#im going to lie down and wither after this

[f1-giuki]

First Impressions

Miss Charles Leclerc, the daughter of a country gentleman, meets Mr Verstappen, a rich gentleman who owns land, at a ball in a nearby town.

At first, Charles is resolved to hate him, thinking him proud and full of prejudices against the people of her rank, but, as her life erupts in is various turmoils, her feelings start to change.

READ HERE!!!!!

and thank you sweet amazing darling Nyx ( @breathofnyx @girlcharles-ficfest ) for organising this amazing and wonderful fest💖💖💖💖 it was the best ever!!!!💖

[lotties-ashwagandha]

BODY & SPIRIT

valeria garza x fem!reader, 1.4k words

kinktober day ten: hate sex (NSFW). this probs doesn’t even count as “hate sex” tbh it ends fluffy and is more exes who fuck and get back together but I went with it bc kinktober is a struggle fr and at heart im a fluff fic writer

Valeria leans back against the wall, her arms crossed as she studies you. Her gaze is harsh, unwelcoming as you stand in her home. 

It’s been almost a year since you last saw her. You parted on awful terms after an argument, and the day you left was the last time you laid eyes on her — you had stayed far from Las Almas ever since. 

Now, you don’t have a choice but to come to her. You have the Task Force after you, viewing you as a suspect for your previous association with El Sin Nombre, and you know that without her you won’t be able to evade them. 

Valeria has been uncharacteristically reserved since you appeared. You suspected she might try to flaunt your reliance on her, that even away from her you are still seen as hers — or that immediately she would turn you away and leave you to get out of this on your own. Yet she’s been pensive, addressing you in short, stinging quips and judgemental silences. 

“You never should have left,” she says finally, shaking her head. You see it, now, her fury toward you. She steps away from the wall – for a moment you expect a resignation, a sudden declaration that you never should have left because she loved you. But when she speaks next, her tone is dull. “I could have kept a fucking eye on you, and nothing like this would have happened.” 

You scoff. Again with this, how she always gets when she’s upset, scorn delivered through casual remarks. Jabs taken at you in a way that makes it hard to accuse her of being explicitly insulting – the implication that you are incompetent in keeping a low profile without her managing it for you. She looks at you in the same way she does at her most useless men, the men she disposes of. 

It feels unnatural that she would despise you, but fitting in your reciprocation of her resentment. If there were any other options, you never would have come back to her. 

“Are they tracking you?” Valeria asks suddenly. She notes your silence – you don’t know – and she nods solemnly. “If they are, you’re leading them right to me. Is that what you want? I get them out of your way, and they come for me instead?” 

No, you want to answer, but you’re too proud to give her that. You need her alive, safe in her own way. It’s nothing to do with the time you spent with her, you tell yourself. It has nothing to do with the love you once held for her, it has nothing to do with how deep and potent your fury runs towards her. Valeria is an asset to you even as you travel endlessly away. 

“Answer me,” she orders and takes another step closer to you. You gravitate closer to the wall. You feel like you’re shrinking under her gaze, sinking through the floorboards and down into hell. 

“I’m not trying to get you killed,” you say, and though what you say is true it comes out sounding like a lie.

Valeria hums in response, quiet as she looks you over – for a wire, for a weapon not yet confiscated, for anything. 

“What?” you ask impatiently. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to try to murder you on a whim? Do you think I care that much?” 

“No,” she confirms, and when you step back as she takes another forward you feel your back brush up against the wall. She’s close to you now, so close you feel every bit of confidence you held before her wither away. The handle of the pistol concealed at her side brushes against you, and to avoid it you stand a little straighter. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Valeria explains, meeting your eyes. “I’m sending you to a safe house so you’ll be out of my fucking way while I deal with this. If anyone finds us, amor, if you’ve led the government to my door…” 

She doesn’t have to finish explaining for you to understand — if anyone finds out about her operations, you’re dead. You’re dead even if she dies herself before she can get to you.  You’re hanging onto her good will by a very thin thread. 

You nod in understanding. The look of accusation she gives you never falters. She makes no effort to move away, only stays so close to you, watching as you’re bent to her will. 

You remember how it felt when she looked at you in love instead of this. When you felt nothing but comfort in her proximity, and you went to her in pain out of a craving for comfort instead of out of obligation. A new anger rises in you, and in a horrible, cruel moment of reckoning you realize it’s not only because you hate her but because you love her. You need her for safety not just of body but of spirit. 

You want her, you want to kiss her, feel her hands roam over your body and claim it so immediately as hers in the way she always used to. 

It’s sinful in every sense of your prior reservations regarding Valeria to act on it, but when you look back into her eyes you see the same longing compelling you in her gaze. In a rush of impulsivity you kiss her, a heady adrenaline barreling into you in a sudden impact. 

Returning your kiss, Valeria pushes you back against the wall. Her hands travel down your body, her touch rough as she handles you — nails digging into you, hands squeezing a bit too hard, a burning kiss of tongue and teeth. 

She pulls back for a moment, and with a firm grip on you she leads you into the familiar space of her office at the end of the hall. Part of you wonders how it’s changed — if she still has a picture of you in her desk drawer, if the one of you framed together still sits above the fireplace, but there’s no time or room for you to check when you’re shoved forcefully onto her desk. 

“You never should have fucking left,” she repeats when she backs up a bit to pull your shirt off. This time the words ring of something different — of longing, a desperation that is sour on the tongue to admit but so satisfying to act on. “I needed you.” 

Valeria undoes the clasp of your bra, pulling it off of you, her hands grabbing at your chest. She kisses you again before you can respond – she wants the final say, to shame you, and the way she touches you feels too good for you to deny her the satisfaction of doing so. 

You undo the button of her pants, and she frees you of them. You sit bare on her desk as she stands fully dressed in front of you. The power affects her, it’s visible in the way her kiss deepens – her hands trail down to your thighs when she steps between your spread legs, running her hands up them and grasping at them like she’s starving for any piece of you she can get her hands on. 

One of her hands inches dangerously close to you, hand brushing your clit and making you gasp. Valeria’s eyes scan over your form, and then find yours when she addresses you. “You’re mine. You always have been.” 

It doesn’t take much for her to slide two fingers into you, her gaze firmly set on you as she takes in your reaction to it – you’ve missed her, as hesitant as you are to admit it, and the way your body responds to her reveals every bit of craving you’ve tried to hide. A moan escapes you as she works her hand in a steady rhythm, gentle praises meeting your ears that are hard to completely take in when you’re so enveloped in the sensation of her. 

“My good girl,” she coos, free hand coming up to rest softly at the base of your neck. It draws your attention back to her. 

You whine when she pulls her touch from you, and you’re confused when she guides you off her desk onto your shaky legs – but when she helps you into her desk chair and lowers down onto her knees, your desire for her is renewed. 

Valeria pulls you to the edge of the seat, giving biting kisses to your thighs and looking up at you with reverence – in her gaze you see your desire mirrored, in body and in spirit, and in the end you will look on her with love again. 

[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.

[auuwmk]

hey i think we should all theorize how the webtoon team is gonna design demon king kdj before the chapter drops and see how close we can get it i think that would be fun, I'll start under the cut (I'll add more once i get more ideas lmao):

i haven't reread the arc yet so i might be missing a few novel descriptions

they'll probably do the "his body is 3 or 4 times larger than usual" or something

using the dead demon king as reference, is kdj gonna have big ass horns???? They'll probably be thinner, either red or black hmm not sure

are the whites of his eyes gonna be black...the million dollar question (for me) His irises are most likely gonna be red <- WAIT since the jade is purple what if his irises are purplish

okok what if webtoon gives him claws...and also his hands are like arlecchino from genshin impact with the black soot (cursed demon stuff??) growing on his arms or something

the wings will probably be the normal big black wings, his skin color might also turn greyish? I don't think his hair will change and does the color of his blood change?? Or would he not bleed at all, just stories

Might just be my wishful thinking but i hope they do the crack on his face like a porcelain doll as he is withering away after getting stabbed by yjh like in the "we're screwed" animatic by manadreams

From 1-10, how likely is it for Kdj's shirt to be ripped half open after the transformation <- actually should we consider the possibility that his shirt will be entirely torn up altogether + if they're extra, his entire chest will be covered in the black demon soot thing

Also!! I'm 87% sure they're gonna scorch his coat black (at least from the bottom) <- they might change the design of his coat like when his coat looked like fluttering wings when he used 41st sys' "beast king's sensitivity" skill

Since this design is gonna be reused a bunch of time they'll either make the design simple or they just go over the top for this arc specifically and then tone it down for other moments, unless sleepy-c is crazy enough to make the design complicated for the rest of the serialization

OR. Im entirely wrong and they're just gonna use bb-nim's demon king design and i did all this for nothing lmao <- lie its just for fun (also i realized i could be completely off the mark here lmao)

[flowergardeninthewall]

@smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit week day 3 soulmates/late nights

The mark bloomed impossibly early in their relationship. As in almost on their first touch. Cellbit wasn't even sure he was capable of forming a soulmate mark. Yet as Roier was helping him stand up from being knocked, flowers started to bud on the skin under his palm. And where Roier’s hand was on his own skin, a matching plant starts to grow.

-

Hyacinths. According to the book on flowers that Tallulah had lent Cellbit they are hyacinths, the mark has grown considerably, enough to be able to tell what plant they are but the flowers have yet to bloom.

Under the flower was a story. The Greek god Apollo’s friend killed by a jealous wind god, and instead of going to the underworld his soul was turned into a flower and planted in the earth. A hyacinth.

-

The buds had finally bloomed. Cellbit had betrayed them, and they bloomed. Deep purple. Somewhere Roier remembers vaguely hearing the meanings behind the colors of the flowers decorating the inside of his arm. But he only remembers when he sees the hyacinth laid on top of the book addressed to him in the hidden chest. Regret.

-

It was easier to put on a smile than most days, everything was perfect, well almost. Quackity almost blew the venue up with everyone inside, there was a bit of a murder and Bobby. Bobby would have loved it. He was there, the sun was shining as always, but it wasn’t the same. But now? He was in bed holding his husband matching pink flowers decorating their arms. and maybe he could move on and maybe one day he would be able to smile for real.

-

Cellbit was angry, the federation has done nothing but lie. The bear has done nothing but laugh at him and his misfortune. Every single lead they have had on the location of the eggs has ran itself dry. He's tired. Tired of being used, pulled around. Laughed at by that stupid bear. He only sleeps when his husband drags him up to bed and flops down on top of him.

It's hard to pin when the flowers shift blue, they only notice it after they promise to stay by each other’s side no matter what.

-

The thing that drove him, let him continue to search was the mark sitting on the inside of his arm. His soulmate. The flowers had shifted and bloomed into a deep purple. Regret. It had changed to purple during purgatory when Roier finally couldn't even put the energy into bringing himself to smile. How could he? He broke his promise.

Not only do the flowers symbolize his husband, but shows that he is still alive, breathing, out there. He was still there, still alive, and regrets staying on that island. And that was enough. They were both alive, they survived, they still loved each other. And Roier was certain they would see each other again. He just needed to find Cellbit. Wherever he may have ended up.

-

Soul marks can fade, Cellbit knows this, it happens all the time. Flowers can die just as they bloom, but the hyacinths that mirror the now vivid blue ones blooming on his own arm are gone, they're not there on the inside of Roier's arm and he has no idea how to feel about it.

That's a lie. He does know how to feel about it, but he is never going to acknowledge those feelings. Instead, he is going to learn how to do a sick ass kick flip and maybe he can also learn to let that mark fade, die out and wither away. Maybe one day he can learn to let go as Roier did.

Was this supposed to be happy? I promise this was supposed to be happy it just kinda got away from me and yeah.

I wasn't even intending to do something for this spiderbit week, but uh my greater qsmp soulmate au has decided to whisper sweet nothings into my brain, and now im looking up flower language during work.

I love soulmate aus, and honestly, soulmates of choice? That's the good shit. I could ramble about this AU for hours.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 SOMETIMES ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU (LATE NIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF JUNE)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: realizing you have no idea when dazai's birthday is, you and chuuya embark on a massive quest to figure it out. and you do—but you also find out something far more worrying in the process, making you question if you ever really knew dazai osamu. the issue? you have no way of bringing it up to him. but you'll have to worry about that later anyway. first things first: you have to plan a birthday that dazai will never forget. {sfw, 14.8k}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHHHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOYYYYYYYY im so proud of how this fic came out genuinely its my favorite thing ive written to date. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it (warnings: fem!reader, mostly fluff with some angst sprinkled in at the beginning and end)

“Hey, do you know when Dazai’s birthday is?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever stop thinking about him?”

Your jaw drops as Chuuya lets out the loud complaint, head snapping to the side to focus on where he’s sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor near headquarters, cheek pressed against the headrest, glaring at you as the artist continues to work on the right half of his upper back, finishing up the last section of the art spanning across his entire back. It’s his biggest one yet, you can hardly see an inch of unmarked skin—bright reds of camellia flowers and different types of animals and objects centered around the skull of a ram decorate his back. It’s beautiful, you have to acknowledge that, you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a stunning tattoo before and Chuuya is beyond pleased with how it’s turning out considering how he’s constantly pulling off his shirt to look at it in a mirror whenever he gets the chance.

To honor the Flags, he’d told you when he dragged you along for the first session. You didn’t know most of them—you’d worked with Lippmann a few times considering his job within the Mafia, and you’d met with Iceman to give him the rundown on targets that needed to be handled when Mori would send him to you in Kyoto, but that was about the extent of your interaction with them. Chuuya’d been closer to them—he didn’t like to talk about them at first, but he’s gradually been more and more open with it.

You think it’s because he’s afraid of forgetting them.

“You’re an asshole,” you snap after getting over the shock of his rude comment, turning your head away to look out the window.

Dazai evades the two of you whenever Chuuya has one of his sessions scheduled. You think it’s kind of funny, honestly; you know he does it because he hates pain and he knows that if he joins you guys, Chuuya will somehow goad him into getting a tattoo with a dare or a challenge that he won’t be able to back down from. So, instead, he makes excuses for missions that you both know damn well he doesn’t have.

“No, I don’t know,” he finally says irritably. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You give him an appalled look. “He’s your friend, and your partner. What do you mean you don’t know?”

“That bastard is not my friend,” Chuuya instantly hisses, but you can’t help but notice that he suddenly looks troubled by the realization that he doesn’t know Dazai’s birthday.

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes, knowing damn well that it’s a blatant lie. “That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Is not,” Chuuya spits.

“Is too.” 

Chuuya would have kept going with the back and forth, but he’s given a sharp look by the tattoo artist working on his shoulder and he settles down, but not before shooting you one last withering look.

“I bet he knows your birthday,” you add after a few moments of silence, just to trigger Chuuya again.

It works.

He lets out a noise more befitting of an animal, head snapping back to the side to look at you. “He definitely does n-” He cuts himself off before he can even finish the sentence, glaring at you. “That’s because that freak knows everything somehow.”

You only give him an easy shrug. “Just saying, it’s a bit…” You give him a twisted expression, nose wrinkled and lips pressed together rather than saying the word out loud, and Chuuya looks murderous. 

“It’s a bit what?” Chuuya demands. “You don’t know his birthday either.”

“I’m not his partner,” you counter to hide the fact that you are very bothered over not knowing his birthday.

“No, you’re just his girlfriend,” Chuuya says snidely.

Your face heats up. “I am not his girlfriend, Chuuya,” you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chuuya replies sarcastically, giving the tattoo artist an apologetic look when he gives the ginger another sharp warning with his eyes. “If Dazai wanted us to know his birthday, he would have told us. Y’know how secretive he gets over his personal life—he’d be shouting it off every rooftop if it was something he wanted us to do something about.”

You’re not quite as convinced.

At first glance, Dazai doesn’t shut up—he finds any and every reason to hear himself speak, whether it be random facts about crabs or ranking methods of suicide from least to most painful. Because of his tendency to run his mouth, most people don’t realize just how secretive he is about his personal life. You’ve realized that he probably uses it as a tactic to evade questions, because when people do poke and prod about his personal life, he becomes avoidant, expertly redirecting the conversation to something less personal by subtly changing the subject or pissing off whoever (Chuuya) is talking to him. You always catch it—conversation manipulation is your thing, you’ve finely honed your skills in guiding discussion to your discretion, it’s a skill that comes in handy at the negotiation table and in politics. You know he knows that you catch it too, always watching you carefully to ensure that you don’t call any attention to what he’s doing.

