#honestly i don’t have a lot of notes on this one…

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE THE NIGHT SHIFT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: now that the chaos following the aftermath of the decay of angel incident has settled, mori intends on making good on the deal he made with the armed detective agency. and you have a very important decision to make.

(wordcount: 13.4k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, angst with a happy ending (if u can believe it!!), port mafia business, a bit of arguing, depictions of dazai's depression, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: one last age 22 fic before your girl goes on a slight break. the ada/pm swap YAYYYY, it honestly came out a lot less intense then i intended, and the happy ending was originally not supposed to happen BUT i think it's well-deserved for age 22 pmreader & dazai. they are grown now, and the whole theme of their reconcillation at 22 is that they're actually WORKING to make this work, so i thought it would be an injustice to not let this one end happily. ANYWAY, on another note, don't expect any fics from me in may! i'm going to be cracking down on civzai2 so i can have it ready to post for june! i hope you guys enjoy! reblogs appreciated!

Your phone has been ringing for the past twenty minutes.

You know it’s Mori frustrated at your absence, trying to call an executive meeting to discuss the upcoming parley with the Armed Detective Agency, where the Port Mafia will be taking one of theirs to drag into the dark. He can wait for all you care, you sigh as you lean back on your hands, the wind ruffling your hair as you look down into the window of the building before you.

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

You watch with a heavy, unwelcome feeling in your chest as Dazai laughs wildly at something a vaguely familiar man with purple and white hair says. The man looks distinctly put out by whatever Dazai is laughing at, as one usually is whenever Dazai is laughing because nine times out of ten, he’s laughing at someone else's expense. The other members of the Agency are hanging around too. You see the uptight blonde, Kunikida, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Mori’s favorite, Yosano, sits on his desk cackling, slapping Kunikida’s shoulder. The weretiger has his face buried in his arms, hiding himself from the world, while the other traitor, the girl that Kouyou obsesses over, hovers over him. There are others you don’t recognize, but they don’t really matter to you.

Only one does.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. You’ve seen Dazai laugh countless times—snorts that he hides in your shoulder, mocking jeers as he taunts Chuuya, muffled snickers that he tries to bite back when he’s caught by surprise—but you don’t think you’ve ever seen this type of carefree, reckless happiness before. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that’s so genuine that you almost question whether or not you’re looking at Dazai Osamu or some lookalike imposter who has stolen his place; he laughs so hard that he looks like he’s struggling to breathe, doubling over and slapping the desk he’s sitting at.

He’s never looked so at home before. So comfortable. Even with you back before he defected, when you guys were alone with no one else to bear witness, he couldn’t rid himself of all of the protective layers he wears, he couldn’t let himself be at ease. He never fully let his guard down, not even for a second, not even for you.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He did a few times, but you can count them on one hand, and they were never by his own choice—only when he was pushed too far, when his mind caved in on him no matter how hard he tried to weld together the cracks in the dam. 

It wasn’t like this.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” you ask quietly as soon as you feel the familiar presence behind you.

“Why the fuck are you torturing yourself with this?” Nakahara Chuuya’s gruff voice meets your ears, the roof shaking behind you as he lands on top of it. You hear him make his way over to you, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you admit, letting the pain seep into your voice to the only person whom you can trust not to use it against you. “When he told me Oda Sakunosuke’s final request, I doubted him… not that I was going to let him know that… but he really has changed, hasn’t he? You see it too, don’t you?” 

Chuuya lets out a noise caught between doubt and amusement. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Y’know what they say about tigers and stripes.”

“Don’t be bitter, Chuuya, it’s an ugly look on you,” you say dryly, eyes following Dazai as he pushes himself to his feet, dancing away as the purple-haired man tries to whack him. Your lips curl up into a small smile when you see the genuine glee painted on his face. “He’s changed. We, of all people, should be able to see that.”

“I’m not bitter,” Chuuya says roughly, “and if I was, I have every damn right to be. So do you. More than me, even. How the fuck can you see him living his best life and not be bitter? After what he did to us? To you?”

“Bitterness ages the skin, it’s probably why you’ve started developing wrinkles at the ripe age of twenty-two,” you quip, just to hear the aggravated noise that Chuuya lets out.

“I do not have fucking wrinkles, quit saying that shit,” Chuuya complains, flicking the back of your head hard. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Purposely,” you note, but then let out a soft puff of air. “I don’t know, Chuuya. I thought I would be bitter and angry. Sometimes, I still am. When I’m alone, usually drunk, I resent him so much that it makes me sick, but then…”

Then you see him. 

You see him happy. You see him surrounded by people who love him. You see him thriving in a way that he’d never be able to in the Port Mafia. Every day that passed while he was there, he somehow became darker and colder; less human, and more of an unfathomable concept. You could see it in his face when he would come home to your apartment, eyes empty and expression blank. His blood ran darker than anyone else’s in those towers, his mind a treacherous place that few would dare to even think of treading or even just understanding. He was never Dazai back then, he was the Port Mafia’s youngest executive, the Black Wraith, Mori’s heir. He was something to be feared and admired. He was the Mafia, everything it stood for, its incarnate. He was not Dazai. 

Not like how he is now.

You told him you forgave him when he showed up at your apartment three months ago, and you knew you meant it then, but you didn’t realize how much you meant it until now.

“He never fucking deserved you,” Chuuya says so quietly that you think he’s talking more to himself than you. Before you can comment on his words, he speaks up again, changing the subject: “Let’s get out of here. Mori sent me to come get you.”

You sigh, eyes lingering on Dazai for a moment longer before you finally turn to look at Chuuya. Despite the rough edge to his voice, you can see the concern plain on his face as he looks down at you, brows furrowed and lips curved down. He holds a gloved hand out to you, and you sigh as you place yours in it, letting him lift you to your feet. You wobble a bit, but he steadies you with a hand to your waist.

“Thanks,” you say quietly and then give him a small smile that has his eyes narrowing in suspicion instantly.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“What if I say pretty please?” you offer, linking your hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side.

“Stop tryna look cute. You’re not cute,” Chuuya scowls, and you scowl right back at him, dropping the act. “What do you want?” 

“Can you stall Mori for another… hour-ish?” you ask with a sweet smile.

Chuuya's face drops as he stares at you, and your eyes turn up as your smile widens. After a few moments of him just staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you’re being legit, he lets out a sigh of utter suffering. “You fucking owe me, you understand? That ‘45 Conti is going back up on the auction in New York in two weeks. I want it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you your fancy wine, Chuuya,” you agree, leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the way his cheeks heat up. “Whatever,” he mutters. “What’re you even doing that’s so important? You’re not usually one to hold up meetings like this.”

You sigh lightly, gaze tracking back to the window to where Dazai is leaning into the weretiger, trying to use him as a human shield. He laughs again, tossing his head back and jumping away, throwing a pen at Kunikida as the man tries to swipe him, and your throat feels a bit swollen, your heart tight. Not with jealousy or bitterness, but rather with content because four years ago, you never would have been able to picture something like this.

“I… have a decision I need to make before the meeting,” you finally tell Chuuya, voice a bit hesitant.

Chuuya gives you a long look, a heavy one, as if he knows exactly what decision you’re trying to make. You think that he probably does.

“I hope you make the right choice,” he says quietly.

“Yeah… I hope so too.”

---

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the graveyard on the west side of the city is unusually busy—it’s just your luck, truly. There’s a distasteful expression on your face as your gaze traces across the mourners as they visit their lost loved ones. You’ve never liked graveyards; you can count the number of times you’ve been to them on one hand. Being here reminds you too much of a past you can’t remember—even though the corpses are buried well below the ground, the scent of rot somehow still finds its way to you, smothering and nauseating. 

“What the hell are we doing here?” Klaus asks from next to you, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “This place is creepy.”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” you ask dryly, resting your head against the cool window as your driver takes you down a dirt path leading to a more secluded part of the cemetery, toward the grave you’re seeking.

Klaus pauses and then offers, “Meeting an informant?” 

You roll your eyes. “We are visiting a grave.”

Klaus is clearly offended by your tone. “Forgive me, damn, it’s not like you’ve ever been sentimental before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” you say flatly, although sentiments are the last thing that drew you to this place—resentment is far more fitting.

“Riiiiiight,” Klaus drawls like he doesn’t actually believe you. “Are we going to be here long? Cemeteries give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What the fuck is a heebie-jeebie?” you ask, turning your head to look at him so you can shoot him a strange expression.

“Seriously?” Klaus asks, blinking. “You’ve never heard that expression before?”

Your squinted gaze lingers on him for a second before the driver rolls to a stop in front of the small hill leading up to the grave you’re looking to visit. You shake your head and roll your eyes again as you step out of the car, instinctively holding your breath the moment the cemetery air reaches you. You have to force yourself to breathe, hoping you don’t look as uncomfortable as you feel. Your fingers tighten around the small bundle of petunias in your left hand.

“Isn’t that—” Klaus begins, frowning at the figure standing in front of the grave.

“Stay by the car,” you order as you make your way forward.

“But—”

“That’s an order, Klaus.”

You hear him sigh in irritation, displeased by your words, but he listens. Each step up to the grave is agonizing—you want to turn on your heel and leave, but you’ve already come too far to do that. Plus, it would feel like a wound to your pride now that he’s seen you.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here,” Sakaguchi Ango greets once you’ve come close enough. He looks down at the bundle of flowers in your hand curiously. “Especially with those.”

“It’s rude to approach someone’s resting site without a gift,” you reply blandly, brushing past him to kneel in front of Oda Sakunosuke’s grave, eyes lingering on the mossy cobblestone before you place the petunias down in front of it. “I have something I need to say, that’s all.”

“Not to me, I presume,” Sakaguchi replies, amused with himself. 

You’re not quite as amused.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet through your head, traitor,” you murmur, giving the older man a cold look from the corner of your eye. “You’re lucky I don’t do worse.”

“Hah,” Sakaguchi says, pushing up his glasses—a nervous tick that makes your lips curl up. “You know, I never personally saw what you do to traitors, but I heard rumors through the grapevine. They say the executions you handled were more barbaric than Dazai-kun’s and Nakahara Chuuya’s combined. I found it hard to believe.”

A humorless smile rests on your lips as you stare at the grave in front of you. A necessary price—you don’t have an ability like Chuuya’s or a reputation like Dazai’s. Once it became clear you were in the running for the next open executive seat, you had to prove you were more than just Mori’s daughter. That the position should be yours and it wasn’t because of nepotism, and it wasn’t because you spread your legs for Double Black, as people liked to whisper back then. The easiest way of proving that was to make an example out of people, and with an ability like yours, it was easy to shatter a man’s mind before putting him in the grave.

“Chuuya’s never liked playing with his toys, and Dazai got bored with them long before I ever did,” you say absently, looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on him. “I don’t get bored until they break.”

Sakaguchi’s throat bobs, and you watch his hand slip into his pocket—surely getting ready to send some sort of signal to his friends in the government.

“Relax,” you say easily, sitting back on your heels. “I don’t disrespect the dead—not even him. I wouldn’t do anything here.”

“How reassuring,” Sakaguchi scoffs, but his hand drops back to his side. “What on earth do you have to say to a man that’s been dead for four years?”

His voice wavers strangely—he’s defensive and in pain all at the same time, like he has some urge to shield a dead man from whatever words you want to speak to him, but it hurts him to admit he’s gone all the same. Rich, considering you’re pretty sure the man played a part in his death.

“I could ask you the same.”

“That’s different,” Sakaguchi says tightly.

“Is it?” you ask, amused.

“It is.”

You let out a puff of air, but the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes. “Leave so I can say my piece. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”

Sakaguchi doesn’t respond, but you hear him walk away. He goes far enough that he’s out of earshot of you, but he lingers close, which tells you that he has more to say to you, much to your displeasure.

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut as you try to figure out what exactly you want to say. You tossed the words through your head the whole ride here, but now that you’re actually before the grave of the man you intended to speak them to, you find yourself at a loss.

“You… cannot fathom how deep my hatred of you runs,” you finally say, voice quiet. You swallow thickly, tongue pressing against the back of your teeth as you try to quell your rising resentment. “You’re the reason Dazai left me. You’re the reason he’s going to spend his life chasing after a goal he’ll always see as unattainable. You’re the reason that he’ll never let himself be at peace. You ruined him.”

You take in a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that suddenly sting at your eyes. “You saved him,” you correct after a moment, voice cracking. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now—not with you and Sakaguchi, not with Chuuya, not with me. You… wouldn’t believe how much he’s thrived in the light, or maybe you would, I don’t know. Maybe you saw something in him back then that I couldn’t, but I see it now. You would be proud of him… I’m proud of him.”

You exhale, shoulders slumping as you look down at the ground. “The President of the Agency made a deal with Mori—one member in exchange for protection when they needed it. Mori wants Dazai,” you say bitterly. You know that Fukuzawa shielded Yosano, and it makes you sick with rage that he didn’t do the same for Dazai. “I’ll… do whatever it takes to make sure it’s not him, but in return, you’re going to give him a sign that you’re proud of how far he’s come, understood? He can’t see it for himself, and I know he doesn’t fully believe me when I tell him, but he’d believe you. So find a way. You owe me that much.”

You feel crazy talking to a grave—Mori is a man of science, he’s never been religious, but Itou believed that the dead lingered, whether it was because of unfinished business or they just needed to see their loved ones some more, to protect them from the other side. You never really cared to hear his supernatural nonsense back when he was alive, but now you cling to it in hopes that maybe he’s still watching you, guiding you along the right path.

The wind picks up a little, and you swear you feel a brief warmth settle on your right shoulder—it’s probably just your imagination, but you’ll let yourself believe it’s Oda agreeing to your deal.

You rise to your feet with another shaky sigh. 

“Goodbye, Oda,” you murmur, throat tightening as you think back to the man who wanted you to come by his place to talk to the young girl he took in because he wanted her to have a strong woman to look up to—the only person who ever acknowledged how hard you worked to keep your place in the upper echelon. “One day, we’ll meet again. Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel to leave, pointedly ignoring Sakaguchi when he tries to intercept you, walking straight past him back toward the car you came in.

“Do you know who he plans to choose?” Sakaguchi calls after you, voice wavering.

You don’t stop for him, but you say quietly, “I know who it won’t be.”

---

“Thank you for finally joining us,” Mori says dryly as you step into the conference room where all of the rest of the executives were waiting for you. “We’ve only been waiting for over an hour. Chuuya-kun has been trying to keep our attention on… office issues, I figured he was only trying to buy more time for you.”

Chuuya’ face reddens. “I don’t like the paper we write our reports on,” he says immediately, doubling down on whatever bullshit he’d been spewing to stall for you. “It’s too thick.”

“Right,” Mori agrees with a thin smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck and gives you a helpless look once Mori turns his attention back on you, but you don’t speak, staring down at the older man with an unreadable expression. You’d been wondering why he was so lackadaisical about filling Ace’s executive position—he blew you off every time you tried to bring it up. 

This was why. He didn’t need to fill it if he was just going to drag Dazai back and sit him in it.

You don’t say anything as you take your seat across from him at the executive table. He watches you curiously, like he has a feeling that you’re going to make things difficult for him today. He rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on top of them as his eyes drift between his four executives.

“I think it’s about time we call in on the debt that the Armed Detective Agency owes us, don’t you think?” he hums. “I, of course, have my ideas on who we should bring over, but I would like to hear your opinions.”

Verlaine waves his hand dismissively. “We all know who is coming back,” he says. “It’s best we keep this short so that I can go back down and prepare for when the Clocktower finally decides to make its move.”

“That boy is the only logical option,” Kouyou agrees flippantly, fanning herself as she leans back in her seat. “It’s best we get this over with.”

Chuuya looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he only averts his gaze to the table. You’re not actually sure what his opinion is on all of this—he could want Dazai back for all you know. He can’t safely use Corruption without him, can’t access the full extent of his ability, and you know Chuuya doesn’t like using Corruption, but he also doesn’t like the fact that he doesn’t even have the option of being able to use it. The two of you have talked about seeing if you could use your ability to put Arahabaki to sleep, but it’s all been theoretical; neither of you wants to risk actually trying it when there’s a chance it might not work.

“If you bring Dazai back to the Port Mafia, you may as well execute me now.”

Chuuya’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide, and Kouyou pauses mid-fan to look at you. Verlaine doesn’t react other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, but Mori’s lips curl up, amused.

“Oh?” he questions, “and here I thought you would be the most excited to have Dazai-kun back.”

“I don’t want him back here,” you reply flatly. “Bringing him back here when he doesn’t want to be here might as well be shooting us in the foot. He’ll work from the inside against us out of spite. I’m not going to sit here and watch while you make a decision that will cripple us. If he comes back, I will leave.”

Curiously, Mori tilts his head to the side, entertained by your words. “An ultimatum. You can’t possibly think that you’re worth more to me than Dazai-kun.”

