#that was just so it would be easier to move it later since it’s on the main floor instead of all the way in the basement

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally in a position to make your first, and hopefully final, move, but the guild isn't your only enemy that's actively working against you. you were foolish to think things would be so easy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday lil guys, i struggled with this chapter unfortunately and i'm not sure if i'm happy with the results </3 hopefully you guys will enjoy it more than i did hahah. comments & reblogs appreciated

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. suggestive language. reader is a bit of a cunt to fitzgerald & takes advantage of his love for zelda. she also takes advantage of zelda's fragile state to manipulate her. repin's ability (memory manipulation) is now going to be heavily in play for the rest of the series so keep that in mind. mentions of gore (blame klaus).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

The human mind is terribly fragile, but some are more so than others.

You don’t even need to use your ability on Zelda Fitzgerald to make her crack.

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

Three conversations to make her believe you’re a friend of her husband.

Five conversations to convince her that Fyodor Dostoevsky was the one who had her kidnapped from her home in Manhattan, and that you, as a favor to Fitzgerald, were the one who had her rescued. 

In the seventh conversation, you hinted at knowing something about her daughter before you left for a meeting with the other executives. You let her stew on it for a few hours before returning. By the time you came back, she’d worked herself up into a mess. 

In that eighth conversation, you acted apologetic, pretended that you’d misspoke, you backpedaled and bit your tongue. You made it seem like you were reluctant to speak, like you didn’t want to betray Fitzgerald’s trust. She begged you for hours to just tell her what you meant; you refused and left.

You came back three hours after that, and you put up a nice facade of guilt when you did. You told Zelda that you didn’t like lying to her, that her husband is a dear business partner of yours and you’ve come to think of his family like your own just from how much you hear about them through him. You told her that this wasn’t your secret to share, but she begged and pleaded, and you still made sure you came across as reluctant, but this time you gave in and told her.

In that ninth conversation, you told Zelda Fitzgerald that her daughter was still alive and her husband was keeping her away, because the last time Zelda spoke to her daughter, they’d gotten into an argument that drove Frances away. Her husband thought it would be easier for Zelda to think she was dead, because for all intents and purposes, Zelda was dead to Frances. You told her that you got your information through Nabokov, because Frances was living in Russia now under a new name with Dostoevsky’s help.

She believed you.

It took four days.

You don’t really have anything against Dostoevsky. You’ve met him a handful of times during events and he was pleasant enough, but his rats have been seen a bit too frequently in Port Mafia territory and since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a warning for him to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

Nabokov, on the other hand—he pissed you off you. You’ve never thought highly of the man, even when you visited him in Saint Petersburg, you thought he was quite despicable, and the more you heard from Klaus about the things that happened in the fighting rings, the more your distaste grew.

Now, he backed out of a critical transaction with the Port Mafia which fucked over one of Piano Man’s deals with the Family in Rome and one of Ace’s casinos, so he’s turned just about the whole round table of executives against him and you think this is a quick way of getting even with him. He would be quite unhappy once Francis Fitzgerald turned all of the resources of the Guild onto him in retaliation for spreading lies about his daughter. The man's one weakness has always been his family, he wouldn't think twice once given a name and reason.

All of this is the reason why you prefer to work from behind the scenes. There are many pros, of course, to being in an organization like the Guild where each executive member is an influential, internationally known public figure, but there’s one big con that you just can’t get over: the lack of privacy. 

The Fitzgerald family has been headline bait for all of the world’s most popular tabloids for years, and when his daughter passed away five years ago, you made sure to follow each and every story. You figured one day that the Port Mafia would end up in conflict with the Guild—Fitzgerald’s reach has always been endless, Yokohama was one of the few places out of it, and you knew one day he would move to gain a foothold here and you didn’t want to be scrambling for information about the man once it happened.

Chuuya always rolled his eyes at you when he found you surfing the tabloids, but look how handy it is now. There’d been several popular theories circulating when Frances Fitzgerald was killed in a car accident. Some people thought it was an assassination—the tabloids speculated that Fitzgerald was the intended target but his daughter got caught in the crossfires; the people that knew of the Guild’s ties with the underworld tended to think that his daughter was the intended target as a means to try to break Fitzgerald.

