#but I just can't seem to like them enough

[yandere-daydreams]

Hear me out hear me out on this concept idea

Southern gothic small town pastor Geto AU

tw - non/con, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, financial abuse via organized religion, and implied kidnapping.

wait that would actually be so hot of him actually.

i don't know what is about geto but he just,,, radiates scummy religious figure energy to such an atrocious degree. like, couldn't you just imagine him moving from small town to small town, posing as a country-values pastor to scam his ever-growing congregation out of their life's savings and retirement funds before smuggling himself away and moving on to fresher meat? if he works quickly, the whole operation takes a little less than six months, and he's got such a charming smile and such a soothing voice - no one's ever so much as thought twice about trusting him, not really, not unless they wanted to be the next town outcast.

well, no one aside from you, of course.

it's cute - just how suspicious you are of the man who has your chronically truant parents sitting in the front row of his chapel twenty minutes early. you'll tell anyone who's got the time to listen that you don't like his hollow expressions, that you don't find his sermon-topics appropriate, that you don't trust how quickly he showed up after your last pastor suddenly went missing. no one listens to you, of course. you burnt that bridge when you decided to move away to some big, new-age city and attend some expensive, self-aggrandizing university. like him, you'll only be in town for a few months, just until the start of your next semester, but unlike him, you actually care about what's going to happen to your neighbors after you leave. the fact that you stopped going to church entirely after he took over doesn't help. in a town like this, you might as well be signing the warrant for your own social exile.

you make an effort to keep your distance, but he just can't seem to pay you the same courtesy. in a town like yours, it's can be hard not to run into familiar faces, especially when he seems to stop in at the general store where you picked up a summer job every other day, when he mentions to your mother that they could really use an extra pair of hands at the church's monthly bake sale or tells your father that he might want to bring a helper the next time he comes to fix up a few things around the sanctuary. you're always so flustered around him, always so brooding - like you think someone's going to believe you just because you cross your arms and pout. he savors any chance he gets to touch you - whether it's his hand ghosting over the small of your back as he moves past you in a narrow hall or your body pressing into his after he forgoes your offered handshake in favor of a nice, tight, neighborly hug.

and, when you come to him, he thinks he might finally know why people try so hard to get into heaven. it goes without saying that you're irate, shouting at him from the steps of his parsonage as you demand he return the tens of thousands of dollars that your mother so generously donated early that day, but it's not hard to convince you to come inside, to get a glass of wine into your hand under the pretense that, if you really drove all this way just to yell at him, it's the least you deserve. things devolve from there - your glass looks a little empty, why doesn't he top you off while you tell him what a terrible person he is? you've already finished that bottle, but he's got a gorgeous vintage red, and you're just starting to slur - he's sure it'll be fine. and, oh, well, you're far too drunk to drive yourself home, but don't worry, his bed's big enough to share. and oh, look at that, don't you feel lucky to wake up naked and sore in an unfamiliar bed, the handsome young pastor's cock still buried inside of you? he's sure your parents will be elated when you two tell them about your new engagement (because, of course, you can't just sleep with your local pastor and expect to come out of it without a ring on your finger, can you?), even if you seem a little upset right now.

it's only as he watches you sob into his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his cum still dripping out of you, that he decides he might be able to stay in this particular small town for a few more months. just long enough to find a way to take you with him, when he leaves.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 AND WHEN I'M BACK IN YOKOHAMA

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with the team sent to escort you back to the port mafia headquarters obliterated, you're on your own in a war-torn yokohama. or, well, you are until mori sends out the infamous double black to retrieve you... you almost wish he would've let you suffer out there alone.

wordcount: 10k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, mentions of mafia business

AUTHOR'S NOTES: at last, we get the first meeting between pm!reader & double black. keep your eye out for two other cameos in this fic ;) i can't remember if dazai and chuuya got their moniker before or during the dragon's head conflict and i dont feel like going to go figure it out so for the sake of my sanity, their little duo started rising in infamy just before the conflict broke out.

“Oh, this is the worst,” you complain quietly, arms wrapped around your waist as you look up and down the abandoned street.

The city looks nothing short of apocalyptic with dead bodies littering the ground and buildings caved in. You can’t help but want to blow up at Mori for calling you back to Yokohama with all of this happening. The “elite squad” he had sent to ensure you arrived at the Port Mafia base safely had been all but decimated by an ability user with a penchant for arson—you only survived by the skin of your teeth, running as fast as you could down vaguely familiar alleys until you finally lost him. 

You pull out your phone, trying to see if you can call Mori but only fall further into despair when you find that you have no cell service and your phone is nearly dead.

Tucking your phone back in your pocket, you let out a shaky breath as you begin to make your way down the street again, trying to figure out where exactly you are so you can get to the base as soon as possible. It’s only a matter of time before that pyromaniac finds you and your ability isn’t exactly built for self-defense or combat—you’re not sure if you can get yours activated before you’re roasted to death by the man.

You swallow thickly, anxiety beginning to spread through you as you make your way through rubble down the street. What happened? It’s all too reminiscent of that day eight years ago when Mori found you, the death and destruction as far as the eye could see—it drags up emotions you’ve long since repressed and now is not the time for it.

You’d been unable to get answers out of Mori’s men before the ability user attacked your convoy, but it seems as if the city has become a warzone—but over what? How hasn’t it reached the news outlets yet? And who are the combatants? Obviously, the Port Mafia is one of them, and you can guess that Mori called you back to Yokohama because the war isn’t falling in their favor, but who the hell is strong enough to compete with the Port Mafia, and why? 

You sigh, kicking absently at a small rock as you continue down the street. 

You should have been briefed. You don’t know why you weren’t briefed before being called back to the city. Frustrated, you turn down a somewhat familiar alley and lean against the wall, resting your head back against the bricks. You need to figure out what’s going on, but more importantly, you need to figure out where the hell you are so you can get back into safe territory.

You peek your head out to peer around the road—not a soul in sight in the streets, but… your gaze flickers up to the buildings, sliding from window to window until you catch sight of a figure peeking from between the blinds down to where you’re standing in the alleyway. Instantly, they let the blinds fall shut and throw themselves back indoors, but it’s too late—you’ve already spotted them.

You let out a breath of relief, looking both ways to make sure the fire manipulator hasn’t caught up to you yet before darting across the street to the building. It’s an apartment complex—the door leading into it has been half knocked off its hinges, so it’s easy to push it open and step inside.

The whole hallway has been ravaged, doors on the lower floors kicked in to reveal trashed rooms. You have to be careful not to step on glass as you make your way to the stairwell, Third floor, fifth window from the right. Most of the doors on the third floor aren’t quite as done in as the ones on the first, but only one has light peeking out from the crack.

You exhale, letting your eyes slide shut briefly before you raise your fist to knock on the door. “Excuse me! Would you mind answering a few questions? … I just arrived in the area, got caught in the crossfire of some battle, I would really appreciate the help, if you can spare any.” You’re careful to keep your voice light, gentle, and you’re even more careful to make sure your expression is smooth and unassuming when you hear the lock click open.

“You picked a god-awful time to come to Yokohama, child.” You hear an older woman speaking on the other side of the door; she doesn’t open it yet, but now that it’s cracked, you think your ability will work quickly to make her at ease. “Not one of ‘em Strain decoys, are you?” 

The fact that you have no idea what she means by that is infuriating, a reminder that Mori didn’t even bother to warn you about anything before dragging you back here, but you don’t let your frustration seep onto your face.

Strain… Strain… That Australian organization? What the hell are they doing in Yokohama? Why have you been kept so in the dark?

“No ma’am, unfortunately, I don’t even know what you mean by that,” you admit, and when you hear the woman let out a heavy sigh, you know that you’ve won, sending up a silent prayer of thanks as she opens the door to let you in. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

The woman only grumbles, but her eyes are gentle and her wrinkled face is soft as she ushers you into the room, shutting the door behind you and locking it. She’s not alone in the apartment, you notice—there’s a teen boy around your age lingering in the hallway, blonde hair cut short and glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose as he studies you with a frown. 

“What are you doing out here on your own, girl?” the elderly woman asks as she wobbles after you into the main room of the apartment, ushering you to sit down. “Doppo, go get the poor girl some water. Stop acting like a lump, boy.”

The boy looks disgruntled but nods, scampering off into the kitchen as the woman turns her attention back toward you. “Well? Don’t you know? Yokohama’s no place for tourists lately. Where are your parents?”

Your smile falters, mind racing as you try to pick your words carefully. “My father is the one who told me to come back to the city. I was… not made aware of the circumstances I would be arriving in.”

“Men,” the elderly woman spits out, looking up as the boy, Doppo, returns with two glasses of water, handing one to you and one to the woman. “Take notes, boy, you better not end up like one of those useless wastes of air or I’ll put you down myself, understand?” 

“Yes, granny,” the boy replies, and though he still looks distinctly aggrieved, you can’t help but feel amused by the fact that he immediately pulls out a notebook to take notes.

“Would you mind telling me what exactly… happened to the city?” you ask after a moment, taking a sip of the cool water and trying to make yourself a bit more comfortable on the sofa. “I haven’t seen anything on the news about this.”

The woman scoffs, waving her hand. “Of course not, big whigs think that they can keep it all on the low and get it under control before the incident makes it across seas,” she says roughly. “Gang wars broke out after some bastard with a lot of money died. Came in from all over to try to get their hands on the money. Whole city’s being torn apart.”

Interesting, you think to yourself, mind racing as you put together the few puzzle pieces you’ve been given. How many factions are already here? Who are they? Why did Mori call you back here if it’s already escalated this much? Your ability might be key in intel gathering and negotiations, but you’d be useless in combat.

“Our ward is under the control of some organization called the Strain,” the boy tells you. “They’ve been targeting civilians. They-”

Doppo grimaces and looks away, an angry expression crossing his face and you watch as the elderly woman reaches out to squeeze his forearm before looking back over to you. “Boy’s mother was killed by them the night the conflict broke out. I’ve been looking after him since.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say quietly, but he only averts his gaze from you, looking down at the ground. 

Strain. You were right. You’ve heard a lot of them. They originated in the Australian underground, but they spread rapidly throughout the world—footholds in every major country, stakes in every major world event. Brutal and ambitious, you suppose you’re not surprised they came here if there’s as much money up for grabs as the woman assumes. 

“What ward are you trying to get to, girl?” the woman asks you. “It’s not safe out there on your own. There are no rules or laws anymore, whole city is anarchic. You go out there on your own and you’ll be picked off by Strain.”

“I need to get to my father,” you tell her as you shake your head. The Port Mafia must be in an especially precarious position if Mori is bringing you back after the conflict has escalated this much—your heart rate spikes as worst-case scenarios start to fly through your head, wondering if they’ve been backed into a corner, forced into a position where their only option is negotiations for surrender. Logically, you know Mori would never let that happen, but it doesn’t quell the rising fear. “He’s in Naka-ku.”

You just need to know what ward you’re in and-

“You’re in Kanagawa-ku right now, you’ll never make it through it and Nishi-ku—and Naka-ku is the heart of the conflict,” the woman says as she clicks her tongue. “Stay here. You’ll be safer.”

“I need to get to my father,” you repeat again, “but thank you, really, for the offer and concern… and for helping me figure out what’s going on. I appreciate it.”

You rise to your feet to leave, and instantly, the boy is on his feet, nearly knocking over the woman’s cup of water and promptly getting whacked with a rag in response. The boy winces but takes a few steps toward you, undeterred. 

“You can’t go out there,” he says, green eyes pleading for you to listen. “Just stay. Once everything’s calmed down, we can help you find your father.”

“I can’t stay,” you say quietly, wondering if Doppo’s desperation for you to stay is a result of your ability messing with his head or if he really does just have that big of a heart. You think as a thank you for their help, that you’ll ensure that Yokohama will become Strain’s grave.

The old woman makes another disparaging comment about ungrateful fathers before nodding at you. “Good luck, girl, be careful out there.”

You make it approximately seven blocks before the ability user that you thought you lost catches up to you. You think that if you die here, you’re going to spend the entire rest of Mori’s life terrorizing him as a ghost. You grimace as a wave of flames sweeps above you, you can feel the heat against the top of your head from where you’re using an abandoned car to shield you from the man, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he gets to you.

Shit, you sigh, eyes flitting around the street trying to figure out if there’s anywhere you can dart to, but the only other rubble you could hide behind is a tipped-over dumpster in an alley twenty yards away—you’ll never make it that far without something to shield you from the flames. 

You blame Mori. Again. He should’ve warned you about what you’re walking into, and he should’ve sent more than just a group of second-rate losers to pick you up from the station knowing how bad the city is. Now, you’re going to get roasted alive by some psychotic pyromaniac when you should be back in Kyoto dealing with the more pleasant parts of business—wining and dining elites to strike deals and expand the Mafia’s influence throughout all of the societal spheres of Japan.

You grimace as you steady your gun in front of you, using the broken side-view mirror of the car you’re hiding behind to try to figure out where the ability user is because if you can get one good shot off you’d at least have enough time to make a break for it. You just need to focus—the Colonel didn’t put you through all of that firearms training just for you to choke up when you actually need to use it.

Your gaze tracks the man as soon as he comes within view of the mirror. You breathe in and out steadily—once, twice, three times. He’s fumbling with a walkie-talkie, distracted, and you don’t hesitate before taking the given chance. You twist into a kneeling position to face where he’s standing, raising both arms as you aim the gun in his direction; he catches your movement from the corner of his eye, expression shifting into one of anger, but you fire off three bullets before he can retaliate.

Or so you thought.

Your lips part in shock as the man whips a fireball in your direction before he hits the ground—even if you do evade it in time, it’s stronger than the rest he’s been throwing at you, it’ll blow right through the car you’re using as a barrier.

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to take a step back but your ankle catches on a stray piece of rubble. You hit the ground hard, pain shooting up your leg and as you brace yourself for the flames, you squeeze your eyes shut.

But the agony of burning to death never comes.

Your eyes fly back open when you see someone standing between you and the fireball, the flames fizzling out and dying before they can touch him. They disappear, unable to get past him to you, and your eyes widen in shock. Who on earth… He looks over his shoulder at you, dark-hair flopping in his visible eye—he’s pretty, you think absently, even if a quarter of his face is covered in bandages. You blame your thoughts on the fact that you’re still a bit stunned and confused. 

Then he opens his mouth.

“You must be the precious cargo,” he grins. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Cargo?” You gape, offended. “Did you just call me cargo?”

“Precious cargo,” he corrects, eye turning up in amusement before he focuses his attention back to the ability user who had attacked you. “Go handle that, pipsqueak. Make yourself useful for once.”

“Shut your damn mouth, bastard,” another male voice spits from behind you, voice riddled with irritation and anger. 

You look behind you to see another boy around your age with orange hair and mismatched eyes. He’s dressed more casually than the dark-haired boy, who’s wearing a black suit and tie beneath his long coat. He barely spares you a look as he steps forward, and you watch as his entire body glows red before he flies forward so fast that your eyes can’t even keep up with him. 

The gravity manipulator. You’ve heard of him through Kouyou—not much, but enough to know he’s probably the strongest ability users to exist in the eastern hemisphere. Does that mean…

The dark-haired boy turns his attention to you, smile widening as he leans over you. He looks unbearably amused at your predicament, and you find yourself growing more and more incensed by the second. 

“Dazai Osamu,” he greets. “You got a name, precious cargo?” 

Oh.

You recognize the name instantly, eyes narrowing, and as if he can sense your sudden change in demeanor, his smile starts to fall. Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. Mori brought him in two years ago, if the rumors you’ve heard hold any truth to them—after he sent you away to Kyoto with Kitada Usurai, one of the previous boss’s executives. 