You don’t, of course, you’re not going to put him on the spot like that, but you don’t understand it. Well, you can to an extent—if you had random people prodding at your personal life, you’d also evade the topic. But you and Chuuya aren’t random people. You’re his friends, and you can’t for the life of you understand why he won’t open up to the two of you a little.

Every time you bring up the subject of him to him, he starts acting strange and cagey, like he knows that his evasion tactics won’t work with you and he wants to say something, but simply can’t get the words out. Maybe it’s his mistaken belief that he doesn’t deserve all of the things other people take for granted: comfort, friends, happiness. But still, you can’t imagine that Dazai doesn’t crave the experience of a normal birthday—well, as normal as things can get for teenage mafiosos—because you know that Dazai at his core simply wants to be a normal teenager.

As to why Dazai would rather deny himself happiness than to let you and Chuuya closer than arm's length? The answer alludes you even you.

When Chuuya grimaces, letting out a heavy breath and averting his gaze, you think that he’s come to the same conclusion as you.

“I assume since you’re bringing it up, you have some sort of plan?” Chuuya sighs, tired.

You smile.

“Naturally.”

You think Chuuya might kill you after this.

You can’t help but snort to yourself as you kneel on the floor next to Mori’s desk, rifling through his drawers to find the key to his file cabinet. Chuuya is somewhere downstairs trying to keep the man distracted with a fake medical condition while you try to find Dazai’s file in his office. You can hear him in the ear piece you’re wearing, flustered and stuttering over his words. You can almost picture how red his face is. 

Chuuya isn’t a bad liar, usually—in fact, he can act his ass off on missions—but lying to the Boss is an entirely different story. You think that you probably should have been the one to keep Mori distracted, but you worried that if Mori got up here and Chuuya was still searching, he wouldn’t be able to play it off. So, this was the lesser of two evils. 

Mori is getting increasingly more irritated as Chuuya keeps miswording the symptoms and backtracking, then blaming it on how ‘his head just hurts so bad, he can’t think.’ You’re sure he’s starting to suspect something—or more likely, the man probably figured it out right away—but you also know he’s too hyper-paranoid about losing his strongest ability user to dismiss Chuuya’s blatant lies for what they are.

You let out a victorious puff of air when your hand encloses around the key you’d been searching for, immediately shuffling over to the file cabinet, unlocking it as quickly as you can to shuffle through them, trying to find Dazai’s.

Mori has too many files, you think to yourself frustrated, eyes scanning as fast as you can as you flip through them, trying to spot the one you need, becoming increasingly more frantic when you hear Mori and Chuuya enter the elevator, not sure if they’re coming up to his office or if Mori’s dragging Chuuya down to one of the lower floor infirmaries.

Fuck, you think, finally flipping through to the D’s and letting out a frustrated groan when his file isn’t even there. You go through it again, more carefully this time, and nearly tug out your hair when you realize that either Mori misplaced Dazai’s file or there isn’t one. But you can’t imagine either of those options being true.

Getting increasingly more anxious as the seconds pass, and knowing that Chuuya actually will kill you if he embarrassed himself like this for nothing, you start rifling through the other letters in a panic. From the A’s all the way to the Z’s, it’s only on your second scan through that you pause, spotting a thick, unnamed file in the T section.

You stare at it for a moment, brows furrowed, a gut feeling twisting inside you as you try to pull out the file. It’s a struggle—the file is thick and the drawer is stuffed, but when you finally get it out and flip it open, your eyes widen when Dazai’s face stares back at you in the top left corner of the first paper in the file. He’s younger in the picture—no older than thirteen or fourteen—both eyes uncovered, black and void of life.

You let out a shaky breath, heart racing as your eyes scan dismissively over any information that’s not his birthday, because you know damn well Dazai will not take kindly to yours and Chuuya’s snooping and you want to mitigate the damage, only to halt when your gaze catches on blacked out information right above the date.

His name?

You pause, eyes focusing momentarily as you try to understand what you’re reading.

NAME:  ████████████████ 

ALIAS: Dazai Osamu

What?

You don’t know how long you stare at the file, lips parted and a torrent of emotions clawing at your chest. Mainly confusion, but also something else—tighter, more unwelcome. You don’t even have time to try to figure out what you’re looking at because at once, the remote in your pocket is buzzing, the last signal from Chuuya that Mori is on the floor of his office.

You let out a string of curses, putting the file back where you found it, locking the cabinet and putting the key back before darting to the other side of the desk. You mask the confusion and nerves rattling your mind and body with an irritated expression just as the door opens.

“… ggest that you take some time to rest, Chuuya-kun. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you.”

You look over your shoulder, eyes meeting Mori’s as you frown deeply. “You’re late,” you say. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes.”

“Ah, apologies, I’m afraid young Chuuya-kun has spent the past twenty minutes following me around with nonexistent health issues,” Mori replies with a thin smile, purple eyes carding over you before he looks around his office curiously, as if he knows you’d been up to something but doesn’t know what. Chuuya cringes next to him and gives you a withering look, he opens his mouth to protest but Mori is speaking again before he can get anything out. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation in Vladivostok,” you say, eyes following Mori, waiting for him to sit down so you can. You watch as he glances around his desk, as if trying to figure out what you’d been doing before he showed up. You almost smile when his eyes narrow after coming empty handed. “I think it would be in our best interest…” 

As you sit down across from Mori, you slip your hands behind your back, giving Chuuya a thumbs up, letting him know that his humiliation was not in vain.

Step one, complete. June 19th.

“I will never fucking forgive you for that,” Chuuya hisses when the two of you finally leave Mori’s office. “Never. That was humiliating.”

You snort. “It was pretty bad.”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya snaps. His face is still on fire, has been for the past twenty minutes as you explained your plan for the new organization rising to power in eastern Russia. “Well? When is his birthday?”

You cringe and Chuuya is instantly glowering at you. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t find it. You gave me the thumbs up. I’ll-”

“No, I got it,” you say dismissively. 

That’s not what you’re cringing over—you’re cringing for two reasons: 1) his birthday is less than five days away and you have no idea how the two of you are going to figure something out before then, and 2) the reminder of Dazai’s file, its misplaced location and the blacked out information where his name should have been, the alias labeling what you thought was his real name.

Your lips part to bring it up to Chuuya, but you hesitate because you don’t know if you should. The last thing you want to do is upset Dazai because you let something out that he didn't want anyone to know.

“Well?” Chuuya demands. “What is it?”

“June 19th,” you say, watching as Chuuya blanches. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do in four days?” Chuuya hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look at him. “I don’t even know what that bastard would want.”

You’re just as lost, grimacing as you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Dazai never really… wants for anything.”

You stare ahead listlessly, leaning against the elevator wall as the two of you head down to the first floor. Dazai likes playing video games, but he gets bored of them quickly. His room is stacked with games he’s played once and then tossed to the side. He likes crab, but you’re not going to get him canned crab for his birthday. He likes suicide, and you’re pretty sure a new edition of that wretched book of his came out, but you also don’t want to get him that for, well, obvious reasons.

“Maybe we can get him a pet crab?” Chuuya frowns.

“He’ll kill it,” you dismiss, “and then he’ll spend months whining over it. And blaming us.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator door slides open as the two of you reach the bottom floor, and you watch as the subordinates meandering about incline their heads toward the two of you as you pass by. You only absently wave them off, mind racing as you try to figure out what to do for Dazai’s birthday. Crab, suicide, video games—what else could Dazai possibly like?

You think the only other thing is-

Oh. Oh. You have an idea.

A smile spreads across your face. “Chuuya,” you say, relieved, “I have the best idea-”

“There you guys are,” Dazai’s familiar voice rings from the right, and immediately, Chuuya gives you a sharp, panicked look and you shut your mouth, stiffening. “I was…”

Dazai trails off, and you briefly shut your eyes, because wow, that was entirely unsubtle. Dazai’s smile is more strained now and the shine in his dark eye fades, the palpable excitement withers away in a matter of seconds.

Fuck.

“I see,” Dazai says, voice cool and withdrawn. “You guys are busy. It wasn’t important anyway.”

“Dazai,” you call after him, taking a few steps, but the boy has already whirled around, stalking off the way he came. He ignores your call of his name. “Shit.”

“He totally took that the wrong way,” Chuuya says, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“How astute, Chuuya,” you say dryly, chest tight as Dazai disappears around the corner.

“You know, for someone who brags about not needing anyone, he’s pretty fucking sensitive,” Chuuya notes.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Chuuya,” you snap at him, but the redhead only shrugs carelessly in response.

“It’s the truth. Anyway, what was your idea?” 

Even with the weight of Dazai clearly being upset heavy on your chest, the reminder of your idea for his birthday still causes a sly smile to spread across your lips.

“You’re gonna love this.”

Not only was Dazai upset, but he was upset enough that he hasn’t come back to your apartment in three and a half days. You figure he must be back at his shipping container, or maybe staying with those other friends of his, but you feel lonely without him. It’s weird not coming back to your apartment to find him lounging on your couch eating your favorite snacks; it’s different when he has missions and can’t be here, right now? He’s choosing to not be here, and that makes you feel gross and uncomfortable.

You feel bad, and no matter how many times Chuuya tells you to look on the bright side—that you guys can plan his birthday without him constantly hovering, figuring out what the two of you are doing—it just makes you feel worse. 

You’re sitting in your apartment waiting for Chuuya when the elevator bings, signaling someone coming up to your apartment—and considering there’s only two people who the front desk let up without your explicit permission, and one of them is still dealing with issues at one of the ports, which flooded from all of the rain the past few days, there’s only one person who it can be.

Your eyes widen as your head snaps up, looking to the elevator as the doors slide open, revealing Dazai fumbling with something in his jacket as he steps out. He doesn’t even notice you until you rise to your feet, and when he does, he’s instantly guarded. 

“You’re supposed to be on a mission,” he accuses, voice low.

You’re a bit hurt that Dazai only showed up to your apartment because he thought you wouldn’t be here but you mask it with a tilt of your head and a curious expression.

“I am on a mission,” you say, and it’s not a lie—the mission is finalizing the plans for Dazai’s birthday, step two starts in four hours and you need to confirm things with Chuuya before it begins. What awful timing, you realize mournfully, because you do want to smooth things out with Dazai but right now you can’t afford to. “It’s one I can do at home.”

Dazai makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, gaze focusing on the folders laid out in front of you. Closed, luckily, you’d been skimming through one but you got bored while waiting for Chuuya and decided to scroll on your phone.

“I only came to pick up my other jacket,” Dazai finally says, voice still cold and distant—you hate it.

Your eyes track down to Dazai’s coat, noticing the blood that’s dripping from it onto your wood floor.

You cringe, but then extend an olive branch by asking, “Want me to throw it in the wash?”

Dazai hesitates, a reluctant expression crossing his face but he nods, slipping it off his shoulders and padding over to you slowly, handing it to you carefully so as to not get the blood on your couch. Your fingers brush his as he does and your throat spasms a bit.

Dazai draws back quickly, but then he looks down at the files in front of you, and then back to you and asks, “… Want help with that?”

Shit.

This is Dazai’s olive branch, and you have to reject it. Because then he’ll realize this is no mission, and all of the plans for his birthday will go to waste.

“Nah,” you say easily. “It’s fine. It’s quick, where were you heading out to?”

Dazai looks a little put out by your rejection, but he doesn’t look too bothered, so he probably took your lie as truth.

“Bar Lupin.”

You roll your eyes.

Dazai gives you a dirty look.

“I don’t know why you get so jealous about them,” Dazai says pettily, obviously trying to get a retaliatory dig in for whatever wound he thinks he received the other day. Your eye twitches at the accusation. “I knew Odasaku before you.”

You pause at that.

Does Oda know Dazai’s real name? You’re hit with a wave of vicious jealousy, and faced once again with the back and forth you’ve been dealing with the past three days—do you really know Dazai? He’s always hid a lot from you, you knew that, but to realize that you only know him by an alias… You don’t understand it—is it by choice? Does he just no longer want to associate with that name? If that’s the case, then you don’t even want to ask and make him uncomfortable. 

But what if it’s not? What if Dazai Osamu is just a fake persona he’s built to hide his real self? You doubt he’s a spy, Mori would obviously know but… if it was Mori that forced him to take on a new name and identity? If he wants to let people in but can’t? You remember all of the times when you ask him things and he stares at you as if he wants to answer but doesn’t know how.

“You shouldn’t think too much, your small brain will implode.”

“Fuck you.”

Drawn from your thoughts, you glare at Dazai, who only gives you a simpering smile in return, eye regaining that little bit of shine it’d lost when he ran into you and Chuuya that day. Then he hesitates again and you raise your eyebrows.

“I’ll call things off with Odasaku and Ango? … You picked out that movie last week, we never watched it. We can watch it after you finish up?” His voice is quiet, uncertain and you feel like a cunt, because you have no way of saying no without being a cunt. 

You’d already told him that the mission wouldn’t take long, so you can’t use that as an excuse. You think maybe you should just call off tonight with Chuuya, meet at his apartment later on to try to get things for dawn, when everything is to take place. It would be risky, you don’t know if you can pull off such an elaborate scheme with such little preparation and Dazai, of all people, as the target, but you think you’d rather risk that then say no to him right now. 

Your lips part to agree, mind already racing trying to figure out how to get all the folders out of here before his nosy ass can peak at one of them, but you’re interrupted by your elevator binging. Again.

Oh, fuck.

Dazai stills as his gaze cuts backward, eye sharp as the elevator doors slide open and reveal an irritated Chuuya, soaked up to the waist and covered in mud.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya seethes. “I’m never helping out at the ports again. They’re fucking incompetent, I-”

Chuuya pauses when he sees Dazai. Dazai doesn’t budge. For a split second, not a single one of you dares to move. You can see the quick cogs within Dazai’s mind turning as he pieces together an answer—why you didn’t accept his help, why you took so long to respond. Dread piles in your stomach as you try to figure out what to say only to come up empty-handed. For someone known for a quick tongue and sharp brain, you always somehow find them failing you when faced with conflict with Dazai. 

Finally, Dazai breaks the silence with a cool smile and a mirthful look in his eye, glancing back at you.

“That’s why you wanted me out of here. Okay.” He leaves no room for questions, doesn’t even bother to go into his bedroom to grab his other jacket before stalking forward and entering the elevator Chuuya just came out of, not even acknowledging his partner before smacking the button to the first floor.

“Dazai!” you call after him, taking a few steps toward the elevator but he only turns his chin as the doors slide shut. You shout after him angrily, “And you say I’m the jealous one!” but you doubt he even heard it.

“That bastard has the worst fucking timing ever,” Chuuya says as soon as he’s gone, unperturbed.

You give Chuuya a withering look, wanting to curl up on your couch and die. So you do that. The weight on your chest that had only just finally started to relieve itself from you returns with a vengeance, and you suddenly feel like you want to cry, unsure of how everything has gone so wrong the past few days when you just want to do something nice for him. You tuck your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, placing your chin on top of them.

“Relax,” Chuuya says, tossing himself onto the couch next to you; you don’t even have it in you to be annoyed by the water and mud, shoulders slumping as he tosses an arm around you and lets you lean into him. “It’ll be fine. Blockhead won’t even know what hit him tomorrow. C’mon, let’s get this finished so we’re ready to go.”

“… You want us to… kidnap the Demon Prodigy?”

Your subordinates stare, expressions pale and aghast as they share looks with one another. You stand resolute, head held high, and Chuuya raises his eyebrows next to you. Your eye twitches at the moniker that follows Dazai everywhere.

“That’s what we said, yes,” you say, frowning. “Was I unclear?”

“No, hime-” You roll your eyes at yet another one of Mori’s ghastly titles.

He must find it quite amusing, pleased with himself every time he watches you turn green with disgust when he insists on using the term. Even worse, it seems he’s somehow managed to coax your subordinates into using the shitty moniker too. The old man must really enjoy pissing you off, he’s certainly very skilled at it. 

Your lip curls up in irritation when your subordinate continues.

“It’s just-what if-”

“You will not be punished for targeting an executive,” you say dismissively. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“We fear that the Demon Prodigy will… draw his gun when threatened,” the man continues, grimacing as if trying to choose his words carefully. You don’t recognize him—you think you should probably get to know your subordinates better, you’ve left most dealings with them to your partner, Itou… who you also have to get in contact with for this plan to work. You wince, realizing you still have much more to do within the next few hours. “How should we proceed if he does?” 

