#but i think if they had the ability to they would

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right? 

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down. 

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again. 

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth. 

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision. 

Like this. 

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia. 

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you. 

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other. 

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical. 

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened. 

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?” 

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can. 

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again. 

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

--

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating. 

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside. 

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have. 

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved. 

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap. 

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought. 

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone. 

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know. 

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder. 

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

--

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-” 

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to. 

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation. 

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly. 

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be. 

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one. 

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom. 

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set. 

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him. 

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi. 

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that. 

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked. 

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling. 

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted. 

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it. 

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears. 

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt. 

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers. 

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile. 

This is a goodbye.

--

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?” 

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?” 

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin. 

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?” 

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

--

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?” 

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery. 

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning. 

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

 “Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage. 

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile. 

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise. 

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it. 

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

--

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

--

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

[rollerska8er]

i keep seeing this post appear on my feed and it annoys me every time i see it.

no, Boeing didn't have anyone killed. we're all just uncritically saying "Boeing had a guy killed" and not actually reading into it.

okay, sure, cops lie, but there is quite literally no evidence that John Barnett was murdered.

on the contrary, the available evidence (which would have been found and reported by, you know, medical examiners? people whose job it is to find out how someone died and aren't actually that easy to manipulate into making a murder look like a suicide) says that Barnett shot himself and it is unfeasible for him to have been shot by someone else, considering the trajectory of the wound.

nor does it even make sense for him to have been shot because, you know, that would actually raise suspicion and be an even bigger PR disaster than they're already dealing with? Boeing's board of directors are possibly that evil, but they aren't that stupid.

the other guy they "assassinated", Joshua Dean, died of pneumonia and a stroke brought on by flu and MRSA, which, forgive me, seems like a pretty fucking roundabout way to take someone out.

in the first instance, Boeing didn't need to have John Barnett killed. they harangued the guy and turned people against him to the point he got PTSD. he suffered a nervous breakdown as a result and shot himself from stress. the whole "if something happens, it's not suicide" thing? Yeah, sometimes people say stuff like that. In fact, doesn't that perhaps point to the fact the guy was thinking of killing himself and trying to convince himself not to?

in the second instance, the guy just got sick and died. it's not that unusual for that to happen, particularly if you are middle-aged and under incredible stress making your immune system less effective.

conspiracy theories are a type of false consciousness, even when they're nominally "left-wing". it's taking a cargo-cult approach to understanding, interpreting and critically examining the systems of violence and destruction that are wreaking havoc on the Earth.

there is no shadowy group of nefarious evildoers ordering the murders of whistleblowers, there is simply a large corporation leveraging its ability to put so much stress on people they either give up on trying to bring them to book, or, tragically, die.

there is no conspiracy. there is only capital.

Remember earlier this year when Boeing very clearly had a whistleblower executed? And law enforcement didn't even look for anyone or release any info about it or anything?

People keep comparing Luigi Mangione's case to the subway murderer who got off because of systemic eugenics, but I think there's something more apt about the fact that a CEO had someone executed in recent memory, with zero attempts to find a culprit, while they spared no expense at all to find (and probably frame, it's beginning to look like) someone who shot a CEO. It's always fine to slaughter if you're rich, but if you kill the rich, they will hunt you down.

[wandascosmic]

Would you write something where Wanda and reader just have like a slow morning. They don’t have anywhere to be and reader just wakes up to see Wanda staring at her and it’s just so sweet. Feel free to add your own ideas too!

slow mornings (request)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you have your first day off in a year, and you and your wife decide to spend it in the best way possible.

word count: 733

tags: unedited, fluff, meet-cute, business major history, domestic wanda and reader, soft wanda and reader, slow mornings with our favorite couple, wanda has a staring problem

Wanda must have looked crazy, staring at you, her wife, for the past 20 minutes. Just watching your chest rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic state as you slept peacefully. Devoid of all the stress that usually plagued your face at your high-stakes job working as a company’s CEO. 

Wanda never wanted to leave, she felt completely content, having been married to you for the past five years, she never wanted it to end. 

Watching your expression, she reflected on your relationship’s history. 

You had met Wanda fresh out of college, during the first week of the master’s program you two had both been accepted to, one of the most competitive in the country.

Wanda was focusing more on the management portion, while you were learning more analysis topics. 

Sprinting as fast as you could to your most important class which you were unfortunately already late for since the bus got delayed, you accidentally bumped into a redhead on your way, dropping both your books and hers in the process. 

Widening your eyes, you ran back towards the figure. “Oh, my god! I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to do that. I’m just stressed and–” 

The figure gave you a reassuring smile, causing every word that wanted to come out to die in your throat. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice silky smooth as she handed you your books back. “I’m Wanda.” 

Nodding, you wordlessly took your books back, confused as the figure gave you an expectant look. “Um, oh! I’m Y/N. Studying business analysis.” You held out your hand for her to shake. 

“Nice to meet you,” Wanda responded. “Business Administration.”

“Wow, that’s– wow.” You acknowledged, seeing as that was the best program your school had to offer. Should you even be talking to her?

Wanda laughed. “It’s nothing. My greatest accomplishment is my coffee job on the side, with my twin brother. Want one?” 

“Um– what?” you asked.

“A coffee,” Wanda smiled. “Have you heard of Sokovian Sweets? Down the street?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I love them. They have the best hot chocolate,” you said in recognition. 

“Thanks,” Wanda nodded. “Pietro’s working the shop today, come on!” 

Wanda grabbed your hand and began to lead you in the direction of her and her brother’s store. 

“Um I really shouldn’t–” you protest. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be worth it!” Wanda reassured, never letting go of your hand. 

And it all was, because 4 years later, she became your wife. 

Wanda smiles as you begin to stir, slowly coming to your senses. 

With your eyes still closed, you reach towards your wife, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you say, feeling a pair of green eyes watching you. 

“Can’t help it,” Wanda shrugs. “It’s called appreciating your wonderful wife.” 

Turning over to face your wife, you slowly open your eyes and greet her with a smile. “Hi,” you say softly. 

“Hey,” she responds gently, giving you a kiss on your forehead. 

“How long have you been awake?” you ask, moving to rest your head in the crook of Wanda’s neck, to which she immediately responds with her arm around your waist. 

“Not long, I spent most of it admiring you.” 

“You know, 5 years of marriage and I don’t think you’ve ever lost your ability to flirt with me in new ways every morning.” 

“It comes pretty easy when you’ve got a pretty wife in bed next to you,” Wanda responds.

You hum, closing your eyes as you feel yourself relax in Wanda’s arms. “What are we doing today?” you ask. 

“Well, Pietro wants me to drop off some cookies at the coffee shop later today, but we don’t have to, I can just get Sam to pick them up since I made them last night.” 

You laugh. “Oh, yeah, forgot Sam owes you for nearly burning down your kitchen last month.” 

Wanda groans. “How can someone mess up French onion soup that bad! He burned the broth somehow!”

 You kiss Wanda’s cheek. “Let Sam know, I have my first day off all year and I want to spend every minute of it with you.” You wrap your arms around Wanda’s waist and snuggle into her chest, dozing off once more. 

“You got it,” Wanda agrees, kissing the top of your head before texting Sam, and going back to sleep alongside her wife.

[enden-k]

short story summary here, again

im including some of my old, traditional art of the og comic i drew years ago to the recent ones BWAHHAH

[the nobody] vindrael lyndis

age: around 23 in human years

height: ~163cm

species: high elf

the protag. vin was born in a small village in the kingdom of Morgana. hes a high elf, a species that is known for their intelligence and masters of the summoning arts. all elven species are known to be very tall and ethereal and beautiful; they are born with both sets of reproductive organs and are not assigned a gender at birth (going agender by default) until they choose it themselves if they wish to do so. vin identifies as male. unlike the average high elf, vin is much shorter and bland looking which troubled him all his life. he was and is often overlooked by others as he doesnt stand out. to make up for that, he possesses extreme intelligence and a talent for the summoning arts much surpassing an average high elf. he studied and worked extremely hard and became one of the greatest summoners in the kingdom until the king himself ordered him to the court to make him his personal summoner. the king was the first ever person who truly noticed and praised him for his talents and vin started to develop feelings of romantic nature. when he learned of the betrayal, hes even more shocked and hurt than titus. he failed to see the kings change and manipulation due to his feelings clouding his eyes and mind and it shook him deeply. he comes off as timid and polite but has actually quite the temper and bad mouth. he overthinks a lot and is always stressed and on the verge of losing it. despite his rational thinking, he tends to act impulsively when hes teased and messed with too much. everyone else in their group is crazy strong and op and vin often feels like he doesnt fit in there, constantly doubting his worth and powers. he often envies others and its a trait he hates about himself; he envies zydonia specifically for the confidence he wishes he had himself. after the kings betrayal, vin feels extremely lost and insecure in the world and latches onto titus as his new meaning of life. he puts his well-being over his own, considering it to be his duty to his prince, and would follow him everywhere even if he often gets upset with titus rash decisions and empty head. titus considers them best friends and treats them both as equals but vin still treats him as a prince, putting some distance between them. only when zydonia makes him learn to prioritize his own needs and well-being and stop putting titus on a pedestal does vin grow more secure and their friendship truly turns into a warm and mutual, equal one.

[the worlds enemy] zerevni-ir yggdra dragonya ova-akhyn nggdragryl i-ihm avna (Z Y D O N I A)

age: in human years around late 20s/early 30s estimate

height: ~194cm

species: goldhorn dragon

the last dragon of his kind. a jailed king with no clan to rule anymore. the dragons are mythical beings living "above the world" and are divided into 4 clans; the goldhorns, the whitetails, the redclaws and the blackscales. each clan possesses a unique ability, ancient magic, which is passed down from king to king. the goldhorns magic is restorative, healing; the ancient magic is "resurrection" zydonia is not of royal blood. he was a common dragon and had loving parents. due to a tragic event caused by his carelessness as a child when he barely learned how to fly, he fell off the edge of the world to the mortal realm, broke his left horn and lost his parents when they tried to retrieve and protect his dying form from human hunters who were attracted by his fall. bc of his broken horn, zydonia lost a part of his dragon powers and his dragon form, turning into a much smaller, humanoid form. his parents death set off his berserker mode, a state a dragon goes in when overwhelmed by intense emotions and unleashing their powers in an extremely mass destructive burst. zydonias wrath was the most powerful and destructive anyone has ever witnessed and it led to him unintentionally wiping out the entire region. the goldclaws were attracted by his powers and came to the rescue; he was healed and brought back by the king who adopted him as his own son, fascinated by his powers and potential. despite his lost dragon form, the dragons still considered him as one of their own. even when he took over his deceased adoptive father and became king, he was loved and respected. he inherited the clans magic but is unable to use it bc of his broken horn, making him a flawed and unworthy king in the eye of another, specific dragon clan who soon came up with a plan to get their claws on his magic, murder him and take over (leaving this all out so this wont get any longer than it already is) back to the present, he was jailed in a dungeon when he got careless and was eventually busted out by titus and the others. ofc his jailbreak didnt go unnoticed and soon hes wanted all across the lands since hes considered a threat to the world due to the annihilation of an entire region when he was a kid a long long time ago; his powers as a grown dragon are much more destructive now and he possesses just one horn. he made a deal with titus; helping him grow strong and stop his father in exchange for busting him out of the dungeon and helping him find his lost horn to regain his form and powers. zydonia is very proud and confident and shameless. he comes off as easygoing, seeking amusement and always speaking his mind, no matter how naughty or "unkingly" it might be. despite his behavior, he still carries himself with a kings aura so its pretty clear he has royal manners and knows how to behave. he simply chooses not to, for the fun of it. hes stronger and more powerful than anyone else but does not brag about it and rather teaches the others how to "suck less" and get better. he only steps into fights when he knows the enemy is outclassing the others. zydonia has his eyes set on vin and loves to banter and tease. it seems he prefers people who dont like him at first and are not afraid to be honest and speak rudely to him.

[the failed prince] titus von morganastatt

age: 21 years

height: 187cm

species: human

the failed 2nd prince of Morgana. he had an older brother who he loved dearly and a onesided relationship to his father; his father neglected him a lot and didnt pay him much attention, rather favoring his brother aris who was way smarter and more capable than titus. his brother always tried to shield him from their father, willing to take on all the royal duties so titus could have a much more innocent childhood without his fathers sharp eyes and strict hand. its why titus never had to bother much with politics, diplomacy or all the "paperwork" that comes, only focusing on honing his body and eager to fight exciting battles. he doesnt understand much of such things and his father regards him as stupid and not capable to follow into his footsteps and run a country like the strict king he is himself. when aris died, it destroyed both titus and his father. unlike titus tho, his father let the grief consume and corrupt him and soon he started to plan to sacrifice his remaining son to zydonia to resurrect aris, offering a hundreds bodies for the magic to work, including vin and bell who were accompanying titus. he wasnt aware tho that zydonia is unable to use the ancient magic bc of his broken horn. titus was already aware that his father had some wicked plans and knowing for certain now makes him want to stop and save him. he pretends to be dead and starts a new life, learning how to be a proper king unlike his father and growing stronger so he can confidently return to his home and face him and end whatever he started. titus is a very purehearted and kind prince; always believing in the good of people even if someone wronged or insulted him. hes naive and a little dumb at times and always needs a bit to fully understand things. he admires vin a lot bc of his intelligence and considers him his best friend since he always stuck around him. he also looks up to zydonia and learns a lot from him, both useless and useful things in all kind of matters. when he becomes king later on, a lot of the way he handles things is how he learned from watching zydonia since hes also a king.

[the assassin] bell

age: 22 years

height: 168cm

species: human

originally hailing from an assassin clan, she was ordered to join the royal army as an undercover knight and assassinate the royal family. however, she was assigned to titus own knights and when they met, they immediately became friends. just like titus, bell is chaotic and easygoing. the way she talks might be considered rude which is smth titus finds amusing and refreshing. she behaves very bold and doesnt care what others think. when they make their deal with zydonia bell is the first who announces she will follow titus and "beat the kings ass". she was ordered to assassinate the family but after becoming friends with titus, she doesnt want to carry out that order. the clan always kept her in the shadows and theres many things she wasnt allowed to do or enjoy; titus, vin and zy are her first friends and she decides to follow their light and do the things she wants and not what is expected of her. so, pretending to have died in that dungeon is also freeing her and allowing her to live a life she always wanted. bell is really strong (both physically and verbally) and skilled; shes often considered to have "bad manners" but doesnt care how others think of her. she doesnt hesitate to kick someones ass if theyre becoming annoying. shes perceptive and a quick thinker but still a bit silly at times. she and zydonia share the same chaotic energy and combined they definitely destroy vins nerves in record time.

[rebuilding-hope]

Okay yeah. I think a lot of people have no idea how any of this works. You can't boycott a necessity.

It would be like saying "let's boycott big agriculture by just not eating."

To successfully boycott something you absolutely must have a backup system. You cannot just pull a backup medical system out of your ass.

Yes, you can implement a rudimentary first aid and build a natural apothecary but none of that will ever ever even touch the amount of technology and modern medicine needed to maintain, let alone treat or cure many illnesses.

Seizing the means of production includes the medical industry too. I want the ability to schedule an MRI when I want, even if for being able to say "I had a scary procedure done now, when I'm not already in a scary medical situation."

With my medicaid, before Covid ruined my local medical scene, I was able to get an MRI. I didn't need one as an emergency, but I had gone to a neurologist with my mental issues to rule out any physical causes. The test came back as normal, and I don't know how true that is, but I have some sort of baseline to look back on if it's ever needed. And now I know that MRIs aren't scary, they're actually pretty cool. They make lots of cool noises.

And I think it's the lack of education about how our healthcare system works, how the doctors learn and work, how the equipment works, why it works.

