#rereading the first chapter was a STRUGGLE

[lozeyart]

I went back to my old (abandoned) webcomic "Below Our Feet" and chose this page to redraw (because it was easy and I'm lazy). Also added some closeups! Mistakes I made this time around were that I made my canvas too small to work on, so on the new page, the word bubbles look too cramped (oh well, lesson learned) but overall I think I really improved! At least when it comes to the art side of things. When I was most of the way through I actually wished I had changed up the panel layout, and wished I showed them together in the same panels more than twice. I did change some of the dialogue slightly and changed how Alex (the taller one) dresses. This is on me when I made the comic, but the story takes place in 1847 in a fictional English town and I accidentally dressed Alex up in a mix of Regency and Victorian era clothing because I didn't do enough research. He is now wearing appropriate Victorian era clothing, albeit mid Victorian era clothing as there are more sources on clothing in the 1870s vs the 1840s. A part of me misses this webcomic and wants to do a reboot, there are a lot of things I would do differently, and I'd want to make it more of a slow burn, as I felt I was rushing things in the original, but I don't have the drive to do this project anymore, and want to do other things. But I still love my boys! Maybe one day I'll do something with them and their story, who knows!

[yannfredericks]

>:(

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.�� You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[periwinkla]

Narumitsu/AA fic rec list No.1

---- Multi-chapter ----

pressure (pushing down on me) ApprenticeofDoyle | @apprenticeofdoyle https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440966/chapters/69694179

miles edgeworth's terrible, no-good, very bad week ApprenticeofDoyle | @apprenticeofdoyle https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390913/chapters/72203136 (this one isn't completed but please listen to my advice: a fic does not need to be completed to be enjoyable and/or give you necessary feelings) This author writes so beautifully, go read both!!! The first one has such cute and emotional moments and there's a scene in particular I will cherish most dearly for all of eternity. The second one follows as the title says Miles's most terrible misfortunes (aka AAI), so enjoy his very well written struggles.

The Miraculous Disappearance Of Phoenix Wright JJsADragon | @4ragon https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341994 This is Phoenix-centric, narumitsu is background - it's so beautiful and it's full of Phoenix drama and... hear me out... Godot!!! But, being serious here. This one really struck me. I don't know, I don't quite have the words to explain. You need to experience it yourself. But I can say that it made me rethink my whole perception of Phoenix's character. Vacation All I Ever Wanted JJsADragon | @4ragon https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088599/chapters/60774496 Same author as previous one and what can I say? It's gorgeous go read it. Also side note I actually laughed out loud at very very frequent intervals.

Saturation (ongoing) TiedyedTrickster | @greentrickster https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272603/chapters/48054286 Already talked about this previously....: It's a Miles-POV fic, sweet & cute, emotional, with an amazing sense of humor. The character relationships are chef's kiss. Absolutely brilliant all around.

The Things We Agree to Believe are True actual_goblin | @metaphorical-goblin https://archiveofourown.org/works/42658245/chapters/107157108 I think this is the kind of thing you need to read without any explaination whatsoever. It's just... an adventure, I would call it, and very very beautiful, so just jump in. There is one thing I can say though. If you like character exploration, to a degree that is frankly out of this universe, GO.

Kindred timepatches | @monimolimnion  https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852137/chapters/70772769 It's about Miles adopting Pess! And it makes him realize a few things. It's so so very heartwaming. Set during the 7y gap. I think whatever I say might spoil it so I'll just describe how it made me feel! Fuzzy. Warm. Sappy. Cozy like wrapped in a blanket in winter with a nice cup of cocoa in hand. ---- One-shots ----

pressed beneath the burden of proof harmony | @harmonization https://archiveofourown.org/works/57174151 So very very very well written - I love how the author describes thoughts and emotions... it felt like I was feeling them myself.

Trials, Texts, and Tribulations bluemoodblue | @blue-mood-blue https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590601 Just very very sweet and with such nice subtlety it made me scream internally-- I love subtle things.

A Boy at the Airport KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS) | @krisseycrystal https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741124 Kid Apollo + Wrightworth. cute too cute too extremely cute family feelings overload ---- my heart is flying away...

Code to My Heart SnowOnVenus | @legayllyblonde https://archiveofourown.org/works/57499360 Incredibly beautiful and the drawings made to accompany it are absolutely charming and so fitting to the story... I especially love how Edgeworth's character was explored here. This will forever be inprinted in my heart.

To be honest there are so many more so I will probably make more lists in the future, as I also need to reread things (I have terrible, terrible memory)... hence the '1' on the title.

[speakergame]

Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes: 

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now. 

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing. 

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it) 

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

[ckret2]

Long time lurker, first time asker!

How do you keep different voices/characters in your fics so distinct? I'm writing my first longer than 2k word fic and it's... a time.

First, I'm going to link you the best essay I've ever read about How To Write Canon Character Voices—what's too much accent, what's too little, how to pay attention to word choice and the way they phrase things, etc. It's about Transformers but the skills are transferrable to other fandoms (or original writing). The original essay is down so all I can offer is the archive.org version, but it's worth it.

Second, I'm going to link you this post I wrote about how I study character voices. It's about Hazbin but it shows you the kinds of things I pay attention to when I'm learning a character voice.

Third, I'm going to offer you some extra general advice that isn't in the above posts:

Some people try to make characters sound like themselves by basically parroting their catch phrases or most common quotes. Do that and you're just gonna make your version of the character sound like a robot. (Note: if you're writing a character who only knows how to say a few quotes, that's okay lmao.) The readers already know what the characters said in canon, they're reading a fic to hear them say something new. Example: if you have Bill Cipher arrive on the scene and say "Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me!" word-for-word, you don't sound like you're writing Bill, you sound like you're quoting Bill from That One Scene where He Said That Thing.

But... directly borrowing characters' quotes is kind of a stepping stone on the way toward figuring out how they speak. Think about things they've already said, but use those quotes as a guide for how to write them.

Example: from that quote above, we get that when Bill shows up around people who definitely did NOT miss him, he just... decides that they did and tells them so. This shows you a bit of his sense of humor (he makes jokes to annoy someone who hates him—it's not even a mean joke, just annoying), a bit of his ego (he knows he's clowning around, but even when he's clowning he's going to say something that makes himself sound popular rather than hated), his casual & familiar attitude with someone he barely knows, his tendency to just request people do what he wants (saying "admit it, you missed me" instead of something like "I know you missed me")... etc.

And I kinda already said this in the Hazbin post, but the most important thing you can do when you're struggling with a character voice is just rewatch their episodes and pay close attention to how they speak (or rewatch their movie scenes, or reread their chapters/comic issues—whatever you're writing about). If they're from a visual/audio medium (TV, movie, podcast, etc), then if need be, read transcripts to see how their voices look when written down. Type down the transcripts yourself if there aren't any—and that's also a good physical exercise to make you slow down and pay attention to how they speak. (You notice where they tend to pause in sentences when you're the one who has to decide where to put commas; you notice their accent when you're the one who has to decide whether that word sounds more like walking or walkin'.)

Pay attention to cadence, accent, interjections, sentence length, active voice, passive voice, preferred vocabulary, preferred slang, word choice, sentence length, sentence complexity, any phrases they're fond of (but again—don't overuse a phrase unless they overuse a phrase), how they tend to refer to the people around them (by first name, last name, any titles, any nicknames—and do they change in different contexts?)... Pay attention to anything you can think of. You want to be able to hear the character's voice clearly in your head—read everything you write in their voice, and if it doesn't sound like their voice in your head, change it.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Elementary, Chapter Two

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x teacher!reader

chapter rating: M (no explicit smut but my blog is always 18+ ONLY, just one steamy makeout but the smut show begins next chapter so strap in 😎 as always, i cannot force myself to reread my own writing so this isn’t proofread)

word count: 4.9k

series masterlist | joel masterlist | joel playlist

It was Saturday afternoon, your book club meeting nearly wrapped for the day. You were delighted to see Sarah’s face, half-expecting both her and her father to forget about the meeting, but she was one of the first ones here.

Joel greeted you with a shy wave and a smile as he walked her into the small room in the corner of the library, his grey t-shirt and jeans fitting him far too well.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, both of your eyes trailing away to watch Sarah make a bee-line for the snack table. “That’s my fault, I forgot to make a grocery run.”

“That’s what they’re there for,” you waved off his worry and fixed your eyes on his again.

“I, uh, tried to keep up,” he held up his copy of Sense and Sensibility, surprising you with how far into the book his bookmark rested, not quite where the rest of you were but not too far off. “I don’t know about that Willoughby guy…somethin’ seems off.”

“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled, shifting your weight onto one hip and crossing your arms over your chest as you eagerly waited his assessment. Joel cracked a charming half smirk and nodded confidently.

“Yeah. No man is that perfect.” You snorted a laugh and eagerly agreed. “So I got it, then? He’s a bad guy?”

“No comment,” you replied with an untamable grin, something about his presence filling you with a girlish giddiness you hadn’t felt in years.

“Sarah!” Sarah’s new friend, Jessie, squealed when she entered the classroom and spotted her, causing both you and Joel to look over with proud smiles.

“This was a good idea,” Joel turned back to you. “Hadn’t realized how sheltered she was. It’s nice to see her have a friend.”

“We all deserve friends,” you noted.

“You know, if you ever need a friend…I’m right here,” he offered with a shrug, busying his eyes by looking down at the book he was holding.

“Would Sarah be okay with her dad and teacher being friends?” you asked, Sarah’s well-being your ultimate responsibility and priority over whatever you happened to be feeling for her father.

“Yeah, we, uh, talked about it…I may have made a comment about how pretty you are,” he chuckled in embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck. “And she’s been teasin’ me about it since.”

“Pretty, huh?” you smirked and relished in the blush you brought to his face, his eyes rolling as a husky chuckle slipped from his lips. “Well, Joel, if I ever need a friend, how can I go about getting in touch with you?”

“Right,” he nodded, frantically reaching into his pocket to pull out his flip phone, your lip caught between your teeth as you watched him struggle to find his phone number—of course he didn’t know it by heart. “Alright, you ready?”

You clicked your pen and pulled out your post-it note/bookmark, jotting down his number as he read it out to you.

“Are we gonna start or what?” Harriet snapped from her wheelchair, making both you and Joel laugh.

“I’ll be back to pick Sarah up at eleven,” he tapped his book with yours before walking out of the room, only stopping to place a kiss on his daughter’s forehead before disappearing, leaving your heart longing for more.

Taking a deep, necessary breath, you turned to the group and smiled. “Alright, how far did everybody get this week?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at your phone so goddamn much since you got the damn thing,” Tommy teased his older brother as they walked around their favorite H-E-B supermarket, Joel determined to surprise Sarah with a fully stocked fridge and pantry for once.

“Yeah,” Joel mumbled as he swore he felt a buzz in his pocket, tugging his flip phone out for the twentieth time since stepping inside the store, hoping to see a message or an incoming call from you.

“That the plummer for the project on 15th Street?” Tommy asked as he loaded a case of Gatorade into the bottom of the cart.

“No, it’s, uh—“ Joel was nervous, having gone so long without having a romantic life that he started to feel like a teenager again, too embarrassed by the weight of his crush to tell anybody. “Sarah’s at her book club so I’m just makin’ sure I don’t miss her call if she needs me to pick her up early.”

“And her ‘pretty’ teacher ain’t got nothin’ to do with that?” Tommy teased with a grin, amused by the look of betrayal and embarrassment on his older brother’s face.

“Sarah told ya, huh?”

“Yep,” Tommy laughed and took over pushing the cart. “You ask her out yet?”

“Not yet,” Joel sighed, the idea of going on a first date at his stage in life seeming ridiculous. What would they even do? Go to a movie? Go out to dinner? It all seemed too…cliche. “What do people even do for dates anymore?”

“Take her to Lady Bird Lake or a museum or somethin’. She’s a teacher, she’ll be into all that,” Tommy suggested. Joel nodded at the advice, making a mental note of it before being interrupted by the first actual ring of his phone all morning.

“Hello?” Joel answered the unsaved number with a hopeful heart.

“Joel?” your voice responded, bringing a smile to his face.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding more like himself. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chirped, but he could tell there was something you were holding back.

“Sarah’s okay, right?”

“Yes! Sarah’s alright, she’s waiting here with me—“Joel heard his daughter greet him in the background. “The meeting ended a bit early, and I was trying to start my car, but it looks like I have a dead battery. Is there anyway I could get a jumpstart?”

“Oh—yeah,” he mouthed to Tommy that they needed to go checkout, Tommy pushing the cart towards the registers without needing any further instruction. “We’re just checkin’ out at H-E-B, but I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

“No need to thank me. It’s what friends are for,” he hoped his attempt at playfulness didn’t fall flat, and judging by your chuckle, it hadn’t.

“That and lots of other things.” Joel’s heart sped up as he contemplated the other things. “See ya in a bit.”

“So,” Sarah started as she sat beside you in your well-used Ford Focus, the two of you reading as you waited for Joel to arrive. “You married?”

You laughed at her bluntness, looking over at her only to see her deadpanning. “No, I’m not married. Not anything.”

“Why not?” You laughed again, this time incredulously.

“I’ve been wondering that myself.” She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, making you shrug and giggle again as you tossed your hands up. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the men I go after.”

“Like my dad?” You blushed and turned back to your book, finally pulling a laugh from the girl much wider than her years. “I think it would be cool if you two started to go out.”

“What makes you think we want to go out?” you challenged with a smirk, trying and failing to erase it from your face.

“I haven’t seen my dad try this hard since…well, ever,” she chuckled. “And both of you always have this stupid smile on your face after you see eachother. I’d say that’s a pretty big tell.”

“You’re too observant for your own good,” you noted as you felt your cheeks creep with heat, embarrassed that she’d caught you.

A few quick honks cut off the conversation, both of you stepping out of the hot car to greet Joel as he and another man pulled up in front of where you were parked. Joel climbed out of the passenger seat with a smile, striding over to both of you with two water bottles in hand, giving you each one.

“Drink up, it’s hot as hell today,” he commanded and both of you obeyed.

“Hey,” his companion stepped out of the drivers side and joined the three of you, giving you a nod. “I’m Tommy, Sarah’s uncle.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” you held your hand out for him to shake and he grinned mischievously.

“Likewise.” Your cheeks heated again despite the cold water bottle cooling you down.

“Mind if I pop the hood?” Joel pointed at your car, your head eagerly nodding in response. You watched him closely as he walked over to the drivers side, bending down to find the hood release. His shirt stretched over the broadness of his back, a line of sweat darkening the gray fabric down his spine. With a sudden thirst, you took a healthy chug of your water, hoping it would soothe the fire burning inside of you.

“Thank you guys,” you started as you turned to Tommy, needing to distract yourself from Joel.

“It’s no problem,” Tommy assured, his arm draped around Sarah’s shoulder. “How was, uh, book club?”