You always wondered if the reason Mori never brought you back had something to do with his new protege—whether it was because he didn’t need you in Yokohama anymore now that he had “the Demon Prodigy” to be his heir or it was because he just didn’t want the two of you interacting. You never really minded; you like being in Kyoto and you like not having to be at the heart of every gang conflict that takes place in Yokohama but you can’t help the bitterness that rises now that your eyes have settled on the boy that took your place.

Before you can answer him, Dazai abruptly goes careening over to the left, hitting the ground hard. The orange-haired boy is standing where he once was, leg extended, and you realize that he must’ve kicked him away. 

“Stay there and die, won’t you?” he snaps, and you glance behind him, trying to figure out if he had already taken care of the ability user that had been hunting you down. Your lips part when you see him crumpled in a pile of rubble, unmoving. “Nakahara Chuuya. You can call me Chuuya. You hurt?” 

He extends his hand to you, and you take it gratefully, giving him your name and letting him help you to your feet. You stumble a bit, your left ankle buckling under your weight, and Chuuya wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. 

How embarrassing, you think, thanking him quietly before easing his arm away, standing on your own even with the pain in your ankle, not wanting to come across as weak. You make your way over to where the ability user is crumpled on the ground, kneeling in the rubble next to him. You lift your fingers to his neck to see if he’s still hanging on, but there’s no pulse.

You click your tongue, having been hoping you’d be able to take him back to the base for questioning, but instead, you let your fingers drift to the symbol embroidered on his jacket and then to the two bars embroidered onto his bicep.

Strain. 

The old lady and her grandson hadn’t been lying.

“You recognize the symbol?” Chuuya asks, wandering over to stand next to where you’re kneeling on the ground.

You frown instantly. “You don’t?” you ask dubiously, eyes narrowing again as Chuuya bristles at your comment.

“The conflict only just started a few days ago,” he says defensively. “We don’t have intel on all of the organizations that have showed up in the city. There are dozens of them. We’ve been more focused on trying to keep the civilians out of the crossfires at this point.”

A mighty fine job they’ve been doing at that, you think sarcastically, mind drawing back to the boy and old woman that helped you earlier and all of the destroyed buildings. You keep the thought to yourself, not too keen on antagonizing one of the people sent to get you out of this hellhole. 

“That’s why he brought me back here then,” you mutter more to yourself than anyone else, rolling your eyes as you grab the ability user’s walkie-talkie and rise to your feet. “He’s a member of Strain—one of their lower-ranked ability users, if the lines on his coat are accurate. From what I’ve gathered, they control Kanagawa-ku and Nishi-ku. We should get out of the open before their stronger ability users show up.”

“I can take them,” Chuuya says confidently, looking unperturbed by your comment.

“I’m sure you can,” you say dryly, “but how skilled are you at using nonlethal force against strong opponents?”

Chuuya only squints at you, which is as much of an answer as you need.

“If we want actual, useful intel, we’ll have to capture one of their higher-ranked ability users alive. I can get the information out of them, I just need the opportunity to use my ability.” You rise back to your feet, gaze shifting around the street to try to figure out where you should hide out for the night. “Plus, night is falling, and rumor has it, Strain has an ability user that’s particularly adept with umbrakinetic abilities and I would rather not run into him. I am already tired and wounded, and I don’t know how your gravity would interact with an element unaffected by gravitational forces so we can’t rely on your brute force.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have attitude?” Chuuya scowls, disgruntled by your blunt commentary, and you roll your eyes.

“No, actually,” you say, giving him a thin smile. “In fact, I’ve been told I’m quite pleasant. I’m just in a bad mood because I didn’t realize Mori would be having me return to a warzone when he called me back to Yokohama. I would’ve appreciated a bit of a head’s up.”

Your gaze drifts back to Dazai as you speak, curious, but the boy is already looking at you, a frown on his lips and visible eye sharp. As soon as he notices that you caught him staring, his face smoothes out and he cocks his head to the side, questioning, eye too black and too empty.

Your gaze slides away from him onto what seems like another residential building behind him.

“We’ll stay there for the night.”

You wake up with a pain in your back and a headache. The fact that your ankle doesn’t hurt as badly is only a minimal consolation as you push yourself into a sitting position and rub your forehead, disoriented and confused, trying to remember where you are and why you’re sleeping on a rickety bed.

Your gaze catches sight of a head of orange hair lying in the opposite direction of you, pillow at the foot of the bed and curled close to the edge of the mattress as if trying to stay as far away as possible from you.

That’s right. You’re back in Yokohama. Mori called you back to help with this conflict. Sent the gravity manipulator and the Demon Prodigy after you to make sure you got back to the base. Your eyes linger on Nakahara Chuuya for a moment, watching the way his chest rises and falls, soft puffs of air escaping his lips—he’s fast asleep, dead to the world. So, you let your gaze drift across the room; it’s dark, no lights on in fear of drawing unwanted attention from Strain scouts if they see any sign of life in one of the abandoned buildings. You can only hardly catch sight of Dazai Osamu sitting near a cracked open window, one knee tucked to his chest while the other hangs loosely at his side as he looks outside and smokes a cigarette.

There’s an indecipherable expression on his face—a heavy look in his eyes and a downturn curve to his lips. You watch him curiously for a moment. 

You’ve heard a lot about Dazai Osamu’s feats while stationed in Kyoto: ruthless, terrifyingly intelligent, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. It took only a year of him being a member of the Mafia for him to be given control of Mori’s personal covert ops unit, and he’s been producing staggering results since. He’s the one who takes charge of eliminating organizations that you deem unworthy of associating with the Mafia but too problematic to keep around, the one who’s been opening up new distribution and trade channels for you to make use of in negotiations and acquisitions.

You suppose you’ve been working closely with him for a while now, even if the two of you have never interacted until now.

Still, the rumors that have spread about the boy are nothing to scoff at. The head of the Mafia’s interrogation unit—they say no one lasts more than five minutes in the same room with him before cracking. You’ve heard through the grapevine that the lower-ranked mafiosos are more terrified of him than any of the executives—see him as heartless and calculating, willing to sacrifice any one of them if it means furthering the Mafia’s interests. He only views people as tools, there’s no room in his black heart for meaningful relationships. No one trusts him and the longer he works for the Mafia, the darker and more unfathomable he becomes, even in the eyes of others entrenched in the dark—people keep far out of reach of him unless they have a death wish.

You study him carefully from where you’re sitting; he still hangs his jacket over his shoulders, like some sort of barrier from the rest of the world. His expression now is a far cry from the smile that had been on his face when you first saw him; his eye black and eerily still as he stares out the window, void of the gleam that had been in it before he noticed your reaction to his name.

You slide out of bed as quietly as you can, making your way over to where he’s sitting—he doesn’t even notice your approach until he catches sight of your reflection in the window, but even then, he doesn’t turn to look at you, only tracking you through the glass until you come to sit on the windowsill across from him. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, pulling your knees to your chest.

“You shouldn’t sit at the window,” you finally say. “Someone could spot you.”

His eye is so black right now; you almost feel uncomfortable beneath his stare but you only raise your eyebrows. His gaze pointedly trails down to where you’d joined him and the corner of your lip quirks up.

“Fair enough,” you say and then hold your hand out, silently requesting for him to pass the cigarette over to you. Dazai stares at your hand for a moment and just when you’re about to draw your hand back, he finally reaches out to let you take it from him. Your fingers brush his as you take it between your index and middle fingers, the contact causing a spark to run up your forearm. You lift the cigarette to your lips and take a long drag, tilting your head back against the wall before you tell him, “You should go get some rest. I’ll take watch the next few hours.”

“Not tired,” he replies after a few seconds of silence. His voice is just as cold as the expression on his face, no hint of the playfulness from earlier in the day.

You hum, trying to decide what to say because he’s clearly unhappy and you have a feeling it has to do with how you reacted to hearing his name earlier, so you decide to be upfront, not in the mood for word games. 

“I think you’re unhappy with me because of how I reacted to hearing your name,” you say, laying out the issue. His gaze snaps up to you, sharp and narrowed, lips parting to deny the allegation but you don’t let him. “I was only surprised. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I have a bad opinion of you.”

“No?” Dazai asks, a sardonic lilt to his voice, goading more than anything else but you don’t fall for the trap. 

With your legs brushing, you can’t feel the familiar warmth of your ability circling through you and emanating around you, everything feels cold and empty instead, as if a part of you was sucked into a vacuum in space—the rumors must be true about him being a nullifier. You’ve never had to interact with people without your ability as a fail safe, it’s constantly active despite trying to learn how to turn it off. It’s useful though, it ensures that even if you mess up, the people around you are comfortable enough and amiable enough to not notice. They trust you without you even needing to do anything, adore you just because of the pleasant feelings your ability induces in them.

This is… different. 

And you don’t think in a bad way. You’ve always wondered what it would be like to interact with people without your ability interfering, it’s why you tried so hard to figure out if you could turn it off. And… it's nice talking to someone who’s not automatically endeared to you by your ability, who you can have normal conversation with without having to wonder if they’re only talking to you because you’re messing with their minds. Even nicer than you used to imagine.

“No,” you confirm. “I’m curious about you.”

The corners of Dazai’s lips turn down even more, brows furrowing at the comment. “Why?”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“A monster,” you say the word absently, watching as Dazai goes rigid at it, staring you down. “A demon. It’s what everyone calls you, at least.” 

“... and what makes you think I’m not one?” he finally asks, jaw tight.

Your lips curl into an easy smile again. “If you were a monster, you wouldn’t have been so bothered by the idea of me not liking you. The desire to be liked is an exceedingly human trait.”

Even under the dim moonlight, you can see the way Dazai’s cheeks burn a rosy color at your words. He suddenly looks years younger as he fumbles for words, gaze averting from you back to the window, but his reflection betrays him. 

“I was not bothered by the idea of you not liking me,” he protests, defensiveness creeping into his tone as he snatches his cigarette right back from your hand as if to make a point, giving you a glare from the corner of his eye. “I was not.”

“You were also very clearly put off by the fact that I had no issue with Chuuya,” you note, biting back a laugh at the squeak-like protest that slips from his lips and the mortified expression that follows. “Jealousy, another exceedingly human trait.”

“I was not jealous,” he cries out, a bit too loud because from where he’s sleeping on the bed, Chuuya grumbles out a ‘shut the fuck up’ in his sleep. “I was not jealous.”

“It’s okay if you were,” you say, instead of indulging in his denial. “I’m not judging you.”

“I wasn’t,” Dazai hisses, more insistent now. “I don’t care if you like me or not.”

“Well, I do like you,” you tell him—honest, you’re having fun teasing him.

“You don’t even know me,” Dazai scoffs, cheeks still pink as he pointedly turns his face away from you. “You can’t like me.”

“I want to know you,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you observe him. You like observing things—it’s the easiest way of gathering information. You keep quiet, you don’t draw more attention to yourself than necessary. It’s how you’ve been able to thrive alone in Kyoto even with so many vultures circling you. “I don’t know many other people my age… none, really.”

Something strange crosses Dazai’s expression. Longing but hesitant. Wistful but reluctant, like he should know better but just can’t help himself from wanting. You’re good at reading people, you pride yourself on it; it’s another reason why you’ve been able to succeed in Kyoto alone. Dazai is difficult—he covers half of his face and he’s quick to school the other half when he slips up, but you’re observant. It’s what you’re best at. 

You wonder, maybe, if Dazai has his own vultures. You think he must, he’s young—like you—and it’s probably why he uses his reputation as a shield and wears his long black coat like armor in the same way you use honeyed words and wear a saccharine smile. So, the thought must be scary to him as much as it must be appealing—the desire to have someone see him put against the fear of actually being seen as he is. 

You know it better than anyone.

“Well, you can’t have Chuuya. Chuuya is my dog,” Dazai says firmly, raising his chin. “He follows my orders.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Your dog?” you ask dryly.

“My dog,” Dazai confirms, seemingly quite proud of himself. “I won a bet, and now Chuuya is my dog for life.”

“Must have been quite the bet,” you drawl, watching as Dazai brightens a bit at the topic.

“We had a contest to see who could figure out the culprit of one of our missions faster. I won, of course, because Chuuya is slow and dumb like a slug. A slug. Chuuya is a slug,” Dazai cackles, dark eye shining as his lips curl up into a wide smile, clapping his hands together. “I’m much better than Chuuya, you see. He’s a brute. He’s never had to learn to be smart or cunning because of his ability, so he just punches things around until he gets what he wants. Plus, he’s small—and if that’s not bad enough, he is more arrogant than his tiny body can hold. That’s why he’s my dog. He can’t do anything without his master’s orders.”

Dazai is not subtle in dragging Chuuya down to boast about himself, puffing out his chest like some prideful bird and lifting his chin as he speaks. You think that if Chuuya was awake to hear this, Dazai would find himself tossed right out of the window to fall two stories to the ground, but the other boy is asleep, blissfully unaware of Dazai’s rampage of insults. 

“What happened during the mission?” you ask curiously, a bit interested to know what’s all been happening in Yokohama while you’ve been gone.

Dazai looks surprised as if he didn’t expect you to encourage his yapping. Then, he lights up again. “I’ll tell you all about it…”

You wonder, maybe, if the rumors of his solidarity and inability to form meaningful relationships might not have stemmed from his own volition. Rather, you think they’ve been enforced by the people around him who refuse to give him the time of day in fear of his reputation, because right now in front of you isn’t some twisted and unfathomable wraith of the Mafia.

All you see is a boy the same age as you eager to have someone new to talk to. 

He talks all night. 

From the moment you sat there with him at two or three in the morning until dawn, you don’t think he shut his mouth once. You hardly spoke more than a handful of times, content to just lean your head against the window and listen to him go on about all of the missions he’s had since joining the Mafia a year ago—most of them involved Chuuya, and he certainly made a show of explaining in each one why the mission would have failed without Dazai there to guide it along.

“See. This is why he’s my dog.”

It’s not until Chuuya finally starts stirring as the sun crosses the horizon does he finally quiet down, seemingly not keen on getting himself launched out a window if the other boy happens to hear one of the unsavory stories Dazai’s telling you.

Then again, his first words are pretty much asking for it.

“About time you woke up, slug,” Dazai says cheerfully when Chuuya groans and rolls over, clearly starting to wake up. His dark eye gleams as he waits for Chuuya’s explosive reaction to the new nickname.

“Hah?! What did you just call me, bastard?” Chuuya snaps, although he’s quite slow in pushing himself out of bed, sleepy and disoriented, gaze swiveling around to try to land on Dazai.

“Huh,” you say, more to yourself than them. “He is quite sluggish in waking up.”

“What?!” Chuuya demands, head snapping toward you. 

On the other side of the window bench, Dazai snickers, looking mighty pleased with himself. He looks a lot more his age now, the tenseness in his shoulders has dissipated in the hours he spent talking to you, the tightness in his face has smoothed out. His eye is a lot wider and a lot brighter, the corner of his lip twitching as he waits to see what Chuuya’s going to do next. He sits closer to you now too—or, not closer, really, but he’s extended his legs out a bit as the night drew on until they were all but entangled with yours.

“You’re a slug, Chuuya,” Dazai jeers. “A slug. Because you’re small and slow. Aren’t I so brilliant?”

“I’m going to toss your shitty ass out the window,” Chuuya booms, throwing himself out of bed and darting over to Dazai, who evades Chuuya’s punch by diving off of the window bench, nearly taking you right with him considering his legs were stuffed between yours. “Get back here, you asshole.”

Dazai’s out of the room in an instant and Chuuya is chasing after him, spitting out curses and threats. You sit there for a moment, blinking, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened before just deciding to shake your head and rise to your feet. You stretch, body a bit sore from sitting in the same place for hours and tired from the little amount of sleep you got last night. 