That shows fear, keeping people from seeking healthcare when they do have access to it.

This is not normal or healthy. We all know this. Boycotting the healthcare industry is what they want. Don't give it to them. Keep putting pressure on them. Show them your health matters.

Your health matters.

Deny, defend, depose.

CNN suggested that Luigi Mangione stage a boycott instead of what he did. a boycott of the health care industry. exercising my right to protest by fucking dying.

edit: it was ABC. tomato, tomato.

[venomous-qwille]

Hi Qwille!

So I was wondering because I’m struggling with this myself- how did you continuously improve with art when you were first still building upon your skills? Like to get to a level that could be professional?

And I think I mean this in more of a mental capacity way. I tend to get angry at the fact that I’m not better by now and feel like I struggle by the skin of my teeth to improve from where I’m at every time, even if objectively speaking I’m already better than people would expect me to be.

I just feel like there’s a better way to go about it than being fueled by anger or spite. I enjoy art, and I’m proud of my work, but I don’t know how to *not* be angry at myself for not being better at it. How do you accept self criticism with grace when it comes to your work? Or how did you, when you were younger? If that’s a question you’re willing to ask, of course! Thank you <3

Hiya! So, I'll start out by saying that this is absolutely the hardest part about learning to draw/paint. The continuous failure and discontent with the work we produce is a constant struggle that is, I believe, the main reason people stop trying to learn at all.

It's okay to get angry and sad, it's okay to be dissatisfied. It's a very cruel joke that, as artists, our eye will improve faster than our ability to draw. We are constantly chasing a carrot that is being pulled further away from us. For me: my improvement was not constant. There were several points where I didn't draw for years, because of other life factors and because the art I was creating brought me no joy.

Things had to change when I decided that I wanted to do art professionally. I needed to improve and improve fast, so I bent a lot of time towards studies. I found that the things I got better at the fastest were the ones where I found studying to be really fun. I really enjoy copying master paintings- especially the nineteenth and twentieth century realists. Finding fun in doing them for the sake of doing them really helped me improve fast because it wasn't stressful- I was just creating art I liked, even if they were copies.

I think accepting that the main joy of art is in the creating, not the result, really helped me be at peace with my artwork. Also, becoming a professional artist and realising that I didnt own what I created- and that I was subject to the (often questionable) tastes of my commissioners/art directors/stakeholders really allowed me to unlatch my emotional self from my work.

Every piece is a step, sometimes you will hit your bellcurve, make the best thing you are currently capable of making- and fuck that feels good- but often you wont, and you wont know why you dont like it. Learning to enjoy the push towards those small moments, the slow improvement as you gradually grasp new skills, learning to love learning, that is the most curative thing. Once I started to enjoy failing, because it meant I was learning- and once I started forgiving myself for not picking everything up straight away- I was much, much happier.

It's okay for it to be hard and your emotions are valid. Forgive yourself for having them and try to find something you enjoy about the process. Recontextualise your mistakes as what they are: not a failure, but just another step up the giant mountain of your art journey. There is always a higher peak. The journey never ends. Stop looking at the top and just enjoy the view and the mountain air. (And for fucks sake don't compare yourself to other people. They're not even climbing the same landmass.)

[pinkmoontaco]

It all started with a song || Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Producer-Idol Jihoon x Producer-Solo Idol Reader

Genre: Fluff, Idol romance

Summary: Jihoon, the reserved genius of SEVENTEEN, unexpectedly finds himself drawn to Y/N, a rising junior idol from HYBE, after collaborating on a duet. What starts as a professional partnership blossom into a heartfelt romance, captured in their respective songs

Author's note: This is my first time writing a story, and I truly appreciate you giving it a chance. Please forgive me if there are any mistakes—I’m still learning and growing as a writer. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and support my work. It means the world to me, and I hope you enjoy the journey I’ve created.

Jihoon was preparing to release his solo album, which included a heartfelt duet about two lovers. After finishing his own parts, his next challenge was to find the perfect female lead for the song. With Bumzu’s help, he sifted through several demos of the female section.

After an exhaustive search, one demo finally stood out to him—it was exactly what he was looking for. When Bumzu visited him the next day, he asked, “Did any of the lyrics catch your attention?”

Jihoon nodded and showed him the demo.

“Oh, so you liked Y/N’s lyrics,” Bumzu said with a knowing smile. That’s when Jihoon learned that the lyrics had been written by Y/N, a junior solo idol from HYBE.

“You’ve never met her, have you?” Bumzu asked.

Jihoon shook his head. It was no surprise—everyone knew Jihoon wasn’t one to socialize much.

“I’ll bring her to the studio tomorrow,” Bumzu said confidently before heading out, leaving Jihoon to ponder the upcoming meeting.

The next day, Jihoon arrived at the studio earlier than usual, his mind a mix of anticipation and curiosity. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He knew Y/N by name, but meeting her in person would be different.

As he set up his equipment, the door swung open, and Bumzu walked in with a bright grin. Behind him was Y/N, her presence soft yet commanding. She wore a simple outfit, but her confidence and aura made it clear why she was a rising star.

“Jihoon, meet Y/N,” Bumzu introduced.

Jihoon stood, his usual calm demeanor masking his nerves. “Hi,” he greeted simply, bowing slightly.

“Hi! It’s so great to finally meet you Sunbae-nim" Y/N said with a warm smile. Her voice was light and melodic, just as he’d imagined. “I’ve heard so much about you and your music.”

“Likewise, but please don't call me sunbae-nim, you can call me by my name,” Jihoon replied, his words brief but sincere.

Bumzu clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. “Alright, let’s get to work! You two have a duet to perfect.”

Jihoon gestured toward the recording booth, silently inviting Y/N to take her place. As they started working through the song, Jihoon found himself impressed—not just by her vocal ability but by her understanding of the emotions behind the lyrics.

They went over the harmonies and phrasing, fine-tuning every detail. By the end of the session, Jihoon was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly everything had gone. Y/N wasn’t just talented; she was professional and insightful, bringing a depth to the song that exceeded his expectations.

“You’re really good,” Jihoon said as they wrapped up, his tone earnest.

Y/N beamed. “Thank you! Your composition is amazing—it makes it easy to connect with the song.”

For the first time in a while, Jihoon felt a genuine sense of excitement about the project. Maybe working with others wasn’t so bad after all.

After their first session, Jihoon couldn’t stop thinking about how seamlessly Y/N had brought the song to life. It was rare for him to feel this level of connection with another artist, especially so quickly.

The next day, Bumzu texted Jihoon. "How was it working with Y/N? She said she had a great time."

Jihoon hesitated for a moment before typing back. "She’s talented. The song’s coming together well."

Bumzu responded with a teasing emoji. "That’s high praise from you! Maybe you should tell her that in person."

Jihoon frowned slightly but didn’t reply. Compliments weren’t exactly his strong suit.

Their second studio session was scheduled later that week. Y/N arrived on time, as cheerful and prepared as before. Jihoon noticed how her energy seemed to brighten the room, even when she was just warming up.

“Good morning!” she greeted with a bright smile.

Jihoon nodded. “Morning. Ready to dive in?”

“Always,” she said confidently.

As they worked through the song again, Jihoon found himself more at ease. Y/N’s suggestions were thoughtful, and she wasn’t afraid to ask questions or offer input, which he appreciated. Somewhere in between harmonizing and tweaking lines, they started to find a rhythm—not just in the music, but in their conversations.

During a short break, Y/N leaned back in her chair. “You know, Jihoon, this is one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever worked on. It feels so raw and real.”

Jihoon glanced at her, caught off guard by her sincerity. “Thanks. That means a lot,” he said quietly.

“Is it based on a personal experience?” she asked cautiously, as if afraid to overstep.

He hesitated for a moment before replying. “Kind of. It’s… inspired by the idea of love. Not necessarily mine, though.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to write about emotions from a distance.”

Jihoon nodded, appreciating her understanding. Their conversation drifted to other topics—music, inspirations, and even random stories about life as idols. For someone he’d only met recently, Y/N was surprisingly easy to talk to.

By the end of the session, the song was nearly complete. As they packed up, Y/N turned to Jihoon.

“I think this duet is going to be really special,” she said. “Thank you for letting me be part of it.”

Jihoon looked at her, feeling a rare warmth in her words. “You brought the song to life. I should be thanking you.”

Her eyes lit up at his unexpected praise. “Well, I guess we make a pretty good team,” she said with a grin.

Jihoon allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, we do.”

As Y/N left the studio that day, Jihoon couldn’t help but think that meeting her had been one of the best things to happen during this project.

In the weeks that followed, Jihoon and Y/N spent more time together polishing their duet. Each session seemed to bring them closer, not just as collaborators but as individuals. Y/N’s infectious laughter and unfiltered enthusiasm often pulled Jihoon out of his shell, while Jihoon’s quiet determination and thoughtful approach inspired Y/N to push herself even further.

One day, as they wrapped up the final recording, Bumzu entered the studio with a wide grin. “So, how does it feel to be done?”

Y/N clapped her hands together excitedly. “It feels amazing! I can’t wait for people to hear it.”

Jihoon nodded in agreement, his usual stoicism giving way to a subtle but genuine smile. “It’s better than I imagined.”

Bumzu raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Wow, Jihoon actually giving compliments? I need to write this down.”

Y/N laughed. “He’s not that bad. He’s just… selective with his words.”

Jihoon shot her a mock glare, but there was no malice behind it. Instead, he found himself smiling along with her—a rare occurrence that didn’t go unnoticed by Bumzu.

As they packed up, Bumzu pulled Jihoon aside. “You know, you’ve changed a bit since working with her,” he said casually.

Jihoon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you seem… lighter. Happier, even,” Bumzu said with a knowing grin. “It’s a good look on you.”

Jihoon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he glanced over at Y/N, who was chatting animatedly with a staff member. There was something about her—something that made him feel less burdened, more open to the world around him.

The song’s release day arrived, and the response was overwhelming. Fans praised the emotional depth of the duet, calling it one of Jihoon’s best works yet. Many were also captivated by the chemistry between Jihoon and Y/N, evident not just in their vocals but in the behind-the-scenes clips shared online.

As they stood backstage during a live performance, Y/N turned to Jihoon. “Are you nervous?” she asked, noticing his unusually quiet demeanor.

“A little,” he admitted. “Not about the song, though. I just hope people feel what we tried to convey.”

Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “They will. This song has so much heart in it. You’ve poured yourself into it, and I’ve never been prouder to be part of something.”

Her words struck a chord with Jihoon. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel alone in his creative journey. “Thank you,” he said softly.

When they stepped on stage and began to sing, Jihoon realized something unexpected. The song, which he’d once viewed as merely a project, had become something far more personal. And in that moment, as their voices blended and the audience’s applause filled the air, Jihoon understood just how much Y/N had changed his perspective—not just on music, but on life itself.

After the performance, Y/N grinned at him. “See? We nailed it.”

Jihoon met her gaze, his expression warm. “We really did.”

And as they walked off stage together, Jihoon couldn’t help but think that this was only the beginning of a story far greater than either of them had anticipated.

In the days following the song's release, the hype only grew. The other members of SEVENTEEN were quick to congratulate Jihoon. Mingyu, with his ever-present energy, was the first to bring it up during one of their group practice sessions.

“Hyung! That duet is insane! Everyone’s talking about you and Y/N,” Mingyu said, clapping him on the back.

Joshua added with a smile, “Yeah, the fans are loving the chemistry. You two sounded amazing together.”

Jihoon felt a rare flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks. “Thanks, guys. It was a lot of work, but she made it easier.”

“Oh-ho!” Seungkwan chimed in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hyung admitting someone made his life easier? This must be a first!”

The room erupted into laughter. Even Jeonghan, who always had a teasing comment up his sleeve, smirked. “So when do we get to meet this famous Y/N?”

Before Jihoon could respond, the studio door creaked open and in walked Bumzu—with Y/N beside him. The sudden appearance of their guest caught everyone’s attention.

“Speak of the devil!” Vernon said, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N waved nervously, a bit overwhelmed by being surrounded by the full force of SEVENTEEN. “Hi, everyone. It’s nice to finally meet all of you.”

Dino bounded over with enthusiasm. “You’re the one with that amazing voice! Your part in the song gave me chills.”

“Thanks!” Y/N said, her smile growing as she relaxed.

Hoshi, never one to miss a moment, stepped forward and grinned. “Are you ready to dance with us too? Because in SEVENTEEN, we don’t just sing—we dance.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a small smirk. “Don’t scare her off, Hoshi.”

Y/N laughed, feeling at ease now. “I’d love to try sometime, but I don’t think I could keep up with you guys. I’m more of a singer than a dancer.”

Jun nudged Jihoon playfully. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s found a great collaborator.”

Over the next hour, SEVENTEEN welcomed Y/N into their world, joking and sharing stories. The room was filled with laughter, the group’s usual dynamic enriched by a new presence. Jihoon found himself observing the way Y/N blended in so effortlessly, as if she’d been part of their chaotic family all along.

As the evening went on, Minghao approached Jihoon with a knowing smile. “You look happy,” he said simply.

Jihoon glanced at Y/N, who was now in an animated conversation with DK and Woozi, sharing anecdotes about their vocal warm-ups. A small, content smile played on his lips. “I guess I am.”

A few weeks later, SEVENTEEN was preparing for a group livestream, and Y/N was invited to join as a surprise guest. Jihoon wasn’t thrilled about the idea at first—he preferred to keep things professional—but the rest of the members were insistent.

“Come on, Jihoon,” Seungkwan pleaded. “The fans already love you two together. This will be fun!”

“It’s a great way to promote the song even more,” Mingyu added. “Plus, we want to see how she handles being in one of our chaotic lives.”

Reluctantly, Jihoon agreed, and Y/N arrived at the dorm just as the livestream was about to begin.

“Is this what it’s like before you go live?” Y/N asked, watching the members scramble to adjust cameras, lights, and snacks.

“Always,” Jeonghan said with a smirk. “It’s controlled chaos.”

As the livestream began, fans flooded the chat with comments. The members introduced Y/N, and the reaction was overwhelmingly positive.

“Y/N’s here! OMG!”

“She and Jihoon look so good together!”

“The duet is my favorite song right now!”

Jihoon, who was reading the comments on his phone, shifted uncomfortably but managed a small smile. “The fans seem happy,” he said quietly to Y/N.

“They’re so sweet,” Y/N replied, her eyes scanning the messages.

The members took turns asking her questions, each one more playful than the last.

“Hoshi,” Y/N said, laughing, “why are you asking if I’d join the Performance Team? I just told you I’m not much of a dancer!”

“Because we can teach you,” Hoshi replied with a dramatic flourish.

DK chimed in, “Or you can join the Vocal Team! We need more people who can hit those high notes.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Minghao said. “You’re a solo artist. Stay in your lane before they rope you into our madness.”

The banter continued until Seungkwan leaned into the camera and asked the question everyone wanted to know.

“So, Y/N, how’s it working with Jihoon?”

The chat exploded with reactions.

Y/N glanced at Jihoon, who was clearly caught off guard but tried to mask it. She smiled. “Honestly? It’s been amazing. He’s a perfectionist, but in the best way. I’ve learned so much from him.”

Jihoon cleared his throat, his ears tinged pink. “She’s talented, so it wasn’t hard to work with her,” he said simply, earning exaggerated “oohs” from the members.

As the livestream continued, Y/N fit right in with SEVENTEEN’s dynamic, laughing and joking with them like she’d known them for years. Fans in the chat began calling her an “honorary 14th member,” a title that made her laugh but also secretly warmed Jihoon’s heart.

After the livestream ended, the members sprawled across the couch, tired but happy.

“You handled that like a pro,” Mingyu said, tossing a cushion at Y/N.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, catching the cushion. “You guys are a lot of fun. I can see why your fans love you so much.”

