#none of this is even close to canon i love making things up
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ok i know ive already made a post abt carwash sibs hair before but like.. the idea of carolina shaving all her hair off after her fall to make her blend in more and wash being forcibly shaved in prison and both meeting each other again with this choppy, undyed hair and reclaiming their identities and personalities outside of their trauma by finding that connection with their appearance again…
the parallel of them dying each others hair for the first time when they were kids and now helping each other do it again as a symbol that they are finally trusting each other again
#augh and wash having such bad trauma about the back of his neck (his implant spot)#that he can barely handle anyone touching the back of his head#much less cutting or bleaching his hair back there#and him having to learn how to cope and heal from his trauma in order to find himself as his own person again#oh god i may have to make a new post abt this bc the idea of wash looking like the director if he doesn’t bleach his hair#but also having too much epsilon trauma to even begin to deal with his hair#BUT THEN THE EPSILON TRAUMA IS MADE WORSE BY THAT FACT THAT HE CANT LOOK IN THE MIRROR WITHOUT SEEING THE DIRECTOR#augghhhh the cycle of trauma and the pain of healing#and don’t get me started on carolina and how obsessive she would be about her blonde roots#like the idea that people in the project didn’t even KNOW she was blonde#and so she would be almost completely unrecognizable#none of this is even close to canon i love making things up#rvb#red vs blue#agent carolina#agent washington#wash rvb#rvb carolina#carwash siblings
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HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1
Head canon: what it would be like to date them.
characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox
disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!
Alastor
he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.
First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.
If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.
PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.
everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.
his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings
"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"
"you looked ravishing today my dear.."
"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"
Angel Dust
Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.
you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.
his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;
"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"
"but sweets..you're soooo warm"
"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"
yeah good luck with that.
nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.
Husk
Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality
You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.
Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.
Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.
vox
You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.
He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.
You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.
Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.
"i've missed you today babe.."
"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"
#Hazbin Hotel#Hazbin Hotel x Reader#Hazbin Hotel headcanons#Alastor#Alastor x Reader#Vox#Vox x Reader#Hazbin Hotel oneshots#Husk#Husk x Reader#angel dust#angel dust x reader#vivziepop\
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Okay, I saw someone say that Nimona, while being good representation, “didn’t take the big step forward in queer rep that everyone says it did”.
That is wrong. So wrong, my dude.
Yes, an explicit and open queer relationship in children’s cartoons is not new, per ce. Hell, just this year, two popular kids’ cartoons had the main character in an open, adorable, plot-based queer romance. But this is different for a few reasons.
Reason number one, it isn’t left in suspense. Yes, they had that split for three odd weeks, but they started the film as a couple. One of the very first scenes is them together as a couple, Ambrosius saying he loves Ballister, them holding hands, Ballister leaning on Ambrosius’ shoulder. Ambrosius says he loves Ballister three times during the film, and none of them are any more than halfway in. It’s very clear, from their very first interaction, that they are an established relationship, which isn’t something I’ve seen...at all in other animation.
Secondly, they are the plot. Ambrosius not believing Ballister, Ambrosius cutting off Ballister’s arm, Ballister trying to get the video to Ambrosius - this is what drives the plot. In any other children’s animation with queer relationships, the relationship is not the main focus. Even The Owl House, which is so amazing with its constant representation, would still make sense if Luz and Amity never happened. But Nimona’s plot wouldn’t make sense without Ballister and Ambrosius’ relationship. It, quite simply, can’t be erased. It could work as a friendship, yes, but that’s the point. They could have just been two close friends that fell on opposite sides of a fight, but they weren’t. They were two lovers that fell on opposite sides of a fight.
Thirdly, they aren’t sanitized for “family viewing”. An emerging trend in children’s animation is to only have mlm relationships as fathers to make them seem more “family friendly”. With the exception of Kipo, there really isn’t many tv shows or films that places light upon an mlm relationship. And if it does, it'll be a teen relationship because teenagers being queer tends to come across as less “dirty” and more “innocent”. But Goldenheart is none of these things. They are adults without the mollifying aspect of having a family. And on top of that, they fight. They wield swords and they get bloody and they shoot at things and get angry and yell. They aren’t “clean” and “innocent”.
As well as this, they are in a film. Films are far more accessible than tv shows. You have to watch twenty seven episodes before Lumity in toh is canon. Troy kisses Benson on the eleventh episode of Kipo. And there are two hundred and eighty three episodes of Adventure Time before Marceline and Bonnie kiss. But with a film, the queerness is much more forward - especially in Nimona, where it’s literally the second scene. Animated films hardly ever display queer relationships, but Nimona did.
Finally - they aren’t perfect. I don’t know about you, but three weeks of thinking your boyfriend/maybe ex is a murderer? Doesn’t sound like a healthy few weeks to me. I have only seen big relationship arguments portrayed in straight relationships in cartoons - think Star Vs The Forces Of Evil - whereas queer relationships either have the massive fight prior to being canonically gay - She Ra - or have conflict, not arguments, that are dealt with quickly - Dead End/The Owl House. But Goldenheart? Goldenheart suffers. Their relationship is pushed to such extreme boundaries as for them to be pretty much exes throughout most of the movie. And yet, they are clearly healthy, happy and very much in love at the end.
TL;DR - Nimona is amazing with the queer representation, and it is a milestone for LGBTQ+ cartoons. Not only is the relationship romantic for the entire movie, the plot is driven by Ambrosius and Ballister’s sort-of-break-up. In short, they are treated the same way straight people are. They have flaws, they have massive arguments, they have plot importance, they have backstory. They are in love. And that’s what matters more than anything else.
#cedar crap#wow I didn't mean for this to be so long#nimona#nimona netflix#queer rep in media#queer rep in animation#goldenheart#ballister boldheart#ballister blackheart#ambrosius goldenloin#and I didn't even touch on the blatant queer flags in the background
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You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !
Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.
Moths Hit the Window
PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.
WORD COUNT: 5.9k
WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.
A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.
Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.
If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.
König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.
“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”
“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.
“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.
Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.
No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.
“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.
König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.
This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.
“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”
The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.
“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”
Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.
“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”
“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”
“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.
“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”
You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.
He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.
Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”
It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.
But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.
You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.
König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?���
You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.
Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”
“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”
“Great!”
“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.
“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.
Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.
“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”
“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”
“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”
Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.
“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”
“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”
“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.
König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”
“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.
In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.
Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.
But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.
The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.
“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.
König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.
Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.
“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”
“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”
König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.
“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”
Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.
Too far.
Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.
You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.
“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.
Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.
Shame that it’s already too late.
Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”
His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.
“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”
By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.
—
Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.
Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.
The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.
Evolve, or die.
“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”
Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.
“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.
“Three minutes.”
“...get to it then. We move in five.”
So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.
“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.
The Lieutenant is one of them.
Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.
“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.
But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.
Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.
The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.
The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.
Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.
You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.
Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.
Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.
Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.
Closer now.
Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.
Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.
The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.
Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.
Your finger slams into the trigger.
—
You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.
Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.
Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.
You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.
In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.
“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.
Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.
It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.
You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.
There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.
“You are late.” König.
He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.
Anyone but you, that is.
König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.
You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.
Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.
“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.
Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.
“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”
Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.
The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.
“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”
“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.
Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”
In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.
Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.
It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.
He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.
“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”
The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.
“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.
“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.
“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”
Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.
“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”
“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”
“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”
“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”
König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.
“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”
He freezes, muscles going taunt.
“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”
Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.
König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.
“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”
“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”
“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.
“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.
There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.
And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.
König kneeled to you and bared himself.
Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.
There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.
Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.
The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.
König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.
But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.
You were reckless.
Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.
A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.
“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.
König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.
“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.
Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.
Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.
You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.
You find none.
“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”
A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.
He speaks with a whispered confession.
“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.
Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.
He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.
For you to come back to him. His partner.
You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.
König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.
The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.
This time, you’re the one to gasp.
“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”
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Love and deepspace hcs!☆
Characters: Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne
C/w: none! Fluffy head canons for the main love interests in game!
A/n: hi guys! It’s been quite a long time :) i hope everyone has been doing well! Recently I’ve been obsessed with this game, the graphics and art is so good..hope you all enjoy!
Rafayel;
Apart from being sassy, deep down Rafayel loves your company. You’re the only one who stands him, despite his “bratty humor”, and more so how he wants to be your center of attention 100% of the time
Rafayel adores aquarium dates, or ones that involve his art, like an art exhibit that he meticulously prepared with his entire being. He thinks you’re cute whenever you point at one of his paintings; the same one that he dedicated for you
The only thing he expects from you the most is your time and dedication like said before, although, he loves it when you buy him things like fruits or ocean-themed plushies (even if he doesn’t admit to having 5 plushies on his bed)
Rafayel will definitely tease you by saying he didn’t get you anything when he’s not even trying to hide the jewelry box behind his back. Which in fact, is filled with family heirlooms and things like jellyfish inspired earrings or a whale bracelet..he intends in marrying you one day so it means a lot to him how you accept it!
Has the most exclusive nicknames for you, like his flower, the shine of his eyes, his ocean pearl..they’re mostly related sea terms but nothing out of the ordinary.
Xavier;
Always has a spare set of pijamas whenever you come over to stay during the night. Sometimes, he’ll match with you while in others, Xavier wears little clothing if it’s a hot summer night
His favorite type of dates is going to the observatory during a cold night, especially if he gets to share a blanket under the stars with you
Xavier is more of a simple guy, he doesn’t like over the top expensive gifts and would prefer things like flowers, a new bedsheet set, plushies…
However, when it comes to gift you things, Xavier would do anything (even if it was impossible to do so) like bringing down a star from the night sky for you. He opts in giving you a star/sun necklace that matched with his moon one
Xavier isn’t used to calling you his, although it’s cute whenever he gets shy, holding your hand while walking under the stars whenever he gets the chance to do so. But his favorite nickname is “his star”
Zayne;
Even with his busy schedule, Zayne makes time for you, or invites you to spend lunch with him. After all, he was pleased to see you smile while interacting with the restaurant’s cat.
He loves outdoor dates since he’s cooped up in an office most of his time, although Zayne wouldn’t mind inviting you to a restaurant or going to an arcade during the afternoon
Zayne loves to give you jewelry, simple things like charms for your bracelet or rings that end up matching with his and he will never ask for anything back. He actually dislikes seeing you spend money for him, after all, he wouldn’t hesitate to spoil his beloved
Even if he hates it when you spend money on him, Zayne is fond of flowers and keeps some in his home. You also buy him a phone case with a small cat design because his phone is in need of one.
Loves calling you his beloved, even more behind closed doors. Nicknames like my love, dearest, darling are his favorites for you
#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fluff#love and deepspace xavier#love and deepspace zayne#love and deepspace rafayel#zayne x reader#zayne#xavier x reader#xavier#rafayel x reader#rafayel
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Thoughts on COD men favorite way to cuddle? Personally I believe Soap likes to lay directly on top of his partner, he’s a whore for head scratches. Please any soft headcanons you have for 141+LV would do rn. I just need some soft boys. 🥹
How Do They Cuddle?
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COD SFW Head-Canons
Characters: John Price, Johnny Mactavish, Simon Riley, Kyle Garrick, Alex Keller, Gary Sanderson, Nikolai, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Kate Laswell, Valeria Garza, Phillip Graves, König, Farah Karim
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Warnings: None- Just Fluff.
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John Price
Loves to pull you into his arms in bed and be the big spoon, honestly okay with most cuddle positions.
Will lay on top of you and snuggle but it's typically unintentionally in his sleep- like a weighted blanket that snores and sleep talks.
Will pass out immediately if you rub his shoulders.
Johnny Mactavish
Absolutely adores laying on top of you with his head on your chest, your heartbeat soothes him and lord help him if you scratch his head- he may just drool.
Any and all types of spooning is welcome, will be the little or big spoon.
Hands on you every chance he is given, tugging you close in bed and nearly roasting you because this man is a straight up living furnace.
Simon Riley
Pulls you into his side so you can lay your head on his chest, typically sleeps laying on his back.
Absolutely melts if you press little kisses to the scars on his face, wraps his arms around you so tight that there is no escape.
Not opposed to you spooning him or just wrapping your arms around him from behind.
Kyle Garrick
Does the thing of tucking your head to his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat, will also hum a soft tune to you and murmur the sweetest things as you fall asleep.
Tuck your face into the crook of his neck and you'll hear an audible sigh of happiness, arms slipping around you to pull you impossibly close.
Kiss attack!!! Will randomly pepper kisses all over your face and anywhere else you'll let him- he just can't resist you.
Alex Keller
Absolute puppy energy as he follows you around closer than usual whenever he wants to cuddle, will eagerly pull you to him on the couch or wherever else you two sit down.
Tucks his face into the crook of your neck and purposely tickles you with his facial hair, grins like an idiot when you giggle and push at him.
Is typically the big spoon in bed because he just loves being the one with his arms around you, planting kisses to your shoulders.
Gary Sanderson
Lays on top of you to trap you with his affection, nuzzling and making little hum sounds to express how much he adores you.
Traces shapes and letters along your skin when you two are cuddling in bed, loves tugging you close to his chest and running his hands along your back.
Often pats his lap when he wants you to stop what you're doing and just come sit on him for snuggles for awhile.
Nikolai
Handsy? Handsy. Gentle touches at all times and constant hugs from behind, is so damn cozy though and knows it- pulling you into him every opportunity.
Loves having you lay on top of him like a blanket, mumbling loving words in Russian as he rubs your back.
If you're sitting beside him his arm is wrapped around you, however he much prefers you on his lap so he can hold you even closer.
Alejandro Vargas
Wants you to lay on him. Please lay on him or let him spoon you, he just has to feel you close so he can praise you softly.
Will drag you onto his lap to hold you when he feels you're working too hard, that's enough chores for right now- snuggle time.
Rubs his hands lightly up and down your sides when you two are in bed.
Rodolfo Parra
Literally the absolute sweetest- wants to sit and cuddle you while feeding each other snacks. Wants you on his lap so he can tell you about his day while sticking food in your mouth.
Loves being the little spoon or laying his head on your chest, run your fingertips along his back and he'll hum out in response.
Consistently gives you the coziest hugs and sweet forehead kisses, hands on your waist or lower back.
Kate Laswell
Intense spooning- prefers being the big spoon but will gladly be the little spoon. Loves taking care of you.
Wants you to lean your head on her shoulder when you two are sitting at home watching shows together.
Encourages you to tell her all about your day, pressing a sweet kiss to your head as you drift off in her arms.
Valeria Garza
Holds your hands when you two cuddle in bed because it's romantic, presses kisses to your knuckles as you tell her about your day.