You’re ready to get back to headquarters. You want to sleep in an actual bed and you want to drag Mori for his incompetence and nearly getting you killed. You miss Elise too, even if you don’t really like what she’s become. You’re just happy to not be alone anymore—being in Kyoto was… stressful, at best, and downright agonizing, at worst. You couldn’t trust anyone, not even your ability was enough to protect you there, you had no friends, you were lonely and constantly looking over your shoulder because you had no one to watch your back—even the other members of the Mafia in Kyoto with you would’ve turned against you at any given chance if it meant they could drag themselves higher up the hierarchy. 

You yawn as you leave the room, hearing the distant sounds of Chuuya kicking Dazai’s shit in. You make your way to the front of the building you guys had camped the night out, intent on getting a breath of fresh air before waiting for them to stop fucking around but you hardly get more than half a step out of the door before you’re pushed back hard against a nearby wall.

Your eyes widen when a figure manifests in front of you, particles of shadows knitting together to form a young man who seems to be a few years older than you. You barely withhold a sigh, realizing that despite all attempts to avoid him, you still managed to stumble right into the hands of Strain’s shadow manipulator—literally.

“I didn’t expect the cargo we got intel on to be a girl,” he says coolly.  “I almost didn’t believe it when Anderson reported it to me. Though I haven’t heard from him in hours, I assume that’s your doing.”

“You know,” you say lightly, “this is the second time in less than twelve hours that I’ve been called cargo. I think I like it even less coming from you.”

Though you’ve heard a lot about the shadow manipulator, you didn’t know what he looked like before now—he’s quick and elusive, and those who do manage to catch sight of him are killed by him soon after.. He’s not much older than you, though—two years max—handsome enough, pale blonde hair and green eyes with tan, freckled skin. 

Your lips curve up into a small smile. “Are you going to kill me or are you going to stand here with your hand around my neck? … Just so you know, I’m not into that.”

You watch as—just as you expect—he frowns deeply and takes a step back. He watches you carefully, brows knit together, and you let your ability work. Invisible threads wind around his limbs, curling up his neck twisting into his ears and nose and mouth, they curl up to his brain and take root, leaving him vulnerable to however you plan to use your ability.

You still have to be careful. You have to be subtle. Your ability is useful but it has its drawbacks—the biggest being that if you’re too sudden with it, the person you’re targeting can realize that you’re messing with their head and pull themselves out of it. That would be the worst case scenario because 1) they’d realize you have an ability and 2) you’d be in trouble. 

So you resign to just tilting your head to the side as you smile—some emotions are fickle, positive ones like love and happiness, especially among people like you who don’t often feel those emotions. Negative emotions are easier in that once you send someone into a spiral of fear, paranoia or rage, it’s almost impossible for them to draw themselves out, but they’ll inevitably realize that you had done something to their head, which is not an option because your ability needs to remain a secret.

So you decide to just rely on the passive form of your ability, watching as he falls victim to it, shoulders slumping and muscles relaxing as he eyes you curiously. Your ability is non-combatant, yes, but as soon as combat is over, it comes out to play.

He’d made a fatal mistake when he chose not to snap your neck.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you say conversationally, hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side. “They say you’re one of the strongest ability users in the world right now.” 

“I didn’t expect you to be a kid,” he says with a frown. “You’re what? Fourteen?”

You blanche. “I’m sixteen,” you protest, forgetting to keep up appearances as you stare at him, aghast. “I do not look fourteen.”

He makes a face as if he disagrees and then shrugs. 

Your eyes bulge. “I do not,” you repeat angrily. “I’m sixteen.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, amused. “I’m not in the business of killing kids though, so I guess I have to take you in. What a bother.”

Your eye twitches. You’d rather die than be taken hostage by Strain and you don’t know where your shitty escorts are so you settle for antagonizing him as a means to stall.

“You’re a high-ranking member of Strain, how are you going to sit here and tell me you’re not in the business of killing kids?” you sneer. “Your organization has been the cause of more child deaths than any other in the world.”

His eyes turn to slits as he stares at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says coldly. “I put a stop to all of the rings in Australia myself.”

“And what? You think Strain is willing to just take those losses?” you say, an amused laugh bubbling in the back of your throat when anger flashes through his eyes. Your gaze flits down to the five lines embroidered on his jacket. “For an executive, you must not be kept in the loop by the rest of your comrades. The moment you dismantled the rings in Australia, they turned to strike a deal with Bunin—what do you think your branch in Russia does there? They’re helping Bunin expand his trafficking rings through the East and Strain cuts twenty percent of the profit.”

His hand snaps forward to grab your collar, yanking you toward him. “How would you even know that?” he spits, but from the conflict thinly veiled behind his eyes, you know that your words have taken root. 

You raise your eyebrows as you look up at him, a bit too close for comfort.

“How did you know I was coming back to Yokohama?” you counter instead. He lets you go immediately, withdrawing with a closed-off expression. “Come on, we’ve both been betrayed in some manner—you by your organization, me by someone within mine. I almost burned to death because of them and you… you’ve been working for an organization that’s been lying to you for years. Let’s help each other.”

“I don’t even know if what you’re saying is the truth,” he replies tightly. “I don’t-”

“Then go find out,” you say with an idle smile, “and when you realize I’m telling the truth, well… your ability is quite handy, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me again.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression indecipherable, but after a few long seconds, he disappears in the same swirl of darkness that he appeared in and you can finally relax. You let out a heavy sigh as your shoulders slump, lifting your hand to your neck, wincing at the tenderness.

You doubt that will be enough. You’ve heard rumors that he’s Yakuza-born—only ended up with Strain after Mishima’s Sun and Steel went to war with their syndicate—loyalty is always core to those types, runs through their blood—but at least you’ve planted the seeds, and when he inevitably finds out you’re telling the truth, he’ll come crawling back for more information.

And hopefully some information for you in return. 

Your gaze flits to the side when you hear a crash from your left, seeing Nakahara Chuuya fly out of the building, hands glowing red and eyes wide and wild, trying to seek out a man who’s already long gone.

You roll your eyes. “He’s already gone. Thanks for the help, O’Great Protectors,” you say sarcastically. “Really, you guys are amazing at your job.”

Chuuya has the decency to look ashamed, face flushing as red as his hair as he deactivates his ability and looks away from you. “Who the hell was that?”

“Itou Asahi,” you say absently. “Strain’s shadow manipulator—one of the strongest ability users in the eastern hemisphere right now. Mori brought him up a few times wanting me to recruit him. I didn't think I’d get the chance considering we’re aligned with the Sun and Steel and he hates them, but I might have an opening.”

Your look over to Dazai, who only frowns at your words, gaze trained on you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“You’re hurt,” he says, brows furrowed, and you realize he’s looking at your neck.

You drop your hand from where you’d been brushing your fingers against the sensitive skin, feeling distinctly too seen under Dazai’s heavy gaze. You don’t know why you feel a bit flustered, but you do and you definitely don’t like it.

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we head back to headquarters now?”

Dazai frowns like he’s about to protest, but Chuuya nods before he can. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Headquarters is less than a mile away now. The streets that three of you are walking down are safe—none of the organizations have made it this far into the heart of Port Mafia territory—and yet for some reason, Dazai still feels incredibly troubled. 

He hasn’t even been able to join in on you and Chuuya’s conversation. He’s had ample opportunity to considering how much Chuuya is embarrassing himself by trying to act smart, but instead he finds himself trailing behind the two of you, an outsider, too lost in his own thoughts to even think of trying to make a snide comment.

Why is he so troubled?

Dazai isn’t sure and that troubles him too.

He’s always been very in tune with himself. His emotions, his motives, his wants and needs—they’re few and far between, yes, but Dazai has never struggled to pinpoint them at any point in his life. 

He was sad when his ability manifested and his siblings no longer wanted anything to do with him. His ability made them uncomfortable, made them feel empty because it deprived them of their own abilities. They said it was unnatural, and they said he must be unnatural too because why else would he develop such a terrible ability? Dazai couldn’t really blame them, his ability made him feel empty too—he theorizes that when it doesn’t have an ability to suck up into the black hole, it starts devouring anything else it can get its hands on, like his emotions, because he stopped feeling much at all after it manifested. 

When he was twelve, he wanted to learn how to play the piano to impress his mother, though he never got the chance to show her because she was killed soon after. He hasn’t wanted much of anything since then. 

When he was fourteen, his grandfather started pitting him, his siblings and his cousins against each other. His older brother drew the first blood against one of his cousins, and it was a bloodbath from there on out. With both of his parents dead and his siblings and cousins trying to kill one another to be named his grandfather’s heir, Dazai didn’t have much reason to live himself, and he definitely didn’t want to be killed by one of his siblings or cousins. 

So, he thought the next logical step was to die, so he tried to kill himself.

He failed, obviously, and ended up with none other than Mori. He still hasn’t found much of a reason to keep living. Chuuya is around, he supposes, and he’s entertaining enough to mess with—it’s enough to keep Dazai going for now—and you claim to want to know him, so Dazai is interested in seeing how that plays out, but that’s beyond the point. 

The point is that Dazai knows what Dazai wants. Dazai knows what Dazai needs. Dazai knows what Dazai feels. And Dazai currently cannot figure out why Dazai is troubled, so something is certainly wrong and he needs to figure out what it is. 

He hears you laugh at something that Chuuya said and barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Nothing Chuuya says is ever that funny, so you must just be being polite, but it’s still annoying. Mostly due to the fact that Dazai can’t call it out because he doesn’t even know what was said because he wasn’t paying attention courtesy of his current dilemma.

He withholds a sigh as his gaze drops to your neck, eyes focusing in on the dark bruises lining your neck—the fingerprints of that ability user form Strain that attacked you when he and Chuuya weren’t around—and his irritation spikes yet again.

At once, a lightbulb goes off in his head.

That’s what’s troubling him. He’s found himself looking back at the marks on your neck on more than one occasion, and each time, it’s triggered his displeasure. He’s not sure why it took him so long to put it together, but now lies a new issue: why is it triggering his displeasure?

He squints as he stares at you hard, willing the answer to come to him. There must be a logical reason for it, he just needs to figure out what it is. He can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye, probably wondering why he’s staring at you so intensely, but Dazai just can’t rip his gaze away, fully intent on figuring out what his problem is right now.

Casualties are expected in this line of work. Dazai has never been one to think twice when people are hurt or killed in the line of action—he’s lost many subordinates to ensure the success of a mission and has even put his own life on the line if it meant that it bettered his chances of succeeding. So he should by no means be bothered by the prospect of you being wounded, especially considering he barely knows you.

“I want to know you.”

Dazai blinks as your words suddenly ring through his head again, startled by his own thoughts. His brows furrow even deeper because no, that can’t possibly be the reason why. He supposes it might be influencing it a bit because people who want to know him are few and far between, so the thought of meeting someone who actually gives him the time of day and almost losing them right away is unfortunate. It makes sense that it’s making him more irritable, especially when it’s something he’s curious to see play out and it’s something that could’ve been easily prevented.

Oh, he realizes, suddenly satisfied as he comes to an answer that he can quickly accept, disregarding everything else. 

That’s the issue—it was preventable. 

Dazai should’ve seen it coming and he should’ve been quick to take the necessary steps to avoid it. What he was feeling was irritability at himself, not at the fact that you got hurt. It wouldn’t make sense because Dazai doesn’t know you and even if he did know you, casualties are expected in this line of work. But you’re his assignment—his and Chuuya’s—Dazai has never failed an assignment before, much less with Chuuya, and he’d come this close because he’d recklessly let down his guard in enemy territory. 

It makes sense.

Much more than any of the other absurd explanations he’d been considering do at least.

This time when Chuuya makes a stupid comment, Dazai chimes in with some very necessary commentary, giving you a simpering smile and a wink before dancing out of the way of Chuuya’s much anticipated roundhouse.

Still, Dazai finds the troubled feeling returning again when his gaze drifts back down to the marks on your neck as he passes by the two of you with flourished spin, antagonizing Chuuya just to entertain himself with how red his face gets in embarrassment. 

But his gaze darts back up to your face quickly and he shakes off the unwelcome feeling, another quip on the tip of his tongue that abruptly dies when he sees your hand pressed to your mouth as you try to hide your amusement from Chuuya. Your eyes are turned up and your smothered giggles are just barely audible, the mid-morning sun casts an ethereal glow over your face and for a moment, Dazai is entirely stunned by the sight. He nearly trips over his own foot, and since he’s unsteady on his feet, he can’t avoid the way Chuuya predictably transitions from a roundhouse into a back kick.

He goes flying backward, all breath pushed from his lungs as takes the kick to the gut and hits the concrete hard a few feet away. He should be disgruntled, or he should at the very least retaliate with another mocking jibe, but instead, he finds his gaze fixed on you, watching as you finally burst into laughter, unable to contain it with the sight of Dazai sprawled out on the ground looking like a clown.

His heart rate spikes and Dazai’s hand flies to his chest, alarmed—becomes even more so when it doesn’t settle down. He rips his gaze from you to stare down at the ground, forcibly calming his heart and only when he’s sure that he’s got it under control, he looks back up.

Immediately, he loses control over it again, and this time it feels even more erratic, each thump resonating through his ears as you approach him, giggles quieting as you hold out your hand to help him up. 

For a horrifying second, Dazai thinks he might have a heart attack and that would be a lame way to go. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he does not have a heart attack, although that means he’s probably going to have to go to Mori when he gets back to the base—death may have been more preferable to that. 

Great, he thinks bitterly, not only has he had to deal with Chuuya for over twenty-four now, but now he’s going to have to go see Mori and figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Or you. He wonders if maybe you have an ability that’s somehow affecting him, that would be a serious issue for future missions that the two of you might be paired for. 

But it must be that—it’s the most logical explanation. 

What a mess the past day has been, but…

Dazai thinks it might’ve been worth the trouble, eyes lingering on you for a few moments longer before he takes your hand, taking note of the odd jolt that runs up his arm as soon as your fingers wrap around his hand to help him up. 

He doesn’t notice that even with your fingers locked with his, his heart still beats out of his chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’re over here reminiscing.”

You roll your eyes before looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on an achingly familiar face. Chuuya drops lightly to the ground behind you, using gravity to soften his fall as he approaches you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest as a smile curves to your lips. “I was waiting for you.”

“D’aw, did ya miss me?” he asks with a sharp smile.

You have a retort ready to fly from your lips, but instead of speaking it, you sigh and let your gaze drift across the street in Kanagawa-ku that you’re standing in. Even after all of these years, the ground and buildings are still charred where that ability user had attacked you—faded now, of course, but you can still make out the faint remnants of the attacks.

Maybe you are reminiscing, you think to yourself, a heavy feeling settling over you. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture the rubble you were hiding behind, the jolt of fear you’d felt when you realized you wouldn’t be able to dodge the next attack, and then him.

And then Dazai.

“I did,” you admit, dragging your eyes from the ground to look back at Chuuya, whose smile falters a bit before softening.

“I can’t believe Mori had you abroad for three years,” he sighs, reaching out to squeeze your wrist. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Let’s head back to headquarters and have a drink. We can put on a movie.”

“Not one of your shitty horror movies,” you laugh, knocking your shoulder into his. You lean into him a bit as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, keeping it draped around you as the two of you start to make your way back to the base.

You hesitate—and Chuuya can feel your hesitation from the way he glances down at you, concerned. He frowns and asks, “What’s up?”

You let out a puff of air and then speak up reluctantly, “Have you… heard from him? Of him?”

You hate the twinge of hope that’s audible in your voice, despite how hard you tried to rid yourself of it. You hate even more the sympathetic look that Chuuya casts you; he knows who you’re talking about instantly—of course, he does, there’s only one person it could be—his lashes lower and his arm drops back to his side. 