As the group began to disperse, Jihoon found himself alone with Y/N for the first time that evening.

“You were great today,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Thanks. I was a little nervous, but you all made it easy,” Y/N said, leaning against the back of the couch. “Your members are like family, huh?”

Jihoon nodded. “They are. It’s chaotic, but it’s… home.”

Y/N smiled. “I can tell. You’re lucky to have that.”

There was a comfortable silence between them before Y/N added, “And thanks for letting me be part of all this. I didn’t expect to be welcomed so warmly.”

Jihoon met her gaze, his usual stoicism softening. “You’re part of it now. Whether you like it or not.”

Her laughter filled the room, light and genuine. “I think I like it.”

And for the first time in a long while, Jihoon felt like the walls he’d built around himself were no longer as important.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N continued to bond with SEVENTEEN. She found herself invited to more studio sessions, group meals, and even impromptu dance practices. Despite her initial hesitation about being in the spotlight alongside such a well-known group, their warmth made her feel at home.

Jihoon, on the other hand, started noticing the subtle ways Y/N was changing the dynamic around him. She wasn’t just a collaborator anymore; she was becoming a friend. Someone who could pull him out of his creative tunnel and remind him to enjoy the little moments.

One day, after a long recording session, the group decided to hang out at their dorm. Y/N hesitated when Seungkwan invited her along.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” she said.

“You? Intruding?” Seungkwan scoffed. “You’re practically one of us now. Come on!”

When they arrived at the dorm, chaos quickly ensued. Mingyu was in the kitchen, trying to cook something “special,” while Hoshi and Dino argued over which choreography to show Y/N.

Jihoon sat on the couch, quietly observing the scene. Y/N was laughing with Jeonghan, who was undoubtedly up to some mischief. He couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“You like her, don’t you?” Minghao’s voice pulled Jihoon from his thoughts.

Jihoon turned to him, his expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

Minghao smirked. “You’re not as subtle as you think. The way you look at her—it’s different.”

Jihoon sighed, leaning back against the couch. “She’s… easy to be around. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Minghao said, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t wait too long to figure it out.”

Later that evening, as everyone settled in for a movie, Jihoon found himself sitting next to Y/N. The room was dimly lit, and the sound of laughter and popcorn crunching filled the air.

Y/N leaned closer to whisper, “Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys. I didn’t expect this when we started working on the song.”

Jihoon glanced at her, the soft glow of the TV reflecting in her eyes. “You’re not just here because of the song anymore. They like you. I… like having you around.”

Her eyes widened slightly at his admission, a soft smile forming on her lips. “I like being around you too, Jihoon.”

For a moment, the noise of the room faded, and it was just the two of them, sitting closer than either realized.

“Jihoon! Pass the popcorn!” DK’s voice broke the moment, and Jihoon blinked, quickly grabbing the bowl to hand over.

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back into the couch. The warmth between them lingered, unspoken but undeniable.

As the weeks turned into months, their bond deepened. Whether it was through shared late-night studio sessions, casual dinners with the group, or quiet moments away from the chaos, Jihoon and Y/N found themselves drawn closer together.

And while neither of them said it out loud, they both knew that what had started as a simple duet had grown into something far more meaningful.

As time passed, Jihoon and Y/N’s bond became increasingly apparent to everyone around them. The other members of SEVENTEEN had a field day teasing Jihoon about it, though they were careful not to push him too far. Y/N, on the other hand, took it all in stride, her easygoing nature making her a natural fit within the group’s chaotic but loving dynamic.

One day, they found themselves in the studio late at night, working on a new song. The other members had already gone home, leaving just the two of them.

Y/N leaned over the desk, scrolling through the playlist Jihoon had prepared for inspiration. “This one’s good,” she said, pointing to a track.

Jihoon nodded, playing it without hesitation. The soft melody filled the room, and they both sat in comfortable silence, letting the music wash over them.

After a while, Y/N broke the quiet. “Do you ever think about what this all means? The music, the fans, everything we do?”

Jihoon looked at her, surprised by the sudden introspection. “All the time,” he admitted. “It’s why I work so hard. I want it to mean something—to leave something behind that matters.”

She smiled softly. “You already do. Your music touches so many people, Jihoon. Including me.”

He felt a warmth spread through him at her words. “What about you? What does it mean to you?”

Y/N took a moment to think before answering. “It’s about connection. Every lyric, every note… it’s a way to reach people, to let them know they’re not alone. I think that’s why I love working with you. You get that.”

For a moment, Jihoon was at a loss for words. Her sincerity, her openness—it was something he wasn’t used to but found himself drawn to.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I don’t say this often, but… you’ve changed the way I look at things. Working with you—it’s made me realize how much more music can be when it’s shared.”

She looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “You don’t know how much that means to me, coming from you.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the weight of unspoken emotions filling the room. But before either of them could say more, Jihoon’s phone buzzed, breaking the moment.

The next morning, as they arrived at the practice room, the other members were already there. Hoshi immediately noticed the way Jihoon and Y/N seemed closer than usual.

“Did something happen last night?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two.

“Nothing happened,” Jihoon replied quickly, his ears turning pink.

Y/N, however, laughed. “We were just working on music. Don’t let your imagination run wild.”

The members didn’t buy it, but they let it go—for now.

Later that week, the group had a fan meeting, and Y/N was invited as a special guest to perform their duet live for the first time since its release. The fans erupted into cheers as Jihoon and Y/N took the stage together, their voices blending seamlessly as they sang.

During the performance, Jihoon couldn’t help but glance at Y/N, her presence radiating warmth and confidence. He realized that what had started as a professional partnership had grown into something far more personal.

After the performance, as they stood backstage, Y/N turned to Jihoon, her eyes sparkling. “That was incredible. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Jihoon hesitated for a moment before replying. “Thank you… for everything.”

Y/N smiled, her hand lightly brushing his arm. And in that moment, Jihoon knew that whatever this was between them—friendship, partnership, or something more—he wasn’t ready to let it go.

A few days after their fan meeting, the duet performance went viral. Clips of Jihoon and Y/N on stage, their undeniable chemistry and harmonies, flooded social media. Fans couldn’t stop talking about how perfectly their voices blended and how natural their interactions seemed.

The buzz didn’t go unnoticed by SEVENTEEN.

“Have you seen the comments?” Seungkwan said, shoving his phone in front of Jihoon’s face during a break in practice.

Jihoon glanced at the screen, where fans had flooded the comments section with messages like:

“They’re perfect together!”

“Jihoon and Y/N need to release a whole album together!”

“Am I the only one who feels like there’s more to their story?”

Jihoon sighed, pushing the phone away. “It’s just the fans. They like to speculate.”

“But they’re not wrong,” Mingyu chimed in with a sly grin.

“Not you too,” Jihoon groaned.

That evening, Y/N visited the dorm for what was supposed to be a casual hangout. As usual, the members couldn’t help but stir the pot.

“So, Y/N,” Jeonghan started, leaning casually against the couch, “what’s it like being the most shipped person with Jihoon right now?”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Hoshi said, joining in. “The fans are calling you the ‘power duo.’ Some are even saying you’re a better fit than us!”

“Don’t listen to them,” Jihoon muttered, his ears turning pink.

Y/N, recovering from her initial shock, laughed. “Well, I guess it’s a compliment? I mean, Jihoon is an incredible artist, so I’m honored.”

The room erupted in exaggerated “oohs,” with Seungkwan dramatically fanning Jihoon. “Did you hear that? She called you incredible!”

Jihoon buried his face in his hands, muttering, “Why do I even let you all talk?”

Despite the teasing, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at Y/N’s words. She always had a way of making him feel seen—not just as an artist but as a person.

Later that night, after everyone had settled down, Y/N and Jihoon found themselves alone on the dorm balcony, overlooking the city lights.

“It’s been a wild night, huh?” Y/N said, leaning against the railing.

Jihoon nodded, his gaze fixed on the skyline. “Yeah. I didn’t expect any of this when we started working together.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “But I’m glad it happened. I’ve learned so much—not just about music but about myself.”

Jihoon glanced at her, his expression softening. “You’ve changed a lot of things for me, too. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to remind me why I love what I do.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart skipping a beat at the vulnerability in his voice. “Jihoon… I—”

Before she could finish, the balcony door slid open, and Mingyu stuck his head out. “Hey, are you two having a moment? Because we’ve got snacks inside.”

Y/N burst out laughing, while Jihoon groaned. “You have the worst timing, Mingyu.”

Mingyu grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

As the night went on, the teasing and camaraderie continued, but something had shifted between Jihoon and Y/N. Though unspoken, there was an understanding growing between them—one that neither was ready to confront just yet but couldn’t deny any longer.

And as Jihoon watched Y/N laughing with his members, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something he’d been searching for without even realizing it.

The weeks passed, and Jihoon found himself unable to shake the feeling that had been slowly growing inside him. Every time Y/N smiled, every time their eyes met during a quiet moment, something in his chest fluttered. He had always been someone who let his music speak for him, but this time, it wasn’t enough just to express himself through lyrics. He needed to tell her, to be vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been with anyone before.

But how?

It was during a late-night studio session, after everyone else had left for the day, that Jihoon decided to do something about it. He had spent hours working on the song, tweaking the melody, perfecting the lyrics, and now it was ready.

The track wasn’t like anything he had made before. It was softer, more personal, and every note seemed to come straight from his heart. He had poured his feelings into it, capturing the emotions that he couldn’t say out loud. It was a love song. And the subject of it? None other than Y/N.

The next day, Jihoon invited Y/N to the studio under the guise of working on new material. She arrived, always eager to help or collaborate, but there was something different about Jihoon’s demeanor that caught her attention.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she walked into the studio. “You’ve been acting a little… off lately.”

Jihoon avoided her gaze, fiddling with the soundboard for a moment. “I… I have something I want to play for you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curious. “A new song?”

He nodded, his throat tightening slightly. “Yeah. But it’s… different.”

Y/N walked over to him and sat down, her eyes fixed on him. “I’m all ears, Jihoon.”

Jihoon hesitated for a moment longer before hitting play. The soft, melodic intro filled the room, and Y/N was immediately drawn into the haunting beauty of the song. As the lyrics began, she felt a stirring in her chest. The song felt… personal. Deeply personal.

She listened intently, her heart racing as the chorus hit, and Jihoon’s voice filled the space:

“I didn’t know how to say it, but now I know it’s true, Every moment with you feels like I’ve found something new. In the silence, in the music, in the things I never said, I’m falling for you, I’m falling for you, And I can’t take it back.”

The song went on, each lyric pulling Y/N deeper into the emotions Jihoon had poured into it. By the end, the room was thick with the unspoken words hanging in the air. The music faded, and for a few moments, there was silence.

Y/N slowly turned to look at Jihoon, her eyes wide with realization. “Jihoon… that song…”

He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s for you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had known there was something between them, something that had grown over time, but hearing him express it so clearly, through music, felt like a confession she hadn’t expected.

“Jihoon…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He finally met her gaze, his eyes vulnerable in a way she had never seen before. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to tell myself I was just… overthinking. But every time you’re near, every time you smile, it feels like something more. I think… I think I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. And I couldn’t hide it anymore. Not after writing this song for you.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she processed his words, her own emotions swirling within her. She had felt it too—the connection, the way everything felt more meaningful when they were together. But hearing him say it out loud made it all so real.

She took a step closer, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve been feeling the same way, Jihoon.”

His eyes widened, and he took a step toward her as well. “Really?”

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve been too afraid to admit it, but… I’ve been falling for you, too. Maybe I didn’t want to admit it because I didn’t know if you felt the same, but… I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The tension that had built between them in the past few months suddenly lifted. Jihoon, overcome with relief and happiness, took her hand gently.

“Then… do you think we can figure this out together?” he asked softly.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I’d like that very much.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything else. The weight of the confession hung in the air, but the silence felt comfortable, like a shared understanding.

Jihoon squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t know what comes next, but I want to find out with you.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining. “Me too.”

And as they stood there, hand in hand, Jihoon knew that this song, the one that had started as a way to express his feelings, was just the beginning of a new chapter for them both.

For a few weeks, Jihoon and Y/N managed to keep their budding relationship under wraps. They weren’t intentionally hiding it, but neither of them was ready to face the whirlwind of teasing that would inevitably come from SEVENTEEN.

However, secrets rarely lasted long in a group as close-knit and nosy as SEVENTEEN.

It all started during a practice session. Jihoon had left his phone on the bench while the group worked through choreography, and a text from Y/N popped up on the screen:

Y/N: Can’t wait to see you tonight ❤️

Seungkwan, ever the observant one, noticed the notification first. “Oh? Hyung, care to explain this?” he asked, holding up the phone with a mischievous grin.

Jihoon froze mid-step, his face instantly turning crimson. “Give me that!” he snapped, rushing over to grab the phone.

But it was too late. Seungkwan had already shared the discovery with Hoshi and Jeonghan, who were now looking at Jihoon with matching expressions of glee.

“‘Can’t wait to see you tonight?’” Jeonghan teased, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “Jihoon, do you have plans we should know about?”

The rest of the group quickly caught on, gathering around as Jihoon struggled to come up with an excuse.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Nothing?” Hoshi said, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like something to me.”

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Mingyu blurted out. The room went silent for a moment as everyone processed the possibility.

Jihoon sighed, realizing there was no escape. “Fine. Yes. It’s Y/N. We’re… dating.”

The room erupted into chaos.

“What?!” Seungkwan exclaimed, looking both shocked and delighted. “When did this happen?”

“Jihoon, you sly fox!” Jeonghan said, clapping him on the back.

“You’re dating Y/N, and you didn’t tell us?” Dino pouted. “I thought we were close!”

Jihoon groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay? It’s still new, and we didn’t want any unnecessary attention.”

Joshua, ever the voice of reason, stepped in. “Guys, let’s not overwhelm him. It’s Jihoon, after all. This must’ve taken a lot for him to admit.”

“Yeah,” DK added, grinning. “But seriously, Hyung, we’re happy for you. Y/N’s great.”

“She’s not just great,” Minghao said thoughtfully. “She fits in with us, and most importantly, she brings out a side of you we don’t see often. It’s nice.”

Jihoon looked around at his members, their teasing replaced with genuine support, and felt a wave of relief. “Thanks, guys. Just… keep it low-key, okay? We’re not ready for everyone to know yet.”

The group collectively agreed, though Jihoon wasn’t sure he trusted their definition of “low-key.”

That evening, Jihoon met Y/N at their usual spot in the studio. She could tell something was different as soon as he walked in.

“What happened?” she asked, tilting her head.

“They know,” Jihoon said, sitting beside her.

“Who knows?”

“SEVENTEEN,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh no. How bad was it?”

Jihoon chuckled despite himself. “About as chaotic as you’d expect. But… they’re happy for us. They promised to keep it a secret, though I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

Y/N smiled, reaching over to take his hand. “Well, I guess it was bound to happen. They’re your family, Jihoon. And honestly, I don’t mind if they know. I like being part of your world.”

Jihoon squeezed her hand, his heart swelling at her words. “You’re more than just part of it, Y/N. You’ve made it better.”

The next day, when Y/N visited the dorm for dinner, the teasing resumed, but it was all in good fun.

“So, Y/N,” Jeonghan said with a sly smile, “what’s it like dating our Jihoon? Is he as romantic as he is in his songs?”

Y/N laughed, glancing at Jihoon, who looked like he wanted to disappear. “He’s perfect,” she said simply, her sincerity making Jihoon’s face flush even more.

The room erupted into cheers and playful jabs, but beneath the chaos, there was a palpable warmth. SEVENTEEN was more than a group—they were a family. And now, Y/N was part of that family, too.

As the night wore on, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel grateful. For his members, for their unwavering support, and most of all, for Y/N, who had somehow become the piece he hadn’t realized was missing from his life.