Praises you for whatever you accomplish and also insists that you take plenty of breaks so she can hold you.
Wants to be the big spoon or tuck your head against her chest so she can mumble sweetly in your ear.
Phillip Graves
An absolute menace who unleashes tickle attacks occasionally when you two are cuddling, usually though he just mumbles sweet things against your skin.
Showers you with kisses and groans softly as he eases into bed with you and with a 'c'mere darlin'' starts spooning you- loves being big spoon.
Wants you to lay your head on his chest sometimes as well, feel his breathing and steady heart beat while he rambles about his day.
König
Lay on him please- he craves it so bad to just feel you close like that. Wants to hold you tightly to himself and ramble about how much he loves you.
A giant teddy bear- please let him lay his head on your lap. He'll fall asleep instantly.
Gentle and doting wanting to give you massages constantly- if you return a massage though you will just hear so many soft groans and praises in German.
Farah Karim
Spoon spoon spoon- will be little or big spoon she doesn't care. Just let her tell you how gorgeous/handsome and perfect you are.
Rests her hands on your waist often when you're doing things, especially loves doing it if it makes you flustered.
Lay your head in her lap and she will gladly smile and stroke your hair- you're just so cute.
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{This prompt made me so excited I just had to do everyone. LMAO}
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{@gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sofasoap }
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{More Content}
#simon riley x reader#simon riley#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#john price x reader#john price#kyle garrick x reader#kyle Garrick#cod headcanons#phillip graves x reader#phillip graves#alex keller x reader#alex keller#farah karim x reader#farah karim#valeria garza x reader#valeria garza#rodolfo parra x reader#rodolfo parra#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas#kate laswell x reader#kate laswell#gary sanderson x reader#gary sanderson#nikolai x reader#könig x reader#könig#vee's cod works#cod fluff
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ᡣ𐭩 I PRAY, DON'T FALL AWAY FROM ME
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: murphy's law has never been more true. anything that can go wrong will go wrong. and it does.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY FRIDAYYYYYYY, we're finally getting into the thick of this series, the next few chapters will be INTENSE, i hope you enjoy them as much as i enjoyed writing them ;) this chapter was actually a doozy for me - i struggled a bit with reconciling civzai with canon!dazai and figuring out how to make civzai react to everything that's happened in a way that a civilian would, but i didn't want to make it too far removed from how canon!dazai would act. i ended up rewriting a few times, but i'm mostly happy with how it came out. anyway!! reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY heheh!
GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).
CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. depictions of dissociation, brief depiction of gore in first scene, dazai's implied to be in a bit of a manic episode in the second scene and then crashes hard in the third (he is not coping well with everything that happened), reader is all strung up and agitated most of this chapter which leads to some very stupid decisions, dazai also makes some very stupid decisions.
ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in the next chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it hasn't been as apparent in the past few, so it might be a bit jarring to read but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED and that is very apparent in how an argument goes down in this chapter. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.
SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST
You look so… serene.
Dazai’s knees are tucked to his chest as he sits on the bed next to you, watching as you rest. You’re fast asleep, even puffs of air escaping your lips as you curl up close to him beneath the comforter. You look a lot younger right now, not anything like the hardened mafia executive that he knows you are. Dazai’s breath catches when he sees you shift to get a bit more comfortable, moving closer to him so that your forehead is pressed against the side of his thigh.
Still, none of this feels real. He hardly breathes as he reaches out to brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, watching as you let out a soft noise in your sleep before nuzzling a bit closer to him. Dazai believed that he was a man destined to be alone for his whole life; never in his wildest dreams did he ever think someone would love him for who he is, much less someone like you who could have anyone you wanted.
It doesn’t feel real.
Was it all just a dream?
A nightmare?
He blinks and suddenly blood stains the back of his knuckles where he’d been touching you, dribbling from your lips to the mattress below. Your eyes are still closed, but Dazai knows if they were open, they’d be glassy and empty. His breath quickens and his gaze flickers down the bed to your torso where he knows the gaping wound is hidden beneath the sheets. He feels the weight of a gun in his right hand and hears a thud to his left of a body hitting the ground and-
“Stop thinking so hard.”
He physically jumps at the sound of your voice, eyes widening as he looks down at you. Your eyes are still closed and you haven’t budged an inch, but the blood is gone and the weight in his hand has disappeared. For a split second, Dazai thinks he might’ve imagined your voice, but then, as if you can sense the thought, your eyes crack open, sharp and squinted, not at all glassy or empty.
Just his mind playing tricks.
“I can feel the shitty thoughts tossing around up there,” you mutter with a yawn, stretching a bit next to him. His face heats up when you press your lips against the sliver of bandages peeking out from where his shirt is riding up his sides. You sigh as you push yourself into a sitting position, dropping your head on his shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Half-past seven ish,” he answers, voice catching as he looks down at you. “You slept late. Your meeting is in twenty minutes.”
“Did you sleep at all?” you ask with a frown. You sit up straight again to look at him, a concerned expression on your face. “You’re not usually up this early.”
Dazai did not, in fact, sleep. Besides the fact that every time he closes his eyes, he’s plagued with the sight of your dead body, his mind has been in shambles over how easy it had been to pull the trigger of the gun you’d given him. Odasaku had instilled morals into him, morals that Dazai has strictly followed since the day he met the man, even more so after he died to save Dazai to honor the older man. And Dazai had known that being with you would compromise said morals but…
But it’s different when he’s actually the one stomping all over them.
Life should be treasured. Spend your days helping people.
Why had pulling the trigger been so easy?
Dazai stares down at his hands, willing an answer to come to him. He thinks the worst part is that even now, he can’t muster guilt. He should feel guilty—he knows that—he took someone’s life, someone who had people waiting on him if what you were saying held any merit, but he’d done it to protect you and he just can’t seem to feel guilty when it had been a choice between your life and an enemy’s.
Still, he thinks, it shouldn’t have been so easy.
He shouldn’t feel nothing.
Not for the first time, Dazai thinks there’s something fundamentally wrong with him. Something that sets him painfully apart from the rest of humanity. Something that leaves him grasping at straws as he tries to put on a face and convince the world that he’s just like everyone else. Something dark and empty that festers—it festered while he was on his own in Suribachi, it festered after Odasaku’s death, and it festers now with blood on his hands and no remorse to be found.
“Osamu,” you say, more concerned now, but you sound like you’re underwater and Dazai can’t even turn his head to look at you.
That’s not even to mention the message from Professor Ui. The more he thinks about it, the more anxious he gets. A tip-off. Professor Ui hadn’t given enough context for him to try to narrow down what it might be about, and there’s been so much going on recently that Dazai couldn’t possibly hope to narrow it down on his own. The only given is that it would be bad for you.
He almost doesn’t want to tell you.
No, he doesn’t want to tell you. Not at all. Not yet. Not when all he can give you is more to stress about, more to be paranoid about. All he’s been able to do is come to you with issue after issue, he’s been a burden—the least he can do is figure out the scope of this new problem before saddling you with it.
He can handle it himself. He can. He’ll go to the meeting and figure out what Professor Ui’s tip-off is about so when he brings it to you, you can formulate a plan of action to handle it. He can’t just tell you ‘Hey! Remember that journalist that’s trying to target you! He got a tip-off that he’s planning to do something about!’ when you already have so much on your plate.
He-
“Osamu,” you say, reaching for his wrist but the sudden touch jolts him out of his spiral.
His heart rate spikes and his surroundings blur and Dazai is instinctively pushing you away from him as panic subsumes all coherent thought, unsure of where he is and what’s going on. The sheets feel too much like the soft dirt, the fingers on his wrist are too tight, the air is too brisk and cold, the early morning light shining through your blinds into your apartment is so reminiscent of the way it shone through the tall trees into the forest.
“Don’t touch me.”
His feet tangle against the sheets as he scrambles away and tumbles right off of the side of the bed—pain shoots up his ankle and for a moment, Dazai forgets where he is and it’s not you on the bed reaching out to him, but the rotted skin of Arahabaki, your blood dripping off its fingers. Dazai can hardly breathe as he tries to reorient himself, nails digging into his palms.
It takes a concerning amount of time for Dazai to remember where he is, who he’s with. By the time he does, you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, an expression on your face that Dazai is just too out of it to understand, and Dazai can feel his face heating up in embarrassment, a heavy feeling of mortification spreading through his chest when he realizes how he just lashed out at you.
“Osamu,” you try again, voice a bit softer and there’s no mistaking the concern in your eyes now, but Dazai just wants to bury himself alive, throat spasming as he hides his face in his lap. “Hey, it’s-”
“Go away,” he snaps, humiliated. “Go away. I’m fine. Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”
“It can wait,” you say, too understanding. “Osamu, I-”
A burden.
He’s a burden—he brings you issue after issue, distracts you from your work and gets you in trouble. For some reason, despite all of that, you still want him, and all he can repay you with is lashing out at you and causing more trouble. Now because he’s fucked in the head, you’re going to be late to another meeting that you can’t afford to be late to because you’re worried about him and he’s just so tired of being a liability all the time.
“Go.” His voice cracks over the word, he hates the way it comes across as more pleading than angry; he doesn’t have to look up at you to know the way you must be looking at him. “Please just go. I’m fine. Please.”
For a terrible, terrible second, you don’t respond and Dazai thinks you might be about to press more. He’s not sure if he can handle that. He just needs you to go to your meeting so it’s one less thing that he’s fucked up for you. He needs you to go.
“Okay,” you finally say after a few moments. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed.”
The breath that Dazai lets out is too heavy and too relieved. He doesn’t dare to look up until he hears you shuffle off of the bed and make your way to your closet. His eyes slide shut as he leans his head against the wall he’d backed himself against, forcibly calming his unsteady heart.
After a few minutes, you finally come to kneel in front of him, dressed in your suit and ready to head out. He looks up at you, hoping he doesn’t look nearly as much of a mess as he feels, but he thinks he fails because the conflicted expression on your face only becomes even more worried.
“Please go,” he repeats, voice raspy.
You sigh, gaze lowering to the ground, but you nod so Dazai can only feel relief. His lashes flutter shut as you lean in to brush your lips against his forehead and again, Dazai’s chest swarms with guilt and self-loathing because he wishes he could just be normal.
“I’ll order you some takeout,” you finally say as you lean back to look at him again. “I probably won’t be back until late tonight. You have any preferences for lunch and dinner?”
Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows. “Crab?” he asks, voice too strained for comfort.
You roll your eyes, but you smile. “You’re not eating crab for lunch and dinner,” you say lightly, and Dazai smiles back a bit, but his smile feels a lot more wobbly than yours looks. “I’ll order it for lunch, I’ll pick dinner.”
Dazai’s nose wrinkles. “No mushrooms.”
“No mushrooms,” you agree as you rise to your feet. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Call me if you need anything.”
He definitely won’t, but he nods anyway. “See you,” he whispers.
You don’t immediately walk away, lips drawn tight as you look down at him. “I love you,” you say after a few moments and Dazai inhales sharply, gaze flickering up to you.
“... I love you too,” he echoes, the tightness in his chest easing when he sees how your expression smooths out at his words. You linger for a few seconds longer before sighing and leaving your bedroom without another word.
Dazai doesn’t budge until he hears the elevator bing, signaling its arrival to your floor.
Even when he’s sure that it’s gone—and you with it—he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t want to. His hands sting where he’d pushed you away from him and his legs feel bolted to the ground beneath him. He can hear his phone buzzing somewhere in front of him, probably tangled in the sheets he’d dragged off of the bed with him. He knows that he should get up and check—the meeting is in two hours and Dazai not only needs to get dressed, but he needs to figure out how he’s going to sneak out of this building without alerting any of your subordinates.
For you, he reminds himself as he sighs and pushes himself to his hands and knees and drags himself over to the mess of sheets on the ground, rifling through them until his hand closes around his cell phone. He’ll go to the meeting, get the information, and come back before you’re even finished with work… before that actually, he’ll need to get back by noon when you send someone here with takeout. If they show up and he’s not here, they’ll definitely report that back to you and he doesn’t want you to know that he’s going out because that’ll just cause you more stress and the whole point of this is to try to lessen your burden.
He unlocks his phone to see a few messages in the group chat and he cringes as soon as he reads them.
Koda Hinami: Is it okay if we meet a bit later today? I have an appointment in Tokyo and the soonest train I can catch is at 14:30.
Professor Ui: Does 15:30 work?
Otsuka Ayato: good with me, i’m free all day
Koda Hinami: Yup! That’s perfect.
Professor Ui: Dazai-kun?
Dazai supposes that this gives him more time at least—he doesn’t have to rush back before you send food for lunch. He doubts that you’ll be back before nightfall, and you probably won’t send dinner until 19:00 so that gives him almost four hours, which is more than enough time. He can spend the morning plotting out how he’s going to get out of the building without being seen.
Dazai: that works
He puts his phone back on the charger, a bit more pep in his step as he tells himself that he’ll make everything up to you. He pushes away all of the thoughts plaguing him, dressing himself in one of the outfits he’d left at your apartment. Those nagging feelings of doubt and self-loathing linger in spite of his attempts to shoo them away, but he does his best to ignore it. He needs to get himself into a better mood before seeing his professor and classmates—he doubts they would notice, but on the off chance they did, he needed to be ready to distract them from it in some way and he most definitely is not ready for that now.
But he has time now, so-
Was that the elevator?
Dazai’s head whips to the side to look out your bedroom door just as he finishes pulling on the new sweater you bought him. He creeps out of your bedroom slowly, wondering if you came back because you forgot something, but when he steps out of your room to the top of the staircase, he freezes because it is not you standing in the living room but instead a different, but unfortunately familiar, face.
Great, he thinks bitterly, expression twisting into distaste when he sees Nakahara Chuuya leaning on a pair of crutches. The man looks equally irate at the sight of Dazai standing on the balcony, making no effort to hide the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Dazai asks, eyes squinted as he stares down at the other man.
He looks awful and Dazai isn’t sure why it makes him feel smug, but it does. Chuuya looks like he’s hardly able to hold himself up, leaning heavily on his crutches, face pale and beaded with sweat. He’s dressed in a thin t-shirt and sweats, so Dazai can see the aggravated scars running up his arms, but his eyes can’t help but linger on Chuuya’s hand.
His left hand—the same one that had torn through your body, that had killed you, the same one that had tried and failed to kill him. If Dazai looks hard enough, he swears he can see the rot spreading across the other man’s skin again, from his fingertips to his wrist to his elbow, as Arahabaki takes back over, so Dazai forces his gaze back up to his face.