“Oh!” Sarah chimed, earning a furrowed brow look from her father as he walked over to the bed of the truck to grab some jumper cables. “Can I go over to Jessie’s house tonight? She’s having a sleepover—“

“I don’t know,” Joel exhaled as he returned. “I need to talk to her parents first.”

“I have their number,” you offered, pulling your phone out of your purse. “If you want it.”

“Sure,” he gave you a tired smile and trailed his eyes over your form properly for the first time since he arrived. Your hair that was once freely falling had now been put up, the sweat on the back of your neck causing your hair to stick to your skin in a way that bugged you. Your makeup was probably well into oily territory, your mascara smudged the last time you checked it in the car’s rearview mirror. The only thing half-presentable about you was the sundress you were wearing, it’s floral, cotton fabric flowing in the warm April breeze. “Uh,” he caught himself staring and quickly turned his gaze back to his daughter as he fished out his cellphone. “Here—you can type it in.”

After giving Sarah the phone number, she and Tommy retired back to the cool a/c in his truck, leaving you and Joel alone. An irresponsible thing for the two of you to be.

“Care to show me how it’s done,” you asked, unable to stop yourself from wanting more from him—more attention, more of his voice, more…everything. Being around him made you feel like you were burning alive, and yet strangely enough, the only time relief came to you was when you got closer to him.

“No one ever taught you how to jumpstart a car?” he teased with a smile, glancing over at you as he clamped the metal prongs onto the negative and positive sides.

“Not really,” you chuckled, pointing at the opposite colors. “So black goes on negative and red goes on positive?”

“Yep,” he nodded before pointing at the inside of the car. “Go on and try to start it up.”

“Just start it?” you asked, worried about messing up.

“Yep, like you normally do,” he encouraged you with a smile, watching you as you sat down in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. Both of you gasped at the sight and sound of your battery sparking and then smoking. “Shit.” He walked over to the now ruined battery and investigated as you came out to join him. “Wasn’t your fault, my cords must be fucked or somethin’. I’m sorry—just ruined your battery.” He sighed and gave you an apologetic look, but you were quick to brush it off.

“Don’t worry about it,” you placed your hand on his arm and watched as his head turned to look at the contact before locking his eyes with yours. You fought the urge to worship his biceps like your celibate and cavewoman-like hormones were urging you to and pulled your hand away. “I’ll just call a tow truck and have them tow me to an auto-shop.”

“They’ll take you for all you got.” He shook his head and gestured back at the truck. “We can take ya to go get a new battery for almost free.”

“Almost?” you chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, the only payment I ask for is maybe…a date?” He gave you a bashful but hopeful smile as he tucked his hands in his front pockets. “Maybe tonight?”

You stared at him with a widening grin, pleasantly surprised by his proposition. You hadn’t thought he’d make the first move, at least not this soon. Throwing caution to the wind, you nodded, your stomach fluttering as you watched him sigh in relief.

“Alright, well, let’s work on gettin’ you a new battery and go from there.” Joel waited for you as you locked your car up and joined him again, following him over to the backseat of his truck. He opened the door for you, giving you that warm smile that was beginning to feel like a drug as you climbed in beside Sarah.

Joel remained outside as he unhooked the cables from their working battery to your dead one, shutting the hood of the truck with a firm slam. He ungracefully hopped into the passenger seat, looking over at his brother.

“Take us down to the Autozone,” he ordered, Tommy glancing back at you with a raised brow and smile as he waited for his brother to use his manners. Joel sighed, “Please.”

“That’s better.”

It took under an hour to go get your new battery, bring it back to your car, and have Joel install it. As he bid you goodbye, he let you know he’d give you a call once he figures out a time for your date tonight, and you couldn’t help but beam with excitement.

The entire rest of the afternoon was spent going through your closet, taking the longest shower of your life, and fussing with your hair, wanting to be ready if Joel chose to be last minute with your plans—which normally would thoroughly turn you off, but you were weak when it came to Joel.

Thankfully, Joel called at three, asking if you’d like to join him for a walk at Lady Bird Lake. You eagerly accepted the offer, mildly surprised by the unconventional choice in date but not disappointed with it.

As you sat in the living room, you heard a car approach your house and moved to peek through your window, the same dark pick-up truck from earlier rolling into your driveway. You grinned as you watched him hop out of the drivers seat, dressed in a crisp white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He looked so masculine and broad, but there was something in the warmth of his smile, the deepness of his eyes, that showed he was soft, too.

Quickly heading to your front door, you opened it before he could knock, his look of surprise when you swung the door open turning into a smile as he took you in—a sage green wrap dress that fell between your ankles and knees, your makeup soft and complimentary, your smile knee-weakening.

“You look so pretty,” he complimented softly, as though you weren’t meant to hear it. “Uh, got these for you.”

Joel handed you a bouquet of yellow daisies and you gave him a touched frown, kissing your teeth as you pressed the petals to your nose.

“This is very sweet,” you gave him a smitten grin and gestured back into your house. “Let me just go put these in some water. You’re welcome to come in.”

“Alright,” he followed you into your house and down the hall to your kitchen, his eyes scanning the scene as though your home would reveal some hidden secret about you. “This is a nice place.”

“Thanks,” you replied as you filled a vase with water at the sink. “I found it for a really good price last summer, and now the owner’s gonna sell it to me.”

“Take it you like Austin then. You from around here?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Nope,” you continued to tell him where you were from. “But I do love it here. Besides, I’m getting older. Seems like a good investment.”

“Old,” he repeated with a smirk. “You ain’t nowhere near old. Me on the other hand—“

“You’re what, mid-thirties?”

“33,” he corrected. “But my body is pushin’ seventy.”

“You haven’t heard the way my bones crack when I get up every morning,” you joked, earning a laugh.

“We’ll just have to be gentle with each other, then,” Joel quipped, not taking much time to think before he spoke. He internally cringed at the way you looked away and chuckled awkwardly, scolding himself for his stupid joke.

“Hopefully not too gently.” You shot him a wink and every worry of his faded into oblivion. “Alright, then, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Joel swallowed his desire and walked you out to the truck, helping you into your side before seating himself. “You ever been to the lake?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Is it pretty out there?”

“It’s pretty, but you’re gonna give it a run for it’s money in that dress,” he flirted, shooting you a glance and a peek at the smile he was wearing proudly. Your cheeks turned hot at his compliment and you rolled your eyes, grinning like a lovesick teenager.

“You’re a flirt,” you pointed out.

“Me?” He laughed. “I haven’t flirted in…shit, I don’t know how long it’s been.”

“Well, you’re a natural, then,” you nudged his arm with your elbow and felt dizzy by the sparks shooting through your nerves by the simple contact.

“Sarah gave me a run down of things I should and shouldn’t do tonight,” he filled you in.

“Oh yeah? What are the do’s?” you implored with an amused smile, watching his profile as he drove.

“Pay, open doors, and ask questions,” he replied.

“And dont’s?” Joel chuckled and shook his head.

“She said I’m not supposed to kiss you until the second date.” You scoffed and waved that thought away. “You disagree?”

“Strongly,” you answered him with a laugh, Joel laughing along with you.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind, then.” He shot you a wink and you felt like your heart was being shocked back to life. “I haven’t been on a date in so long. You gotta let me know if I’m fuckin’ this up.”

“You’re doing just fine, trust me,” you assured. “I can’t tell you the amount of shitty dates I’ve gone on, so the bar isn’t very high for you tonight.”

“Well, that’s sad,” he chuckled and shot you a lingering look as he stopped at a red light. “Hopefully I can break this streak of shitty dates.”

“I think you’ve already done it,” you laughed. “I mean, I can’t think of a first date that sacrificed hours of his life to replace my car battery on a Saturday afternoon.”

“You’re right, I’m setting the bar high,” he chuckled and shrugged. “Gonna have to change your oil next time just to keep up my reputation, then for the third date maybe rotate your tires—“

“Are these euphemisms?” you asked with mischief in your smile, not knowing the way you made his heart speed up with it.

“You make me nervous,” he admitted with a smile, his cheeks flushed pink. When he turned to look at you, he saw a bitten smirk, his head shaking. “That amuse you?”

“A little,” you nodded.

“Callin’ me a flirt,” he shook his head in mock scolding. “Look at you.”

After your leisurely walk in the park—the green of the grass and array of colors from the flowers and butterflies swarming in the air just as beautiful as Joel attempted to describe it on the way over—you and Joel found yourselves outside of an ice cream shop, sharing a chocolate and strawberry sundae.

“How are you not terrified every day? I only have Sarah to look out for and I can hardly manage, I can’t imagine a class full of ‘em,” Joel spoke, watching you as you spooned the last bit of the ice cream into your mouth.

“It’s scary at first, but then you develop this sort of bond with them—it just happens naturally, and it makes you feel responsible for them. You know? It’s just like…I feel a responsibility to show them some peace and understanding, because who knows what they have going on at home. I show up for them because I might be the only person that’s doing that, you know?” You shrugged, trying not to read into the way he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, his posture relaxed as he sat back in the metal patio chair. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He chuckled, amused by your fluster.

“Like that.” You gestured at his head. “You know exactly what you’re doing, giving me those pretty brown eyes—“

Joel’s laugh cut you off, his head shaking. “I’m just listening to you talk, I have no control over my pretty brown eyes.”

“Mmhm,” you rolled your eyes and chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

“I, uh—Sarah’s away tonight. If you wanted to come over—“ Joel watched as you lifted an eyebrow. “Not for that—well, I mean—but I just meant to continue talking. We have a pool—“

“Why didn’t you start with that?” You stood upright and snapped your fingers at him, earning a grin. “Chop, chop, Mr. Miller.”

Joel made a pit stop at your place so that you could change into a swimsuit, throwing your dress back on over it before hurrying back out to the truck. Once inside his house, you found yourself studying the scene much like he had earlier at yours. It felt almost unreal to be in his space, the intimacy of walking the same halls he walked every morning and night turning you drunk.

“Pools out back, I’m gonna grab us some beers.” You nodded at him as he broke off towards the kitchen while you kept forward towards the sliding glass door to his patio.

Pulling the door open, you were surprised to see a rather nice little backyard set up. He draped yellow string lantern lights in zig zags from fence to fence, illuminating the pool and patio table.

“Here you go,” Joel appeared from behind you, handing you a beer before walking over to the table and taking a seat. You joined him, giving him an expectant but playful smirk as you entered a staring match. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged, turning your grin towards the pool. “I’m just having a good time.”

Joel’s chest swole with pride at your confession.

“You wanna get in? It’s heated.” You gave him an impressed up and down, making him chuckle.

“Fancy,” you teased as you stood up, avoiding his eyes as your hands found the knot holding your wrap dress together. Before you could move to untie the knot, Joel’s hands rested over yours, his body now standing tall in front of you. Your eyes shot up to meet his and your breath faltered, his lips just a few inches away.

“May I?” Joel asked for permission as he replaced your fingers on the knot with his own. You gave him a quick nod, your lips parting as you waited with bated breath for him to undress you. Joel slipped the knot undone, the dress falling open. His eyes traveled from your face down the front of your body as he slid the dress off your shoulders, leaving you in just your swimsuit. His hands were quick to touch your skin, a soft gasp spilling from your lips at the fire his skin on yours caused. “You’re too beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” you praised, lifting your hand to cup his bearded cheek. Joel’s lips curled up at the sound of your compliment, his hands giving your waist a squeeze. “Remember that rule we talked about breaking earlier?”

“Uh-huh,” Joel nodded, leaning in to fill the gap between your lips until he was crashing into you, your fingers threading into his hair as you accepted the attack. Joel moaned as you tugged on his hair, walking you back against the table and hoisting you onto the metal. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

“I want you,” you whined, earning a growl of desperation as he licked and sucked his way down to your neck, fighting the urge to leave his mark on you.

“Hey, neighbor?” Joel’s older neighbor called from over the fence, interrupted their heated makeout. He sighed and rested his forehead on your shoulder as he tried to gather his composure enough to form a response.

“Yep?” Joel called back.

“Your girl’s locked out, just came knockin’ on our door.” Joel’s brows furrowed and he immediately straightened up, his eyes apologetic as he handed you your dress.

“Thanks,” he called back before placing a kiss on your cheek. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you assured as you tied your dress, the throbbing between your thighs persistent but the sound of him calling you baby was a more-than sufficient distraction, filling your stomach with butterflies.

You sat back down at the table and waited until Joel came back out, your fingers drawing hearts on the dust covering the table. When you caught yourself, you scoffed, disgusted by the cutesy feelings filling you to the brim, and wiped the table with your palm. Walking over to the edge of the pool, you rinsed the dust off and listened as the glass door slid open.

“Hey,” Sarah greeted, her voice nearly making you fall into the water as you weren’t expecting it. “How was the date?”

You stood up and chuckled, ignoring her question by changing the subject. “How was it at Jessie’s?”

“It was good, just didn’t want to spend the night,” she informed as she sat on one of the patio chairs, swinging her feet.

“Where’s your dad?” You weren’t sure what to say to her and desperately wanted Joel to come out to help carry the burden of this awkward tension.

“Using the bathro—“

“Nope,” he interrupted as he stepped outside, mouthing an apology to you as he walked over to her and kissed her head. “Can you go inside for a second?”

“Sure thing,” Sarah gave you a knowing smile as she left the two of you alone, closing the glass door behind her.

“Sorry,” he stepped to you, placing his hands on either side of you face. “Don’t think we’re gonna get to continue that tonight.”

“It’s alright,” you rubbed his chest.

“When can I see you again?” he asked, eyes full of reverence as he looked at you.

“Whenever,” you shrugged, pinching his chin. “I’m free after five every night.”

“I’ll try to talk Tommy into babysitting on Friday.” You grinned at his suggestion and nodded your head. “Lemme grab Sarah and we’ll drive you home.”

“Wait—“ You stopped him before he could get too far, tugging him down for a deep kiss, his arms wrapping around you and squeezing you so tight that you hoped it would last all week until you saw him next, but the minute he let go of you, you already missed him. “One more kiss.”

“One more,” he repeated as he kissed you again, slow, deep, and lingering, the two of you procrastinating. Finally, you gathered the will to pull away, chuckling at your breathlessness. “Alright, if we don’t stop now, I’m just gonna keep on torturin’ myself.”

“Not into that?” you quipped seductively, tilting your head at him as you tucked your hands into the back pockets of his jeans to pull him closer. Joel chuckled and shook his head at you as though you were testing every ounce of his strength.

“I’m gonna have my hands full with you, aren’t I?” he husked, leaning back in to place a feather-light kiss to your lips as you responded with a grin.

“Your hands are already pretty full, wouldn’t you say?” Joel laughed against you and gave your ass a squeeze, his palms having already been firmly planted there.

“Oh, I like you,” Joel hummed, pecking your lips once more before pulling away. “Here,” Joel handed you his keys before pinching your chin. “Start the truck up and I’ll go get Sarah.”