“Dazai probably will.” You stress his name, giving the man a withering look. To his credit, he winces and looks away. “But he will also be drunk, and slower, taken off guard, so you will… Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have the advantage over even a drunk and surprised Dazai, but there are more of you, so there’s that.”

“Way to inspire confidence,” Chuuya mutters dryly.

You shrug, “I’m not going to delude them before sending them out. They should be prepared to take a bullet or two. Hopefully nonlethal—you have bullet proof vests.”

“You’re fucked up,” Chuuya snorts, before turning his attention to the dozen or so gathered subordinates. “There will be minimal risk, and remember, nobody is to know about this. Nobody. Not even the other executives, or the Boss.”

“Especially not the Boss,” you add. “For the next day and a half, you’re relieved of duties. Go back to your families, or get shit-faced drunk, but don’t come back to headquarters. Under any circumstances. Clear?” 

The men exchange looks with one another, uncertain. “And if he draws his gun?” the man prods again. 

You share a look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye. “He’s not to be injured,” you finally say, voice firm, not leaving any room for doubt. “Under any circumstances. Inject him with this, you’ll be fine.”

You pull from your pocket a sedative that you’d pocketed from Mori’s office before, dangling it in front of them, waiting for one of them to reach out and take it. When they do, you lean back on your heels and look at them.

“This has to be successful,” you tell them, finally starting to feel the pinpricks of anxiety run through your chest the closer it gets to go-time. Dazai is so mad at you right now, and if this fails, it’ll make things ten times worse. Failure isn’t an option—it never is, but especially not now. “I won’t accept anything less.”

“Yes ma’am,” one of your subordinates murmurs and the rest echo, half of them look as if they’re marching off to their death and you absently make yourself a note to give them a big bonus this month. “Can we at least know why we’re kidnapping the De-Executive Dazai?” 

You smile. 

“It’s his birthday gift.”

Dazai is in a bad mood.

Oda watches curiously as the boy downs his seventh (eighth?) drink, wondering if he should tell him to slow down. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ango cringing, lips parted as if to speak but then reconsidering as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his own alcohol, looking thoroughly concerned. Dazai hasn’t said a word since he showed up two hours ago in a foul mood, and every time Oda opens his mouth to ask, Ango gives him the sharpest look and Oda instantly shuts his mouth.

“I think the slug is dating-” Dazai finally speaks, voice rough, right hand clenched around his glass of whiskey. It’s as if he can’t even bring himself to say the words and Oda’s eyes narrow as he studies him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I think the slug is dating… her.”

Her. He must mean you. You’re pretty much the only ‘her’ that Dazai ever refers to—goes on about you nonstop whenever he gets a few drinks in him.

“That’s nice,” Oda says without thinking, until he sees the horrified look cast his way by Ango. “That’s awful.”

“It is awful,” Dazai agrees with a hiss. “It’s awful. I hate it. It’s disgusting.”

Oh, Oda realizes, a bit more amused, grateful that Dazai is too busy glaring into his drink to see the smile that curls to the corner of his lips. Oda had suspected that Dazai has a crush on you just from the way he talks about you—going from long winded rants of how agonizing you are to live with (as if he doesn’t actively choose to live with you) to wistful recounts admiring your missions (although those quickly shift into rants, as if Dazai catches himself yearning and has to make up for it by acting like it never happened). 

Oda and Ango realized that Dazai was obsessed with you months ago—back before the Dragon’s Head Conflict even ended, not long after you showed up, actually, when he first started talking about you. Oda assumed that it was a kiddie crush that he’d grow out of, but here he is a year later, just as infatuated—if not more so.

Cute.

“What-” Ango begins only for his voice to waver, glaring at Oda when he sees the smile on the man’s lips. He sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose before retrying. “What makes you think they’re dating?” 

“The other day I went looking for them and I found them together, and I was gonna ask them to go to the arcade with me, but as soon as they saw me, they got all stiff and uncomfortable like they didn’t want me there.” 

Dazai almost sounds hurt by it—words strung out a bit long, lips curved down. It’s not often that Oda gets to see him act like the sixteen (seventeen now? Oda realizes he doesn’t even know the boy’s age and makes a note to ask) year old that he is, and while it’s unfortunate that this one is stemmed by him feeling rejected by his friends, he also can’t help but smile at it. Which Ango catches from the appalled look that the other man gives him.

Oda smothers the smile again instantly.

“That doesn’t mean that they’re dating,” Ango begins, trying to be reasonable, but is cut off when Dazai tosses him a sharp glare.

“And then,” Dazai continues, “I went home before because I thought she was going to be on a mission, but she was there working on it, and I offered to help her with it so she could finish faster, but she said no. And I didn’t think anything of it, but then I said I was going to reschedule with you guys for another day so we could watch a movie, and she didn’t respond at first, and I thought that was weird, and then guess what? The slug showed up. She was blowing me off to hang out with him.”

Wow, Oda thinks to himself. That’s a lot to break down. 

Home. Oda is careful this time to not let his lips quirk up into a smile but it’s impossible to hide the fond look in his eyes as he looks down at a sulking Dazai, who has slumped over the bar top, absently playing with the spherical ice in his drink. Oda has never heard Dazai refer to anything as home before. His shipping container had always just been the shipping container, and up until, well, today, your apartment had always just been your apartment. Ango catches the wording too from the way his eyes widen a bit.

And then on top of that, Dazai? Offering to help someone with work? Oda thinks there’s a better chance of fire raining from the sky. Oda is realizing that this really is more than a kiddie crush—not that Dazai would probably ever acknowledge that. Oda wonders if he should help him get there. 

“That doesn’t mean they’re dating,” Oda finally says, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring the way Ango gives him a side eye, focusing instead on how Dazai turns his head to the side to look at Oda. If Oda didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy is pouting. “They might be planning something for you, don’t want you around for it. You had that mission recently, didn’t you? The one everyone said would fail?”

Oda realizes, a bit too late, that if that is the case, he just ruined the surprise and silently apologies for it. But Dazai doesn’t seem to take him seriously anyway, rolling his eye as he returns to bouncing the ice in the glass.

“Yeah, right,” he says dryly. “No one does anything like that for me.”

Oda purses his lips, not responding, and Ango sighs as he looks away. Oda tries to figure out what to say, testing some words on his tongue but they all feel wrong.

Finally, he chooses to just be blunt. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

The noise Ango lets out is all but a whimper, he buries his face in his hands as if to disappear. Dazai’s gaze cuts to the side, head turning slowly as he focuses on Oda.

“What?”

Oda thinks maybe he should stop talking, but he doesn’t, naturally. “Y’know—you could just tell her how you feel,” Oda repeats, seeing the way Ango is shaking his head frantically but he continues anyway. “Telling her would save you from doing this once a week.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dazai says icily, taking a tone that he rarely uses with Oda as he pushes himself off of the barstool and turns to leave. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m heading out for the night.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for either one of them to say goodbye as he all but storms out of the bar. Oda sighs, taking a sip of his own drink.

“That could have gone better.”

Ango slaps the back of his head hard.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Alright, it’s time.”

You watch the live CCTV cameras from the sleek black car you and Chuuya are huddled in. Your partner, Itou, sits in the front seat, rubbing his temples as he spares you guys a short look. You raise your eyebrows at him but he only shakes his head.

“I don’t know what goes through your head sometimes,” he tells you, tired. “I want no part in this beyond this right here.”

“You’re no fun,” you say, squinting at him, “and we still need you to get the footage from the headquarters.”

Itou sighs so heavily that you think he might be trying to expel his lungs from his body. He glares at you from the corner of his eye. “Nothing beyond that. You’re insane for this. You’re going to get us all thrown in the torture chambers.”

“Relax, don’t be so serious. It makes you ugly. You’ll be fine,” you complain, focusing back down on Chuuya’s laptop, straightening as Dazai finally comes into view on the screen. 

You and Chuuya exchange an excited look with one another, a smile twitching onto your lips as you wait for the scene to unfold. You pointedly ignore the noise Itou makes when he notices how thrilled the two of you are at the prospect of kidnapping Dazai—but Itou doesn’t get it, he doesn’t know Dazai. Dazai will love this, and he’ll love it even more when you get your hands on the footage of Mori’s and Kouyou’s reactions to the kidnapping.

You’ve got your subordinates disguised impeccably as members of a low-rung gang that’s been trying to make moves into the northern wards of Yokohama. You had a meeting with them a few days ago to determine whether they’d be worth absorbing or if Mori should just send Dazai and Chuuya to deal with them. You decided on the latter, and the two of them are supposed to go in and exterminate them next weekend.

You figured they would be the perfect cover to pose as Dazai’s “kidnappers.” They’ve been aggressive and violent in Port Mafia territory, making increasingly larger steps into the Naka Ward. You were honestly curious to see how far they’ll try to go, but you doubt Mori will let it get any farther than he has already anyway, so you thought you might as well get some use out of them to stage a realistic-looking kidnapping.

You think Mori will probably assume this was intentional at first when he gets the report. He’ll call you and Chuuya, the two of you will act bitter and angry as if you’re not on speaking terms with Dazai currently—which, you suppose it’s for the best that he stormed away from the two of you that day in headquarters, because it’ll make it seem legit—you’ll hang up and tell him that you’re busy for the night, tell him not to bother you again. 

When Mori realizes that neither you or Chuuya know what’s going on, he’ll start to get suspicious. He’ll seek out the tapes and see Dazai drunk and lost in thought wandering home, see the way he genuinely struggles against his “captors” before being knocked out—none of the casual arrogance he usually has when getting himself captured by the enemy—and then? Then, you don’t know how Mori will react. You assume that he’ll call you and Chuuya again, get the two of you on it, but by that point, your phones will be off.

You’re giddy as you, again, focus back on the screen, watching as Dazai meanders down the street. His movements are slow and unsteady, and your giddiness fades when you see the downcast expression on his face. It’s hard to tell from the footage, but he’s clearly bothered about something. You wonder if he’s that pissed about what happened earlier, or if something else happened with his other friends—he’s usually at Bar Lupin for at least another two hours.

“Okay,” Chuuya says into his earpiece. “Begin stage one of the operation.”

“He looks kind of upset, doesn’t he?” you murmur when Chuuya takes his fingers off the button on the earpiece.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

You ignore the curious, knowing look that Itou gives you through the rearview mirror and instead tunnel your vision onto the laptop screen… although you find you don’t really want to look at that either. You grimace as your subordinates finally make their move—and it’s testament to how lost in his own thoughts he is because Dazai hardly notices what’s happening until they’re on him.

He goes for his gun instantly, but your subordinate—Kirishima, you learned his name was—is quick to disarm him, knocking the gun out of his hands and reaching for his arm. Dazai is still swift on his feet, nimble even with a dubious amount of alcohol in him. He’s able to worm out of Kirishima’s grip, darting backward. The expression on his face is lethal, gaze cold as he tries to assess his situation, and you watch as the realization that he might be in trouble finally hits.

Just as Kirishima is about to motion for two of the others to go for him again. Dazai slips his phone out of his pocket and dials a number.

“Fuck!” Chuuya spits. “If he calls the Boss-”

But Dazai evidently did not call the Boss, which would have been the smartest decision on his part considering Mori would have gotten one of Verlaine’s special ops units to him within a max of three minutes, because after a second, your phone starts ringing.

Oh.

You stare at it, heart lodged in your throat, unsure of what to do.

“Shit,” Chuuya says, just as caught off guard. “I didn’t think he’d call you. You can’t pick up.”

You shoot Chuuya an accusatory look. “I have to pick up,” you hiss. “He called me when he actually thought he was in trouble. I can’t just ignore him, that’s fucked up.”

“We staged the kidnapping, it’s already fucked up,” Chuuya snaps right back, “and he can read your ass like a book. If you pick up, that bastard will figure out it’s us.”

“Chuuya,” you bristle, ready to ignore him and reach for your phone but he’s quicker than you, arm darting forward to grab your phone before throwing it out the window. You stare at him horrified, “Chuuya!”

You think you might throw up when you watch Dazai take one last glance at his phone before an unreadable expression crosses his face. He elbows one of them hard in the gut to get away, but Kirishima is on him with the sedative before he can make a run for it. Dazai grimaces when he feels the pinprick in his neck, and you finally look away when he slumps over onto the ground.

“Don’t start feeling bad now,” Chuuya says, glaring at you. “What did you think would happen?” 

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, and when Chuuya gives you a doubtful look, you sigh and say, “He just looked so…”

Human. 

He looked surprised, uncertain—it’s rare for Dazai Osamu to be caught off guard by anything. You think in the year or so that you’ve known him, you’ve only ever seen him genuinely thrown off like this once, and it was when the Colonel’s operation against the Bishop’s Staff went haywire during the Dragon’s Head Conflict and you got caught in the crossfire, captured by the enemy.

You’ve always been of the belief that Dazai is one of the most human people you’ve ever met. You’ve fought people over it, you’ve fought him over it. The issue is that he’s also ridiculously intelligent, likes to portray himself as inhuman, be it to intimidate his subordinates or enemies or to fulfill whatever fucked up image he has of himself, you don’t know, but he’s good at it. It’s only when he’s put into situations like this, where he’s got no shot of keeping up his mask, surprised and trying to push away the rising panic when he realizes that there’s no way to think, talk or fight his way out of a situation, that you really see his humanity. It’s stark compared to his usual demeanor, almost palpable.

You sit there simmering in your own thoughts until Kirishima knocks hard on the window to the car. Dazai looks small in his arms—he’s tall, but thin and lanky because he doesn’t eat properly no matter how much Chuuya belittles him for it and you try to get him to eat. His frame is small, and it’s especially apparent without his coat to create the illusion of a larger stature, when his face is lax, visible eye slid shut as he lays limp and unconscious in his arms.

You push open the door and Kirishima bends down to shuffle Dazai into the car with you. His body slumps against you, head falling onto your shoulder and you push your lip out a bit as you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

“The sedatives?” Chuuya asks, leaning around you to focus on Kirishima.

Kirishima lifts the empty syringe, glancing at Chuuya before focusing on you. “Are we free to go, hime?”

You scowl at the nickname but you nod, more focused on shifting Dazai into a comfortable position. “Go get drunk or go to your families, I don’t care. Don’t come back to headquarters ‘til Monday, but be there early, we’ve got a mission.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kirishima replies, inclining his head to you before shutting the car door and leaving.

As soon as the door shuts, you sigh and let Dazai’s body fall over, head resting in your lap. He looks so completely at peace that you almost forget that it’s because he’s been drugged. He never sleeps well, even now that he’s staying at your place—you hear him wandering around at night, restless, and the few nights he does sleep, he seems to be plagued with nightmares. You rest your hand on his hair and absently brush your fingers through his damp locks before turning to look at Chuuya, who’s watching you with an expression nothing short of judgmental.

“What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” Chuuya rolls his eyes. “How long do you think the sedative will last?” 

“It’s a pretty high dosage,” you say with a frown, looking down at Dazai. “But Dazai’s got some mutant metabolism. Remember when he walked off a whole ass horse tranquilizer during Dragon’s Head. I give it like four hours max.”

“We need to get moving then,” Chuuya sighs, and you nod.

You lean over the center console and give Itou a sweet smile, careful to not jostle Dazai around too much.

“I’ll drive you there, but then I’m gone,” Itou sighs, giving you one last warning look before he puts the car in drive. “Don’t involve me in this any further.”

“Thank you, Itou,” you coo, sharing one last look with Chuuya before letting out a sigh and turning your attention back down to Dazai, gaze lingering and a soft smile on your face.

Chuuya makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

You ignore it.

The beach house the two of you have usurped for the weekend is nicer than you could’ve imagined. You don’t know how Itou found it for the two of you, maybe a friend of his—you’ve found that he has friends everywhere, it’s been quite handy for when you have to deal with politics—or maybe he killed someone for it, you really can’t be sure with him. It’s a neat little place south of Higashikoiso, a little over an hour out of Yokohama—the house is near a cliff overlooking the sea, with an easy path down toward the beach.

There are only three bedrooms though, which is unfortunate considering you and Chuuya plan to coerce Dazai’s other friends into showing up. You might not be the fondest of them for petty reasons, but you think Dazai would like that, so you’ll bite your tongue and suffer through it. Either way, three or four people are going to have to share rooms depending on the set up and you’re fully intent on not being one of them; you already have your argument that you’re the only girl in the house and you think it will be solid enough, unless Dazai decides to be stubborn. 