You don’t think Mori means that. He likes saying things to get under your skin, he likes seeing how far he can push you until you snap, and nothing gets under your skin more than the idea of you being a second or third-choice to him. This time, though, you only hit him with the same amused smile he gives you.

“I know I don’t compare to either of your precious proteges,” you say, leaning back in your seat, and then pass the manila folder in your hand across the table to him. He looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you before humoring you, opening the folder to flip through the contents. You watch as his smile slowly falls as his eyes scan the profiles of six crime lords inside. “But you don’t think you’d be losing just me, do you?”

Oddly enough, Mori’s eyes gleam in delight at your words. “Is that so?” 

You exhale as you choose your words carefully. “Goldoni doesn't like you, Mori. He’s caught between the Port Mafia and the Order of the Clocktower, and it would be much easier for him to make peace with the Clocktower considering they’re on his border. The only reason why he chooses us is because of my friendship with him. Mishima might not outright betray you, but he’ll slowly start withdrawing support when you ask for it once he finds out that I’ve left. I was the one who helped Qu Yuan get her brother back from Cao Xueqin when the two organizations were on the brink of war. I was the one who made sure Paz got his foothold in the central U.S. while the Guild was here. I was the one who acted as the mediator for Nabokov when Bulgakov and the White Guard threatened to come down on the Pale Flame—he even gifted me his strongest ability user for it, offered me a permanent spot in St. Petersburg with him.”

Mori doesn’t immediately respond, squinting at you slightly as he listens to you speak. Kouyou looks between the two of you with an unreadable expression. Chuuya looks sick. Verlaine just looks like he wants to go back to his office.

“And you don’t need me to explain what Tolstoy would do if I asked him to,” you finish quietly. “He would do anything for me. He’s who I would go to after I leave here. He would give me an executive position, and in return, I would give him Japan.”

Kouyou says your name, aghast, but you ignore her.

“Without my connections, you lose your foothold in the government, you lose all of your major allies—you will be pushed out of Japan, and I would help him hunt you down to whatever dark crevice of the earth you try to hide in,” you continue, leaning forward. “You know better than anyone that I have the means of doing it.”

“The means, maybe,” Mori agrees, closing the folder to look up at you. Though his expression is serious, you can see the way his eyes gleam, like he’s pleased with the sudden turn of events. “But perhaps not the will.”

Your eyes narrow. “You think I’m bluffing.”

Mori shrugs, tapping his fingers against the closed folder. “I think you’re angry—anger is a fire that burns hot, but short. You’ve invested too much in this organization to truly walk away, let alone betray it. And you and I have been through far too much together, my dear.”

Your throat tightens at the reminder of your past with Mori, but you only raise your chin so as not to let the discomfort show on your face.

Chuuya exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Boss—"

But Mori lifts a hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say your threats are without weight,” he continues, tilting his head. “The depth of your connections is impressive, your influence undeniable. You’ve built something that hinges on your continued existence here. I recognize that.”

“I’m not the same girl I was back then,” you say, lips tightening. “I know my worth, no matter what you do to try to make me feel it’s less. You can’t afford to lose me—try to call my bluff. I dare you.”

Mori hums, resting his chin on his hand as he observes you, violet eyes glittering. “No, you’re not. That girl would have never had the guts to stand against me like this.”

You don’t reply to that. The tension in the conference room becomes stifling as the two of you stare at each other, each waiting for the other to concede.

“You should know by now,” he finally says smoothly, “that I don’t deal in ultimatums. I deal in opportunities. So tell me—who do you propose we take instead of Dazai-kun? There is no one there with equal value.”

This is it, you think, regret swelling in your throat as you meet Mori’s gaze head-on. There’s no coming back from this, and there’s no forgiveness for it. Dazai will resent you for this as long as he lives.

“Nakajima,” you reply after a moment. “The tiger.”

Mori stares at you for a moment, eyes widening slightly. All three of the other executives turn to look at you in shock, and you stiffen when Mori suddenly laughs. It’s a bright and amused laugh, one that tells you he’s genuinely surprised by your answer, delighted by it even. His hand flies to his mouth to smother his giggles, but his shoulders continue to shake as he slowly calms down.

“And I would argue that he’s more valuable than Dazai,” you say once he’s mostly quieted down. Mori raises his eyebrows, entertained, but nods for you to explain. “Every conflict Yokohama has seen over the past six months has been centered around him. The Guild had a bounty worth seven billion yen on him and started a full-blown war for him, destroying their organization. Dostoevsky and the House of the Dead and the Decay of the Angel were hyper-focused on getting their hands on him. According to Akutagawa’s reports from the conflict between him, Atsushi, Dostoevsky, and Fukuchi, Dostoevsky spoke of him being connected to the reality-altering book that’s apparently here in Yokohama. And I know damn well Christie is coming for it, and him, too. If we can get our hands on him and understand what exactly his connection is with that book, we might be able to get ahead of the imminent conflict with the Clocktower. I trust I don’t need to explain just how destructive it will be if it happens in the heart of our territory.”

Mori’s amusement fades, and none of the other executives reply, so you take it as an opportunity to drive the point home.

“Okay, I will explain then,” you continue flatly. “The Order of the Clocktower is a British state organization. They’re not part of the underground—not really—and they’re not a simple secret society like the Guild. They are backed and empowered by the English government, and the English government is backed and empowered by the entire Western world. If Agatha Christie gets her way, it won’t just be the Order of the Clocktower on our doorstep, it’ll be the American AASF and the French SFCCA—”

“That would start a military conflict with our government—” Kouyou starts to disagree, shaking her head.

“No, it wouldn’t, because Christie will call a meeting with our Prime Minister first. She'll frame the situation in a way that makes us the sole target of the military operations. They’ll say we’ve gotten our hands on an artifact that could alter the very fabric of reality, and because of it, we’re a major global threat. They’ll use the incident with the Decay of the Angel as an example and claim we used that book to bring back our members who were lost to the vampire virus and the detectives who were killed by Fukuchi.—it doesn't matter if it's not true because it'll be believable. They’ll back him into a corner to where he would either have to agree or be deemed just as much of a global threat as us, and when he agrees, we’re going to be facing the full military force of the entire Western world. How exactly do you think that is going to turn out for us?” 

“It’s all ‘what ifs,’” Kouyou says, raising her chin. “How are you so sure that’s what Christie will do?” 

Your gaze slides to the side to focus on her. “Because that’s what I would do. Christie is a political monster, more than I am, even. She won’t make mistakes—she’s going to keep her hands squeaky clean on the legal front.”

“There are still holes,” Chuuya says, leaning forward on the table to look at you. “Yeah, they could say we used it to bring back our members, but we could tell them that Stoker just canceled his ability. And there’s no proof that the detectives were killed—the only people that know that are the detectives themselves, who aren’t going to give themselves up like that, Fukuchi, who is dead, and…”

Chuuya’s expression suddenly shifts. He sits up right, gaze focusing on you. “You don’t think Dostoevsky is dead,” he realizes quietly. “Did you hear something?” 

“Not only do I not think he’s dead, but I would bet my life he’s with Christie right now in England planning out their next attack,” you say quietly. “It’s going to come soon—they know we don’t have that book yet, and they know Nakajima still doesn’t understand his ability. They need to make their move before we get any closer to finding it, because they know once one side gets their hands on it, it’s game over. Our best chance of finding that book is through Nakajima, and that’s why he needs to be the one brought over here. The Agency’s President gives him control over his ability, but not understanding—he needs to understand his ability so that we can understand his connection to that book, so we can find it before we’re getting fucked by the West’s military.”

Mori lets out a long breath, rubbing at his face as he leans back in his chair. “I have a lot to consider,” he says tightly, waving the four of you off. “Go. Meeting dismissed.”

Verlaine is the first out of the room—he always is—but he gives you a long look as he leaves, signaling to you that he’s going to want to talk to you soon. You sigh, but nod at him before he heads out. Kouyou is the next out, a grimace on her face and her shoulders a bit too tense as she makes her way out of the room. Chuuya waits for you at the door, leaning against the frame as you rise to your feet to leave.

When you turn your back to Mori, he finally speaks up. You knew he would. “You understand that he’ll never forgive you for being the reason his precious protege is dragged into the dark.”

He speaks the last two words mockingly, you don’t have to look at him to see the amused expression on his face.

“I understand,” you murmur, ignoring Chuuya’s heavy gaze. “I didn’t make my decision lightly. Nakajima is the best option for the Port Mafia.”

You make your way over to Chuuya, freezing when Mori speaks again, “Do you know why I’ve always held Dazai-kun and Yosano-kun in higher regard than you?”

You stiffen, ignoring how Chuuya looks away, pretending he can’t hear the conversation between you and Mori. A part of you wants to just walk away—you don’t need to deal with him taunting you right now, but you know he’s not going to let you leave until he’s made whatever point he wants to make.

“Why is that?” you ask tightly.

“It’s because they think for themselves. They take the initiative. You follow orders like a loyal dog, good for a lot of things, but not what I want,” Mori says casually. Your jaw tightens—like he didn’t make you this way, you think bitterly, but bite your tongue. “I’m glad to see you finally taking a step out of your shell, my dear. Fascinating that it only took threatening Dazai-kun for it to happen. I do wonder how far you will go to preserve his light.”

 You stiffen, gaze snapping to the side to focus on Mori, but he only gives you an easy smile in return, violet eyes glittering maliciously.

“I’m eager to find out,” he murmurs, before waving his hand dismissively. “Go. I’ll consider your alternative.”

You exhale sharply, head snapping back to look in front of you as you storm out of his office and into the hallway. Chuuya lets the door shut behind the two of you, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can get too far. He pulls you back toward him, forcing you to face him. His gaze is concerned as he looks down at you, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’m great,” you reply sarcastically, giving him an apologetic look when irritation flickers across his face. “He’s going to hate me, Chuuya.”

“Nakajima might not even be the one chosen,” Chuuya says. “The boss has been set on that bandaged freak. You know that.”

“Well then I’m dead,” you say with a tight smile. “I literally just announced my plans to betray the Mafia if Dazai is chosen. Kouyou will execute me on the spot.”

Chuuya’s expression darkens, and his voice is low as he promises, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Then you’ll be a traitor too,” you say airly. “Is that what you want?”

Chuuya doesn’t like the idea of that, you can tell from the way his face twists, but he doesn’t waver. Instead, he says again, “I won’t let that happen.”

Your throat tightens as you swallow, and Chuuya’s expression softens. He glances down the hall quickly to make sure nobody is around, and then he steps forward, reaching out to wrap an arm around you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close to him. You let out a shaky breath as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, arms hanging limp at your side.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, voice wavering. “Go to him, maybe. It’ll probably be my last chance.”

“Don’t say that,” Chuuya murmurs. “The bastard loves you. He always has—”

“And I’m repaying his love with betrayal, Chuuya,” you interrupt tightly. “This isn’t just us being on opposite sides. I put his protege—the kid that he saved—up on the chopping block. It’s too personal. There’s no coming back from it.”

“You did it for him, though—”

“And that makes it even worse. You know that.”

Chuuya sighs, but he doesn’t refute what you’re saying, which makes your heart feel even heavier. “Are you going to tell him when you see him?”

“I should,” you reply quietly. “So he isn’t blindsided.”

“But are you?”

“... I don’t know.”

---

Dazai isn’t in his apartment when you get there, so you decide to explore.

You’ve never been to it before—it’s messy, too small, and there’s a spoiled smell coming from his fridge. The futon on the floor is stiff, the padding is nonexistent, and the blanket is dirty, crusted; he probably hasn’t washed it in ages. Dazai has always liked soft things—he buried himself in fluffy blankets, plush pillows, and comfortable loungewear back when he lived at your apartment. He makes himself uncomfortable as a way of punishment. He would wear bandages that itched his sensitive skin until you stocked up on softer ones, and in his shipping container, he slept on a thin pad with an even thinner blanket until he moved in with you.

Now, he’s doing it all over again.

You frown as you kneel next to his futon, fingers brushing over the uncomfortable fabric, but your gaze is pulled away when you hear his door unlocking. You sit back on your heels, looking up as Dazai enters his apartment. A soft smile curls on your lips when you see the tired expression on his face—he doesn’t notice you at first, but when he does, he jumps so badly that his phone drops right out of his hands.

“Jesus!” he gasps, shooting you a withering look when he sees the amusement on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see me?” you drawl, rising to your feet and tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I am,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He looks embarrassed as he glances around his apartment, eyes lingering on the mess around him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Want me to help you clean up?” you offer, making your way over to him. Dazai immediately leans down to brush his lips against yours in greeting. It’s so casual, so domestic, it makes your heart ache knowing that it’s not going to last. 

“Can you?” he asks softly. “I just—I haven’t been able to. I’ve tried.”

Your hands settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his hipbones through his pants. Dazai is never able to bring himself to clean when he’s in his head, and he’s always in his head. In his shipping container, he didn’t have enough belongings to actually make a mess, but once he moved in with you, he struggled to keep his room clean, so more often than not, you had to help him with it otherwise your whole apartment would start reeking.

“I know you have,” you tell him. “I don’t mind helping.”

Dazai lets out a puff of air, lashes fluttering shut and head hanging forward for a moment. You lift your hand to cradle his cheek, and he instinctively leans into your touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, kissing your palm.

You give him a small smile. “Go figure out what’s making your fridge smell,” you tell him before wandering over to a stray bag he has lying around so you can start picking up the empty bottles of sake and half-eaten cans of crab.

“I think everything is making the fridge smell.” You hear him say as you frown down at the pile of trash near his futon. 

“Then throw it all out,” you answer. “I’ll send you some groceries tomorrow.”

“My savior,” Dazai coos teasingly, but when you look at him to roll your eyes, you see the fond expression on his face as he looks over at you, dark eyes swimming with adoration. “How could I ever repay you?”

The words are still teasing, but there’s a breathy edge to them that lets you know there’s some truth to them. Your expression softens, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way guilt suddenly clogs your throat. You think he might, considering the way he squints at you slightly, as if trying to figure out what exactly is going on right now. You should’ve just texted him to come over to your place, coming to his was too suspicious.

“How about you repay me by getting rid of this and getting yourself something more comfortable to sleep in?” you finally say after clearing your throat, nodding your chin at his futon. “Why do you have to punish yourself, Osamu?”

Dazai’s gaze instantly lowers to the ground. “It’s not—It’s not punishment,” he disagrees as he turns his back to you to start filling a trash bag full of all of the food in his fridge. “I just… I can’t let myself get comfortable. I’m scared if I get too comfortable, I’ll start slipping back into old habits and—”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you whisper, shaking your head as you tie off the bag and put it down near his door. You make your way over to him as he grimaces and tosses a whole carton of rotten strawberries into his garbage. He rises to his feet, an unreasonable expression on his face, and you slip your arms around his waist, resting your forehead on his shoulder blade.

“What’s really going on?” he asks quietly, lifting a hand to cradle the back of yours. “I know you wouldn’t come here for no reason.”

Always too perceptive, you think wryly, pressing your lips together so you don’t let out a damning sigh. You feel his thumb stroking the back of your hand, and you think you might be sick—you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve the tenderness from him, not when you know what’s coming and he’s oblivious to it.

“I’ve done something… really bad, Osamu,” you whisper.

“You’ve done a lot of bad things,” Dazai tries to joke, but you can hear the concern in his voice. You can feel the way his grip tightens on your hand. “I’m sure this is nothing extraordinary.”

“It is, though,” you reply, throat spasming as you swallow. He gently pushes your arms off of him so he can spin to face you. He cups your cheek to lift your face, but you slide your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him. “It really is, Osamu.”

“I know the worst thing you’ve done. It can’t possibly be worse than that,” Dazai says dryly, desperately trying to lighten the mood. His thumbs stroke your cheek as he tries to get you to look at him, but you don’t. “Talk to me.”

“It is,” you say. “It’s something you won’t forgive me for.”

Dazai swallows thickly, fingers tensing on your face. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive you for,” he tells you, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You almost tell him. You really do. The words are on the tip of your tongue, threatening to let loose, and his touch his so gentle, his gaze so soft and imploring. He deserves to know, he shouldn’t be blindsided when Mori inevitably calls this meeting in a few days, but you can picture the way his expression would close off once he processes what you’ve done, the way he would step away from you, and you just can’t. 

Even if he deserves it, you can’t. 

“Can you just… hold me?” you ask quietly, voice wavering terribly. 

You feel so weak. This was your decision, and you knew exactly what it meant for you and Dazai when you made it, but now all you feel is regret. You know you did the right thing. If Dazai were dragged back into the Port Mafia, he would never get out a second time. He’d sink back into the dark and would never let himself see or feel the light again. But it being his protege, you know he’ll do anything he can to get him back. Nakajima Atsushi will be back with the Armed Detective Agency within a month of leaving.

But Dazai never would’ve allowed them to risk trying to get him back. He never would’ve let them risk incurring the wrath of the Port Mafia for reneging on a deal on his behalf. He doesn’t see himself as worth it. You couldn’t let it happen.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice soft. “Come on.”