All of the aggression that had been plain on Chuuya’s face disappears when he notices where Dazai was looking. He shakes his head and asks roughly, “Where the hell is she?”
Dazai scowls. “Why do you want to know?”
“You little-” Chuuya hisses, gaze sharpening. “Where is she?”
Just to be annoying, and because Dazai has no sense of self-preservation, he asks, “Why should I tell you?”
“I’m going to rip your head off,” Chuuya spits out, unnervingly quick on his crutches as he makes his way over to the staircase. Dazai darts into your bedroom, hand on the door so he can quickly slam it shut if Chuuya tries to come closer, although he’s not sure if a door is going to be enough to stop him. “Get back here.”
“You tried that already,” Dazai says lightly, watching Chuuya’s reaction carefully. “You failed, remember? … Or that’s right, you wouldn’t, would you? What’s his face… Fireboy? He mentioned that you probably wouldn’t… So, was he right? How much do you remember?”
Chuuya’s entire expression shifts at Dazai’s words, lips tightening and gaze averting down to the ground. The shame is clear on his face as he lets out a sigh, glancing up to see the bruises around Dazai’s neck just too shake his head and look away again.
“Enough,” he says quietly. “I remember enough.”
Dazai tilts his head to the side as he examines Chuuya. The scars on his arms indicate the shadow of Arahabaki’s presence in his body—Arahabaki, the violent and destructive god who had killed you and tried to kill Dazai. He expected to be more anxious around, or even scared of, Chuuya after what happened. He supposes he is to some extent, he can feel the itchiness on his tongue that always signals those unwelcome emotions approaching, but Dazai thinks it’s not because of Chuuya himself like he expected—he still feels the ever present urge to antagonize the man due to petty jealousy and the acute irritation his appearance and existence in general causes him.
It’s natural, he rationalizes. It’s not like Chuuya is Arahabaki or Arahabaki is him, so there’s no reason for Dazai to be scared of Nakahara Chuuya. Arahabaki, on the other hand… he watched you die to it and he nearly died himself, although the former is decidedly more traumatizing, so it makes sense. But Dazai has never been fond of fear, he’s learned through his own experiences alone in Suribachi and from Odasaku that it’s the most treacherous emotion, the quickest to kill, so he’s swift in his efforts to channel those lingering nerves that Arahabaki is causing into an emotion he’s much more capable of processing: curiosity.
To kill fear of something that’s mostly unknown to him, it must first become known.
He doesn’t know much about Arahabaki, only the few vague things you mentioned and the fact that it seems to be incapable of touching Dazai without being neutralized, which Dazai supposes he can also use as a blanket of security. But he has to know more.
“Can you speak to it?” Dazai blurts out, unable to help himself from firing out the question, hardly holding back the forty more.
“What?” Chuuya asks, voice flat.
“Arahabaki,” Dazai says, and then adds, “obviously.”
Chuuya gives him a withering look and instead of responding, he repeats his question from earlier. “Where is she?”
Dazai’s lips flatten as he squints again, not appreciating the way the man blew off his question entirely, but this time he decides to respond. “She went to an executive meeting, shouldn’t you be there if you’re up and about?”
“I thought I could catch her before she left,” Chuuya sighs, suddenly looking very tired, which naturally piques Dazai’s interest because why was he trying to catch you before you left? “I’m not supposed to be up yet. Doc’s gonna fuckin’ skin me alive when he finds me.”
“Why were you looking for her?” Dazai prods.
Chuuya pointedly doesn’t respond, side-eyeing Dazai before turning to walk back down the stairs. Dazai’s jaw drops in disbelief at the way he was so blatantly ignored and darts forward, kicking his leg out to drive it into the back of Chuuya’s knee. He’s smug when the other man lets out a surprised yelp, knee buckling as he drops; he’s not quite as smug when he steadies himself with his ability and turns back to Dazai, eyes blazing.
“I’m going to kill you, you shitty bastard,” Chuuya spits out and Dazai’s eyes widen as he darts right back into your bedroom, slamming the door shut hard behind him. “Do you really think that’s going to stop me, you dumb fuck?”
Dazai presses his full body weight against the door as Chuuya drives his shoulder into it to force it open. He’s the one yelping now as he goes sprawling forward onto your floor when Chuuya pushes the door open so hard that it comes off the top hinge.
“She’ll kill you if you kill me in her apartment,” Dazai threatens before he can take another step forward, voice a bit too squeaky for comfort. “She will.”
Chuuya sounds and looks like an angry bull when he lets out a heavy breath as he tries to calm himself. Dazai almost comments on it, but he bites his tongue. He might seem to be impervious to the man’s gravity manipulating powers, but he’s not quite as impervious to the brute force he’s capable of.
“What the fuck was that for?” Chuuya hisses.
“I asked you a question,” Dazai says, raising his chin as he stands back up and looks down at Chuuya, enjoying the way the mafioso’s eye twitches when he has to look up to meet his gaze. “You ignored me.”
“You-” Chuuya begins before taking a deep breath again. “I just wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”
“But why?”
Chuuya doesn’t look amused by Dazai’s insistence, but that only makes Dazai more insistent. He clearly had a reason for seeking you out and it must’ve been an important one considering how upset he seemed after realizing that you’d left already, and nobody could really blame Dazai for being curious.
Chuuya stares at Dazai for a second before sighing. “She’s… not doing good. Boss has been putting her through the wringer lately and Piano Man said it was even worse yesterday, probably gonna be just as bad today. I wanted to check in on her before she left.”
Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, suddenly all of the amusement he was getting out of irritating Chuuya withers away as the man’s words register. He knew you weren’t doing good—he knew it, he could tell from the tense expression you had whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, could tell from the way your laughs and words seemed strained, could tell from the way your smile was frayed at the edges. It’s why he doesn’t want to come to you with another issue and no solution, but hearing it from someone else…
“Don’t feel bad if you didn’t notice,” Chuuya starts to say, noticing the expression on Dazai’s face. “I’m sure she’s careful to put up a front to not worry you, does that with everyone, but she’d do it especially with y-”
“I noticed,” Dazai says, bristling. “I just… Why is he putting her through the wringer? How?”
Chuuya looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to respond, and Dazai has his answer.
“Because of me,” he realizes, a lump in his throat.
“No,” Chuuya snaps before hesitating. “Not just you. He blames this whole shitshow with the Guild on her, and then there was the stuff with the Inagawa-kai and Shimazaki-kai-”
“Which happened because of me,” Dazai interjects, lashes lowering as he looks away. Dark claws pull at his heart again and Dazai can’t push them away this time.
“We were gonna go to war with them sooner or later anyway,” Chuuya says, shaking his head. “Whether it was then or later, doesn’t matter. Not on you or her.”
Dazai doesn’t think he agrees with that, and he doesn’t even think Chuuya agrees with that considering how he reacted to finding out that Dazai was the reason for you deciding to rush the attack on the Inagawa, but he doesn’t feel like arguing about it. Chuuya doesn’t let him anyway, starts talking before Dazai can get a word in.
“Now he’s pissed about the battle with Lovecraft and Steinbeck. I had to use Corruption, and I’m pretty sure he figured out that damned doctor from the Agency was the one to save her life,” he continues, grimacing. “He’s gonna hold that over her head.”
Oh?
Dazai’s focus zeroes in on that, brows furrowing. He’d been wondering how you managed to survive the wound Arahabaki dealt but every time he asks you, you evade.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Chuuya asks brusquely, looking a bit startled almost, as if he’d forgotten he was talking to Dazai and had started venting on his own.
“Why is he going to hold it over her?” he asks carefully.
“That’s not for me to say,” Chuuya says after a few moments, much to Dazai’s frustration. “You’ll have to ask her-”
“She wouldn’t even tell me how she survived,” Dazai interrupts, annoyed. “I just want to… I want to understand what’s going on so I can help her.”
Chuuya looks conflicted, so Dazai takes the opportunity to press.
“I can’t help her if I don’t understand what’s going on, I can try to help. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” Dazai demands, and then adds through gritted teeth, “Please.”
“Did she… tell you about her past with the Boss? During the war?” Chuuya finally asks, leaning against the railing as he waits for Dazai to respond.
“She told me that he brought her in after her town was massacred,” Dazai tells him, fingers thrumming against his thigh. “That she spent two years trying to figure out how to use her ability to help him create an immortal military unit.”
Chuuya lets out a breath as he looks away. “She wasn’t the only one that the Boss had taken in. There was another girl—Yosano Akiko—who had the ability to bring people back from the brink of death over and over and over again. From what she’s told me, and that’s not much, Yosano was prodigious with her ability and she… wasn’t. The Boss held it over her, pit the two of them against each other and to this day, compares her to Yosano. It’s a… touchy subject for her, I’m not surprised she evades it.”
Dazai’s face twists. “But she’s good at using her ability now,” he protests even though he knows it’s not that simple.
“I know,” Chuuya says, voice solemn. “Doesn’t matter though. It’ll never be enough—not for her or for him.”
Dazai has never met the Boss of the Port Mafia, but he thinks that he hates him more than anyone else Dazai has ever known. A bitter feeling claws at his chest as he thinks of a much younger you being rescued from a warzone only to find yourself in the hands of a cruel and manipulative man that guises as your savior. Dazai is not a man who has ever been inclined to turn to violence—he much prefers battles of wits—but god, if his fingers don’t twitch for it now.
The words slip from his lips before he can stop them, tight and angry: “He’s a piece of shit.”
Chuuya stares at Dazai for a moment in disbelief before barking out a laugh and then promptly slapping his hand over his mouth and forcing himself to quiet down.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says dutifully. “He’s still the Boss.”
“Your boss, not mine.” Dazai rolls his eyes.
“Whatever,” Chuuya replies dryly, ever clever in his response. “I’m going to go try to run into her before Doc manages to sniff me out… Don’t do anything stupid while she’s gone.”
Dazai gives Chuuya a side eye. “Wasn’t planning to,” he lies, possibly. He hasn’t decided yet if going to this meeting is a stupid idea—it might be, but the rewards outweigh the risks anyway.
Chuuya stares at him for a second suspiciously. “Whatever,” he repeats, so astute. He hesitates as he moves to leave and Dazai raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to say whatever might be running through the slow brain of his.
“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Chuuya asks after a few moments, looking uncharacteristically unguarded as he stares at Dazai, waiting for an answer.
“Why would I be scared of someone the size of a slug?” Dazai counters, giving Chuuya a simpering smile as the man’s face immediately tightens in anger.
“You’re incorrigible,” Chuuya spits.
“Big word for such a small brain,” he taunts, “did she teach you it?”
Chuuya doesn’t even respond, hissing out insults under his breath as he promptly makes his way back down the stairs.
Dazai is unbearably pleased with himself as he gives the ginger a mocking wave while he waits for the elevator, leaning over the railing looking down at the first floor. Chuuya promptly flips Dazai off, face so red that it clashes painfully with his hair.
As soon as Chuuya’s in the elevator and out of sight, Dazai disregards the warning and begins the first phase of his plan—finding your laptop to see if you happen to have a layout of the building anywhere on it so he can figure out how to sneak out—suddenly feeling significantly more inspired to do whatever he can to ease the burden that’s been placed on you.
You know something is wrong when you get up to your apartment and find it dead silent—there’s no trashy reality show playing in the living room, no sound of that new fighting game that Dazai had bought on your card, no excited call of your name because you came home early with food instead of sending someone with it. The elevator closes behind you and the takeout in your left hand weighs uncomfortably heavy, your gaze draws from the hallway leading to the guest room over to the kitchen.
He’s not in the living room and you don’t see him in the kitchen, so you look up at the stairs leading to your bedroom. Maybe he went back to sleep—you could tell this morning that he hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night, and when Albatross stopped by with lunch for him (after much complaining, naturally), he said that Dazai looked half dead on his feet.
It’s why you made sure to finish up your last meeting early—it was a video call with Tolstoy anyway, he didn’t mind you running out early, only wanted to let you know that he had to go with Repin to New York but could be in Yokohama by the end of the day on Thursday if you needed. You don’t really want to rely on the Three Deaths for help in this conflict, it would make the Port Mafia look weak, but depending on how this vote goes in the Diet on Friday, you might not have a choice. The Port Mafia isn’t in the position to handle the full force of the Guild and the military at the same time.
Why didn’t he come down when he heard the elevator?
You place the food down on the table in the living room before making your way to the staircase. He must be up there, so you don’t know why you suddenly feel so dreadful and you don’t know why it’s suddenly hard for you to make yourself move forward, like you’re walking through waist-deep water and the current is running against you. Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom.
He’s sleeping.
Since when was your staircase so long, it feels like each step you go up, ten more appear in front of you. You’re half convinced that it’s an ability messing with you and not just your mind playing tricks.
He’s a light sleeper. He would’ve woken up.
By the time you get up to your apartment, you know he won’t be there, but your heart still sinks to your feet when you push your door open and see the bed empty and the bathroom door open.
Dazai is nowhere to be seen.
Your lashes flutter as you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. You’re stiff as you walk back out to the balcony looking over your apartment. Your voice is just as tense as you raise your voice to call: “Osamu?”
No response.
Shit, you think, vision spinning a bit as you shut your eyes, counting your breaths as your heart rate spikes. Shit, where did he go? Did someone break in? No. No one could have gotten through the building’s security. He must have left… but why? Why would he do that when he knows how dangerous it is out there? How did he sneak out with no one noticing? It doesn’t make sense.
You shouldn’t have left this morning. You knew that you shouldn't have left the moment you stepped into the elevator, but he’d just been so distressed and the longer you lingered, the worse it got. It was only when you agreed to go that he finally started calming down, so you thought you were doing what was best for him, regardless of how it made you feel, but fuck, you should have known better.
You blame Mori. You always blame Mori, but the bitterness and anger is so intense now that it has your blood pressure skyrocketing. He’s been keeping you busy on purpose—busy and angry and stressed—you’ve hardly even gotten the chance to talk to Dazai since everything that happened. When you do have time with him, you’re either exhausted or in a bad mood trying to mask it from him. He watched Arahabaki kill you, he almost died, and-
And he killed someone.
It’s a fact that you've yet to fully acknowledge yourself; it makes you sick with guilt and self-loathing, knowing that it’s your fault that it happened and that you had promised him it wouldn’t. And it’s selfish because it means he’s been coping on his own and how is a twenty-two year old kid whose biggest problem three weeks ago was a group project supposed to cope with the fact that he killed someone?