“I saw him,” Chuuya says after a few moments. Your eyes widen as your head snaps toward him, waiting for him to continue. “... Met him. He’s part of the Armed Detective Agency now. Got himself captured by us to try to get information to help his new protege.”

“Oh.”

Your throat feels tight. Too tight. Swollen. Your eyes sting painfully and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath. The Armed Detective Agency. New protege. You don’t know if you feel bitter or relieved. Bitter because he’s found a place somewhere without you, relieved because he’s alive and okay. 

His defection still doesn’t even feel real after four years, it’s not like you’ve been in Yokohama long enough to fully process it, but god… you could still imagine him coming up behind the two of you with a snide comment to antagonize Chuuya, eyes trained on you to watch the way you laugh at Chuuya’s reaction. The wistfulness hits you so hard that it almost knocks the air from your lungs—not for the first time since he left, you yearn, you miss him, you want him, and now that you’re finally back in Yokohama after so many years abroad, it’s all the more intense.

How unfair, you think, nails biting into your palms as you stare ahead.

“Do you think he’s replaced us?” You try to keep your voice light, but you think you fail.

Chuuya lets out a bark of laughter. “He can certainly try.”

Your lips curl up at Chuuya’s words, gaze flickering down to the ground. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree quietly before asking, “Did he seem… okay?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I’m not talking about that shithead anymore,” he tells you. “I’m sure he’ll come looking for you now that you’re back. Let’s go home now, yeah?” 

The thought of Dazai coming to look for you makes your stomach twist with anxiety; after so many years apart, you just don’t know what to expect… but you suppose you’ve never really known what to expect from him, so you’ll just handle him the same way you always have. Except maybe not as kindly.

But you don’t have to worry about that yet.  Instead, you smile and bump shoulders with Chuuya again.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Saving Batboy

First | Previous | Next

It was as though he was being led through the city. Dick seemed to know exactly where he should go next as he drove.

Dick turned off his location as he closed in on Joker's location. If anyone had doubts about what would happen tonight they knew now. The clown dies tonight.

Batman never did it because he knew there would be no coming back once he crossed that line but he was not Batman.

Tim knew the moment Nightwing's symbol disappeared that he had found Joker's location. He knew he could track him still based on where he was before but he held off. The last time Dick crossed the line and killed the Joker, Tim was there to stop him. In the time since Tim had grown to regret it. Especially after Jason's return. He should be avenged after everything that happened.

Tim never put much thought into what happened when he was kidnapped just like Danny. Joker Jr was just a nightmare and everyone pretends it didn't happen. His past self doesn't exist to him and the gaps in his memory are better as they are.

If Dick was really going to finish this then Tim wasn't going to stop him. Bruce's code was his code alone. What of the Robins that suffer for it? What about his kids that he loves to the point of self-destruction if they die?

It was clear to Tim now. Batman isn't strong enough to kill Joker. If he can't handle it, someone else would.

Maybe Dick just cared more. Or maybe he had seen this happen too many times to sit by and let it happen again. The cost be damned.

Tim took a deep breath. He knew it was a bad move but he shut down the bat computer. No one could locate each other for the next 10 minutes. Enough time to give Dick the lead he really needs. All the comms are down and no information can be shared.

Tim looked up and saw Alfred putting down a cup of tea for him. Tim felt like a child caught doing something wrong under Alfred. But Alfred nodded wordlessly before turning to leave. He cast a forlorn glance at Jason's robin uniform before ascending the stairs.

****

"I was hoping Batman would come for the little bat. Oh sorry, I mean the boy." Joker mocked holding Danny by the back of the neck.

The teen's body was limp. His silver locks stained a rusty brown from dried blood. Blood covered his back and legs. If there had been any doubt if the wings were real there is none now.

"…" Nightwingwing said nothing. His fist clenched.

"You know I debated skinning him next. That fur of his would be a lovely shawl. It's so soft. But it looks like I won't have the time now." Joker provoked, running a hand through the boy's white neck fur.

"Get your hands off him." Nightwing demanded, his eyes locked on Danny for any signs of life.

"You know I am so curious what he was doing here. I was about to build a new trap here for fun when I stumbled upon this little guy here. Practically gift-wrapped. Did he run away from you? Just like you did from good ol'papa bat." Joker's smile widened sickeningly "This all feels so familiar, doesn't it little bird? Are you going to finish what you started?"

"I'm never letting you hurt my family again." No witty one-liners. No games. This bad joke ends today.

****

Batman had scoured the area. He memorize the last location Dick was before the system went down. He wasn't these kids' father for nothing he knew what they were doing.

When sound came back he had already made it to the abandoned factory. The comms rang back to life as the sounds of crying came through.

"Nononono…please no. Wake up. Please wake up." It was Dick's voice. "It's okay. I'm here now. So just wake up. We need to get home soon. Your favorite show will be on soon. WAKE UP! YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Batman bolted to their location and found Dick hovering over Danny trying to resuscitate him.

His son looked at him with pleading eyes.

"I can't hear his heart. He's not breathing." He let out a shaky breath. As distressed tears ran down his cheeks.

Bruce knelt next to them. Danny didn't react to the pressure on his chest. The pain should have at least caused an involuntary jerk if he wasn't too far gone.

Bruce signaled Dick to move back as he checked Danny's pulse again. Nothing. And he wasn't breathing. Bruce looked at his son. Deep down Dick probably knew.

"I'm sorry. He's gone." Bruce said simply as he took off his cloak.

Danny looked so peaceful. Like he was sleeping soundly. Bruce hated that his own suspension had been the thing that had prevented him from having a relationship with his own grandson. He felt foolish to not realize that of course Danny and Batboy were the same. It was a brilliant disguise. But he'd never get to say this to the boy.

Bruce wrapped the boy in his cloak.

"Come on. We'll fix this." He told Dick, carrying Danny for him.

The journey back to the manor was silent until.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said.

"Don't. Just Don't. He's my son. Its my fault." Dick rasped his voice scratchy from crying.

Bruce felt a bitter sting. That was exactly what he felt when he lost Jason and what happened with Tim. When Damian lost his life. These pains didn't go away.

When they arrived back in the Batcave Bruce laid Danny's body on the table. The others were notified about what happened and had already gathered.

Barbara looked like she had bawled her eyes out as she hugged Stephanie.

Damian had pressed himself close to Tim as the older brother told him that it was going to be okay.

The new hole in the wall was clearly Jason if his bloodied knuckles were any clues.

Cassandra paced the floor deep in thought. She was moments away from starting a new crusade.

Duke stared off into the distance. His anger boiling under the surface. All he could think about was the number of lives ruined by the Joker and even in death he took another.

Dick stood still as a statue. Thinking about if Danny could be brought back and even if he was his wings were gone. What if he was gone for good? Could he live like that?

Never had he understood Bruce more than in that moment.

Bruce braced himself for what would come next. He had a plan to bring Danny back at any cost.

But suddenly a sound broke through the tension.

A sneeze.

A fucking sneeze.

It came up from under the cloak.

Everyone snapped to look at the body hidden under the cloak. It shifted under the heavy black blanket groggily and yawned. Then Danny jumped up twisting to feel his back.

"What happened!!" He yelped.

[777heavengirl]

bags

sirius black x reader one-shot ! warnings: the good kind of yearning.., friends to roommates to ?lovers?, bittersweetie, no war!au words count: 2,549 masterlist

a/n: might make a series of little blurbs as a continuation... undecided so lmk what u think!!!

Being friends with Sirius Black was the worst idea you could've ever had. It was hell. He was charming, awfully so. Flirty and caring with his friends in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. He was the type of friend with no physical boundaries, his legs often thrown over yours, his arms often over your shoulders, lips whispering jokes into your ear.

It was an even worse idea to agree to move in with him after you graduated. James had gone off with Lily and Remus and Peter decided to split an apartment. Sirius, naturally, found one in the same building and dropped the twin key in your hand on graduation day, a wicked smile on his face. He hadn't even properly asked you. He had assumed, well he hoped, that you'd accept no matter what. He knew you had no other plans, no other place to go. He knew you'd love to because he knew you. Because he was your best friend.

So he didn't ask. The small silver dog keychain attached to the key was enough for you. 

The answer was always going to be yes. 

Living with Sirius meant a lot of things. It meant an abnormal amount of blankets and cushions thrown about, it meant the ever-growing collection of pictures framed on your walls or merely pasted on if Sirius had his way. Ever since Lily gifted him a muggle camera for graduation, he hadn't stopped taking pictures. Of your friends, of you in the kitchen or on your couch, your first night in the apartment he took pictures of your every move. He titled them all, in the back or on the bottom of it.

Darling brushing her teeth, 1st night in #717. You smiled through your toothbrush, shirt askew, with pajama pants that did not match in the slightest.

Doll’s first tea in #717 You couldn't see your face in this one, it was a closer shot of your hands around the teacup Lily bought you fifth year, the delicate flower pattern on the hard porcelain contrasting against the soft of your skin.

He titled them all, with his cursive loops and cloying nicknames. He’d even owl copies of them to your mom— why they even communicated was beyond you— you’d then have to repeatedly remind her, when your parents phoned, that 717 was your apartment number, and no mom I am not dating Sirius, yes I know he’s a wonderful guy, yes I’ll tell him you said hello. His photography habit had gotten so bad he even took pictures of the ladybug that seemed to live in the leaves of the small English Lavander that sat on your windowsill.

 Living with Sirius meant putting up with his tendency to ignore the fact that you needed to get a job, in fact, he'd drag you everywhere with him to avoid you even applying, his hand intertwined with yours, warm palms pressed against one another. He did it all the time, holding your hand, pressing a kiss against your temple when he insisted on getting into the crowded muggle metro more often than not, your bodies pressed together as he held you when the tube moved. Every time you complained, that he was holding you hostage, that at this pace you'd never find a job, he'd ask, with his head cocked to the side "Why do you have to get a job anyway? It's not like we need it"

"Sirius I need to make money," the tube shook the two of you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to pull you closer as the other one maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bar above. "How am I going to afford anything? It’s been two years my savings are gone-"

"You don't need it though," his words were low on your ear, and carefree as if they didn't hold any importance. "I have more than enough to maintain us— for anything you might want" Your face heated, and you looked down hiding the surprise that you prayed he wouldn't see.

"I can't just bum off of you," your words were a timid mumble, and he barely heard you over the intercom announcing the station, if it wasn't because he had been tilted down close to your face, he might've not heard you at all. 

"You're not bumming off of me love, I want to take care of you, yea?" he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair, and you didn't refute. Not for now. Because in moments like these, when he acted like it was the most obvious answer in the world and didn't seem to give it a second thought, you could feel the words claw at your throat from the inside. A confession poisoning you from the inside out. 

But then he'd look at you.

With his gray eyes, the steel cool of them making your lungs expand wider than you thought possible and your heart beat out of your chest. So you'd decide, every time, that it wasn't the right moment. There was never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you were in love with him though. And through his piercing gaze, you thought he could see you using everything within you to hold back. 

You guessed it could be worse.

Being in love with Sirius Black was actually the worst thing to ever happen to you. It got even worse when you moved in together. Waking up to his shirtless self making you coffee the way you liked it, his head disheveled and unruly from bed but somehow just as gorgeous as when he had it fresh and styled, his long dark locks looking nothing short of heavenly in either form. It was the intimacy really— the domesticity of it all— that screwed you. Eating your eggs and toast over the soft tunes of his music, going to the market together, his fingers eventually finding yours as his other hand carried the shopping. His laundry mixed in with yours, falling asleep on the couch together, old muggle movies playing on the TV he bought four months after moving in. You still didn't have a stand for it, it sat on two boxes full of books. Neither of you minded, there was no rush after all. But then you thought of his unpacked bags and the singular box of belongings, it had been a bit more than two years since you moved in. Two years since you started the routine of getting dragged everywhere he went, spending your days lounging around with Sirius like nothing else mattered. But his trunk still housed half his belongings. His walls had a couple of pictures he had sellotaped on, and the large David Bowie poster he had bought the summer after sixth year, yet his clothes would go in and out of his trunk, and his closet sat mostly empty save the lone leather jacket he insisted on hanging. 

The thought of his lack of settling made your tummy twist in discomfort. 

But, again, you guessed it could be worse. Godric forbid you ever confess.

He'd be walking out the door with his bags.

You decided you'd be okay with letting it all rot inside of you. You didn't want to be too forward or rush into things when you, practically, knew he didn't feel the same. So you savored it, with everything you had in you. The stolen touches and even more stolen glances. The kiss he pressed against your cheek when he'd say goodbye, apparating away to go drink the night away with the rest of the marauders, James escaping from his soon-to-be father duties for a few hours. Sirius would press a kiss to your flushed cheeks when you'd go out with Lily as well, a small stay safe love, escaping his lips right before you slipped out the door.

"Tell him how I feel? Is pregnancy melting your brain, Lily?" You almost spit out your sweet cocktail. Lily flicked your forehead. 

"My brain is perfectly fine thank you very much," She huffed, the corners of her lips aching to break into a smile as she rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly.

"You two are practically together, you live together for Godric's sake" Marlene scoffed over her beer,

"Not to mention the shared bank account-" you slapped your forehead as Dorcas let the fact that he'd been basically spoiling you for a year slip, "And I've seen the way he looks at you sweets-" Dorcas's words were slurred by the alcohol in her system, and her head resting against Marlene's shoulder. "You don't look at someone that way unless you're in love with them"

Lily almost spit out her juice as she turned to you with wide eyes. "You got a shared vault now? James and I didn't even do that yet-"

You shook your head, "No no, crap Cas-" you took a shaky breath, as Marlene shook her head in disappointment and groaned out a small You're impossible. "He just keeps paying for things, and he won't let me get a job- honest, I've tried but he keeps planning things and I just never have any time-"

"So is he holding you captive or- I just don't see why you can't get a job" The three girls looked at you, incredulous looks on their faces as you struggled to explain.

"He just keeps saying to not worry-" You hid behind your hands now, embarrassment crawling up your neck. "I don't know- It's complete rubbish, he's insistent on the fact that he wants to take care of me" The girls let out a collective 'aww', all screaming eagerly over each other

"I should've kept it all to myself" you mumbled as you raised your now-empty glass at your waitress, the older woman shooting you a nod as she went to bring you another one. The girls booed at you, 

"Now that'd be no fun would it?" Lily shoved your shoulder playfully, Marlene and Dorcas giggling in agreement. 

Tell him how you feel.

The thought bounced in your head as you trudged up to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys as you tried to steady yourself. But you didn't need to, as Sirius opened the door. His shirt missing and his burgundy red pajama pants sat loosely at his hips, but you knew he hadn't slept yet. Otherwise, you would've been able to tell— his hair would be a mess, as he tended to bury his head between his pillows, blocking the world away while he slept.

"I could hear you fumbling your keys from down the hall doll" you giggled as you entered, your body instinctively falling into his for a hug. He couldn't help but laugh either, your cheek pressed against his chest as you mumbled out a thank you. The couple of drinks you had made you feel more than loose, giggly and you couldn't help but let the words slip from your lips.

"I love you, terribly so" you'd probably regret such a statement in the morning.

"I love you too darling" you groaned out a no as you peeled yourself off, it poured out of you instinctively. You threw yourself on the soft couch James's parents had given the two of you. We're throwing it out anyway lovies you keep it. You were sure, by Euphemia's playful glint, that this wasn't quite the case. But you appreciated it, the plush sofa softening your intentional fall. Sirius laughed as he approached the couch, crouching next to where your face was smushed into the smooth material of the sofa. His fingers moved the hair away from your face, his eyes locking in with yours as his lips split into a lazy smile.

"Knew you'd make fun of me," You mumbled and his lips twisted into an exaggerated pout now, repressing the need to laugh and you buried your face into the cushions with another groan. 