He leads you over to his couch, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you cling to his shoulders. Dazai’s arms are strong around your waist, one hand splayed on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses your temple once before resting his forehead against the top of your head. You’re not usually the one being comforted like this—sometimes Chuuya will hold you when you’re upset, but more often than not, you’re the one doing the comforting—so you can’t help the way your eyes well with tears. 

Being in his arms doesn’t make you feel better, though. If anything, it only makes you feel worse. It makes the guilt in your chest swell, it makes the nausea building in your throat threaten to come up.

Dazai must feel when your tears start to spill over your cheeks, because his hand starts running up and down your back soothingly, fingers carding through your hair. He hums softly—it’s a vaguely familiar tune that you can’t quite place, maybe one of the ones he used to play on the piano for you—it’s low in your ear, you can feel the gentle vibrations of his chest through your body.

You love him. 

You love him so much that it makes you sick. You love him so much that you would do anything for him. He asked you months ago if you would ever choose the Port Mafia over him, and you told him no, but you were wrong. You would choose him—you would always choose him. You know that you’re fucking over the Port Mafia with this plan, you know that its going to get the short end of this deal—you don’t care, because it means that Dazai will be okay.

“I love you,” you rasp, voice cracking as you bite back a sob. “I love you, you know that, right?” 

He pauses in his humming briefly to say, “Of course.”

He says it so easily that it makes you choke, and he quickly resumes his soft hums, now subtly rocking you back and forth, kissing your temple again. He doesn’t say it back, and although he doesn’t need to—you can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his lips touch your temple, in the way he hums softly to try to chase away whatever is distressing you—you’re glad that he doesn’t verbalize it. You don’t think you could handle hearing it from him right now, it would be just what you need to send you spiraling over the edge.

You know he wants to know what’s going on. Not knowing things makes him anxious, and he can’t hide the way his fingers are tense against your body, even if his touch is gentle—his hands have always been his tell. Four years ago, he would’ve insisted and insisted until the two of you either fought or you gave in and told him, but now, he’s content to hold you. Content to comfort you. Content to love you. Content to trust you.

And you’re going to repay him with a knife through the back.

It’s for him, you remind yourself desperately. It’s to protect him. He’ll be able to get Nakajima back, and everything will go back to normal for them, even if it won’t for the two of you. Dazai might never get over the betrayal, he’ll never get over the guilt of you putting Nakajima on the chopping block in his place, he’ll never get over the resentment. He’ll understand maybe after the initial shock why you did what you did, but he won’t ever get over it.

You should tell him. Warn him. It might not change anything, but he shouldn’t be blindsided, not by you, not ever. But he’ll try to convince you against it, or worse, he’ll go to Mori and offer himself up on his own once he realizes that his transfer isn’t guaranteed. You can’t risk that. 

“I’m so sorry, Osamu,” you gasp, fingers digging into his thin dress shirt as you cling to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay.”

But you know it’s not.

You know it won’t be.

---

The fateful meeting with the Agency comes too quickly. 

“Ah, Fukuzawa-dono,” Mori greets when the Agency arrives at the small park where you’re meeting them. It’s a neutral site as demanded of this type of junction. You would’ve preferred the tea house in Nishi-ku, but Mori waved you off and said that it wouldn’t take that long. “I hope everything has gone well on your front in the aftermath of Dostoevsky’s attack. I heard the Ministry of Defense was trying to cause trouble again. If you’d like, I could have our lovely hime talk to Tonan-san on your behalf… for a price, of course.”

Mori’s lips curve up into a cruel smile. He knows Fukuzawa will never say yes, not when his last offer of assistance came with the price of one of his detectives. The President’s gaze hardens on Mori as he raises his chin.

“Unnecessary,” Fukuzawa replies coldly. “Spare the pleasantries. We’re here to fulfill our end of the bargain.”

Mori hums in delight, but he doesn’t immediately speak. Your gaze cards across the small group—all of them are here. Kunikida Doppo stands stiffly on the right side of the President, and Edogawa Ranpo rocks back and forth on his heels on his left. Yosano stands with her back turned in the far back—Kyouka and the tiger stand near her, along with an orange-haired boy that you dimly recognize as the illusionist. 

Dazai is here too. He stands separate from the rest, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face as he stares down at the ground. He won’t lift his eyes, not even to meet yours. You’re glad because you think if he looked at you right now, he’d see right through you.

“Of course,” Mori agrees. “Very well, I must say, it was a much more difficult decision than I originally anticipated.”

A ripple of unease spreads across the detectives. Daza finally opens his eyes. His lips turn down into a tight frown, dark eyes seeking answers as he looks directly at Mori before his gaze flickers over to you. You avert your gaze, swallowing as you raise your chin and focus your attention on Fukuzawa. You can tell this unsettles Dazai from the way he immediately straightens, looking between you and Mori uncertainly—he thought his transfer was a given, he’s realizing that maybe it was not.

“Nakajima-kun, won’t you come over here?”

Mori sounds too pleased as he speaks the words. His smile widens when he sees how Yosano immediately whips around, eyes wide. Most of the detectives look shocked, but Nakajima himself seems like he hasn’t even processed what Mori said. You can’t bring yourself to look at Dazai—Mori hasn’t even mentioned your involvement in this decision yet, but you know that he will. You can imagine the way his eyes widened at Mori’s words, and you know Mori probably took glee in it, considering how difficult it is to catch Dazai Osamu off guard, and the image of it makes your stomach churn.

Fukuzawa looks displeased. His jaw is tight, and his expression is hard; you can see in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting Nakajima to be the one chosen. He doesn’t protest—he knows better than to openly renege on a deal with a Port Mafia—but he does lower his gaze to the ground.

“Come now, Nakajima-kun,” Mori hums, beckoning the boy over. “Since our hime was the one who insisted on your transfer, you’ll be working directly under her… I do hope you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

“What?” Dazai breathes out. “What?”

You ignore him, keeping your gaze trained on Nakajima, who finally reacts. You watch as the waves of realization visibly wash over him, eyes widening slowly before they snap over to you. His hands clench into fists at his side, and his lips part in disbelief as he struggles to find his words. 

Although your attention is on Nakajima, your mind is on Dazai—you can feel him looking at you, waiting for you to explain what all of this is about. The betrayal won’t hit him yet; if only because he believes you’re the last person who would ever betray him like this.

“I—what?” Nakajima stammers, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker between you, Mori, and Fukuzawa, pleading for an explanation.

You remain still, forcing yourself to maintain the neutral expression you’ve mastered over the years. But inside, your chest tightens as you will yourself not to look at Dazai. He’ll start to understand what’s happening now, what you’ve done, and you won’t be able to bear watching how the betrayal slowly writes itself across his face.

Mori chuckles, reveling in the tension, in the way your relationship with Dazai is crumbling in front of everyone like this. “Yes, she was quite insistent,” he continues smoothly. “I was set on… a different prize until she opened my eyes to your potential. The Port Mafia is eager to have you amongst its ranks.”

Nakajima takes a step back. “That’s not—” His voice shakes, and he stops himself, taking a deep breath before turning to Fukuzawa. “President—”

Fukuzawa doesn’t lift his gaze from the ground. His silence is an answer in itself. Nakajima’s breath hitches; he looks helpless, like he’s about to start crying.

“When you said you did something I wouldn’t be able to forgive, I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

Dazai’s words cut deeper than any blade. Your chest tightens, throat swelling as you fight to keep your composure. You knew this moment would come, you knew Dazai would look at you like this, you knew this would be the end of everything.

It’s for him, you remind yourself. He’ll get Nakajima out of the Port Mafia one way or another, and Dazai never would’ve let himself escape a second time. You did what you had to do—you’ll always do what you have to do, whether he agrees with it or not. He’ll understand what you’re trying to do, whether he ever forgives you for it… Well, that’s another matter entirely. 

Before you can open your mouth to reply to Dazai, Mori claps his hands together, voice laced with mock cheer. “Well then, now that that’s settled, let’s not drag this out any longer. Hime, take our newest recruit back home, won’t you?” 

A command. A test. A punishment.

You swallow hard, raising your chin as your gaze settles on Nakajima, whose body is tense like he’s on the verge of bolting.

“Come,” you say, voice even. “We’re leaving. If you try to flee, punishment falls on the Armed Detective Agency for reneging on a deal.”

Nakajima’s shoulders slump instantly, head falling forward—all of his will to run or fight dissipates at the mention of his actions falling on his found family. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists again as he steps forward to stand at your side.

“Good boy,” Mori murmurs approvingly before turning his attention back to Fukuzawa. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Fukuzawa-dono. Until next time.”

The Agency watches in heavy silence as Nakajima forces himself to move. His steps are reluctant, but he walks toward you, expression twisted in disbelief. You can feel the weight of every stare pressing into you, most of all Dazai’s. You don’t dare lift your gaze to meet his.

“Let’s go,” you say coldly, turning on your heel.

Nakajima follows.

Dazai does nothing to stop you, but you hear him call your name—quiet, angry, but most of all, betrayed. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing forward. You don’t look back, you can’t afford to.

Mori falls into step beside you, too pleased with the way this played out. His satisfaction drips from his voice as he speaks. “I do hope you enjoy your new subordinate, my dear. After all, you fought so hard for him.”

You don’t answer. You simply keep moving, ignoring the betrayal burning in Dazai’s gaze and the suffocating silence left behind by the Agency.

You did what had to be done. Even if it did cost you everything.

It’s only once you get to the car that Nakajima finally speaks. His voice shakes, like he’s nervous to say anything but forces himself to anyway. You would give him props for it if you weren’t so distressed by how everything went down. “You did this to protect Dazai-san, didn’t you?” 

Your gaze shifts to the side, focusing on the weretiger, who looks up at you nervously, waiting for your answer. You didn’t take him to be so perceptive, so you only raise your eyebrows at him curiously. He shrinks a bit under your gaze, but then he squares his shoulders and takes in a deep breath.

“You picked me to protect him,” he says again. “It would’ve been him otherwise. You had to convince them to pick someone else, and I was the most convincing option.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask coolly.

“It just makes sense.” Nakajima shrugs, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think that I’m glad you did. Dazai-san… he’s good. I’m glad he doesn’t have to come back here. He tried to pretend everything was okay, but I could tell he was upset. He didn’t want to come back.”

“Hm,” you respond, turning your gaze away to look out the window, but it’s only to hide the way your expression drops at the confirmation of Dazai’s anxieties about returning to the Port Mafia. It makes you feel better about what you did, but only for a second, because you remember that no matter how much he didn’t want to come back, he never would’ve wanted his subordinate to come here in his place. “I doubt you’ll be here for long.”

“What?” Nakajima asks. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you really think Dazai will let you become a member of the Port Mafia?” you ask dryly. “I give it a month max before he figures out a way to force us to give you back up to them.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that since you were the one to insist on me?” he questions, and to your amusement, he sounds like he’s genuinely concerned on your behalf. 

“Probably,” you agree absently.

“You must… really love him,” Nakajima says quietly.

Your throat spasms at his words, lashes fluttering shut as your head hangs forward. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

---

You don’t expect to see Dazai for weeks. You think that he’ll pretend you don’t exist, he’ll block your number, and stop coming around to see you. That’s what he would’ve done years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with what happened—that’s what he did do years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with. 

Instead, that very night, he barges into your apartment. 

You’re three glasses of wine in, drowning yourself in your sorrows, when you get the notification that someone is coming up to your apartment. You know it’s not Klaus, because he has a mission with Akutagawa in Tokyo for the next three days, and you know it’s not Atsushi, because although you told him that he could come up to your apartment whenever he needed after you showed him his, you knew it would be a long time before he ever felt comfortable enough with you to take you up on that.

You assume that it’s Chuuya, because he knows how upset you are and he knows you’re probably getting wasted by yourself. So when you get the notification someone is coming up to your apartment, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and down the stairs, wobbly on your feet. 

You get down there just as the elevator doors slide open. “Chuuya, do you—” you start to say, but cut yourself off abruptly when it is not in fact your best friend standing in the elevator.

“Osamu,” you whisper, eyes widening, taking a step back in shock. “What are you—”

“What am I doing here?” he finishes for you when your voice falls off—the words are cold and mocking, a harsh jab to the gut. He stalks forward in your direction and you step back quickly to keep space between you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Would’ve rathered me stay away so you can avoid taking responsibility for your shitty decision. Well, surprise! All of those years of getting pissed at me for avoiding confrontation are over—why do you look so upset? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? You should be happy.”

Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them. Dazai backs you into the wall and doesn’t give you the chance to run when he reaches out to grab your dress shirt hard. Your wine glass slips between your fingers and shatters against the ground as he tugs you closer to him so that you have nowhere to run or hide. 

Your breath is shaky as you look up at him, and he’s livid. You can see it in the way his eyes are black—the same darkness and intensity you remember back from his years with the Port Mafia, but they’d never been directed toward you before. You can see it in the way the corner of his lips twitches in fury. You can see it in the way his shoulders are tense, like he’s having to physically hold himself back.

He’s also hurt. His hands have always been his tell, and they’re not shoved in his pockets, so you see the way his fingers tremble around the material of your shirt. And his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, waiting for you to say something.

When you don’t say anything, Dazai’s expression twists in anger. He pushes you back against the wall as he lets go of your shirt. He’s not rough with you at all—he never is, even when he’s blinded with rage—but still, all of the air whooshes from your lungs when your back hits the wall.

He steps away, turning his back to you and running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends as he lets out a frustrated noise. 

“How could you?” he finally demands, but the words aren’t harsh—his voice cracks over them, and when he turns to look at you, you can see the hurt written plainly on his face. “How could you? After everything I’ve told you, how could you push for Atsushi? You know that he’s the only thing I have that proves that I’m doing something right. Something that Odasaku can be proud of. How could you? You? Of all people, I never expected you to do this to me.” 

You want to blame your speechlessness on the wine, but you know that’s not the case. You want to say something, you really do, but you can’t find the words for what you want to say. An apology isn’t enough, and you hadn’t anticipated that Dazai wouldn’t have put together what your plan was. You figured that he wouldn’t until he calmed down, but he’s usually pretty quick to set aside his emotions to look at things logically—but you suppose he never really has when it comes to you. That was an oversight, but what you really didn’t expect was seeing him tonight. You thought that he’d go quiet for a few days, a large part of you genuinely wondered if you’d ever hear from him again.

“Osamu,” you murmur, taking a step closer to him, but he steps away from you.

“No,” he says, holding up his hand before turning his back to you. “Stay over there. Don’t come closer. Explain. I need you to explain, and I need to think. I don’t think straight when you’re near me, so just stay over there and tell me why.”

You halt in your tracks as you stare at him. You still don’t say anything, and you can see him getting more and more frustrated with each passing second. You try to tell him that you only picked Atsushi because you knew Dazai would get him back, that you couldn’t let Dazai back because you knew he would never let the detectives do the same for him, but you can’t.

“Was the idea of me being back so bad?” he demands, eyes wild as he turns on you again. “Let me guess, you finally proved yourself to Mori while I was gone and didn’t want to be back in my shadow again. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all you’ve ever cared about. It’s only ever been Mori and the Port Mafia. Now that you finally have it—his approval, in track for taking over after him—you don’t want to risk me coming back and taking it from you again.”

You draw back like you’ve been slapped—you may as well have been, you think, throat tightening. Your lips part to tell him no, of course that’s not the reason why, but you can’t force the words out.

Is that what he really thinks?

“You don’t think I knew back when we were kids that you were jealous of me?” he asks, laughing breathlessly as he looks down at you. “I knew it from the moment we met. You resented that Mori kept me in Yokohama and sent you away, that I replaced you—you hid it well, but I knew. I saw the way your expression got all twisted whenever he praised me, when I got the open executive spot, how you’d never look me in the eye when I came back from meetings.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then whisper, “I loved you.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” he scoffs. “Love and resentment are two sides of the same coin.”

“Is that what you really think?” you ask him quietly. Dazai has always known how to hit you where it hurts, but this was… “That I wanted Nakajima because of… selfishness? Because I was scared you’d come back and upstage me?” 

Your voice cracks, your eyes wet with tears as you take a step backward. You don’t know what you thought he would think of all of this, but realizing that he thinks so little of you makes you sick to your stomach. Dazai’s expression twists at your question, like he only just realizes the gravity of the words he said to you, but then anger flashes through his eyes again.

“I don’t know what to think because you won’t explain,” Dazai shouts—you’ve heard him yell a handful of times before at his subordinates while he was with the Mafia, but never at you. “Won’t you fucking tell me why you picked him?”

“Because I knew you would get him back!” You mean to yell at him, but your words get caught on a sob that you just can’t bite back. You want to blame it on the alcohol, but you know it’s a product of the guilt that has been weighing you down for days and the newfound understanding of just how little Dazai thinks of you. “I knew you would get him back, Osamu, and I knew you’d never let them risk getting you back. That’s why I insisted on Nakajima. If you came back here, you’d never get out a second time, and you’re right, I don’t want you back here but it’s not because of jealousy, it’s because you don’t belong here.”