This morning had been a red flag—one that you should’ve listened to, but instead, you took the easy way out. You didn’t know what to do without being able to use your ability to calm someone down, you’ve done it for Chuuya countless times, Klaus and Akutagawa too, but for Dazai, you could only watch as he worked himself up into a panic attack over everything that happened, the only thing seemingly calming him down being you leaving. So you left.
But you should have stayed. You never should have left him—not yesterday after the attack, not this morning. He doesn’t belong in this life, he never has, but you dragged him into it anyway and now what? You’re leaving him to process it on his own? You’re leaving him to cope with the consequences of your actions? Your selfishness? What else was supposed to happen besides him getting overwhelmed and having a breakdown over it?
Of course he ran—you can’t blame him, how else is he supposed to react to all of this? There’s no way that the average kid would ever be able to come to terms with what had happened yesterday, especially not alone, without any sort of support system to help him. Cooped up in your apartment with only his own mind as company—of course he ran.
You had been his life jacket and you had left him to drown.
You need to find him. He had to have gone back to his apartment, unless…
Your throat feels tight as you swallow, remembering the morning you woke up to the call from the hospital.
Fuck, you have to-
The elevator?
Your gaze cuts down to the first floor of your apartment, watching as the elevator doors slide open. You watch with bated breath as you wait for whoever came up to your apartment to step out of the elevator, fingers wrapped tight around your phone.
It’s only when a familiar head of brown hair steps out of it can you finally breathe.
Dazai doesn’t look half as much of the mess he was this morning—there’s more of a pep to his step, his face doesn’t look as gaunt and pale, he’s dressed in one of the cashmere sweaters and comfortable dress pants you bought him. He looks… good, like he did before everything that happened—untainted by all of the darkness you’ve brought into his life.
What changed from this morning?
He freezes as soon as he sees the takeout that you dropped on the coffee table, shrugging his backpack off of his shoulders and dropping it to the ground near where you hang your jackets. His eyes are wide as he looks around the apartment trying to pinpoint where you are, it takes him a few seconds before he finally looks up and sees you staring down at him from the balcony.
The smile he gives you is nervous and it puts you on edge.
“Hi,” he says sheepishly. “You’re back early.”
You’re relieved—you are. He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s back. He didn’t run off and get himself hurt, or worse. The Guild didn’t get their hands on him. He’s safe and you’re relieved.
So why are you still so tense and angry?
“What did you get to eat?” he presses, creeping forward to look at the bag of food on the table. He sniffs as he peeks inside. “Chinese?”
“Where were you?” you finally ask.
Your voice sounds distant even to your own ears, your body feels tense no matter how much you try to relax. Dazai looks up at you with wide eyes, a hesitant expression on his face like he doesn’t want to admit to wherever he went and you can hear blood rushing through your ears as frustration washes over you.
God, you’ve just spent a whole day dealing with Mori and various other unsavory people—you’d been looking forward to coming home to Dazai and now he’s pulling this. You know you need to calm down, that you shouldn’t take out your general irritation of the day onto him when he’s already had a rough few days, but fuck the least he could do is-
“I went for a walk.”
The least he could do is not lie to you.
“You went for a walk,” you echo flatly.
“Mhm. I went for a walk,” he agrees.
You stare down at him from the balcony, not budging an inch. Dazai shifts uncomfortably under your stare, and a part of you thinks you should go downstairs and just drop this but you can’t. Dazai is lying to you—why he’s lying to you is an issue in itself, but you’re more concerned with knowing where he actually went because you need to make sure that no public CCTV tapes caught him going to and from the headquarters.
“Where did you walk to?” you ask, voice tight.
“Just… around.”
You inhale sharply and look away, biting your tongue to force yourself to calm down. “Osamu,” you say his name, low with warning when he tries to evade answering the question properly.
He bristles. “I didn’t realize I was under house arrest,” he says defensively, raising his voice a little.
Your eye twitches as you take a sharp breath and step away from the balcony. You pace a few steps back to your room and look up at the ceiling, willing yourself the patience to not let this blow up into an argument. It’s the last thing the two of you need right now, but god he’s making it difficult.
After a few moments, you drag yourself back over to the staircase. This time, instead of leaning against the railing and looking down at him, you make your way down the steps so you can stand in front of him, arms folded across your chest. Dazai looks guilty already, chewing the inside of his cheek as he refuses to look you in the eye.
“Osamu, I’ve had a long day. Please just tell me where you went so I can make sure no cameras caught you going to and from the headquarters,” you say tiredly. “You’re not under house arrest, I just-we need to be careful the next few weeks, okay? Just until things calm down.”
“I just went to the school,” Dazai finally admits.
Instantly, your brows are furrowing. “The school?” you question, confused. “You don’t have classes today after twelve. Why did you go there? And why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve had Albatross drive you.”
The way Dazai refuses to meet your eyes is unsettling. You feel even more on edge than before as you wait for him to respond. Fuck, you just wanted to have a glass of wine and watch him play one of his stupid games.
“It wasn’t for class, I was meeting people for a group project,” he says after a few moments, pointedly not answering your second question.
A group project.
The only ‘group project’ he has is for his journalism class… and the fact that he didn’t tell you so you could have someone drive him…
“You met with Ui,” you realize, staring blankly at Dazai. “Why?”
“I was helping,” Dazai says and however much on edge you might’ve been before, you’re even more now. “I was-”
“You were helping?” you ask, not sure what that might mean and not even sure if you want to know.
Ui is bad news and for Dazai to go out to meet him now of all times… He’s supposed to be smart. You rub your face with your hands, feeling the tightly wound cord that’s been threatening to snap for the past twenty-four hours becoming even more strained. It’s only a matter of time before it does snap and you don’t want Dazai to take the brunt of your anger, not when most of it is directed at Mori.
“I was!” Dazai insists, voice getting louder. You can see the way his fists are closing and opening at his sides and how his nails leave bloody crescents in his palms. You tell yourself to calm down and talk this out with him, that you’re both not in the best mental states and you need to be lenient with him, but his next words are enough to send you teetering off the edge. “I was helping, I helped. He texted last night saying he had a tip-off about our project and I went to go figure out what it was so I could warn you.”
What the fuck?
“Why on earth would you ever go there on your own?” you hiss, just barely maintaining enough control to not raise your voice at him. “Especially after what happened yesterday. The Guild knows about you, Osamu. It could’ve been a set up.”
God, you almost want to rip out your hair. In what world could he have possibly thought that was a good idea. The Ivory Eagle getting a tip-off the same night after a major conflict with the Guild is not a coincidence and you should probably be more focused on that than you are, but you just can’t get over Dazai’s stupidity.
If he had used that brain that you know he has, he would have realized it was no coincidence. The Guild must have gone to the Ivory Eagle with information about the Port Mafia and considering that Steinbeck made a comment about Fitzgerald getting the confirmation he needed about Dazai…
Fuck, you feel sick.
“Oh yeah, because my professor is going to set me up to be captured by a criminal organization, right,” he says sarcastically.
“You don’t know shit about this world, Osamu,” you snap at him, taking a step closer but he doesn’t budge, unrepentant. “The lengths people will go to so they can take the Mafia down. Do you even know why the Ivory Eagle is so set on us?”
“That doesn’t matter-”
“Of course it matters-”
“No, it doesn’t,” he interrupts, voice pitched with hysteria. “What matters is that I helped. I got the information you need and-and I can help more. I can help more, I’m not incapable, I don’t need to be a liability anymore. You should be thanking me, not yelling at me. I-“
What is your life?
You almost want to cry as you shake your head and take a step away and press your hands to your lips. You can’t do this right now—not after the day you had today and yesterday, you’re going to snap and say something you regret. You need to end this conversation before it goes any further.
“No. No, I am not having this conversation with you. Sit down on the couch, eat the food I bought and be quiet.”
“I’m having this conversation,” Dazai, much to your distress, presses the conversation. “I’m tired of being a liability, I want to be helpful-“
Helpful? What is he even getting at? He better not be getting at what you think he’s getting at?
“What the fuck, Osamu?” you demand. “You’re not a liability, where is this coming from?”
“If I’m not a liability then let me help-“
Oh my god.
“No.”
“Why?” He sounds more like he’s begging than arguing now and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat because you don’t know what you’ve done to make him feel like he’s a liability to you, and more importantly, you don’t know how to fix it. “I can do it. I can. And this way, there doesn’t have to be push back from your friends about us—not if I’m part of the organization too, and-”
What the fuck is your life?
You can’t even hide the way your expression twists at his words, can’t hide the way you instinctually step away from him, can’t hide the way that your hands tremble so you stuff them in your pockets and shake your head furiously. A part of you wants to believe that you’d just imagined those last few words but they ring so soundly through your head that you know you didn’t.
“What the f…” You don’t even know what to say as you stare at him in disbelief. He’s still talking, you can see his lips moving but you can’t hear anything. Your ears are ringing and you’re desperately trying to make sure the wound up cord inside you doesn’t snap. “Hold on. Hold on. You are not part of this life, Osamu. You’re a civilian-“
“I killed someone,” Dazai cries out. His voice wavers and cracks, his eyes are wide and wild, and his hands are shaking just as much as yours but he’s not even thinking straight enough to hide them like he usually would. “What type of civilian kills people? I don’t-I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t belong there, I belong with you.”
“You killed one person in self defense, someone who was trying to kill us. That’s nothing compared to being in the Mafia, Osamu.” You try to calm him down but you don’t think there’s any calming him down now and you feel sick at the sight of him collapsing like this. You do your best to soften your tone as you continue, “Why would you want to be in the Mafia? Come on, Osamu, you’ve got good things going for you, your friend’s book to write, you don’t want this.”
“I can’t just go back to worrying about classes and homework after all of this,” he says, voice pitched as he shakes his head and tugs his hair a bit. “I can’t. I don’t belong there, I belong here, I stopped being a civilian the moment you let me into your life-”
“That’s not fair,” you breathe out, shaking your head. “That is not fair, Osamu. You forced yourself into my life just as much as I let you into it. That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth. You could’ve cut me off at any point and you know that. You admitted it,” he hisses at you, throwing your words back into your face and it feels like a slap. “So, you can’t sit there and judge me for trying to make the most of it so things can be easier on both of us. I can do this. I belong here, belong with you. I helped you figure out how to try to get the Guild out of Yokohama, I sat there and helped you with plans, I killed someone, and I got this information for you—the Port Mafia would’ve stumbled right into the trap if I hadn’t. And you should be thanking me. You should be thanking me.”
Just like that, the cord snaps.
“This isn’t something to be fucking proud of, Osamu,” you shout at him, but he doesn’t even flinch, stands his ground about what he wants and it only pisses you off more. “None of this is shit to be proud of. Do you think I’m proud of who I am? You think Chuuya, or the Flags, or Klaus are? Do you think any of us are proud of what we do? Fuck, Osamu, how can you sit here and ask me to let you be part of this?”
“Because I could help. I could help you. Arahabaki couldn’t kill me, couldn’t even touch me—I could help, I could be the one sent to handle it instead of you. And-and I could do more, no one would expect a college kid to be part of the Mafia, I’d be able to get information for you, and I could-”
“Enough!” Your voice goes hoarse as you yell at him, unable to listen to this anymore. “Enough, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
You don’t see the way Dazai’s face falls at your words, the crestfallen expression that crosses over his face as soon as your words process through his head. You turn away from him, breathing heavily because you think you feel nauseous.
How the fuck did this happen?
You can’t let anyone find out about Dazai—his type of ability, the nullification, not even the West has developed anti-ability technology to this degree, they would kill to get their hands on Dazai. They’d put the bounty that had been on Atsushi to shame and you wouldn’t be able to protect him. He’d spend the rest of his life in labs being experimented on so they could replicate his ability in weapons.
Your phone starts ringing and you don’t even look to see who it is before you’re muttering out an excuse to Dazai and lifting it to your ear, pacing back to the stairs to go up to your bedroom for a few minutes alone to calm yourself down.
Except naturally, the person on the other line only induces more stress in you.
“How prompt, you’re not usually so quick to answer the phone when you’re with that little distraction of yours, little hime… lover’s spat, perhaps?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I thought you were someone else,” you say, voice dry and sharp. “Why are you calling me so late? Haven’t I seen enough of you today?”
Mori laughs airly on the opposite line. “My, your time spent with that boy has sharpened your tongue… To think that all it would take for you to start stepping out of your shell is this…”
“I’m not in the mood,” you cut him off before he can continue, tongue running along the back of your teeth in frustration. “What do you want?”
“There’s an issue at a warehouse by our ports in Shinko. The ones with the weapons being ready for transportation to Brazil. Take your subordinate and go ensure nothing is out of order—we can’t afford to be late on another shipment to Machado considering you redirected the last one to Paz.”
Instantly, you’re rolling your eyes. “Shinko is Ace’s port. Send him to get control over his territory,” you snap. “I’m busy.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve asked you. So, you’ll be going. You’ve caused enough trouble the past few weeks, I recommend you do as told without making a fuss.”
You grit your teeth but you bite back the next comment threatening to spill from your lips. Instead, you ask tightly, “What’s the issue there? What am I walking into?”
Mori doesn’t respond for a moment. “... I’m not sure. Ace got word from one of his subordinates that something was going down there, but the line went dead before he could get a response. Our cameras are down. Take your subordinate, I can have the Black Lizards ready if you wish too.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head, wandering over to your closet to grab one of your longer dark jackets. As you shrug it over your shoulders, you say, “I’ll go figure it out. I’m not making it into a big operation.”
Mori sighs. “If that’s what you want… Call me once you’re done.”
You roll your eyes as you hang up the phone, stuffing it in your pocket before leaving your room. “Look, Osamu,” you say loudly as you head down the stairs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let that escalate like that. I have to head out for a bit but…”
Your voice trails off when you make it down the steps and find that Dazai is nowhere to be seen. Instantly, that sick, dreadful feeling returns.
“Osamu?” you call louder, voice a bit more strained, cracking over his name.
No response.
Fuck.
“Fuck!” you shout, slamming your hands against the back of the couch before resting on it, trying to push back the nausea that builds up quickly in your through.
You fumble for your phone, finding Dazai’s contact so you can call him but your hopes are quashed when you hear it buzzing on the floor near where you’re standing—must’ve fallen out of his pocket in his rush to leave. Your vision blurs and your eyes sting with tears, your breath becomes so shuddered that you think you might be on the verge of a panic attack.
God, you can’t even remember the last time you cried, but your cheeks are unmistakably wet and there’s no torrential downpour for you to mask them with.