“This is kind of fucked up,” you note while setting the scene.

Dazai is still unconscious, it’s only been an hour and a half so you should have some time before he wakes up, but you want to get this done as quickly as possible, because you don’t want him to wake up while you and Chuuya are halfway finished to setting up the room to make it look like a ransom scene.

“This is definitely fucked up,” you correct, but you’re smiling as you finish up typing the ropes around Dazai’s wrists, sitting him up in a rickety wooden chair.

You and Chuuya had dragged him down to the basement—Itou had luckily had some interrogation tools in the trunk of his car, and was not inclined to ask any questions when you asked for them, passing them over to you with the most concerned expression you’d ever seen on the nineteen-year-old’s face.

The basement looks like any average torture chamber—stone walls, damp and dingy, so it’s easy for you and Chuuya to transform it into an acceptable backdrop for your picture. You adjust Dazai in the seat again, fingers ghosting over his neck from where his head is falling forward, hoping he’s not too uncomfortable.

“This is your idea,” Chuuya shoots back, tilting his head to the side with a frown as he examines the scene. “He’s not roughed up enough. We’ve gotta do something, did you bring makeup with you?”

“No,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck before an idea pops in your head.

You slink over to Chuuya and grab the knife that he carries at his side, ignoring the perturbed look on his face as he instantly takes a step away. Making your way back over to Dazai, you grimace as you cut the palm of your hand, smearing some blood on Dazai’s face and shirt to make it seem as if he’s been roughed up. You readjust the ropes, tighten them a little more and make sure some of your blood drips down onto the floor above where Dazai’s face is hanging before you take a step back to admire your handiwork before turning to your accomplice.

“... Do you have the burner phone?” you ask Chuuya, wrapping your hand with cloth, figuring you’ll just bandage it up later. 

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Take the picture,” you tell him, stepping out of the way to hover over his shoulder, watching as Chuuya squints his eyes and tries to angle it properly so Dazai looks as in bad shape as possible. 

When he’s finally satisfied, he looks to you. Your lips curve up, “I’ll read off the number of that friend of his, you type it in. This’ll get them here for sure.”

As you do that, Chuuya starts snickering, clearly as entertained by this whole situation as you are. “You’re fucking psychotic for this, y’know?” he says, typing out the message to be attached with the image before pressing send and tossing the phone away.

“You helped me,” you accuse, but you're grinning, giddy again as you grab a towel to wipe the blood off of Dazai, pulling off the ropes and forcing Chuuya to help him back to the couch where he can be comfortable.

“Yeah, but it was your idea, you crazy bitch,” Chuuya tells you again with another snort. “What do we do now?”

“Wait.”

Everything happens at once.

Sakaguchi Ango and Oda Sakunosuke get to the beach house much sooner than you thought they would, and Dazai starts stirring an hour earlier than you expected—mutant metabolism, you think again. Luckily, it all happens at around the same time, so you get to see all of their reactions at once.

Neither Sakaguchi nor Oda have made a move into the house, probably trying to figure out the best course of action. Dazai still hasn’t woken up, curled up on the couch while you and Chuuya play cards at the table in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. You’re winning, of course, and Chuuya is becoming increasingly more frustrated from the way he keeps slamming his cards down onto the coffee table.

“They’re about to come in,” Chuuya says, giving you a withering look as tosses his cards across the table—another losing hand. You give him a smug smile and Chuuya bares his teeth at you. “Come here.”

You sigh as you shuffle over around the table so that he can put his hand on your shoulder, ready to activate the Tainted Sorrow in case Sakaguchi and Oda come in guns blazing. On the couch, Dazai starts to shift, a low groan escaping his lips, and your eyes draw back to him, focusing on his face and the way his brows are furrowed and his lips are turned down.

“Here they are,” Chuuya hums, lips quirking up into a sharp smile. “Ready?”

“Yup,” you agree, popping the ‘p’ as you lean back on your hands and stare at the door. “How long do you think it’ll take them to actually open the door?”

“I give it five more seconds,” Chuuya snorts, and you shiver when you feel the familiar sensation of the Tainted Sorrow spreading across your body, an impenetrable barrier to protect you from whatever may come your way.

Just as Chuuya predicts, five seconds later, the front door is kicked open. You frown, hoping that they didn’t break it off of the hinges, because you don't want to hear Itou bitching about it later on. Oda Sakunosuke comes in first, gun steady and finger on the trigger, but the man is cautious and tilts his head to the side when his eyes fall upon you and Chuuya.

“What is it?” Sakaguchi asks from behind the other man, taking a step into the beach house to follow Oda’s gaze to you and Chuuya. “I-what?”

“Sakaguchi,” you say, lifting your hand to wag your fingers; maybe you’re a bit petty when you don’t acknowledge Oda. “Long time no see. I was grateful for your help when dealing with Nishiki and his cronies.”

“I, ah, hime-” You sigh at the moniker, eyes fluttering shut. “What is… going on? We got a picture and a…”

Sakaguchi trails off when he sees Dazai stirring on the couch, and you turn your attention toward him. You watch as he finally lifts his arm to rub his eyes, sluggish and slow. After a split second passes, you notice him stiffen, as if remembering what happened, and his eyes shoot open, cold and sharp.

You smile. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you coo. “Took you long enough.”

The icy mask slips away into genuine confusion, his brows furrow and his lips part. Next to you, Chuuya snorts, “Now, that’s a fucking sight. I almost want to take a picture.”

“What…” Dazai begins, then notices Oda and Sakaguchi still standing near the front door, blinking a few times. “What is going on?”

You’re sure that must’ve been the most painful question for Dazai Osamu to ask—admitting he has no idea what’s happening. Chuuya snickers and Dazai shoots him a contemptuous look, diluted by the fact that he still looks half out of it from the sedative.

“Yes,” Sakaguchi asks dryly, “what is going on?”

You smile proudly and then say, “We kidnapped you. Seemed pretty realistic, didn’t it? Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Dazai blinks, you can see him trying to force his brain to start moving faster so he can put together the puzzle pieces you’ve handed him. His gaze calculating and lips tight. “You… set up the kidnapping?”

Oda then says: “See. I told you they were planning something.”

“Planning a kidnapping,” Sakaguchi sighs, tired. “Did you guess that too, Oda?”

“Well, no.”

Hardly listening to Oda and Sakaguchi’s bickering in the background, you keep your attention on Dazai, who’s watching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You waver for a second, wondering if he’s mad at the two of you—you’d figured it could be an issue, that he might be put off by being kept in the dark about this. He really does hate not knowing things. 

“Why?” Dazai asks quietly, and you note how Oda and Sakaguchi share a look with one another before quieting down, waiting for your response.

“I’m glad you asked!” you say brightly. “It’s your birthday present!” 

You relish in the way the room goes quiet. Dazai’s dark eye widens, taken off guard for the second time in a matter of a few minutes. You’re even more gleeful when you see how Oda’s expression shifts into one of surprise, how Sakaguchi draws back, stunned. At least your fears of Oda and Sakaguchi knowing more about Dazai than you go unfounded.

“Yeah, shitty Dazai, say thank you,” Chuuya goads, a smug smile on his lips.

Dazai doesn’t respond, staring at the two of you with yet another indecipherable look, an odd shine to his dark eye. You feel a bit exposed under his stare, wondering what he could be thinking.

“How did you know?” Dazai finally asks, and oh, you realize that’s not the question he’s asking. Dazai knows that there’s only one way the two of you figured out his birthday—his file in Mori’s office. What he wants to know is which of you got hands on it.

“It was a grand plot,” you say, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you look up at him. “Chuuya kept Mori distracted while I ransacked his office looking for your file… part of your gift is going to be the recording of Chuuya trying to distract him. It was quite funny.”

“Hah?!” Chuuya demands, whirling on you. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

You ignore Chuuya, keeping your gaze trained on Dazai instead, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Is he angry at you? Upset? It’s impossible to tell from the heavy gaze he has laid on you, thousands of conflicting emotions swirling behind the black of his eye. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, chewing the inside of your cheek as you wait—god, only one person evokes this type of nervousness in you and you swear he enjoys it.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally lights up, flinging his arms out to his side, a wide, borderline facetious smile painting his face as he says, “So, I get an entire day to order you guys around to do my bidding.”

“Hey!” Chuuya shouts, equally incensed by Dazai’s words as he is by yours, head snapping to look at him. “That’s not the fucking gift, bastard.”

“What’s the plan then?” Oda asks curiously, and then adds, “... I’m glad you brought us here… as unconventional as the method may have been.”

You notice Dazai gives Oda and then you a curious look, but before he can ask, Chuuya is leaping to his feet, talking quickly as he waves his hands around, making subtle digs to get a rise out of Dazai, but Dazai is more focused on you.

You push yourself to your own feet, trying to ignore Dazai’s lidded stare and focus on what Chuuya is saying but it’s hard, especially when you see Dazai standing from the corner of your eye. He’s still a bit unsteady, movement slow and sluggish, and you’re sure that’s the excuse he has for when he meanders a few steps over to you, dropping his chin on your shoulder. You don’t dare to turn your face to the side to look at him, his lips brush your ear as he murmurs:

“Talk later?”

“... ‘course.”

Luckily, later doesn’t come for a long while. Chuuya was insistent on going out to the beach—you think he was more eager to see Dazai wear the ugly Hawaiian shirt that the two of you had brought along for him more than anything else, but he quickly found interest in the large waves coming in from the sea, running back to the beach house to seek out the boards that you’d found in the basement.

Dazai doesn’t go in the water, but you think he’s having a good time considering there’s a shine in his eyes that’s rarely there. Right now, he’s sitting in the sand in front of Oda and Sakaguchi; the former listening to Dazai ramble on about whatever he’s talking about, the latter tapping away on his computer and occasionally nodding along.

You spend most of your time watching Chuuya cheat at surfing, using his ability to keep him on top of the surfboard as he seeks out the biggest waves. You’re standing in the water yourself, no further than knee-deep because you don’t want to get your clothes and hair wet. You’re kind of annoyed that Dazai’s been spending all of his time with Oda and Sakaguchi when you and Chuuya were the ones who did all of the work, and again, you can’t help but wonder if he might be mad at you. He didn’t seem to be on the walk down to the beach but you can honestly never know with him.

You drag your gaze from where Chuuya is hooting and hollering as he catches another big wave, rolling your eyes when you see the red emanating around his feet and the surfboard, so you can look back at Dazai. He’s stopped talking, listening to whatever Oda is saying instead as he stares at you with a contemplative expression. You feel distinctly seen beneath his stare, lost as to what he might be thinking. He doesn’t even notice that you caught him looking, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

You shake your head when you hear Chuuya coming toward you again, turning your attention back onto him.

“Did you see that one?” Chuuya demands, exhilarated, board tucked under his arm as he brushes his hair out of his face. “Did you?”

“I did,” you say dryly. “It would’ve been much more impressive if you hadn’t been cheating with the Tainted Sorrow.”

Chuuya looks scorned. “I don’t see you getting out there to try,” he scowls, lifting his chin. “You’re more preoccupied with staring longingly at shitty Dazai.”

Your face heats up, you kick the water at him and make sure it gets in his face. “I am not,” you hiss. “Don’t be annoying, Chuuya.”

“I give it another ten seconds before you look back at him again,” Chuuya croons, a wide smile on his face that you have half a mind to slap right off.

To make it worse, you do feel an itch to look back at him now. Your eye twitches as you force yourself to keep looking forward at Chuuya just to make a point, but an odd feeling starts to stir in your gut when you see the way Chuuya’s gaze keeps darting behind you, looking increasingly more pleased with himself.

Finally, you give him an accusatory look before turning your head over your shoulder sharply to where Dazai had been with Oda and Sakaguchi only to find-

That he’s not there?

You hardly have enough time to register what you’re looking at before you see a rush of movement from the corner of your eye.

No-

All you hear is Chuuya’s wild laughter and the sound of the ocean waves reverberating through your skull as Dazai tackles you back into the water hard. The water cushions your fall as your back finally hits the sand. You lift your hand to press your palm against Dazai’s face, pushing him away from you, lungs burning and decidedly soaked as you push yourself out of the water, gasping for air.

“Dazai!” you shout, throwing yourself at him with every intent to throttle him. 

Dazai tries to dodge, but is too busy wheezing over laughter to actually do so. He lets out a dramatic cry when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and successfully knock him into the water face down. He flails dramatically, arms and legs kicking as you hold him down beneath the water.

When you finally drag him back up above the surface, he inhales a lungful of air before giving you an indignant look. “You can’t do that,” Dazai shouts, pointing at you. “It’s my birthday.”

“I’ll do it again,” you shout right back, hair sticking in your eyes and clothes clinging to your skin from the seawater. “I wanted to go into town after this.”

Dazai looks just as messy—the cheap Hawaiian shirt you and Chuuya had got him is drenched, and the colors are bleeding into his bandages, making the previously pristine whites become a colorful swirl of oranges, blues and pinks. He looks like a shitty attempt at a watercolor painting. The bandages around his eye look especially uncomfortable from the way his visible eye keeps twitching and immediately your anger fizzles away into amusement.

You share a look with Chuuya that Dazai instantly catches, looking suspicious and alarmed.

“Chuuya, go get the camera.”

Dazai doesn’t even wait for another word. He instantly turns on his heel to bolt back to the beach house, but you’re chasing after him in an instant.

“Chuuya, go!” you yell again as you lunge forward, fingers curling around Dazai’s ankles to make him faceplant back into the water.

You scramble forward to straddle his waist to keep him in place but he worms out of your hold, trying to make another break for it but fails because you’re still clinging to his leg, dragging him back down with you. Distantly, you think you should’ve gone for the camera while Chuuya kept Dazai in place.

“Chuuya’s right,” you spit out. The two of you are out of the water now, you can feel the sand in your shirt and grating against your skin as you roll around with him trying to keep him still. “You really are like a slimy, slippery fish.”

“You can’t do this,” Dazai screeches. “It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday!”

“I got it!” Chuuya shouts from over by the chairs, racing back over to the two of you. 

“Took you long enough,” you yell right back at him, realizing that you’re going to have to sacrifice your own dignity to get Dazai in this picture, otherwise he’s going to try to run away again. 

Chuuya can hardly hold the camera straight through his snorting, and you’re sure you probably look equally as embarrassing as Dazai. There’s sand on your face, in your mouth, in your hair, in places where sand definitely shouldn’t be, but at least you don’t look like a kaleidoscope. Dazai lets out a pitiful noise when he realizes there’s no escape, trapped between your arms. He tries to hide his face in your neck, probably for plausible deniability that it’s an imposter trying to make him look bad, rather than it actually being him himself.

“Say cheese, mackerel,” Chuuya mocks.

“Fuck you,” Dazai complains.

But you can feel the smile twitching on his lips against your skin.

Oda and Sakaguchi set up a fire later that night. 

Well, by Oda and Sakaguchi, you mean Oda while Sakaguchi sat there and played dictator, telling him how to make a campfire that Oda clearly already knew how to make from the way he seemed to be hardly listening to the man.

Dazai and Chuuya are off trying to figure out how to use sparklers, which you think is a bad idea. You think the two are more likely to set each other on fire than actually use them properly, which is why you’re staying far away, tapping away on your phone near the campfire, relaxing under the sea breeze.

Itou: everything going ok?

You almost roll your eyes before responding with.

You: Yes. Why?

Itou: just curious :p

You: Could’ve stayed if you were curious. We offered.

Itou: yeah, maybe if u wanted to find me dead in a ditch. ur boy hates my guts.

You’re grateful that no one is around to see how you let out an embarrassed puff of air at how Itou refers to Dazai, instantly clicking out of his messages to see what other messages you have. Before you can, you feel a presence hovering above you and look up, raising your eyebrows.

Oda Sakunosuke stands next to you, studying you curiously, and you look to the side and then back toward him, unsure of what he wants.

“Yes?” you ask slowly. Sakaguchi is still sitting closer to the house, scowling as he bats away bugs.

“This is nice. What you did for Dazai,” Oda says simply. “I haven’t seen him this happy in… well, ever.”

A bit embarrassed, you shrug. “It’s whatever,” you say awkwardly. “Just happy it all worked out.”

“I don’t think Dazai’s ever had someone do something like this for him before,” Oda admits. He’s not looking at you anymore, fond gaze trained behind you to where you can hear Dazai and Chuuya arguing about how to use the sparklers. “He never told Ango or I his birthday… or anything personal about himself, really. I’m grateful that you brought us along.”