Dazai stares at you, expression unreadable, but before he can say anything, you continue.

“I told you that I’ve seen how much you’ve changed for the better, I’m not going to let you ruin everything because you’re going to throw yourself back to the Port Mafia to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for the rest of them,” you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, I am selfish, because I don’t give a damn about any of them. I care about you, and because you care about them, I tried to figure out a way for the whole fucking Agency to come out of this deal unscathed, and the only way of ensuring that is making sure Nakajima was the one picked. I knew Mori would jump at the chance to put a wedge between us by flaunting my part in this decision to you at the meeting, and I knew you would fight tooth and nail to get him back, so your precious Agency would be whole again by the end of the month.” 

Dazai says your name quietly, but you shake your head, stumbling over to the couch so you can sit down. You feel too dizzy—nauseous. You can barely see straight and your whole body feels fuzzy from the wine you’d been drinking.

“That time we met after you defected,” you whisper, taking in a ragged breath. “You were so drunk, you probably don’t even remember what we talked about. But you told me I never would’ve chosen you over the Port Mafia, and that’s why you couldn’t say goodbye.”

You hear him making his way over to you, but you don’t dare look up from where you’ve buried your face in your hands.

“I told Mori that if he brought you back to the Port Mafia, he might as well execute me on the spot,” you say, ignoring the way he inhales sharply as he sits down next to you. “I told him I would leave. I’d go to Tolstoy. I would bury the Port Mafia and then him. I convinced him to pick Nakajima because I knew you would get him back, even though I knew it was screwing us over. I chose you, I’ll always choose you, Osamu, no matter what the cost is, even if you hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” he tells you quietly, tugging your hand to beckon you to look at him. “Look at me. Please.”

You let out a shaky breath and lift your head from your hands to look at him. The expression on his face is conflicted—you’re sure that he has plenty to say, but just doesn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you just tell me when you came over?” he asks desperately, threading his fingers through yours and squeezing tightly. “If you just explained—”

You shake your head. “I didn’t trust you not to go running to Mori to offer yourself up once you realized your transfer wasn’t a given,” you tell him quietly, “I did what I had to do.”

Dazai’s expression instantly twists. “But if you’d explained—”

“No,” you insist, looking away from him until he tugs your hand again. You let out a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his. “No, Osamu. You’re too emotional when they’re involved. I couldn’t risk it, I’m sorry.”

Dazai blanches. “Too emotional?” he demands, offended. “E-emotional? That’s ridiculous, I’m not emotional.”

Your lips curl up softly when you see how flustered he is by the accusation. “A little emotional,” you disagree, expression smoothing out when he lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles before pressing your palm against his face. “It’s endearing, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

His lashes flutter shut as he sighs heavily into your palm. Your throat tightens when he turns his face into your hand, forcing you to cradle his cheek. He doesn’t speak for a moment, but when he does, it makes your chest feel heavy.

“Promise me that if something like this happens again, you’ll tell me,” he whispers, dark eyes sliding back open to look at you. They’re a light amber in the dim lighting of your living room—too soft, too gentle, too imploring. “I—I need you to talk to me. I can’t—you don’t understand how it felt at the meeting. I was mad that Atsushi was chosen, but it felt like—the thought of you going behind my back. Betraying me. I couldn’t breathe, I’d never felt anything like that before. It felt like I was dying. It felt like I was losing you. I’d only ever felt this way before when—”

When Oda died, you finish for him when he cuts himself off abruptly, pulling his face away so he can turn his head in the opposite direction. You let out a soft sigh and shift in your seat to turn toward him. You lift your hand to his face to force him to look at you again—when he does, his eyes are glassy like he’s about to start crying.

“I can’t promise you that,” you tell him quietly, thumb stroking his cheekone gently. “I told you back during the Pushkin incident that I won’t be able to tell you everything anymore, but can you just trust that I’ll always choose you?”

Even after everything that’s happened the past few days, it scares you how much you mean those words. You will always choose him, no matter what the cost of it is. Your breath is shaky as you hold his gaze, searching his eyes for understanding.

Dazai is quiet for a long time, the silence thick between you. He’s still holding your other hand, and though his hand trembles, he holds onto you tightly, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can… I can do that. I can try.”

“I will always choose you, Osamu,” you repeat quietly, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

Dazai suddenly looks guilty, averting his gaze to the ground. “I didn’t mean what I said before,” he murmurs. “I—I was just angry. I—”

“I know,” you interrupt. “It’s okay.”

You don’t want to think about what he said before anymore—he was wrong, but he was also right. You had been jealous of him when you guys were younger, a part of you resented him as much as you loved him, and though you tried to push it away, it was always there. A constant reminder that there would always be someone more valuable than you to Mori. That you’d always be his second, third choice. You should’ve known Dazai had always been aware of it, but you never expected him to use it against you.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Osamu, please,” you say, eyes sliding shut as you look away. “Drop it.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, voice cracking as he finally whispers, “You’re all I have. You’ve always been all I’ve had. I just… can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you promise, shifting forward. “You—”

You bite back a yelp when Dazai suddenly grabs you. He lays back against the couch and pulls you onto his chest. You tense for a second, but then he wraps an arm around your waist and brings his free hand up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you close, you can feel his heart thrumming in his chest, the erratic pace evening out to match yours, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He kisses your temple before resting his forehead against the top of your head as you sink into his arms. 

Your eyes flutter shut, suddenly all too tired—the wine, the stress of the day, and the stress of this conversation with Dazai finally getting to you. The weight of Dazai’s arm around your waist and the feeling of his fingers absently toying with your hair is quickly lulling you to sleep.

He hums in protest, but the vibration only makes you sleepier. “You can’t sleep—we need to set up guidelines about Atsushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, but you don’t open your eyes. “This isn’t co-parenting, Osamu.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” he says. “Atsushi is my little protege, you’re my girlfriend, he’s going over to you, and we’re technically separated in two different organizations. So it’s kind of co-parenting, and like good co-parents, there needs to be rules and the first one—”

“Tomorrow, Osamu,” you yawn, shifting to nose his neck before you kiss his pulse point gently. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but his arms tighten around you and he lifts his head briefly to kiss the top of yours again. “Fine, fine, I suppose it can wait until morning, but only because my sweet hime is sleepy.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he echoes softly as you drift off to sleep. “More than you could ever imagine.”

---

Chuuya is quite glad that he decided against bringing up his ‘97 Petrus when he gets up to your apartment and finds you curled up on the couch fast asleep with the very fucker that Chuuya was coming up here to console you over.

He really should’ve expected this.

He stands at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and lips twisted in a deep frown as he looks down at the two of you. For a long, heavy second, he can only stare, thoroughly uncomfortable when a strange, warm feeling bubbles in his chest. The sight is too familiar—if Dazai’s bandages were wrapped around the right side of his face, he could almost pretend the three of you were eighteen again and Chuuya came up to your apartment for a movie only to find the two of you passed out already.

Then, with a low scoff, he runs a hand through his hair and whispers, “Unbelievable.”

Dazai’s face is half-buried in your hair, one arm snug around your waist and the other cradling your head, and you’re fast asleep in his arms. He can’t see your face, but he doesn’t need to—he can picture the peaceful expression on it, one that he’s hardly seen since the bastard left four years ago.

Dazai is sleeping too. Chuuya’s almost surprised he didn’t wake up when the elevator arrived on your floor—he’s always been a light sleeper. He supposes it’s just testament to how much Dazai lets his guard down around you. How much he trusts you. How much he loves you.

Chuuya sighs as he rolls his eyes. “Told you it would be fine,” he mutters to you as he snatches a blanket off of the armchair to drape it over the two of you even though he knows you can’t hear him. “Worried over fuckin’ nothing.”

You shift in your sleep when you feel the blanket on top of you, and Chuuya’s throat tightens when he sees the tear tracks staining your cheeks. He lets out a puff of air, lifting a hand to stroke your hair gently for a moment before he shakes his head to leave the two of you in peace.

“Both fucking freaks. Deserve each other.”

If there’s a small, fond smile on his lips, then he’s glad neither of you are awake to see it.

[cherrynpink]

freak like me

pairing: nerdy!dino x f!reader

genre: project partners, mutual pining, lots of daydreaming, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: shy cutesy dino who has my heart (he is a secret freak!), idk how american uni works so just go w it pls, dino and chan are both used interchangeably, oc has nerd kink (ahem), forward oc, cursing, a bit of manipulation?, too many thirsty thoughts, kissing, choking, spit kink, unprotected sex (do not do this!), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, brat!oc, brattamer!dino, mean dino, he calls oc slut/whore, dirty talk!!!, riding, missionary position, creampie, size kink?, crying, hair grabbing, ass slapping, orgasm denial, cum eating, it is honestly filthy, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 5.4k

playlist: freak like me

note: thank you so much for liking the last fic so much :( didn't expect such a positive reception so i was super motivated to write this one! plus these pictures of him did something to me like y'all don't get it like i do bcs i went crazy and HAD to write.

also u can message me here or comment if u want to be part of my taglist! my requests are open if u have something u wanna read, or just talk. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehe :3

“Right, so the semester end project will be a group project.” Your professor says as the whole class sighs in disappointment and annoyance.

“I know you all don’t like these group projects, but it’s compulsory guys, it’s worth 30% of your final grade. If it’s any consolation, I requested the dean to let it be done in pairs, so be a little grateful, I don’t want anyone coming up to me after class asking to change partners.”

Great. The only thing you hated more than group projects were the ones done in pairs. In spite of all the arguments in groups, atleast you didn’t have to do any work if you didn’t feel like it. But now not only will there be conflicts with your partner, but you’ll have to do half the work too. Just great.

“Y/n? miss y/n?” your professor calls pulling you out of your zoned out state as you raise your hand in confusion.

“You’ll be partnered with Mr. Chan.”

Oh. This was going to be fun. Not only was Chan really REALLY good at studies, but also so cute. You first met him just on the second day of class, when you asked him for a pencil because being klutz you are, you had forgotten you had that class that day and had practically rolled off your bed as your roommate woke you up minutes before it started, reaching a bit late and resulting in your professor scolding you. Chan had coyly given you the pencil, later passing you a note in the middle of the class written “you can ask me later if you have any doubts about what was taught before you arrived as you were a bit late :)”. Oh, he was so cute.

That was how your friendship started, though you never talked much outside of class- other than the occasional times he replied to your story or liked it, you and him were mostly formal with each other, never crossing the boundary of “classmates.”

Sometimes you would ask him for his notes, and being the nice guy he is, he would send the snapshots in a second. You would later leave an iced americano on his usual seat, as a gesture of thankfulness; and a note along with it. Sometimes when the professor’s voice cracked in the middle of the lecture, your eyes would find his- giving each other a slight smile.

It was always quick glances, polite words, and soft smiles, because you both never seemed to take it further. But you were tired now, tired of pretending you didn’t picture his face squished under your thighs, glasses all fogged up and your slick dripping down his chin. Tired of acting like you didn’t violate your poor pillow every other night imagining how he would sound with him in your throat.

Was he a head pusher? Or someone that just begged you to let him come? Would he let you tie him up? Or would he want to tie YOU up? you were sick of acting like he didn’t get you so so wet when he answered a question in class and fixed his glasses, and you had a plan to change that.

As the class ends, you see him coming up to you.

“Should we work at the library at 6 today? I’ll get us some coffee and snacks to eat while we work!” he says with a small smile on his face.

You could agree to the library at 6, after all he has pitched it so sweetly, but there is a devil on your shoulder that is actually so evil, because you hear a voice in your head saying no way you’re meeting him in a public place for the things you want to do with him.

“I’m a bit busy at 6 Chan, I-”

“Dino! You can call me dino too. All my friends usually call me that.” He says shyly.

You smile sweetly. “I’m a bit busy at 6 dino, I have my shift at the café.” You say pouting at him. They are blatant lies. You do not have your shift at the café today because it is closed, something about the owner being at a wedding, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You can come over to my place at 10 if it’s okay with you? I doubt the library will the open till the time I get off work.” You feel a bit bad, but you’re just inviting him over because it’s more comfortable at home, right? Yeah! Nothing needs to happen just because you’ll be alone with him. (You are lying to yourself at this point because there is no way you don’t lose your mind at the thought of being alone with him.)

“Oh, okay sure! text me the address, I’ll be there.” He says with a sweet smile and you might crush him because of how much you want to squish his cheeks right now.

Dino might go crazy. He’s not even sure if you could see he wasn’t paying attention to a thing you said, because he was too busy staring at your lips the entire time, and then your collarbones, until his eyes travelled to your tits trapped in your blouse which was just a little too tight. Tight enough to accentuate the curve of your breasts; but not letting them spill out- just tight enough.

On top of that, if he’s left alone with you, he has no idea how he’s going to prevent a tent from forming in his pants, so he opts for a oversized hoodie long enough to cover him and a pair of grey sweatpants because it is your house after all, he can dress casual, and he doesn’t want you to know he took 20 minutes to decide what he wore so that his outfit says-“hey, I’m casual and comfortable” and “I’m put together” at the same time.

He is sharp on time, you say to yourself as the bell rings. You’re a bit nervous approaching the door in your small plaid skirt and sweater, knowing how he always stares at you whenever you wear a skirt to class. Plus, you’re wearing a something a little special underneath it, just it case. You push the self-doubting thoughts to the back of your head as you open your door and he is a sight to see. He looks so delicious in those animal print framed glasses and messy hair, there is a glow on his face and oh, those stupid goddamn grey sweatpants. It is OVER for you.

“You’re very punctual, it’s exactly 10.” You giggle. “Your hair looks a bit of a mess dino, coming from another girl’s place?” you say as you smirk, leaning against the door.

“No! No, I just came from the gym, my hair is still a bit wet from the shower.” He says as he ruffles his hair and comes in, setting his bag on the table in your living room. Oh? Pretty boy goes to the gym as well, is there anything he doesn’t do. He usually only wore oversized hoodies and t-shirts to class, never really revealing his true figure; nor did you ever see him much in parties despite his friends being a part of the frat, so this was a new side of him you were seeing right now.

“My roommate is gonna be home in a bit, so we can work in my room, mhm?” you ask, acting intentionally doe eyed and innocent. Lies. They are all lies. Your roommate isn’t going to be home in a bit, she’s at her girlfriend’s dorm. And she is not going to be home until tomorrow after class. And maybe if Chan was thinking clearly, he would’ve asked why your roommate would mind you working in the living room with him. But he’s not thinking clearly, too busy staring at your legs and imagining his face between your thighs; so, forgive him if he isn’t at his highest functioning brain activity right now.

He murmurs a quiet okay as he follows you to your room as you lead him. And your room is so you. He doesn’t know how to explain it, because he doesn’t know you so well yet, but as soon as he enters through the door, he sees plushies laid out neatly on your bed, and your scent all around him. He can see posters of bands and movies dressing up your walls and random Sanrio figurines all around the room. He lays his bag on your bed, taking out his laptop as you sit next to him on your chair, and your skirt rides up, revealing your soft thighs further. And maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he can almost see pink lace fabric peaking from underneath your skirt. And maybe you’re just a bit cold, but he swears he can see your nipples peeking through your sweater.

Every passing minute, he is making it so hard for you to keep your composure. He keeps sharing his ideas about the project and telling you what you should work on. Why is hearing him talk about physics so sexy? You don’t know what it is, but you can’t help but think how hot he looks when he talks so passionately. Your panties are literally getting soaked as the time goes on. It’s been an hour, and he hasn’t even taken a second to look at you yet! You’re quite literally whoring yourself out for him and all he cares about is inductive motor or whatever the hell the project is about.

“Channie, can we move to the bed? I’m feeling a bit tired from my shift.” You say, fake yawning.

“Mmm? Oh sure.” It is over for him, he thinks to himself.

As you sit up on your bed, your skirt FULLY rides up, revealing your baby pink lace panties. You push it down gently, saying “oops” as you giggle. And something inside him snaps. All control he had, he’s lost it now and he physically cannot hold back anymore. His gaze darkens, as he pushes you down, his grip on your throat as he gets on top of you. You gasp as he takes you by surprise, but the shock lasts barely 5 seconds before you smirk.

You reach up as your lips find his, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you grab his hair. From the get go, it is passionate, and rough and messy, because both of you are left gasping for your breath- your cheeks rosy and your chest heaving. Deciding to tease him further, you bite his lip. He moans into your mouth, mumbling “brat.” Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into his mouth deepening the kiss, and it is so sloppy; neither of you willing to give up control. The heat between your legs grows because of the way his tongue fights with yours to take over, which has your head spinning.

“Channie” you moan, as you feel the hard press of his body against yours, the sound of your lips smacking together and your heavy gasping filling the room.

His hand reaches to lift your sweater slightly, fingers making contact with your bare skin as they keep moving upwards until they your lacy bra, delicately toying with the material.