Now’s not the time to cry, though. You need to move. The ports are on the way to Dazai’s apartment—you’ll check out what’s happening there and if there’s some sort of disturbance, you’ll… shit, you don’t even know. Chuuya is out of commission from Corruption, Akutagawa is out of commission because the wounds he received from Arahabaki aggravated his respiratory issue, and Klaus is out of commission because he’s still suffering the effects of using his ability to heal himself as much as he did.
Maybe you’ll see if Iceman and Albatross can handle it, but Albatross already did you a favor today…
You’ll figure it out as you drive there. You can’t waste time on it now, you need to get moving. The quicker you get to the ports, the better.
Because you need to get to Dazai.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Your words ring through Dazai’s head on repeat as he stumbles down the sidewalks in the direction of his apartment complex. He can hardly even breathe, his breath is ragged and uneven and his vision is so blurry that he can hardly see where he’s stepping.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Dazai doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s always known that there was something wrong with him—it’s why people could hardly stand to look at him, why his mother killed herself, why his aunt abandoned him, why no matter how hard he tried to be likable, people still turned their back to him. He’s always known there was something fundamentally wrong with him, but when he’s with you, you make him forget that.
You make him feel normal. Make him feel human. Like there was never anything wrong with him, but it was everyone else in the world who was wrong instead. Like he didn’t deserve everything bad that’s happened to him.
Dazai has never had faith in anything—not in any god because that would mean he had to admit that even god had forsaken him and certainly not in himself because Dazai has only ever failed himself, but he had faith in you. He let himself have hope when he was with you because you looked at him like he was worthy of being loved, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to you.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You looked at Dazai like you’ve never really seen him before that moment and he just… He couldn’t stay there, not with you looking at him like that, not when he realized the day that he’s been dreading has finally come to pass.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You’ve finally seen what everyone else does when they look at him. He knew this day was coming. He knew it, and he knew he’d been pressing his luck, that he was on borrowed time, but he had hope. He had hope that maybe this time would be different, that someone would see past all of his fronts and love him for him but he should’ve known better. Dazai is not someone capable of being loved. His own blood scorned and rejected him, the woman who gave birth to him killed herself to be free of him—Dazai is not someone capable of being loved.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
He hiccups over another intake of air, tripping over uneven ground before steadying himself against the brickwall of a nearby building. He can see his apartment complex in the distance, it’s not far now, but Dazai feels sick. He feels sick and he can hardly breathe and-
And he misses you. He wants to go back to your apartment even if he’s met with contemptuous looks and rejection. He presses his hand to his mouth to hide the way he nearly chokes over a dry sob, feeling far too lost and alone. If he doesn’t belong with you, he doesn’t belong with anyone. Doesn’t belong anywhere. He wants to call you and ask you to come get him just to see if you’ll show, but he’s too scared that you won’t—and he doesn’t feel the familiar weight of his phone in his pocket anyway.
He forces himself to keep moving forward. He’s tired and it’s cold and Dazai just wants to lay in his cheap futon and cling to the thinning hope that you might come for him even if you did think he was a monster just like the rest of the world.
His feet drag against the concrete, the noise around him drowns out and his surroundings blur together, he keeps his gaze pinned to the ground as he moves forward.
What is wrong with him? He’d known you were stressed with work, Nakahara Chuuya had told him that you were doing a lot worse than you were letting on, and he thought going out and putting himself in danger would be helpful… He’d just been so blinded by the idea of doing something useful…
It’s not until he gets to the steps of the complex that he realizes something is wrong. That someone is watching him. His gaze lifts as he looks around, eyes wide—for a moment, he doesn’t see anybody and he’s about to rush into the building but then he sees the shadow of a figure shift out of the overhang, waving his hand in the air.
“There you are, we’ve been waiting for ya,” a cheerful voice greets and Dazai’s hair stands on end as his gaze focuses on an unfamiliar redhead. He has an accent—American—and holds a handgun haphazardly in the hand he’s waving. “Damn, you look like you’ve had a shit night.”
This must be a member of the Guild.
You were right—they have been looking for Dazai and he… he just walked right into their hands. He lets out a breath, gaze darting up to the gun before swiveling around the area. He can’t outrun a gun, but he doubts that they’re going to shoot to kill if they plan to use him against you. If he could at least get a bit further out on the sidewalk… you have your subordinates monitor those cameras, they would see him get taken and report to you and-
And you would come for him. You would. You had to.
Right?
“Thanks for the flashdrive, by the way,” the man grins as he bounds down the steps closer to Dazai. Dazai takes steps back to match the steps the Guild member takes forward, hoping that he can get far enough into the view of the cameras. “We can finally get little miss princess out of the way. Now that girl is a piece of work, takin’ this city’s gonna be much easier with her behind bars.”
Dazai stops dead in his tracks.
“What?” he breathes out. “What did you just say?”
His smile sharpens as he lifts his hand, showing off a very familiar hard drive tucked between his middle and index finger. “Gotta give you props, we’ve been trying for so long to get something to hold over her. She’s one slippery bitch, that’s for sure. And she’s got way too many allies. I kinda wanted to meet her just to see what all of the hype is about, but guess I’m not gonna get the chance.”
Dazai can hardly think—or, he is thinking but he’s thinking too much, so much that he can’t even tell one thought from the next because they’re all tumbling over each other and jumbling together.
“Give me that,” Dazai whispers before steadying his voice. “Give me that back now.”
The redhead shrugs and tosses him the flash drive. He cradles it to his chest instantly, throat spasming as he swallows.
“Sure,” the other man says. “Not like it matters, damage is already done. Hear that?”
Dazai becomes acutely aware of the sirens in the distance and he shakes his head, not willing to believe what’s happening. He-he can’t even do anything—he can’t call you to warn you, can’t out run a gun. Dazai feels so frustrated that he’s almost sick again. He’s never felt so entirely helpless before, never not been able to think his way out of a situation.
This is all his fault.
He never should have sought out this footage, he should’ve destroyed it ages ago. He can never do anything right. He understands now why so many people were against him being in your life and for a brief second, he wishes that they’d succeeded in convincing you to cut him off because you’d be better off that way.
This is his fault.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Sorry kid,” he sighs lazily, not sounding sorry at all. “I fear I’m boutta make your shitty night a whole lot worse. Go on, James. Let’s bring him in.”
Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to react when he catches movement from the corner of his eye, a baton cracks against the side of his head so hard that his brain rattles against his skull and he doesn’t even register hitting the ground until he can feel the cool concrete against the side of his face.
Dazai’s vision blurs before it starts fading in and out, his body limp and uncooperative even as he tries to drag himself away from his assailants. He feels two hands grab him and hoist him over their shoulder, and as his body finally starts to succumb to the tantalizing lull of darkness, all he can think of is you.
I’m sorry, he thinks, wishing you could hear him. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryimsorryimsorryi-
You hear police sirens in the distance as you arrive at the ferry leading to Shinko. It takes about five seconds for irritation to cloud your mind, realizing that the ferrymaster is not, in fact, waiting for you even though you called Ace and told him to have the ferry ready for you so you can check this out as soon as possible. You hate that despicable man but you need to get to Dazai, so speaking to him was a displeasure you were forced to deal with.
What a bastard, you think bitterly, shooting a text to Albatross to ask if he’s busy. You sigh as you lean against the cool wall, tilting your head up to look up at the colors the setting sun paints across the sky as you wait for a response.
You never should’ve let that fight escalate.
The thought has been plaguing you since you left your apartment. You knew better. Dazai is a civilian, he’s struggling to cope with everything that’s happened, of course he’s going to feel out of place with other civilians after what he saw, after what he did. He’d already opened up to you about his struggles to fit in with people and you knew this would make those insecurities worse but…
But hearing him say that he belonged in the Mafia scared you. He doesn’t belong there and he seemed to well and truly believe that it was the only place for him. The thought of the likes of Mori getting his hands on Dazai’s nullifying ability… It scared you beyond words could describe. Dazai belongs with you, yes, but he doesn’t belong with the Mafia.
Still, you shouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Of course he ran, he’d been on the verge of collapse and you yelled at him, you scorned him, he was lost and looking for something to hold onto, looking for you to tell him everything would be okay, and you walked away.
Your eyes sting again. Even though no one is around to bear witness, you still close them to hide the way they mist over with regret. You’ve made many mistakes in your life—mistakes that got Itou killed, mistakes that ruined Chuuya’s life, and now mistakes that might’ve pushed away the only person who you could safely say loved you for who you are, unconditionally and unrepentantly.
You only force yourself to reopen your eyes when you feel your phone buzzing again, hopefully Albatross responding to your text. Before you can even unlock your phone, there are several more texts coming through, too quick for you to read what they’re saying—Chuuya, Kouyou, Doc, Lippmann, Piano Man, Klaus. You straighten, a heavy feeling settling over you as you look down at your phone and get ready to click one of the messages from Kouyou.
It’s only when Iceman calls that you pick up.
“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice steady even if your throat spasms with nerves.
Is it Dazai? Did something happen to him?
“Where are you?” Iceman demands. “I’m in the car with Albatross. Give us your location now.”
“I’m at the ferry terminal leading to Shinko. What is going on? Is Os-Dazai okay?” you question sharply, fingers tight and trembling around your phone. “Iceman-”
“I don’t know shit about your boyfriend,” Iceman snaps. “Have you even seen the news?”
You pull your phone from your ear without another word, fingers trembling as you pull up the news app. Your ears ring with the approaching police sirens as you read the trending headline, vision swimming and a shaky breath escaping your lips as you lean your weight against the wall so you don’t crumple to the ground.
Vice Chair of the Mori Corporation suspected of Mafia affiliation after the release of footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall. What does this mean for the rest of the Corporation?
“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head as you stare down at the news article. You can hear Iceman and Albatross yelling on the opposite line, trying to get your attention, but you can hardly make out what they’re saying. The sound of the sirens is too loud, too near. “This isn’t real. We… got rid of the…”
“Footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall… you and the ginger with the ugly hat… splattered six guys against the wall.”
Dazai… what did you do?
No, he would never. No matter how upset he is at you. He would never hand over the footage. The real question is: what happened to him? How did they get ahold of the footage he’s been hiding? What did they do to him?
You feel sick as soon as the thought crosses your mind. The regret you felt moments before triples, quadruples, weighs on you so heavily that you think if you jumped in the bay, you would sink to the bottom. You never should have let the fight escalate, never should have given him the chance to leave.
You can see the flashing lights now, they’re rapidly closing in on you. You need to think—you don’t have much time left. You need to figure out how the Ivory Eagle got their hands on the video; they had to have gotten it through Dazai, but because Dazai would never give it up willingly… And the meeting about the tip-off right after the conflict with the Guild where Steinbeck confirmed that Fitzgerald knew about Dazai…
The Guild must be involved. They must have worked with the journalists. They did the dirty work to get the footage from Dazai and passed it along to the journalists. You could send Klaus after the journalists, but it would condemn you if they were attacked or killed the day after they released an exposé on you. It would all but confirm your position in the mafia.
But Dazai could be in trouble.
And just like that, your decision is made.
“It’s too late, the cops are here,” you finally tell Iceman, “don’t bother coming.”
“But-”
“Shut up and listen to me, I don’t have much time,” you say sharply. “Ace set this up—have Piano Man call an executive meeting to have him executed. The Ivory Eagle journalism house. There’s a journalist called Ui Koutarou working there. He needs to be captured and interrogated immediately. Tonight. There’s a good chance that they worked with the Guild to get this video. Have Klaus do it, he’ll know what to do once he has the information… Kill the rest of them, I want them dead before I’m out on bail.”
“If we kill them now-”
“I know,” you spit. “I know what it means for me. I don’t care. Have it done.”
With Klaus behind the interrogation, as soon as Ui cracks and admits they had the Guild get the video through force from Dazai, he’ll know to go after the Guild to get to Dazai, and hopefully, Ui will have decent enough information about how he should go about it. If all goes well, Dazai will be back in your apartment and under a serious protection detail before you even get released from holding.
If it doesn’t go well… you’ll be arraigned by the court either tomorrow or the day after, Mori or Lippmann will handle bail, and you’ll put the Guild in its fucking grave before the prosecution is forced to drop the charges against you.
Dazai just needs to wait for you.
He needs to trust you, even if he doesn’t have much reason to right now.
You toss your phone into the bay as several police cars skid to a stop at the front of the pier. The sirens are loud and piercing, the lights blinding, and you can hardly hear the words the officers are shouting as they approach you with guns drawn. You can hear the rotor blades of a helicopter thundering in the air above you as a spotlight shines down on you and the approaching officers.
You lift your hands in the air before you’re forced to your knees, arms twisted painfully behind your back as metal cuffs are locked around your wrists. You're dragged back to your feet, and the charges against you and your rights are read, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is only trained on one thing—one person.
Dazai, you think desperately, wait for me.
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you
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hello!! could I please request prompt 25 with toshinori?
˚₊ ⊹ 25. The first makeout session that could lead to more + Toshinori Yagi
˚₊ ⊹ Warnings: dry humping, previous established new relationship, canon small-might, making out.
He was - grading papers? Finishing off a report on the last homework he set? Actually writing the next homework assignment in fact? Either way, his coffee table was strewn with papers, some in neat piles and some discarded none to kindly, caught under the fans of his laptop open on a word document baring names and grades and percentages he’s not really focusing on right now.
You came over a few hours ago with a bento box or two for the next days at school. It was just something you started doing for him, claimed it was because he wasn’t eating enough and that your love language was cooking food for people, but you loved that he would kiss your cheek and parade it around the school wrapped in its cute cloth with its cute bow. And you kind of never left, chatting idly with him from the kitchen while you brewed tea, something soft for him and a herby concoction for yourself, something to make you sleepy and all the more acceptable.
Toshinori could taste it in your mouth. The tea and something else, something distinctly you. Leaning backwards as you cup his sharp jaw, smiling when you hum and kiss his nose affectionately. There was something on the TV, something mind numbing and calm, a documentary about Geisha's he thinks but he's too focussed on his work, and on you. The futon you'd insisted on setting up for him was comfortable, soft and heavy at the same time, a perfect support for his back while he was tucked up by the coffee table while you lounged like a cat on the couch behind him, asking lazily every few minutes for a kiss. This was the first one on the mouth. You'd started on the back of his head, then on his long frazzled strands framing his face and then his forehead, then his nose and when you pecked his lips; Toshinori found himself chasing and chasing and chasing.