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

You’ve witnessed many assassinations—assassinations gone wrong, assassinations gone right; assassination attempts on you and assassination attempts on enemies. You are very well versed in the art of assassination. You’ve plotted many of them yourself with Albatross and Iceman, and the ones you didn’t, you still oversaw.

You don’t think Frances Fitzgerald was assassinated, by accident or otherwise. 

No one bought into your theory when you tried to place bets on it with the Flags—not until one of the American tabloids released an insider scoop from a relative of Zelda Fitzgerald who claimed that the mother and daughter had gotten into a blow out fight the night she died in the car accident. 

You think that was the last bit of information you needed to confirm your theory: Frances Fitzgerald was not assassinated, she was a stupid and reckless teenager who was upset after a fight with her mother and drove too fast down a road that was too windy and ended up driving herself right off a cliff. It was a gamble to bring it up now to Zelda, because you couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but it paid off. 

You’d been right—some type of argument had broken out between them the night of her daughter’s death, and Zelda has blamed herself for her death ever since. The woman, who’d been the face of American socialites for almost a decade, had all but retreated from the public’s eye after it happened. People whispered that her daughter’s death broke her mind, and you think that they were right—this woman is hardly a shell. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing to her.

Almost.

Unfortunately for Zelda, she’s a fair trade in Fitzgerald’s eyes, and until Dazai is back to you, she will be treated in the same way you assume Fitzgerald is treating his guest. He’s lucky that you have a high enough opinion of him to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to physical torture; he’s likely just trying to turn Dazai against you in the same way you have with Zelda, but Dazai will see through his manipulations.

He will.

He will.

He has to.

Your eyes slide shut as you fist one of Dazai’s sweaters—a cashmere one you’d bought for him to wear when you take him to nice restaurants, he prefers them to button ups. It still smells like him. He wore it when you took him to a hibachi restaurant in Nishi-ku a few days before the argument the two of you had that led to all of this and you haven’t had the chance to do laundry with everything going on.

You know that you don’t have time for this—there are more things you have to do to prepare Tolstoy’s subordinate, Ilya Repin, for what you’ll need him to do. You haven’t even met the man yet; Tolstoy is embarrassed over it, he keeps apologizing and saying that Repin is fickle when he’s in the middle of projects, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands when they’re doing you a favor. 

“Should you be laying around right now?” a familiar voice hums from the entrance to your bedroom. Your gaze flickers up to see Chuuya's concerned face staring down at you, head tilted to the side. “You look like shit, y’know?” 

Your lashes lower as you look away. “I didn’t even hear you come up,” you say quietly. “Shouldn’t you be going to the meeting with the Family envoys with Piano Man?”

You’re the one that usually handles negotiations with the Family, but Piano Man brushed you off when you said you would go. Told you to focus on getting things settled here with the Guild. Told you to get Dazai back. You almost wish he would’ve let you go so you could busy yourself with something other than torturing yourself with reminders of Dazai.

Chuuya exhales as he tosses his hat onto your dresser before sitting down on the bed next to you. You almost want to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you a little closer to him, and your eyes slide shut as you sink into him, hiding the way your vision blurs against his shoulder. Your breath shudders when you feel his hand running up and down your back, slow and soothing—Chuuya is always warm, but somehow, even with his arm wrapped around you and your body curled up against his, you still feel cold.

“Piano Man’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs. “He and Albatross are handling it. Wanted to come check on you.”

Ordinarily, you would make a snippy comment about him being sappy and he would get mad, smacking you over the head with a pillow. This time, you only let out a shaky breath and a noise of acknowledgement that’s far too weak, and evidently, concerning considering how Chuuya’s hand tenses on your back.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” you ask tiredly, voice a bit raspy, before he can say anything. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Never that mad at you,” he says quietly. “Not enough to leave you alone. Especially right now.”

The next breath you take in is wet and ragged, the tears that mist your eyes threaten to spill over. You’ve been on the edge of collapse for over a week now and every time you find yourself alone, you think it’s finally going to happen, but for better or for worse, someone shows up and you have to pull yourself together. But now… Chuuya’s arms are so familiar, too comforting—living in a world like you are, casual comfort is a rare delicacy, one that you can rarely allow yourself to indulge in.

“I’ve got you,” Chuuya whispers. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you more firmly onto his chest, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his waist, your fingers digging into his gray waistcoat. Oh, you realize, desperately trying to bite back a sob bubbling in the back of your throat, it’s happening. “We’ll get him back.”