He would've been lying if he said his heart hadn't skipped a beat, a flicker of hope that maybe, you felt as he did. Maybe your heart ran quicker when he held your hand, maybe the goodnight kisses you pressed against his cheek, against his forehead meant more, maybe the smile you had given him when he presented you with the key to your shared apartment, the smile that made him feel as if he was staring straight into the sun, meant something more. 

But for now, that would have to wait.

As he got you up and into the bathroom, wiping your makeup off with a damp cloth, you gave a mumbled slurred summary of your night. He made you close your eyes as he wiped away the mascara, and you listed the vague number of drinks you'd had— plus the drinks you had to make up for Lily’s inability to drink right now, Marlene’s idea of course. His fingers curled around your chin as he moved your face, and at any other moment, you would've been positively frazzled. But as you spoke of the shaky walk home after Marlene dropped you off down the street, you could only revel in his touch as he hummed along and got you ready for bed. The stubborn lipstick made his cheeks flush as he wiped at your lips repeatedly, making them look plump and if he hadn't had the ounce of self-control he still vaguely maintained he would've kissed you right there and then. But it just wasn't the time for it, there's never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate you're in love with them, is there?

Stumbling around the room with you, the pajamas he managed to get over your form as he tried not to look at you in your underwear— not that you cared at the minute— it all made his heart swell. A stolen moment for him to think on later, the small giggles that escaped your face, or the innocent clutch you had on his hand. You ran your fingers down the features of his face as he helped you lay down. He tucked you into your bed with a kiss on your cheek and a giggle erupting from your chest.

His heart ached with longing but he guessed it could be worse. 

You could've said no to living with him. 

You gave him a faux pout, and he mirrored it. 

"What is it lovely?" 

"Missed you tonight-" he could feel the crimson intensify in his cheeks at your words, but he ignored the flush and moved a stray hair away from your face. 

"I missed you too love, next time let's go together yeah?" You hummed in agreement, a small love you slipping past right as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep covering you like a blanket.

"I fear I might be in love with you doll," he sighed, yet you didn't answer to his whispered confession. Your chest rose and fell steadily. Part of him was glad, the thought of your reaction to his feelings chilling him to the core. It could be worse, he thought. 

Yes, he'd rather have this than nothing at all. Godric forbid he ever confesses.

You'd be walking out the door with your bags.

[harunayuuka2060]

WHB Series #1 (Cont.)

Gabriel: God has allowed me to be close to them. While it brings me happiness, I can't help but wonder what led them to give me a second chance.

Gabriel: ...

Gabriel: God, do I have permission to speak?

MC: Sure.

Gabriel: ...

Gabriel: I've noticed you've been distancing yourself from Michael. Has he done something to bother you?

MC: ...

MC: I suppose I should tell you.

MC: It's not unusual for angels to be devoted to me, but Michael, on the other hand, has confessed his love for me as a descendant of Solomon.

Gabriel: ...

MC: It seems that Michael is seeking a "different" kind of relationship.

Gabriel: ...

MC: *could tell that he was seething with anger*

MC: Gabriel, come here closer.

Gabriel: ...

Gabriel: *leans close*

MC: ...

MC: *plants a soft kiss on his cheek*

Gabriel: !!!

MC: Look at you—one kiss was all it took to make you happy.

Gabriel: *blushing like crazy*

MC: Ah, but I'm sure Michael's happiness can't compare to yours.

MC: After all, he touched me.

Gabriel: ...

Gabriel: MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!

Michael: Hm?

Gabriel: *storms up to him*

Michael: What's the matter?

Gabriel: You've committed the gravest sin of all—trying to covet god while viewing them as just another person!

Michael: ...

Michael: Heh. They're a descendant of Solomon, a human. I've fallen in love with that human, not with their image as god.

Michael: If I do say so myself, I have every right to claim what’s been given to me by god.

Gabriel: NONSENSE! *draws out his weapon*

Michael: *is prepared to fight as well*

Raphael: That's enough! *has arrived to stop them*

Gabriel: Don't stop me, Raphael!

Raphael: You are in the presence of younger angels, and you're not setting a good example.

Raphael: What will god say if they learn about this?

Michael and Gabriel: ...

Gabriel: *glares at Michael then leaves*

Michael: ...

Michael: *about to take his leave as well when Raphael stopped him*

Michael: What is it you want?

Raphael: Banish every impure thought you have about god.

Michael: *smiles*

Michael: Don't worry. Mine only lies with the descendant of Solomon.

Raphael: ...

Raphael and Gabriel: What?

MC: *has announced that they will be away to visit a friend from the human world*

Raphael: ...

Raphael: God, that won't be possible.

MC: Hm? Why not?

Gabriel: No human has ever seen god. Your friend will die if you meet him.

MC: That's true; however, I'm in the body of a mortal. *smiles* And I have a separate identity.

Raphael and Gabriel: ...

Raphael: But still, what will we do while you're gone?

Gabriel: Can't we go with you?

MC: It seems you two don't trust that I'll return.

Raphael and Gabriel: ...

MC: I’ll definitely return. In the meantime, I need you to ensure everything stays in order here. Do you understand?

Raphael and Gabriel: Yes, god.

Minhyeok: *missing and worried sick about MC*

Minhyeok: Ppyong has stopped coming by.

Minhyeok: Does that mean something happened to them?

MC: Are you having sadboi hours?

Minhyeok: !!!

Minhyeok: MC?

MC: Who else?

Minhyeok: ...

Minhyeok: You're not Ppyong pretending to be them, are you?

MC: *rolls their eyes*

Minhyeok: ...

Minhyeok: *his eyes start to water* MC...

MC: Nuh-uh. *turns around and approaches the door* I didn't come back for this.

Minhyeok: Wait! *stood up immediately and runs to hug them*

MC: *not amused when he started crying on their shoulder*

MC: Dude, I'm not dead.

Minhyeok: Yes... And I'm glad that you aren't...

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ GN reader

Bakugou doesn't tell people about his home life, so you can imagine the Bakusquad’s utter surprise when they invite themselves over only to find out he has a little omega housewife waiting for him.

“Oh, hello,” you say when the four additional Alphas pour in through the door after your Katsuki.

They all look at you unblinking. The biggest one, a redhead, doesn’t seem all that surprised—as though he’d had some suspicion that’s now been laid to rest. But the other three, an electric blond, a guy with raven hair, plus a woman with cotton candy curls, look at you as if they’d just stumbled upon a mouse in a lion's den—all slightly horrified at the sight of you.

Your alpha, the tightly wound grump seething with annoyance, stomps over to you and plants a quick kiss on your hairline. “They just barged in,” he grumbles under his breath. “Sorry if we scared you.”

You hum calmly in turn, “That’s okay. I heard you yelling in the driveway, so I wasn’t surprised.”

The four members of the Bakusquad are all gobsmacked at the domestic sight—the boss, their boss, their hard-headed macho boss, bending over and apologizing to this little omega half his size.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, peaking over the breadth of his hunched shoulders to the others with a warm smile on your pretty face. “I just finished dinner.”

“No,” Katsuki growls grumpily and winds his arms around you—like an old, tired dog, voice gruff, “Uninvited intruders don’t get my dinner.”

You only giggle it off, brushing his stubble with a small hand, gently handling him further down to your level so you could place a kiss on his other cheek. “Oh, stop, Katsuki. Be nice to your friends.” 

Then you walk off to the kitchen.

Calling out sweetly over your shoulder, “I went a little overboard, so there’s more than enough for everyone.”

And by god, if they don't fall in love with you right then before they’ve even got a single word out.

But love at first sight isn't all so strange. None of them have ever seen an Omega outside of on film—much less been hit with the scent of one. They're all bewitched and confused at the feeling as they trail after you as if they've been compelled by some higher power.

"Please sit," you smile, gesturing to the long table where only two seats have been made. "Katsuki, hon, help me, please"

They all scoot into each their unplaced seat while your big lousy Alpha begrudgingly helps set the table for the unwanted dinner guests. They remain silent as you serve them like the perfect homemaker—all crimson-cheeked and ashamed at how they sniff after you as you pass them by.

You sit just as brightly despite the awkward tension. "Please, enjoy."

They all obey, eating in utter silence—every single one of them trying hard not to stare—and all failing miserably.

Kaminari's the first to speak, having been left shaken by curiosity he no longer could contain.

"So... did he kidnap you, or?"

It's a fair question to some extent. Omega's are a dime a dozen, all regulated strictly by protective institutions. You can't just find one to mate like in the old days. You need to apply for one and be vetted—not to mention they cost a fortune.

"Denki!" Kirishima whisper-shouts in admonishment, shaking his head from across the table.

"What? I'm I the only one who's thinking it?" he throws his hands up and defends.

Katsuki's fist strains around his fork, but you lay your mit atop his, and he calms down shortly.

“Don't worry, Mitsuki and Masaru made the arrangements and paid the dowry," you giggle, running your hand through your Alpha's ashen hair with fondness in your eyes. "I was a graduation present of sorts. They worried Katsuki wouldn't take care of himself once he started working and thought having a mate might help him with his busy day.”

If Katsuki appreciates you spilling his business like that, he doesn't say anything about it—just continues eating.

Denki sighs and sags in his chair. “I always knew Bakugou’s folks were loaded. How nice...”

Sero grins, “Your jealousy is showing.”

Denki pouts, “I’m not exactly tryna hide it.”

"Yeah..." Mina pipes ut. "Can't deny I'm jealous, too."

Sero's grin falls as well with his confession, "Yeah, me neither, actually."

You keep smiling sympathetically, "Well, you're all welcome here—I don't mind the extra company."

"Really?" Denki lights up.

Mina and Sero, too—in awe and in unison, saying, "She's an angel."

"Get yer own," Katsuki grumbles. "Now shut up and finish your food. Then you're leavin'—all of you."

"Oh, come on, man," Denki whines. "Have a little pitty for your fellow Alphas."

"Let's stay respectful, guys," Krishima buds in lightheartedly. "Think about what you're asking."

Then, rethinking the conversation, the other three all realized how it had sounded, even though they hadn't meant it that way. And they all blush even darker than before.

And still, you just smile—alphas are all so cute.

Especially your hyper-protective one.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[totalswag]

baby girls first birthday — RAFE CAMERON

authors note since my last dad!rafe fic did so well i thought why not make another one. you can find it fourth of july

join my taglist if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary celebrating layla's first birthday surrounded with friends and family.

warning(s) none just a whole lotta cuteness.

Today, one year ago, you brought your first daughter Layla into the world. Amazing how quickly a year can pass. It seems like you just gave birth and cradling her in your arms.

Can't count on your fingers how many times you cried the past two days over Layla turning one. No one can blame you for feeling these emotions. She's your first born.

“Can you believe she’s one?” Rafe says while setting up the last string of balloons over the arch wall that leads into the kitchen.

You shake your head, “no I don’t” feeling your words crack with emotion as you prepare breakfast— this was gonna be a special morning breakfast.

As the scent of freshly cooked pancakes permeated the air, you gently plated them, adding a sprinkle of syrup and a small dollop of whipped cream—just enough to taste. You cut the pancakes into tiny, baby-sized pieces, just right for Layla's delicate hands. A few blueberries on the side rounded out the meal, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of joy as you placed the plate in her high chair.

Rafe and you walked upstairs together to see if Layla was up. The sounds of her little gibberish could be heard down the hall. Layla was looking around her room sitting up— insane smile forms on her when she sees you two get closer. She lifts her arms up to get out.

"Happy first birthday, baby girl," you both exclaim.

She giggles with glee as Rafe scoops her up and places her on his hip before giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She stares at him in complete aww for a moment.

Layla turns to face you, her smile widening, her body slanting in your direction as if she wanted you to give her a quick hug. "My precious girl is one?" You hold her close to you for a couple seconds.

When you walk at the end of the stairs, Layla's eyes gleam with curiosity seeing the lavender colors. She saw the decorations of butterflies hanging from the ceiling, all different colors. She squealed with excitement and opened her eyes wide, grabbing for the closest one.

Rafe set her in her highchair while you went around the kitchen counter with your phone for pictures. Layla exclaimed when she saw her breakfast waiting to be devoured. You snap a few photos while she eats breakfast, then Rafe and you get your plates.

The house is ready for friends and family to arrive. The party doesn't start until twelve thirty, giving everyone plenty of time to prepare.

In case guests wanted to take pictures, there was a picture curtain with the words "Happy Birthday Layla" above.

Friends and family began to arrive, each one bringing gifts for Layla. You greeted them at the door, hugging each person as they stepped inside. Their faces lighting up seeing Layla in her birthday outfit.

"Oh Layla you look so cute in your dress!" Your mom gasped in excitement seeing Layla in Rafe's arms waving at those who came in.

"Can you say thank you grandma?' You grin up at Layla who babbles.

Layla responds by babbling and hiding her face in Rafe's chest.

Layla wore a soft lavender tulle skirt with a bodice decorated with tiny pink butterflies. Her golden curls were gathered into two small pigtails, secured with matching butterfly clips. She looked like the cutest princess.

Half an hour into the party, pictures were taken, conversations, kids running around, etc. The Cameron household was busy to say the least.

You showed everyone where the food and beverages would be once they were ready to eat— fruits, desserts, sandwiches, barbecue, cupcakes, drinks, and more. 

Sarah was leaning against the counter with a plate in her hand, nodding her head to the song playing from the tv. You grab a cupcake before joining her.

"This party is so cute, it screams Layla" Sarah states, regarding the decorations in the house. "The flowers are my favorite,"

"Aw, thank you, Sarah, and initially, when I was looking for decorations and saw the flowers, I knew I needed to get them!"

"On a real note and I'm sure you'll agree but Layla already being one is insane because it feels like she was just born" Sarah frowns, facial expression showing she's feeling a lot of emotions.

"I couldn't agree more— I cried last night before bed, and Rafe comforted me the whole night," you respond quietly.

It was time to start singing happy birthday as time went on. You sat Layla down in front of everyone in her high chair. She looked around waving with both hands with a smile. Rafe came around the corner with a small cake in his hand— Layla's eyes went wide.

"On three, we sing Miss Layla, happy birthday," you say enthusiastically, raising your right palm in the air.

As you both bent in to help Layla in blowing out the flame, Rafe stood next to you, his arm around your waist. Layla clapped her hands with joy as friends and family erupted in cheers and her face broke into the largest smile you've ever seen.

Opening presents was last to go. Layla's tiny hands grasp on each gift she received— curious whatever was in the bag or wrapped in paper. She got toys, clothes, and a few small things.

As the day drew to a close, friends and family began to leave with their children. Layla fell asleep in Rafe's arms in the backyard, sitting around the bonfire with your father, Ward, and friends.

Your mom, Rose, and you were sitting on the front porch swing having a simple conversation about motherhood. They each told you what motherhood taught them and the emotions you feel when it's your first borns birthday.

The smell of the fresh planted flowers, summer breeze hitting your skin, and the sun getting ready to set beautifully.

"I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be a mother," you admitted after a time, your voice subdued. "There is so much joy, but also an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I just want to do the right thing for her, you know?

"You're doing an amazing job," Rose encouraged you, placing her hand lightly on your arm. "Motherhood has many obstacles, yet it is apparent how much you adore her. That's what counts the most."

Your mom nodded in agreement. "There isn't a perfect way to accomplish it, no manual or roadmap. You just have to believe in yourself and know that you are enough. "Layla is fortunate to have you."

You felt tears form at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears. This conversation, on this particular day, exceeded your expectations. As you sat there, surrounded by women who had helped you through life and into motherhood, you felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Thank you for those kind words. I definitely needed to hear that, literally. Time just went by so fast in a blink of an eye" you sniffle while your mom and Rose rub your back.

It was officially the end of the night. The three of you were in your pajamas, ready for bed. The house had decorations up that will be up for another day or two. You held Layla in your arms—her head on your shoulder falling asleep.