"Don't tell the kids that I abandoned their grades for you," he's twisted at a strange angle with his lips muttering yours, a prayer only for you to taste, "Aizawa'll kill me if he knew,"
You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed and drawing your hands up the sinewy expanse of his neck,
"You have your priorities in perfect order, thank you very much," Toshinori allows you to slink down to the floor, following the droop of your legs and curling into his lap with deep, yearning sigh "I require kisses and you're supplying them, you're serving your duty to your partner,"
He laughs and then moans with the shape of your lips on his jaw,
"I suppose, if you put it like that," he looks at you for a moment, a soft smile stretching over his features and you return it, a little something extra in your eyes he can't quite make out. You two had kissed before, a lot and often but this felt different, felt like honey trickling down his bones and crystallising hot in his belly. Toshinori hums with the tracing of your mouth over his neck, sucking something mean into his delicate skin and he shifts, hands settling on your hips.
Hips that slot deeper against his and give this shy little shudder. A large slender hand cups the back of your head where you practically vibrate against him, the air suddenly palpable and sweet. You think he might ask you to stop, that you've gone far enough and that he's not quite ready for anything more intense, given his injuries and situation and maybe he wants you to go home or even take a break or even -
"Do that again, please," he's far from sober, drinking your lips and swallowing your gushing whimpers, desperate for the kisses and the licks he's come to know so well. These are different, headier, a little smoky and a little dangerous, slow and hard and all things moreish. His free hand guides your hips, into what he's not sure but you gain confidence at his request, undulating with such wantonness that he's the first that moans out loud. Punched and loud and startling, Toshinori flushes right down to his stomach, peaking from where you'd shoved your hands under his shirt, hardly denting your frantic kisses. His grip is harsh, demanding and selfish, smoothing to your ass and this time it's you that grunts at the way he massages a spreads you, slouching lower and wider against the couch.
"I want - I wanna -," you're stuttering but it's from lust, from the sheer magnetic want for the man beneath you, heavy lidded and panting open mouthed, "Please, can we - we don't hav'ta but also, y'know?"
Toshinori kisses you again, slow and deliberate, decisive with his answer; wordless save for a whimper and a jerk.
all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#miko.prompt challenge#miko.chats#kisses u !!!#toshinori yagi x reader#all might x reader#all might smut#bnha smut#mha smut#bnha x reader#mha x reader
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UNHEALTHY BEHAVIORS(?) THE HASHIRA HAVE
Pillars x GN!Reader
a/n; Friendly reminder that this is how I view them. None of the things below are canon or hating on their character. I’d also like to add; I don’t know what to make the title, so I’m making it unhealthy behaviors. Some may be healthy, some may not, so ignore the title and enjoy these headcanons (?)
warnings; unintentional gaslight / intentional gaslighting, toxic behaviors / habits, angst(ish), toxic relationships(?)
bold words = unhealthy behaviors
GIYU TOMIOKA
~He has extreme depression episodes to the point he doesn’t want to see you, in order to prevent you from getting hurt.
Tomioka loves you, he really does. However, in order to prevent him from hurting your feelings (or hurting you in general) he distances himself whenever things get slightly bad. He thinks he’s a disease and doesn’t want to affect you in away way, so he does it in the worst way possible; not talking with you.
~He ghosts you unintentionally
This is similar to the first one, however, he does it whenever he’s feeling better, but still feels guilty for not interacting with you. He doesn’t speak with you, avoids you like the plague, sometimes doesn’t attend Hashira meetings in order to avoid you. After a few months, he goes back to you like nothing had happened. This ended up the relationship forming between the two of you to die out.
SHINOBU KOCHO
~She’s really rude to you for no “apparent” reason.
When the two of you started your relationship, you knew she masks her hostility with a soft smile. She didn’t feel the need to mask her true self around you. However, she can be rude to you for no reason or that something is bothering her. Sure, she’s a mature person, but even mature people can be petty. She doesn’t tell you what’s wrong and even sometimes blames it on you.
~She doesn’t take your concerns seriously.
This applies to her consuming poison. You worry for her health, obviously voicing your concerns. However, she brushes it off like it’s nothing. You guys had numerous arguments because of this subject.
KYOJURO RENGOKU
~He’s too pushy
Whenever you need comfort, he tends to give advice that would more likely help his situation rather than your own. He doesn’t understand why you won’t take it, he tends to get upset because you don’t ’trust him.’
~Too positive
He always tries to find the bright-side of the situation. For example: whenever somebody you’re close with passes or gets severely injured, he always tries to find positive energy of the situation. Which, understandably, makes you upset. He doesn’t mean it, yet he can’t help it in a way?
TENGEN UZUI
~He gets upset when things don’t go his way
Now, I’m not saying this man is a child, but I do sometimes see him getting upset over things that aren’t important. Like, choosing where the five of you get to eat, who’s choosing the dress, etc. He just finds it somewhat degrading..in a way. Like, he’s the man, of course he should have the final say in everything. (Sarcasm)
~His mood determines everybody’s moods
Whenever he’s angry, everybody else’s mood is suddenly down. The air is extremely palpable.
MITSURI KANROJI
~Overthinks, a lot. This sweet angel, known as Mitsuri, tends to overthink a lot. She knows you’ll never cheat on her or betray her in anyway, but she still can’t help that you have eyes for somebody else or wants to pursue someone else. You have reassured her many times that your eyes are on her and her only, but she still has doubts and it just won’t go away. She wants it to go away, but it simply can’t. These doubts in her mind made her somewhat self-conscious.
~Unintentionally guilt-trips you.
Mitsuri tends not to watch her wording or how it’s phrased, so she’ll often say things like, “I’m sorry, I’m such a screw-up, I ruin everything.” However, I don’t think she’ll word it like that, but it’s something along those lines. She doesn’t mean too, but it just slips out, like word vomit.
OBANAI IGURO
~Is extremely controlling, jealous, and manipulative + it’s all intentional
This man right here, knows you better than anybody else, he KNOWS how to get into your head and make you rethink everything. “You’re crazy, I never said that!” Or something along those lines. He always twists things into thinking you did something wrong instead of him.
~He twists your words often
Despite Obanai’s tough demeanor, he actually takes everything bad you say about him to heart. He often uses it against you or make it sound worse than it already is.
SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA
~Extremely possessive
Unlike Obanai, this man knows you can’t and won’t find somebody better than him. However, he still likes to claim his territory? I guess you can say. Whenever you’re out and about with friends, he’s calling you like something happened, and when you rush over to his side, he always repeats “Oh, I just wanted to spend some time with you, baby.”
~He can’t open up
Sanemi is NEVER willing to open up to you, no matter how much you try to persuade him. He pushes you away, and, sometimes, yells at you for trying to persuade him. He doesn’t mean it, I think, however, he finds it offensive that he needs to open up.
a/n; UGH. I didn’t do Muichiro + Gyomei because this an an 18+ reader and I dunno how to write for Gyomei..so. Yh! Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
@varya-jc — DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR CLAIM MY CONTENT AS YOUR OWN! YOU WILL GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
#giyu tomioka#kny giyuu#tomioka x reader#tomioka x you#shinobu kocho#kny shinobu#shinobu x reader#Shinobu x you#kyojuro x reader#kny kyojuro#kyojuro rengoku x reader#rengoku x you#uzui tengen#kny tengen#tengen x reader#tengen x you#mitsuri kanroji#kny mitsuri#mitsuri x reader#mitsuri x you#iguro obanai#kny obanai#obanai x reader#obanai x you#sanemi shinaguzawa#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#sanemi x you#kny#kimetsu no yaiba
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Just had a sudden thought of Dragon!Shen Yuan (or any creature really) AU, where it was like a normal rite of passage for parents to raise their young (protectively, they're not jerks, just uh, very unsafe for human children, or just humans in general...), then throw them into some sort of extreme trial to prove their strength, when they're deemed ready. Oh, and it was normal, expected, even, to take a go at your parents and try to murder them as a proof of superiority, or smt like that. Doesn't mean they don't love each other! Dragons just have a different way of showing care, that's all. What's a lil play fighting?
Anyw, main point is, SY transmigrates into SQQ with this mentality. Sees his cute little sheep. Falls in love instantly and adopts him. But oh! Oh, the protagonist is so weak, so malnourished! He's gonna nurture him and make sure he's well taken care of! Such a scrawny little sheep can't possibly survive anything! Oh? What's that? He has to push the scrawny baby into the abyss? Well! Makes sense, but that's years into the future, and he has time to make sure they grow up big and strong yet! Cue all the canonical pampering.
I'd imagine during LBH's disciple days, he receives a lot more comments about him going out into the world, and there's less matchmaking from Shizun, since SY believes that girls will flock naturally to him if he's strong enough, so there's also more emphasis on his training, as well as the training of other disciples on the peak. I'm not sure how he'll react to Bai Zhan disciples. Does he comment on their strength and set off the QJP disciples, causing an interpeak war? Does he still hold the same annoyance for them and property damage?
By the time the IAC rolls around, SQQ has already sent his not so little white sheep all over to gain experience, and deemed him ready for his 'coming of age' (close to human adulthood too, he'll do fineee). There is far less tears and hesitation. When the time comes and LBH's seal is broken, SQQ feels the increase in power and the last of his worry dissipates. He basically just looks at his kid, nods, and chucks him in. Dusts off his hands and pats himself on the back. One child down, however many more to go. Oh, they grow up so fast... (Was LBH freaking out during this? Oh well, must be the nerves, he knew the feeling well. But he's read the book and knows what's going to happen. His kid will be okay, and he'll naturally gain confidence after surviving in there!... No one ever said dragons were GOOD at feelings ...)
Of course, it takes some time to adjust to the absence, but there's less grieving and freaking out over his impending doom. Sure, he's judging the original work a little. Limbless and hanging, really? SY much prefers a clean death, thank you. (How he died in his previous life is up to interpretation). But that's besides the point, his favourite is off on his trial, and it's about time to test a few of his other kiddos too (single dad to, uh, how many?)
Shen Qingqiu gains reputation as a sadistic (?) teacher that puts his disciples through dangerous missions seemingly without care, but unlike in the past, he seems to love the kids and dotes on them off-missions, so no one's really sure what's going on with... That. (He's still waiting for one of them, any of them, to try and kill him? Where's the bonding?? Was he not doing enough???)
So when LBH returns, things go uh, differently. SQQ is just here, waiting in anticipation, appreciating how his kid's all grown up, and seeing the scheme to unfold. Safe to say, people are confused. (Him, especially. What do you mean, his kid isn't trying to kill him?? Really, where did he go so wrong in parenting? None of his kids want to bond with him the proper way!!)
(I imagine SY being a better fighter than in canon due to literal trial of fire as a dragonet, and I'm not sure if he would've gotten hit with without a cure at all during the invasion in consideration of this)
#svsss#shen qingqiu#shen yuan#dragon au#luo binghe#I reckon SQQ never thought of LBH as anything but his BABY in this#liu qingge#on the other hand...#animal corpses showing how he's able to provide#displays of strength and his hunting prowess#shen yuan and his dragon brain might be swooning#svsss au#crack
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ᯓᡣ𐭩Yoriichi Romance Headcanons:
| Type: Fluff 💕| Warnings: None | WC: 0.6k |
𖤐ˎˊ˗Masterlist
❥ Yoriichi is super gentle, so if you’re in a relationship with him, expect nothing but kindness and care.
❥ And i know the fandom sometimes either portrays him as a 'freaky overprotective yandere' or 'sweet innocent uwu bean who cries at everything', and no hate to those who portray him as such- but realistically speaking; he would NOT act this way towards his s/o
❥ Plus, he’s just too pure-hearted for anything like stalking or kidnapping. Seriously, he literally gave up his dreams of being a swordsman just because he felt bad about injuring Michikatsu's mentor!
❥ But don't get me wrong- he is still a grown adult man with boundaries. If something’s off or he sees something wrong, Yoriichi will definitely speak up and voice his opinions. he WILL be assertive and strict when it's needed.
❥ Seriously, let’s not forget that he is literally a ruthless warrior in a fight!
❥ Yoriichi will be protective of you.. not in that 'obsessive' way, but through those little gestures (especially if you meet him after Uta)
~For example: if you might have to go somewhere, he'll insist that he accompanies you. And if not, he'll always remind you to be careful. In any crowded area, he’ll hold your hand and keep you close, making sure no one bumps into you.
❥ Speaking of Uta, if the S/o meets him after her.. then it will take time for him to open up again. Winning his heart will definitely be a journey-- Loyalty is basically this man's middle name.
❥ Also, get ready to be swarmed by animals and birds whenever you're near him. Because canonically Yoriichi is like a Disney princess thanks to his selfless state and calm nature.
❥ If you ever decide to give him something as a gift-- be it a bracelet or even a simple card; Yoriichi is gonna cherish it for life.
❥ Seriously, if you end up being Yoriichi's partner, you’ll be like the safest person in the entire world. A demon wouldn't even be able to lay a FINGER on you when he's around. Heck, a demon would be dead before they even realize so!!
❥ Sick? Period? Yoriichi will know before even you realise it.(the many pros of having the transparent world) and trust me, he'll make sure that you're well taken care of. He did take care of his mother in his childhood, afterall.
❥ Ever seen that spiderman scene when Peter catches Mj and her tray of food before she could fall? Yeah, if something like that ever happened to you then that exact scene would play out. Yoriichi would be WAY faster though- he'd probably be standing next to you before you could even process what just happened.
❥ Yoriichi is a quiet man, so mostly he just loves listening to your voice and the things you tell him. And believe me, he will remember everything; even the tiniest details.
❥ Yoriichi doesn't usually express emotions on the outside and he's pretty much stoic and emotionless 24/7; so you'd actually would have to learn to read his emotions.
❥ Just because he may not look very happy, doesn't mean that he isn't on the inside, and vice versa.
❥ Yoriichi would notice and appreciate even the tiniest things about you.
❥ Having a nightmare? Yoriichi will sense it right away (yes, even when he is sleeping.) and immediately pull you in for a comforting hug.
#ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ..#ᴀ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ꜱʜɪɴᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴇᴡ#「ʏᴏʀɪɪᴄʜɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ」#kny yoriichi#yoriichi x reader#yoriichi x you#demon slayer#Demon slayer headcanons#kimetsu no yaiba#kny headcanons#Kny x Reader#Yoriichi headcanons#demon slayer yoriichi#yoriichi tsugikuni
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Slipping on my evil author gloves and cracking my knuckles before diving in!
It's post-season 4 (with the canon divergence of Eddie living) and Steve and Eddie are falling in love while they figure out how to destroy Vecna for good.
But there are moments when it's quiet at night Steve will hear someone shouting his name.
"--TEVE!"
But it's always garbled like static over the walkie or shouts underwater. And every time Eddie pulls him close and whispers that it's just a nightmare. No one is calling him, everyone is safe.