“You wore this for me baby? Knew this was going to happen?”

All you do is giggle as you continue to kiss down his jaw, alternating between sucking and biting. But that doesn’t sit right with him, as his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just the right amount so that his grip is tight enough, but still allowing you to breathe, and suddenly you’re flooding your panties.

“This okay?” he asks, his eyes filled with concern and genuine worry, looking for any discomfort in your eyes, desperate for your approval to continue.

You nod, because it’s actually all you can do. He loosens the grip on your throat and begins to pull his hand away as he says “Fuck, if you want me to go on, you’re gonna have to answer me baby.”

You’re quick to bring his hand back on your neck, your head turning left and right in panic, “No! No, please I want it!” you say as he smirks at your desperate state.

“Yeah? Then answer me when I ask you a question baby. You wore this set for me pretty?”

“Just wanted you to notice me, pay attention to me.” You say between kisses.

“And you thought whoring yourself out would be the way to get my attention” he chuckles. “Thought it was a mistake when you flashed me, turns out baby’s just an attention whore.”

He gets off of you and the bed and a whine leaves your throat as he pulls you down by your ankles as your hips reach the foot of your bed in an instant as he begins taking off his glasses.

“No!” you protest. “don’t- don’t take them off, I like them.” You say timidly. He picks you up, flipping your previous position as he seats you on his lap, taking off his hoodie, and you cannot help but stare. You did not know he was SO built and buff, your eyes are practically eating him up as you feel drool building up in your mouth. Oh, you NEED to suck him off right now. And that’s pretty much all it takes for you as you get on your knees for him.

When you look up to him, there is hunger in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, his gaze full of lust. He can’t remember how many times he’s pictured you like this, on your knees, so innocent, a pathetic expression on your face, waiting for him to give you your next instruction.

Those stupid man whore grey sweatpants, you need them off now.

You fumble with it’s band as you impatiently pull it down, revealing his Calvin Klein boxers, and you clearly have no time for this nonsense, rushing to pull his boxers down as well, all while he looks down on you, leaning back on the bed- hands on either side of him with a big cocky smirk on his face, because he cannot wait to see the next look on your face.

Your face: it’s so transparent, so revealing. It’s literally like you wear your heart on your sleeve. Everything you feel, you think, you want, it’s clear- plain as day on your face. And as soon as you pull his boxers off, there it is- pure amusement and shock, as his dick twitches at the sight of your wide doe eyes. You knew he was big, atleast that’s what you pictured in your nightly scenarios. But you did not know he was this big both in length and in girth as well, his angry tip staring at you, begging for your attention.

“Take your sweater off.” He demands. No pleas, no hesitance. An order. And who would you be to defy him? you teasingly take it off, all while a small smile adorns your lips as you throw the sweater somewhere on the floor alongside his hoodie.

You take his length in your hand, rubbing your thumb over his tip- spreading his pre-cum around it as your eyes go from doe like to those of a siren as they stare straight into his, spitting right on it seductively and oh, he thinks he’s in love. You pump it up and down and fuck- you can’t even completely wrap your hand around it, giving it a little squeeze as you go along, building the tension. But he doesn’t seem too happy about it as he sighs in annoyance. He’s sick of your teasing, because even after his multiple attempts to discipline you, you’ve decided to continue being a brat.

In the blink of an eye, he takes your hand off of him, grabs you by your jaw and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and fore finger- the rest of the them lying on your jaw, forcing to you part your lips slightly.

“Do you trust me y/n?” he says softly, yet his voice dripping with dominance as you nod.

“Open your mouth, tongue out baby.”

And what he does next takes you by surprise, as he leans down, collecting a glob of spit in his mouth as it drips down from his mouth to yours, making you moan as you close your eyes, feeling the warm liquid on your tongue.

“Swallow.” he says as he caresses your jaw. And his wish is your command; you let out a loud moan as you feel it travel down your throat.

“Good girl. You’ll listen to me now, yeah? No more teasing. I’ve been holding back until now but if you don’t behave, I’ll have to fuck you like the whore you are. Better yet, I’ll eat you out, and get you so so close. I’ll be at it for hours baby, I have no place to be, but I won’t let you cum. So, tell me, you’re gonna be a good girl for me now?”

And all you can do is nod as he smirks, because now, he holds the power over you, and you want him to take over you. Don’t want to think about anything, just do whatever he says. And he can see that, see you fully slipping into subspace.

He holds his dick in his hand, and as your mouth chases his tip, he slaps it against your cheek. All he does is laugh, because you just look so pathetic under him. Tits spilling out of your see through pink lace bra, eyes on the brink of tears, fists balled up in your lap because he won’t let you touch him.

He grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slaps his dick against your other cheek as he says “tap my thigh twice in you wanna stop, okay?” and finally rubs his tip against your lips, parting them immediately as you engulf it in your mouth, sucking on it as if it’s a popsicle, swirling your tongue all around it, making him groan.

Slowly, he pushes his dick in inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat, and its laughable, because half of it still can’t be wrapped around your tiny mouth even though your jaw is doing gymnastics to accommodate half of him and he lets out a loud moan due to the insane pleasure it gives him. Since he won’t let you move yet, enjoying the feeling of cockwarming your mouth too much, you drag your tongue up and down, making him hiss.

Finally, he decides to fuck your throat, sliding your mouth up and down his dick as if your mouth is just a fleshlight for him to use, making your eyes roll back. He starts slow, as to ease you in; but is quick to fasten his pace to meet his needs. But you want to do more, so your hands reach up to play with his balls, and oh does it take him by surprise. All he can do while fucking your mouth is mumble sweet nothings, praising you, telling you how good you’re being letting him use you like this. And his words are working, because at this point your slick is running down your thighs and your cunt is in a desperate need of attention, as you grind it against the heel of your foot and when you look up to him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. His glasses lay low on his nose as his head is thrown back in pleasure and his hair is messy, sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; yet his hand is precise is controlling your mouth by your hair. His buff chest heaving desperate for air as his ears and cheek are a pretty shade of pink for you.

Suddenly he looks down to meet your eyes staring at him in lust, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything hotter as he sees you grind against your foot pathetically all whilst he fucks your warm mouth. He can feel the vibration of your mouth as you moan around him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. You look so dirty, spit dribbling down your chin, pupils dilated and red with desire, tears streaming down your cheeks because of how deep he’s hitting it right now. He is just so close, but no way he doesn’t cum in your pussy today, so he pulls you off his dick as you welp, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“I’ll come in your mouth some other day baby, need to be in you right now.” He says responding to your cute pout as he pulls you up to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his thigh once again.

His hands travel to your back to undo your bra in an instant as it’s thrown somewhere on the bed behind him. Immediately his mouth is attached to your hardened nipple as you let out a loud moaning, feeling his warm tongue on your cold skin.

“I’m so fucking sick of you parading around in this stupid excuse of a skirt that barely covers your ass y/n.” He says as his hands travel down and under your skirt, making contact with your dripping lace, running his fingers up and down. He can feel your slick on his own thighs.

“Oh? You’re already soaked, baby. But I haven’t even touched you yet, wanna tell me what got you so wet?” he says as he mocks you, still not taking his attention off your breasts, sucking them and marking them up with hickeys all around and all you can do is moan as you dig your nails into his back overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“You’re so sensitive, so responsive. I love it baby, so easy for me. Need you to answer me- what’s got you dripping?” he says as he finds your clothed clit, pressing hard against it over the lace.

He’s being so mean right you. The remnants of tears on your cheeks have barely dried up before you can feel yourself getting teary eyed already.

“You! Want you so bad channie! Been wet for you since you walked in the door.” You cry out desperately.

Finally, he stops teasing your covered pussy and pulls it to the side, inserting two of fingers with no warning making you scream out loud. He’s quick to press his thumb to your clit, flicking it as he pumps his fingers into you, all whilst he’s sucking on your tits. His pace is monstrous from the start, and he shows no signs of stopping as he continues to drive them in you, opening you up preparing you to take his big dick. All you can do is drop your head on his shoulder helplessly, taking what he gives you.

“Ah! So good Chan, so- so- fuck! Right there! Need you!” you say as he repeatedly hits your g-spot all while rubbing your clit.

You’ve lost all track of time. You’ve been so close to cumming ever since you saw him walk through your front door that even the slightest touch could get you to your high, and here Chan was, touching you right where you needed, enlightening all your senses.

“I’m about- gonna- gonna cum dino! Please, let me, oh- please let me cum!” you cry out loud, begging him as he pulls out his fingers in an instant and just like that you’re crying again, dropping your head in the crook of his neck.

“What, don’t cry baby.” He says, voice dripping with fake sympathy, because inside him he knows your tears turn him on even more. His hand reaches the small of your back as he caresses it, attempting to calm you down. “Want you to cum on my cock princess. Think you can do that, yeah? You promised you’d be a good girl for me.”

“I was- I was just so close.” You say timidly between your sniffles.

“It’s okay princess, I’ll make you cum real good on my cock.” He whispers, kissing you tenderly for the first time in the evening, and it makes your heart full, reminding you that in spite of everything, this is the same dino that you see in class every day, polite and sweet and beautiful; but you’re brought back to the present as he pulls away from you, shattering your illusion.

“You wanted my attention so bad y/n, you started it. So, you’re gonna take what you wanted- gonna have to ride me.” He says with a shit eating grin that just makes you so mad right now, but eager to give him what he asks for you get off your lap and begin to take off your skirt.

“Did I ask you to take it off? Still not behaving baby. Keep the skirt on; after all you made such a show of wearing them, wanna fuck you in it. Take off your panties.”

Once the pink garment is off, you sit on his lap again, as he slaps his dick against your poor swollen cunt, running his tip against your entrance.

“You know what to do right? It isn’t your first rodeo after all.” He says as he smiles.

God, he is so cocky. If you didn’t desperately need him in you, you would not put up with it for a second. (you would probably put up with it anyway)

You take his dick in your hand as you hover over it, your pussy clenching over nothing, begging to be filled by him as you insert the tip in him; and that alone is such a stretch for you, your legs might give up then and there. But you are anything but determined. Stubborn. Firm on proving yourself. So, you accept the stretch, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his wide shoulder while you bottom out completely, burying himself into you in one go making him throw his head back and groan in pleasure as his hands reach out to hold your waist, not letting you escape his grasp.

Slowly but surely, you begin by grinding your hips against them, building up the tension as you try to maintain a steady pace; but dino doesn’t look amused, so you begin to move up and down on him, burying your freshly done nails into his shoulders. His hand moves down as you bounce on him, giving your ass a quick slap before finding it going under your skirt and rubbing your clit, making you gasp out.

“Fuck, lift up your skirt baby.” He says, and you comply- lifting up your skirt with one hand, whilst he continues to toy with your clit and you bounce up and down his dick, showing him the mess you both are making; and he loves it.

You’re so eager to please him, prove yourself to him as you continue to alternate between grinding and moving up and down; but the pleasure is SO overwhelming with his hand on your nub and you don’t think you can last. On top of that, you’ve been working so hard to maintain a steady pace for him, that your thighs are about to give out. And he sees that- sees your movement becoming sloppy and messy, your thighs shaking and your grip tightening on his shoulder.

“Tired, baby?”

Why is he such a tease. And why is he being so mean to you when he knows you’re totally spent. You think you’re going to cry for the third time in the night.

“You know, all you have to do is admit it. And I’ll take over. You know you want me to. I can make you feel so good baby, hit all the right spots and you don’t have to lift a finger.” He whispers in your ear before slapping your ass again as he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, showing you how much better he can make you feel.

“I- I- tired. I’m tired channie! Thighs hurt. P- please!” you say between hiccups as he keeps thrusting into you from beneath.

That’s all he needs to hear, before he’s flipping you on your back without taking himself out of you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he begins to actually fuck you. His hands roam all over you as if he’s trying to memorise every curve and dip. He’s thrusting into you with such a force your tits bounce back and forth with every drive of his hips into you while he mumbles pretty words in your ears.

“Pussy so good baby, absolutely squeezing me. Can’t believe you were letting those stupid guys have this while I was right there. Could’ve made you feel this good all this time. Fuck! Always wanted to bend you over the desk whenever you wore those stupid skirts to class. You know, everyone could see you baby. See how much needy you were. You’re probably just too much a slut to care, no?”

His mouth reaches down to bite your nipple, where you’re already so sensitive that you can’t help but cry out. You look so dumb for his cock right now, your nails are absolutely obliterating his back as your legs wrap around him not letting him go, a chant of his name leaving your lips with each of his movement. All you can hear is the sound of his balls slapping against you and your screams. You’re pretty sure you’ll get complaints from your neighbour tomorrow but who cares; he’s just too good. His thrusts get deeper yet sloppier as you feel him reach between your sweaty bodies and rub your clit in an attempt to get you closer.

“Fuck! Gonna cum baby. Are you close?”

“Yes! Channie fuck, love- love your dick so much! So big, need- I’m almost there!”

And that’s all the motivation he needs before he picks up his pace again, angling himself to hit you exactly at the spot that makes you scream, and before you know it, you feel tears streaming down your face again because of the overstimulation.

“Chan! Gonna cum! Please, please- fuck right there, please wanna cum!”

“Where do you want me princess?”

“In! In me, wanna feel you in me, fill me up! Please, need it in me!” you babble.

And that is all it takes for you to let go. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with a loud whine as your nails dig into him deeper, your back arching- the pleasure taking over you as you see stars in front of your eyes, screaming his name over and over again. It’s like you’re floating- because your body feels numb and completely spent. He feels you clenching so much around his cock as you cum, it’s like you’re milking him, before he’s filling you up full of him too, reaching his high, and he cannot stop. Even after you’re done, you’re still rhythmically squeezing him as he doesn’t stop coming in you. You feel him warm in you, and you honestly never want him to pull out, but unfortunately, he does- leaving you empty as his essence begins to spill out of you.

He gets between your legs, watching a mixture of your cum dripping out of you, admiring his work before he’s collecting it in his fingers, tracing your swollen sensitive centre as he comes up to you, and inserting his fingers in your mouth, while he kisses your tears. You can taste him and yourself on your tongue as you close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. The sight is so hot to him, his dick twitches against you once again before he’s pulling his fingers out and gently kissing you, as he leaves your bed to bring you a towel.

He lies besides you after he cleans you up as you turn you face each other.

“Sorry if I was too rough, got carried away a bit.” He says as you lay your head on his arm and run your hand through his hair.

“You were so good, I think I need to be a little bitchy again for you to put me in my place.” You say as you kiss him, smiling against his lips.

[five-thirtyfive]

“not a lot, just forever”

plot summary: the pair break up six months into paige’s rookie year and azzi’s final year at uconn. this is the story of how everything falls apart before they find their way back home.

authors note: okay this may or may not turn into a series depending on if people like it + my motivation. let’s see. please let me know if you actually enjoy reading this or i may assume i am just speaking to the void which is kind of embarrassing anyways hahah

PART ONE - PAIGE.

they break up on an uncharacteristically humid and rainy afternoon in September, exactly six months after they started living one thousand seven hundred miles apart. paige feels like her heart is being ripped out of her chest and it doesn’t matter that she had heard the warnings before, that long distance is hard and that its impossible to make it work when you’re young..she always figured they were the exception - Paige and Azzi- and their incredible love story. she can barely believe it, that they could make it work at sixteen, two naive girls who barely knew what love meant but wanted it enough to start their first ever relationship hundreds of miles apart, but failed so horrifically at twenty three.

it’s really bad honestly, an amalgamation of missed texts turning into missed facetimes and small arguments turning into big fights, until paige realises that azzi’s flown to dallas exactly three times since pre-season, and all three times, had ended in some kind of apology from either one of them. it comes to a standstill with azzi lingering on paige’s doorstep, carrying a bag of her own clothes she'd never even unpacked (despite her usually never bringing her own clothes when near paige’s wardrobe….paige thinks in hindsight that azzi bringing her own clothes was maybe a sign, azzi’s subconscious telling her that this time, she is done). there’s tears and yelling and it's almost unbelievable, because they never yell, at least never at each other. they hurl foreign grenades they don’t mean (at least, paige knows she doesn’t mean the awful things spewing from her mouth, but she can’t seem to stop it happening anyway) and it’s the bloodbath that never ends, going and going and going until finally, azzi’s slamming the door and storming out of paige’s shitty dallas apartment.

it feels final, the way it rattles and echoes, before the apartment is completely silent. azzi’s soft giggle, her feigned annoyance at paige’s antics, her uninhibited moans that once filled every inch of the space a ghost of the past. she’s gone and it’s over. they’ve had fights, of course. you can’t spend 8 years together and not have them. but every time, they’ve communicated, worked it out and come back stronger. looking back, paige knows that it wasn’t like this - those were the trial runs, and this is the real fucking deal.

paige just sort of collapses right there in her hallway, crumpling into a ball on the wooden floorboard as she cries and cries and cries, the tears streaming down her face echoing the relentless rain pouring outside. she thinks about speaking to God for solace, the way she always does, but she’s realises that she can’t. she realises that she’s angry at Him, so angry she can’t even feel Him. she looks for God, but the sky is empty. it almost breaks her. it sets her tears off all over again.

it’s embarrassing and pathetic and awful yet paige can’t find it in herself to care, not even when she hears the faint buzzing coming from her right pocket, her mum facetiming her. she’s unsure how much time has passed, seconds or minutes or hours or days, as she answers the call.