You brought Layla upstairs, placing her in her crib and bringing the cover up to her chin. For a time, you simply stood there, watching her sleep, overcome with love for this tiny human who had altered your life in the most beautiful way.

Rafe threw his arm around you as you both stood there, and you knew that no matter how quickly time passed or how many birthdays came and went, the love you felt tonight would see you through it all. And when you turned off the light and closed the door, you couldn't help but grin, knowing that this was only the start of many more wonderful memories.

"Happy birthday, Layla."

my taglist!

@drewstarkeys-world @chenslucy @rosezza @rafeyslamb @starkeyvhs @diqldrunks @runningfrom2am

[tobi-smp]

I don't want to hold anything against this specific person, because I Remember the discourse that lead to this and I know exactly how it could get passed around and warped (either through telephone or someone's own memory shifting with time).

that said, I never liked that discourse specifically Because it was a clear misreading of the text, and what better opportunity do I have to talk about it now.

the context was the bench trio therapy stream. tommy had been beaten to death by dream, sat in limbo for months, and then revived and told Explicitly that dream was planning on escaping prison and tormenting the rest of the server.

the mindset that tommy is in is that he Has to do something, but he's deeply traumatized by what's happened to him. he's Scared to go back to the prison, but he has no choice but to do it for the safety of everyone else in the server.

the "therapy stream" was bench trio Trying to do exposure therapy on tommy to help him work through his trauma in the lead up to attempting to infiltrate the prison. and the entire point is that they Absolutely Were Not actually helping.

what they were Actually doing was triggering tommy by exposing him to things that he was traumatized by, because they didn't actually know how to do exposure therapy and what they were trying to do wasn't healthy in the first place.

so the Context of this conversation is tommy desperately trying to just, Get Rid Of his trauma (something that is absolutely not possible) while entering a worse and worse mindset because he was intentionally triggering himself.

Likewise, the context for Tubbo's half of the conversation is that he Very Intentionally represses his own trauma, both from Himself and from other people. he puts himself in a little box that he buries under the floorboards and asks people to ignore the way the boards creak when they walk on him.

there's a million ways you could cut Why he does this. part it is his people pleasing, willingly pushing himself down for the sake of everyone else no matter how painful. seeing Himself as an accessory to the people he cares about, rather than a whole complete and important person. and in part because it feels Safer, it's Safer to pretend that nothing hurt him.

and Why that is is complicated. part of it is External. he doesn't Get to be angry about what he's been through, because the people he's angry At will just hurt him again. and if he thinks about how he's hurt then he Will get angry, so he just Won't Think About It.

and part of it is that I don't think he wants to process his trauma any more than tommy does. because it's painful, because he doesn't have the tools to actually work through it, because they aren't Safe so he can't afford to break down now (trouble is, there never Seems to be a "safe" time to think about himself).

they're the Repression Brothers. the difference being that tommy's at a different stage of it. not a Healthy One, but different.

tommy spent months not being able to put into words what exile was, what pogtopia was, was the final control room was. and he still won't be able to put it in plain words for some time from here.

but he's reached the point where he Can't ignore it anymore, but he still doesn't know what to Do about it. he's still frustrated with an (to an extent) Ashamed Of his trauma. he feels Lesser Than he was before and wants it to all just go away and go back to Normal.

he's doing this because he Has To, because he Has to be strong enough to fight dream. because if he's too scared to do it then he'd be sacrificing everyone else's safety.

he and tubbo are doing the Same Thing in different fonts, sacrificing their well being for the people Around Them, including Each Other.

so, lets go back to that moment that started all of this.

the exposure therapy was on the final control room section, with tommy working through having been killed by dream.

tubbo mentions that he died that night too, and tommy says something to the effect of "you did, but you have thicker skin."

this has been taken out of context to mean "you did, but I have it worse than you," when IN CONTEXT it means "you did, but you're stronger than me," or more accurately "you did, But I'm Worse Than You."

tommy does not see his trauma in the context of stupid apologist discourse. he sees his trauma as something that makes him Worse, as something he Shouldn't Feel. as something that makes him Weaker than everyone else, who Obviously are so much more put together than he is.

when he says this he's not saying that he's more important than tubbo, he's putting himself down in comparison TO tubbo.

and this is absolutely still harmful ! This is legitimately one of tommy's character flaws ! but it is Not the selfishness that people make it out to be.

it's tommy accidentally hurting other people by seeing Himself negatively. it's an unhealthy relationship with mental health, and a Realistic one considering the circumstances and setting.

likewise, it's Just As Much born from tubbo's own unhealthy coping mechanisms. tommy assumes that what happened didn't bother tubbo the way it did him because Tubbo wants him to think that.

Tubbo doesn't let tommy see how much he's hurting, which in turn feeds into this cycle.

tubbo assumes he Has to shove his trauma down for tommy's sake (for the sake of Everyone he cares about), and so tommy assumes tubbo was just Stronger than him and wants desperately to just shove his own trauma away the way tubbo seems to be able to.

this moment IS tragic, it IS an example of the two of them hurting each other. but it's BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER !!!

Both Of Them are trying to be strong enough to protect the other, and it's Hurting Them. it's unhealthy, but it 's not Malicious. it's self-sacrificial not Selfish. it's not something they've done to each other but what's been done To Them by the world they live in. what they've done to Themselves trying to live in it.

this shouldn't have been a discourse moment, it should've been clingyduoers tearing each other apart in the street at the tragedy of it

[quirrrky]

—•✦ STUPID CUPID! 

BOKUTO's got it all, but while all his friends have special someone in their lives, all thanks to him, he was left single and alone until that one accidental night ‧˚꒰happy birthday, bokuto!! 🥳꒱༘⋆

3k+ f!reader, accidental marriage, suggestive

Bokuto “The Volleyball Hero” was the center of MSBY Jackals. He got special interviews, merch of his own and even a vlog series for god’s sakes. He seemed like he’s the most fortunate among the members, but little to what the outsiders know, he was the most envious. 

“I hope you both fulfill the love, family and happiness you're dreaming of,” Kenma called for a toast for his newly wed best friend and his wife. 

Everyone around Bokuto was getting married, engaged or partnered up.

Let’s not go anywhere far. Just take Kuroo right there who was so busy sneaking kisses from his bride from time to time.  

Not long ago, he was single as a pringle like Bokuto too. Man had casual to shallow relationships but nothing’s ever going anywhere, until that day Bokuto brought him as a plus-one at a wedding. Kuroo hit it off with another plus-one who’s not even related to the couple. It was love at first sight according to him, and now, he’s the one getting married.  

Bokuto was left single.  

He took a deep breath and saw his kouhai, Akaashi. Since he had been an athlete, he seemed to see his junior less. Excitement brewed inside him only to turn cold right away as he watched one of MSBY’s road managers lace her fingers with Akaashi’s. Yeah, it was all because of Bokuto’s meddling as well.  

Akaashi was an editor of a Volleyball-centric manga and he needed Bokuto’s insights back then and so Bokuto gave one of MSBY’s road managers as contact person to communicate with Akaashi. Now, they were set to get married next year too. 

A long sigh escaped through him. Everywhere he looked, everyone was happily in the arms of another. He slumped his shoulders. What’s so good about romance and relationships anyway? It’s not as if it’s as fun as Volleyball.  

He pouted.  

Bokuto was jealous, seething envious.  

He wanted someone to give him a loooong kiss after winning a match just like Atsumu and his fiance. He imagined someone would call him long-distance whenever he’s away like how his pretty manager would do for Akaashi. He would very much love to look at someone and laugh with her like the world only belongs to the two of them just as how much Kuroo was having the time of his life right now with the love of his life. 

All of them happened because of him yet he was left all by himself.  

Tears triggered to fall from his eyes, but he swallowed every drop of them in. He was genuinely happy for his friends, and he wished, with all his heart, that their relationships would be successful and fulfilling.  

Perhaps, he’s lucky in Volleyball but totally sucks in love. This is life. You can't have it all. So he won’t. That simple.  

All night long, Bokuto partied like an animal he never was. He drank all the hard liquor together with the bitter truth that he’s the fun single uncle his nephews and nieces would love to play with.  

“Bokuto-san, you've had enough! That’s- that’s too much!” He heard Akaashi called out to him, but he didn’t care.  

Curse all the gods! All this time he was playing cupid to all his friends and now he’s the one without anyone.  

“F@#k you!” He shouted to the heavens. Big F to that dumbass Cupid! He had been doing that loser’s job all along yet he ain’t having any reward. Asshole better train. He’d been missing his arrows when it came to him. “Aaarghh! Fu-” 

Bokuto clasped on his chest. A strong sting came right through and, all of a sudden, he bumped onto someone. He looked back and a shroud of white flooded his vision.  

Is he dead? 

But how can he hear birds chirping?  

Are there birds in heaven?  

Well, there can’t be any in hell so he’s lucky he’s in heaven.  

Bokuto opened his eyes as he slowly brought himself to sit upright. He rubbed the sleep off and took in his surroundings. Fancy room. He thought. Was this his apartment in heaven? 

He glanced at his side, and he marveled at the ethereal being he saw. Must be an angel. A smile appeared across his face. He’s so lucky to wake up next to an angel, indeed. Itching, he poked a finger on her cheek.  

Her eyes gradually opened, and he sure heard a chorus sang in his ears by how beautiful she was. She got up, wearing a large white tee, which looked immaculate on her by the way. She didn’t need wings to fly. She had already taken flight in Bokuto’s head.  

Wait! Was this even true? You blinked twice. Thrice. Four times.

"B-Bokuto..." Your eyes widened. He’s shirtless, looking so hot this early in the morning beside you in bed... 

Last night... 

You inspected your clothing which gave out every sign of intimacy and if you were right...

"Y/N!" It finally registered in his head! He's still alive and it was you? He studied you closely, taking in your swollen lips, flushed cheeks and beautifully disarrayed hair. You're lovely. You're still an angel regardless if he's just dreaming.

Who thought you were this pretty all along! Bokuto's the type of guy who could never take a hint unless you initiate and you...You never initiate nor flirt with him obviously that's why he'd never really see, consider you in that way.

Maybe it wasn't Cupid's fault, it's his. An angel was just around him but he always failed to notice.

Gulping the thick lump in your throat, if you would remember correctly...

You turned to the bedside table on your left. Surprise coloring your expression as you take the paper on the table. 

It was a dream. It was a dream. It was a dream.  

But no. 

Bokuto took a long read at the paper you were holding.  “W-Wait- We are...” 

“Yes.” 

You were, indeed, married to Bokuto Koutaro.  

One of the guests at Kuroo’s wedding was a government employee, who had the authority to officiate a marriage with just a stamp and now... 

“Semi!” Bokuto proclaimed. “It’s him! What happened?” he asked. “How?” 

You blushed. You’d rather not recall what happened last night which was a bit clear for you unlike Bokuto who was totally clueless. You snuck a glance at him. He’s so comfortable in his own skin, attractive mire than he knows it, and you were flustered, seeing him half uncovered.  

“I-I-I guess we better get dressed first!” 

“Oh! Yeah!” He agreed and stood up. The blanket slipped off his body completely, unraveling what’s left unraveled that had your eyes popping at the sight in front of you. “I’m sorry! I'm sorry!” 

You turned away red-faced. 

You were the content creator especially assigned by the JVA to Bokuto. Since he had a strong clout and they can utilize it to promote volleyball, he had exclusive interviews and vlog series, which were something you were doing for him.

You probably know Bokuto more than himself by now with all the research you've done about him and with all the time you spent with each other.

Since you were assigned to him, your career was centered around him, which was your entire life right now. You would be lying if you'd say you didn't find him attractive at all. You may have quite a soft spot for him you kept on burying to death, keeping things professional between you two until last night. If there's something aside from volleyball he's a pro at it's definitely...

You shook your head. You shouldn't be thinking these things.

Once dressed, you both decided to seek Kuroo's help. After all, the newly kept hinself sober last night.

“So we got married at the same day, huh?” Kuroo told Bokuto while waiting for Semi on the phone. The two of them talked over the guy in question to seek for a solution.

Apparently, according to Semi, divorce was the easiest method since annulment would be pricier. 

“He said we have to divorce,” Bokuto informed you. Now, this part came with a little bit of disappointment for him. “The papers will come in a month or few.” 

He was lowkey sad. He got his chance for a love life only to be taken away in a snap.

"No worries," you said. "I can wait."

Somehow, you shared the same sentiments as him. Despite your close relationship professionally, you'd want to get to know him more...personally—not as an athlete, but as an individual.

You were about to exit the hotel but a small commotion suddenly made its way towards you.

The reporters and vloggers were quick to pick up on the news, and as soon as someone saw you both together, they all approached with questions.

Bokuto couldn’t lie as he was actually proud and happy to have you, while you were worried that your accidental marriage might affect his image and sponsorship.  

You tightly held onto his hand and looked at him. He leaned down and you whispered. “I can be your wife.” His eyes grew in surprise. “For a while.”  

An ecstatic grin appeared on his face. Who would’ve thought he’d be so lucky? He got an angel as his wife, though he felt so stupid not to realize how good of a match you two would make until something unforeseenike this would happen.

Bokuto's quick to pull you close to him and he proudly announced that he’s officially a married man. You couldn’t help but feel the same happiness he was radiating. You giggled just watching him. He glanced back at you, eyes watering with gratitude. 

“You’re the best!” 

Sure, he already said that to you a hundred of times, but there's something about the way he said it this time that made it different.

•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•

You both agreed to live together in the meantime since people’s noses would be up his business. Also, soon, he’d be away for overseas training so it wouldn't be much of a big deal.  

Bokuto took his role as a husband very seriously though. He’d welcome you with a big tight hug whenever he’d come home from practice. After all, you have already done more than that the very first time you got re-acquainted.  

You’d spend the rest of the day eating and doing chores together. Some nights, you’d be playing card games and watching movies together just like two best friends, enjoying each other’s company in cold nights. 

“There you go! Catch him! Go!” Bokuto screamed at the TV.  

“Uhm...I think that’s the killer though,” you pointed out. “He’s chasing after the victim.” 

Bokuto stopped, stupefied. Damn! How could he look so much like a loser in front of you. You just laughed at him. It was not mocking, rather it was very endearing. Just watching you laugh sort of made him much bubblier too.  

Silly! He was so silly. He laughed at himself and you both shared that small but warm moment. It felt so good he didn’t want it to end. 

Aaaargh! He was truly an idiot for realizing that you were there right beside him all along and he kept his sights to non-sense pursuits. It didn't matter now what mattered the most was he got you right with him at this very moment.

Days turned into a week and it’s time for his overseas training. Bokuto felt a little off. Everybody could tell that he wasn't his usual chirpy self. He got so used to being around you that not having you in a day made him lose all balance in spirits. A pout never left his face the entire flight.  

They took a break from practice and his teammates were teasing each other when his phone rang. Lazily, he looked into it and his face lit up when he saw it was you.  

“Y/N! It’s youuu!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm. “You called!” 

“Of course,” you said. “You were away so I thought I might check up on you.” 

Timezones had it. It was during this time when you’d both watch your favorite show together, so it reminded you of him. And...maybe a day without him was something so new now for you.  

His smile stretched from ear to ear. “I never thought you would! It’s great to hear your voice.” 

You giggled from the other line.  

“Me too.” 

“Will you call me tomorrow before the game too?” His tone was almost pleading. 

“Sure,” you said, rolling all over the bed like a giddy high school girl.  

“Yes! How ‘bout even after the game? Then the next day?”  

“I would. Everyday.” 

Atsumu quirked up an eyebrow, watching Bokuto go from zero to a hundred. Just what kind of vitamins did he take just now to be so bolstered up at an instant like that.  

“What’s with him?” The blonde asked his teammates. 