“I’m tired, Chuuya,” you say, the words wobbly as you fight off tears. Your breath hitches when his hand slides against your shoulder blades gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how you did it.”

Your words don’t register until you feel Chuuya pause in the absent strokes of your back.You look up at him, about to speak again to change the subject because you hadn’t meant to bring up what happened two years ago, but he answers before you can.

“I didn’t,” he says with a wry smile. “I destroyed a ward and shut down. You handled it, remember?”

 And you failed, you finish, but Chuuya can certainly hear the thoughts running through your head from how his arm tightens around you. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and shifts you to sit upright in the bed. You sigh when he reaches out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What happened back then, it wasn’t your fault. That shit was out of your control, you know that. Don’t let it start getting in your head now,” Chuuya tells you firmly. “You didn’t fail back then, you’re not going to fail now. Yeah?” 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel Chuuya wiping the tears away. You avert your gaze and whisper, “I miss him, Chuuya. You were right. I never should have-”

You never should’ve let this happen. You knew from the beginning that you couldn’t let this go far, but you did. And even then, Chuuya warned you. He told you what would happen if you continued this, but you did.

Chuuya stares at you for a moment with an indecipherable expression before nodding to himself, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go force that fuckin’ Russian to talk to us. I’m done waiting around for him to finish his shitty project.”

—

It is not Twain, James or Fitzgerald who walks through the door to Dazai’s prison cell of a room days after your alleged release from prison. It’s a girl who seems to be a little younger than him—she wears a maid’s dress and has long crimson hair tied into two thick braids.  

A girl who probably should not be there considering she looks shifty-eyed and nervous. Plus, Fitzgerald has not hid that he’s been making an effort to ensure that nobody else knows about Dazai’s presence here—he’s kept him isolated, and Dazai never hears anything going on outside of his room, so he assumes he’s purposely being secluded from the rest of the Guild for whatever reason. Probably has to do with the reason behind Fitzgerald keeping his knowledge of your ability on the low—he doesn’t trust that people aren’t listening and doesn’t want this information to get out to anyone.

So this girl is likely not supposed to be here, but Dazai can’t even bring himself to be curious as to why she is here, because he’s tired.

He is so tired. 

His gaze is listless as he tracks the girl. She acts like she’s the cornered animal as if she wasn’t the one who willingly came into his room. She paces to the corner of the room furthest from him and presses herself into it, eyes narrowed on him, studying him like he’s some sort of specimen. 

She’s his first visitor in eight hours. Dazai assumes that means it’s around morning. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is—there’s no windows in the room he’s been staying in, so he has no way to gauge the time of day, and everything has just been blending together. He tried to keep track of when they would bring him food to have some sense of the day and time, but he realized quickly that they were bringing it at uneven intervals so he couldn’t figure it out. 

He thinks it must be some kind of torture tactic—making the days seem impossibly long so that it feels like he’s been here even longer than he has. It’s working to some extent because it is hard for him to tell how long he’s actually been here. Realistically, he knows it can’t be longer than two weeks, but it feels like it’s been three or four. 

“You don’t look special,” the girl finally says, her tone slightly accusatory. Dazai’s eye twitches, he’s been reminded quite frequently by Twain that he’s nothing special and it’s exactly why you aren’t coming for him, and he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. “Francis has never taken a foreign prisoner and not consulted the rest of the Board. They’re not happy.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dazai asks irritably, rolling his eyes. He should probably try to get information out of this girl, but he has no patience for it.

The girl gives him a scowl in return, but her expression quickly returns to a more contemplative one. “I’m just curious. What organization are you affiliated with? Why didn’t he tell us what’s going on?”

Dazai can’t help the snide comment that spills from his lips. “Us?” he mocks, looking pointedly at the maid’s dress she wore. “I don’t think you’re a member of the Guild’s Board… Seems more like house-keeping.”

Her face flushes as red as her hair, eyes wild and angry, but more than that ashamed. Clearly, Dazai hit a sore spot and he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the way the girl gets embarrassed over it. Her lashes flutter as she looks away, not speaking for a moment.