“paige, i’m just got a text from azzi asking me to tell you she’s at the airport, what’s going-” amy stops when she sees paige, tears streaming down her face that she can’t be bothered to wipe off. amy takes one look and blanches - she knows, of course she knowns. theres only one thing in the world it could be, one thing that could break paige so completely, and for not the first time she placates and placates and curses herself for being so far away from her daughter. her baby girl who looks as if in physical pain, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to keep her heart inside her chest.

“paige? tell me whats wrong sweetie?” she sounds like she is trying to stay calm but her voice has a frantic edge to it and paige knows she must be in a state for her mum to sound like that.

“its…i… we-” and that’s all she can get out because how does she explain that she and azzi are over? the love of her life, her other half for the better part of a decade has left and isn’t coming back.

“okay, it’s okay sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about it, alright? let's get up and maybe go to bed, whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

that just sets paige off all over again, making her cry harder, because it is categorically not okay, it will never be okay, and there is nothing she can do or anything her mum can say to make it okay. amy watches over a feeble iphone screen as her eldest daughter makes it to her bed, curling into the corner and pulling the blanket (that she had bought specifically for azzi’s visits, knowing the girl is immune to the texan heat) over herself. it makes it hurt more, to smell her on the fabric that they were wrapped up in together not even twenty four hours ago, watching love island and judging the terrible relationships and even more terrible breakups. she does it anyway.

tears are still running down paige’s cheeks but they’re silent now, the sobs ebbing into hiccups and she thinks she must have been crying in the hall for a long time because she’s exhausted all of a sudden.

“you’re okay sweetheart” her mum says, and paige hears her voice full of relief. she feels bad in some corner of her mind that isn’t filled with azzi, azzi, azzi, for scaring her. 

paige gulps, knows she needs to rip the bandaid off, claw it off her skin, and it's with that that she clears her throat and then just spits the words out, fast and broken “me and azzi have split up.”

and there it is, the truth, out in the open. the thing paige swore would never happen, the thing she brushed off every time someone told her that teenage love doesn't last. it feels impossible, but it’s not and now her mum knows and she doesn’t even have an explanation to give her.

“paige… i can’t - are you sure?” amy asks, stunned, even though she knew, like it was the last thing she’d expected her to say.

“yes mum i’m pretty fucking sure” paige says, angry and hurt, furious with herself, with azzi, with god, with the whole fucking world. 

“it’s just…you two always sort these things out…”

she knows her mum means well, that she loves azzi like she’s her own daughter, but hearing this isn’t helping, because she was there, and it was different this time. the words ‘if im such an inconvenience, maybe we should just fucking end things!’ still ringing in her ears, azzi’s voice loud and resentful and then paige had lost it, devastated and furious that the words had even come out of azzi’s mouth like they cost her nothing, and she had replied with ‘you know what, maybe we fucking should’ and that had been that, the words that cost her everything, the catalyst for them to shout every single hurt that has been building for months at each other.

“it’s over mum and i don’t want to talk about it okay. i just want to go to bed and be rested for practise” and cry some more without upsetting you is what she doesn’t say.

“okay okay, i’m sorry. try to get some rest okay? i'll call you tomorrow, maybe things will look better in the morning.”

after reassuming and re-reassuring her mum that she’ll be okay, she hangs up the phone. paige only takes a second to stare at the find my app, her eyes boring into azzi’s location at dallas airport as if she willing to reach her, send her a telepathic message that she loves her and that she's so sorry and fuck, what were they even fighting about. but she too far away, untouchable in the encasings built by resentments of months past, and paige can do nothing but turn her phone off, knowing that in a moment, her teammates would be blowing up her phone, having received a frantic message from her mum to check on her.

she’s not in the mood to see anyone, can barely fathom leaving this bed and this blanket and azzi’s smell. she looks around and my god she's fucking everywhere, a hoodie of hers she’s forgotten (well really it was paige’s, but after multiple back and forth they’d lost track of who it actually belonged to) strewed on her chair, her empty coffee mug on the bedside table, beside a vibrator paige had only bought a few days ago, anticipating azzi’s visit. it feels insane that they had sex today, that in less than twenty four hours their entire eight year relationship has imploded before her eyes. a third of her life just gone.

she quickly opens her bedside drawer and pushes the mug with half drunk contents, along with the unwashed vibrator into it. its disgusting but she simply cannot look or do anything else, thinks ‘i’ll deal with that tomorrow’, before she burrows herself further into the duvet, and starts to cry again. she’ll wake up tomorrow, and clean her room, and go to training, and pretend to care about her last regular game for the season but for right now, she drowns herself completely in the smell of azzi’s perfume and her own misery.

[tiannasfanfic]

Busker

Astarion x Reader (Fluff)

| Astarion Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: When the party discovers they don’t have enough gold to rent the room at the Elfsong Tavern, you come through for your friends by channeling your Bardic talents into an unforgettable performance.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Reader/Tav, they/them pronouns (if any). No physical description given of Reader, race neutral and body type neutral. Reader wears a Bard’s outfit, but no description is given of the outfit, just a mention of what the outfit consists of (blazer, shirt, trousers, boots).

CW: None.

Word Count: 3,916

“We’ve only been in Baldur’s Gate for five minutes, how are we already out of gold???”

That was a little bit of an exaggeration on your part. It had been a couple hours since you all had passed through the archway into Baulder’s Gate proper, but your companions understood the sentiment.

Despite the exasperated look on your face, the question was mostly rhetorical. Everyone knew why the gold reserves had dwindled so quickly. It was due to a combination of upgrading equipment and restocking camp supplies. Both of these had been desperately needed as battles had gotten increasingly difficult as you made your way to the city and Gale could only make potato’s so many ways before you were all sick of them.

Which was saying a lot since you all normally loved potatoes.

But the idea of a balanced meal wasn’t that comforting when you’d finally found an inn that not only could accommodate you all, but could also accommodate you all for as long as you needed for a single flat fee when you discovered you couldn’t even afford that.

Everyone was looking forward to being out of the elements, to sleeping in real beds again and to having access to a hot bath. Eating potatoes for a few more days would’ve been a small price to pay for those luxuries.

“I could part with some of my books,” Gale said, hesitation in his voice. “Sorcerous Sundries pays well for magical tomes. A few of my rarer ones should be able to get us the room.”

“Absolutely not,” Karlach said, shaking her head. “You’ve worked your ass off on that collection.” Gale looked visibly relieved. “Ya know, back before I started working for Gortash, I used to fight at the arena. It was always a good way to make some quick coin.”

“No,” you said, sighing. “Your heart could go out at any moment. We’re better off with you saving your strength for the fighting we still have ahead of us.”

Karlach thought about this then nodded with a sigh.

“Good point, Solder,” she said, looking visibly disappointed.

“Perhaps I could -“ Astarion started saying as he wiggled the fingers of one hand in the air.

“No!” everyone said at the same time, shooting him looks of disapproval.

Astarion scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at them.

“You don’t even know what I was about to suggest!” he said, an indignant tone in his voice.

“You’re not picking pockets again,” Wyll said, also crossing his arms over his chest and glaring right back at him.

“Tchk, you think we forgot what happened the last time?” Lae’zel scoffed.

Astarion threw his arms up in exasperation.

“That was not my fault!” he exclaimed. “How was I supposed to know that guard was going to round the corner right as I was lifting a wallet?”

“Regardless, we lost more gold bribing the guard to keep you out of jail than we would’ve gained from the theft,” Jaheira said.

“And you shouldn’t have wasted the gold!” Astarion protested loudly. “Honestly, I could’ve broken myself out!”

The argument quickly grew heated, as it always did whenever this topic got mentioned, so much so that no one noticed when you slipped away from the group and to your tent.

However, they did notice when you strode past them towards the road that lead back into Rivington. It would’ve been hard not to notice you since you were now decked out in your most colorful Bard finery and stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Darling, where are you off to?” Astarion called towards your retreating back.

“To make us some money!” you called back over your shoulder, not breaking your stride.

The companions all looked at each other incredulously, shrugged at each other and began following you, the argument forgotten for the time being.

By the time you stopped at a particularly busy corner near the Circus of Last days, Karlach had put two and two together and was nearly buzzing with excitement.

“Are we finally getting to hear you play?” Karlach asked as you rummaged in your pack.

“Looks like it,” you said, pulling a tin cup from the bag and depositing it on the ground in front of you.

The Tiefling squeed in excitement and clapped her hands.

Outside of combat, the only times they’d ever heard you play was while tuning your lyre, which didn’t really amount to much, just some casual strumming. Whenever they asked if you’d treat them to a song, you always declined, saying you weren’t particularly inspired for real music at that moment.

But, like most people, you were highly motivated by small luxuries and, when faced with the choice of sleeping outside versus in a nice room, you had found a burst of inspiration.

Once you’d gotten yourself situated, you made shooing motions with your hands to your companions. The party retreated a short distance away to a short wall where they could relax and watch the show.

If you were nervous, there was no indication on your face. Astarion watched as you readied your lyre, closed your eyes, took a couple of deep breaths to center yourself and then strummed your fingers over the chords of the instrument.

But rather than a beautiful melody, the most god awful sound he’d ever heard was produced. Everyone within earshot cringed and a few people passing by stopped to stare.

Your eyes flew open and you glared down at the lyre.

“Now now, we talked about this,” you said to it.

You flashed an apologetic smile to the people nearby who had stopped, then turn back to the lyre with a serious look on your face.

With fluid motions, your fingers glided between the tuning pins and the strings, getting the sound in order. More people had stopped to watch, looks of apprehension on some of their faces. Bards in Baldur’s Gate were a gold a dozen and were either fantastically amazing or astonishingly terrible. There was no in between. But even the terrible ones were usually somewhat entertaining and, with the threat of an invasion looming, people seemed to welcome this brief distraction, even if it cost them their eardrums.

Once the tuning was complete, you smiled triumphantly to the gathering crowd, raised your arm theatrically and then strummed the strings with a flourish.

But all was still not well with the instrument. While some of the strings elicited a beautiful melody, the others sounded somewhere between nails on a blackboard and a dying cow.

The small crowd gasped, a few people made curses of shock. Some covered their ears, including Karlach.

A look of horror came over your face at the sound, which you quickly turned into another apologetic smile for the crowd before turning to your instrument with an almost comical glare.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you. The lyre shouldn’t have still been out of tune. You had adjusted every pin, plucked every string one by on. It’d taken you a bit longer than it would’ve at camp, he’d watched you do it many times, but the result was the same. It sounded perfect even to his ears and he knew instruments just don’t go out of tune on their own. He leaned forward where he sat, watching your hands carefully as you began tuning it again.

As your fingers began to make adjustments to the pins, he was able to catch onto what was happening. While you turned one pin to tune its corresponding string, you managed to knock the next pin out of tune with your pinky and ring finger. At first, he thought it might be an accident, but then it happened two more times and he began to suspect it was on purpose. You did have some skill in Sleight of Hand, though you rarely used it.

His suspicions were confirmed when you turned back to the crowd with a triumphant look on your face, once again raised your hand with a flourish and confidently rang your fingers over the strings.

This time, the lyre made a sound reminiscent of metal grinding on metal, making your entire body stiffen up in a cringe and illiciting cries of pain from the growing crowd. Some shook their heads as if to clear them, while others stuck a finger in one ear as if working something out, and the kids all covered their ears. Everyone in the crowd had an expression of regret on their faces, ruing the fact that they’d stopped. Yet, none of them left, curiosity now winning out over self preservation.

“I guess we can look forward to another night sleeping in the dirt,” Shadowheart said with a deep sigh.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Astarion said, still watching you closely.

The others all looked at him quizzically and he tilted his head towards you, indicating they should keep watching.

Once again, you hit the crowd with an apologetic smile and laughed nervously, but Astarion could see now how exaggerated it was.

“My apologies everyone,” you said, your voice ringing out loud and clear to the gathered people, then slightly shook your instrument. “Thing’s got a mind of its own sometimes.”

Then you turned towards the lyre with a glare and then pointed an admonishing finger at it.

“Behave,” you said to it, a tone of warning in your voice, earning a few weary chuckles from the crowd.

Once again, you began to tune the instrument, this time turning the pins but not plucking the strings to test them. Your fingers darted back and forth along the pins, working out of sequence but adjusting each one to a slight degree. Once that was done, you flashed a nervous smile to the crowd, then readied yourself to play.

Just as you were about to start playing, your fingers mere inches from the strings, you froze in place, glanced at the audience, then made two more adjustments to pins.

You stood there for a moment afterwards, looking at your lyre with a worried expression, then turned another of the pins, but then you shook your head rapidly, as if in disagreement with yourself, and turned the same pin back to its original position.

After a couple of more worried looks towards the audience and a couple more pin adjustments, you gave a small nod of satisfaction. With one last nervous smile to the crowd, you took up a playing stance that looked more like you were bracing yourself for an explosion rather than playing a lyre, which earned a few apprehensive chuckles from the crowd. You took a few deep breaths, crossed the air with your free hand as you offered up a prayer to the gods, closed your eyes in a tight squint and cringed as you began to play.

This time, instead of some god awful noise no one knew a lyre was capable of producing, a beautiful melody floated off of the strings. Everyone recognized the opening tones of “The Queen’s High Seas” and Astarion could see the crowd visibly relax.

As the temperature of the crowd changed, you opened one eye to look down at your lyre and watched yourself playing for a second before looking up at the crowd in shock. You shook your head as if to clear it and a bright confident smile overtook your face as your posture relaxed. The crowd, now having caught onto your game, laughed appreciatively and a few people clapped.

“Well I’ll be,” Gale said, laughing and clapping his hands along with the crowd. “We might just get that room after all.”

Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle himself. You’d had played the crowd just as skillfully as you were now playing the lyre.

Once the first song was over, you easily transitioned into the more lively tune of “The Bard’s Dance.” Now that you were playing something more upbeat, your swaying turned into dancing and soon your audience was clapping along with the rhythm.

After two more songs, the impromptu performance was broken up by the city guards. There wasn’t anything in the laws of Rivington that prohibited busking, but the crowd had grown large enough it was spilling out into the street and blocking traffic.

You took your bows as the crowd began to disperse, dropping gold coins into the tin cup as they left.

The companions made their way back over to you as you were counting your earnings.

“That was incredible!” Karlach exclaimed, clapping you on the back and nearly knocking you over. “You’re really good, Solider!”

“Indeed!” Wyll said, beaming at you. “That was as fine as any performance I’ve ever seen!”

“With talent like that I’m surprised you don’t play more often,” Shadowheart said.

“I reserve it for special occasions,” you said with a shrug, then shook your coin purse. “Good news though. We’re a quarter of the way there. Shouldn’t take much longer and the room will be ours.”

That news brightened everyone’s spirits considerably.

A few hours, and a few street corners, later, you were all sitting round a table in the tavern at the Elfsong. Not only had you made enough gold to pay for the room upstairs but also a veritable feast for the party and several rounds of drinks. Since no one could decide what they wanted, the wooden surface was laden down with one of everything that was on the menu.

While Astarion didn’t partake in the food portion of the evening, he could tell it was good by how none of you really spoke as you dug in. There was the occasional yummy sound or one of you would tell the others to try a particular dish, but apart from that, talking was kept to a minimum.

As everyone’s bellies began filling up, regular conversation resumed and soon turned towards planning the next steps of their journey. Now that you all had made it Baldur’s Gate, it was time to decide where to go from here. Since the day had waned into the evening, everyone agreed to an early night and to set out for Sorcerous Sundries in the morning.

But planning an early night and actually getting an early night were two completely different things. Once the tavern bard took to the stage and the drinks continued to flow, this plan was quickly forgotten. Several hours passed in the blink of an eye.

As the bard was leaving the stage for a break after his second set, Astarion realized you’d been quiet for a bit and turned towards you only to find your chair empty. That took him a bit by surprise. It wasn’t like you to slip off without saying anything. Concerned, he excused himself from the table and went looking for you. It took a few minutes, but he finally located you when he checked the room upstairs. You were face down on your claimed bed, arms down by your sides with your still booted feet hanging off the edge.

“Darling, are you alright?” he said, voice laden with concern as he came over to sit next to you.

“Mmhmm,” came your response, muffled by the pillow you had your face in.

“Are you sure?” he said, placing one hand on your back to start rubbing it in a circular motion.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, and then moved your arms under your body so you could prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him. “I just always forget how exhausting performing is.”