You wish you could sink into the ground and die, knowing that if it was up to you, you never would have invited either of them but forced yourself to for Dazai’s sake. Again, you shrug, and say, “Was for Dazai. Thought he would like it.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyway,” Oda says dismissively, looking back down at you. “You should stop by the curry place where I take Dazai every once and a while. The kids I brought in stay there, Sakura is the only girl, I’m sure she’d like having another girl around to talk to.”

You blanch. “I don’t-uh-I don’t know if that would be the best idea, I’m not exactly… a good influence for kids.”

Oda shrugs. “Maybe not conventionally, but you’re tough. Work ten times as hard as any of the others in the upper ranks of the Mafia to keep your position. It’s impressive. If Sakura was even half as strong as you are when she grows up, I’d be proud of her.”

Your lips part to speak but no words leave them. You think, maybe, that this is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged this. Your position has never been as secure as anyone else’s—you think maybe that it’s part of the reason why Mori is so insistent on people using that stupid fucking title, as much as you hate it.

Your own subordinates respect you, the rest of the upper echelon who know of your contributions do, but everyone else? Hierarchy is absolute and the Boss’s orders are paramount, but when subordinates see a chance to push themselves higher up the ladder, it’s like sharks with blood in the water. Without a powerful ability like Chuuya’s, or a mind and presence like Dazai’s, as a girl, you’re on the lowest rung, the first one they’re circling to try to get ahead.

You prevent gang wars, keep the government off the Mafia’s ass, but that’s all behind the scenes—none of the lower ranked mafiosos see any of that. They see Dazai and Chuuya bringing down entire organizations overnight. Ace bringing in billions of yen. Kouyou’s perfect record of assassinations. Hirotsu leading the Black Lizards. Akutagawa and his ability. All they ever seen in you is-

All they see in you is a seventeen-year-old girl who happens to be favored by the Boss.

Although you don’t necessarily care for Oda’s presence, even if only for petty reasons, you do appreciate his words. Your shoulders slump and you want to reply, say thank you at the very least, but nothing comes out. You think he notices, and being the infuriatingly kind person he is, he gives you an out. Oda Sakunosuke pats your head like you’re a dog. You give him a side-eye and cringe away from his hand, but he’s unperturbed. 

“I’m glad he has you,” Oda tells you, before wandering back over to Ango, leaving you there flustered and caught off guard.

Your gaze draws back to where Dazai has finally got his sparkler working, and for a second, you’re entranced. You can hardly drag your eyes from the bright gleam and soft smile on Dazai’s lips as he eyes follow the bright pink and gold sparks flying around as he waves the sparkler around in front of him. It’s childish, almost, innocent in a way that Dazai Osamu never gets to act.

You have to force yourself to look away from him, turning your attention back to your phone to go back to what you were doing before Oda interrupted you.

Several texts from Kouyou and Mori demanding you to pick up your phone, one concerned one from Hirotsu—you’ll have to apologize to him later—and several from an unknown number that you don’t recognize. Akutagawa? Dazai’s subordinate? You’re going to have to have a serious talk with your subordinates later about giving out your number. You click back to your message thread with Itou, pointedly ignoring the last message as you type.

You: How the hell did Akutagawa Ryuunosuke get my number?

Itou: pretty sure he threatened a couple of our subordinates, wounded one of them. i have to deal with it tomorrow. have dazai train his dog before letting him wander around unleashed.

You roll your eyes and then tilt your head back to shout over your shoulder, “Dazai, train your fucking subordinates properly.”

The bickering from where Dazai and Chuuya were arguing behind you halts, and you hear the two of them approach you.

“What happened?” Chuuya asks curiously, peeking over your shoulder at your phone. You promptly close it before he can catch sight of the other message that Itou had sent about Dazai.

Dazai comes to hover next to you, waiting for you to explain, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “Akutagawa injured one of my men and threatened others trying to get my number when he heard you were missing. Get him under control.”

Dazai’s visible eye twitches. “Untrained mutt,” he spits out. “I’ll deal with him.”

You share a short look with Chuuya from the corner of your eye, wondering if you’d just condemned Akutagawa to Dazai’s violent wrath, but you’re distracted when your phone buzzes again.

Itou: check ur email.

You straighten in your seat, immediately flicking out of your messages app to your email to find one from Itou with a video file attached.

“No way,” you breathe out, excited, not having expected Itou to get his hands on it so quickly. You turn to look at Dazai, a wide smile on your face; you miss the way the irritation on his instantly fades, visible eye widening and lips parting at the sight of your smile. You also miss, in your excitement, Chuuya’s grunt of disgust. “Dazai, you wanna see your real present?”

Curious, Dazai peers over your shoulder to see the email you got. “What is that?” 

“Watch and see,” you croon, clicking on the video to show the surveillance tape from headquarters.

Instantly, Dazai seems to realize what it is, eye lighting up. “No way,” he says, half sitting on top of you in your beach chair, ignoring your irritated hiss.

“Get your bony ass off of me, Dazai,” you snap at him, but Dazai ignores you, settling down as he snatches your phone to watch the video. 

Chuuya joins him, crowding in on your other side to lean over his shoulder to watch the video. Rolling your eyes, and unable to see the video on your phone, you instead lean back into the chair and watch their reactions to it instead.

Chuuya looks amused, a sharp grin on his face as his eyes remain pinned on the video, and Dazai looks delighted, he cackles and shifts to lean forward, making you grimace when he ends up digging more into your thigh to push himself up.

“Look at his face,” Dazai screeches. “He really thinks it was real. Ane-san looks like she’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Chuuya looks back at you, smiling but there’s a hesitant look in his eyes. “We’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yeah, you agree silently, more focused on the bright shine in Dazai’s eyes and the wide, genuine smile on his lips. He’s so giddy that he’s almost vibrating in your lap, and when he finally looks back at you, he looks at you as if you’ve given him the world. Worth it, though.

Despite ardently arguing why you should be the one who doesn’t have to share a room and succeeding—forcing Oda and Sakaguchi (who didn’t seem to mind) and Chuuya and Dazai (much to their distress) to share a room instead—you find that you can’t sleep at night anyway. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to wander out of the house, making your way to the path leading up to the clifftop—everyone called an early night, the excitement of the day, and the lack of sleep, leaving everyone exhausted before the clock hit nine-thirty.

The seabreeze is cool against your skin, the moonlight’s illumination the only guide you have as you make your way up to the cliff’s edge. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your sweats as you drag your feet against the dirt path.

You don’t notice someone sitting up there at the edge until they turn their head to the side to look at you, startled by your arrival.

“Dazai,” you say quietly, standing there awkwardly for a moment. You haven’t spoken to him alone yet, you’d meant to earlier but then Chuuya got his hands on wine before bed and that plan went out the window.

Dazai sighs whimsically when he catches sight of you. “So, hime forces me to share a room with the slug only to not even use her own room. She’s so greedy,” he whines, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, making your way over to sit with him, legs dangling off the edge, swinging absently. Your thigh is pressed against the side of his, feet occasionally bumping into one another, when you rest your hands against the ground to lean back on them, your thumb brushes his. “You wanted to talk.”

Dazai lets out an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, and you watch as his gaze turns down to his lap, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s pretty beneath the glow of the moonlight, peaceful in a way you hardly ever see him. His expression is free of the numerous masks he wears to protect himself, eyes dark but warm and full of various emotions as he chooses his words carefully.

“Hime read my file,” Dazai finally says, voice soft, almost hesitant. You catch the way his jaw tightens and untightens, the corner of his lips tightening and quivering; a subtle tell to his nerves, one that most people wouldn’t catch, but you do.

“I did,” you agree. Your own heart races in your chest as you wait for his reaction; you don’t think that he’s angry, you think you’d be able to tell if he were angry by now, but you can’t help the anxiety plaguing you.

“So, you saw,” Dazai hums, but there’s a bit of a wobble to his tone. He pointedly doesn’t look at you now, staring ahead out toward the sky and distant sea. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No. I figure you’ll tell me if you want. If not, it’s okay.”

It’s decidedly not okay, but you don’t want to pressure Dazai into telling you. You want Dazai to open up to you, but you don’t want to force him to, so you force yourself to be content with the fact that he’s at least acknowledging this, instead of pretending it didn’t happen.

“I can’t,” Dazai says. 

His throat bobs beneath his bandages, dark eye uncertain as he stares down to the turbulent sea. You think a storm must be coming, the waves have become rocky, whitecaps staining the horizon, crashing into the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Dazai shifts, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

“By choice?” you ask after a few moments. “Or is someone—” Mori “—forcing you to?”

“... Both,” Dazai responds after a few moments. “I…”

Dazai doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say, voice wavering. After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, he continues.

“I don’t have good memories associated with that name,” Dazai finally says, and you don’t dare to speak, hardly even dare to breathe because you don’t want to ruin whatever spurred this decision of his to crack himself open to you, afraid that if you make the wrong move, he’ll withdraw again. “... Sometimes, I miss it though.”

“That’s normal, I think,” you tell him after a moment, looking to the side to focus on him, watching the way his eyes lower at your words. “You have… better ones as… Osamu?” 

It’s your first time referring to Dazai by his first name, and from the way he inhales sharply, he recognizes it as well. There’s something distinctly vulnerable in his expression as he turns his face to you.

“I have you,” Dazai says quietly, and it’s so instant that it catches you off guard, lips parting. As if catching his own lapse in control, he blinks and then rushes to add, “And Odasaku. Ango. The slug.”

You smile a bit to yourself. “Yeah,” you agree. “You do.”

Dazai looks as if he wants to say something, his lips are parted and his gaze is uncertain. You give him a questioning look, wondering what could possibly be running through his head right now, but then he speaks.

“Shuji,” he says so softly that you barely hear him. “My name was Shuji.”

Your eyes shoot open at the admission, Dazai’s goes just as wide, as if he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud. You open your mouth to say something but Dazai doesn’t even give you the chance to.

“You can’t use it ever, okay?” he says, voice tinged with a type of panic you’ve never heard in the boy before, dark eye filled with desperation. “Never. Not when we’re with people. Not when we’re alone. Not ever. You can’t.”

You don’t think Dazai has ever begged anyone for anything in his life, but he’s begging you now… a part of you can’t help but wonder if it’s for his sake, or yours.

“Can I say it once? Right now?” you ask quietly, swallowing thickly.

Dazai looks unsure and hesitant, but he finally nods. “Then you have to forget it, okay? You can’t ever let anybody know it. Nobody can ever know it. And nobody can know that you know, okay? No one, especially Mori.”

You don’t really like the sound of that, your gut tugging uncomfortably at the stress on Mori’s name, but you don’t want to press anymore than you have, so you agree.

With the winds howling around the cliffs to drown out your voice, and only Dazai and the stars to bear witness, you shift to face him. You reach up to cup Dazai’s cheek, fingers brushing against the bandages on the right side of his face, watching as he inhales sharply at your sudden touch. Before you can lose your nerve, you lean in to ghost your lips against his cheek. 

“Happy birthday, Shuji,” you whisper softly, pulling back to sit next to him. Your face is on fire, and Dazai doesn’t react beyond a shaky breath and his fists tightening in his lap.

Finally, instead of responding, he reaches out to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your smile is soft, and you can feel Dazai’s fingers trembling, body uncharacteristically lax as he rests next to you. His dark eye shines and swims with countless emotions, reminiscent of the night sky above—people have always described his eyes as cold and unnerving, but you think they're pretty.

Your free hand brushes a stray rock at your side and you turn to look at it curiously, noting the jagged edge and then getting an idea. Dazai frowns when you pull your hand from his and shift away, giving you a questioning look, but then you shift to your knees, grabbing the rock and etching your first initial into the flat rock that the two of you are sitting on. Dazai watches you carefully and when you hold it out to him, he hesitates before taking it from you.

He doesn’t do anything for a second, staring down at your initial with the jagged edge of the rock resting against the ground next to it. Finally, he takes in a steady breath before carving a ‘+ S’ right next to yours. You chew on the inside of your cheek and your eyes are a bit misty as your hand falls to trace the letters.

After a few moments, you let out another breath and settle down next to him again, a bit closer than you were before, thigh pressed firmly against his and shoulders brushing. You reach for his hand again, intertwining your fingers with his, looking up to the vast sky above.

Your lips part to speak, but the words catch in your throat, fingers tightening around his for the sparest second. He gives you a curious look and you don’t dare to look at him as you finally force the words from your lips.

“The moon… it’s pretty beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” you say quietly, throat tight as you stare up at the sky, the glittering stars and the full moon glowing above. 

You can feel Dazai’s gaze on you as he responds. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think if I died tonight… I would die happy.”

Three years later on the early morning of June 19th, Dazai Osamu sits on the cliff’s edge in the same spot he did with you all of those years before, watching the sun break over the horizon. His fingers trace over the two engraved letters next to him, and not for the first time in the past two years he’s spent underground, he yearns. 

He yearns for you so bad that it makes his chest hurt, his stomach turns in on itself; he yearns so desperately that it’s hard for him to breathe without you, the thought of you weighing so heavily on his mind that he thinks the pressure of it might kill him. As he’s gotten closer to finally being able to leave the underground and join the Armed Detective Agency, he finds that he thinks more and more of you.

He wonders what you’re doing—if you’re thinking of him, if you hate him, if you’ve forgotten all about him. He can almost imagine you sitting here with him, shoulders brushing, thigh pressed to his, fingers intertwined.  He doesn’t know how long he’s spent sitting in that spot, fantasizing that you were there with him, longing for days with you and Chuuya and Odasaku and Ango that are long gone.

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, his phone rings—only one person would be calling him right about now, so he lets it get to the final ring before picking up.

“Fukuzawa-san is ready for you,” Ango says as soon as Dazai picks up the phone, waiting no time for pleasantries.. “Make your way over to the Armed Detective Agency when you can… Happy birthday, Dazai.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, hanging up the phone and letting out a soft breath. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and his eyes linger on the engraved initials, worn with time but still clearly visible, for only a few seconds longer. He pushes himself up to his feet and walks back down toward the beach house with the thoughts of you still clouding his head.

Yeah, Dazai thinks a bit dryly, chest heavy and aching as he looks back at where the two of you once sat three years ago. Happy birthday.

fun facts!

the inspiration for this fic came from the summer vacation bungo mayoi cards with dazai, oda and ango LOLLLL

the inspiration for the "dazai osamu not being dazai's real name" comes from the fact that irl!dazai was a pen name—his real name was tsushima shuji.

i'm gonna drop some pm!reader universe lore here too. in the pm!reader universe, i decided to go with the popular theory that dazai was the previous boss's son/grandson, which is why his word held so much weight when he vouched for mori. when everything calmed down after the death of the previous boss and after most of the old regime of loyalists had been disposed of, mori had shuji change his name to dazai osamu, to shred any connection he might have had to the previously reigning mafia family, just in case more loyalists popped up. in the present pm!reader universe (from 16-22), only kouyou and hirotsu know who dazai really is.

[skyfallstarlights]

“If I hadn’t known you better?  You could've fooled me in a heartbeat, my precious stardust.”  They softly whisper into their companion’s hovering ear with the slightest glance over their broad shoulder.  Would it be an outright lie if they weren’t terribly concerned with the delicate levels of their jester’s warping form, perhaps even trying to keep his attention with the lightest attempts of a feeble jest?  The warmth of their scarlet grip holds rigid upon their lover’s golden palm, the Lamb barely holding some restraint to not dig their duly sharp hooved tips into the other’s skin; for fear if they let go, he’d fly away with the way he spoke so… lightly.

Maybe much more than he ever did before.  Maybe it could’ve been nothing, or just a trick of the mind with how their own was already fraying at its edges for all their ancient age.  But they knew one thing for sure, the hivemind had been buzzing loudly over their own scattering thoughts; whispering and shaking with fright so incoherent that the Emperor couldn’t make a damn sense of it at all.  All they knew for sure though… The lot of its focus had been on Pyroite having fallen in the midst of the grassy shrine courtyard.