A few weeks after SEVENTEEN’s comeback promotions wrapped up, Jihoon surprised fans with the announcement of a solo track, titled “Only for You.” The anticipation was palpable, especially after fans connected the dots between the mysterious teasers and Jihoon’s recent duet with Y/N.

When the song finally dropped, it was an instant hit. A tender and emotional ballad, the lyrics told the story of someone realizing they’ve found the one person who completes them. Jihoon’s heartfelt delivery struck a chord with listeners, but eagle-eyed fans noticed something peculiar.

The release coincided with a few subtle interactions between Jihoon and Y/N on social media. Comments like:

“This song feels so personal… is it inspired by someone special?”

“The vibe reminds me of Jihoon and Y/N’s duet. Are we missing something?”

“Wait a second… some of these lyrics feel like they match things Y/N said in interviews!”

The speculation ramped up a notch when, only a few days later, Y/N teased her own solo track, “Echo of You.”

When Y/N’s song dropped, fans were quick to notice that it felt like a reply to Jihoon’s. While Jihoon’s track spoke of falling for someone who brought light into his life, Y/N’s lyrics told the story of being seen and loved for who she truly was.

Lines like:

“I thought I was just a shadow, but your light made me shine.”

“Every melody you wrote felt like a message just for me.”

Fans flooded social media with theories.

“Wait, these songs feel connected. Are they… about each other?”

“Woozi's ‘Only for You’ and Y/N’s ‘Echo of You’ are like two sides of the same love story.”

“If this is real, I’ll cry. They’re perfect together!”

The speculation reached its peak when a fan-made mashup of the two songs went viral, seamlessly blending the tracks into a duet that felt like it was meant to be.

Back at SEVENTEEN’s dorm, the members couldn’t help but join the buzz.

“So,” Seungkwan started, holding up his phone, “the fans are catching on.”

Jihoon groaned, slumping onto the couch. “I knew this would happen.”

“I mean, they’re not wrong,” Jeonghan said, smirking. “The songs do sound like they’re talking to each other.”

Y/N, who had been invited over for dinner, sat beside Jihoon, trying (and failing) to suppress her laughter. “It’s kind of impressive how quickly they picked up on it.”

Joshua leaned forward, grinning. “Are you two going to say anything? Or just let the fans go wild with their theories?”

Jihoon glanced at Y/N, his expression thoughtful. “What do you think?” he asked her.

Y/N smiled softly. “I don’t mind letting them wonder for now. I like that the songs are just ours, even if people are curious.”

The members all groaned in mock frustration.

“You’re both too private for your own good,” Mingyu teased. “Just admit it already and save us the headache!”

“Admit what?” Jihoon shot back, feigning innocence.

“That you two are the main characters in the greatest musical love story ever told,” Hoshi declared dramatically, earning laughter from the group.

Despite the teasing, Jihoon and Y/N decided to keep quiet, letting their music speak for them. The buzz around their songs only grew, with both tracks climbing the charts and becoming fan favorites.

During a live Q&A, Jihoon was inevitably asked about the inspiration for “Only for You.”

“It’s about someone who changed the way I see the world,” he said simply, his expression soft.

When Y/N was asked a similar question about “Echo of You,” she smiled knowingly. “It’s a song about gratitude and love—for someone who helped me realize my worth.”

The fans didn’t need anything more. To them, the connection between the songs—and their creators—was obvious.

One evening, as they sat together in Jihoon’s studio, Y/N turned to him with a playful smile. “So, do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “I think they know. They’re just waiting for us to say it out loud.”

“And when do you think we should?” she asked, tilting her head.

Jihoon thought for a moment before replying, his voice warm. “Maybe someday. But for now, I like that the songs tell our story. It feels… special.”

Y/N leaned closer, her hand resting on his. “I like that too.”

The weeks following the dual song releases were a whirlwind. Both tracks dominated the charts, and the fan theories only grew more elaborate. Mashups, fan edits, and endless analysis filled the internet, with fans piecing together subtle interactions and shared moments.

Despite their best efforts to stay under the radar, the buzz became too loud to ignore. SEVENTEEN’s members didn’t make it any easier, constantly dropping playful hints during interviews and live streams.

One day, Jihoon and Y/N found themselves at a joint event where multiple HYBE artists were present. It was a casual, live-streamed Q&A session, and the energy in the room was lively. Fans flooded the chat with questions about collaborations, their music, and, of course, the connection between Jihoon’s and Y/N’s songs.

The host, clearly aware of the buzz, decided to address the elephant in the room.

“So, Woozi-shi and Y/N-shi,” they began, a mischievous glint in their eye. “The fans have been talking nonstop about how your songs seem… connected. Care to comment?”

Jihoon, caught off guard, glanced at Y/N. She met his gaze with a small, encouraging smile, her eyes silently asking, Are you ready?

He hesitated for a moment before leaning into the mic. “Well,” he started, his voice calm but tinged with nervousness, “the fans aren’t wrong. The songs are connected.”

The room fell silent for a moment, everyone—including the other artists—hanging on his every word.

Y/N chimed in, her tone light but honest. “We didn’t plan for it to be a big mystery. We just wrote from our hearts. And, well… our hearts were in the same place.”

The host’s eyes widened in realization. “Wait, are you saying—”

Jihoon nodded, cutting them off gently. “Y/N and I… we’re together. And the songs were our way of telling that story without saying it outright.”

The room erupted into applause, cheers, and a few playful whistles from SEVENTEEN and the other HYBE artists. The fans watching the live stream went wild, the chat filling with messages like:

“I KNEW IT!”

“This is the best plot twist ever!”

“Our musical power couple!”

Later that evening, Jihoon and Y/N sat together backstage, scrolling through the flood of messages on social media.

“Looks like the fans are taking it well,” Y/N said, laughing as she read a particularly enthusiastic comment.

Jihoon smiled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in weeks. “I guess I shouldn’t have worried so much. They seem… happy for us.”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder. “Of course they are. We’ve been honest in the best way we know how—through our music.”

Jihoon wrapped an arm around her, his voice soft. “I’m glad we finally said it. It feels good not to hide anymore.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Me too.”

As the weeks passed, their relationship became a beloved story among fans. Jihoon and Y/N didn’t share much beyond their music and occasional glimpses of their dynamic, but their authenticity resonated with everyone.

Their next collaboration—a duet explicitly written as a continuation of their story—became one of the most anticipated releases of the year, cementing their status as not just two incredible artists but as a couple who had found love in the heart of their shared passion.

And as Jihoon often said in interviews, with a small, knowing smile: “It all started with a song.”

The announcement of Jihoon and Y/N’s relationship didn’t just excite fans; it gave SEVENTEEN endless new material to tease their usually reserved member. And, of course, they weren’t going to let the opportunity go to waste during their next content shoot.

The group was filming an episode of their popular variety show, “GOING SEVENTEEN,” and the theme for the day was a mock courtroom trial where members had to defend themselves against outrageous (and often ridiculous) accusations.

As the camera rolled, Jeonghan smirked, ready to unleash chaos. “Today, I bring a serious accusation against Jihoon,” he began, standing dramatically as the self-appointed prosecutor.

Jihoon, sitting at the “defendant’s” table, raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Jeonghan held up an imaginary piece of paper, squinting at it for effect. “Jihoon, you’ve been accused of… secretly writing love songs instead of working on group projects. How do you plead?”

The room erupted in laughter, with Seungkwan clapping his hands. “Guilty! We all know it’s true!”

Jihoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes!” Hoshi chimed in, his grin practically splitting his face. “We’ve all noticed you humming random melodies lately. Are those for us, or… someone else?”

The teasing didn’t stop there. As the trial continued, the members took turns “presenting evidence.”

Mingyu dramatically placed a notebook on the table. “Exhibit A: Jihoon’s lyric book. Do we need to open it to find the word ‘Y/N’ written a hundred times?”

Dino jumped in, mimicking an investigator. “Exhibit B: The way Jihoon smiles at his phone during breaks. Suspicious behavior if you ask me.”

Even the usually quiet Wonwoo joined in. “Exhibit C: The recent duet with Y/N. We all heard it. It’s basically a confession set to music.”

By this point, Jihoon’s face was a deep shade of red, though he couldn’t help but chuckle.

During a break in filming, Joshua leaned over to Jihoon. “You know, they’re only teasing because they’re happy for you, right?”

“I know,” Jihoon replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But they’re relentless.”

“Hey, it’s good content,” Joshua said with a wink. “The fans will love it.”

Later in the shoot, the tables turned when it was Jihoon’s chance to act as the judge. He banged the gavel dramatically. “I have an accusation of my own,” he announced, his tone firm but playful.

The members gasped in mock horror.

“I accuse SEVENTEEN of being the nosiest group in the industry,” Jihoon declared, pointing at them one by one. “Always prying, always teasing. How do you plead?”

“Guilty!” Seungkwan shouted, raising his hands in surrender. “But we do it out of love!”

Hoshi stood up, grinning. “Your Honor, I’d like to counter-accuse. Jihoon is guilty of smiling more these days. We all know the reason why.”

The room burst into laughter once again, and Jihoon couldn’t help but shake his head, a reluctant smile on his face.

As the shoot wrapped up, the director praised the group for their energy and humor. The episode, once edited, was full of golden moments that had fans laughing and cooing over SEVENTEEN’s antics.

And while Jihoon might have been the butt of the jokes, the camaraderie and genuine affection from his members shone through.

In the comments section of the uploaded episode, fans were quick to notice the playful dynamic:

“SEVENTEEN teasing Jihoon about Y/N is peak family energy!”

“Jihoon trying to act annoyed but secretly loving it is so cute.”

“The way they all support him in their own chaotic way makes me emotional.”

That evening, as Jihoon returned to his studio, his phone buzzed with a message from Y/N:

Y/N: Saw the episode preview. They’re so obvious, lol.

Jihoon smiled, typing back:

Jihoon: They’re impossible. But at least they’re on our side.

Y/N: Always. And so am I.

As he leaned back in his chair, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel grateful—not just for Y/N, but for the family he’d found in SEVENTEEN.

Even if they never let him live it down.

[inkmonster21]

Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, shitty situations, sadness (IM SORRY)

Part 18

Series Masterlist

You’ve Lost All Your Common Sense

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

You briskly zip up your suitcase, the excitement for the upcoming trip bubbling within you. St. Barts was a breathtaking destination, and you knew firsthand that there was always something to do.

You take a quick look around your room, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. The prospect of the sun, the sand, and the luxurious surroundings await you, and you can’t help but smile in anticipation.

Your phone vibrated with a notification from Hugh, alerting you that he was waiting in the parking garage. Excitement mingled with anticipation as you read his text.

You grab your bags with a smile, eager to kick off your luxurious vacation. Making your way down to the parking garage, you couldn't help but feel a sense of extravagance and privilege washing over you.

You met Hugh with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a soft kiss. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity in his presence, and the brief moment of intimacy made your heart flutter.

Drawing back, you looked up at him with a smile, the excitement of the trip clear in your eyes. "Ready to go?" "Ready as I'll ever be," Hugh replied with a grin. "I've got us a private jet, but we should probably head out now. We don't want to keep the others waiting."

He took your bags from you, effortlessly carrying both of them, and led the way towards the car.

You glanced out the car window, admiring the scenery that passed by. A nagging thought crept into your mind, and you turned to Hugh with a question.

"You don't think this is some sort of revenge attack, do you? Debora doesn't plan to poison me at dinner or steal all my left shoes?" You chuckled as you voiced your concerns, trying to lighten the mood.

Hugh chuckled back, not taking your concern too seriously. "I highly doubt it," he reassured you with a smile. "Debbie can be a handful, but she's not one for revenge. Besides, I'll be there to protect you if anything goes awry."

Hugh's reassuring words worked their magic, and you felt your worries start to dissolve. He was experienced, after all - divorced and co-parenting with his ex-wife. He was used to this dynamic and comfortable around Debora.

You reminded yourself that you had nothing to worry about. Hugh knew Debora well, and he would ensure everything went smoothly.

You entered your room and noticed a basket near the bedside table filled with complimentary products like toiletries and a bottle of wine from Debora. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you appreciated the thoughtful gesture.

"Well, that's nice," you said, appreciating the little touches that made trips like this even more special.

Hugh leaned in from behind you, looking over your shoulder and nodding his head in agreement. "See? She's not going to sabotage you," he reiterated with a smile, confirming your fears were unfounded. You couldn't help but chuckle as you glanced back at him, appreciating his ability to put your mind at ease.

As you considered the possibility that Hugh might be right, a thought struck you - you were probably just searching for something to worry about.

You couldn't help but chuckle inwardly, acknowledging that Hugh's calm reassurance was probably exactly what you needed to ease your nerves.

"They've planned dinner at 8," Hugh confirmed, his hands gently rubbing your shoulders in an attempt to ease any remaining tension. "All together?" he repeated, seeking your agreement on the timing.

You thought for a moment, making sure 8pm was convenient for you. "Yeah, that works for me," you replied, feeling more relaxed than before.

The sun was setting, throwing a warm, golden glow across the ocean. The sparkling blue water stretched out before you, creating a breathtaking view.

You leaned against the glass, taking a moment to appreciate the moment - the beautiful scenery and the promise of a delightful evening ahead.

Hugh leaned against the window on the other side, his gaze following your own as he observed the scenic view outside. "We could walk the beach later tonight," he suggested, breaking the peaceful silence.

Your thoughts shifted from the breathtaking view to the idea of a moonlit beach stroll. "Sounds nice," you replied, a smile forming on your lips at the suggestion.

You smirked and leaned back from the window, turning to face Hugh with a quizzical look as you asked, "And then?"

Hugh chuckled, catching on to your playful tone. He raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "And then...?" he replied, feigning innocence.

"I think you know very well what I had in mind,” you smirk at him. He closed the distance between you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he looked down at you with a smirk.

"Let's just say, there's plenty to explore on the beach once it gets dark," he teased, his voice low and suggestive. His hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly as his eyes darted from your lips to meet yours.

After leisurely lounging, attending to some business calls, and finishing up with unpacking, the evening was drawing to a close. Time to head to dinner. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and excitement for what the evening might bring.

You checked the time, realizing it was nearing dinner time. The others were probably getting ready, and you couldn't help but feel a slight flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You held up two dresses in front of you, each adorned in sophisticated black and navy hues. A small frown formed on your lips as you considered which dress to wear for dinner.

"Black or navy?" you repeated in a contemplative tone, turning to Hugh for advice. Hugh walked over, assessing both dresses with a keen eye. He reached out, gently running his fingers along the fabric of each one. He paused for a moment, eyes locked with yours, before his lips curled up into a sly smile. "Black," he declared decisively.

Hugh's gaze darkened as he watched you change in front of him, a sly smirk playing on your lips. He couldn't help but appreciate the sight, his eyes roving over your figure, admiring the way the fabric hugged your curves.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but his eyes never left you.

Hugh's voice cut through the air, his statement laced with amusement. He watched you intently, a knowing smile on his lips.

"You do this on purpose," he said again, his gaze never leaving yours. “Me?” Hugh's smile grew wider as you feigned innocence, playing along with the act. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in amusement.

"Oh, come on," he said with a hint of playful accusation. "You know exactly what you're doing. Don't even try to act all innocent now."

You slipped your heels on, perfectly adorning your feet, and picked up your bag. With a sly smile, you turned back to Hugh and feigned innocence once more.

"Really?" he teased, unable to hide the humor in his tone. "You don't know what I'm talking about? I find that a little hard to believe."

Your fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, caressing it gently. A coy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, hinting at the playful suggestion that lay underneath. “I guess you’ll just have to explain it to me later tonight.”

Hugh's breath hitched at your touch, his gaze darkening slightly as he leaned closer, a subtle shiver coursing through his body. "Oh, I will," he said, his voice dripping with promise. "I'll make it a very long explanations."