Now that your face was visible, it was very apparent how tired you were. You looked even more worn down than you had after fighting through Moonrise Towers with the Harpers, which was surprising considering how prolonged that battle had been.

Having never been a stage performer himself, Astarion couldn’t relate to your current predicament, but he tried his best to be understanding.

“With all that dancing it’s no wonder,” he said, a soothing tone in his voice as he continued to rub your back. “I’d be more surprised if you weren’t tired.”

“It wasn’t just the dancing,” you said, moving your arms so they were folded on top of your pillow and then laid your head down on them. “Engaging with the crowd, keeping the energy going to keep their attention, making eye contact, talking with people at the end…I’m just as drained mentally as I am physically.”

Now that was something Astarion could understand. Back when he was still under Cazador’s thumb, he had to work the parties that regularly got thrown at the estates. Mingling with the nobles, engaging with guests, working with the servants to fix any problems that arose so the night would go off without a hitch…it was all incredibly exhausting.

“Is that why you don’t play at camp?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Once I get started, I can’t help but go into a full performance like that, even for a small audience. It’s against my nature as a performer to do anything simple.”

Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle. He could see that considering how theatrical you get when casting spells during combat.

“Would you like for me to get a bath ready for you?” he asked, now running his hand up and down your back.

You thought about it for a moment then shook your head.

“I’m too tired for that,” you said, your eyes closing. “Could you keep rubbing my back though? It feels really nice.”

“Of course,” he said.

It didn’t take long before your breathing began to take on a slower rhythm indicating you’d soon be asleep. Astarion took a hold of your shoulder and gently shook you.

“Can you roll over for me, darling?” he asked, his tone soft and gentle. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”

You grumbled, but did as he asked, turning over to lay on your back, eyes still closed. Now that he had better access, he rose from the bed and started taking your boots off. Once that was done, he helped you sit up to remove your blazer.

“Do you want to change into your night clothes?”

You shook your head again, so Astarion unbuttoned the collar and cuffs of your shirt, as well as the first few buttons down the front, and helped you untuck it from your trousers. While it wasn’t as loose as the shirt you normally slept in, that gave you more room to move around.

Once he’d helped you squirm under the covers, you immediately curled up underneath them into your normal sleeping position. He sat back down then, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead.

“Stay with me for a bit?” you asked, your voice quiet and on the verge of sleep.

While he knew how you felt about him and you never made any secret about how much you cared, sometimes he had his doubts. It was hard to believe sometimes that he could be so lucky. But in moments like these, moments when your thoughts slipped out as you teetered on the verge of wakefulness and sleep, his inner doubts quieted. It made him feel what he could only assume was the feeling of butterflies.

“Of course, my love,” he said, his voice soft as to not disturb your relaxation.

While he wasn’t quite tired enough to go to sleep himself, he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to hold you while you slept. It had become one of his favorite things.

Forgoing his normal sleeping clothes in order to quickly lay down with you, he made himself more comfortable in much the same way he had helped you. His boots were removed, the collar and cuffs of his shirt unbuttoned, and he untucked his shirt from his pants.

As he climbed under the covers, he noticed you were fighting to keep your eyes open to wait on him. Once he was situated, you scooted over to curl up against him, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Goodnight, my love,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head.

You muttered something that sounded like goodnight and it wasn’t long after that you fell asleep.

As the sound of your breathing slowed into the low rhythm of sleep, Astarion couldn’t help but think of the future. Now that you all had reached Baldur’s Gate, he imagined things would begin to escalate quickly, but there was still so much to do. There were quite a few people the party needed to meet up with, you had a lead on where to find Shadowheart’s parents, plus your new friend at the circus had asked you to find Dribbles the Clown. Or, rather, what was left of him, at any rate. And then there was the small matter of killing Cazador.

Astarion’s arms unconsciously tightened around you as his thoughts turned towards his former master.

Despite all of the confidence and bravado he displayed whenever he talked to you about it, the prospect of returning to the Crimson Palace unsettled him. He was terrified, but he knew if you knew that you’d try to talk him out of going, to let you and the others handle it while he stayed behind at camp. You’d already floated the idea to him once, but there was absolutely no way he was going to miss out on Cazador’s bloody and, hopefully agonizingly painful, last moments. After two hundred years of torture, he’d more than earned that right.

And then there was the matter of the Rite of Profane Ascension. Was he really going to take Cazador’s place and ascend in his stead?

He still had no idea. Despite the determination he showed you whenever the topic came up, he was deeply unsure if it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want to lose what little humanity he had left, become a hard and cruel monster as his master was. But what choice did he have if he wanted to keep you safe, to keep himself safe? Once the tadpoles were gone, he’d be nocturnal once again, relegated back to the shadows and unable to protect you in the daytime hours. He shuddered at the thought of something happening to you just because he couldn’t go outside half the time.

All of these thoughts combined into a loop of despair in his mind, only broken when the sound of your drunken companions finally coming upstairs to retire for the night. The noise startled him from his thoughts, and you stirred in his arms.

While you didn’t fully wake from your slumber, your sleep was disturbed just enough that you moved around into a different position. You turned onto you other side within the circle of his arms, facing away from him. Astarion moved his body with yours, turning with you so he was curled up behind you, the front of his body pressed against the back of yours. In this new position, he was able to bury his face against the side of your neck and breathe in your scent. Your smell was comforting to him and felt himself relax.

Now that the spiral of his thoughts were broken, he took this as a sign to stop thinking for the night get some rest. It took a little while, but between the lullaby of your soft snores and the steady beat of your heart, his worries about the coming days fades and he eventually drifted off into a meditative state.

[bi-writes]

Wait can you share how you spot AI fic? 😭 I am trying to get better at spotting them. I don’t believe the em dash thing but what else can I look for?

great question. it takes a lot of practice, honestly—most of my skills i gained while grading reports. i had some students copy straight from chatgpt and didn't even change the formatting (cmd+shift+v, dumbass).

i guess an em-dash could be an indicator, but it has to be coupled with other things. i am a frequent user of the em-dash (and know a lot of writers that love it), so alarm bells for me don't immediately go off when i see an em-dash.

ai writing is flowery. ai models love using a lot of words to say literally nothing when it comes to writing. the models will literally use a million different words like a thesaurus to describe how a cow jumped over the moon. now, this isn't an immediate indicator—i have a lot of writer mutuals who use beautifully complex vocabulary, but they use it in a way that has an edge. their word choices have meaning, i can tell and feel what they were trying to do when they chose those words.

ai models are not very good at analysis and complexity—they will describe things at face-value or tell a story at what seems like a 1st grade level. ai would never take a few paragraphs to talk about how a visceral past might be affecting a character—it'll just say it in one sentence and move on. ai also loves lots of dialogue. since it isn't very good at telling a story beyond the basic details, it tries to fill the gaps with talking, so large chunks of dialogue that read like a bot are also a red flag for me.

these are just a few things i can note right now. i think we as a society need to get better at media literacy. we need to be able to pick out the images that are ai-generated and the writing that is ai-generated as well, or else it is gonna be a slippery slope of what is real and what is not. spotting ai-generated content is a skill however, and that skill gets better as you keep doing it.

you should look up some things and keep asking questions and familiarize yourself more :)

[ajaxsbeloved]

-: late to my lecture :-

1000 followers special 💕

feat. childe

genre. fluff and comedy

summary. hcs for college roommates to lovers because modern aus makes me way too happy for some reason

warnings. readers major is stated, extremely long like really really long, lots of swearing tbh (it’s college what do you expect), fourth wall break cause i’m he ha funny, reader and childe have established friend groups,

authors note. this has taken me like 4 years to finish but i’m so proud of it, part 2 is in the works but don’t expect it soon as yall know im slow asf

you and childe did not know each other before college nor did you intend to be roommates what do ever

in fact you both were quite upset upon finding out who you were rooming with, you had wanting to room with one of your best friends from highschool while childe wanted to room with one of HIS best friends from highschool

long story short you two were thrown together by accident while your best friends ended up rooming together on a different floor of the dorms

needless to say this was not going to end up well… unless it does this is a fanfiction of course lmao

you majored in architectural drafting/CAD technology (yikes i am so sorry for you) while childe surprisingly majored in child care service management

so with that being said it’s understandable how you two didn’t really have classes together and even if you did you guys hang out with completely different crowds

you hang out with a (in your opinion) much more relaxed crowd of kazuha, aether, venti, and xiao. childe on the other hand hangs out with a (in your opinion) much more rowdy crowd of diluc, kaeya, zhongli, and tohma

due to this reasoning you guys never really hang out nor do your friends, sure they all know of each other but they don’t interact or have events with each other

but back on track to childe! honestly you’re not sure how what or why but this man is literally always busy?? he’s pretty much never around and you don’t mind it too much, because you guys were thrown together unexpectedly there was an unwritten rule to just kinda avoid talking to each other if possible

meaning that you nor childe were really ever at the dorm and if you were the other wasn’t there 99.9% of the time, or if the other was there then you’d just isolate yourselves from each other

childe was typically off either partying, playing video games with the boys, swimming, or taking care of his little brother which you didn’t even know existed until one day you stumbled into the dorm to find little ol teucer eating cereal on your spot of the couch

at first you were very surprised, the frat boy had a younger brother? that he treated well? it was a bit odd but it made a little sense when you remembered that he majors in child care management

you on the other hand we’re either at cafés, going to the park with friends, doing arts and crafts, or working on your schoolwork

schoolwork was a bitch that’s for sure, architecture is NOT a fun major and you were sure cad programming was going to be the reason you pass out in public one day

due to this you were up extremely late on thursday night at 3 am sitting in the small table of the dining room with your laptop too bright and a cup of god knows what

thankfully it wasn’t too cold out so you could wear your shorts and t-shirt around with your cute fluffy soft slippers, childe however was no where to be seen but you didn’t really care to know about that

you yawned and practically pried your eyes open to continue working on the assignment given to you nearly sobbing at the pain of having to scale your sketch

tapping away at the keyboard you heard the soft click of the door open and your eyes flickered to see who had come in, though you should’ve already known but your mind was in a delirious state at this point in the late night

in walked childe with his oh so pretty soft fluffy hair messed up a bit and his white t-shirt sitting on his shoulders just right, stepped in and glanced at you before setting his bag down

“hey”

“hey, welcome home”

you didn’t really think at all of what you were saying, just greeting him quickly and getting back to work on your project

childe however didn’t move an inch, “welcome home”? he wasn’t sure why but hearing you say that put a smile on his face and he could swear that he was much more relaxed than before doing who knows what at such late times

“why are you up so late?”

“working on a project, why were YOU out so late?”

“was at the pool”

that would explain the ruffled hair and light smell of chlorine immuring from his tall figure, he went to the kitchen and grabbed himself a glass of water chugging it within seconds like a madman before heading off towards his bedroom

“goodnight”

“night childe”

you don’t remember much else from that night but you do remember waking up at 1 PM at the small dining room table with your laptop closed and paperwork neatly in front of you

your cup from the night before was in the sink and there was a note left on your laptop, the smell of childe’s cologne filling your nose as you came to the realization that his jacket was wrapped around your shoulders

“morning, i talked to aether and he said your classes today are cancelled so i thought i’d let you sleep in. i plugged your phone in for you by the way, it’s on the couch where you normally sit.”

the note was written in neat handwriting which signed “childe :)” at the bottom and you subconsciously let out a giggle upon reading it, who knew he could be so caring?

you went and got your phone from the couch, pulled in and at 100% you noticed that the charger was childe’s too

making a note to give him his stuff back you decided to be productive around the dorm today and cleaned up everywhere except his room

after cleaning and organizing the door looked fantastic so you got a bag and stuffed childe’s items in them, placing the bag in front of his bedroom door you wrote him a note back

“thank you for this morning, it was actually really sweet of you. i cleaned up while you were gone but i didn’t do anything in your room, here’s your stuff back by the way. thank you for letting me use it! i’m going to the bakery across town for a little bit, i don’t know if you’ll be back when i’m done but i’ll bring cake and you can have some :)”

and with that you left to go to the bakery, you decided to meet up with aether and venti when you got there and you told them all about your home event this morning to which venti teased you about and made “oooo” noises like a middle schooler

aether however chimed in about childe contacting you, he told you about how he didn’t expect a text from childe this morning asking about your class and apparently childe went through multiple people to get his number

you were astonished at his effort, he went through all that just to let you sleep in? he really didn’t need to and considering how often he wasn’t around it seemed he had a lot to do, besides he was up late too

your face flushed red upon hearing about his sweet actions you were swear venti would laugh at you about this for the next month but you couldn’t care less being so caught up in childe’s actions

he was too kind really considering that you guys barely knew each other and that all you did was stay up, he didn’t need to go through all that trouble just for you to sleep in

after a while you finally got back to the dorms, childe wasn’t there yet so you ate some of the cake a left a few slices in the fridge for him to eat

you headed to bed before he came home and when you awoke the next morning you found the fridge empty of the left over cake and a thank you note on the kitchen counter

things continued on like this for a few weeks, rarely seeing childe and just exchanging notes with him. it was nice though and you found yourself looked forward to the notes when you came home or woke up. every once and a while you two would leave things for each other like little trinkets or left over food, sometimes lending each other clothes too

you arrived home one day to find yet another stranger sitting on your couch, only this time he was definitely not childe’s sibling

the man currently sitting on your couch was small with short dark purple hair and the ugliest basketball shorts you’ve ever seen in your life

“hey, (y/n) right?”

“umm yeah that’s me?”

“where the fuck is that stupid ginger ed sheeran wannabe?”

you felt starstruck, just who was this guy and what was with this atrocious audacity???

“i… don’t know? why?”

“what the hell do you mean you don’t know? you’re his roommate aren’t you? god he’s such a fuckwad”

after making a call to childe you find out that short stacks was the best friend from highschool that childe was originally supposed to room with, apparently his name is scaramouche and now you feel more than bad for your best friend who’s currently rooming with him

anyways childe was at swim practice so scaramouche (for whatever unknown reason) dragged you along with him to go watch childe at practice

upon arriving at the massive indoor pool you spot childe and kaeya drying off on what you assume is a break

“oh (y/n) i didn’t think you’d be joining us”

childe said it with a surprised face, though he didn’t say it like it was a bad thing. if anything he seemed a bit… excited?

“ahh this is the notorious (y/n) i’ve heard of? a pleasure to meet you, the name’s kaeya”

kaeya introduced himself in a sultry manner even ending his sentence with a wink, childe elbowed him with a glare and you just chose to ignore it to the best of your ability…

“anyways, i’ll pay for you since you coming with is a pleasant surprise”

childe offered to pay but you were confused… pay for what? aren’t you just here to watch him practice

“pay?”