“Sure thing,” you beamed as you watched him start towards the house, stopping him once more with your voice. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you too.” You and Joel stood there lovestruck, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he struggled to find the strength to take you back home, not ready for the night to be over. But knowing that the best things come to those who wait, Joel took a breath of patience and smiled.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

[rabbitsrants]

CONAN DIES WHEN RAN CRIES

i'll let shinichi explain:

chapter 71

when i first read this chapter, i thought that shinichi was sweet talking ran to avoid her wrath, but rereading the manga made me realize how misguided i was

"it hurts me when you cry" is shinichi admitting something deeply personal, it's him explaining why ran's tears always get a reaction out of him, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the body he's in

chapter 9

ran: is struggling with shinichi's absence

shinichi: starts calling her on the phone as himself

chapter 48

ran: is emotionally overwhelmed after the karaoke bar case, thinking that shinichi is back and avoiding her, waits for him in the cold for three hours

shinichi: comes up with the idea of talking to her as himself by turning off the lights

i love this moment so much, cause he's using both ran's love language (physical touch) and his own (words of affirmation) to ground and reassure her and it works

chapter 95

shinichi: tells ran to stop crying and ignores heiji in the middle of a case to ask her to wait for him

chapter 143

shinichi: checks on ran after using her for his deduction, drops honorifics when he realizes what he's done and defeatedly endures her tears

also shinichi: never involves her in a case to this extent ever again, even 1000 chapters later

chapter 260

shinichi: involuntary flakes on ran during their date and has to face her as conan

also shinichi: forgets he's conan for a sec as he drops the most epic lines in the manga

chapter 334

ran: is heartbroken cause it's valentine's day and shinichi's still gone

shinichi:

puts the jacket on her when she falls alseep,

reaches out to her as himself

and eats her chocolate

just to get her to smile again.

chapter 479-483

ran: supsects conan's real identity again and feels like he's completely out of reach even though he's so close

also ran: stops suspecting him but still expresses feelings of emotional distance to shinichi

shinichi: gets a second phone just for ran

and carries it with him wherever he goes.

chapter 727 (white day)

ran: starts crying because she thinks shinichi didn't get her anything for white day

shinichi: goes out of his way to draw attention to his gift so she stops crying

(LMFAO, he's so extra)

chapter 743-752

ran: feels like her feelings for shinichi are one-sided, is absolutely devasted, runs off crying

shinichi: drops his current case, runs after her

and confesses his love for her, so she never doubts his feelings for her again.

chapter 884

ran: is frustrated by all the misfortune shinichi brings

shinichi:

in conclusion, shinichi only has two weaknesses: aptx 4869 and ran's tears. and the funniest part is that aptx didn't even kill him like it was supposed to. ran's tears on the other hand? i believe they possess great power. enough power to kill shinichi?

visit the shinran library for more

[corvidares]

you know what, i've sent this list to a couple friends at this point so i might as well make it a post -

ACE ATTORNEY FIC RECOMMENDATIONS!

(all mostly sfw) (i'll make a separate list of nsfw ones) in no particular order, besides the first few!

Pressure (pushing down on me) - genuinely the best ace attorney fic i've read. between the characterization, expansion of plotbeats, the prose, etc. Pressure elaborates on and reinterprets canon scenes taking place in the main trilogy. Obviously narumitsu flavored. CANNOT RECOMMEND THIS ENOUGH.

Kindred - my FAVORITE, genuinely a comfort fic i've reread at least three times. miles adopts Pess, a borzoi dog tied to a murder case. very narumitsu flavored

Indefensible - also HIGH up there as a favorite, a very robust murder case with fantastic characterization across the board. it's got narumitsu, it's got franmaya, it's got drama. everything you need. there IS a few sex scenes, but the author warns you in the chapter descriptions if thats not your thing.

continued....

take it like a man - light angst centered on phoenix, and suit shopping. it's good

New Digs - really well written oneshot highlighting maya's ptsd, which we don't do enough of as a fandom btw

you still love him (but she does too) - classic case 3-5 hospital scene, very beautifully written

i didn't know how so we took it in turns (to my surprise we found my words) - narumitsu hurt/comfort focused on miles' ptsd

the soul truth (and nothing but the the truth) - FRANMAYA CENTRIC MULTI CHAPTER!!! WOOHOO. a really very good case fic :]

Triple Blind Taste Test - this is a oneshot about fran being autistic and struggling with food texture, which makes Me Personally feel very seen

to know gifts given - miles and pearl bonding, very cute :'D

the patience of little great things - trucy sickfic, miles does the Most to help phoenix take care of her.

[monstertidbits]

i don't know why it took me so long to pinpoint the exact problem izutsumi had with laios specifically; yeah she was nasty towards everyone at first but she was much worse when it came to laios and he's the one she took the longest to warm up to. then i reread the series and got to ch43 and just.

it's clear why she can't stand laios at all: he's the leader. he's the one who calls the shots, he's the one everyone follows and as it seems, they obey even if what he suggests makes them uncomfortable. and she hates that, because she just managed to run away from the nakamoto clan, she's finally free. even laios simply being caring and concerned for her makes her mad, because she feels this is him being condenscending just like how her old party was.

at first, he seemed like some weirdo who likes to indulge himself and doesn't take into consideration everyone else's opinion. that's why he's the one she struggles to understand and accept as a friend the most in her new party, keeping up this attitude of hers for quite a while. but a lot has happened after she joined the party and she saw this man helping his friends, putting them before him and saving them time and time again, and taking matters into his own hands instead of passively waiting for a miracle, just like her; especially when he took responsibility for his sister's current state and killed her on his own. albeit wary at first, she came to respect him and his choices. so when he asked her to do this one thing, she didn't even protest:

she simply asked him about his promise to reunite with everyone, with his friends. and then she followed his lead, even though he didn't answer her, because he didn't need to; izutsumi already decided to put her trust in him, whatever the outcome may be. their relationship is another example of laios's struggle with leadership in the manga and being considered a rather unusual leader, and that makes their interaction in chapter 95 so much more sweet and meaningful:

this is her giving back for all that he has done for them in this journey. she comes back to him, to give him advice and encouragement and tell him that everyone cares enough about him to want to struggle for him, too, just like he did for them. she's the one to help him clear his head when he needed it most. and this chapter purposely starts with her being surprised at being called laios's "comrade", because it's about her not only accepting him as the leader, but as her friend too.

[muffinrecord]

Saw the ask about magical boys and your wish for magical trans kids: may I introduce you to Zoe from Sleepless Domain webcomic? She is one of the main secondary characters and she's super sweet and tries her best! (If you haven't read Sleepless Domain, try it out! It has a ton of fun concepts, pain and suffering, world cold girlfriends soft, parents know what is going on but are powerless to step in and have to let their kids fight, three mysterious gals, wholesome team(s) and survivor's guilt~

I love Sleepless Domain! I've actually backed both of its kickstarters. It's easily one of my favorite post-Madoka magical girl stories out there and I'd also highly recommend it to anyone who's looking for a good story in general.

Also imo CubeWatermelon is REALLY good at compositions. Seriously, if you like comics and can appreciate a good set of panels, check out her work (note that the first two chapters had their art made by a different artist, but Cube has done the art for the rest of the comic). I reread the comic once every few months just to study her pages. Like, take note how often she doesn't chicken out and will just make sure that excellent establishing shots and good backgrounds are included-- you never feel lost reading her work and always know where everyone is. The flow and movement are really good too. Fight scenes can be really hard to portray but you can easily tell what folks are doing.

I know that sounds like the bare minimum but you'd be surprised by how many comics out there really struggle with making sure that the reader, like. actually knows what's going on. Finding an artist that prioritizes clarity is a nice treat. I'm also always impressed at how much character and personality she can pack into a page. Off the top of my head, stuff like Tessa's room being full of her own merchandise:

Anyways yeah, Sleepless Domain is amazing and anyone who likes magical girl stuff should read it.

Edit: All that and I forgot to link the comic. Derp.

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 83

I HAVE RETURNED! And with fic recs :D

Enjoy!

Relationship Rules by Mawiiish @superbattrash - Superbat, General, 25,051 words, complete. I about SCREAMED when I saw this sequel to Mawiiish's fic, the cost of being a good dad. It was so much FUN reading about the relationship rules these two dorks make and the shenanigans they get up to with them :)

Operation: Baby Two by Anonymous -Superbat, Explicit, 47,482 words, complete. Anon, I need to know who you are so I can give you a (platonic) kiss on the mouth. A sequel to the mpreg Bruce fic, It Was Always Going To Be.

Pollen, Pregnancy, and Pining: The Struggles of Bruce Wayne by Anonymous - Superbat, Explicit, 37,604 words, complete. Anon, I don't know if you are the same Anon who wrote the superbat mpreg fics above, but I just wanted you to know that I love you and to keep up the good work. I also wish to kiss you (platonically) on the mouth.

eye in the sky by TheResurrectionist @frownyalfred - Superbat (kinda) and Batfam, Unrated, 33,498 words, wip. An update to this AMAZING Injustice AU fic. It has been FASCINATING to read from Duke's POV, especially as he meets more and more of Bruce's family and (ex) friends.

Our Gravity Keeps Us Together by Skylarium_Rose @skylariumrose - Superbat, Teen, 19,514 words, wip. An update to this fic where Batman keeps getting mistaken as Superman's consort by other alien societies 😌

Moving up, Moving out by LiathLining(ActuallyAMenace) @actually-a-menace - Poolverine, Explicit, 13,654 words, wip. An update to this Poolverine omegaverse fic I have been reading. After reading the latest chapter, I am rubbing my hands together like an evil racoon to see what happens to the bad guys next, heehee.

Rage Asana by FinelyDressedSpacemen @finelydressedspacemen - Poolverine, Explicit, 9195 words, complete. I read this yoga AU a few weeks ago, and was DELIGHTED to find it has a sequel.

unhappy man syndrome by gossippool (fearandhatred) @gossippool - Poolverine, Unrated, 15,517 words, wip. An update to the deliciously whumpy fic. What I love about this update is that it's from the point of view of Blind Al.

the same train home by gossippool (fearandhatred) - Poolverine, General, 783 words, complete. A LOVELY and SWEET fic about Logan and Wade's first kiss 💖

Mr. Forgettable by Arwriter @eliemo - Poolverine, Mature, 21,199 words, wip. I always look forward to getting updates in my mailbox about this fic where Logan deals with memory issues. I enjoy this fic so much that I reread the previous chapters to the current one, and was having a delightful time finding the callbacks to references in previous chapters to the new one :D

Happy reading!

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt.2

Notes: yeah there was always going to be more to this, honestly. Sfw, more of Reader's dad being an ass, more elaboration on Reader's job and condition, and some suggestive content towards the end.

Pt 1 here

You weren’t surprised that your father had requested you make your presence limited during his dinner with the Regrator. That was the only part of this situation that wasn’t a surprise. The rest of it all, you’re unsure which is more shocking; the fact your father had asked Pantalone for a do-over dinner, or that Pantalone accepted the invitation. There’s also the realization that your father is willing to work with the Fatui in order not to compromise the wealthy lifestyle your family has been living for generations now. A month after the initial party, the shock is not only still real, but his doubling down on it has taken you and your mother aback. 

“Dear, I understand things have been a little shaky for us,” your mother said the night Pantalone’s invitation acceptance was made known, “but do we need to do this? We can honestly get by fine enough, even if it’s not as much as we had before.”

You could hear in his voice that your father was scowling. “You’d really want to embarrass both of our families like that? Lose all standings and ties we have with our friends and colleagues?”

“By the Tsaritsa, you’re making it out like we’re about to go homeless! We’re downsizing!”

“Will we be keeping all our servants if we downsize? Are you going to start cooking our meals? Taking our son to his appointments or to his publisher? Buying all his supplies?”

You raised your hand, not looking up from your book. “Friendly reminder that I am the one who pays for my appointments and supplies now.”

“That’s pocket money compared to the costs of transportation and the accommodations we’ve made and will need to make,” your father snapped, “and you’re still making less than us to boot!”

You looked up and directly in the direction of your father’s voice. His silhouette was backlit by the light of the fireplace, and your initial thought was how it looked like hellfire. You made a mental note to include it somewhere in the next few chapters of your book. 

That was not the end of the arguing between your mother and father, but that was the point you stepped out of the conversation. Their bickering grew louder when you left the room to read elsewhere. With the eerie, hateful silence that plagued the manor the next morning, you took that as a sign that this dinner with Pantalone was happening whether you and your mother liked it or not. 

Fine, whatever. You have work to do anyways.

That is the mantra you repeat in your head as you feel it start to ache in frustration. Your eyes pour over the words you’ve typed so far, trying to make sense of the point you’re making. The wording is clunky, awkward, but you’re struggling to come up with something more concise that accurately conveys the thoughts in your mind. You hear your editor’s voice telling you it doesn’t have to be perfect, that’s the point of a first draft, to just get the point down and then figure out how to make it sound nice after you’ve figured out the whole story. The perfectionist in you screams otherwise, but offers no solution other than to start over completely.

You rub your eyes, feeling mentally drained. Part of you says to take a break, but part of you says you have to make the most of your motivation while you have it, and you are so close to figuring it all out, it’s on the tip of your tongue. Or fingers, come to think of it.

You’re on what feels like the hundredth reread of your scene, having stared at the words so much that they start to look foreign. Your concentration on the page is hardly broken when you hear the door to your office open, and as such, you do not look up. It’s merely Adelaide, you think, just bringing you some refreshments. Your fingers hover over the typewriter as soft footsteps approach your desk, just out of your vision.

You poke at the keys slowly, feeling inspiration drain out of your fingertips. The footsteps grow closer, and you find it odd that Adelaide has yet to say anything, but continue hyperfocusing on your work. Come on, you have the image in your head, and your descriptive vocabulary is vast enough that you should know how to describe it, even if only in fragments. You have the wording of it in your head so why can’t you actually put the words down on paper?

The footsteps stop right next to you. You don’t pay them any mind, assuming Adelaide is about to place something on your desk, perhaps a slice from the cake your father bought for his dinner tonight. You move the geography textbook you have out to the corner of your desk and move what you have of your chapter so far out of the way.

Unable to look out of the corner of your eye, you can not see her move closer to you, but you sense her presence right next to you. The feeling of someone’s body heat is hard to miss, as is the distinct sensation of being watched. You can’t see it, but it feels like Adelaide is standing right on the edge of where your vision ends.

You barely look up from the typewriter when you address her. “Adelaide, I would like some personal space.”

The laughter you hear right in your ear is a man’s. You immediately jump up and away, stumbling over your chair and falling on your back. You sit up, and at first, you see the dark attire and feel your stomach sink. It continues sinking down as your eyes move up to see Pantalone’s face. He’s smiling, which might have been handsome if he wasn’t finding clear amusement in your reaction.

You can’t find your words, so Pantalone speaks instead.

“Apologies,” he says, chuckling a little, “I was just… testing something.”