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out and pulled Hugh's hand gently, signaling it was time to leave.

"Come on," you said, your voice holding a hint of eagerness. "We don't want to be late, do we?"

Hugh nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, and allowed you to lead him out of the room, your hands interlocked firmly.

As the two of you walked into the restaurant, your eyes quickly found Ava, Oscar, and Debora. They sat at a large table, already engaged in conversation, laughing together.

Hugh led you over to the table, greeting the group with a smile, "Good evening, everyone."

Debora greeted you both with a warm smile, "Ah, there you are! We were wondering when you'd finally arrive." She gave you a teasing wink, while Ava and Oscar exchanged amused glances.

“Well you know this one and his shirts.” Debora chuckled at your comment, her eyes darting to Hugh's dress shirt, clearly making the connection.

"Oh, indeed," Debora teased, a playful glint in her eyes. She turned her attention back to Hugh, her gaze turning a shade mischievous. "You really do love them, don't you?" Hugh's smirk broadened into a grin at Debora's comment, and he played along, putting on a show.

"What can I say? I do know how to look good in a shirt," he retorted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He gave you a glance, a subtle wink betraying the truth behind his words.

The conversation between the group flowed effortlessly as everyone settled into their respective seats. Light-hearted banter and laughter filled the air as everyone caught up with each other and discussed the upcoming vacation plans.

Ava and Oscar couldn't help but exchange amused glances every now and then as they watched the banter between Hugh and Debora. It was clear they were enjoying the playful energy that always seemed to accompany the two of them in conversation.

As the playful banter continued, your thoughts couldn't help but drift to the past, the memories of Hugh and Debora's happy times together. It was nice to see them get along, but it was also a little frustrating, watching their smiles and subtle touches as they reminisced on shared memories.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Debora addressed you, her voice cutting through the chatter around the table. She asked about the upcoming tour for your new album.

A small smile tugged at your lips as memories of the upcoming concerts came to mind. "Yeah, we're planning a tour," you replied, excitement lacing your words. "It's going to be a lot of fun."

Ava chimed in, a giddy look of excitement on her face. "I can't wait for us to go shopping," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Shopping?" Oscar asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "For what?"

Ava shrugged, her eyes darting between all of them. "Isn't it obvious?" she replied coyly. "For clothes!" Debora nodded in agreement, a grin on her face at the suggestion. "Absolutely! Tomorrow would be perfect for us to shop."

She turned to Hugh, a playful glint in her eyes. "Right, boys? Leave the fashion to us girls, and you can go do whatever it is you boys do while we go try on clothes?"

Hugh chuckled at Debora's remark, his tone laced with playful annoyance. "Oh, of course," he replied jokingly. "Nothing like old times. You girls go do your fashion thing, and we'll amuse ourselves somehow."

You forced a smile and a laugh, even though the sight of Debora flirting with her ex-husband was like a punch in the gut. Your grip on the wine glass tightened, the smooth liquid swirling inside as you forced down the bitter feelings that welled up inside you every time they shared a look, or a touch.

You had to remain composed, a mask of calm and nonchalance firmly in place. But in your heart, it was torture.

The conversation around the table continued, but you found it difficult to pay full attention, your mind preoccupied with the sight of Debora and Hugh's interactions. Every gesture, every word that seemed just a little too familiar, made your heart pang with a painful, almost familiar feeling.

You took another sip of your wine, pretending to pay attention, hiding the storm brewing within.

You picked at your food, barely even taking a bite, your thoughts still occupied with the dynamic between Debora and Hugh. You found yourself drinking more wine than usual, the liquid providing a temporary distraction from the painful situation.

As the night went on, you found it harder and harder to feign interest in the conversation, your mind constantly wandering back to the sight of those two together.

As the evening progressed, your jealousy intensified. You felt like an outsider, a mere spectator to their intimate reunion. Hugh's laughter, usually so warm and inviting, now felt like a dagger piercing your heart. You caught yourself clenching your napkin, your knuckles turning white from the force of your grip.

"Honey, are you alright?" Hugh's voice snapped you out of your jealous haze. His deep, concerned eyes met yours, and for a moment, you felt a pang of guilt for doubting his loyalty.

"Yes, I'm fine," you managed to reply, forcing a smile. "Just a bit tired."

Debora, leaned forward, her expression softening. "It's been a long day for all of us. Why don't we call it an early night? I'm sure we all could use some time to relax."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to retreat to the privacy of your shared suite. As the group stood up from the table, you felt Hugh's hand on your lower back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. It was a subtle reassurance, a silent promise that he was all yours.

Back in the suite, the kids quickly retreated to their rooms, eager to unwind after a day of exploring. You found yourself alone with Hugh in the spacious living area, the soft glow of the moon casting shadows across the room. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable.

"You seemed a little on edge during dinner," Hugh said, his voice low and soothing. "Is everything okay?"

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching his face. "I'm sorry, it's just... seeing you and Debora together like that... it brought up some… insecurities."

Hugh's brow furrowed, his eyes filled with concern. "Insecurities? My love, you know there's nothing between Debora and me. We're just being civil for the kids' sake."

"I know, I know," you said, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. "It's just... I can't help but feel jealous. She's so beautiful and successful, and you two have such a history. I can't shake the feeling that… I'm not enough."

Hugh took a step towards you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. "Oh, my darling, don't ever doubt yourself. You are the only woman I desire. The past is behind us, and I'm grateful for the time we shared, but it's you I want, now and forever."

His words sent a rush of relief through your body, but you needed more than just words to ease your jealous heart. You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Show me," you whispered, your breath hot against his neck.

Hugh's hands slid down your back, cupping your buttocks, pulling you tightly against him. You could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, a tangible proof of his desire. He kissed you passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency. You moaned, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, relishing the feel of his muscular body.

Breaking the kiss, Hugh lifted you effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. His eyes never left yours, burning with a fierce intensity. He laid you down on the bed, his hands gently pushing your thighs apart, exposing your wetness to his hungry gaze.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want to taste you, remind myself that you're mine."

With that, he lowered his head, his lips finding your sensitive clit. He teased it with gentle flicks of his tongue, making you squirm with pleasure. You arched your back, your hands gripping the sheets as he delved deeper, his tongue probing your wet folds. His fingers joined in, sliding inside your pussy, curling and stroking your G-spot.

"Oh, Hugh!" you cried out, your hips thrusting upwards, seeking more of his touch. He chuckled against your sensitive flesh, his breath sending shivers through your body. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue dancing over it, driving you wild with pleasure.

Just as you were about to climax, Hugh pulled away, leaving you teetering on the edge. You whimpered, reaching for him, your body craving release. He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your thighs.

"Please, Hugh," you begged, your voice thick with need. "I need you inside me."

He teased you, sliding the tip of his thick cock along your slick folds, but not entering you. "Not yet, my love. I want to make this last."

You whined in frustration, your body on fire. Hugh leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his cock against your pussy. You responded eagerly, your hands gripping his shoulders, urging him to take you.

Finally, with a growl of desire, Hugh positioned himself at your entrance and thrust forward, filling you in one smooth motion. You cried out, your body welcoming the invasion, your walls clenching around his thick shaft. He set a slow, torturous pace, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into you, hitting all the right spots.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so wet. You're mine, all mine."

His words sent a thrill through your body, silencing any remaining doubts. You matched his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his powerful thrusts. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a primal soundtrack to your passionate encounter.

As Hugh pounded into you, his hands found your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. He pinched your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation ready to crash over you.

"I'm close, Hugh," you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, don't stop."

He grunted in response, his pace becoming frenzied. He slammed into you with abandon, his cock seeking the deepest parts of your pussy. You screamed his name as your orgasm hit, your body convulsing around him, milking his shaft. Hugh groaned as his own release began building, and with a final powerful thrust, he emptied his hot cum deep inside you.

~

The morning arrived sooner than you'd like, sunlight streaming in through the hotel curtains and slowly waking you from your peaceful slumber. You found yourself comfortable in the large bed, your body nestled snugly next to Hugh's.

As the light played across your features, you found yourself unable to resist the temptation to simply stay where you were.

Hugh stirred beside you, feeling the movement of your body against his own. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as he came back into consciousness.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he saw you next to him. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice soft and groggy. You returned his smile, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you shifted a little closer to him. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional distant noise from outside and the sound of the two of you breathing.

"Morning," you replied, your voice just as low and sleep-filled as his. “I should go get ready for my shopping extravaganza with Ava and Deb.”

You spoke, the thought of the impending shopping trip with Ava and Deb filling your mind. The word "shopping extravaganza" had been met with a sigh, indicating your reluctance to get up and get ready.

Hugh shifted in the bed, his arm still stretched out over you. "You don't sound enthusiastic about that," he observed, his voice still raspy with sleep.

You couldn't deny his observation. Getting out of bed and getting dolled up for a day of shopping sounded like a chore right now. But you knew you had to make an effort, especially with the company you'd be in.

"I know, I know," you sighed, your voice betraying your reluctance. "I'm just not a big fan of leaving you all alone in this nice bed, that's all."

Hugh chuckled at your response, knowing full well there was more to your reluctance than just missing his company in bed. He pulled you closer, his hand tracing small circles on your hip.

"You're a clingy one, aren't you?" he teased, his voice still a little rough with sleep.

“I thought you liked it?”

Hugh smirked, his eyes filled with a familiar spark of amusement. "Of course I do," he replied, his hand moving up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I always like when you're all clingy and attached to me," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

You chuckled softly, the smack on your butt making you giggle despite your sleep-filled state. "You really know how to motivate a girl, don't you?" you teased, rolling out from under his arm and onto the edge of the bed.

Hugh smirked, his eyes watching as you swung your legs over the side. "The devil can wait a little longer," he retorted, his hands going back to the pillow in a pretend act of covering his eyes.

You got out of bed and started getting ready, the morning routine seeming even more tedious than usual due to your reluctance to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed.

Throughout the process, Hugh watched you from the bed, his eyes following your movements with a mixture of interest and amusement.

You emerged from the hotel room to find Debora and Ava waiting, their outfits already looking pristine and perfect. They both smiled at you as you approached, their faces radiating excitement.

Ava excitedly rambled off a list of the various stores she wanted to visit during the shopping trip. Designer names and luxury brands spilled out of her mouth. Debora, on the other hand, remained quiet, her eyes occasionally flicking in your direction.

The excitement in Ava's voice was contagious, and despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself a little pumped for the day out. But every now and then, your eyes would catch a glance from Debora, her gaze a mix of curious and calculating.

You walked along the streets, your steps matching Ava and Debora's as you three made your way from store to store.

As you spoke, your voice filled with gratitude, “Thank you for inviting me.” Debora smiled at you, her expression almost sweet. "Of course," she replied, her voice pleasant though her eyes held a hint of something else.

“I just really want to make this work,” You spoke, your words laced with hopefulness as you tried to convince both yourself and Debora that things would work out.

A flicker of annoyance crossed your face as Debora's smile suddenly turned less sincere. She cut straight to the point, her words blunt and direct.

“You’re already fucking him, honey. You don’t need to try so hard,” she said, her eyes fixated on you.

“I’m not,” You denied her words, a hint of defensiveness in your voice. Your eyes widened as you looked at Debora, trying to make her understand that what she said wasn't true.

Ava looked back and forth between you and Debora, the silence between you two hanging in the air like a thick fog.

“Hey, this would be so cute on you!” You were grateful for the distraction, allowing Ava to pull you away from the tense conversation. You glanced back at Debora, her eyes still fixed on you, before following Ava to the rack of clothes she was eyeing.

“Sorry about her.” You looked at Ava, a sheepish expression on your face. "It's fine," you assured her quietly, trying to brush off the previous tense moment.

Ava looked at you intently, a hint of concern in her eyes as she continued to look at the clothes.

You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice laced with a mixture of worry and uncertainty. "Does she hate me?" you asked, a touch of vulnerability in your words.

Ava looked back at you, her expression sympathetic. "No, she doesn't," she replied, her voice just as low. "But... she's not exactly your biggest fan."

You nodded, a touch of resignation in your gesture. It was obvious from the tension that Debora wasn't exactly happy about the arrangement between you and Hugh. Ava watched you closely, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and pity.

You moved from shop to shop, your arms filled with bags of new clothes, shoes, and accessories. The hours flew by, the three of you moving from one fashionable location to the next. Debora stayed mostly quiet, sometimes chiming in with a snarky comment or a pointed question.

As you paid for a new handbag, Debora's voice suddenly piped up, her tone laced with disapproval. "Is that Hugh's card?" she asked, her eyes flickering to the credit card you were using.

“He told me to use it,” Your statement was simple, but it caught the attention of Debora. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of disbelief in her expression.

"He told you to use it?" she repeated, her tone still disapproving.

“Yes. He did,” Your answer was firm, clearly conveying your certainty in what Hugh had said to you.

Debora's eyes studied you for a moment, her expression still skeptical. "And he's fine with just giving you his card like that?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, putting the credit card back into your wallet as you spoke. Debora's skepticism was clear in her eyes, her jaw clenching slightly. Ava, meanwhile, watched the interaction with a mixture of interest and concern.

As you were about to leave Crumble Cookie, you heard your name called out from behind.

You turned around, a little startled, and saw a friend of yours. The excitement on her face was obvious, her eyes sparkling with a mix of eagerness and joy.

You smiled at your friend, pleased to see her. The others paused, a brief moment of confusion on their faces at the unexpected interruption.

"Hey!" your friend exclaimed, approaching you with a wide smile.

Your friend wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, the warmth and comfort of her embrace immediately flooding through you.

Ava and Debora watched the scene, their gazes flickering between the two of you.

Ava and Debora both smiled, introductions made. "This is Ava," your friend began, gesturing at Ava as she spoke. "And that's her mom, Debora."

Debora's gaze was appraising, a hint of skepticism in her eyes, but she returned the introduction with a polite nod.

“Hey text me and let’s get dinner!” You agreed, your friend's offer catching your interest.

"Yeah, sure! That sounds great," you replied, your voice filled with a hint of eagerness. "We're quite busy today but I'll be sure to text you later. Dinner would be nice."

As your friend said their goodbyes and left, you and Debora were left standing together as she spoke. "Friend of yours?" she repeated, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes focused on you.

Your response was casual, your tone betraying a hint of nostalgia. "Yeah, we go way back to the Disney days," you confirmed, a nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Your eyes lit up when you saw Hugh and Oscar in the distance. You immediately waved them over, a smile spreading across your face. They both stopped and started walking over. Debora, who was standing next to you, shot a cursory glance their way.

Hugh's embrace around you was warm and tight, his hands wrapping around your waist as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. His smile widened as he looked at you, clearly happy to see you. Debora's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face at the sight of the embrace.

As you all discussed plans for dinner, a question from Debora halted your conversation. Her eyes met yours, her voice holding a hint of knowing.

"Well, I assume you have plans of some sort, right?" she asked, her tone just the slightest bit smug. “No, I’m not going to miss out on a dinner.”

Debora waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, a slight patronising tone in her voice. "Don't be silly," she said, her words dripping with a hint of sarcasm. "You said yourself you haven't seen her in a while. Go eat with your friend."

Hugh's deep voice broke the silence, his question directed at you, his gaze fixed on you. He had overheard your previous conversation and wanted to know more.

"Who'd you see?" he repeated, his eyes studying you intently. You met his gaze, your chest a little tight as his tone held an edge of possessiveness. It was clear that he was curious about your plans for the evening.

"Just an old friend. She said she wanted have dinner," you replied after a moment, your voice steady, “but I’m not going to skip out on our fun.”

“Well, darling, if you want to go have fun with your friend, you can. We’re here long enough.” You couldn't help but smile at Hugh's words, his tone both possessive and understanding. He knew that you would want to spend time with your friend, and he was willing to let you go.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your voice holding a hint of vulnerability. "I don't want to ditch you."

