He is the mayor after all." I asked, "Iceberg is trying to keep the town calm during the situation. But he's been hiring the best detectives in he country and still can't find anyone.." Paulie grumbled as he opened back up the newspaper and continued reading.

"And we don't know who this person even is?" I asked, "Nope, no sign of any DNA at any crime scene at all.." Paulie grumbled as he went through the paper. I just looked down and drank my coffee, who could this be? Why would you even want to do something like that? From what I know, the victims have nothing in common: different ages, different genders, different occupations.. It just doesn't make sense! I tried to stop thinking about it and just tried to enjoy my lunch, until I felt a pair of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I looked up to see Lucci staring at me, Hattori wasn't talking so I didn't understand why he was glaring at me, usually if someone was staring at me for no reason I would stare back until they were uncomfortable but, the way Lucci stared at me just made me feel... Scared...

He had his usual blank expression on his face but his eyes, they were intense. They were staring at me like I was a gazelle and he was a... Leopard.... No it can't be, Lucci can't be the killer going around town! Sure he's always quiet and no one really knows much about him but he's always just so, chill. He's never shown anger towards anyone, he's never gone quiet or said anything suspicious when we talk about the killer, it just couldn't be him! But why was he staring at me like this? Like he was going to eat me...

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After a long day of work I made my way home without getting drinks with anyone this time and collapsed at home exhausted. I put in a pre-made dinner in the microwave and just flopped in front of the couch as I ate. What to watch, what to watch.... News? No that's just depressing. Nature documentary? That's even more depressing.. Oh wait, a horror movie is playing! There's something more interesting. Ah the original Halloween, a classic, I decided to watch Halloween and eat my dinner in the dark. Around the part where Michael starts trying to get into Laurie's house I heard a crash, grabbing a baseball bat I got up and went to investigate. Thankfully it was just my neighbor, he's an old man with arthritis so he drops things a lot. Relaxing again I went back to the living room and put the bat down. I sat back down and continued to watch, or noticing the figure sitting next to me. Before I could react a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and pinned me to the couch. I just managed to grab my bat and swang, I managed to his the person in the face and they let me go. Still holding the bat, I grabbed my keys and ran to the front door. Swiftly unlocking it I opened the front door and was about to bolt, but the person grabbed me again, pulled me inside and shut the door and pinned me to it by my wrists. Now with some light I looked up at the figure.... Oh no....

"LUCCI!?" My mouth was quickly covered by Lucci's hand so he was now holding both of my hands above my head with only one hand, I wanted an explanation but instead of Hattori talking Lucci's mouth opened and he spoke himself, "Your fear is adorable~" Was all he said as he took his hand off my and around my throat, "Now don't scream or I'll rip your throat out..." He said quietly. Lucci, the man that never speaks and let's his pet pigeon speak for him can speak? Not only that but he broke into my house and is threatening me!? What's going on...? I simply nodded to his request and his grip on my throat relaxed but didn't move. "Lucci, what are you doing in my house? How did you even get in?" "I have my ways darling~" he said as he moved his index finger to caress my cheek, a sinister smile growing on his face. "Now, how shall I deal with you darling?~" He said as he squeezed my neck a little tighter, "Lucci please... We're.. We're friends right!? I always buy you your coffee, I always try to include you in after work stuff?" I pleaded but he didn't seem to waver. "Lucci, people are already suspecting you a lot... If you kill me then you'll just give people more reason to believe it's you. And you don't want to get caught right?" This made Lucci stop.

He kept gently squeezing my throat while he thought, then his sinister smile grew again, "You're right, I wouldn't anyone suspecting me now would we? But how do I make sure that you don't go talking about our little encounter now?" he said as he brought his face closer to mine. "Maybe I should just keep you until I know you won't speak~" "But if you kidnap me then they'll still be suspicious!" "I know, that's why you're not getting kidnapped but taking a vacation." Lucci said as he grabbed my phone from my pocket, he texted Iceberg that I would be taking some time off for personal reasons. He put my phone in his pocket then looked back at me, "Now let's get you back to my place where I can keep an eye on you." Before I could try and say anything else he held a rag against my nose and mouth and I almost instantly blacked out, the last thing I saw was Lucci's sinister grin as he still held me by the neck.