Hinata scooted close to Atsumu and whispered like a gossiping old lady. “Y/N...” 

“Ohhhh...” Tsumu reacted as they talked about Bokuto and his express wedding setup, but the person in topic had all his ears on you over the phone.  

Distance didn't matter between the two of you. He enjoyed listening and talking to you over the phone. It also made coming home more exciting. He never felt this way before.  

“Y/N!” Bokuto announced, arriving home. You turned in anticipation and he copped you in his arms and twirled you around like a Disney princess.  

You were in a fit of laughter and he simply found joy in your happiness.  

“Miss you so much!” He hugged you super tight, rubbing his cheek against yours. 

“Me too! Me too! I stopped watching the series because I’m waiting for you.” 

“Oh, Y/N!” he exclaimed then remembered, “I smelled like airplane! I better take a bath first before we get back to episode 7.” 

You laughed and he headed off to the bathroom, while you set aside his luggage and kept some of his stuff.   

“Y/N! My angel!” he called from inside the bathroom and you covered your face. He was always so cheesy like that even if it’s just you two and you’re still not used to it. “I forgot to bring my towel with me.” 

You grabbed his towel and knocked on the door. He partially opened the door, showing you a glimpse of his well-toned abs and a slight peek at his bare pelvis and legs. You reached the towel to him not looking at back at his direction.  

“Are you embarrassed?” he asked, curiously. 

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, flushed to the neck. “Are you not?” 

“Why would I?” Bokuto wrapped the towel around his waist. “I believe I look good,” he said. “The same as you.” 

“W-What?” Your face heated up profusely.  

“I think you look good with or withou-”  

“Stop!” You ran away, diving into your bed and hiding under the blankets. You knew you couldn’t say no if he’d ever make a move. Under the context of your agreement, you were married..for a while. You also live uder one room, so the possibility of that is highly likely.  

You heard his steps getting closer. He sat beside you and lifted the blanket, revealing your bashful self underneath.  

He giggled. “You’re just so cute. Do you know that?” His face inched closer to yours. He kissed your nose and you closed your eyes. Next thing you knew, he had already captured your lips. His arms now caging you as you got lost, fallen under his spell.  

His eyes were so loving when you’re under him. Peeling you off from where you hide, his smiled like he couldn’t believe what he’s seeing. “You look so good. So good just like how I thought.” 

Right then and there, you allowed yourself to believe him and get swept away.  

•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•

Koutaro usually comes home early but he was getting home a little late recently. You were glancing at the clock when the doorbell rang and you thought it was him. He probably left his keys again. You headed towards the door and opened it. 

“Mail for Bokuto Koutaro-san,” the mail man informed and you signed the receiving form.

You read the delivery details attached on the envelope. 

From: Semi Eita 

You gasped. 

Divorce papers. You knew this would be the divorce papers you and Koutarou requested when you initially found out that you got married by accident.  

And you remembered that this setup was only for a while.  

Your heart ached so suddenly. You didn’t want this to end. You didn't want you and Kotarou to end. You might not start the way normal couples do, what you had for him was real. At least, for the few months you spent with each other, it seemed so real. But was it ever real for him too? 

You must’ve prepared yourself when you agreed to this arrangement. 

Tears crawled down your cheeks. You’re in love with Koutarou, but you must do the right thing.  

The door to your, no, his apartment opened. “Y/N, my angel! I’m back hooome! Where are you?” Bokuto excitedly announced, but his face dropped to be welcomed by your crestfallen face. “What happened? Why are you...” 

You wiped your tears away and forced a smile. “No, this...is just...nothing. Nothing really!”  

He sat beside you. Before he could even tease you, you handed over the envelope to him. 

You heard the material being torn open as you focused your vision to your hands on your lap.  

Several scenarios played in your head. It’s either he’d play it cool because all this time he knew what he’s singing for, and all this was just a random episode in his life—something he could easily shrug off. The other one was the probability that he loved you the same, but he wouldn’t want to ruin the agreement between you and him, so he’d gladly set you free. 

You weren’t prepared for this. Could you ask for one more night, days, weeks, months, years with him? Would he allow that? Do you really have the courage to ask that of him? But you knew your heart would be broken into shards once he rejected you.  

Your mind spiralled out of control.  

“Is this...why you’re sad, Y/N?” he asked, full of concern. You couldn’t lie about that. “Actually, I asked Semi about this. I really wanted to divorce you immediately.”  

You pinched close your eyes and gripped the fabric of your skirt. 

“But seeing that this got you sad, I guess, I better tell the truth.” He took your hand and cupped it between his. “I want us to divorce so I can do things properly.”  

You raised your head to look at him.  

He knelt down on the floor and brought your hand over his cheek.  “Oh, how could I even hurt you? It’s my fault I made you cry like this.” 

“Koutaro...” you mumbled in confusion. 

“My friends are helping me plan things. Kuroo even helped me pick, but this couldn’t wait.” Scurrying inside his pocket, he pulled out a box, flipped it open and revealed a diamond ring. “I want to marry you properly, Y/N.” 

Your tears of sadness were replaced with pleasant surprise. Your hands flew to your mouth.  

“Now, this wasn’t as grand as we are thinking of but...” His lips quivered and soon he joined you in sobbing. “I can’t afford to see you crying. I can’t break up with you, Y/N. Ilove you. You’re my angel. How can I survive knowing that I let you fly away?” 

You lovingly laughed at his signature dramatics and you knelt beside him, engulfing him in a warm embrace. “I love you, too, Koutaro.” You parted a little, looking him in the eye. “I’ll marry you.” 

He burst out in happiness as you giggled like pre-school kids encountering the magic of puppy love.  

Bokuto recalled wishing for this not a while back...To laugh like the rest of the world doesn't matter just like Kuroo and his wife back then when you two first met.  

Now, he’s got a wife too.

Maybe it wasn't Cupid who was stupid all along. Maybe it was him. The love of his life was always right in front of him yet he failed to notice.

Thanks to Cupid for doing his job at last. He finally struck an arrow to the woman Bokuto could never live without. 

@pixelcafe-network

[jaythes1mp]

yan!Batfam x Ponyo!Reader!! 🐟🩷❤️

On days like these Damien strolled around the shoreline. Patrolling the nearby warehouses, looking for any of the local villains henchmen bringing anything suspicious to them. But to his disappointment, nothing... to complete his disappointment, he hasn't been commed about anything crimes near his area.

Looking around the shore he scoffs picking up a broken bottle, "The least these criminals could do is throw their trash away..." Damien sneers as he threw it away. He can't believe it, he's so bored that he's cleaning the shoreline.... He's was a vigilante for Batman's sake! He grew up around blood and bodies!!

As he starts to clean the trash, he spots something moving and clinking around. Walking closer, it seems to be a fish! Huh... wait.... it's stuck in a jar! The closer he got, the more he saw. The fish is odd looking... quite human? Damien decides not to think further about it, he needs to help the fish. He crouches down and tries to get the fish out. As he does so he thinks, 'It looks like a goldfish... Who in their right mind dumps a goldfish in the sea, didn't they know they're freshwater??! They're also invasive and bad for the local marine life!' After struggling to get the fish out, he decided to break the jar. Picking up a near by rock, he hits the jar as hard as he could, while trying to not strike the fish.

Damien carelessly picked up the fish from the broken glass, accidentally cutting his gloves. As he was about to looks at his teared glove, he felt a sting. Dropping the fish quickly as fast he could, Damien looks down at his hand. A bite mark?! He's bleeding too, how? How could a fish bite down hard enough for him to bleed??

He read about some fish having teeth, but a goldfish having teeth? Impossible! As he ponders Damien looks down at the strange goldfish, 'Should I take it home to study it? To keep?' as he does that, his comm rings. He quickly looks at the fish then his comm. It was Alfred!

He quickly turns it on, "Hello Alfred..." a second to long for him, Alfred chimed "Hello young master Damien," without missing a beat, Damien asks "Is there anything you need?". "Yes, you have school tomorrow." said Alfred, 'Dammit,' Damien didn't even realize it's around that time! He quickly looks around and sees a plastic pail, he runs to grab it and quickly scoops up the fish with some water, and books it back to the batmobile.

Funnily enough, as he and Bruce rode into the Batcave, Bruce didn't notice the plastic pail. Damien quickly hid the bucket, and starts getting out of his costume. Just as quickly, he picks up the pail and runs back to his room. As he was up in the manor, Alfred asks, "What is in the pail, young master?" Damien froze as the question was asked. He didn't want to tell anyone about the strange goldfish, but this is Alfred asking! One cannot just keep a secret from Alfred. Reluctantly he said, "I found a strange fish while on patrol, it was stuck in a jar..." hopefully that was enough to satisfy Alfred. "Are you rehabilitating the fish, young master?" Alfred questioned again, "Yes, I am... I'm worried about it's fins, I had to break the jar after all." He(Alfred) nods, "As long as you go to bed after," he walks off, probably to treat any of his brothers who'd might've gotten hurt during patrol. "Goodnight young master." "Goodnight, Alfred..."

After their parting words, Damien goes up to his room and checks on the fish's fins. After a few minutes, there was no tear or any wounds on it. As about he was going to bed, Damien worries about the fish. The pail he currently has it in isn't an adequate enclosure. Unfortunately, that's tomorrow Damien's problem. As he closes his eyes, he thought he heard a child's voice calling his name...

(idk if Gotham is near water or somethin... but there now!!)

Ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo ponyo

Masterlist

[daydaydayrk420]

I don't need a sugar daddy

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x male reader

⚠️Car sex, drunk y/n, dom bottom Logan, sub top y/n⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

______________________________________________________________

Y/N. One of the richest men in this economy.

People call him Lucky. So rich at 25. Well, he has his grandfather to thank for that. But is he happy? No. Not really. Sure he can buy everything he wants. But does he have what a person really needs most?

"Don't let go, Jack..." The TV plays quietly as y/n is cooking in his kitchen. The wifi dropped out so he's stuck with cable. Lucky for him only romance movies seem to playing. What a way to rub it in. It's like TV knows he's single and lonely.

Y/n's a businessman. Meaning he goes to a lot of meetings. He also often goes to red carpets and whatnot, which means he frequently uses a limo.

Every time the same limo. Same driver.

Recently though. His favorite limo driver seemed to get worse in health and his car had bullet holes.

"Logan it's been two weeks and you still haven't fixed your car." Y/n said as he walked towards the limo. Logan just huffs and finishes his cigar. "If you need money you can just ask ya know." Y/n added. Logan opens his door. "I don't want a sugar daddy." He grumbled. The younger man just laughs. "That's not what I was suggesting. But I'm not opposed to it." He winks at the older man and sits in the car.

Logan's glad the younger man is already in the car so he can't see the faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

Another week goes by.

"Logan seriously what happened to your car? Just get it fixed and put the bill on my name." Y/n said as he handed Logan a check. Logan rolls his eyes and closes the back door of the limo. "I told you y/n. I don't want a sugar daddy." "You may not want one but you definitely need one." Y/n said and put the check in Logan's breast pocket.

"Take extra if you need. Fuck take enough to buy that boat of yours you keep checking on. Just don't lie to me. I know you need the money more than I do." Y/n said with a strict tone that made Logan's knees weak. Thankfully he's leaning on his limo so it's not visible.

Later that night Logan is picking Y/n up from the party he drove him to earlier. The younger man is obviously drunk. And seems to be in a good mood.

"Jeez. You look happy." Logan scoffs and helps the wobbly man into the car. Y/n giggles and runs his hand over the older man's chest. "But you don't. Maybe I should help?" He giggled. Logan rolls his eyes and sits him in the limo. He walks around the car. He stops by the drivers door and takes a moment to calm him mind.

It's not the first time he has seen y/n drunk. But every time the younger man seems to get more horny.

Once he mentally prepared himself he got in the car and turned it on. He looks into the review mirror briefly before he starts driving.

"Looogann" Y/n sang. The older man chuckles. It's starting. "loooogannn" the younger man laughs and walks towards the front of the limo. "Why aren't you responding Logan?" He giggles as he pokes his head through the small window separating them. Logan looks at him briefly and shakes his head. "Get back into your seat Damien." The younger man huffs but does as he's told anyway.

He goes back to the back of the car and flops down. He huffs and looks out of the window. "Play some music please."

The older man nods and turns on the radio. Y/n keeps staring out the window. Even when the car is on a red light.

Logan looks through the review mirror and watches how the younger man is doing. He doesn't want to clean up vomit from the carpet of his limo. He paused once he saw the bulge in Y/n's pants. Yes, whenever y/n is drunk and Logan is picking him up, he gets flirty, but he's never gotten a boner. And yes, he did have some people flash him here and there, but he doesn't mind.

But the fact that it's y/n that's building through his pants is... Exciting him. So when the light turns red he starts driving again. But he turns a different way.

"Hey slow down handsome, you missed our turn." Y/n said. "There was an accident on that road we gotta go around." Logan lied. The younger man shrugs and sits back. He's known Logan long enough to trust him. He knows he's lying of course. But he also knows that Logan lies when there's something for him.

Maybe he's noticed the boner in his pants. Y/n thinks to himself as he looks at the said boner. He gets an idea. The younger man looks up and keeps his eyes on Logan. He slowly starts to palm himself through his pants. He doesn't bother with hiding his moans. It's what he wants.

He wants Logan to hear him. To see him. Watch him.

So he reaches his hand into his underwear. That gets him to moan loudly and throw his head back. He's been so pent up all night that his body responds to everything. That moan catches the older man's attention. Logan looks into the mirror and practically freezes. Thankfully, they're on a red light, so there's nothing to worry about.

Y/n is sitting with his pants undone, legs spread as far as possible, head back, mouth open, and his hand steadily stroking.

A car honking from behind them snaps Logan out of his thoughts and focuses on the road again.

Y/n smirks. He pulls himself out of his pants and strokes faster. "Oh, Logan." He moans louder than before on purpose. He watches through the small mirror for any sign of the older man's reaction.

He can't see anything. But Logan is biting his lip until it bleeds and heals, and repeats. His pants are also getting tighter. Y/n lets out a huff and throws his head back. He keeps moving his hand in ways that make his mind spin.

Logan keeps glancing into the review mirror to watch the younger man practically melt into the leather seat. The longer he watches the tighter his pants get. He huffs and shifts in his seat. Logan tries his best to focus on the road but the moans from the back of the car keep distracting him.

The fact that the younger man keeps moaning the older man's name doesn't help.

"Ah fuck Logan!" Y/n cries out as his body shakes with orgasm. Logan's had enough. He makes a sharp turn towards an old parking lot which causes Y/n to fall to his side onto the seats.

"What was that about?" The younger man asks once the car is parked. But Logan doesn't respond because he's already out of the car, walking towards the back.

The younger man just watches in confusion. But the moment the door opens and there stands the older man with a very clear boner makes y/n's eyes widen.

Logan climbs in and shuts the door. He starts to undress. "Get on the floor." He ordered. The younger man visibly shivered and laid down. The older man scoffed and kicked off his pants. "So willing. How pathetic." He nutters. Y/n shiveres.

"Is this what you want? Hm? An old man to be your sugar baby? An old man that will use you for money and sex?" Y/n only moans in response.

"Well, technically, I'd be the one using you for sex -" "I don't care." The older man huffed at the sudden correction. The smaller man immediately closed his mouth and nodded.

Logan finally removes his boxers. Y/n's eyes widen at the big size that the older man has the burden to carry around. It's a shame that it's completely useless. Logan straddles the younger man and wastes no time to sink down onto the smaller dick. Y/n, in his drunken state, doesn't think about prep. All he can think about is tight, tight, tight. "Oh fuck" he throws his head back and lets his jaw drop into a silent scream.

Logan groans and rats his hands on y/n's chest for leverage. He starts to bounce. The car bounces and their moans are heard through the whole parking lot.