Hugh shook his head, a small smile on his face as he spoke. "I'll just be waiting for you, love," he assured you, his voice soft and loving.

You could see the trust and respect in his eyes, knowing that he was willing to give you the space to spend time with your friend.

You shrugged, a small smile on your lips as you accepted his offer. The thought of him waiting for your return filled you with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

"Okay," you agreed, your voice holding a hint of curiosity, "I'll text her."

With that, you pulled out your phone and sent your friend a quick message, letting her know you would be free for dinner.

You returned to the room, your arms carrying a few bags of shopping, and set them down on the bed.

Hugh, who had been relaxing, looked over to see you approaching. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes as you began to unpack your purchases.

"What did you get?"

You showed him the items you had bought, a mix of clothing, shoes, and accessories that you held up for him to see. There was a hint of excitement in your eyes as you did.

Hugh looked at the items, his eyes scanning over them slowly. "Looks like you had fun."

You shrugged, a hint of frustration in your voice. "It wasn't horrible after I managed to block out Debora's comments," you admitted, your tone holding a hint of annoyance.

Hugh frowned at your words, a concerned look in his eyes. "She said something hurtful? To you?"

You waved your hand, dismissing Debora's snide comments as unimportant. "Just a few snide remarks," you said, your voice casual. Hugh looked at you intently, clearly not satisfied with your response. "What did she say?"

You replied with a huff, a hint of frustration in your voice. "It's a long list."

Hugh's frown deepened at your response. He could tell that Debora's comments had bothered you more than you were admitting.

Hugh's expression hardened at your words, his voice firm. "I'll talk to her." He was clearly serious and determined to address the issue. He knew Debora's comments had been hurtful to you and he wanted to set things right.

"You don't have to put up with it," he insisted, his voice holding a hint of protectiveness. You leaned in and kissed him, your lips meeting his affectionately. "I know," you mumbled against his mouth, "she's just jealous."

You dialed your friend's number, a smile on your lips as you waited for her to answer.

After a few rings, she picked up, "Hey!” “Hey! Where are we meeting?” Your friend's cheerful voice came through the phone, her tone filled with excitement. "We're at that Italian place downtown I told you about."

You smiled, picturing the restaurant in your mind's eye. "That place sounds great," you replied, your tone eager. "I’ll meet you there in twenty." "Perfect! See you there," your friend said, her voice filled with anticipation. "Can't wait to catch up with you."

Hugh looked up as you walked over to him, his gaze roaming over your form as you stood in your heels, dressed for dinner. “You could always tell me not to go.”

He met your eyes, a hint of concern in his expression. "You really want me to do that?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. “No, I’m just saying you could.” Hugh chuckled at your response, his lips forming a soft smile at the way you giggled.

"I could, but I won't," he replied, his tone light-hearted, although his concern was still evident.

“I won’t be long,” You leaned in and kissed Hugh, a final reassurance before leaving.

"I hope not," he murmured against your lips, concern still etched on his face. "Don't be too late." You blew one last kiss as you left, leaving Hugh behind. Hugh stood in the room for a moment, his mind going back to Debora's snide remarks. He knew that he would have a talk with her.

You entered the restaurant and your face lit up as you spotted your friend at a table. The sight of her filled you with excitement and you couldn't help but smile widely.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, walking towards the table. Your friend turned to look at you, a wide grin spreading across her face as she saw you approaching the table. "Hey!" she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "You made it! I've been waiting forever," she teased, a playful smile on her lips.

“Then I’m surprised you saved my seat and didn’t get some handsome waiter to sit down.”

Your friend chuckled at your remark, a small knowing smile on her lips. "Sorry to disappoint, but I thought it would be better to leave the handsome waiters to their jobs," she joked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You and your friend chatted and caught up on everything, from the latest album and her new movies, to your relationship with Hugh.

"So," you began, as the conversation turned to your relationship, "Hugh is such a great guy. You really hit the jackpot." “Comes with the extra baggage though. His ex wife literally hates me.”

Your friend listened intently as you spoke about Hugh's ex-wife and the animosity she held towards you.

"Oh wow," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Why does she hate you?"

You shrugged, “probably too many reasons. I think she is jealous.” Your friend nodded, her expression understanding. "Jealousy can make people do crazy things," she said, her voice sympathetic. "But what matters is how Hugh feels about you."

Hugh's mind was buzzing while you were having a good time with your friend. He called Debora, summoning her to talk to him in private.

Hugh opened the door for his ex-wife, a firm expression on his face. "We need to talk," he said, his voice flat and serious. Debora followed Hugh inside, her eyes narrowing in response to his firm tone. "About what?" she asked, her voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"Don't play dumb with me," Hugh said, closing the door behind them. "I know you have something to say about my relationship."

Debora's face twisted in disdain, her eyes rolling in frustration.

"She's always running to you," she retorted, her voice laced with annoyance. "It's pathetic." Hugh's jaw clenched as he listened to Debora's words. "Don't talk about her like that," he warned, his voice steady but firm.

Debora sank into the couch, her tone confident as she spoke to Hugh, "Come on, Hugh. You can't possibly tell me you're in this for the long run. You're tired of her. I can see it."

Hugh's eyes narrowed, the comment hitting a nerve. "Watch your words," he said through gritted teeth.

Debora kept pushing, her words carrying a hint of bitterness. "I remember our marriage," she said, her voice laced with pain. "But this, this is just a bid for help. You don't have to go far and hire some bimbo to make me jealous."

Hugh's expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. "Don't act like you know what I'm thinking," he shot back.

Debora's voice lowered, a wistful tone seeping into her words. "Think about our dinner, how nice it was. The family, back together again. You barely noticed she was there.”

Hugh's eyes widened slightly at the words, a pang of guilt in his chest. Memories of their happy moments together flooded his mind.

Debora saw the flicker of emotion in Hugh's eyes, and her expression softened. "You remember, don't you?" she said, her voice filled with a hint of pleading. "We could have that again."

Debora rose from the couch, a hopeful smile on her lips. "I still love you, Hugh," she said, her voice a mix of hopefulness and vulnerability.

Hugh's heart ached at her confession, the weight of her words sinking in. Debora's voice carried a hint of pain as she confessed, "Seeing you with her drives me insane. It makes me realize what we had."

Hugh's mind was torn, conflicting emotions warring within him. Debora moved closer to Hugh, her hand reaching out to grasp his.

He stood there, frozen, his heart torn in two.

Hugh's mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions. He wanted to pull away, to uphold his commitment to you, but the sight of Debora's hand on his, the memories of their past together, were making it difficult.

Despite the turmoil inside him, Hugh realized that he didn't want Debora. He wanted you.

His hand reached out, gently covering Debora's, but he didn't pull it away.

"Deb," Hugh began, intending to reject her. He was going to list all the reasons that had led to their divorce. But before he could speak, Debora leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips, halting his words.

Hugh froze, his resolve weakening.

In all the whirlwind of Debora's unexpected kiss, Hugh didn't hear the door open quietly, and you walked in on the scene. You froze momentarily, your eyes widening at the unexpected sight.

Hugh's eyes widened in surprise, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing at the door. Debora's head snapped around, her hand still holding onto Hugh's.

"Baby," Hugh breathed, his voice laced with panic.

The moment was broken as you entered the bedroom and closed the door.

Hugh's heart sank, the weight of the situation crashing down upon him. He stood there, frozen, as he heard the sound of the door closing, knowing full well that you had witnessed everything.

Hugh moved swiftly, desperation in his steps, as he rushed to the bedroom door. The click of the lock seemed to echo in his ears, a silent barrier between him and you.

"Baby," he called out, his voice filled with urgency. "Please, let me explain." You heard Hugh's desperate plea, the sound of his voice through the door. Your mind was reeling with the emotional whirlwind.

"Explain what, Hugh?" you asked, your voice laced with anger and hurt, from the other side of the door.

Hugh's heart ached with the hurt and anger in your voice. He pounded his fist against the door, desperation and pleading in his words.

"I can explain everything," he said urgently, his voice filled with urgency. "Just let me in. Let me talk to you."

Your heart ached with the certainty in your mind. You knew there was something suspicious about the situation, and you instinctively sensed that Hugh had not been innocent either.

You remained silent on the other side of the door, your anger and hurt still etched on your face. "No," you replied simply, your voice firm.

Your mind raced with emotions, as you reached for your belongings, a small carryon case in hand. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a mixture of anger, hurt, and despair washing over you.

The reality of the situation was sinking in, and you felt a sense of betrayal and uncertainty settle deep within you.

You emerged from the room with fresh tears on your cheeks, your eyes meeting Hugh's with a glare. Behind Hugh's shoulder, Debora sat on the couch, an expression of satisfaction on her face as she witnessed your pain and Hugh's guilt.

The sight was like salt to your emotional wounds.

Hugh's heart clenched at the sight of you, the pain in your eyes nearly breaking him. He took a step towards you, desperate to explain.

"Baby," he whispered, desperation in his voice. "Please, let me talk."

“You can return all the shit I bought today, you can give the key my apartment to Ryan, and you can lose my fucking number.”

Hugh's heart shattered as he heard your words, the finality in your voice cutting through him like a knife.

"No," he pleaded, a desperate expression on his face. "Wait, let me explain. Please, just listen to me." Hugh's plea was met with a sharp look from you, your anger and hurt evident in your expression. He took a step closer, desperation etched on his face.

"I love you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, don't give up on us. Just let me talk to you."

You shook your head, “if you loved me, you would’ve never even let her get that close.” Hugh's heart ached at your words. The truth in them struck him to the core. He knew he had messed up, and he desperately wanted to explain.

"I know," he admitted, his voice quivering with emotion. "I know I messed up. But I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. Please, just give me a chance to explain."

“Happy now?” Your glare pierced through Debora, a sharp and cold look in your eyes.

Debora sat on the couch, her satisfaction evident on her face. "Oh, very," she replied, a smug grin on her lips.

“Enjoy repairing your marriage.” Your scoff echoed in the room, the sarcasm evident in your voice.

Debora leaned back on the couch, a mocking laugh escaping from her lips. "Oh, I will," she sneered.

Hugh's hand reached out to grab you, his expression filled with desperation. But you wrenched your arm away from his grip, your eyes flashing with anger.

"Don't touch me," you snapped, the words filled with hurt and indignation.

Your anger and hurt boiled within you as you stepped into the uber, determined to keep your tears at bay. The ride felt like an eternity, the silence in the car only fueling the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

As you buckled your seatbelt and sat in the backseat, you couldn't help but think about the scene you had just left behind inside Hugh's home. Debora sneering on the couch, Hugh trying to explain, and the look of betrayal in your eyes.

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

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[helen-lucilfer]

some Chrollo things i found/realized on my rewatch + reread of hxh

- he has REALLY bad posture. in the PT base during yorknew, when Chrollo is reading a book, he is literally hunched over and his back is at like a 45 degree angle🥺

- he’s very smug and cocky. after his fight against Zeno and Silva, he asks with a smirk to Zeno “if we were in a fight, who would win, you or me?” and chuckles knowingly when Zeno replies. during Chrollo vs Hisoka, Chrollo says that he is “100% sure that i am going to win”

- his personality switches depending on who he’s with. with the troupe, he’s logical and stoic—never losing his temper. when he’s with Hisoka, he’s much more relaxed and friendly + smiles much more often. when he’s with someone older, he’s respectful.

- he doesn’t seem to mind celebrations/parties. he’s seen drinking with the troupe in a manga panel after the auction.

- he seems very self aware of his handsome appearance, as he lured Neon in + most of the abilities in his book are from women.

- in terms of physical strength, Chrollo is 7th in the Troupe —above Bonolenov, Nobunaga, Shalnark, Pakunoda, Shizuku, and Kortopi, making him MUCH MUCH MUCH stronger than even superhumans such as Gon and Killua. (I love this fact for some reason)

- he had many similarities to Gon and Kurapika as a kid. (read Ch. 395-397, which is the Troupe backstory. it has a lot of cute baby Troupe member scenes🥺)

- he has a habit of covering his mouth with his hand whenever he is thinking deeply about something or connecting the lines.

- he knows a shocking amount about the Kakin Empire (in the manga), even more so than some of the Princes of the Kakin Empire.

- he seems to have a habit of smirking whenever something is going according to plan or when something went according to plan. he also just seems to enjoy smirking in general.

- his favorite color seems to be purple due to much of his outfits being some sort of variation of purple.

- in official arts + mobage cards, he seems to have dark circles under his eyes. in the yorknew city arc, he is also the only troupe member who didn’t sleep during the entire arc, meaning that he seems to have some sort of insomnia.

- in mobage cards, Chrollo seems to have a habit of fidgeting with his clothes. (pulling off his tie during the Christmas mobage card, playing with his hat, etc,.)

- he is very athletic, considering how at the end of yorknew city when he was left nen-less on those plateaus, he managed to climb down and find shelter all by himself.

- he is also very rich, since on average, every Zoldyck assassination costs around 1 billion—Chrollo managed to afford to assassinate the 10 Dons, meaning 10 billion Jenny.

- Chrollo doesn’t seem to care whenever someone is being disrespectful towards him or the troupe.

- Chrollo seems to have a particular fondness for suits, as he is often seen wearing a suit in official arts

- Chrollo often wears clothing that covers much of his body

- Chrollo seems to have the traditional values of a chivalrous man, meaning that he respects women quite a lot and makes sures to keep them safe. Chrollo made sure to catch Neon in the most respectful way when she “fell” (he literally could have just grabbed her by the arm and it would have been fine), he made sure to keep Pakunoda + Machi + Shizuku in the same team during yorknew (there were no men in their team), and during the Chrollo vs Hisoka battle, none of the female spectators (or even the commentator) were harmed.

———

AUGHHHHHH CHROLLO ILYSM PLEASE LIVE UNTIL THE END OF THE SERIES😭🥺😫❤️CHROLLOOOO UR MY BBY AND ILYSMMMMM😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️😫😫😫💕💕💕

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Yes, Killian seemed to be having a lot of fun. He was only 19 -technically still a teenager. She couldn't blame him for enjoying a crossbow tournament, or for wanting to include Violet to their mission. He wasn't a father yet! "They're both having fun," she chuckled in response, shaking her head in amusement. Meanwhile, Sloane and her were worried!

Samantha blushed for the compliment on her parenting abilities. "I hope my children will never play with crossbows... or ask to fight monsters." She nudged him playfully. "Thank you, Sloane. That means a lot coming from you, you know. I think you're a great dad." She had never seen him with his children, but he was like the father of O cell.

Theo's third shot was a bullseye too, but Violet wasn't surprised. It seemed like they were indeed headed for a tie. She certainly didn't want to lose! "It would be cooler," she agreed as she took the crossbow from him. Two more shots. She couldn't miss. Now that she was certain she had impressed Sloane and Samantha, she cared more about impressing Theo.

She focused, aimed, and shot. The arrow landed right in the can. But she didn't rejoice, not yet. She aimed again, shot again. Another arrow in the can. Five out of five. Now she could let out a little sound of victory.

"And that is how it's done," she bragged, handing Theo the crossbow.

Sloane nodded, he certainly wouldn't be happy or in any way calm if his children were wondering around, joining in on monster hunting missions while wielding a crossbow and as reckless as Killian was, he knew things changed when fatherhood came into the picture. "This one, for now seems to be having fun," he mused out loud to Samantha, offering her a small smile.

She was right to push her safety over Violet's and Sloane couldn't help but chuckle. "See, you're quite the natural." He praised her but also hoped that Violet wouldn't need to protect Samantha at all and that the trap would just work. He knew better than to not prepare for things to turn pear shaped though. Sloane was sure to clap along with Samantha as Theo took another shot. He had hoped he would be terrible with the crossbow and be put off trying to use it. Alas, it was not to be.