“oh did scaramouche not tell you? we’re going out for lunch!”

that little bitch boy didn’t even tell you they were getting lunch! you spared him a glance and he only scoffed in response but of course he was your ride here so you had no choice other than to go

“are you sure? if you don’t want to i’ll drive you back to the dorms”

he offered to drive you back but you could tell he was a little disappointed, thought you really weren’t sure why either way it didn’t matter. who were you to say no to free food?

you guys ended up having a great time and even staying out longer than intended, laughing your asses off and even taking funny pictures of yourself

childe drove you back to the dorms and the whole ride you guys were laughing and playing around like idiots, hanging out with him was a lot more fun than you had expected

eventually you began hanging out with childe’s friend group much more often, even mashing your friend groups together. who knew kazuha and tohma would get along so well huh?

this continued on for a good amount of time, just hanging out with them often and having a really good time. life was good!

though you couldn’t help but start noticing childe more often, you weren’t sure when the shift happened but you started seeing him to be much more attractive

a lot of little things about him were just so… hot

like the way he would pay attention to you when you spoke or how he would study at night with those thick rimmed black glasses on, god those glasses were so so attractive

he was more than good looking, the way his perfect soft hair framed his face after swim practice and the toned muscles down his arms were enough to make nearly everyone swoon over him

soon enough you too fell victim to his charms, he was just so effortless at it that you couldn’t help but find yourself staring at him with heart eyes

little did you know that childe was aware of this long ago, whenever the shift happened to you he noticed it

he noticed the way you’d stare at him much more than you should or how you would hold onto him for a little longer, the way your eyes would shine when you spoke to him or how you would pay more attention to him than anyone else in the room

however he didn’t just so happen to notice these things out of no where, he noticed it because he was paying an abnormal amount of attention to you

childe isn’t stupid, he knew from the moment he met you that he wanted you. you were gorgeous, funny, polite, and good with his little brother. what more could he ever want?

he had always found you attractive too, he subtly watched you quite often (not in a creepy way though)

he’d stare when you walked by in just a T-shirt and shorts, oh how he wishes it was his you were wearing

or when you would go swimming at the beach with him and his friends… let’s just say you didn’t see him much because he was in the bathroom

the things he did to get you to notice him weren’t on accident nono, he did all of it on purpose

when he’d graze his hand along your waist in public? or how about when he wears his glasses around the dorm despite not studying? perhaps when he walks into the kitchen for breakfast without a shirt on? yep, all entirely planned

it got to the point where he almost never had a shirt on around the dorm and it was driving you to insanity

“jesus childe, put a fucking shirt on man”

“why? too distracted? i know my abs are nice but don’t stare for too long”

he’d NEVER flirted like that before and he even sent a wink?! in absolute shock you bolted to your feet and ran over to him

getting on your tippy toes ahoy shoved your face in front of his and held a hand to his forehead, a look of confusion and worry spread across your face

“are you sick? what happened to my childe what did you do to him?”

with your face so close to his he felt like he was gonna explode, not to mention your pretty big glossy eyes and plump red rosy lips, and holy shit did you just called him YOUR childe? he feels like he could faint

without even thinking or answering you he pulled you by the hips and slammed his lips into yours, a groan leaving his mouth when you squeak in surprise

when he pulled away he realized what he had so before you could see him he spun around with his coffee mug and made a quick escape to his bedroom leaving you to stand in the kitchen with your face bright red and brain fried

days passed and the situation regarding your kiss with childe was completely ignored, he had avoided discussing it with you and you respected that despite wanting an answer to why he had kissed you to begin with

the situation was finally addressed one evening while you were alone at the dorm, you sat on the couch watching tv when you received a text from childe

“wanwna kiss yku”

“what? childe are you drunk”

“maydbe jsut a litel”

“more than a little, have diluc drive you home please”

“okkk but onylw to see yku 😵‍💫”

“yeah yeah just be safe”

you were flustered at his behavior, was drunk childe always such a fucking flirt? was he like that with everyone when he was drunk? you sighed and got ready for when childe would come home

after a little while he came tumbling through the door, unable to walk straight to made your way to him with a glass of water and some medicine

“here take this it’ll help with your hang over in the morning”

“waaaa you didn’t even say hi to me! it’s like you didn’t miss me at all :(“

he pouted at your “greeting” and didn’t take the things from in your hands

“sorry, welcome home childe”

“ahh much better! i’m so glad to see my favorite girlie, you’re too cute for your own good y’know that?”

he was hardly making sense slurring his words and giggling like a school girl, regardless his words made you flush and you pushed your hands toward him once again

“please just take the stuff childe…”

“fine fine but only because my asked so nicely babe”

BABE????? since when was he so straight forward? the childe you knew never so brazen, he usually had at least some semblance of shame

once he took the medicine you grabbed his wrist and started dragging him to your bedroom

“woahh i didn’t think we’d get so far so fast (y/n), not that i’m complaining”

you groaned at his sluggish yet embarrassing words, you led him to the bed and set him under the covers before turning off your night lamp

“go to sleep childe, i’ll have food for you in the morning. you’ll probably need it.”

before you could walk away he called out for you, looking back he was sat up in bed with arms held out

“come back and sleep with me, can’t sleep without my girlie to cuddle ehehe”

this idiot had the widest grin on his face and he made the stupid grabby motion with his hands signaling for you to get in bed

giving up you deciding to give in and just get in bed with him, the moment you layer yourself down his arms snaked your torso and his face snuggled into your neck

“hmm this is nice, we should do this more often”

“just go to sleep childe”

“whatever you say babe”

and with that you two of you somehow managed to fall asleep

upon waking up you found yourself to still be in childe’s embrace as he groaned, assessing the situation it would seem he’s just waking up

he let out a load gasp as he saw your body in between his arms, he backed away quickly and stared in silence as you sat up and yawned

“morning childe”

you had just woken up and yet you were so pretty, your hair was a mess in a cute way and your voice sent butterflies to invade childe’s stomach

“good… morning (y/n)?”

“are you feeling alright?”

“i guess, why wouldn’t i be?”

“because you were shitfaced drunk last night, flirting without shame and even insisted i slept with you”

“SLEPT WITH ME? I DIDNT DO ANYTHING DID I??”

he was panicked, realizing that he had so openly made such moves on you he was worried he’d lose any chance he’s ever had with you

“relax, you didn’t do anything weird. though you did say you wanted to kiss me, mind explaining yourself?”

poor guy couldn’t catch a break, he was practically tripping over his own feet and his head was all over the place

“well i just like your lips- i mean i like you, i mean i liked kissing you? like you know it was nice and all and you’re nice and you’re really pretty and i just thought maybe i should kiss you again but also maybe i shouldn’t and i wasn’t sure so-”

you cut him off by gently kissing him, letting out a hum when your lips made contact with his own and he closed his eyes finding himself melt into it

you pulled away and childe starred at you wide eyed, taking a moment to process what has just happened. you waited for him, unsure of how he would react

thankfully his lips stretched into a giant smile, he giggled a little feeling giddy and full of energy. i’m sorry giggled? what kind of man giggles when being kissed? oh he was so head over heels for you

you two sat there on the bed giggling like schoolgirls and giving each other light kisses, finally everything clicked and the two of you felt like you were truly at home

[fableforger]

A little bit of kindness that wants to be shared

"hiiii im back, you dont have to post this cause its just a little note to you, but just so you know that one IF blog is saying you use ai AGAIN even tho you literally made a whole ass statement about how you use it for small things and your story is just from your big wonderful brain. just thought you should know in case people decide to start being assholes about it, but your followers got your back cause you’re awesome 💪, don’t let them haters get to you lol

hope everything’s going well <33"

Hey my dear ones, I just received the message above and I want to take a moment to say thank you - to the person who took the time to write it, and to everyone who continues to show such kindness and support 🧡.

I actually spoke to the person behind that IF blog a while back. They were very respectful and I (personally) have nothing bad to say about them at all. I completely understand if someone prefers not to read projects that involve AI in any way - that’s a valid boundary (as is everything else), and I’d never judge anyone for it.

Why am I posting this, then? Not because it’s about AI again - but because a little bit of kindness deserves to be shared.

The sender said I don’t have to post their message - and I couldn’t reach out to ask for permission directly, so I’m sharing it anonymously. Not to make a point or anything, but because it honestly meant a lot to me. The way it was phrased, the support in those words - it truly made my day. I knew from the start that this would be a controversial topic, but I wanted to be transparent anyway. And hearing that there are people who still enjoy the story for what it is - that they can just fall into it - is incredibly touching.

So: thank you. Really. From the bottom of my heart. And to everyone who feels the same way - thank you for being here 💛.

[yermes]

A reading for everyone who will most likely end up on RFK’s brain worms list 🪱

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Pick a meme

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Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

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Socials: My Socials **☾**

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The cards

Page of swords 🗡️

You are thirsty for knowledge and you are in your academic weapon era, whether that is in school or just oyo research, both are very valid either way. But queen, babes, pookie, the pursuit of knowledge isn’t a race and it is not a popularity contest. The world is crazy competitive enough, you can learn at your own pace, your own rate, and do things that actively contribute towards your overall wellness and cradle of knowledge you are cultivating. Like babes, I agree you won’t learn everything from and institution and its important to have some OYO type of research, but touch some grass, hug a friend. Call your mom, you can learn things through the power of love and empathy as well, nothing is a race and the pursuit of intelligence is nothing without a loving heart with you.

The deluge 🌲

It is an emotional time, it is a hard time, and honestly do not hold back, let the tears out, cry, embrace the hardships, the fear and everything emotion which comes along with it. Cry hard and often, feel what you need, release inhibitions and sink into your lower tendencies as reaching for divinity had you falling back towards the sea. It is okay to feel defeated, it is okay to feel hopeless, but just remember you can only change things that are in your control, you can control yourself, and unfortunately no one else. You cannot live through other people even if it would be better for them and you can see shit way more clearly than them. Do not feel badly for those who forsaken themselves to their own bad fate, you can only worry about you and your choices, you can’t take the burden for others and their shit choices.

II of pents 🔖

Life is a balancing act and some how you are pulling it off without all the hats you wear crashing to the floor. Honestly I don’t know how you do it bc I am fucking struggling rn. You have spent a lot of time building a mature base, taking care of others, taking care of yourself, AND GETTING WORK DONE????? Do you sleep? How do you milk all of those hours out of a day. I am genuinely perplexed and frightened. But honestly with all of your earthly affairs balanced, how are your spiritual affairs? Have you spent enough time staring into the eldritch horror that is the soul, have you spent enough time contemplating the divine, have you found god, looked him in the

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Extras:

Story/vent: 📎

I am so hyped for my neurology lab cominv up

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[captainportgasdace]

This is my second edition of ✨ Ace merch you can buy ✨

I don’t have a lot this month, I hesitated because of it but let’s do it anyway AND honestly I was thinking; if you’re looking for something in particular, like a nice figurine you’re looking for you can always ask me, we can all help each other this way! ❤️

SO I bought this ABSOLUTELY adorable necklace from Ukiiyo Studio and I’m OBSESSED with it! You basically choose a chain and you add the charms you’d like. The quality is very impressive and it looks super cute!

FiguartsZERO Monkey D. Luffy & Portgas D. Ace Brothers Bond are on sale at Best Buy, they comes separately but if you want the Ace one, there you go!

ABYstyle Ace's Backpack is available for preorder at Crunchyroll store, perfect for cosplay ❤️

Luffy & Ace Portrait.Of.Pirates NEO-MAXIMUM Figure Set (Bond Between Brothers 20th LIMITED Ver.) - Crunchyroll Exclusive, not new but it’s 30% off on CrunchyRoll Store

MegaHouse Nyan Piece Nyan! Maneki-Neko FORTUNE LUCKY☆CAT PIRATES were available for pre-order but it looks like it’s already out of stock 😭 But look how CUTE they were! Still putting it here so you guys know it exist and maybe they will restock on BoxLunch

Note: those are blind boxes

World Collectable Figure Parent and Child Bloodline I & II so HEAR ME OUT I wanted it so bad because there is no merch of Portgas D. Rouge but those are BLIND BOX and I’m so fed up 😭 ANYWAY if you want, it will release on October 2025 and Ace, Roger and Rouge are in the 2nd serie, if you’d like to pre-order, I would recommend to do so by BigBadToyStore ❤️

[greatbananaboat]

arcane is about the cycle of violence and how it affects interpersonal relationships as well as society. it makes a point of noting that every action taken to further the cycle of violence, even with “good intent” just leads to things getting worse.

i enjoy arcane because i agree with this mindset. in a perfect world, the decisions we make would be to help the people around us to make things better for them, not to hurt the people who are hurting us. unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world, and making those decisions leaves you vulnerable. i like how tragic arcane is in showing that every time a character tries to do good for others, everyone else who chooses to take another violent action hurts them. i think the main reason i like the show can be encompassed in the line from to ashes and blood, “every sin will be forgiven if you lay down your weapons to the ground”.

the purpose of fandom is to foster a community of people who enjoy a piece of media and to encourage people to be creative and to think about that piece of media with more depth than what we may understand from just interacting with the media on our own. interacting with a fandom can open your eyes to details and viewpoints you never would’ve considered before.

i think canon is important to consider in fandom but you don’t have to make it the end all be all in your mind. too many people limit themselves because they think canon has to be the most important thing but really, you can do whatever you want with the characters and the settings and the story that’s given to you. once the media is out there, it’s yours to play with just as much as it is everyone else’s. it’s not our place to decide what is correct for anyone but ourselves.

n/a

i don’t know that i have a type in terms of themes in media, but i do really enjoy when we can apply those themes to our lives because they’re fleshed out and given depth past just the basics. when i can dissect a theme and then apply what i’ve learned from it into my life, i like the media.

not sure what this question is asking lol

regarding toxicity in fandom (arcane fandom especially), i think people need to kind of relax about certain topics when applying them to media. performative activism is a prison and does nothing except cause people to limit their perspective on characters. i’ve seen a lot of folks bashing every piltovan character in arcane simply because they’re piltovan. it’s quite a miserable worldview to adopt considering they all tend to be complex characters with motivations and emotions that are important to explore, and writing them off as unimportant or subhuman because they’re rich is limiting. this is just an example of course, but the toxicity in the arcane fandom is honestly shocking to me because the show itself is amazing and beautifully written (yes, even season two)

i think fandom tends to take canon and play around with it as i mentioned before, which is far from a bad thing. not everything in canon is pleasing to every person in the audience. maybe one person wanted a certain character to have more screen time, for example, and that’s something that canon failed to give them. that’s not the fault of the writers or the media itself, but the people in the fandom can take the media and change it to fit what makes them happy.

anyway i think that’s all! the questions are really interesting and i just think that more people need to focus on positivity in fandom because negativity is a plague.

IMPORTANT!!! PLEASE READ!!!

I am currently writing an essay for a college course about the role of attention in communities and am using fandoms as an example for how attention plays a role in identity.

I need as any people as possible who are okay with what their response possibly be included in my essay respond to this post with the your answers/opinions about at least one or more of the following:

-What is Arcane really about?

-If you consider yourself to be apart of the Arcane Fandom, why do you enjoy Arcane so much?

-What is the purpose of fandom as a whole?

-What aspects make up fandom?

-Is canon important? (Loaded question, I know)

-What is The Silmarillion really about?

-In your experience, do certain themes presented in a any piece of work, including but not limited to tv shows, movies, and written works, effect how likely you are to be a fan of said piece of work? (Basically do you have a “type”)

-What do you personally think about, or is the role of, attention and/or collective direction in fandom?

-Is there anything, either directly or indirectly, related to my essay and/or any questions that I have asked that you would like to mention?

-What is the relationship between fandom and canon?

-If you have ANY questions or concerns please dm me. If you would like to share your input but want to remain completely anonymous in my essay if your response is included, please let me know. If you want anything clarified or have certain conditions as to how your response is allowed to be presented in my essay, please dm me.

This essay is a homework assignment and unless both me and my professor believe what I have written is worthy of publication, I have no intention of publishing it or publicly distributing it in any way.

I will be eternally grateful to anyone who responds and/or reposts. Despite the essay only being a homework assignment, this is something I have always wanted to write about/explore and I swear to be respectful with all of your responses.

This essay is not ment to bash or hate on the Arcane or Silmarillion fandom (which I consider myself to be apart of) or fandom culture in general. My essay is only exploring the topic of attention in communities.

TLDR: I would really appreciate it if people can respond to this post with their answers to my questions because I am currently writing an essay on attention in communities for a college course and I need help.

[spottedgardeneelstan]

romance route unlocked!

based on this post, which seemed like an interaction shen jiu would have

[ssreeder]

Hi, I sent an ask like 5 minutes ago but I'm not sure if it went through for certain reasons so if it did just ignore that,

I love your fic so much. One of my favourite things is the authors note, I love hearing your rambles and thought processes behind certain scenes,

And JEE💖💖

The jee lovers in the fandom are small but dedicated, I love that man.

Any situation of an older man reluctantly and unknowingly adopting a child they hate and growing soft for them I love, I could ramble on for hours about certain headcanons I have regarding jee and zuko for hours, I need more of them (AND HIM AND BATO (please don't kill them i need AT LEAST 1 queer couple to be happy in this fic🙏🙏))

Also another thing, I do fanart and I really want to do art for this fic but I have no idea which scene to do, is there any specific ones you would want art of?

HI HI HI HI HIIII!!

I didn’t get your five minute ago ask but I got this one!! ahhhhhh my shameful authors notes haha I am very unhinged in there, I think I black out and rub my face in the keyboard honestly.

JEE LOVERS UNITED WE STAND!!!! I adore his dislike of both zuko & sokka in the beginning and now he’s falling hard for sokkas uncle and has pretty much said if anything happens to these kids I’ll burn this bitch to the ground. Unfortunately, Jees situation is going to get a bit more complicated he just doesn’t realize it yet haha.

THERE IS A HAPPY QUEER COUPLE! *gestures at liab zuko* I mean they’re happy like…. some of the time haha. Ok ok I see your point but no promises because you know when I start blowing shit up in liab I can get a little crazy :D mwahahaha.

FAN ART FOR ME?!1?27,771!37/&/ YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME FERAL!!! ahhhhh honestly idk how to pick scenes im so bad at it i dont know what to choose but if you did wanna draw any scenes maybe any from ITF? Your fave or ones scenes you liked idk that’s my suggestion lol.

thanks for this amazing ask you’re a beautiful human thank you!

[eyeball-freak]

Honestly considering that season 3 was terrible and that they killed off Qilby (I’m not sure how season 4 is I just got spoiled on a lot and I couldn’t bring myself to finish) as well as some of ToT’s behavior recently I just no longer have any interest in season 5 of Wakfu. Something was lost in translation during the transition from season 2 to season 3 and I don’t think they’re gonna get it back for the last season. Idk though, I guess we’ll see

[queereclair]

One note and I’ll show you all my new pet mice

[starbuck]

“You Don’t Like Me” is one of the songs of all time for being about someone who is insecure that the person they like likes THE MORNING more than them.

[kkoiishii]

so uh

rant in tags

@speeeeeb includes updates abt lapfox fusions!!!1!11!

@grapefanta8669 also monster kokichi art is coming soon!!!1!1! :3