My fight or flight instincts? You ask yourself but know better than to verbalize. Pantalone steps forward and sets your chair upright, and glances at the typewriter on your desk. He stares for a few seconds, and lets out a soft hum as his eyes drift to where your other finished pages are. His gloved hand drifts over to the pile, and that’s when you quickly stand up.

“That’s not finished yet,” you quickly tell him, “it’s a rough draft.”

You see his eyes glance your way, and he retracts his hand. Pantalone takes a step back, turning to face you. “So I’m not allowed to read any of it?”

“I…” The verbal trap he’s laid out is not lost on you. He knows you can’t easily, confidently say “no” to a Harbinger, especially since you have made a fool of yourself in front of him before. You swallow, and rephrase your thoughts. “I-I would prefer to have a finished chapter before I let anyone read my works.”

Pantalone smiles wider. “Ah, I suppose that is fair.”

He continues to smile and stare at you as you awkwardly sit back down in your chair. You turn your head in his direction, propping your chin up on your hand. “I, um, I thought you were having dinner with my father…?”

Pantalone nods. “Yes, we were, but when I had asked why you were not joining us, I could tell I had struck a nerve between your father and mother.”

“... How so?”

“Your mother asked if she could speak to your father for a moment, and when they did not come back for another ten or so minutes, I figured I should go find them.”

“Did you?”

“They seemed… busy.”

You can imagine the argument right now. You shake your head. “Sorry about that, things have been sort of, um… hectic here. It’s taken its toll on my parents.”

Pantalone nods in understanding, and you wonder if he thinks this has anything to do with the party. You turn back to the typewriter and, rereading the page, decide you hate it and it needs to go. You reach forward and grasp the knob on the end of the roller, twisting it until the paper can be slipped out. You reread it one last time, then crumple it up in your hands.

You hear Pantalone’s voice. “So, I take it you enjoy writing?”

“Right now? No,” you say, which earns a laugh from Pantalone, “but generally, yes.”

“How long have you been writing?”

You lean over and toss the crumpled paper in the waste bin next to your desk. “Professionally, I’ve been writing for eight years, though I started using the typewriter when I was ten.”

Pantalone watches as you slip more paper into the roller, cranking the knob on the end until the paper has been fed through properly, making minor adjustments to the paper’s position. You then slide the roller to the left, the carriage stopping it once it’s in place. Your fingers hover above the keys for a moment, and Pantalone sees your focused expression shift into exhaustion. You groan, running a hand through your hair. If he had to wager a guess, you’ve just lost all writing motivation.

“You know,” Pantalone says, “I could hear your typing through the door before I entered. You type rather fast, it’s impressive.”

The flattery noticeably catches you off guard. “Oh, um, thank you,” you reply, still a little on edge with a Harbinger in your study.

“I have secretaries who couldn’t type that fast without making mistakes, but that page you were working on had consistent strokes and only one typo.”

You turn your head in an attempt to sort of hide the way your cheeks warm up, but Pantalone silently leans over anyway to see you blush. You don’t see him doing this, which Pantalone makes another note of.

“I have the muscle memory for it, I suppose,” you remark, “it’s one of the things I’ve been working on since my diagnosis.”

“Diagnosis… oh, your eye disorder?”

You blink, and turn to Pantalone, surprised at the casual question. “How did you–”

“Your mother briefly explained it at the party,” Pantalone recounts, “that you were diagnosed as a child and do not have any peripheral vision.”

You sigh, and Pantalone hears a hint of annoyance. “Yes, that’s why I ran into you.” You turn to your typewriter, fingers hovering over the keys while you balance thinking of your scene and carrying on the conversation. “It’s called retinitis pigmentosa, and it runs in my mother’s side of the family. My grandfather had it, which made my mother a carrier for it, and then she passed it on to me, and possibly my sisters.”

“Wait, sisters?”

“One older, two younger,” you say, “and an older brother, but he got lucky so his eyesight is still fine.”

“When were you diagnosed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I was eight when I was properly diagnosed,” you recount. “I used to stumble and trip over furniture all the time when I was little, and was scared of the dark. My family used to tease me about it, until I was around six or seven. That’s when my mother started getting concerned, because I was a seemingly normal child who could read, write, and talk just fine, could walk and stand upright just fine, but I would still trip and fall over seemingly obvious hazards, especially in the dark.”

“I see, I see…”

You pull your hands away from the typewriter, and interlock them on your desk. “With adequate treatment, the rate of my going blind has slowed, but cannot be prevented. From what my doctors say and what I know of my grandfather’s case, I will lose my central vision sometime in my forties if I’m lucky.”

“Oh, I’m… very sorry to hear that.”

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. Internally, you’re screaming at yourself for just dumping all of that on the Regrator. In all fairness, he did ask, but still.

At the edge of your central vision, you see a page from your rough draft slip away from the stack. You turn your head, and see Pantalone holding it. Heat spreads across your face, and you quickly pull the page from his grasp. The knowing smile on his face tells you it’s too late.

What sounds like condescension laces his voice. “I was enjoying that, thank you very much.” “And I said I don’t like people reading my work before it’s done,” you hiss, your embarrassment painfully obvious. You place the page back on top of the stack and lift it up and away from Pantalone. You search for a spot on your desk to put it before deciding on sticking it in a drawer. When you slam the drawer shut, your humiliation over the scene you are writing makes you use more force than is needed, which knocks your geography book off the corner of your desk and onto the ground.

Pantalone tilts his head, and you watch him lean down to pick the book up. Horror floods your body, and you try to rush around the other way to stop him, only to bang your knee against the desk. When you stand upright and look, you see Pantalone has not only picked the book up, but has opened it and started flipping through it. Now, that would not normally be a problem, except for the fact that this isn’t a geography textbook, it just has the dust cover on it.

Pantalone’s eyes widen, and though the lighting in this room is a little dimmer than you’d like, you can tell there is the faintest hue of pink on Pantalone’s face. Time slows when he looks up and meets your eyes, and all you can see is his lips twist into an absolutely massive smile, before he cackles with laughter.

He turns the book around to show you the page and the picture displayed inside takes up the entirety of your vision. Your face is on fire, and Pantalone nearly doubles over with how hard he’s laughing. He barely manages to pull himself together enough, straightening his posture and wiping tears from his eyes. He’s not even trying a little bit to hide the amusement he’s feeling at your expense.

He adjusts his glasses so they’re no longer crooked. “J-Just what sort of writer are you?”

You snatch the book from his hand and slam it shut. Pantalone watches you, waiting for an answer. “I-If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

Pantalone just smiles down at you, and you feel your heart pulsing in your throat at the sound of his voice. “Oh? Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

You glare at him, and he just shakes his head in defeat. You look down at the floor, and your voice trembles in shame. “... I write romance, b-but my editor said I should try something, um, steamier. Their w-words, not mine. I-I don’t really know how to write that sort of thing, so I have this, for reference material.”

“Reference material, he claims,” Pantalone teases.

“L-Look, I’m not in the mood for this,” you snap, “and my father is probably looking for you, so could you please let me get back to my work?”

You do not wait for Pantalone’s answer before you walk away and plop back into your chair. You toss the book into another drawer and slam it shut as well, this time out of anger and embarrassment. Pantalone takes that as a sign that any and all conversation has stopped, and decides he’s had enough fun toying with you. This bizarre scenario aside, you do make a good point; he really should get back to this meeting.

He walks away, trying not to laugh again at what he’s learned about the young man who nearly ruined his suit. He makes his way to the door, taking hold of the knob.

“Wait.”

Pantalone pauses, and looks at you over his shoulder.

“... Don’t mention this to my parents.”

He chuckles. “I won’t, as funny as that would be.”

“N-No, it’s not even that, it’s…” You lower your head and voice. “I haven’t told my family I like men yet.”

At that admission and your obvious discomfort, almost shame, the hilarity of the situation fades. A feeling of almost guilt starts to build in Pantalone when he looks at you. He would normally find and revel in the schadenfreude of this sort of situation, but given the new context, Pantalone can recognize a crossed boundary and general invasion of privacy.

He grips the doorknob. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

The door shuts behind Pantalone, leaving you alone in your study. In the quiet of the room, you’re left with your thoughts, and the bizarre reality of what just happened actually sinks in. A Fatui Harbinger just walked into your study and found your gay smut.

You push your typewriter forward so you don’t hit it when you smack your head against your desk to keep yourself from yelling.

[whimsiwitchy]

I hear the secrets that you keep (series) 

chapter seven: k.

Pedro Pascal x plus size F!reader 

series masterlist

series summary: 24 year old y/n is an insecure and struggling actress in Los Angeles until she finally books a leading role in a big Hollywood movie next to her leading male, Pedro Pascal. A spark of friendship flickers between the two and slowly begins to blossom into something more. As y/n is navigating a new found fame and a new found romance, she fears that a lie she has been sitting on might ruin everything.

Warnings: plus size afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of y/n, swearing, age gap (24/14 years), descriptions of the female body, use of the word fat, descriptions of a bigger body (stretch marks, cellulite, rolls, etc.), descriptions of nudity, sexual themes. 

Please let me know if I missed anything! Warnings may change as the story progresses. 

chapter summary: conversations and intimacy training. 

authors note: Y’all this took me way longer to write than expected. I had something else planned for this chapter but it ended up coming out like this. I really like the first half but I feel like it goes downhill towards the end. This idea is way more complicated to write for than I thought it would be lol. I still hope you enjoy!

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“It never made sense for you to love me.”- Twilight New Moon

Love wasn’t what Pedro and you had- you understood that- but the consistent pain in your chest was telling you otherwise. In your short lifetime, you had never felt such strong emotions towards someone like you have towards Pedro, it was easy with him. He was so respectful and sweet- his charisma and it was all beginning to piss you off. Why couldn’t he just let you do your job and leave you alone? You were grateful for the friendship he had initiated because it meant your on set experience would be easier, but now that everything has gotten out of hand, you honestly wish the line between professional and personal was never crossed.

It's been a short 24 hours since your conversation with Pedro and after your intense two hour cry sesh the night prior, you felt numb. Not numb in a painful way but numb in a sense that you'd accepted what had happened and were trying your best to move forward in a reasonable manner. When you woke up this morning, you spent 20 minutes sitting on your toilet holding two icy spoons to your puffy eyes trying to reduce the swelling as much as you could, trying to hide any evidence of the pain that sat deep in your chest. It didn’t help. 

Keeping yourself busy seemed like the only way to keep your mind occupied on anything other than Pedro. At first, you found it best to read over your upcoming scenes but after about 30 minutes, your head was hurting. Your mind wandered back into the forbidden territory, flashes of Pedro’s award winning smile appeared every time you would read over one of his lines. Seeing his face in your head reminded you of the hurt in his voice and the look of disappointment he had given you. Everything you did brought your thoughts right back to him. You closed your script abruptly and picked up a book instead. You’d been rereading the Twilight series and were currently nearing the end of New Moon. You hoped that Pedro and yourself would have a similar ending, that you two would be brought back together and realize that you needed each other, that you couldn’t live without each other. It was dramatic and cliche but you didn’t care. All of your common sense left your body when it came to him. Thinking wasn’t something you needed to do with him, you just had to feel. You finished a single chapter before shutting the book and giving into the inevitable thoughts that clouded your mind. 

Letting out a sigh, you let your mind begin the analyzing it had been begging to do. The next time you would see Pedro would be in two days. The two of you have intimacy training early that morning and you'd film those scenes later in the afternoon. Having fake sex in front of a room of people isn’t exactly ideal for the first time you’d be seeing him again. Maybe you should reach out to him beforehand, talk things over, but you being the one to reach out first wasn’t something you wanted to do. It didn’t seem like the right thing to do. You had absolutely no clue as to how Pedro was feeling right now. He said he wasn’t mad but the tone of his voice and his body language said otherwise. You didn’t want to upset him more by bothering him before he even had time to process everything. He was at the forefront of your mind and you were praying that he wasn’t as hurt as you were. You couldn’t imagine that he was. 

It never made sense, the connection, the spark, the comfort. It was all too confusing and quick. But you let it happen without much thought and looking back, you wish you hadn't been so stupid. It has never bugged you so much, losing someone, no one ever mattered enough. All Pedro had to do was actually be nice to you and you were a puddle at his feet. It was a little pathetic- but he said he liked you too, so maybe it wasn’t that pathetic. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The next two days passed by way too fast, leaving you in the studio parking lot trying to find the will to leave your car. Your body was filled with anxiety from the thought of seeing Pedro- and from being late. You waited until the very last moment to get out of your car, being late this one time was something you were willing to do to avoid any early interactions with him. With slow strides, you made your way towards the studio doors, to the reception desk, and to the room where intimacy training would take place. 

When you entered the room, Pedro was already there surrounded by a few other people. His eyes quickly met yours before he looked away just as fast. 

“Sorry I'm late…traffic.” You muttered out before sitting in an empty chair across the room, praying that no one saw that you actually pulled into the parking lot 30 minutes prior, sitting in your car staring down at the steering wheel for longer than you'd care to admit. 

As soon as you sat down, a woman immediately grabbed the attention of the room. She introduced herself as Elise, a trained intimacy coordinator. She briefly went over how the training would go, letting us know that we would go through some safety procedures before starting. Elise spoke for about 40 minutes on how important it is to feel comfortable with your co-star and the proper way to go about doing these types of scenes without incident. As she introduced the other crew members in the room, you stole a glance at Pedro. It’s as if he could feel your eyes on him, because he turned around, once again his eyes leaving yours just as quick as they met them. 

“Okay, so before we get started, I'm going to have the two of you do a check-in. Let each other know what you’re feeling and if there's any boundaries that need to be set.” She takes a seat and is talking to one of the other people in the room. Pedro doesn’t move, so you take that as a sign to walk over to him. You were hoping he’d at least be mature enough to work with you without dragging anything personal into it. 

“Good morning.” You took a moment to look at him. He was wearing a pair of charcoal gray cotton shorts with a random graphic tee. You thought he looked divine, drool worthy even.

“Morning.” He still doesn’t look at you. 

You take initiative to start the check-in, letting him know where you’re at today and that you’re ready to go, no boundaries. When he responds, his voice is very mundane and his eyes continue to avoid you. You awkwardly let out a brief ‘cool’ to acknowledge that you had heard  what he had said. There was a silence between you two, leaving the only noise coming from the light conversation from the group of crew members across the room. 

“So, are you guys ready to get started?” Elise asked with excitement in her voice. She was way too cheery for the uncomfortable mood that lingered in the air. However, you decided to match her energy as best as you could to make the day easier on yourself. 

“Of course!” You let out accompanied by a smile that didn’t quite match your tone of voice. 

Everyone in the room was then instructed to make their way to the set. You walked closer to the group of crew members, while Pedro walked slower leaving a good six feet between you guys. The set wasn’t anything too crazy. Just a cliche 70s themed bedroom, filled with orange, red, and brown. A king size bed sat in the middle of one of the makeshift walls with two night stands on either side. There was a funky pattern that lined the walls and a shag rug on the floor that matched. Everyone took a seat at some chairs that sat behind a white taped line that ran across the floor behind a bunch of expensive looking equipment, leaving Elise, Pedro, and yourself standing. 