They defeat Vecna and Eddie and Steve make plans to leave Hawkins together.
But when Steve arrives a little early at the trailer, he finds that Eddie was just going to slip away without telling him.
Eddie laughs. Tells him that no one wants him around. The kids will get driver's licenses and won't need rides anymore. Robin will run off with Nancy to Emerson and he'll be left all alone. Like he deserves to be.
But as Eddie starts laughing, Steve can hear the yelling again.
"Get the tape out his tape deck in his car!"
Steve is frowning. Who's tape deck?
Eddie notices the little confused frown and mockingly tells him that he was just too dim to notice that everyone secretly hated him.
Suddenly the air is filled with music.
Soldier boy, made of clay Now an empty shell Twenty one, only son But he served us well Bred to kill, not to care Do just as we say Finished here, greetings death He's yours to take away
Eddie's face transforms from mocking to enraged. His body starts shaking and convulsing. There is a strange after image and Steve takes a step back.
Vecna appears and Steve turns around. In the doorway of the trailer is the real Eddie and behind him is Steve's bedroom. He doesn't even look back, he starts running.
His back erupts in pain multiple lines burning all the way down.
****
Eddie walks into the Harrington mansion cautiously. He's never just strolled right in without Steve calling out to him.
But his car is here and none of the kids have heard from in 24 hours and even Robin is freaking out. Steve was supposed to work that morning, but never showed.
Two things that Steve would never do.
He starts searching the house but comes up empty. He's standing in the main hallway rubbing his chin when he hears it. Whimpering.
Eddie storms up the stairs and throws open the bedroom door. Steve is on the bed, complete asleep but clutching the sheets as he tosses and turns.
Eddie grabs the walkie and screams code red! And tells everyone to get their asses to Steve's ASAP.
Everyone who could get there arrives within minutes.
"I can't wake him!" Eddie screams as everyone stumbles into the bedroom.
Everyone tries what they can to wake him, but nothing.
Then El comes bursting through the door. "It's Vecna!"
"Why would Vecna target Steve?" Dustin asks and everyone glares at him. "What? I'm not saying he's not important or whatever, but..." he waves at El, Nancy, and Will. "Like."
Eddie growls and screams. "Get the tape out his tape deck in his car!" He turns to Robin. "Where does he keep his Walkman?"
Robin ran for his top drawer and handed it to him.
Dustin wasn't back yet.
"Dustin!" Robin screams as everyone else watches in silent vigil.
Dustin comes scrambling up the stairs and hands it to Eddie.
"Why is it a Metallica tape?" he says softly.
Eddie jams it into the Walkman and hits play. He places the headphones over Steve's ears and holds his hand as he waits. He was about to say he didn't care what the tape was when the song starts playing. The volume up as loud as it could be.
"Shit."
"Eddie?" El asks, tilting her head to the side.
Eddie and Dustin share a glance of just shattered emotions.
"It's called Disposable Heroes, El," Mike whispers.
Suddenly the air is still and growing stale with each passing moment as they all take in the meaning of that.
Then Steve comes to, gasping and crying. Suddenly he's covered in bodies as they all desperately try to hug him all at once.
Eddie gets close and whispers, "You are loved, Steve Harrington and tell Vecna he made a mistake targeting you. We will come for him with a fierceness like the of a fire storm."
El grins. "Done."
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ChordStriker!AU Q&A
I'm doing a bit of a Q&A about my ChordStriker!AU on insta after sharing this teaser WIP, so I figured I'd present some of the questions here! (Feel free to ask more btw!)
↓↓↓
Rock!Poppy
Q: "Is Poppy's family (Peppy & Viva) still with her since the Bergens didn't attack them?"
A: Peppy is with her, but he is confused/in mental decline like canon King Thrash was. Viva is missing. Poppy was old enough to remember her.
Q: "Will Viva play somewhat of a role in this AU?"
A: Yes, she's had a much bigger impact on Poppy's life, even till this day even though she's been missing for many years now. Poppy has never stopped looking for her.
Q: "Is King Peppy still a liar in your AU?"
A: Nah, he's normal. Sometimes hating him with my entire being is hard, so he gets to be a good dad this time. He's just not all there mentally so Poppy is more like his caretaker now.
Q: "Poppy's relationships don't last long because she gets bored... So how long is Branch going to last?"
A: The Rat Pack (Snack Pack) is wondering the same thing, but Poppy's never used the bf/gf/partner labels before meeting him which is strange... 👀
Q: "Does Poppy still party?"
A: She's a total party animal! Her parties are even more intense than a Pop Troll party since Rock Trolls are pretty extreme. LOL
---
Pop!Barb (Barbie)
Q: "What does Barb look like?"
A: For now, this is her design, it might change once I have time to draw her digitally.
Q: "Does this mean Barb has to go through the events of Trolls 1?"
A: Nope, Barb never befriends Bridget because they have never met. They have found a way to remain undetected in the forest. (Thanks to Branch’s constant nagging about safety)
Q: "How does Barb's gang look? Is there any significant differences in their dynamics?"
A: I haven't had time to finish them all, but here's some of them for now. There's more members of The Lunch Rush, but this is all I have for now!
Val Thundershock → Valentina Wondershock.
Only Queen Barbie calls her Val. She is very optimistic & loves to sing & dance! She's Barbie’s right-hand troll, BFFL & knows everything about her. They have a very... "close" relationship. ;] She's a popstar who's managed by Demo and loves to help make Pop Village a happier place.
Riff
He's a university student studying to be an engineer. He's very soft spoken, doesn't like to make a fuss and is probably the nicest guy around. He's quite close to Barbie and sees her as an older sister. He's actually on friendly terms with Branch. His favorite treat is lollipops. 🍭
Carol
But you can call her Carrie! Everyone does. She's a bit of a diva, loves to look good & dull things bore her. She will ignore anything that doesn't catch her eye, even trolls. Best to be looking your very best!
Sid Fret
Just call him Sid, no need to be so formal. He is every trolls dream guy and he knows it! He's a great roller derby racer and loves the attention trolls give him. Sure, he's a little self-absorbed, but he's a very loyal friend.
Demo
Not much has changed about Demo. He's perfect as he is <3 He's just a little more excitable & cutesy than before. He cares about Valentina a lot & they are very close friends.
Petra
She is the blueprint, she's the moment, she's everything. A model, actress, singer, you name it, she can do it. She's perfect... Who doesn't want to be her?
---
Branch
Q: "How different is Branch in this AU vs canon Branch?"
A: He is the same Branch essentially, just without the development he gains at the end of Trolls 1 & so-on. None of it occurred, so he is still grey, miserable & a recluse. He helped Barb to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe after nagging & warning her for ages, but after that, he returned to his bunker & is still not well-liked by the village.
Q: "Does she know Branch's whole past? If she does, what was her reaction?"
A: Not sure if you meant Barb or Poppy, so I'll answer for both. Barb—no. I don't think she'd ever find out, and she's also not the type to ask. Their personalities clash a bit too much, she stays out of his way like he asks her to.
For Poppy—I think it would come up naturally in conversation after a while when Branch feels more comfortable sharing. Poppy isn't the type to pry, but makes it clear that it's out of understanding, not a lack of caring. She can tell that he is closed off for a reason. She relates to that. I think she'd be beyond pissed once he told her, though.
Q: "Will Branch's brothers be in this?"
A: Yes, but Floyd will be getting the bigger role this time.
Q: "How quickly does Branch fall for Poppy? I'm sure the answer is yes, but is he happy?"
A: I'd say he's quite guarded in the beginning. He is cautious around her for the first few weeks, but he starts to come around once he picks up on Poppy being emotionally guarded herself.
Things move quickly once their walls come down around each other, & a mutual understanding is there. Poppy fell for him first. (At least, that's what Branch lets her believe, as it was love at first sight for him, but he'd never tell her that; she'd get a big head about it.)
#this isnt all of the questions but the post is getting long#trolls#dreamworks trolls#trolls poppy#trolls branch#broppy#askbee#thatbennybee#trollsbuzz#chordstriker!barb#chordstriker!branch#chordstriker!poppy#chordstriker au#cs!broppy#cs!branch#cs!poppy#cs!barb
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HELLO FINNIE!! HELLOO FINNIEE!!!
We already talked a bit about this but, would you make some headcanons about how all the mercs from TF2 would hug and comfort someone having a bad awful day?? Please and thank so very very much LOVE YOU 🧡
TF2 Merc Headcanons thank you gus gus for asking me for my very personal and no doubt completely off-canon opinions on the boys!! i too needed some comfort and hugs from them omg u-u i'm also very much hoping that these work platonically and romantically!! ❤️ request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: comfort, hugs, cheering up attempts
scout
he struggles to take things seriously, younger brother in a sitcom ass
"there, there, it could always be worse... i guess, maybe... probably not though this is pretty bad"
a gentle pat on the shoulder, and then another, and then another, and then a relatively painful whack to see if the shock works
playful teasing that maybe makes things worse at first, but makes you giggle
and then when he takes it too far, gives you a reason to pummel him, which lets you release some of the anger!!
even with his often blunt and immature response, there's always a sense that he cares deeply
it's there in his embrace, a one armed side-hug that pulls you in close while he asks you in his softest tone
"hey, you wanna go play baseball or somethin'?"
pyro
hugging isn't actually his go to response, and it's not third or fourth on his list either
first of all, he's taking you outside to set fire to something
it's cathartic, and fun, and dangerous!! and FIREY
then he's trying all of the things that make him happy!!
you can play dolls with him? or have a tea party with his stuffies!
or maybe you just wanna lay on your tummy on the floor and do some colouring in
but if none of that cheers you up, and he can't destroy the thing/person that made you sad
then he'd wrap his rubbery little hands around you and bring you in for the biggest squeeze he can offer
sniper
pack it up fellas, it's time to head out on a "touch some grass (or sand)" nature trip to cure the blues
you get to sit up front in the van, obviously
not in the back where you're bouncing off the walls and ceilings
he'll stop at every service station to get you a fun beverage or a snack on the off chance that it will make you crack even a little smile
and then you'll be out there in the world, safe because he's standing directly beside you
he's surprisingly big on physical affection, so he'll have you in a side hug most of the time, just to keep you comforted
and before he lets you go off to your room, he'll get out of the van and give you the biggest hug
full body, very warm, very gentle, completely silent
heavy
the gentle energy in him is in itself, quite intense
likely because he has all of this stored up nurturing and soft encouragement and gentle adoration
but his sisters don't really need it (and let's face it they never did, he just over worried)
so if he has a reason to love and comfort, he's taking it
you'd barely even have to utter a little word of sadness and he'd be wrapped around you
maybe so tight that you might have to get your ribs checked at the emergency room
but the bear hug is worth it
it's warm, safe, comforting, everything that heavy is
and bonus: he can lift anything and anyone
so if you need to be cradled like a leetle behbeh to get some sleep or to work through the sadness, then he can do that!!
soldier
TURN YOUR FROWN UPSIDE DOWN SOLDIER!!
there's so much to be grateful for!! like freedom!! and honey!! and guns!! and america!!
but if none of that works, he's willing to put his shirt back on just long enough to let you nuzzle into his chest for a hug
and if you're very lucky, you might feel another large set of arms around you
because if soldier is hugging you, then zhanna is joining in
maybe with a menacing reminder to stay away from her man
but still with enough warmth that you're surrounded from both angles and left with a fuzzy feeling in your chest
and a little bit sweet and sticky too...
medic
a sensible shoulder pat is his first port of call, because he's usually elbow deep in some body cavity or other
and there's not much he can offer in the way of extensive comfort that doesn't involve you being covered in blood, or worse
but once he's cleaned up, he's all OVER you
you're just a little dove in need of some snuggles
a little soft coo in your ear while he holds you close
a gentle stroke with his large hands so he doesn't hurt you, keeping things light and gentle, not intense (as he usually is)
face smothered in his chest as he rocks you back and forth and sings a deeply concerning lullaby
and then, if none of that works, he'd let you root around in his pile of "dead bits" for something to carve up
it really does let out all of the tension and stress
engineer
oh no don't be sad, he can't engineer his way out of this one...
or can he... OH!! maybe what you need is some comfort, he can do that
just give him 16-20 hours and a large amount of sheet metal and screws
he can work something out, like a little machine that can pat your head at different intervals depending on your needs
or a set of arms that can hug you, as well as deploy turrets and toss grenades!!
but you still look sad... perhaps, while you're waiting on him to create the cure for your sadness
you'd like a little hug?
and honestly, who can hug better than a short king with thick arms? perfect height, perfect squeeze, sweet little honied words to make you smile
absolute love bug with a perfect remedy (eventually...)
demoman
"do you want to drown your sorrows like a horrible wee beastie?"
"or do you want me to come over there and cuddle ye like a wee bairn?"
you can choose one or the other, or both!! either way your soul is going to feel lighter and warmer by the time he's finished with you
and, realistically, you're gonna get hugged either way
once he's drunk enough he won't be able to stop himself from holding you so tight you can't breathe, smooshing your cheeks between his palms, and just generally loving all over you
"yer a bonnie wee thing, i wish you never had to pout they wee lips"
he's slurring his words, but they're all meant with the greatest of sincerity
and you can bet he'd be just as willing to do it all sober
spy
he's a man of few words when it comes to comfort
somehow, despite his confidence in every other area and his preparation for every scenario, this one escapes him
the risks are a lot greater, somehow, than anything else
because he feels like he has to cheer you up, he has to make you feel better
anything less is a failure in his mind
so if you come to him with wet, sad little eyes he won't say a word
a quick grab of you by the shoulders, bringing you in to his room
where he'll wrap a robe around you and make you a nice omelette
and feed it to you in manageable bites
and give you a little tiny peck on the cheek and a quick tap on the head
and then a hug that could be formal or very romantic, it's hard to ascertain the meaning behind it, but it gives you exactly what you need without revealing anything
#x reader#team fortress 2 x reader#tf2 x reader#ok now all the blockable tags are out of the way lmaoooo#tf2#team fortress 2#finnie writes#tf2 sniper#tf2 engineer#tf2 medic#tf2 spy#tf2 scout#tf2 heavy#tf2 demoman#tf2 pyro#tf2 soldier
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When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 6/?
Some light word-building, and a try at explaining a little with reader's thinking/worldview. And of course, a soulmate :3 Next chapter in about a week(+/- a day)! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)
Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn
Wordcount: 2506
Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.
It’s been a week since you saw either of them.
Your soulmates.