Theo stood back and watched as Violet took her third shot, pleased she had not devised a way to do some cool move with the crossbow either. He was not to be outdone on looking cool! But he still cheered and clapped as she hit her third can and teased him about ending with a tie.

"We just might!" He chuckled, thrilled that it was indeed a close competition and admittedly now nervous about being the first to miss! He didn't want to lose! He took the crossbow politely, aimed and shot his third can too, now with a little relief as he let out a breath. "It's getting close," he warned her playfully as he handed it back. "Two shots left, you may as well take them both before handing it back?" He suggested with a grin. "I reckon it's cooler that way." As if that was the purpose of their practice, Theo was really still just a boy.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x disabled!reader with chronic pain (not specified)

series masterlist - my masterlist

you should have known better than to go on the mission yesterday, but there’s nothing you hate more than feeling weak and patronised. charles had told you to sit it out if you were in pain, and you’d snapped back that you could handle missions just as well as any other x-man which, while true, doesn’t mean you should push yourself past your limits.

you can’t even get out of bed, every small movement making you whimper and groan as pain shoots through you, unforgiving. after so long dealing with chronic pain, you sometimes think you should be used to it, but no matter how many years go by and how many flares you experience, it never gets any easier.

logan’s upset with you, huffy and fussing, repeating over and over how you should have listened to charles, how the professor only wants what’s best for you, and telling you that it’s idiotic to let your pride take over. he’s being hypocritical, but you know it’s only because he hates to see you this way, hates to see you vulnerable, worries that one day something will happen and the x-mansion will be attacked and you’ll be in too much pain to effectively defend yourself.

so you let him take care of you, because you know it makes him feel better. it allows him a modicum of control over an uncontrollable situation. he, unlike you, has not yet given up on the idea of finding methods to lessen your chronic pain.

he helps you take your medication, brings you food and water, goes so far as to feed you so that you don’t even have to shift your body in case it’s too much. he waits by your side until the drugs kick in, refusing to leave until you tell him to go.

he asks jean to check in on you, asks if there’s anything she can do with all of her medical knowledge - the answer is no, there is no cure to a condition like yours, only techniques to lessen the pain temporarily. he searches for the few mutants in the mansion with healing abilities and practically begs them for help; it’s the only time he lets anyone see him vulnerable, because he hates to see you in pain and would do anything to bring your usual smile back to your face.

you groan in annoyance when he returns to your room with a slightly scared-looking teenager that you vaguely remember teaching last year, but she takes some of your pain away and so you thank the kid. she blushes and whispers “you’re welcome” before skittering out the room, and you’re now able to move enough to turn towards logan with your arms crossed over your chest, an unimpressed stare leveled at his face.

“she asked to help!” he protests, “he overheard me talking to jean about your pain and she offered. i didn’t force her to do anything.”

you sigh. chronic pain can’t be healed even with mutant abilities, you’ve tried it all before. it can take away the worst of it in the same way that some medication can, help with the inflammation that comes with a flare up, bring it down to manageable levels. but you’ll never be free of this burden.

“come here,” you say, and he does, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to give you anything and everything you desire. it’s ridiculous and you laugh, the first real smile you’ve shown all day, now that every breath no longer feels like a battle not to cry out in pain.

you stay in bed the rest of the day. it’s better to take it easy for a while than to risk anything. and logan stays with you, massaging at your muscles until they relax under his strong grip, leaving only to bring you more meals and your medication. he kisses you every time you complain that he surely has better things to be doing, covering your mouth with his large palm as he reminds you that you’re the most important thing to him now.

main taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 41

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,165ish

Summary: You and Logan try to mend your relationship.

Notes: Officially starting the Logan movie scenes!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“The adamantium is poisoning me,” Logan admitted as he held you tightly against him. The two of you were cuddled up in your bed, cleaned up, and clothed after the make-up sex the two of you shared.

“What?” You moved to sit up slightly, looking down at his face.

“My adamantium skeleton is what’s killing me.”

“And it’s causing you pain?”

“Yes.”

“And your healing abilities, they’ve—“

“They’re still there, just much slower and leaving scars.”

“Like mine.”

“I think yours are better at this point, sweetheart.” You closed your eyes as you tried not to cry. Logan’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing up against your skin. “Don’t cry, honey. You know I can’t stand that.”

“There has to be something someone can do—that I can do— to help you.”

“There’s nothing, baby.”

“Where does it hurt right now?”

“Sweetheart—“

“Tell me.”

Logan sighed. “My wrists.” 

You took the hand he had on your cheek and kissed the inside of his wrist before grabbing his other hand and doing the same thing. “Where else?”

“My shoulders.” 

Logan’s shoulders were easy to access since he was wearing one of his white tank tops. You pressed kisses around his shoulder closest to you before moving to the next one. Then you warmed up your hands, not too much to burn him, and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Logan let a relieved moan slip from his lips as he closed his eyes. You pressed a kiss to his bearded jaw as you continued to try to ease some of his pain like you were his personal heating pad.

“Stop,” he eventually groaned.

You quickly removed your hands and sat up. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” his hands ran down your arms, “never. It’s just… I’m supposed to be making amends. You shouldn’t be taking care of me like this.”

“James.” You shot him a brief glare. “This is you making amends by letting me take care of you.”

“But I need to be taking care of you like I’ve failed to do.”

“You are. This bed. Me staying here. How hard you are constantly working. You are taking care of me. But you need to let me take care of you, too.” You ran a hand through his hair, beginning to warmly massage his scalp. “No more sleeping alone. No more secrets, even if you’re trying to protect me.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

You sighed. “I hate it when you say that.” You moved to straddle Logan, careful not to put too much weight on his body. His hands held your hips as your hands came up to his face. “You deserve good things, Logan. You are not a bad person or an animal.”

“I—“

You placed a hand over his mouth. “No. You are good. You deserve good. You deserve me.” You began tearing up, hating when Logan got this way. You just wanted him to believe you. “I love you, James.”

“I know, I know,” he reached up and cupped your face, thumbs wiping the stray tears. “I’m sorry. I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you deserve. You need to start believing it.”

Logan sighed. “I am good… I deserve good… I deserve you.” He pulled you down and kissed you softly. “Thank you.”

~~~

Logan and you went down for breakfast together, holding hands. Caliban was already in the kitchen, readying some food.

“Not that I’m unhappy the two of you have made up,” Caliban started, “but next time, I would appreciate it if you weren’t so loud.”

“Thought you were out in the tank,” Logan grumbled.

“I was.”

“Then wear some earplugs next time.”

“Be nice,” you chided, patting Logan’s arm. “Sorry, Caliban.”

“Thank you,” Caliban responded. “Breakfast is free game. I’m going to eat with Charles. Give you two some more time alone.”

“Thanks.” You elbowed Logan as he reached for a pancake.

“Ow,” he grunted, looking at you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Say thank you.”

Logan sighed, “Thank you.”

Caliban took the tray as he shook his head, and headed out to Charles. Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side before kissing your head.

“Got to work today,” he said.

You rested your head on him and sighed. “Okay… I’ll miss you.”

“Good,” he smirked. “I’ll be late because I have to pick up Charles’ meds.”

“If I give you a list, can you run to the store for groceries?”

“Sure.”

~~~

“I love you,” Logan whispered against your lips before stealing a kiss.

“I love you, too,” you replied. “Be safe. I’ll have dinner ready for you whenever you get home.”

“You don’t need to wait up.”

“But I want to… I don’t sleep well without you.”

“Try for me, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up when I get home.” He pressed another kiss to your lips. “I promise.”

“If you don’t, I’ll burn you to a crisp.”

Logan chuckled. “I don’t doubt it, honey.” 

He kissed your forehead before walking to the limo. You leaned against the doorway, wrapped up in one of his flannels, and watched him drive away. You hated how far away Logan had to drive for work, but you understood why he needed to keep Charles away from others.

~~~

Logan was exhausted. It was well past midnight as he pulled up to the smelting plant. He was later than he had hoped, but he had to argue to get Charles’ meds. Limping into the plant with arms full of groceries, Logan tried to be as quiet as possible. The small TV was playing quietly in the makeshift living room, providing the only light. The changing scenes increased the light on your sleeping figure on the couch. 

Logan smiled softly, shaking his head. He made quick work of putting the groceries away and getting Charles’ meds ready for the next day before he carefully came over to you. He crotched down beside the couch to get a good look at your relaxed features. 

“I missed this,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “I missed coming home to you.”

Biting down a groan, Logan swept you into his arms and headed up the stairs to your room. It wasn’t until he set you down in your bed that you started to wake.

“Logan?” You whimpered as he pulled away.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m gonna clean up and be right back.”

“Okay…”

As quickly as Logan’s failing body allowed him to, he had showered and changed before coming back to you. You were back asleep. He carefully picked you back up and laid down before placing you on top of him. It wasn’t easy on Logan’s joints to sleep with you on top of him, and he knew there would be long-term effects if he continued, but he had to. Sleeping without you anymore wasn’t an option for either of you. Maybe he could scrape enough money for a larger bed. Perhaps for your birthday. But you would hate him for spending money on you like that. You deserved it, though; you deserved a life much better than this. A life that you two once shared.

~~~

The months following were not easy, and you and Logan still struggled, but it was better. The two of you would fight but quickly work it out. There was no going to be angry.

Charles was gradually getting worse. Logan would still only allow you to visit Charles when he was there. It was frustrating, but when you experienced each of his seizures, you understood more and more.

You noticed that Logan was getting worse, too. It was heartbreaking to see the man you love struggling, and you couldn’t do much about it.

One day, you noticed that Logan had reading glasses in his pocket. You kept an eye on him, seeing if he would ever use them, though you knew he needed to. It was a few days later when you caught him trying to read a newspaper without them. He kept grunting as he squinted his eyes and moved the paper back and forth. You sighed, shaking your head at his stubbornness. You went and took the glasses from his jacket pocket. Quietly, you came up behind him and leaned over, slipping the glasses onto his face.

“Hey!” He protested.

“Use them,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Don’t need them.”

You laughed. “Yes, you do.”

“Don’t you think they make me look… ancient?”

You sat down in the chair next to Logan and guided his head to look at you. “I think they’re sexy.” 

Logan scoffed. “Sexy? Really?”

“Honey, anything that helps you is sexy to me.” You leaned forward and pecked his lips. “Use them. Stop being stubborn.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

~~~

Months later, you noticed Logan struggling more and more. He had a bigger limp and a cough now. His hair was grayer and there were more wrinkles. But he was still your Logan, your love.

“It’s nice to see you and Logan back together,” Charles said as you brought him his breakfast one morning, “where you belong.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I just wish I could do more to help ease his pain.”

“You’re doing enough, my dear. You’re doing enough to ease all of our pains.”

You kissed the top of Charles’ head. “I’ve got to go before Logan drags me out of here.”

“Maybe one day you can stay longer.”

“Maybe… See you later, Charles.”

Logan was waiting for you outside the tank, ready to go to work. “How is he today?” He asked, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you into him. 

“Sort of there.”

“And how are you?”

“Tired.”

“Get some rest today, then, baby.”

“Can’t you just stay home today?”

“Can’t. We need the money.”

“Yeah…” you nodded, looking down. 

“Hey,” Logan’s fingers hooked under your chin and gently pushed your face up. “What else is going on?”

“I just… I’m worried… Something is coming. I—I can feel it.”

“You’re safe.”

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe we’re all not safe.”

Logan sighed, glancing at the time on his watch. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk more about this when I come home.” He softly kissed you. “I love you, darlin’.”

“Love you, too.”

~~~

Logan knew he should have gone home, but he was tired and needed a few more jobs tonight. He decided to get some alcohol and take a nap in the back of the limo. He woke up to a group of men trying to steal the limo’s tires. Logan was forced to fight them off with his claws, getting shot multiple times. 

After killing three of them, the rest drove off. Logan got back into the limo and drove to a nearby gas station. He was thankful that he kept extra clothes in the trunk, just in case. Leaning over the sink, Logan grunted and groaned as the blood hit the porcelain and the bullets slowly and painfully forced their way out of him. 

Logan thought of you as he stood there. He knew that you would want to know what happened, but he was scared too worry you too much. He knew you already were worried. But, needing to hear your voice as he cleaned up, he called you.

“Hello?” Your sleepy voice filled the bloody gas station bathroom.

“Hey, baby,” Logan breathed out, trying to keep the pain from you.

“What’s wrong? Wait— Logan, it’s late. Why aren’t you home?”

“Just needed to pick up a few more jobs tonight.”

“Okay… but why does it sound like you’re in pain?”

Logan sighed. He should have known better than trying to hide this from you. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just had to fight off some thieves.”

“Logan—“

“Needed to hear your voice.”

“Then come home. Rest. We can worry about money in the morning. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m fine, darlin’. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“Logan—“

“Sorry for waking you up. Go back to sleep. Love you.” 

He hung up before you could get another word in.

~~~

Logan picked up three more jobs. One was a morning funeral, where he had been recognized as the Wolverine by a woman who insisted she needed his help. After avoiding her, Logan went to the hospital and grabbed the needed drugs for Charles. 

He got into his limo, only for a man to enter through the back. Logan turned around, ready to yell at the man.

“As I live and breathe, the Wolverine,” the man commented. “And he’s a junkie now.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Logan asked.

“You know, you got some buckshot in your door. I heard you was in Phoenix. But then, last night, some friends of mine in Texas HP called and told me they found three dead cholos in a pullout on 54. Not unusual, I know. Except one was missing a hand, another one a leg. So they was thinking it was either an escaped tiger or Freddy Krueger. But neither one of them can drive, one being fictional, the other one extinct. And since the wheel lugs they found belonged to a ’24 Chrysler and, well, this is a ’24 Chrysler… She found you yet?”

“Who?”

“Well, I guess there’s two of them… your girl and Gabriela.” Logan tensed at the mention of you. “Y/N’s been off our radar for a while now, but we know it’s only a matter of time before she finds you. Though, she’s not our main priority. See… I’m not looking for you, Wolvie, or your girl—well, anymore. I’m looking for someone who’s looking for you. She took something of mine when I wasn’t looking. Something for which I am responsible. Mexican lady. Has her sights on you now. Doesn’t ring any bells?”

“I don’t know any Gabriela, so get the fuck out of my car.”

“Oh. You know…” The man moved closer. “I know what you’re hiding, amigo. The old cue ball south of the border.”

“What do you want?”

“A little cooperation.” He handed Logan a business card. Logan made no move to grab it, forcing the man to toss it at him. “I’m a fan, by the way.”

The man left the car, and Logan picked up the business card. The business name was eerily familiar: Alkali Transigen. The man’s name was Donald Pierce, and he was apparently head of security. Logan’s stomach dropped, knowing that this wasn’t a good thing.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck!”

~~~

Logan didn’t return home the next morning, nor did he return your calls. You were growing concerned. 

“We’re out of meds,” Caliban told you after he brought Charles lunch. “Logan was supposed to be back with them. He’s not having a good day.”

“Something’s wrong,” you said. “He won’t answer my calls either.” 

You tried to get your mind off of everything by doing the laundry. Only, you found an adamantium bullet in Logan’s pocket. That broke your heart and made you angry at the same time.

You walked out of the plant and began pacing, feeling your skin heat up. If Logan didn’t return soon, you would have to find a way to get Charles’ meds without a vehicle. You would also need to find out where Logan went and confront him about the bullet. The familiar sound of the limo and the gate opening caught your attention. Logan pulled up, and you bulleted to the limo, launching yourself at Logan before he could fully stand up.

“Hey,” Logan coughed as you gripped him tightly. “What’s going—“

“You don’t get to do that!” You shouted, pulling back and shoving him against the limo. “You don’t get to call when things aren’t okay and then drop off the face of the earth!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I… I’ve been working.”