“Okay, so we’re going to start by giving you a quick rundown of what you’ll be learning today.” She’s opening a binder that she had been holding and starts to spew the details of the scene. 

“So this scene follows Daniel admitting to Janet that he has feelings for her ,this is going to be a very passionate and steamy shot.” She turns towards the set and instructs the two of you to do the same. 

“To start, you’ll both bust through the door into the room. Daniel will be leading the makeout session, slowly pushing Janet towards the bed, but stopping right at the red tape that’s on the floor.” She’s pointing across the room with her pen as she speaks and looks back every few words to make sure Pedro and yourself are listening. 

“Once you’re there, you’ll have a moment to show the love between the characters. At this mark, you’ll both be removing some clothing and Daniel will push Janet onto the bed to crawl above her, leading into sex. Any questions?” She turns to look at the both of you. Pedro shakes his head and you follow. 

“Cool. Okay we’re going to run through it, stopping a few times along the way to choreograph each touch between the characters.” 

This whole process was so fucking awkward. You were trying your best to be professional, but nothing was ever professional when it came to Pedro. Every time the intimacy coach placed his hand on you or vice versa, you felt your body tingle. It had only been a few days but you had already forgotten how good it felt to feel Pedro’s skin on your fingertips. He still hadn’t looked at you, avoiding your eyes when you had to be face to face. 

“For the push, it doesn’t need to be a harsh push. We want it to be more of a sexy playful push rather than a dominant one.” She's speaking directly to Pedro but turns to you right after. 

“When you fall, try to land with your arms propping you up on the bed. Your forearms should be touching the bed, like this. If it’s uncomfortable at all, we can change it up.” She falls back onto the bed to show you her vision. You give her a thumbs up and stand at the red mark on the floor. 

“When you’re on the bed and he starts to climb over you, you’re going to crawl backwards, using your arms as leverage. Let’s have you guys try that out real quick.” Elise steps off of the set and stands past the cameras where the other crew have been sitting. 

She yells a quick ‘action’ and Pedro is pushing you onto the bed. When you land onto the bed, you look up at his face to see that he’s already looking at you with an intense stare. He starts to lean onto the bed to crawl over you and you’re moving backwards as instructed. Once your head hits a pillow, Pedro is fully hovering over you. The two of you never break eye contact and you could feel your heart beating out of your chest, your breath wavering. You could feel the temperature of your body rising rapidly and a slight pulse hit your core. Having Pedro completely over your body like this was torture. His hands were on either side of your head and if you looked down towards his lower body, you could see the weight of his- 

“Perfect!” Elise lets out with an excited squeal, making you snap out of the trance you were under. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Elise had you guys run the full choreography three more times in full, minus the kissing and getting naked part. Once she and the other crew members were satisfied, everyone was sent on an hour and a half break before you all had to come back to actually film. You were feeling extremely hot and bothered. Pedro’s touch was intoxicating and the way he looked at you when he was on top of you made you feel feral. 

You desperately needed to talk to him. You scanned the room and saw him walking out of two large doors that led to the parking lot. Following him, your eyes sweep over the large parking lot as quickly as possible, hoping you’d be able to catch him before he was gone. 

“Pedro!” You called out the moment you found him. He was reaching for his car door but abruptly stopped when he heard his name. 

“Can we please talk? Just give me five minutes. Please.” You knew you were probably the last person he wanted to talk to, but you really needed to clear some of the tension between you two. 

“Okay.” He stands there for a minute before motioning for you to get into his car. When you sit down, you can feel all of the emotions from the last time you were in this seat still lingering in the air. 

“How are you?” You asked genuinely with a hint of awkwardness. 

“Fine.” He huffs out. 

“Pedro please don’t be like that.” You practically begged. You were hoping for a productive conversation but this wasn’t going to do any good if he wasn’t willing to actually talk to you. 

“Like what y/n?” He finally looks at you and he looks pissed. You let out a sigh. 

“Look…I know that you’re mad at me or whatever but I don’t know what else to do here P. I didn’t mean to lie to you and I told you the truth before anything furthered between us. If you can’t forgive me then at least be professional and work with me as a costar. Please?” Your voice began to waver but you held it together. You see his eyes soften slightly. 

“I told you I’m not mad at you.” His voice is soft. 

“Then what are you feeling? You’ve left me in the dark P. I’ve given you space and I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but can we at least talk this out? Let me know how you feel so I’m not jumping to conclusions in my own head?” The car goes quiet, no sound other than the light thumping coming from your nails tapping the center console. 

“You’re so young…” He practically whispers. “You have a whole life ahead of you, I'd only be holding you back baby.” 

Your heart flutters at the endearment. 

“And with how the world works, no one would approve of us. You can’t start out your career like that, having people judge you because of me. You deserve someone your age, someone you can have fun with.” 

“Were we not having fun before I told you my real age? How does that change anything?” You could feel the frustration rising in you. You absolutely hated when people tried to tell you what was right for you. Pedro just struck a nerve he didn’t even know you had. 

“Yea but it’s different-” You cut him off before he can finish. 

“How exactly is it different P…hm?” There's a slight hint of anger in your voice, the patience you once had completely dissolving. 

“You're just a kid.” 

If it were physically possible, you would have steam shooting out of your ears from how angry you are right now. Looking away, you take a deep breath and think over your thoughts before your mouth spews words you’ll later regret. 

“I understand that the age difference between us is way more than you bargained for but I’m not a kid. I am fully capable of making my own decisions and deciding what’s best for me and my career. I appreciate the concern but it’s not your place to think for me. If this whole thing is too much to handle then that’s fine. We can just be friends, or not even friends.. I don’t know P. I just can’t do whatever we’re doing now.” Your irritation falls off towards the end, feeling more hopeless than anything. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” 

Ouch. 

You’re searching his eyes trying to find any hint that he’s being mean to make this ‘breakup’ easier and not just being mean because it’s the truth. 

“Okay…we can just be coworkers then.” You turn your head forward. All you can feel is the same pain that you had felt that night, but this time it felt final. There wasn’t more guessing Pedro’s feelings, no more maybes. This was it. 

“Y/n…I don’t think you understand.” His hand reaches out for yours but you're moving it away before he has the chance to grab it. 

“Then make me understand P… I’ve been trying to understand.” 

“I can’t be your friend because I won’t be able to be close to you without longing for you every second. It’s been so long since I felt what I feel with you and it’s been eating me alive, sweetheart. All I want to do is be near you, hold you, be with you, but fuck y/n, I shouldn’t want you the way I do. I can’t have you the way I want you.” His eyes were on yours the entire time, showing you the sincerity behind every word.

You don’t know if it’s his confession or the pent of horniness you'd been harboring for the past two hours that made you jump at him but before he, or even yourself really, had a chance to process what was happening, you were leaning across the center console, lips moving with his. All of the tension in your body melted away as Pedro softly grabbed your face with his hands. This kiss was soft and full of passion, like you were making up for lost time. It was nothing short of perfect. When you pull back, you’re smiling. When you open your eyes to see the look on Pedro’s face, your smile drops.

“Y/n we can't do this.” He says giving you a pitiful look and pain tucked behind his eyes.

“K.” 

You’re getting out of the car before he could protest, you needed to get away from him. Slamming the passenger door, maybe a little too hard, you’re practically stomping back to the studio. You decided to get your hair and makeup early to calm your brain down a little bit before you were surrounded by people again. God you were being so childish right now but why would he kiss you back if he still didn’t want you. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You were zoned out the entire time you were sitting in the dressing room getting dolled up for the cameras, only speaking when one of the stylists asked a question. Your brain was working overtime right now, trying to calm your emotions while also trying to focus on the scene you'd have to film in just a few minutes. 

Over the past hour, you’ve been trying to create some sort of plan to get Pedro to change his mind. You didn’t want to lose him, he was too good of a man to fumble, so you decided that you wouldn’t stop pursuing him until he told you to your face that he didn’t want you. What you were planning wasn’t ethical at all and broke all kinds of work relationship rules but your relationship with Pedro had already crossed that line the first day you had met. 

Walking over to the set, you could feel the nerves rising. You wanted to seduce Pedro as best as you could. He was obviously attracted to you and you were going to abuse that. You were hoping that him seeing your naked body for the first time would send him spirling, leaving him no other choice than to want you enough to take the chance and be with you. 

“Quiet on set! Can we get Daniel and Janet on set please? Thank you.” 

You step onto the small platform that separated the set floor from the studio floor and walk over to Elise. Pedro stands next to you, ignoring your presence once again. 

“Are you guys ready to run it?” Elise is asking with a big smile. You could see Pedro nod his head and you do the same. 

“Okay, just make sure you’re doing exactly what we rehearsed. If anything feels uncomfortable let us know and we’ll stop rolling and fix the issue. You guys got this!” Elise raises her hands to give you both a high five and she's walking to sit next to the director. 

“Places!” 

You're both walking over to the door that you'd be bursting through in a few moments. Pedro places his hands on you, preparing for them to yell “action”. You’re looking into his eyes, getting into character and he’s doing the same. 

“Ready baby?” You ask him with a smirk, wanting to fuck with his head as much as you could. His eyes go wide but before he can say anything the director's voice booms over the space. 

“Action!” 

He gives you a nod before diving down to kiss you. He's pushing you into the door that flings open as you walk backwards, lips still attached. When you reach the red mark on the floor, you pull apart from him. Looking into each other's eyes with the love and passion you so badly wanted from him outside of this scene. You’re reaching down to grab the hem of his shirt and lift it, just as rehearsed. He pulls the rest off by himself, leaving you to marvel at his chest for a moment before he’s reaching for your own shirt. You're looking at his eyes but he is trained down onto your cleavage, which is pushed up slightly by your bra. 

When he looks back at your face, you could feel your core pulse in excitement. He had this hungry look in his eyes and you were confident that it wasn’t because he was acting. You grab his face to pull him back into you, continuing to clash tongues and teeth. Pedro reaches behind you to grab your ass, pulling you closer to him in the process. You let out an involuntary whimper. He slides his hands up the sides of your body, trailing his hands to the clasp of your bra. He pulls back and pulls each strap down your arms, letting it fall onto the floor, leaving your chest exposed to him. 

“fuck ..” He lets out but it’s barely audible and it definitely wasn’t scripted. 

He’s pushing you back onto the bed and the two of you began the crawl that you had practiced many times before, never breaking eye contact. Once you were laying down, Pedro hoving over you once again, you started to feel exposed and slightly insecure. Before you can think further, Pedro is pulling down your pants, leaving you in nothing but the lacy black thong that had extra lining that matched your skin tone. He takes a moment removing his own pants, leaving him in a pair of tighty whities. Even with the protective sock he wore for actor protection, you could still see the outline of his dick. 

He crawls back over you, his eyes dark. You reach up to kiss him again and you begin the ‘grinding’ into him. All that was going through your head were the events of the night in your trailer. How he felt against you. Another weak moan slips past your lips and his hands are reaching down, removing the black thong and leaving the skin tone underwear that sat under it. 

This was feeling way too real and you were soaked. You knew that whoever was in charge of cleaning costumes would hate their life when your soaked underwear made their way to them. Your mind refocuses to see Pedro’s own underwear had been removed, leaving him in his own weird skin toned thing, sock thingy. He looks down, pretending to grab his dick and ‘enters’ it into you. You let out a breathy moan, not entirely fake as you imagine how it would really feel. Pedro lets out a grunt and starts to rock his hips forwards onto you. The pressure of his heavy cock was rubbing you a little too good. There definitely wasn’t enough protection between the two of you and if you hadn’t had such a strong attraction towards Pedro, you’d definitely feel uncomfortable right now. He’s kissing you again but all you can do is let out tiny breathy moans into his mouth, trying your best to focus on acting. He’s giving you a nod, signaling to start the big finish. You’re both letting out boasting moans, his head falling into your neck as your hands are clawing at his back. Both breathing heavily, he gives your neck a small kiss. 

You can’t help but let your mind freak out. That kiss wasn’t for the camera, it was out of view. That kiss was just for you. 

“Cut!” 

Pedro makes his way off of you, grabbing a robe that is being handed to him. You slowly got up, feeling dizzy and confused. You wrapped the robe that was offered to you and listened to whatever was being said by whoever was talking. You couldn’t focus even if you had tried. 

You sat in the corner as everyone watched the footage, making sure it was good before releasing the team. Once the director gave the thumbs up, you were rushing back to your dressing room to get undone. 

“You guys were amazing out there, the chemistry was insane. Everything looked so real! I guess that’s why you guys get paid the big bucks huh?” One of the girls in the room gushed about the performance. You simply let out a small thanks to show your appreciation. 

You wanted nothing more than to go home and wallow in self pity over a man that doesn’t want you. You still planned on not giving up but you really needed a breather and a break. 

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Thank you for reading <3

series tag list: @nuetralcolorsenthusiast, @kungfucapslock, @hansilandgretel, @ashleyfilm, @titabel, @fifitheragertot, @maryfanson, @ktluvsmen, @eldauvs, @dionneroyal49, @godlypresley, @bloody-bunni666, @beautiflybybri, @a-beautiful-but-sassy-world, @amo-nix

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Fifteen: Memory

Chapter WC: 8,365

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the fluff from the last chapter because....

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Coruscant, 21 BBY

Meet me in the Archives. I think I've found something that could be of interest to you.

You read the message from Obi-Wan for the fourth time, your brow furrowing as you study the words. It's short and vague and frustratingly unspecific. t's not like Obi-Wan to be so cryptic, and you can't help but wonder why he's keeping this particular discovery a secret.

You lean back against the wall behind you and glance around the hallway, searching for any sign of the man in question. There's no one here, the halls empty and quiet. You've been waiting for almost twenty minutes now. 

Obi-Wan isn't usually late. In fact, he's often the first one to arrive at meetings, and the only one who consistently comes on time. But today, he's nowhere to be seen. You frown, turning back to the screen in your hand and rereading the message once more. It doesn't make any sense.

Something that could be of interest to you.

You can't help but roll your eyes. Obi-Wan can be so dramatic sometimes. You're half tempted to go looking for him. Maybe he's gotten lost in the Temple somewhere, or maybe he's decided to take the scenic route, and you've been standing around like an idiot waiting for him to show up.

It's been a long week, and your patience is wearing thin. The Council has been pushing hard, sending you all over Coruscant on assignment after assignment. It's been a struggle to find time for anything else, let alone the mystery that Obi-Wan has been keeping under wraps.

Your jaw clenches at the thought, and you sigh heavily. You're tired and cranky and frustrated, and the last thing you want to do right now is wait around for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

The two of you haven't spoken much lately, not since the battle on Saleucami. Things have been...strained between the two of you, and it's left a tension in the air that neither of you are willing to address. 