Through the wooden red doors of their church that snapped opened promptly at its god’s presence, the cool air of the Lamb’s familiar temple embraces the jester as they lead him into the golden jeweled room empty of its usual worshippers.  Candlelight dances and flickers across the yellow walls as they line along the Emperor’s altar, dimming only a little as they beckon their companion inside.  “Come, lay down, jes.”  The familiar chime of their many golden wedding bands sing their light tune as the Emperor turns to face their beloved.  “You should be able to relax a little here, where it’s most quiet.”  They look up towards the other with a furrowed set of brows, littered with worry.  “In here, you have no need to hold your form like this, please…”

Their ears fall flat in reflection of the starry deity’s light shaking.  “.. What happened out there, Pyroite?”  They whisper under the tense silence of the room.  “I would’ve been back sooner if you had called to me.  Not a moment goes by where I don't already bleed my heart out for you, now.”

They hear that and there is a faint chuckle from the proffesional clown. Ears flicking a little upwards before moving back against his head as he continues to slowly melt. Perhaps it wouldn't of been worrying to see him melt if it wasn't so much, that the usual laid back entertainer wasn't so rattled.

Mismatched gaze flickering down to their held hands. Fingers and claws twitching underneath as the inner debate rages on within his head, wither they should remain or flee and try and take care of themselves once more. The old habit terribly hard to break, even with the one who cares for them is right here.

They follow along with the Lamb, following along into the church that has grown familiar to them, to the room with gold and jewels. Their mind ending up flicking to if Jewel was here ready to scold the entertainer for being here. With not seeing her, they let their gaze fall upon an area where they could lay down. He wasn't sure about that, relaxing. There was a feeling that he would of pulled his long limbs close to him to hold himself together instead.

Tail wrapped around his torso in a comforting manner as they take off their mask. Holding it with their second pair of arms for a few moments before they let their gaze fall back to Empy.

" I didnt say anything earlier, since im not the best with having others worry. For what happened... I'm not sure for the finer details. But there was something close to my neck. Something sharp, something dull, I dont know. Things become blurry after that "

[boneheadduluc]

Hello fellow Brühl simp! I saw an old tumblr post a while back about giving boys flowers too, and I was wondering how the Danny bunch would react to being given flowers/being asked what their favourite flower is by a lover 💐

This is such a cute idea!!! OFC im doing this! Andrea Marowski: sunflowers and lavender

His face goes red! You showing up with flowers in hand. Of course it wasnt something that happened often. But you knew how much he would admire flowers. Especially the sun flowers in the field just near your house, so you cut a few, also mixed in some lavender. he immediately kissed you. Thanking you over and over again. Even in german and polish. You learned flowers in general could get you a long way with Andrea.

Helmut Zemo: White Roses

It was a sleepy evening. Zemos birthday was today. You had been with him for quite some time. And of course you got him something nice. Not too crazy of course, you didnt have that type of money unlike him. "Hey Helmut?" You muttered, looking at him from across the room. You came home today with presents in hand, he turned around facing you. Eyes immediately dashing over what you had, a large bouquet of white roses. "oh. Liebling." He breathed out, walking towards you, his expression going soft. "They are beautiful. Ive never gotten flowers before." He would tilt his head, brushing his fingers along the flowers. The adoration clear in his eyes.

Laszlo Kreizler: Moonvista Carnations

You were confused at his reaction at first. You were just visiting, stopping by. You’d been dating only two weeks. The relationship was new and tender. Of course you didn't want to fuck up. So on your walk to the institution you passed the flower shop. Usually you never looked but today a flower caught your eye. You asked what type and you were told it was a Moonvista carnation. You bought a bouquet and handed them to him. He was definitely flustered. Taking them into his left hand, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Do you like them?” You furrowed your brows trying to get him to meet your eyes. But he didn't. He turned around and walked to the dining table. Re-placing the withered flowers in the vase on the table. Before turning around, his cheeks still warm and blushed. You asked him what was wrong and after some prying he began to explain how hes never had anyone bring him flowers. You learned that Laszlo thought flowers were a gesture romantic and one of his favorite things, he believed flowers were the sweeter things in life and he wasn't used to being appreciated like this. But he was thankful. You exhaled in relief before cupping his bearded jaw into your hands. “Laszlo I appreciate you more than anything.” you would whisper before meeting his lips.

Niki Lauda: Orange Gladiolus

After the race, well Niki didn't get a win. It was an important one too...so you understood why he just raced back to his trailer to wallow. You knocked on the door softly. Honestly a little rattled, you’d never seen him this upset over losing a race. Plus, you had left flowers in his trailer since you were so sure he’d win it. You didnt have time to take them out so you knew he would've seen them already, but it was a good sign they weren't thrown out the window. So you walked in, and were slightly shocked by the sight of him, still in his race suit, cupping the vase with the bouquet or bright flowers. He was holding the vase to his chest, cheeks stained red, eyelashes a bit damp. he definitely was frustrated with losing. he had practiced so hard. He noticed you and blinked a couple times, inhaling deeply through his mouth. “You are the only person who believes in me and loves me. The only one.” His curls fell onto his forehead as he looked down now. His voice was tight and hoarse. It made you feel terrible as you took a seat with him on the couch, cupping his face. “You’re better off with me anyway Niki. Better then to have one person who loves you genuinely then tons of people who hate you but lie about it.” You kissed his cheek softly. “These flowers symbolize strength Niki. You are strong and honorable and I love you. I really do.” You whispered and he leaned against you, clutching the flowers tighter.

[xiao-cafe]

drabble game — prompt 67

pairing: diluc x gn!reader

prompt: “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

tags: fluff, grumpy diluc, healer!reader

wc: 1.3k

notes: in the part with the chest i don’t mean like a female chest but like a normal human chest that’s up to your interpretation ^^ also thank you to @spoiledmoras​ for requesting this! i rushed the ending bc if i went on it would’ve become a full-fledged fic and im not ready for that kind of commitment

The moon hung high and bright in the sky as Diluc limped his way back to Mondstadt. With each step forward, the next step became harder as his legs threatened to give way beneath him.

It wasn’t like him to be injured so badly while protecting Mondstadt in the middle of the night but simple recklessness took a hold of him and he had rashly put himself in danger for the sake of intercepting a few Abyss Mages and the hordes of hilichurls they led.

Granted, his injury was merely a result of his rashness that led to him falling off the cliff after swinging his claymore too widely, making such a rookie mistake weighed heavily on him as he recalled why he had been so agitated in the first place.

Exhaling heavily, Diluc cast a withering glare at the steps leading up to the Cathedral. He had always been one up for some light exercise but his bones ached at the thought of dragging himself all the way up to get some medical help.

“I should’ve gone back to the Winery…” The red-headed man muttered to himself. He glanced back at the route he had taken, the gears spun in his head as he calculated his chances of making it back to the Winery before daybreak or even surviving the night.

But his thoughts were interrupted as you appeared before him, like an angel in the dark.

“Y/N.” He greeted smoothly as he attempted to stand up straighter. The sight of Mondstadt’s newest healer was a welcoming one for Diluc.

Your eyes were as wide as saucers as you observed Diluc looking dishevelled and nothing alike the refined gentleman he always appeared to be.

“Master Diluc.” You responded, eyes roving from his face to his feet. “You’re injured.” You gasped, pointing at his knees.

The man nodded quietly, refusing to explain any further.

One of the things Diluc disliked about you was your unnatural ability to pinpoint when something was up with a person. Your questioning gaze searched his face for answers but Diluc remained stone-faced as you guided him to the fountain by the plaza.

“I know this isn’t the most comfortable of places but I don’t think I could carry you all the way back to the Cathedral.” You said to the man as you helped him move into a seated position with his legs outstretched.

“It’s fine,” He answered, grimacing slightly as pain flared in his legs.

“Pardon me,” You whispered as you rolled up his pants, your face bore no emotion as you assessed the extent of his injuries. Your hands were cool to the touch as your fingers brushed against his skin lightly. As much as he’d hate to admit it, your touch calmed him down and the simmering rage that burned within him seemed to dissipate.

“You’ve been getting hurt more frequently as of late, is something on your mind?” You asked him, unaware that a pair of scarlet eyes were trying to burn a hole into your face for asking a simple question.

“It’s nothing.” Diluc answered stiffly, crossing his arms as he spoke.

The man wondered how much longer you’d take to fix him up and how many more intrusive questions would you ask during that time.

“You sure?”

Diluc sighed deeply, causing you to look up from your work in concern.

“I am. Fine.” He stated quietly, an underlying tone of anger laced his voice as he directed a steely glare at you.

Nevertheless, you were undisturbed by his grumpiness.

“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so.” You told him, a reassuring smile donned your lips as you continued, “Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.” 

Were you… giving him advice?

An unknown emotion erupted in Diluc‘s chest as he glared at you as you worked, your hands hovered above his wounds as you healed him with your powers.

“I have no need to disclose personal matters with you.” Diluc said, breaking the silence.

“I know.”

Diluc gritted his teeth, why would you ask if you had known in the first place?

“I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help,” You stated, answering his unspoken question.

“You’re always coming back to the city this late in the night, injured, and as someone who’s been healing you for the past few weeks I’ve just been feeling a little worried that’s all.”

It was true. Diluc knew he wasn’t being himself, throwing himself at monsters every chance he got. And the fact that you always happened to be around when he needed a healer was something he greatly appreciated. 

Perhaps he had been too harsh…

“Klee’s always saying that you never smile and I guess that’s true!” You laughed pointing at him.

Even without a mirror, Diluc knew exactly what you had meant and your laughter only served as oil to be added to the growing flames.

As time passed, the pressure on his brow lifted and the quiet anger quickly turned into approval (and a hint of admiration) while you finished up the healing process, unfurling his pant leg to signify that you were done.

“I’ve done as much as I could but you should definitely follow me to the Cathedral so you can receive proper treatment.” You stated, perspiration coated your forehead which you promptly wiped away with your sleeve.

“I’ll be fine on my own.” Diluc answered, refusing your outstretched hand in offer. 

“Oh, but I’ve only alleviated the pain, the injury is still-” Your words were interrupted as the red-haired man attempted to stand up, only to fall forward and into your arms.

You let out a yelp as Diluc’s weight sent the both of you crashing into the cobbled floors.

“Are you okay?!” Your voice was high as you lifted Diluc’s face from your chest.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t support your weight.” You blurted out and continued to apologize profusely even as Diluc lifted himself off of you with his arms and rolled over.

“Your face is red, do you have a fever!?” You pressed your palm to Diluc’s cheek, “You’re burning up!”

Diluc remained composed despite his flushed cheeks, his face felt warm and the way you touched him in such an unrestrained manner didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, he wanted more.

You were a rambling mess as you fussed over him, checking his temperature and if his injury had worsened.

Diluc narrowed his eyes at you as he let you help him sit up, he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hold you. But he let you press your body next to his as his arm slung around your shoulders and you lifted him from the floor.

“Don’t worry, I’m prepared to support you this time!” You assured him, to which Diluc responded with a low unconvinced hum.

Yet, a hint of a smile was evident on his lips as you walked with him up the many stairs, until the both of you reached the Cathedral, out of breath.

“We’re… Here…” You panted, your legs complained with each step you took but you ignored the limits of your body and focused on getting Diluc some much needed medical help.

In truth, Diluc had already gotten used to the initial soreness in his legs. With the pain gone, he could still walk even though he was certain the bone within hasn’t mended but the man wasn’t about to tell you that.

In his eyes, you were strange, asked many invasive questions, yet you stirred something deep in his heart and he would rather compliment Kaeya than to say what was on his mind.

Even as you called for Barbara, you stayed by his side. Making sure he was comfortable and assisting Barbara whenever you could.

Although, the blush on his face still wouldn’t go away.

end.

end notes: this was also unedited bc its 1am and im sleepy lmao

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

[orbdog]

ignore how like...stupid red my hands are here but >_>

i got two more figures in the build a portal set! :] i originally wasnt planning on going all in to build the portal, as that isnt really where my interests lie when it comes to figure collecting, but i already have the zombified piglin and the brute on the way so...why not? these little figures make me so happy, and having an end goal of making the whole portal has given me something to look forward to!

i really need to take pictures before i open these things. but first, heres the wither skeleton!

as always the detail on this little guy is super neat. its very hard to get on camera, but instead of having different painted sections for all the shades of gray and black, they have different textures! which looks really great.

because of his big ol head and little skinny legs he struggles to stand up on his own, and his center of balance gets even worse when you pop the stone sword in his hand. he just kinda topples over lol im sure this is just a problem with the regular skeleton as well. his arms also dont pop out at an angle like the piglins do. i assume this is because theyre too small for that, or theres just no need to since most of the time in game hes gonna be in one of like, two poses, but i thought it was fair to at least mention that.

hes still really cool, and he came with the inside of the portal so of course i had to get him.

no real complaints though!! love the guy.

up next, my first (and so far only) non nether mob: THE GOAT

im obsessed with this guy. the level of detail on such a small and weirdly shaped figure is awesome. the layers of wool, his big dopey head, i just love it. hes got some okay articulation for what they were working with, his head moves up and down for proper Head Bonkin and his legs move as well. he also game with a spawn egg??? which is such an odd choice for an item, but it did give me the chance to give the piglin way too much power

aaaand yeah! those are the the next two in the set! im still waiting on the piglin brute to ship out (preorders =_=) and im still on the hunt for the strider (which is either a preorder or its. on sale at target?? i dont know its very mysterious) and a creeper that doesnt have a super huge upcharge.

but wait ...whats this? A BONUS KIND OF IMPULSE BUY THAT IM ACTUALLY SUPER HAPPY WITH??

THATS RIGHT BABY WE GOT THE GHAST!!!!!!!

this is genuinely one of the coolest things in my collection. quite possibly outshining the ruined portal lego set in my favorite piece of minecraft merchandise. almost....maybe.

not only is it the second best nether mob, its also a WEAPON. with the button on the back you can shoot out these little plastic "fireball" chips at the face of your nearest enemy!

it comes with ten of the slightly translucent pieces of plastic. i definitely didnt look directly at the business end while seeing how it works right after opening. nope. not at all.

the cool part though, is that a plastic plate in the face moves up when you push the button in, revealing its "attack" face

something about this is just so cool to me. they didnt have to add that detail at all but it makes it all the more special. another thing they didnt have to do but did?

ALL OF THE LEGS ARE ARTICULATED???? what a cool touch! theyre set at different lengths, and when tilted slightly backwards like in game, it stands up on its own even when its full of chips. makes it perfect to sit at the back of some kinda display like its floating behind everything. its pretty much to scale with the other figures as well which is really nice.

the perfect discreet weapon no home intruder will ever expect! :D (i do not condone ghast related violence)

anyway, overall i really dont have any complaints about any of these figures so far. theyre all lovely in their own ways, all look great on their own or with other figures.

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold. 

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back. 

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire. 

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound. 

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay. 

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but  stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override. 

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried. 

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him. 

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

[sapphire-innit]

DRISTAAAAA TIMEEE

VOD: TommyInnit Speaks To Dream’s Sister AGAIN

(rp): Drista!! I love this chaotic child and am looking forward to seeing the children bully each other lmao. I especially love the mythos around Creative mode, and that the most benevolent god on the Dream SMP is just as likely to ban you as hand you a shulker box lol.

I do wonder how in character cc!Tommy is going to be able to stay during this stream: on one hand he’s a master at staying in character even during lh moments, and on the other Exile arc is some Dark Shit and Dristas like what, 14?? Overall I expect this to be one of the lighter streams, with a smattering of moments where we remember that, oh right, Tommy’s pretty actively suicidal at this point and he sees this as one of his last hurrahs.

Speaking of our boy Tommy: it's very clear we are getting closer and closer to the infamous pillar. He switches rapidly between Fight and Fawn reflexes and has mostly internalized Dream’s treatment and conditions at this point. The one stand out moment being him calling out Dream killing Mexican Dream last stream, and pointing out he was changing his story even when Dream tried to lie and say he died of “a drug overdose [...] or natural causes”. I’m curious if Tommy is going to bring it up again, and even more curious if he eventually believes Dream about it; something to watch out for, for sure. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this moment of rebellion happened right after he had someone both stand up for him and spend time with him that wasn’t actively hostile or going to end (supposedly, at least by intention)

Hey we didn’t start off drowning for once!! cc!Tommy was also singing, though that could have been mostly out of character as well. Still, remarkably in a better mood, he even mentions having an appetite! You love to see it, and it's clearly because he’s looking forward to Drista’s visit

He’s building a log tower and on one hand, Tommy building Towers is a natural state of being, and on the other…. I know the pillar is coming and I am scared

A mention of the Anti-Dream hole… I still worry about when exactly and how Dream is going to find it. Still, I’m glad it exists, both for Tommy having a space for things important to him, as well as what it represents about his mental state re:not giving over completely to Dream

DRISTA!!!! LOL she was already online we didn't even see her join LOL. CHAOS GREMLIN she just flew over in creative mode and started wrecking shit, as is her right lmaoooo

“You massive jer--, (quieter) whats a nicer way…, YOU MASSIVE DICKHEAD” oh, Tommy..