“You still had time to call me back. Even just to say that you were still alive! You’re so frustrating, you know?”

“Honey—“

“And this!” You pulled out the adamantium bullet. “Found this while doing the laundry. Are you planning on blowing your brains out? At one point, only your memory would die with this, but now… this could actually kill you, Logan! Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me that this was your plan? What happened to not leaving me?”

“I don’t really have a choice, sweetheart. I’m dying.”

“But you’re not even fighting to stay anymore! I thought… I thought that I mattered to you.”

“You are everything to me, baby. But this is something neither of us can fight.”

“Just… go. Go inside. Charles needs his meds. He had a seizure this morning… And I need to cool down.”

“Y/N…” 

But you walked off faster than he could catch up to you.

~~~

When you finally decided to go inside, you found Logan in his room. The door was cracked open, allowing you to lean against the doorframe and peek in. Logan was sitting on the edge of his bed. He had a variety of alcohol in front of him with one of the bottles opened. His right hand had his claws out, only they weren’t all the way out. They were stuck. He was grunting in pain as he pulled at one of the stuck claws, trying to get it out.

You quickly entered and knelt in front of him. Glancing up at him, you could tell that he was ashamed. You took his hand from his claw and set it to the side before taking the hand with his claws out. Warming up your hands, you carefully used them to try to ease the pain.

“You don’t have to do this, sweetheart,” Logan grumbled. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly, you can’t,” you responded.

As you took care of his hand, the stuck claws slowly pushed out to their normal length. You carefully kissed the tip of each of them before kissing Logan’s knuckles, noticing the puss now oozing from where the claws were pushing out. Both of his hands were now trembling, making your heart break further for him.

“I don’t want you to remember me like this,” he quietly admitted, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Weak… pathetic…”

“You are neither of those things, Logan,” you told him. You cupped his face as you stayed knelt between his legs. 

“I should have told you about the bullet.”

“You should have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll call you back next time.”

“You better.”

Logan sighed, feeling the pain settle in him. “Can we lie down in your bed?”

Without a verbal response, you stood up and took Logan’s hands. You guided him over to your room and allowed him to lie down first. You warmed your body up as you moved yourself behind him, spooning him. He sighed, relaxing into you.

“Relax, honey,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’ve got you.”

next chapter >

[nativegirltapes]

ur texts w drew make me remember how he acc NEVER answers his phone… how would angel deal w that

YES OMG i think about this all the time too!!!

i think early on drew’s lack of ability to text back definitely made angel insecure and wonder if drew felt the same way at all. but once he told her that he’s just “not a texter” she had no choice but to believe him because she reallllyyyyy wanted that cookie. they set boundaries, if it’s really important; they’ll call each other. but aside from that, that angel stays blowing up his phone. and after realizing that angel is in fact, a big time texter, drew definitely tries his best! esp since they do long distance half the time, he really does his best, and angel appreciates it a lot.

but there’s definitely days where it makes angel go insaneeee that drew can’t just simply text back. knowing her, her mind is going in all the wrong directions, thinking maybe he’s texting someone else. but he’s literally not, and angel knows he’s not, but she’s just a girl and she can’t help it.

[torturingpeople]

i've been thinking about how irrigo and violant work recently. so of course i had to make diagrams about it

i don't think the plaque is like a literal tangible thing like it is on your tooth or in your blood vessels, but it's more of a residue that either snaps the synapses immediately and makes it impossible to reconnect the memory or builds up over time on the synapse and makes it harder to access a memory

"with resistance" in this case refers to someone who uses or has been exposed to irrigo frequently over an extended period of time. it works in the same way as drug/antibiotic resistance does in the sense that your synapses grow more resilient to the effects of the plaque and don't just immediately break. think of it like going from dental floss to rope

i also think violant can provide resistance too - in this way it would more likely cancel out the effects of the plaque and it's like placing a casing over your synapse, but at the same time now you have both a violant casing (with violant being impossible to erase so the casing is there basically forever whether it's effective or not) and irrigo plaque on your synapses so it's not something you can do repeatedly without eventually damaging the synapse and doing something fucked up to your memory

there's also potential for the buildup of irrigo and violant causing toxic shock in the brain in the same way foreign objects do - it's only in a long-term sense and if left unchecked the body will start attacking itself and engaging an immune response to remove the buildup, which will in turn inevitably damage, weaken or break the synapse entirely

the way to treat violant+irrigo buildup is with exposure to apocyan. in essence this has the ability to remove the plaque buildup and the casing, essentially breaking it off your synapses, and can help to heal any damage caused by an immune response or the synapse being freed from the casing and plaque. in this it would return the neuron to its natural, unaffected state, and the pathway would neither have the benefits or drawbacks of using violant or irrigo

[mymoshangthoughts]

something i think about with regards to og!shang qinghua

i totally think he smashed mobei jun's face in with the rock

like okay the scene plays out basically the same, except instead of thigh-hugging, the original goods was groveling and hiding and dodging and only BARELY managed to survive for long enough for mobei jun to faint

so here he is, surrounded by corpses and a fainted demon and theres this big ass rock over there and he's like "yeah, thats the pragmatic thing to do"

but see, airplane and the original goods both vastly over-estimated the ability of a rock to kill a demon lord. so yeah, mobei jun has a nasty broken nose and he wakes up feeling like death warmed over in the middle of the woods but he's alive (this is btw the exact reason that the system was willing to let airplane do it, bc it wasnt gonna kill mobei jun anyway and it was what the og goods did)

and he was JUST conscious enough to see the original goods bash his face in

so mobei jun is sitting there like "okay, yeah, so imma find that fucker and imma enslave him and then when he runs out of use to me, imma kill his ass" because he's angry enough right now that simply killing og!shang qinghua just does Not feel good enough

and their relationship over the years is basically a big game of cat and mouse with them trying to fuck each other over. mostly the original goods trying to kill mobei jun and mobei jun just like "no imma wait to kill him until AFTER ive had a thorough revenge but fuck he makes it tempting to kill him right now" and og!shang qinghua highkey actually reminds him of his uncle. they're both the two-faced type who can smile to your face and stab you in the back and he's sorta thinking "if i cant resist killing one stupid human until the opportune time, how am i going to not kill my uncle??"

and basically it's just like..... lowkey shizaya (drrr!) vibes between them? and look, mobei jun is Very satisfied when he finally kills that worm og!shang qinghua but he also feels a certain loss because even though theres srsly no love lost between them, the original goods was basically mobei jun's companion for longer than anyone else in his life (enemy? frenemy? rival????) and it's just a sort of weird empty feeling after he's dead

and i just like thinking about how Different their relationship was because i like thinking about all of the changes that airplane accidentally created because he really didnt know that much about their original relationship. og!shang qinghua was such a footnote in the novel that there really wasnt any time spent on "oh yeah, og!moshang has a super weird hateship and shang qinghua did backstab mobei jun but that wasnt actually NEW, og!shang qinghua tried to kill off the king of the north at least once a month or so"

anyway i think the distinctions in the relationships are important for moshang reasons, because airplane and og!shang qinghua ARE different people, so they had to have made different decisions over the years, and those differences are why mobei jun was very much in love with airplane and not in love with og!shang qinghua

(altho i do enjoy og!moshang, but i will die on the hill that their relationship is different and whatever love might exist between them would be different. my hcs might not represent accurately how og!moshang's relationship was canonically but i just think it's important to make those distinctions)

but all these thoughts lend themselves to "what if pidw!mobei jun met airplane!shang qinghua?" because look, if they really were collaborating for so many years, he would KNOW og!shang qinghua. and as such, it wouldnt take him long to be like "okay but you're seriously NOT shang qinghua tho?!?!" and i love his confusion. like i dont think he'd show up and be like "guh, shang qinghua, gotta kill that rat again", i think he'd show up and be like "......well thats definitely shang qinghua's skin but that sure as fuck isnt shang qinghua"

and look, i want the chaos of that.

pidw!mobei jun and svsss!mobei jun discussing why the fuck shang qinghua is a completely different person and coming to their own conclusions (also naturally realizing a thing or two about cucumber-bro bc thats the other big notable change between worlds. bing-mei is fine, pidw!mobei jun always know that bing-ge is secretly pathetic)

also potential for kidnapping? like pidw!mobei jun nabs airplane with the intention of learning just who the fuck he is. leaving absolutely no room for discussion bc he's determined to figure this shit out. or maybe he just approaches his other self directly. or fuck it, if he goes straight to bing-mei because he's like "okay this is above my pay grade, boss of this dimension will prolly have an idea of whats happening"

also double penetration with two mobei jun's and one airplane lmfao. look im a simple man with simple pleasures

altho on the note of og!shang qinghua, thinking about this diabolical fuck does have my inner villain fucker thoroughly entertained and i wanna think about au's with both airplane and og!shang qinghua in play

there's always the good ol' sibling au's (which will always make me scream to the fucking sky "why the fuck wasnt airplane given a NAME so that i dont have to make one up for him!!!"), those definitely have the appeal of i can keep airplane!shang qinghua's design the same

so lets go with.... shang jingqi (original flavor) and shang feiyu (airplane), for simplicities sake while i explore stupid au ideas lol

so lesseee shang feiyu is born as shang jingqi's twin but since qinghua is a courtesy name and he doesnt actually know og!shang qinghua's birth name, he just knows that ONE of them is supposed to become "shang qinghua" and get killed by mobei jun. and look, he tries really hard not to get attached to his twin. he's used to keeping emotional distance from family, this should be fine, easy even. his twin even has a sort of asshole personality. so if he just doesnt get attached to shang jingqi and just lets the og plot eat up his twin, everything will be just fine and he can live a peaceful life, right? RIGHT???

but ofc he gets attached. bc even tho shang jingqi has a shitty personality and might actually be the original shang qinghua who backstabbed mobei jun and deserved what he got--look, thats HIS treacherous asshole and shang feiyu is ATTACHED okay

so shang jingqi and shang feiyu BOTH wind up joining cang qiong because shang feiyu isn't gonna just leave his twin to die but also he doesnt wanna die so he's really trying to figure out a third option to figure out how the fuck to dodge this all shang-murderfest thing when one day his brother comes home from a mission like "so i might have murdered a demon lord with a rock??" and shang feiyu is going to FREAK OUT bc either that was mobei jun and he is Not Dead and Coming For Their Asses or it WASNT mobei jun and its someone who would make mobei jun Very Angry if was harmed and shang feiyu is ready to hug as many thighs as he needs to so that they can get out of this alive!!! but shang jingqi already has a bit of a murder-boner for mobei jun, even moreso when he realizes theres like Chemistry between mobei jun and his brother and just Nope. that aint happening.

shang feiyu: i am trying to keep you alive wiLL YOU PLZ STOP TRYING TO PISS OFF THE DEMON LORD?!

shang jingqi: and IM trying to protect your ass from demon cock, thank me later

shang feiyu: ?!?!?! WHAT DOES THAT WHAT

[cryberpunkart]

Castio Ingellvar

1: Where in Thedas is your Rook from? His parents are from Nevarra City. I didn't think too hard about his life pre-Mourn Watch so it's random.

2: What is your character's alignment? Chaotic neutral. Cas does things for the greater good, but it's a bit fast and loose.

3: Race and subclass? Human mage.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? The music room, and he'd be humming all the time.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Mostly the cheery and polite icons.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Taash, unexpectedly. But he gets on with everyone.

7: Romantically close with? Emmrich.

8: Who are they suspicious of? He liked Lucanis, but is low-key scared of him.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes! He adores the Watchers and is one to his core.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? No, but he is a very amateur opera singer.

11: Weapon of choice? Mageknife and necrotic damage.

12: What is their orientation? Asexual biromantic.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? He's just trying to survive, if he can avoid it, he would like to, but times are tough.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Music, reading, theatre. He loves a good debate, he's probably part of the Lighthouse book club.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? He loves Vorgoth and Manfred, but who doesn't? I think he gets along with Strife well, and Antoine (Evka scared him but he respects her) but he and Tarquin despise each other.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Assan counts, right? Otherwise he's a snake boy in every universe I write him into. Snakes all the time.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? I think he likes to revisit the Necropolis a lot, but yes, he loves exploring and learning.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? The Thedas equivalent of a paranormal investigator, or amateur theatre.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? Are you kidding? He's gunning for lichdom.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? He'd rather do neither, but if he can't talk Solas around, he'd fight.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Corrupted Ground.

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Just the common tongue.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Decompress alone, with his nose in a book, after checking in on everyone.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? In the sense of the wisps and the Fade being a sort of life beyond death, yeah. For himself? No, lichdom!

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? I obviously went down the Mourn Watch specialisation. The character has always been a necromancer, I originally played him in D&D 5e.

26: What animal best represents your Rook? A snake. His favourites are hognoses but he's a ball python.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? Quite simple, I think he was hiding in Minrathous, probably taking odd jobs ridding homes of spirits for a fair price.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? He didn't want to lead, but he took to it well enough. He considers them all to lead in their area of expertise, though.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? Hmm, that's actually a good question. Probably the Shadow Dragons? They have good morals and he was already hanging about in Minrathous!

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? Cas is a character I've had for a long time now. In-game I love how his Ult looks, the mage combat flows so prettily. In a meta sense, this character creator is the closest I've ever managed to making Castio 3d, so I love that.

Zinc Laidir

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? There's a brief conversation with Taash where he mentioned being a Tevinter galley slave, so I think Zinc is a city elf from Seheron.

2: What is your character's alignment? The same as a labrador puppy.

3: Race and subclass? Elf warrior.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? He'd move location every time, this man is hyper.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Mostly the cheery/jokey one, but whenever there's a chance for the sad one, I went with that. Emotional boy.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Taash, Harding and Davrin. He and Taash had trans solidarity, Harding is his bestie, and he and Davrin arm wrestle on the regular.

7: Romantically close with? The queen herself, Neve. But poor Bellara tried.

8: Who are they suspicious of? He's not too sure how to take Emmrich. He likes him, and he respects his magic, but worries about being told off, Emmrich is very Dad to him.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes and no. Isabella finds him frustrating, I think she was probably waiting for a chance to get him gone. They're like siblings who get along better with space between visits.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Ohhhh yes. Zinc is a musician in his original conception, so he definitely plays the Elven guitar in his chamber.

11: Weapon of choice? Warhammer, specifically the brute hammer.

12: What is their orientation? Queer. Zinc has no labels, doesn't want them, doesn't care. He's a trans guy who likes hot people. You could call him pansexual but he wouldn't call himself that.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? Avoid as much as possible.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Music, but probably also card games, casual gambling stuff with the other Lords and the companions.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? I think he and Rana get chatty, and I bet he's flirted with Theia. He doesn't dislike anyone, but he did punch the First Warden. So yeah.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? He'd have a pet nug if he could, but he's also pet every damn dog and cat in Dock Town.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Of course! For gold and glory!

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Bothering Isabella more.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? Doing something stupid.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? Fight.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? For Gold and Glory (I swear it's called that, the big leaping hammer smash).

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Elven, common.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? When the adrenaline leaves, he cries. Zinc cries a lot.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Nah, but he's okay with that. Again, he knows the Fad exists, he knows spirits exist, but he thinks they have no memory of their life, so there's not really a knowable beyond for living beings.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? I went with Slayer, because Lords of Fortune, but none of the others suited.

26: What animal best represents your Rook? A friendly puppy, or a speedy hare or something.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? A bit chaotic, but also simple. He listened to Isabella and did as he was told.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? He is, but in a more... Glue way. He's keeping everyone together and happy and sane as best he can.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? Maybe the Wardens. He wouldn't read the fine print about the Calling and how much being a Warden sucks, he'd just sign up to be a hero.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? He's the mascot for this account, but make him a little elf. :3 Also doing all the silly dialogue options feels appropriate, which makes it fun.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?