You don't blame him for it, but you can't help but wonder why he chose now of all times to contact you. To ask to meet with you. It seems strange, considering the circumstances, and the last thing you want is to put yourself in a position where things become even more complicated than they already are.

It's not that you're avoiding him, per se, but...well, maybe you are. Maybe you have been. A little. You're just not ready to deal with this. With him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You don't know what's going to happen between the two of you, or if there will be a resolution, or if things will simply remain as they are. For now, you're content with letting the situation play out, and seeing how it unfolds. It's better than making any rash decisions.

And besides, it's not like Obi-Wan wants to talk about it, either. He's been just as distant and guarded as you have. There's no indication that he's thinking about what happened, or what might have happened, or where the two of you might end up. If anything, it seems as though he's just trying to pretend it didn't happen. Or, at least, ignore it. 

Which makes sense, really. That's what the two of you have been doing for the past ten years, after all. Pretending that nothing's going on between the two of you. Avoiding any sort of confrontation or discussion.

But, things have changed.

The war has changed.

You've changed.

The both of you have.

You're no longer the naive, idealistic younglings that you were when the two of you started this...whatever this is between you, and the reality of the galaxy has come crashing down around you. It's not the same anymore. The innocence is gone, and the illusion of peace is shattered, and everything has become infinitely more complicated.

Maybe it's time for the two of you to acknowledge that.

To confront what's going on between the two of you, and what could happen, and whether or not either of you want it to. Maybe it's time to put an end to the secrecy, and the dancing around the topic, and the pretending that things aren't the way they are. 

Maybe it's time to accept that the two of you are never going to be more than friends.

The thought fills you with a strange sense of relief. 

It would be a weight off your shoulders, and the constant worrying about what might happen would be gone. There would be no more wondering if things would change, or what could happen. It would be over, and the two of you would go back to the way things were. You would just have to figure out how.

A familiar presence fills the space around you, and your eyes snap open to see Obi-Wan striding toward you. He's dressed in his robes, his cloak billowing behind him, and his hair is messy, his face flushed. You can tell by the way his shoulders are tensed that he's upset, and you have a pretty good guess as to why.

"You're late," you call out, a small smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth as he draws closer.

"Yes," he replies curtly. His brows are drawn together, his lips pressed into a tight line, and his expression is hard. "My apologies."

Obi-Wan doesn't stop walking until he's standing directly in front of you. He stops a few inches from you, close enough for you to see the creases in his brow, the faint shadows under his eyes, and the worry lines on his forehead. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"Everything okay?" you ask cautiously.

"Of course," Obi-Wan sighs, though his expression betrays him. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"Because you look like shit, and I can feel your unease from a mile away," you deadpan. He glares at you, and you raise a brow. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing important," he grumbles, looking away. He turns his head and glances at the doors leading to the Archives, his brows drawing together. "Just a disagreement with the Council."

"About what?" you ask, frowning.

"Nothing," he replies firmly, his tone final.

"Really," you mutter. "Because it's never nothing with the Council."

He looks back at you, his gaze boring into yours, and he shakes his head. "It's not important."

"Okay," you agree slowly.

You stare at each other for several moments, neither of you willing to break eye contact first. He seems determined to avoid talking about whatever is bothering him, and you're not about to force him. Especially not in the middle of the hallway.

"Alright, fine," you relent, dropping your gaze. You turn away from him and start walking back down the hall. "Whatever. If you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to push it. But if you're going to drag me here and then act like this, I'm not sticking around."

"Wait," Obi-Wan calls out, catching up to you. He grabs your arm and turns you around, and his grip is surprisingly gentle. "Please, don't go. Just..."

"What?"

"I didn't ask you here to argue," he says softly, releasing his hold on you. His eyes drop, and he runs a hand through his hair, his voice weary. "And I apologize if I gave that impression. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Apology accepted," you reply, and you give him a small smile. He returns the gesture, and his shoulders sag. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"There's something I need to show you."

"What is it?"

Obi-Wan pauses, and his gaze drops, his voice hesitant. "It's...difficult to explain. It's better you see it for yourself."

"Okay," you say slowly, raising an eyebrow. You're not sure what to expect, but you're intrigued, and the tension has melted away from his posture. "Show me."

"Come on," he says. He turns and begins walking towards the door again, motioning for you to follow. "Let's go."

The two of you make your way through the Archives, winding your way through the maze of shelves and stacks. You can hear voices drifting through the aisles. People talking, laughing, mumbling under their breath as they browse through the rows upon rows of data pads, scrolls, and other ancient artifacts. It's always crowded in here, especially during the afternoon, but it's not as busy as usual today.

You follow Obi-Wan, keeping pace with his long strides. He doesn't look back, and you don't ask him any questions. You just let him lead the way, content to simply watch his back.

You can sense the tension in his posture, the stiffness in his stride. Through the bond, you can feel his frustration, his anger, his fear. His emotions are raw, unrestrained, and they hit you hard, like a wave crashing into a cliffside, threatening to break through the surface. He's trying to control them, but he's struggling.

You can't imagine what's causing it. He's been through worse, fought harder battles. But this is different. It feels more personal, somehow. Like there's something weighing on his mind, something he's not sharing with you.

"We're almost there," Obi-Wan murmurs, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

"Almost where?" you ask curiously.

"The Vault," he replies. He stops in front of a set of massive stone doors, and he turns to face you, his expression serious. "Don't touch anything."

"I won't," you assure him, holding your hands up in mock surrender. He stares at you, his eyes narrowed, and you raise a brow. "I'm serious. I won't. You know me."

He nods, satisfied, and reaches out, his palm resting on the stone surface. He closes his eyes, and a second later, the doors begin to slide open, revealing the dark interior of the Vault beyond. You stare, wide-eyed, as the entrance yawns open. The room is enormous, at least three times larger than the Council chambers, and the walls are lined with shelves upon shelves of glowing holocrons.

The sight takes your breath away. You've never been inside this vault before, restricted to only the twelve members of the Council, but you've heard stories. More than once you've tried to convince Obi-Wan to tell you about its contents, but he's always refused. And now here he is, opening the door and inviting you in.

"This is incredible," you gasp. You feel giddy, like a child on Life Day. You can't keep the excitement out of your voice as you turn to him. "I can't believe you're letting me do this."

"I can't let you touch them," he cautions, his tone low. "But, I can let you see."

"Oh, I understand," you reply quickly, nodding eagerly. You glance at him, and the serious expression on his face gives way to a small, amused, smile. "I won't touch anything. I promise."

He chuckles and steps aside, allowing you access. You hesitate, not quite believing this is happening, and then, with a deep breath, you step forward, the doors closing behind you.

Your eyes dart around the room as you walk, taking in every detail. The energy radiating from the collection of knowledge is intoxicating, and you find yourself drawn in. You can't resist the urge to reach out and touch a holocron sitting on a nearby shelf.

"Don't," Obi-Wan warns sternly.

You yank your hand back and turn to him, your eyes wide, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It's alright," he sighs. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, and his lips curl into a small, weary smile. "I know you're curious."

"Always," you agree. You glance around the room, taking it all in, your gaze wandering across the various shelves and displays. It's fascinating, the sheer amount of knowledge that has been stored here, and you're overwhelmed. You could stay here for a hundred years and still not uncover all there is to know, and you suddenly find yourself jealous of the Masters who have access to this place, the endless hours spent researching, learning, studying. It's a shame the war has cut their time short.

"This is incredible," you say to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm glad you think so," Obi-Wan says softly.

His voice pulls you back, and you turn to him. He's watching you closely, his expression guarded, his arms crossed over his chest. You can feel his trepidation, his uncertainty, his concern, and you wonder if he regrets his decision.

"If it's too much, I can leave," you offer, feeling a pang of guilt. "I don't want to make things harder for you."

"No," he interrupts as he holds up a hand. He shakes his head, and his shoulders relax slightly. "Stay."

"Okay," you agree, giving him a reassuring smile. You cross the room and stand in front of him, reaching out and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies, and there's a warmth to his voice, a hint of the old Obi-Wan beneath the tension. He takes a step closer and lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes soft. "Now, if you'll follow me."

You nod, and he motions for you to follow him, leading the way deeper into the Vault. He guides you through the aisles, and you can't help but marvel at the sheer size of the place. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of holocrons in here, all arranged neatly, the energy buzzing in the air. You can feel it pulsing through the walls, seeping into your skin. You have to force yourself to hurry after his quick steps.

"I've been working on something," he tells you, his gaze fixed ahead of him. "After our talk, I decided to do some research."

"Research?" you echo, frowning, and then your eyes widen. "You mean about Yaddle?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan stops and looks at you. "And I think I may have found something."

Your jaw drops. He's done what?

"Seriously?" you ask incredulously. You blink rapidly, trying to process the information. Blood is pounding in your ears, and your palms are starting to sweat. "What did you find?"

"It's complicated," he says, turning and walking deeper into the room. "But it's a start."

"A start to what?" you demand. You grab his arm and spin him around, your eyes searching his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I was reviewing some older files when I came across her logs," he explains. "There was an entry dated the week before she went missing."

You draw in a sharp breath, and your stomach flips, your mind racing.  Yaddle had a habit of recording her thoughts. She did it to help her remember things, and it was her way of making sure she wasn't missing anything important. It was a habit she'd tried, and failed, to instill in you, though she'd made a valiant effort.

You'd scoured her quarters for her logs and any other clues the day you returned to Coruscant after her death, knowing how important the device would be to you. Despite nearly tearing apart her quarters, you'd found nothing, and you'd assumed it had perished along with her, lost forever. But now, according to Obi-Wan, he'd managed to recover the very thing you'd been searching for.

"Where is it?" you ask quickly. Your grip tightens on his arm, and your eyes widen. "Is it here?"

"It is," he says, nodding. "I haven't listened to it yet. I thought you might want to do that first."

You stare at him, speechless, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. A lump forms in your throat, and a warm, overwhelming, wave of gratitude rushes through you. Obi-Wan's expression remains stoic, but his eyes are warm and sympathetic, and he gives you a small, encouraging, smile.

"Obi-Wan," you choke out, and then you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

He stiffens in surprise, but after a moment, he relaxes and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his grip loose and gentle. He sighs, and you can feel his breath tickling your neck.

"You're welcome," he murmurs, his voice low.

"I don't know how I can ever repay you for this," you whisper, pulling back and looking up at him. Your gaze locks onto his, and his eyes search yours, his brows furrowing.

"You don't have to," he assures you. He takes a step back and clears his throat, his voice returning to its normal timbre. "Just...listen to it, and tell me what you think."

"Okay," you agree, swallowing hard. You nod, and he motions for you to follow him across the room to a large, metal case. You watch as he places his palm against the side of it, and it clicks open, the lid swinging upwards. He reaches inside and pulls out a small, metallic disc and offers it to you.

You recognize the device immediately. It's an audio recorder, the kind Yaddle loved to use, and seeing it makes your chest ache. You reach out, taking the object gingerly in your hands. The metal is cool, smooth, and familiar, and the sight of it brings back memories of the last time you held one.

"She gave me one just like this," you say softly.

"Really?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Yeah," you confirm. You turn it over, running your fingers along the surface. "She said she wanted me to keep it so I could practice recording my thoughts."

"You still have it?"

"I think so," you tell him, and you smile sheepishly and shrug. "I'm sure it's buried somewhere in my quarters. Never used it once."

He laughs, and you turn to him. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Thanks," you grumble, rolling your eyes. You hold the device out to him. "Can you play it?"

"Yes," he confirms, reaching out and taking the recorder. He turns it over, inspecting it closely. "Though, I'm not sure how loud the volume will be. We'll have to get close."

"That's fine," you reply, moving closer. You stand beside him, leaning in until your shoulder brushes against his, and look at him. "Let's do it."

He nods, and a moment later, the air fills with the sound of static. It crackles loudly, and the two of you lean closer, straining to hear. There's a burst of white noise, and then silence. For several seconds, nothing happens. The only thing you can hear is the sound of your breathing, the beating of your heart.

"Come on," Obi-Wan mutters, and then the static stops. A bright blue light flares to life, and the image of Yaddle appears, hovering in the air between you.

She's sitting in a chair, her hands resting on the armrests, her legs crossed. It's been so long since you've seen her, your heart aches, and you can't stop the tears from forming.

"Begin log," she says, her voice smooth and clear. Her eyes are closed, her expression serene, but there's a tightness around her mouth, a crease in her brow. You know that look well. She was upset, agitated. Worried.

You can feel Obi-Wan's eyes on you as Yaddle speaks, her soft and steady voice reciting the date and location of the recording before she launches into her message.

"I've been thinking about the future a lot lately," she begins, her eyes still closed, her tone contemplative. "About my life. About my purpose. I've lived a long time. Longer than most."

The image flickers, and her lips press together.

"I've seen many things. Seen them through the eyes of others. Learned what they've learned, experienced what they've experienced. But now, I find myself wondering if it was worth it," she continues. Her voice grows quiet, and her eyelids flutter open, her gaze drifting across the room. "These are troubled times. I can feel the darkness growing stronger, threatening to overtake everything I've worked so hard for."

You frown, exchanging a concerned look with Obi-Wan. 

Yaddle had sensed the Dark Side before the Republic had even known of its existence, before the Clone Wars had begun. She'd warned the Council of its presence, of its intentions, and no one had believed her. You'd seen the disappointment and frustration on her face when they'd dismissed her words.

It had hurt her deeply, and you'd hated it, but she'd brushed aside your anger, insisting it wasn't important. That they would learn the truth eventually. You suppose she was right about that.

"The Jedi Order is strong, but it's not strong enough," Yaddle continues. "I fear the end is near. And it is up to us to decide whether we fight against it or embrace it."

Her eyes fall to her lap, and her shoulders slump. She looks exhausted, defeated. You've never seen her like this before. She's always been confident, steadfast. Unshakable. Now, she seems so small. Fragile.

“Today, Master Qui-Gon Jinn appeared before the High Council. He spoke of an encounter with a Sith lord." Her voice lowers and her face contorts into a scowl. "He claimed that this…being was trained in the Jedi arts, and that he possessed a great power, a power which could only be wielded by one who knew the true nature of the Force." 

She pauses, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling, her lips pressing into a thin line, her brow creasing as she continues, "The Council believes this to be a falsehood. They have dismissed the idea outright, claiming that the Sith have been extinct for millennia, but there is no denying that something has changed. Something dark has come over our galaxy."

Yaddle lets out a long breath and her shoulders slump, her body sinking into the chair as she returns her attention to the camera. "I spoke with Dooku today. He expressed his frustrations with the Council and their reluctance to consider the possibility that this Sith Lord is real and that he is a threat to us all. It is nothing I haven’t heard from him before. We've had this conversation many times over the years. But today, it was different. Today, I felt the conviction of his words. The depth of his belief."

The mention of Dooku catches your attention, and your eyes widen. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as you find yourself leaning closer to the hologram, hanging on her every word.