"Fuck, look at you. So wrecked by an old man riding you. Are you that desperate for me? All these months? Is this what you wanted?" Logan practically growled when the smaller man's nails dug into the flesh of his thighs. He sped up his bouncing. The car started creaking against the weight of Logan's constant movement.

Y/n whimpered as his hips started to go sore. Logan doesn't look it but he's heavy. Y/n doesn't know that the older man, who's riding him like a cowboy chased by a sheriff, is a mutant. So he has no explanation about his weight. But he's not complaining. He loves that he'll feel him tomorrow and maybe the whole week.

"You look so blissful. You haven't even cummed yet." The older man groans and shifts to different angles until he finds the right spot. Y/n only gives a sheepish and tired smile. Logan scoffs and leans back. Resting his hands by the smaller man's legs. He moans loudly once he finally hits that spot he was searching for.

He bounces harder. His cock slaps against his belly. Y/n watches the way it bounces. Logan is definitely the one with the big prize here but the fact that he's still the one who has his ass stuffed with a dick is so arousing for the smaller man.

"Logan, I'm close," y/n whines and arches his back. Logan groans and throws his head back. "Fuck y/n."

The younger man sits up and runs his hands over the older man's bare and arched body. He kisses every spot he can and marks it. But because of his drunken state, he doesn't notice how they heal almost instantly. The older man shivers. "Cum with me." He groans and uses one hand to grip onto y/n's shirt. Y/n whines and nods with desperation.

Logan lets out a couple of low grunts before he cums all over y/n's shirt and his belly. Y/n follows shortly after and spills into the other man. He holds his hips bruising tight to keep him in place. Their bodies shake from the intense orgasm. Y/n peppers the older man's chest as he pulls him to lie down. Logan hummed. Suddenly, a cold breeze flew through the car from the front window that had been left slightly open.

Logan shivers, considering he's the only one fully undressed. He doesn't know where his clothes are because he threw them around and is too lazy to search. Y/n notices the shiver and sits up. He removes his jacket and covers Logan with it. The older man smiles at the gesture. "Always a gentleman huh?"

The smaller man smiled as he laid back and pulled Logan close for warmth and urge to cuddle. One the older man got snuggled into the jacket he runs his fingers through the younger man's hair. They lay like that, with their eyes closed and soft smiles on their faces, for a while.

"I guess I could get used to having a sugar daddy." Logan hummed. Y/n snorts and buries his face in the chest of salt and pepper hair. Logan in return buried his face in the smaller man's hair and held him close. He threw one leg over his hip to be as close as possible.

"I think we should be more than a sugar relationship." Y/n murmures. "But I will still give you money when you need it." The older man chuckles at that.

"Alright rich Maggie. You won me over." "Finally." Logan laughs at the smaller man's instant reply. The younger man smiles and leans in for a kiss. The kiss is soft. Logan isn't used to soft kisses but fuck did it melt his heart.

"I should go and close the window. You'll freeze to death." Y/n sits up but he's pulled right back. "You're not leaving."

The younger man laughs and kisses the older man's shoulder a couple of times. "Logan the night is gonna be cold plus it'll be raining."

"....Fine." Logan lets go of the smaller man who heads towards the front. He closes the window and locks the door. He puts the heater on so they can get at least a little warmer before going to sleep.

Logan pulls him right back the moment the smaller man sits down. Y/n chuckles and lifts Logan's thing over his hip again so they can be in their previous position. "Didn't think you were this cuddly."

"People never do. They always say that a mutant like me is not a good man, a cuddler at that." Logan said before thinking. His secret is out. Y/n now knows he's a mutant.

"A what?!"

[qqueenofhades]

I may very well be getting too far ahead of myself here, but reading your last two (back to back, hot diggity damn, queen!) essays got me thinking about the future. In the beautiful possible future where we keep up the fight, elect Kamala, and keep Trump out of office for another 4 years, do you think there's a real possibility we'll be seeing the same election (Kamala vs Trump) in 2028?

I hear the arguments against the possibility - he's old and unhealthy so he'll probably die (not counting in it), the Republicans cannot be stupid enough to try again (they can), his fragile ego will be too broken to try again (his ego disconnected from reality long, long ago), he'll be in jail (unlikely with this Supreme Court, and hilariously we have no laws preventing someone in jail from running), but even the sum total of them doesn't seem like enough to count him out.

Mind you, if he does run against Kamala in 2028, I feel like the odds would be on our side? I'm just. So. Tired of this guy. I'll keep fighting till the day I die, but it'd be nice if we could actually see this dude go down and take on the next one.

We honestly have a good shot to shut ourselves of Trump forever at this election, because of the simple fact that he is in rapid dementia decline and I honestly don't think he'll be remotely sane in another 4 years. Not that he's sane now, but at age 82 after another four years of associated legal troubles and/or penalties complete with his rapidly unraveling mental state... I just don't think it will be possible even for the withered husk of the GOP to trot him out again, and I say that as someone who always unfortunately knew he would be the nominee again in 2024 despite some overly optimistic prognostications to the contrary by others. As I've said before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and that is part of the reason he is so desperate now.

We can't count on the legal system to rid us of Trump before the election, but the delayed sentencing in his NY felony trial is coming a couple weeks afterwards, the Jan 6th trial has restarted, and the 11th Circuit is fairly likely to reinstate the Mar-a-Lago classified documents case. Trump running for president is a convenient grift to pay his legal bills, and if he gets crushed in November, even the most faithful MAGA diehard are going to find it hard to keep coughing up for his various fundraising appeals. I mean sure, he'll get something, because some of the cult members will be in it to the bitter end, but overall, he will be fucked. On many, many levels.

This is the delightful vision that is fueling me and frankly should fuel all of us, so yes. Vote. Remove stubborn orange stains, once and possibly fucking finally for all. Please.

[lk0727]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[journeytothewestresearch]

I've read your articles on your blog! I can't thank you enough for your extensive research, you have helped thousand of people into enlightment!

Curious though, you said on one of them that you aren't a fans of BM:W storyline. Care to elaborate why you dislike it?

Thank you for the kind words.

I have a number of problems with the story. The following is presented in no particular order:

The game continues a trend that I last noticed in the film Jiang Ziya (姜子牙, 2020): gods are the true villains. This just seems like an attempt to maintain the status quo of the CCP's institutionalized atheism (I'm an atheist by the way, just not anti-theist). Someone please correct me if you think I'm overreaching.

Wukong forsaking his Buddhahood makes no sense as his attainment of enlightenment is the culmination of his original story. The game spits in the face of his great sacrifices and efforts by making such changes. Also, Buddhahood is a state of being and not just a title that can be discarded.

Monkey's plan to remove the headband via reincarnation (or whatever you want to call it) just seems really, really convoluted.

The many changes to the original characters' established story arcs are unnecessary. For example, Red Boy "finishes" his discipleship under Guanyin and returns to being a dick. So dumb.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 13

With two back-to-back shows in Paris, with a new song added to the set list, Kara expects to largely watch Lena sleep. But somehow, the morning after the first show, Kara is woken early by movement beyond the shared door of their suites.

Upon knocking, she receives a bright "come in!" and opens the door to find Lena bustling around the room. She's dressed in leggings and spandex top, complete with brightly colored sneakers on her feet. Her face is bare of makeup, but retains the dewey vibrancy only youth can give.

"Good morning!" Lena greets, bouncing to Kara with more energy than she has any right to have. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sure," Kara returns drolly. "But not enough--- how are you even awake? We only got back at 3am!"

Lena laughs. "I've got to get a workout in before the meet and greet later." She lifts one of her earbuds in one hand, nestling its pair in her ear with the other. "Wanna join?"

"The meet and greet, or the workout?" Kara asks dubiously.

"Why not both?"

Why not both. She's here with the express purpose of supporting Lena, but now she's faced with the dilemma of deciding whether that included running. She hasn't seriously trained since she played volleyball in college... she'd probably trip over her own feet.

"Sure," she finds herself saying, before her brain can catch up. When it does, she hesitates. "Oh-- I didn't bring--"

"I've got some looser gear that should fit," Lena responds easily. She cocks a grin. "Or you can just spot me."

"Yeah... I should probably do that. I can run out and grab some gear later today. At least some sneakers."

She does take Lena up on the offer of her looser workout gear-- sweatpants that were more capris on Kara than not, and a tank top that would have sagged on Lena, but comfortably snugs against Kara's curves.

"Oooh," Lena says when she sees her. She trots over and gives Kara a peck on the lips. "I like this look."

"You speak of this to no one," Kara warns, more self conscious of her bare ankles than anything else.

"What happens in Paris, stays in Paris," Lena promises, then tilts her head towards the other room. "Come on."

Kara expects them to use whatever gym amenities the hotel offers its guests, but it turns out the suite of rooms includes its own exercise area, complete with treadmill, freeweights, and aerobic equipment.

"I prefer not to use the shared amenities downstairs," Lena explains lightly. "I don't want to hog the machines. Or disturb anyone else's workout."

Seeing Kara's curious look, Lena gives her a mysterious smile. "It'll make sense later."

Lena trains like a professional athlete. Kara is exhausted just watching, and almost an hour in, it seems like Lena is only getting started. At least, Kara reassures herself, the woman sweats like a normal human.

"What?" Lena pants as she pistol squats with a fifteen pound dumbell under her chin.

"You really like this stuff, don't you?" she asks. Watching from the weight bench, Kara can see that this isn't just a means to an end. She enjoys it.

Lena smiles. "Yeah, I do. I can't help it."

Her enthusiasm is infectious, as proven by the fact Kara is compelled to join Lena in her floor exercises. Core had always been her strong suit in college, but it's clear from her lackluster plank and crunch stamina that she's lost any and all conditioning she might have had.

Even so, instead of feeling discouraged, Lena's delighted giggle, Kara looks forward to her next attempt. The workout ends with cardio on the treadmill-- or so Kara thinks.

"I gotta put these in," she warns. "That okay?"

Kara nods. Lena's mystery smile returns for a brief moment, before the treadmill beeps on and Lena starts with a brisk walk. After five minutes Lena expertly keeps up with an increasing pace, until her sneakers are pounding out a heavy rhythm at a rate Kara can scarcely fathom. Only the most dedicated of players on Kara's volleyball team had been able to keep up that kind of pace for very long, yet there Lena is, strides long and even and surefooted.

Then the singing starts. Lena begins with a scale or two, then a few vocal warm ups. Kara recognizes the first song of Lena's setlist from the opening note, and from there can only listen in awe as Lena belts through her entire concert from start to finish.

It sounds as steady as any true performance, the notes strong and clear without any shortness of breath. It's... astounding.

When the treadmill finally slows to a walk once more, Kara comes around to rest her forearms on the rail. She looks at Lena expectantly, who is patently pleased with herself.

She shrugs with false modesty. "It's sort of my superpower."

In answer, Kara crooks a beckoning finger, prompting Lena to lean down and receive a kiss for her efforts. Lena doesn't even break stride, but she does fumble for the off button, slowing to a stop as the kiss persists, deepening.

When Lena hops off the machine, Kara has half a mind to press Lena up against it to kiss her senseless-- a temptation she fails to resist when Lena's hand slides up her shirt to run warm fingers over Kara's ribs.

"Jesus," Kara mutters, pausing for breath. "Lena, you... I don't know if I--"

"We go at your pace, darling," Lena murmurs back. "Just know that I really, really want--"

Kara swallows her next words with another, deeper kiss. Helpless to the attraction tugging under her ribs, Kara lets her fingers wander up Lena's side, until her palm cups Lena's breast. It earns her a heady moan into her mouth, and a tightening of Lena's arms around her neck, pulling her closer--

"Lena? We have two hours before the meet and greet!"

Jess' voice calls, innocent yet conspicuous behind a door that stays shut. Lena sags, the moment broken but not it's tension.

"Thank you, Jess!" she calls back, not bothering to unloop her arms from Kara's shoulders. "I'll be in the shower shortly."

Jess' footsteps pad away, but Lena doesn't resume their previous activities.

"We don't have a lot of time..." she starts conspiratorially, voice low. "Not enough to do *this* justice. But..." Her green eyes darken with desire. "Think we can make up some time by doubling up on the shower?"

Kara reaches up and grasps Lena's hand, bending to capture another kiss.

"There's only one way to find out."

They do not make up any time whatsoever.

[toadslug]

I FINISHED IT!! Here are my silly opinions for the silly dragon series 🥰 Character names, explanations, and template below the cut:

★ Favorite character: Clay

Clay has been my favorite character since I read his book!! I think his character goes a lot deeper than how some of the fandom treats him (his character arc is amazing), and he's also just a really nice guy.

★ Liked by everyone but me: Queen Ruby

I have no idea why I don't like her 😭 I think the way she treated Peril just kind of pissed me off when I was a kid, and I've never been able to shake the grudge. It's not her, it's me. I almost put Bumblebee here instead (I can't fault her for acting her age, but her screaming can get tiresome).

★ Didn't like at first: Fatespeaker

I considered putting Glory here, but I only started to hate her when that was the popular thing to do (I'm back to liking her now). I immediately didn't like Fatespeaker... Probably because I was rooting for Sunny x Starflight at the time 😬 I PROMISE I'm not like that anymore omg, I was, like, nine. I've come to value Fatespeaker a lot more; her character is surprisingly interesting to pick apart.

★ Would like to know more about: Hailstorm

There's so many characters I want to know more about!! Gill!! Tau!! Riptide!! Moray!! Osprey!! Sora!! Literally any MudWing character!!! But I went with Hailstorm. I adore the cool, supportive big brother energy he radiates, and seeing him trying to fit back into IceWing society (and maybe go through a teensy identity crisis) would be interesting.

★ Least favorite character: Sky

Honestly, I don't really have a least favorite character...? There's Whirlpool, of course, but that's too easy. I ended up choosing Sky 🤷‍♀️ I liked him enough in Dragonslayer, but he annoyed me in The Flames of Hope. I feel like he became a lot louder and more brash.

★ Like the design, dislike the character: Vulture

His dragon skull tattoos and the gimmick for them is so sick?? Why is this grandpa more stylish than me and everyone I know??? His design is great, but everything to do with him and his crime ring felt a little out of nowhere to me. It's been a while since I've read Darkness of Dragons, so maybe I'm just not remembering everything? But yeah. I wish he was introduced better.

★ Like the character, dislike the design: Luna

I like Luna!! And I like how she looks on her book cover, too (the rendering on her is drop-dead GORGEOUS). But the rest of her appearances in canon art... ehh.

These shades of green are making me feel things. And the spots on her wings look kind of awkward to me.

★ Favorite ship: Jambu x Pineapple

I was really close to putting Clay x Peril here because of how OBSESSED I was with them as a kid (shout-out to the Demons Peril PMV by Echosplash Animations that saved my life); however, Jambu x Pineapple is the only ship in the series that got me kicking my feet. The flashback to them cuddling in the hammock melted my heart 💖 Luna x Swordtail, Tamarin x Anemone, and Mangrove x Orchid are also my beloved. Honestly, though, I'm not that involved with shipping anymore.

★ Would never befriend IRL: Sundew

I like Sundew as a fictional character, but I would be slightly scared of her if she was real. She probably wouldn't like me.

★ Would befriend IRL: Umber

He just seems chill. I don't think he'd prod me to do stuff or talk, and I like people like that... People who can just let you exist. I feel like he'd tolerate my cringey humor, too.

★ Similar personality: Clearsight

I am NOWHERE near as girlboss as her, but I can relate to constantly worrying about future situations that may or may not happen 😁😁

★ Least favorite ship: Burn x Scarlet

Sorry toxic yuri ☹️ I just don't ship Burn with anyone.

*This template wasn't my idea; I took the original template and modified it to my liking.