You don’t like them being that, you could call them something else you suppose. But calling them their names all the time is more of a mouthful, and though you gave them nicknames before you learned their names, giving them new ones seems worse than just calling them what they are. (Even as much as you hate it.)
The ache in your shoulders and upper back has settled to a near permanent thing now, only fleeting relief for the for the briefest of moments if you massage the area.
You know why it doesn’t fade, but you don’t want to admit that to anyone, especially not Evelyn when you visit her for a check up, this time at home in her and Olivia’s apartment.
You wonder how many other people have to bring brownies to their doctor appointments as you ring Evelyn’s and Olivia’s doorbell outside the building. To be fair, not everyone else’s doctor works as a veterinarian and has a wife that would kill you if you didn’t bring them (not really, but sometimes you think Olivia is certainly capable of doing so).
Said wife is the one who buzzes you in, and greets you in the hallway just outside their front door with an enthusiastic yell of your name, and a hug that makes you let out a small grunt of pain that you try to hide in favor of hugging her back with the arm not currently holding onto the strap of your backpack.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re a wounded man, come in, come in, Evelyn is just setting up.” Her beautiful dark and curled hair bounces as she heads to the kitchen, and you follow her after making sure the front door is closed behind you.
The kitchen table is covered in towels, towels you know are specifically for this purpose, since none of them are the cute patterns Olivia loves. You also know that underneath there’s cling wrap covering the table, for cleanliness and just in case. It hadn’t been often you had been on this kitchen table instead of the clinic table, but the procedure Evelyn has around it isn’t unknown to you. A lot more organized than what Wade’s and Logan’s had been.
You banish the thought of them from your mind as you put your backpack down, dipping your hand inside to fish out the box of carefully wrapped brownies out, and present them to Olivia. She gasps at you, almost yanking the box out of your hand with how fast she takes it.
“Sometimes I swear it’s like you are my second soulmate.” Your stomach swoops at her words, and you make a face. She knows and disagrees with your view on soulmates, so you know it’s a friendly jab, and normally you wouldn’t have cared, but this time it hits something you don’t like.
“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes at her, focusing on Evelyn instead as Olivia goes to put her treasure away. “Ready for me doc?” Seems to be the perfect time to ask that question as Evelyn puts gloves on and pats the table.
“Up you go.” You do as asked, hoisting yourself up. You take your shirt off, balling it up, putting it under your head as you lay down, getting comfortable. “Feeling fine?” Evelyn starts to peel your bandages off, slowly and carefully.
“Yeah. They seem to be doing fine, in my non-medical opinion.” She hums, and you know she’s taking your words into consideration, but it won’t really matter much before she has had a look herself. You let your eyes stay open, watching the ceiling as you hear Olivia putter around the kitchen, and feel Evelyn poke around your wounds.
Nasty couple of things. Well, they had been. You have been surprised nothing had gotten infected, you had no idea how well Wade took care of his swords, how nasty or not they were. But well, to be fair to him, if you had gotten an infection, your makeshift bandages would have been just as likely a culprit.
“Looks like you won’t die anytime soon, but they’ll still leave some nasty scars behind.” Evelyn offers, seeming to be done with her inspection of you, as she changes gloves, and starts applying new bandages. You shrug, you figured out much. Nothing cuts that deep without leaving behind a mark.
Well, unless you are a super healing mutant. Even after you had tried multiple times. Both with a katana and a gun.
Should you even feel bad for hurting your soulmates like that when it was done when in panic but with the knowledge it would heal? And you got more permanently hurt?
And to be fair, Wade had knocked you out before you ever hurt them after realizing they were your soulmates, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t been hurt, but you shot them both. Caused them more pain.
So maybe you are all a little beyond messed up.
Made for each other, like that soulmate shit implies.
You shake your head at that thought, dispelling it into the ether, which gets you a weird look from Evelyn as she finishes with your bandage.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping right.”
“Chest pain?” Her hands hover near your chest, but move away as you shake your head.
“No, shoulder and upper back, think I’ve accidentally pulled something.” She frowns.
“I thought I told you to not work out or put unnecessary strain on your body as you heal.” You know what it’s from, and it’s definitely not that.
“I haven’t been working out or lifting anything heavy, I promise. I’m just an old man.” You joke, she rolls your eyes at you as you sit up, taking the glass of water Olivia offers you.
“Let me know if it keeps up, and I’ll see if I can’t figure out what it is, and get you something for it.” She can’t know and won’t be able to get you anything, but still you nod.
“Am I allowed to put my shirt back on Doc, or do you just want to ogle me some more?” You joke, this earns you a slap on the shoulder by a now gloveless hand just after Olivia hands you a chocolate chip cookie.
“Thought you were making pasta?” You get off the table and take a bite out of your cookie as Olivia smiles at you, and Evelyn starts cleaning up.
“I am, but good patients get rewards.”
“What am I, five?” You joke, Olivia reaches out as if to take the cookie out of your hand, you take a step back. “I prefer your cookies over any stupid little toy.” Olivia’s smile is bright, and if you weren’t gay and she didn’t have a soulmate, she could have been your type. She turns around, planting a kiss on Evenlyn’s cheek as she passes her on her way to grab ingredients for the dinner she is going to make for you all.
You lean on the kitchen counter and munch on your cookie, mindful to stay in the background and out of the way for them both as they move around each other with ease. Evelyn cleaning up medical supplies and the makeshift sickbed, Olivia starting to cook dinner.
You don’t want to bring up your soulmates with either of them, since you know their stance on it all is opposite of yours, since they are themselves soulmates. You’ve had plenty of arguments about this both drunk and mostly sober. You think soulmates make one vulnerable and just bring misery in the end, they think it brings strength and that you should enjoy what good you can have in life.
So you know they would just tell you to go to your soulmates, and be with them.
For the rest of your life.
Ugh.
You’re fine on (mostly) your own, thanks.
—---
This time, when the universe decides it’s time for some light fuckery, it’s Logan. On his own. And it’s not while you are working.
Not that it makes it any better.
You are taking it slow, the bar you find yourself in isn’t the fanciest thing, which suits you perfectly. The tables are mostly clean and the floor has seen better days, but they have several types of beer on tap and in bottles, a pool table, and even two shuffleboards. All in all, very casual, somewhere you could sit alone, or join a random group playing one of the games. If money sometimes exchanged hands, both between players and spectators, nobody gave a shit.
You had been a few times before, always enjoying yourself. You’re not even drinking this time, sticking to soda as much as you want to have a proper drink. You had just needed to get out of your apartment, and though you long to feel the burn of alcohol pass over them, you know it won’t heal any faster, so if you can just keep from drinking for a little longer, you can get back to the normal state of things quicker.
Well, as normal as they can get after the universe decided to change the core of your life. You were not one for company, at least not permanently.
Currently you are sitting at a table, watching two long bearded and bald men play pool, making snide comments back and forth. You had made a bet on the man with the scarred ear, but he is losing, pretty badly.
Oh well, 20 bucks isn’t the end of the world.
What kind of feels like it though, is when you spot Logan walking into the bar. He’s wearing normal clothes this time, just some jeans, boots, and a green flannel. He glances around the bar, you duck your head in the hope that he doesn’t see you.
You don’t hope for long though, as a very full glass of what looks like whiskey is sat down next to your soda, and the chair on the other side of the table becomes occupied.
“Logan.” Your uttering of his name in greeting is icy, your name falling from his lips are decidedly less so.
“What are you doing here?” You ask him, feeling your shoulders ease up. Which annoys you so much, he’s just arrived, and he’s already making you feel better. You want to go, to leave, even as your loosening muscles reminds you that staying for a little bit will stave off side effects of your unfortunately shared bond.
“Drinking.” He grunts, taking a sip of his glass. You roll your eyes and look at him for a few moments, head swirling with thoughts. You settle on one, just to have something to say as you stall and try to figure out how much time you need to feel more than just a little less shitty, though you can’t help but be actually curious as you ask.
“Can you even get drunk with your healing shit?” Logan frowns, and you wonder if that’s his default. You don’t ask about that though.
“With some effort.”
“Why the fuck even be in a bar then?” Your tone is still not kind, even as you feel your shoulders ache just a little bit less, like you had just massaged over a good spot. He shrugs.
“Company I guess.” It’s your turn to frown.
“I have no interest in being company. Get away from me Logan, or I will make you go away.” You know you should stay close longer so you can also stay away longer, but you are still stubborn, not wanting the fuckery that is soulmates.
At least if you just stay in the same room, it should help, you think.
You hope. No need to stay close in the slightest.
He takes you in, quickly glancing at you from top to toe.
“I -“ You don’t let him speak.
“What did I just say Logan?” He scowls at you, you glare back at him, but let him speak when he opens his mouth this time.
“I don’t like it.” Logan reluctantly admits as the scowl stays on his face. “This being the way we are going about things.” He clarifies.
“Though shit.” He tilts his head at you, scowl turning into more of a squint.
“Are you always this combative?” You feel like a street dog on high alert, barking in warning.
“Fuck off.”
“Look-” And when barks don’t work……
“You had your warning.” You say as you grab your knife from your left leg. You stab it into his hand, aiming for the skin between where the claws go through his hand, hitting the jackpot as red seeps around the knife and the tip of it burrows into the table. Seconds later there is warm and sharp metal pushing your chin up. You grin and waggle a finger at him.
“Nah ah, mortal, remember?” You twist the knife around once for good measure, making him grunt in pain, and then pull it out of his hand. You already know you are banned from this bar for life, but you don’t care. His claws retract, this time you realize it actually makes a sound. Huh.
“So you are always this combative.” Logan grits out between his clenched teeth, as his hand heals itself, leaving behind nothing but the blood that spilled out where you stabbed him.
“Fellas, time to go.” A bouncer suddenly stands in front of your table now, a t-shirt with security over his chest in big white letters. He’s huge, towering over both you and Logan, arms ready at his sides, eyes flicking between the two of you. You see Logan seize him up, and for a moment you wonder if he is going to fight the man, but his eyes go to you as you get off your chair.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You put your knife away. “Again, fuck off Logan.” You show him the finger as you walk out. He’s just steps behind you, clearly no longer welcome in the bar either, but he keeps his distance as you both go out of the door.
You have no idea where he's going, and you have no plans now, so you start walking in the direction of home.
After gaining some distance, you look over your shoulder. You don’t want to be followed. Logan is standing just outside of the bar, looking at your retreating back, but he takes a step forward as your eyes connect with his. You show him the finger again as you disappear around a corner.
You rub your forehead as you are out of sight, annoyance cursing through you. You think some of it might be his.
Fuck, you wish you could get drunk right now. Well, you could, but it wouldn’t be good for your healing. And you have no idea how bad or good your control over your bonds are when you’re drunk.
Just another thing for future you to figure out, you guess.
#wolverine x reader x deadpool#logan howlett x male reader#wolverine x male reader#logan howlett x reader#wade wilson x male reader#deadpool x reader x wolverine#wade wilson x reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine x deadpool x reader#deadpool x reader#deadpool x male reader#poolverine x reader#logan howlett#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#wolverine fic#deadpool fic#marvel fic#deadpool and wolverine fic#wade wilson#wolverine#male!reader#male reader#written#when you touch me#wytm
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andrew graves as your older brother.
cw: nsfw!! dark kinks!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! female reader, little sis reader, fauxcest/sibcest, grooming, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, penetration (penis in vagina), doggy style/backshots, loss of virginity, choking, praise, degradation, forced/multiple orgasms, some cnc
a/n: i do not condone real life instances of grooming, sexual violence, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, or rape. this work is pure fantasy. expect tcoaal canon-typical dark content and toxicity.
older brother!andy, who crawls under your covers at night for comfort whenever he has nightmares. he cuddles up close, slipping his hands in places they shouldn’t go and feigning ignorance when you call him out for it. he tells you to be quiet, says this is a secret you have to keep from mom and dad. a shared promise whispered over messy bed sheets. you arch your back when he traces a path up your spine, stifle your laughs when he brushes against your ticklish spots, force back moans when his fingers dip between your legs. it’s wrong and you know it, but it feels too damn good to resist.
older brother!andy, who teases you incessantly every chance he gets, but loses his temper when other guys do the same. you’re his younger sister, and he’ll be damned if another man puts his hands on you. you wonder why all of the guys who were harassing you suddenly back off, failing to notice the deep cuts on their skin, the purplish bruises on their faces, their blackened, bloodshot eyes. it's what they deserved. no one else gets to bully you except him.
older brother!andy, who spoils you rotten and treats you like his little princess. you get on his nerves and test his patience everyday with your bratty attitude, but in the end he forgives you every time. he melts when you give him those big dolls eyes, caves in to your demands whenever you whine and pout, all while pretending to be pissed... even though he secretly enjoys your sass.
older brother!andy, who pretends to like all of your boyfriends when you introduce them to the family, but goes behind your back and scares them away with threats of violence and intimidation. you can’t figure out why all of your boyfriends keep dumping you out of the blue right after they ask you out and start to think there might be something wrong with you. he tries not to smile when you go to him in tears, asking him for his brotherly advice. this was all going according to his plan.
older brother!andy, who comforts you when you’re heartbroken and holds you tight until your tears finally dry. he showers you in praise, reminds you of your worth, tells you that these other men are garbage and none of them will ever be good enough for you anyway. and even if you never find someone, you’ll always have your big brother. when the rest of the world abandons you, he will be the last one by your side. he'll make damn sure of that.
older brother!andy, who is your first for everything. your first kiss. your first date. your first time. he doesn’t want someone else putting their grubby hands on you and soiling your precious body. special times like these should be shared with people who truly care about you. and he's the one who loves you most. only he knows how to bring you the most pleasure. only he knows how to touch you right. only he is good enough to take you.
older brother!andy, who fucks your brains out whenever he gets the chance. when he's angry, he takes out all of his frustrations on you, yanking your hair while giving you backshots and holding you down by the neck as you struggle against him. he's very vocal, tells you over and over how much he loves fucking your tight little pussy and how good it feels to be inside you, then in the same breath calls you his little slut. he knows your body best, memorizes the things that make you cum, coaxes out endless orgasms until you're crying, shaking, and begging him to stop. he never does, not until he's satisfied.
older brother!andy, who reminds you every day that he's all you've got in the world. he needs you to need him, so he'll say anything to get you to stay. "no one else is gonna put up with your bullshit except for me. no one else is gonna stick around. you're too fucked in the head for anyone else to love." you may deny it, but deep down, you know it's true.
older brother!andy, who will die for you. who will kill for you. who will follow you to the gates of hell and back again if you asked.
older brother!andy, the only man you will ever need.
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