"Dooku has a point. He always does. If there is even a chance that the Sith are alive and well, we have to take action. But the Council is not listening. They won't even consider the possibility."

Her voice is rising, anger entering her tone, and you feel the same frustration bubbling up within yourself. You know exactly where this is going, and you have to bite back a growl as her expression darkens. 

"They're too busy worrying about their own affairs, about maintaining their positions of power, their influence over the Senate, the courts, and the public. They've forgotten their oaths, forgotten their duty."

You can feel her eyes on you now, and you shift uncomfortably, feeling exposed. She's looking right at you, her eyes piercing through the years and across time and space. 

"And they've forgotten the people they serve. We've become a broken institution, corrupt and ineffective. I can no longer abide by the Order. The time has come for me to leave. To do what I must."

You close your eyes and exhale a long breath, her words washing over you, sinking in. It's not a surprise. You'd expected it, and yet, it still hurts. There's no bitterness or anger. Only sadness.

"I'm not sure when, or if, I will return. I have much to reflect on, but one thing is clear: I can no longer stand idly by and watch this tragedy unfold," she continues, and she straightens in her seat, her expression softening. You can sense the warmth in her gaze, the pride and love she feels for you.

"As for my Padawan, I hope she will forgive me for leaving her behind. She's young and impulsive, but she has a good heart. I trust that she will find her way, no matter what path she chooses. She has always been capable of so much more than anyone gives her credit for. I can only hope that she will remain true to herself, and that her journey will bring her peace."

Her eyes shift from the camera, and she smiles faintly. You can almost see her now, the memory of her vivid and clear in your mind. Her small, wrinkled face. Her soft, kind voice.

"May the Force be with you," she whispers, and the image dies in the dark.

The room falls silent, the sound of your breathing loud in the emptiness. You stand frozen, staring at the space where Yaddle had just been. You're trembling, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you're not sure if you're going to laugh or cry.

It's not fair. It's not fair.

You know that, but the anger, the sadness, the guilt is still there, and it hurts. The weight of it is crushing.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan offers softly, his voice far away.

You shake your head, unable to speak, and the room spins around you, your vision blurring. You pull away from him, staggering backwards and clutching your chest.

"I need to go," you choke out. You turn and walk towards the door, ignoring his calls.

You're barely aware of him following you. You're barely aware of anything except the ache in your heart, the pain that threatens to tear you apart. It's too much. Too much.

You run out of the Vault, pushing past a group of younglings, muttering an apology. You make your way through the hallways, ignoring the looks from the other Jedi, the confused and worried stares. You just need to get out. Away from the Temple, away from Obi-Wan, away from everyone.

You push the front doors open, stumbling out into the cold air, the chill biting at your skin. It doesn't stop you. You race across the courtyard, towards the entrance of the Temple. You have to get away.

But the further you run, the more the memories flood back. Her smile, her laugh, the way she would tease you. She'd always been so gentle, so patient, so understanding. The only one who had never lost faith in you.

And now, she's gone. And it's all because of him. Because of Dooku.

You stop in your tracks, breathing hard, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're furious, and you want to scream. You want to rage and throw a tantrum and curse the world for taking her away. The dark, cold rage builds inside you, filling every inch of your being, and you grit your teeth, clenching your hands into fists.

You feel Obi-Wan approaching before you see him, and you turn to face him, your eyes blazing, your hands shaking.

"No," you snap. "We're not doing this. I'm not doing this."

You start walking again, heading for the edge of the courtyard. You can feel the eyes of the temple guards and the other Jedi on you, and it only makes you angrier. How dare they look at you like that. They have no idea what it's like to lose someone like this. To have your entire world torn apart.

"Where are you going?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice strained, his concern radiating through the bond. "Slow down."

"Go away," you mutter.

"I'm not leaving," he insists, quickening his pace to keep up with you. He's trying to stay calm, but his voice is tense, worried. "Let me help you."

"Leave me alone!" you shout, spinning around and glaring at him.

Obi-Wan freezes, his eyes widening, and you feel a pang of guilt, but it doesn't last long. You can't think straight. Your emotions are overwhelming, drowning out everything else. You're angry. Sad. Scared. Confused. And you have no idea what to do with all these feelings. They're tearing you apart, ripping you to pieces.

You've always known, deep down, that this was how it was going to end. That you were going to lose her. It had always been inevitable. But knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, focusing on the Force. You try to reach out and connect with it, but the energy is faint, distant, and it slips through your grasp.

"Just go," you plead, your voice cracking.

"No," he says, and he takes a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. "Not until we talk."

"I don't want to talk," you say through gritted teeth.

"I know," he replies gently. "But, you have to."

You shake your head and turn away, refusing to meet his gaze. Your whole body is shaking, and you're fighting the urge to lash out, to break something, to scream until your throat is raw.

"Talk to me," Obi-Wan coaxes, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. You stiffen, the contact making you flinch.

"Fine," you snap, pulling away from him. You spin on your heel and march away from him, heading for the gates. "You wanna talk? Let's talk."

He sighs, and you hear him running after you. You keep walking, your feet pounding against the cobblestones. You're not sure where you're going, but the idea of standing in the shadow of the Temple is more than you can bear.

You pass through the gates and head down the street, ignoring the curious glances from passersby. You're not in the mood for them. All you can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stay calm.

"What's going on?" Obi-Wan asks as he falls into step beside you.

"I don't know," you admit. You stop and turn to him, your chest heaving, your fists clenched. "I don't understand."

"It's okay," he assures you. His voice is low and soothing, and you feel the tension in your shoulders relax a little. "Just breathe."

"I'm breathing," you huff, glaring at him.

"No, you're not," he retorts. He puts his hands on your arms and you bat them away, but he ignores you, gripping you firmly and holding you in place. "Take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

"Stop telling me what to do," you grumble, trying to pull free, but his hold is strong, his grip unrelenting.

"Then stop fighting me," he shoots back. He sighs, his tone softening. "Please, just breathe. That's all I'm asking."

You hesitate, then comply, inhaling slowly, the cold air burning your lungs. You let out the breath, and then another. He nods approvingly.

"Better?"

"Not really," you mutter.

"Come on," Obi-Wan says, gesturing towards a nearby bench. "Sit down."

You glare at him, but do as he says. He sits next to you, and the two of you fall into a heavy silence.

You're still fuming. Anger is coursing through your veins, making your pulse race, your muscles tense. Your leg bounces uncontrollably as you stare at the ground, trying to process what's happening.

You've had a lot of emotions since Yaddle's death. Pain, grief, guilt, regret, shame. But the anger has always been the most persistent, the hardest to let go of. It's the only thing that's kept you going, kept you fighting. It's the only thing that's made you strong.

You need it. Without it, you'd have given up long ago. Without it, you'd have fallen apart.

But now, in this moment, sitting next to Obi-Wan, surrounded by the beauty of the Temple, the serenity of the gardens, the anger is fading, leaving you empty, hollow. 

It's terrifying.

"How am I supposed to deal with this?" you ask him quietly, turning your head to look at him.

"What?" he asks, his eyes darting towards you.

"This," you clarify, gesturing between the two of you. "How do I deal with it? How do I move on? How do I keep going?"

"You're asking the wrong person," he tells you, and he looks away, staring off into the distance. "I haven't figured it out yet."

You huff a bitter laugh. "Some comfort you are."

"Sorry," he says, glancing at you. He smiles wryly. "I'm trying."

"Well, try harder," you grumble, and he chuckles, nodding.

The two of you fall silent again, and the sounds of the city wash over you. There are people shouting, laughing, talking. Vehicles whizzing past, horns blaring. The sun is starting to set, and the air is growing colder, a chill wind blowing through the streets. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

It's peaceful. And it's strange.

The two of you have rarely spoken about her, or the loss. You've never really shared this moment together, never had the opportunity. The wound left from his initial dismissal of your suspicion was deep, and though he's apologized and you've forgiven him, since then, it's always felt like an unspoken rule between the two of you to avoid the topic altogether.

But, now, sitting here, in the quiet, it's all you can think about. The anger, the sadness, the regret. It's all too much, and you don't know what to do.

"Can I ask you a question?" Obi-Wan murmurs, looking over at you.

"I suppose," you sigh as you lean back against the bench, looking at him warily.

He turns and looks at you, his eyes meeting yours, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he says, his gaze narrowing. "You said it yourself. You can't go on like this. So, what do you want? What do you need?"

"I..."

You trail off, unsure of what to say. It's not a question you've ever had to answer before. It's not something that's ever mattered.

"I don't know," you admit.

"Think about it," he suggests, his tone gentle.

You look away, staring at the ground, your jaw clenching. You've spent so much time trying not to think about these things. Trying not to think about what you want, or what you need, or how you feel. It's easier that way. Safer.

But the truth is, it doesn't make you feel any better.

The truth is, the only time you actually felt better was when you told Rex the truth. When you told him everything about what happened after Yaddle's death and the reason why. When you opened yourself up to him, allowed yourself to be vulnerable. To feel.

And it helped. More than you could have imagined.

What does it mean, then? What does it mean that the only time you've actually felt better was when you weren't trying to suppress your emotions? When you were allowing yourself to experience them, to feel them?

What does it mean that the only time you've felt happy was when you were with him? When the two of you were alone, exploring the city, enjoying each other's company, forgetting about the war and the galaxy and everything else that comes with being a Jedi.

When the two of you were together, you didn't have to worry about the future. You didn't have to think about the past. You didn't have to pretend to be something you weren't. You didn't have to pretend to be anyone or anything other than yourself.

And it was the most liberating thing you'd ever experienced.

Maybe that's what you need.

Maybe that's what you want.

To feel. To be yourself. To stop pretending.

You sigh and close your eyes, taking a deep breath. The sun has set now, and the courtyard is quiet. A few birds are chirping in the trees, and the air is crisp and cool.

It's beautiful. Peaceful. And it reminds you of the day Yaddle died.

That night, the air had been cold and clear. The moon had been bright and full. You'd stood on the balcony outside your room on Naboo, staring at the stars. You'd felt the same way then. Alone. Confused. Lost.

Now, here you are again, feeling the same way. But this time, it's not the loss of Yaddle that's causing it. It's the realization that you want something. Something you can't have. Something you've never allowed yourself to even consider.

Obi-Wan shifts next to you, his expression guarded. He's waiting for an answer. An answer you're not ready to give. Not yet.

"I've never had a choice," you say instead.

It's the first time you've said it out loud. The first time you've admitted it to yourself. And it's not a lie.

The life of a Jedi is one of service. Of sacrifice. Of duty.

You've never had a choice. Never had the luxury of deciding who you want to be or what you want to do. You've always been forced to choose between the Order and yourself. Between the Jedi and your own desires.

And that's a burden no one should have to carry.

You open your eyes to find him staring back at you, his brow furrowed in concern. "There was never a chance for me. The Order took that away the second I was born."

"That's not true," he objects, shaking his head. "You have choices. You can choose what to do with your life, where to go, who to be. You have more freedom than most people."

"Yeah, I have a choice between following orders and being punished," you snort, and he frowns.

"That's not—"

"Don't," you warn. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," you insist. "You know as well as I do that this is all there is. The Order is my life. The Order is all I have. Everything else is just...not possible."

He doesn't reply, and you shake your head, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Look, I know you want to help," you tell him. "And I appreciate it. Really. But there's nothing you can do. This is the way it has to be. What I want doesn't matter."

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, his jaw clenching. You can feel his frustration, his helplessness. He wants to argue, to tell you that it's not true, but he knows it's useless. He knows that it's pointless. That you're right.

The two of you sit in silence, the only sound the rustling of the leaves overhead. It's getting colder, the temperature dropping quickly, and the night air is beginning to bite at your skin.

You're tired. Exhausted, really. The adrenaline has faded, the anger replaced by a deep weariness. But the idea of heading back inside, of returning to the Temple, is too much. Too soon. You don't move, and neither does Obi-Wan.

"Do you think about it?" he asks after several moments. "The life you could've had."

You huff a humorless laugh. “All the time.”

Obi-Wan starts, his head turning toward you quickly, his eyes wide. He stares at you, a shocked expression on his face. "Really?"

"What?" you ask, and you shrug. "It's true. I think about it a lot. It's impossible not to. Don’t you?”

"I used to," he admits. "Before my Knighting. Now, I try not to."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter," he tells you. He sighs heavily and shakes his head, running a hand over his beard. "It doesn't matter what I would've done or where I would've gone. None of it matters. Not now. What matters is who I am, and what I've done. Where I am now."

You stare at him, and you feel a pang in your chest, an ache in your heart.

"It's easy to get caught up in the past, to think about all the things we could've done differently, the choices we could've made," he continues, his voice quiet. "But the truth is, there's nothing we can do. We can't change the past. All we can do is move forward. Accept the present for what it is. Try to make the best of it."

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. They resonate with you, but a part of you wonders if they're directed at himself, if he's trying to convince himself as much as you.

"Besides, even if I had a chance at another life, I'm not sure it would be worth it," he adds.

"What do you mean?"

He looks at you, a sad smile tugging at his lips. 

"If I hadn't joined the Order, I would've never met you,” he says softly, his gaze searching yours. “I would’ve missed out on so many incredible experiences. On so much joy. So much happiness. And, selfishly, I can't imagine a world where I don't have you in my life."

"Obi-Wan," you breathe, a lump forming in your throat.

“I know,” he laughs, and you can see his cheeks turn pink. He turns away, looking out at the garden. "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

You chuckle and lean closer, pressing your shoulder against his.

"Maybe not," you agree, and he lets out a snort. "But, for what it's worth, I'm glad I have you in my life, too. Even if you are a pain in my ass."

"Oh, please," he scoffs. "You love me."

"I do," you muse. You smile and close your eyes, enjoying the moment. The silence stretches on, comfortable and familiar, and you let out a contented sigh. Obi-Wan leans against you, resting his head on yours, and the two of you remain like that, sitting side by side, lost in thought.

After several minutes, he speaks.

"Earlier, when I asked you what you want," he says quietly, breaking the silence. "I was hoping you'd tell me the truth."

You shift, leaning back and looking at him. His eyes are closed, his expression thoughtful.

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"I think we both know what I'm talking about," he says. He opens his eyes and turns to you, a sad smile on his face. "You deserve to be happy, and I want that for you. If that means stepping aside, if that means letting go, I will."

You stare at him, your eyes widening, a knot forming in your stomach. You swallow hard and look away, your gaze falling to the ground.

"Obi-Wan," you start, but he holds up a hand.

"No, let me finish," he insists. He takes a deep breath, and then continues. "I care about you. More than you know. And, if the war wasn't happening, if we were just two people, living normal lives, I would ask you to be mine. Because you deserve a chance at a real life. You deserve to be loved."

Your chest tightens, and your throat burns. Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink them away, shaking your head.

"But, as things are, that's not an option," he continues. He turns his attention back to the garden, his voice soft. "I don't know how this will end, but I do know one thing: it's going to hurt. Whether we win or lose, whether we survive or not, it's going to hurt. So, whatever choice you make, just...don't wait. Don't waste any more time. You deserve happiness, and I want you to have it."