I like how he tries to punch her even when shes CLEARLY IN CREATIVE MODE ADSADASD

The violence inherent in fourteen year olds,,,, adsfsadfsdfds

I hate this conversation why is this the conversation asdffdsfsd TEENAGERS

DREAM YOUR NOT EVEN A TEENAGER WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING THE SAME LOGIC

Well SHE can destroy the obsidian asdfsdfds She just Spleefs

“What would Dream do” Probably worse lets be honest

Is he actually gonna go back to L’manburg?? I don’t believe it but I also want :(

Again with the stabbing

AND DOWN HE GOEEEESSSS

“I have the fork, but I'm also killing you” afsafsdfdsf Tommy why are you wearing your good shit omg

Lol cc!Dream trying to defend his character for mocking Tommy’s accent adsfsdfds “I would NEVER” in the totally not believable tone lmaoooo

DID SHE REALLY GO AT HIM WITH A FORK I'M FUCKING DYING DSAFDADSFDS

“I will take it from you and I’ll kill him”... I have so many thoughts about how this works in lore. Is Drista possessing Dream? He can kick her out clearly, but she still has God Powers…

Lol and now SHES mocking his accent lmaoooo (... is it bad she sounded pretty close to me? lol)

Adsfdsfswd casual chaos Drista just broke the Nether Portal

Asking Drista to stop destroying things is a big ask to be honest lmaoo. Also she seems to be at least somewhat informed that ‘Dream is not supposed to be nice to Tommy’ or at least seemed hesitant to do /weather clear

GOD THE LAVA BUCKETS AND THE POTION OF HARMING adsfsdfsdf

“Tommy [beheaded him] actually… and killed Mexican Dream” Dream you motherfucker

“How to Sex 3” THE PANIK!!!!!! From Both cc!Dream and Tommy!!! This server is Not Child Friendly lol (Doesn’t…. That not even include sex things…. afasfsd)

Honestly I can’t stop smiling this is so wholesome somehow even with all the cursing and violence

Pigstep IS a bop, Tommy is right

“Just let him, just let him this one time” :(

“Tommy I still have the Fork” Drista totally willing to stab her brother to visit L’manburg

HE TOOK THE FORK ASDASDAS

Yes, closing your eyes will totally protect you from Forks lol

“I don’t need school, I dropped out” Is this Lore Crumbs, is this Lore

HEYYYY ITS THE BEDROCK, the one piece of bedrock he has lol, I think he still has that in current day right?

Drista is writing her name in BEDROCK adsfsdfds “I’m not going to be able to get rid of that actually” “That's the Point”

LOL SHe also recognized the burrito as from Mos lmaooo

Somehow “I really want to go to the other place.. I don’t know why he won’t let you” hit hard… it was def ooc, and she doesn’t have the full context, but still… its just someone else wanting and asking for Tommy to be able see L’manburg…

Afsdfsd the Small Gasp when she spleefs herself omgg

HES THERE!!! HES THERE!!!!!! L’MANBURG!!!!!!

Punz!!! WHY!!!! Were you there bc Drista might let Tommy through, was this a safeguard for the LORE. Also he’s currently working for Dream directly right, as a merc?

Drista trying to save Tommy!!!! Punz why are you winning a fight with someone in creative adfsadfsd He’s too good lol

They have negotiated a visit… I’m so emotional I wasn’t expecting this…. No one told me we got a real L’manburg visit !

BIG Q SHES FOURTEEN!!! Omg they didn’t tell him it was Drista. BIG Q!!! BIG Q DON’T SELL HER DRUGS

“He was Naked” good for you Drista, good for you. There’s something so hilarious about Drista just stabbing Quackity over and over again cause she’s uncomfortable lol (as is her right)

LOL THE FINAL KILL WITH MAGIC WHEN HE’S ALREADY DROWNING IM

Wha --- what video was it????? What is this Tommy picture on the Technoganda???

….”are you sure I’m allowed here” Dream’s conditioning is strong :(

“At many minute I could get mugged” To be Fair Tommy, that was true before

Did Tommy just suggest spawning in a Wither asdfsdfds

DRISTA DOG ARMY!!!! Aww and Tommy has one too~

THE BENCH!! THE HOUSE!!! Aaaaaaaaa He’s sitting on the bench nature is HEALING

AAAAAAAA A BLAZE!!!! Pfffft

…. Who destroyed the front of Tommys house?

,,,,Drista what are you doing with that soULSAND

“OK we'll turn on him” adsfsdfsd

OH HEY TECHNO!!! Lol “Oh god he meant me” fucking mood big man

……. Tubbo hallucination……… fuck

LOL HE COMBAT LOGGED “YOU CALL THAT COMBAT” I'M

To be fair, logging against a /kill is probably the only way to get away lmao

…...F

“Getting thrown off a cliff is literally how Theseus died!!” lol its also hilarious to me that Tommy def does not remember being called that. Personally I don't think it fits him super well anyway, but I do like it as something Techno calls Tommy, that shows how much he misjudges Tommy's character and intentions. No heroes here, just a kid trying to do good by their friends and what they care about

Techno actually looking up how to kill someone in creative mode

…. :( I just want my actual clingyduo content this is meeeeannn

OH HEY TECHNO …. You fucker he would and it would be HILARIOUS (get mad if Drista opped Techno that is lol)

….

….

IS THIS WHY THEY’RE BEDROCK BROS????? BECAUSE THEY BOTH HAVE DRISTA BEDROCK??????????????????????????

HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS ???

LOL TRUE DUO SUPREMACY TUBBO’S GOT TECHNO'S BEDROCK

Oh F Techno got him with the Obliterator lmaoooo

“I have 114 levels PLEASE” asdfdasfsdf

LOL Tubbo with the TNT there's our nuke boy, I'll take my crumbs where I can get them

THE SHULKER HOLY SHIT

“Don't let someone get it!!”” ADSFDSAFSDFDS they all tuRN CC REAL QUICK WHEN THE SHULKER BOXES COME OUT

Awesamdudes like: MORE PLEASE AFDASFDSF

Techno immediately snitching about Elytra and dRISTA GETTING THE ACHIEVEMENT

EVERYONE SNITCHING IN CHAT I'M!!!! DREAMS REACTION ASDFSDFDSF

Drista being the chaotic giver of illegal gifts is so fucking good I'M THRIVING

THE RUN ON PUNZ !!!! omg

Also can we just take a minute to appreciate Tommy being allowed around people <3 <3 This is so wholesome and good and chaotic as all hell

“I thought I was Tom Cruz for like a whole week” ...TOMMY??

LOL SHE BANNED TECHNO OMG

Dristas on a banning Rampage afsdfsdf

BAN GOGGY OMGGG

Omg shes actually making a wITHER DASDASDFAS

Oh no poor Tubbo I didn’t know he was liVE

319k viewers jeezus

Awwwww Techno hyping up Wilbur's song :) that's so sweet actually

…………….Fuck you Dream :( saw the chance to Twist the Knife in c! And TOOK IT

LOL THE FUCKING FORK IS THE BEST BIT LOLLLL

Lol ironically the Bedrock bros song is the oNE COPYRIGHTED ONE, god why did Minecraft ever copyright Pigstep what a shit move honestlyyy

Pigstep fucking goING TO TECHNO LOLLLLLL “this is the most powerful item on the server since it DMCA’s people”

LOL PUNZ TRYING TO STEAL ANOTHER SHULKER

Poor Sam he actually has to BUILD give this man a SHULKER

Lol Everyone wants a shulker so much

….aww he tried to toss the pigstep disc lmaooo DRISTAS LITERALLY HOLDING IT Scaaaaaammmmed

Drista “I NEED IT ON HAND” So committed to violence !!!

The fucking creepers on the way out omg fuckign PERFECT

LOL TOMMY WASN’T READY FOR THE TURN AROUND ON CURSING LMAO You can tell he's always been the youngest who people aren't sure how much they can curse around lmao He's so soft honestly he talks such a big game and then CRUMBLES when called on it lol

Asfdsfs she fell through the same hole again afsdfsdfsd

Drista has been introduced to a Weapon and she’s gotten ATTACHED lmaooo

Wait HOLD THE PHONE Dream has multiple sisters??? Lol

“Yeah I like Shit” Dream: “whAT???”

Bye Drista it’s been nice!!! I hope she had a good time, she seems like a good kid (who is definitely not a content creator lol though she keeps up admirably)

Drista’s one of the few people who can make Tommy speechless lmaooo he looks actually shocked lol

Also first mention of GhostInnit…. cc!Tommy…..

Keep preparing…. Was his original plan to rush Dream even if (maybe especially if…) he died? Fuck man

Also holy shit was this stream right before Quackitys? ? amazing

This was honestly such a BLAST and a really good time, and I can see why its viewed as one of the few breaks we get during Exile :) I feel so refreshed and it was so so nice to have Tommy hanging out in L’manburg having fun with his friends (even if Tubbo was stuck being a Hallucination and Also Banned lol) No deeper insight, I just haven’t stopped smiling for an hour and a half <3

[rhaenyratargeryn]

A few weeks ago I wrote slutty, slutty Kent x Button fic and then didn’t post it-- but now I’m gonna and reveal myself as a thirsty ho.

title: reciprocity rated: explicit fandom/pairing: Mind Blind (IF) Kent Zarneki x f!Button Wiseman summary: One photo leads to another leads to another... Button could open a gallery with the sheer volume of nudes she possesses of one Kent Zarneki.

It had started innocently enough. At least, that was the lie I was telling myself because in all honesty, what was innocent about sending your boyfriend a selfie— when that selfie was really just a strategically cut close up of the new strappy bralette you’d bought, peaking out from the unbuttoned V of your Aeon uniform top? Nothing. Absolutely god damn nothing.

The text I sent: new! shockingly comfortable. didn’t want to rip it off as soon as I got home

Kent’s message bubbles were silent, but the “read” notification had gone off. I grinned slyly to myself, getting comfortable back up against my bed pillows. Kent blushed so infrequently, I had made a game of it as much as Glitch, though I had had unprecedented success. Glitch had given me a withering look at the boast.

I mean. It was obvious why I did.

My phone dinged, the notification image showing that in lieu of a text, Kent had sent an image of his own. I clicked the tiny preview and was awarded with a picture much like my own, Kent’s tie loose around his neck, the buttons of his shirt undone to show the pale expanse of skin beneath. I could just barely see the line of his jaw, the smirk ticking up the corner of his lips.

I responded by undoing my own shirt down to my waist, pushing the fabric down around my shoulders and using my arms to help my cleavage look fuller. This was dangerous. Very dangerous, but I shook my head to let my hair cascade down across me, took a few shots and sent the best one.

Are you in bed?

Kent’s reply. Followed shortly by another photo. He had put aside ceremony and fully removed his shirt, revealing he was in bed himself. The dark sheets contrasted against him. All that Aeon training had sculpted and carved him into a lean, but strong figure. He was not bulky, like Grayson, cut more narrowly at his waist which gave his shoulders an even fuller illusion of broadness that made my hands ache to run over them.

Kent Zarneki, in short, was too fucking hot for his own good.

I am

Im taking my clothes off

I assume that is what we are doing?

I sent the three texts in quick succession. The message bubbles in reply were brief.

yes

The image that followed was enough to send a hot pang right down into my stomach. He’d unbuttoned his trousers, using the thumb of his free hand to hold down the band far enough I could see the line of his pelvis and the dark hair that dusted across.

If you want to

I want to

I took off my shirt, throwing it aside without care. I had chosen to wear a high-waisted black skirt that day, which was all the better. I very carefully slid my hand up the cup of my bralette, letting the fabric rise up to show the under curve of my breast, appearing fuller when pressed up into my palm.

I sent it and in a second got a reply.

Off

I smirked. Kent had already been naked from the waist up for some time now. I received a sequence of three images, all of which where very flattering shots of Kent’s own torso and abs.

Seems only fair

I pulled the lacy fabric up and over my head as easily as my shirt, looking down at my own pale breasts, my nipples already hardened in the cool air and in anticipation. Shyness fell over me like a cold shower. Kent had never seen me naked before. What if I was too small? What if I was too big? Was my right breast always that much different from my left? Anxiety panged in my stomach as intense as arousal and despite my delay, Kent’s messages remained silent.

Patient. Waiting.

I could cheat. Brushing my hair over my shoulders, the strands lay perfectly over the tops of my breasts, hiding them from clear view, but not as much as my bralette did. I let the photo catch just the bottom half of my face, my tongue stuck out to the side. Teasing. Taunting. Like it was on purpose, not because I was nervous.

Kent didn’t respond for several minutes. The next image, I felt my mouth go dry. I could very clearly see the outline of his erection, pressing against the groin of his pants and going down the leg.

He wasn’t wearing boxers. Of course he wasn’t. This was Kent Zarneki, a man who was one bad day away from leaving everything and joining a nudist colony.

Is this okay?

It was more than okay. It was super okay. It was, please-send-me-more-now okay.

I relayed as much through the text message and got a photo that sent my heart racing. It was just him. His cheeks flushed, his gray eyes dark and storming, a smug smile half formed on his lips. His dark hair was messy and I nearly groaned with frustration at how badly I wanted to run my fingers through it, tug on it, pull that smirk against my own and kiss it off his face.

The next photo I sent him I hid nothing, cupping my breast in my hand and making as if I was drawing my thumb over my nipple. I showed my face, trying my best to look as effortlessly sexy as him— though no matter what I did, my smile was always more playful than sultry. My cheeks flushed with more than just wanting.

Cute

High praise

I replied, trying to remind myself his short responses were normal and not to read into it.

You want praise?

You’re driving me crazy

His words hit me like a sucker punch. His next photo is the second one I didn’t see coming.

No man this gorgeous should ever be blessed in such a way. There were really no words other than “pretty” to describe the flushed skin of his length, not overly long, but definitely blessed where it counted. Or at least where I had heard it counted. It’s all about the girth. My mind supplied in its best Cosmo magazine voice.

The tip was, in all honesty, a very pretty shade of darkened pink, and curved with a sort of perfection that should have been reserved to— I don’t know. Porn stars? Dick models? Do dick models exist? Hand models sure do, and the way his hand was wrapped around himself was enough to make me think he could easily be one of those too.

Cute

I snap back and I can practically hear him laugh in my mind.

High praise

More?

Is that an offer or a request?

Both

How could I say no? I definitely didn’t want to. I found the zipper at the top of my skirt and slid it down. I was left in just my panties and hose. I rolled the hose down low on my thighs, sitting up on my knees to take a photo. Hesitating for just a moment, I flicked the camera over to video and let my hand run down over my thigh and then across my hips. I drew my finger over my center, my breath hitching and my hips moving forward as I rolled against my own touch.

I sent it.

And after a moment I got a video in turn. I watched Kent’s hand glide up over his length in slow, languid motions, pausing to rub his palm against the tip of his head. Teasing himself with the lightest touch. His cock flexed and jumped, a tiny gruff sound escaping his lips and reminding me that even though I couldn’t see his face this was Kent. My Kent.

I nearly dropped my cellphone as it began to vibrate, an incoming call displaying on the screen. I laid back, pushing my hose off the rest of the way as I answered. The line was silent before I finally broke it with a breathy- “hey.”

“Are you naked?” Kent’s voice was low, strained, but somehow eager.

I took a quick moment to slide my panties off, kicking them away.

“Now I am.”

Kent took in a deep breath. I let my hand trail between my legs, touching myself in the familiar way I did when I was alone. I traced my index and middle finger up my labia, spreading the soft warm skin, dipping my fingers into the center where I was slick and hot.

“I’m touching myself.” I said, my voice a broken whisper. Kent made a gruff sound of acknowledgement.

“Kent...” I said, “You made me so wet.”

He moaned.

“Is that okay?” I said, teasing him. I appreciated his caution, his check ins, making sure I was enjoying myself.

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay. Tell me.”

“Wow. Six whole words? Be careful, you’ll make me come.”

“That’s the idea.” Kent said, a breathless laugh filtering through his words.

“What about you? Having fun yet, Zarneki?”