"You can't ask me to do that," you say, your voice strained.

"I can, and I am," he replies, turning back to you. "You know I'm right. There's no sense in dragging this out."

"What about you?" you ask, your eyes searching his. "You deserve happiness, too."

"I know," he nods. He gives you a rueful smile. "But, that's not up to me. I can't choose who I fall in love with. But, I can choose to put your needs above my own. And, right now, I think that's the best thing for both of us."

You stare at him, your eyes stinging, your throat aching. He's right. He's always right.

"Before," you start. "With the Council..."

"Yes," Obi-Wan sigh, rubbing his beard. "They're concerned. And, they're right to be. They've noticed the way I've been acting lately. The way we've been acting. I don't know what they'll do if it continues, but I suspect it won't be good."

"I'm sorry," you apologize.

"It's not your fault," he assures you, and his expression is serious. "We were careless. Both of us. We've always known it could never last, and yet, we let ourselves get carried away."

"You were a little more careless than I was," you point out, and his cheeks turn red.

"I'll admit, I may have been a bit reckless," he admits sheepishly. "But, you were the one who started the whole thing."

"I did not!"

"Oh, please," Obi-Wan scoffs, and a smirk plays on his lips. "You were all over me the first time. Don't think I didn't notice."

"You're the one who kissed me," you retort, and his smirk grows.

"And it was a good kiss," he declares. He nudges you with his elbow. "You have to admit, you enjoyed it."

"Fine," you grumble. "It was a good kiss. Satisfied?"

"Yes," he chuckles.

You roll your eyes, and the two of you share a laugh. The tension eases, and a heavy weight lifts from your shoulders. You hadn't realized just how much pressure had been building, how much you'd been carrying around. You'd always known it wouldn't last. Always known there would be consequences. But, hearing him say it, admitting the truth, somehow makes it easier.

"So, where does this leave us?" you ask.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he sighs. He leans back against the bench and gazes at the stars, his brows furrowing. "We're still friends. That hasn't changed. And, I still care about you. More than I should. But, whatever this is, whatever it could have been it's over. For both of our sakes."

You nod, biting your cheek, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "And the bond?"

"We can still use it," he replies. "But, we have to be careful. No more emotional outbursts. No more impulsive decisions. We need to keep our distance."

"Yeah," you sigh. You look at him and smile. "I'll try. No promises, though."

"No," he chuckles, and he returns your smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I didn't think so."

The two of you sit together for a while longer, talking, laughing, reminiscing. It's good, and it's exactly what you need. A reminder of who you are, of who he is, of the relationship the two of you have shared for so long. It's comforting. Familiar.

When the air turns cold and your teeth begin to chatter, you decide to head inside, back to the warmth and safety of the Temple. Obi-Wan walks with you, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, a smile on his face.

As the two of you reach the entrance, he stops and pulls you into a hug, holding you close.

"Whatever happens," he whispers in your ear. "I'm here for you."

"Even if..." You trail off, thinking of Rex, and he nods, giving you a knowing look.

"Even if," he promises, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. You hug him back, burying your face in his shoulder. The two of you stand there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, and a wave of relief washes over you. It's not the same. It's not the same, and it's never going to be. But, it's enough.

You pull back and look up at him, a smile on your lips. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he tells you. He releases you, stepping back and placing his hands on your shoulders. "You'll always be important to me. No matter what."

"And you're important to me," you reply. "Even if we're not together, we'll always be family."

"Always."

"I'm sorry," you add.

"Me, too," he says, his expression pained. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. This was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened. We should've—"

"Obi-Wan," you cut him off. "It's not your fault. We were both to blame. And, for what it's worth, I don't regret it. Not for a second."

"Neither do I," he murmurs, and his eyes meet yours, his gaze soft and affectionate. "It was good while it lasted."

"Yes," you agree, and the two of you exchange a small, sad smile.

You look away, your gaze drifting towards the sky. You watch the clouds drift across the horizon, and your eyes trace the lines of the buildings, the speeders, the faint glow of the stars. It's so beautiful, so peaceful. 

You’ve never felt more at home anywhere than you have on Coruscant, for all its flaws and problems. This is where you belong. This is where you were meant to be. And, even if you can never have everything you want, you have this.

"Are you going to tell him?" Obi-Wan asks, drawing your attention back to him.

"No," you answer without hesitation. "He doesn't need to know. It wouldn't change anything."

He frowns. "You don't know that."

"No, I don't," you agree. "But, I can't. I can't do that to him. He deserves better."

Obi-Wan studies you for a moment, then nods, his expression serious. "You're a good person."

"So are you," you reply. You take a deep breath, and you step back, moving out of his grasp. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Yes," he agrees. He reaches out and squeezes your shoulder, and his eyes search yours, his brow creased in concern. "Will you be alright?"

"I think so," you tell him. You force a smile and shrug. "Eventually."

He smiles sadly and releases your shoulder, and you turn, heading back into the Temple. You can feel his eyes on you, his worry, his guilt. It's a struggle not to look back, not to break. But, somehow, you manage. You keep moving, and eventually, the weight of his gaze fades, replaced by the comforting hum of the Force.

It's a comfort, but it's not enough. You know it never will be.

Still, it's better than nothing. It's better than being alone.

And, for now, that's all that matters.

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[irondad-defensesquad]

My Irondad fic recs!

I thought of doing this because why not? Admittedly, I'm not reading as much fanfiction as I did a couple years ago, but some fics have changed my life entirely. In case I forgot one, I'll add it later!

I would’ve organized this in a bullet list, but Tumblr hates me and invented a character limit for that. So this is going to be long and will be under the cut. Anyway, let’s do this!

Rare and Sweet As Cherry Wine by loubuttons – I've mentioned this one before, but this fic right here was what inspired me to write my own Irondad works. One very particular detail I like about it is how it portrays Maria, Tony's mother. It's not what I usually see in other fics about Tony's childhood, since they tend to make Howard the big bad parent. Of course, this is because I personally related to it, as I don't believe in the "bad parent vs. good parent". I also like that it praises Edwin Jarvis as the one who looked out for Tony the most. It's pretty realistic and a very melancholic character study, IMO. *TW for abuse and neglect*

You're Always Iron Man by madasthesea – a very short fic but I absolutely love the premise. Takes place after the big battle in Iron Man 2, and Tony finds little Peter again. They have a very endearing interaction. The following chapter is also very cute!

Nothing like a fresh cup of humiliation in the morning by madasthesea – Pure fluff! This one is probably a classic in the Irondad fandom. Tony kisses Peter's forehead without second thought. Shenanigans ensue. It's so adorable and funny. If you just want to read fluff without angst, this one is for you.

when my body won't hold me anymore (where will I go) by madasthesea - I think I heard about this fic thanks to @/irondadfics here on Tumblr, but I might be wrong since I already knew the Nice work, kid series. Anyway, Peter is believed to be dead, so Tony (and the rest of the Avengers team) is mourning him. In reality, Peter is astral projecting. You know, sort of like how Stephen Strange, in his first movie, was fighting a guy in the other dimension while his body on Earth was struggling to live. That's basically what happens. Strange appears, of course, and saves the day. And I pretty much LOVE the presumed dead trope. I don't know why. Maybe it's the angst of it all. *TW for grief/mourning and temporary character death*

The Reason by doctornineandthreequarters – I think I read this one when I was still writing Oh, take me back to the start. I was looking for fics for inspiration, and I found this one. During the Time Heist in Endgame, Tony remembers the reason he's fighting to bring everyone else back. It's very emotional.

Couch Cuddles by happyaspie – Classic sickfic, but with more fluff than anything. I like rereading it when I feel lonely and touch-starved, especially when I'm also sick like Peter.

You’re So Much Like Me (I’m Sorry) by SpaceCowboysFromMars – Irondad + Miles Morales! Peter is an adult in this, and he freaks out when an injured Miles arrives in his apartment. Tony gives him some wisdom about mentoring and parenting. I don’t usually find Irondad stories featuring Miles (and not necessarily a Spider-Verse crossover), so this was a nice discovery. Peter & Miles & Tony is a very underrated trio IMO. *TW for slight gore*

I'm Glad I Have You by punkybunny – Peter has been having a rough time, dealing with loneliness as Aunt May is not home often, and with bullying at school... until he finally has the chance to spend time with Tony. However, the demons don't disappear completely. Obviously, more Hurt/Comfort, lmao. *TW for nightmare/bad dream*

I Want to Trust You by punkybunny – Actually part of a series that, admittedly, I haven't read all the other stories. But even this one is a very interesting concept on its own. This is a Hydra Peter AU, after Peter has been rescued. He gets sick but given his past in Hydra, he thinks Tony is going to get angry. Peter is proven wrong when Tony helps him get better. The ending is very adorable. I'll see if I can read the rest of the series one day. *TW for past abuse and experimentation*

what you think I've done wrong by ironxprince – I don't often read Biodad stories as you all know, but I was, again, looking for inspiration for You keep me searching for a heart of gold, and I stumbled across this one. Basically Peter, as Tony's biological son, finally meets Howard. It goes as well as you think /sarcasm. *TW for physical abuse*

i, in time, will climb my mountain by ironxprince – This one is heavy. Once again, Peter is Tony's bio son, and he's suicidal. Every time Peter attempts suicide, he buys a new plant. Tony doesn't know this, so he's confused as to why there are so many plants in their house. I love this one, but of course, I try to read it when I’m not having a really bad day. *Once again, TW for suicide attempts*

how do you get that lonely (and nobody knows?) by parkrstark – Yeah... another heavy one. Peter attempts suicide but he saves himself before he reaches the ground. With that, he goes to Tony. This ends happily, don't worry. *TW for suicide attempt*

When You Can't Sleep by Emily_F6 – Pretty much Tony comforting a sleepy Peter, who has just had a nightmare about Thanos. Just Hurt/Comfort and domestic fluff. *TW for mention of death*

i get by (but it's eating me alive) by Livinei – Honestly, I think this is the BEST May's Abusive Boyfriend story I've ever read. For one, none of the characters are oblivious nor dismissive of Peter's feelings. May isn't neglectful and Ned actually tries to encourage Peter to tell someone. I also like that Peter isn't completely helpless. I don't usually see those things in other fics with this trope, sadly. And of course, Protective Tony is my weakness. *TW for emotional and physical abuse*

Hold Me Together by An_Odd_Idea – Post-Endgame where Tony is alive, and Peter and Tony are both trying to cope, so they rely on each other. Pure Hurt/Comfort.

A Tremendous Thing by ExpectoPatronum – Possibly one of my favorite Irondad stories EVER. Also post-Endgame with Alive Tony (though the author better explains it in the notes, it's supposed to be part of a series, but this story can be read on its own). There are a lot of references to Charlotte's Web if you're familiar with it. Basically, it's Father's Day and Peter is feeling guilty and out of place at Tony's lake house, even though everyone is readily trying to include him. It's absolutely beautiful and painful.

Hug You I Must by spiderwriting (catch_you_later) – Probably one of the first touch-starved Peter fics I've read. I like how it describes touch-starvation as this "itchy" current in your body, something that makes you anxious. Thankfully, Peter gets his hug later on. Plus there are some Star Wars references (the title probably is one, lol). *There's some minor violence here when Peter is fighting off some bad guys, but not the focus of the fic*

When You're There With No One There To Hold, I'll Be The Arms That Reach For You by Squibbles94 – Another touch-starved Peter fic. But I really like the references to Cast Away. Ironically I saw this movie in the same year the author published this fic (dare I say SHORTLY after it was posted). I also had no idea that Cast Away was entirely about isolation. Gosh, the main character's monologue at the end ALWAYS gets to me... anyway, yeah, the peak of the pandemic was awful to me, so reading fics like this one helped tons. It still does.

I am cold by N/A (orphan account) – Peter tries to visit Tony, but he gets lost in a subway tunnel on a freezing day. Eventually we learn why Peter wanted to see Tony, but overall this is mainly domestic fluff. Everything ends well.

Sorry Pedro by PinkEasterEggs – One of the first Irondad fics I read. Peter has a nightmare about Homecoming (mainly Toomes), but he avoids waking Tony for that reason. But thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y's protocols, Peter goes to his mentor. Tony is also super soft here and it makes my heart swoon.

you are enough by diaz_evan – Another post-Endgame fic. Arguably I began reading Irondad fics only after Endgame released. Anyway, this one is short, kinda sad but it ends well. It’s Tony’s birthday and Peter feels very anxious about what to get him as a present. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to prove his love for Tony. *TW for panic attack*

Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Stark by downeylove – There are a lot of Father’s Day fics for these two, of course, but this one takes the cake for me. It’s simple but very endearing to me. Tony obviously doesn’t have good memories of this day, but Peter changes that for the first time. It’s really cute. Plus, Pepper is here, and I love her. I wish I could read more of her interacting with Peter. *TW for mentions of alcoholism and past child abuse*

5 Times Peter Didn’t Say He Was Struggling… And The One Time He Did by Bladam_Shevine – Again, an old fic I read years ago. I admit I haven’t re-read it in a while, but I remember enjoying it and even saving it to read offline. It’s basically what it says in the title: Peter struggles in many ways and he initially refuses help. Tony is always there to reassure him he can count on him. Bruce is here if you like him! And MJ helps Peter on one of the chapters as well. The chapters might get heavier as they go, but it ends on a hopeful note. *TW for injury, panic attack, suicide attempt (it doesn’t involve Peter), and depression*

The Good Days and the Bad by SoupGirlLovesSoup - Peter has had a bad day, now he's cuddling with Tony. It takes a while before Peter finally tells him what happened. It gets sad, but it's mostly fluff and it ends hopefully. I love re-reading it when I need the comfort. *TW for mention of suicide attempt, depression, and bullying*

Breathe Again by gwenoakley - Post-Endgame where Tony survives. He's recovering in the hospital and Peter finally reunites with him. Before that, though, we can feel the anxiety and trauma Peter feels. Definitely makes me emotional. It's the ending they deserved.

Popsicles and Playgrounds by ironfamjam - I can't believe I forgot to save this one in my bookmarks. I used to re-read this all the time! It's an AU where MIT student Tony meets a kid Peter. Eventually, Tony becomes Peter's babysitter! This is part of a series, which I still have to read fully. It's such a wholesome idea!! <3 *Howard's bad parenting is mostly mentioned*

Well, for now this is it! Again, I might add more fics here. I think I also could make a list of what particular concepts I want to read more in Irondad stories, so maybe you guys could give me your own recs. I might try to resume my habit of reading Irondad fics, because they give me a lot of comfort. Thanks for reading this far! I hope you enjoy any of the stories I included.

(I'm aware some authors here have their accounts on Tumblr, but I didn't want to annoy anyone by tagging them, so yeah 😅)

EDIT (June 4th, 2024): What Irondad fics I would like to read!