Kent made a sound and I heard the rustling of sheets and the faint click of the phone camera shutter. My phone chimed, an image appearing of the head of his cock, wet with pre-cum he was smearing around the tip.

My tongue slid out against my bottom lip.

“Kent, don’t take this the wrong way— but you have such a pretty penis.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious. I want to put it in my mouth, which is not something I thought I’d ever say to any guy. But like? It just looks so appealing.”

“You’re killing me.” Kent said, a groan that sounded almost exasperated coming from his throat. It was hard to tell.

“With my witty charm or because I put a very naughty image in your head?”

I slipped two fingers into my mouth, pursed my lips, made a show of how wet and soft they looked and sent it to Kent.

“Shit—“

I felt a burst of pride at his expletive and found my clit with my fingertips, circling in a quicker pace.

“I like listening to you.” I said, thoughtless. I sighed, feeling my whole body warming, “Wish it was closer.”

“...I’m just down the street.” Kent said, trying to play it off like it was a fact and not a very tempting invitation.

“But this is fun. And naughty. And I get a keepsake.”

I heard the question in his voice, almost masked by a small groan. I wondered what his hands were up to.

“The photos. Speaking of which... I wouldn’t mind an after shot.”

“After?”

“After I make you come all over yourself, Zarneki.”

I heard his breath hitch.

“Only if I get one too.”

“You got it.”

Talking became a non-priority then. The only thing I strained to hear was his breaths, his soft moans, the faint wet sound I sometime thought I heard over the receive— or maybe that was me. I felt flooded, with heat and wanting and need. I pressed harder, worked my palm flat against my clit and stroked my fingers inside, imaging how much further Kent’s slender fingers could reach. Imaging his tongue. That pretty cock.

“Kent.” I whimpered, the involuntary clutch of my walls around my fingers my bodies way of telling me it wanted all of that and more.

“Good?” Kent murmured, a faint reply.

“Yes— I... I just keep imaging if it were you.” I don’t need to explain. I can tell by the way his breathing has fallen into faint rhythmic pants that he got my full meaning and he liked it.

“...me too. I want... I want you.” Kent paused, his next words coming out with earnest sweetness, “I’ll wait as long as you need...  but I’m ready. I want it. This. With you.”

Whatever I was thinking, whatever I wanted to say fuzzed out around the edges as a prickling sensation spread out from where my fingers were rolling and pressing in tandem. I coaxed my climax out, the peak hanging on the edge for a wonderful few tense moments before it fell. I whimpered, the sound coming out louder than I intended.

I heard Kent swear, or say my name or some combination of the two and then his voice pitched up for just a moment, a gasping moan aching from his throat.

I was hot, messy and completely boneless, laying back on my bed and feeling like I could fall asleep right then and there.

But I owed Kent a picture.

I spread myself open, the puffiness, the redness and slickness hopefully all the evidence he needed to see I had most definitely orgasmed. The moment I opened the chat to send it I received his in turn. His cock lolled back against his stomach, a line of cum connecting to the opaque white puddle settled there. There were drops across his chest and a few splatter across his hand.

My walls clutched hard as I thought what it would feel like to lick him clean.

I sent my own photo, the two of us quiet now, content with just listening to the sound of the other breathing through the phone speaker.

“So. Shower photo shoot next?” I said, unable to hide a nervous giggle.

“Give me just a second to get a towel.”

I had been kidding, but the eagerness in Kent’s voice was enough to make me decide to not correct him.

[ihaveissuesbutthatsokay]

EREMIN URBAN FANTASY (I THINK???) AU!!!

WARNING : strong language, mention of blood, of a missing person, grief and mention of depression

The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest. 

Not a normal one, anyway.

There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone, watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.

You were known as the boy who seeked freedom. 

 People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside. 

 After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space. 

No one came out alive in the forest. 

That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up. 

Why do you never give up, goddamnit!

You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable. 

I was wrong. 

That's right. You were wrong. 

And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all. 

----

Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess. 

He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---

He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary. 

Coffee. He needed coffee. 

He made a face,just thinking about drinking it.  He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it. 

He hated it, but he needed it. 

The caffeine kept him awake. 

Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake. 

He still remembers how two years ago,  exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting. 

“You don't even like it.” She would frown. 

 Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement.  “Since when did you start calling it like that?” 

Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head. 

“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.” 

Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked. 

“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add,  after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.” 

“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced. 

“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both. 

“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset,  and from that,   Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them  commented on it. It was a comforting lie. 

Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with  a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye.  It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands. 

He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much. 

 He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece  afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it. 

“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.  

“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands. 

The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.” 

“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was. 

He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.” 

The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just  bake coffee beans?” 

Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.” 

“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap. 

“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.” 

Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in. 

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone. 

Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips. 

Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips. 

His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful  not to spill anymore. 

 He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did. 

Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground, 

This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im  a failure, and, and, and---

And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if  his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it. 

But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---

“Ymir.” 

The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him. 

That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice. 

That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere. 

He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains. 

“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---

His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure. 

 “You have to find Ymir.” 

“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?

“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out. 

“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–

“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.

“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.” 

“Ymir. Find. Ymir.” 

With that, Eren started to fade again.

“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back. 

In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---

“Dont.” He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.” 

“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–

“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–

But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep. 

[foryouthegays]

Nothing bad ever happens at a festival. [Dream SMP] liveblog w/ timestamps

yes im still a techno apologist i love him too much [edit after he ‘betrayed’ tommy: yallre still tommy apologists after this???? lmao cringe /hj i think that theyre both right, but techno should be angry about it]

good technolaughs: 00:14:15, 00:50:50

other: (00:01:31 techno calls phil his friend,,,,,i love them) (00:16:55 tommy calls phil ‘dadza’ aww) (00:20:30 do do doo) (00:47:20 HEHH????) (00:56:15 SELLOUT TIMER POGGGG with dream! and then again at 01:06:55 and 01:25:20) (01:20:20 fundy is dead pog blood for the blood god)

posted the summary right before this :D

ik i say this every time but his startin’ the streammmm is so good i love it

a;ldkjfa 00:00:25 ‘whY IS A BOTTLE CONSIDERED A FRIENDLY CREATURE-’

also techno calling his audience ‘boys’ gives me so much gender serotonin ty mr blade ily

00:01:30 PHILZA MINECRAFT!!!!!

00:02:00 ‘im going to be headed to a festival today :D’ ‘oh you got an invite?’ ‘...im gonna be headed to a festival- [laughs]’ a;lkdsjfa love techno

phil is such a horrible person i love him. ‘dont kill too many people!’ 

phil n techno bullying tommys house,,,;alksdfjas

ALJDFAFDK 00:05:55 ‘the economic consequences of murder’ 

HI TOMMY

i love all the ‘inventor of minecraft, philza minecraft!’ jokes theyre so funny jhfdskla

ALS;DKJFA AT 00:07:30 TOMMY ASKS WHAT ENIGMA MEANS I LOVE HIM A;LDKFJA

i love tommy bc he just. he just says things. ex, 00:08:30, ‘it is likely, everything is likely when I am me, and I am always me, until the day I die. when I die, this world will be stupid.’ like how does he THINK of that???? what is his brain like???? i love him

‘technoblade, I only jump on poor people.’ 00:09:05

techno n phil have such similar vibes. like theyre both sarcastic n bounce off each other so easily,,,,,i want a full stream of them again, turtle time n a new home were AMAZIN

techno is literally tommys dad hes like, ‘do u have everything you need? do you have the potions?’ its hilarious

00:12:00 PHIL LOOK OUT ITS A BABY ZOMBIE <- another one of my favorite phil jokes

00:12:15 TOMMY AXE OF PEACE????

00:14:10 ‘wait a minute, its raining!!! see ya, looser!!!! HAAAA!!!!!!! OH NO ITS SNOWIN’ IM GONNA DIE- thats fine, its fine, AAAHHAHAH” sky/bed wars energy 

00:15:45 what do u MEAN u arent against dream. i mean it makes sense, bc tommy isnt ur brother in canon nd hes just a kid u found nd helped but SIR?????

00:16:55 DADZA ALDSKJFAF

AL;DKFJA 00:17:15 ‘i dont think we’re in l’manburg anymore, tommy’ 

technos such a nerd abt directions i love him

ALKDSFJAFA 00:19:45 ‘hey, hey, notice that cool guy who used to live in lmanburg, that always built massive cobblestone towers?’ ‘uhhh yeah, that idiot’ ghjkfdsl techno ur so mean to tommy

tecnos yellin voice is so pretty

A;LSDKFJAS OPERATION INFILTRATION THATS A GOOD NAME 00:23:00

00:25:35 ‘you guys have fortnite?’ techno,,,

00:27:50 [about dream] ‘i think we’re quite a long way past making an enemy, technoblade.’ tommy has some good lines sometimes

aldkaf ‘i dont even see stars,,,’ ‘thats depressin’ ‘..yeah’ i love techno n ranboos mini conversations 

DREAM JOINED THE SERVER OH GOD. 

00:30:40 :CRAB: DREAM IS HERE :CRAB:

gjfsdfk tommy is so bad at directions is great

i love technos ‘????’ in chat when he has to be quiet its so funny. like he could easily mute and say things but its for the Immersion jhfgsdk 

also yall look at how much technos stuttering in his typing he has to go back at like, every other letter to retype it 00:36:15

A;SDLFKJAS HE LITERALLY TYPES ‘WHY CAN I NOT TYPE’ GHKDFJ

00:37:15 50V2 50V2 50V2 also dream sounds so mad

00:40:40 “HE WOULDN’T LIE TO ME, DREAM, HE’D LIE TO YOU, BUT HE WOULDN’T LIE TO ME.” OH MY GOSH

00:41:10 “i mean, you’re out here, accusing him of crimes, and you’re saying just because he’s defendin’ himself, that makes him guilty?” HELL YEAH TECHNO also oh, yeah, whatever, laws, cringeee

HFGJKSD TECNO RANBOO FRIENDSHIP STRIKES AGAIN!!!!! LOVE THEM

ASLDKJFASL AND THE FACT THAT TECHNO CHOOSES RANBOO TO MESSAGE,,,,LOVE THEM

[presidential alert, the boys are FIGHTINGGGGGG] a;lsdfja 00:43:30

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE

HOLY SHIT TOMMY

00:45:05 ‘THE DISCS WERE WORTH MORE THAN YOU EVER WERE’  OH MY GOD

technos right, silent pvp is awkward as well

oh boy dream has alllll the discs

00:46:40 

“Techno...this isn’t me... this isn’t...I mean, I look around, and I’m not the person I want to be. I- I mean... I’m so sorry. Techno, if this is who I am, then I don’t want to be me anymore, man. I- I’m sorry. I’m with Tubbo.”

HOLY SHIT TOMMY JUST BETRAYED TECHNO RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM OH MY GOD PHILZA RLLY IS THE ONLY PERSON TECHNO CAN TRUST

oh holy FUCK technos change in tone from “TOMMY WHEN I SAID- Tommy, perhaps I wasn’t clear yesterday. When I said that I’m going to destroy L’Manburg, and that you don’t have to help me, when I said yOU DON’T HAVE TO HELP ME TOMMY, I MEANT THAT YOU COULD SIT IT OUT, NOT SWITCH SIDES, AND FIGHT AGAINST ME!”

also “youRE BETRAYING ME, IS WHAT YOU’RE DOING, TOMMY” god i love technos yelling voice,,,

hoLY SHIT TOMMY ‘im worse than everyone i didnt want to be...’ DUDE CHILL ITS TECHNOS THING TO HAVE GOOD LINES 00:47:55

the contrast between tommy saying the whole ‘‘it is likely, everything is likely when I am me, and I am always me, until the day I die. when I die, this world will be stupid” and “i know what ive done, and I hate me for it” is just,,,,that HAD to be planned, right???????? theres no way he thought of that on the spot 

“thank you, for giving me the disc, but I just want to say that you’re an idiot” gfkhjsld DREAM you homeless fool 00:48:30

AL;SKDFJAS TECHNO TALKIN TO US VIA CHAT IS SO FUNNY ‘THIS HOMELESS MAN IS SPITTING BARS’ I LOVE HIM SO MUCH GJFKDS 

“you just gave me the ONE THING I needed to destroy L’manburg.” 00:49:05 ohhhh thats why techno ‘betrayed’ tommy jkghsfd because someone directly lined up with his ideals??? because he was just betrayed, and hes hurt, and he saw someone standing up for his ideas and future actions? every single one of u anti c!techno people r fuckin idiots i stg /hj /nm /lh

i love techno yelling at tubbo its so funny to me. like sir u are bullying a small child aldkfjalja

00:50:30 YOU CAN HEAR TECHNOS SMILE WHEN HE SAYS ‘OH IM LIKING WHERE THIS IS GOING’ AHHH I LOVE HIM!!!!!!

LASDKJFALSFJ I LOVE HOW DREAMS LIKE NAH I AM N O T CALLIN IN THAT FAVOR FOR THIS, UR GONNA DESTROY LMANBURG NO MATTER W H A T

GOOD TECHNOLAUGH AHH  YES LISTEN TO THAT JOY!!!!! THAT WAS A SOLID FIVE SECONDS OF TECHNOLAUGH!!!!!

ALDSKFJASF TOMMY KILLS TUBBOS DOG 

00:52:30.

“Tommy. Give me back my axe. You’re not worthy, I was wrong.”

“...no. No! You know what, Technoblade? I am worthy. And you’re not- you’re not gonna side with Dream to take down L’Manburg, are you.”

“I- I’ve been so transparent about how I’m going to destroy the government, I’ve explained my reasons, like, I’m destroying it because of a, b, c, they executed me, they betrayed me, you betrayed me... you know what, Tommy? You’ve made a decision today that can’t be undone, and you know what? I respect you, Tommy. You’re free to make your own choices, wrong as they are, that’s what anarchy is about. It’s about freedom, to do what you want. But all I have to say, Tommy, is that I hope you don’t come to regret it. “ OH MY GOD

also he just LEAVES :LDFJSLDKFJSF AND GOES BACK HOME IGHALSDFJALKF

A;LDKJSFAS DREAM TECHNO SELLOUT POG

a;ldkfja 00:57:10 ‘i’ve always said, you know, if you’re a viewer, the only support I need is your viewership. UNLESS YOU’RE A MILLIONAIRE IN WHICH CASE, RUN THOSE SUPERCHATS LETS GO” i love techno 

also dream :handshake: phil

green

 ALSDKFJALSF HE ALREADY FORGOT WHAT HAPPENED HES SUCH A NERD 00:58:00

AND THAT ‘I HAVE CONFIDENCE’ AN HOUR IN,,,,IM SO GAY

01:01:20 have yall noticed how much techno says ‘i hate this so bad’? its p often. i think he says it in his recent vid w skeppy as well

ok at 01:02:20 techno says to dream ‘this seems like the beginning of a beautiful partnership’ 

and at 01:34:10 of ‘nothing goes wrong’ techno tells tommy ‘this seems like the beginning of a beautiful friendship’ and i just,,,,,the PARALLELS they had both just found out abt the wither room but with one techno was showing him the whole truth and was vulnerable, kinda asking for friendship but the other is unstable and based off of....i want to say fear? mutual gain? 

i love it

01:08:40 techno doesnt trust dream pog

nother speech pog 01:09:10

“you know what I’ve learned, Phil? It’s that common interests are what bind people together, more than trust or anything, because I trust Tommy, I brought him in, I gave him food, the armor on his back, I made him weapons when everyone else ditched him, and what does he do?? He just goes crawlin’ back to the guys that exiled him. I can’t trust people on friendship alone, alright? Just common interest is the only thing I can trust, and we [Techno and Dream] have a common interest, we are going to destroy L’Manburg tomorrow, Phil, it’s gonna be gone, it’s gonna be a chunk error.”

01:14:48 all men do is betray technoblade, eat hot chip, and lie ALSDFJALDSFKAJSF IM LAUGHING SO HARD also why does techno casually use words like ‘exodus’ i love him but why

Run.

THE CAT SEES US. ITS MCGONAGALL A;LKDFJALF 01:22:45

‘we should make a parody of YMCA. dddd m c a’ blitz 2??? cmon techno u know u want to 01:23:25

technos glasses break at 01:26:50 a;ldskfjaf

awww techno got phil like 300 primes bc of the sellout nd techno gained 11,000 subs a;ldkfjaf w o w