“I was,” she finally says, voice strained, cracking over the word ‘was’. “I was, and I would’ve been consulted with the rest of them at the time, but I wasn’t. I want to know why, who are you?”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a taunting smile. “None of your business,” he sings, leaning back against the wall and raising his eyebrows at the girl when she nearly snarls at him in response. “Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she spits. “There. I told you who I am, tell me who you are.”

“Nope,” Dazai says with a grin. “Why would I tell you that? I didn’t promise to tell you who I was if you told me.” 

“You-” Lucy raises her voice, furious, but then cuts herself off, looking nervously at the door. She gives him a sharp look and then continues just as angrily, but more quietly, “Tell me who you are. Why didn’t Francis tell us about you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He thinks Fitzgerald has the right idea. The less people who know about him, the better, because if it does get out who he is to you, it’ll just give more of your enemies ammunition against you. Dazai’s done enough damage by now, he may as well mitigate as much as he can.

“You’re with the Port Mafia, aren’t you?” Lucy suddenly demands, and Dazai looks at her quickly, wondering how she managed to figure that out. She looks entirely too smug as she lifts her chin. “It explains the sudden pressure they’ve been putting on us. They blew up the S.S. Zelda a couple days ago, intercepted some of the supplies that we were sending out to our people back home, and slaughtered a whole regiment of Margaret and Nathaniel’s men. From what I heard from Mark, they’ve been nonstop for almost two weeks.You must be the reason why. Am I right?” 

“None of your business,” Dazai replies again, but this time, his chest feels a bit lighter. 

He makes sure not to let the sudden relief cross over his face, but Twain, James and Fitzgerald have made sure to leave him with no information on what’s going on in the outside world. Especially any information regarding you. But now he knows. He knows that you’re out there still fighting for him, even if you haven’t been able to get him back yet, you’ve been fighting for him—you’ve been taking out the Guild’s bases, you’ve been isolating them from their allies, you’ve been backing them into a corner. 

Suddenly, the past two weeks had become entirely more bearable. The heaviness that had been weighing on him wasn’t as oppressive anymore and the nagging doubt that had been clouding his brain was all but gone.

He knew you hadn’t forgotten about him—in his heart, he knew it, but getting verbal confirmation of it was much needed. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snaps. “I just-just tell me something. Tell me something I can bring back to Francis, anything, I just-

Dazai’s gaze flickers up curiously, watching as Lucy straightens, inhaling sharply as she tries to hide the tears of frustration that suddenly clouded her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, she gnaws at her trembling bottom lip as she forces herself to settle down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

‘I was,’ he remembers her saying, and realizes instantly why she came down here.

“You want something to bring back to Fitzgerald so you can get yourself out of the doghouse,” he drawls, eyes flicking over her. Her face flushes red, lips parting to protest Dazai’s words but nothing escapes them. “You want to know my opinion?” 

“I want information,” Lucy says. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I think that’s pathetic,” he shrugs, ignoring her. Lucy’s lips part in disbelief, but Dazai continues before she can say anything. “It is. You’re sneaking down here to beg me for information that you can bring back up to your boss because he demoted you… for what, exactly? Didn’t bring him the right food?”

Lucy swallows thickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I lost a fight,” she whispers. “I lost a fight to one of your people, and I lost everything. I worked so hard to get where I was. So hard. Harder than you could ever understand and-”

“I don’t care,” Dazai says, turning away from her. “If you want my opinion, if you got demoted to being a housekeeper because you lost one fight, you have a shitty boss and should probably find somewhere else to work instead of begging for scraps just to be treated like shit.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything else after that, and makes a show of not looking at her to make sure she knows the conversation is over. Luckily, she gives him no grief over it—in an instant, he hears the door slamming as she storms out of his room and Dazai lets out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Tired, lonely, and missing you so badly that it almost makes him ache.

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

You’ve been waiting in one of the larger rooms in the Mafia headquarters for twenty minutes now—the smell of paint is giving you a headache and the sheer insult happening before your eyes is nearly enough to send you over the edge. Ilya Repin has the audacity to keep his back turned to both you and Chuuya even when Tolstoy introduces you to him. He sits on his stool and continues to paint his canvas, ignoring the two of you quite blissfully: he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t greet you, doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Tolstoy is becoming increasingly more embarrassed if his red ears and apologetic looks have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if any number of apologies will save him from Chuuya’s righteous wrath at this point, because if you are irritated then he is downright murderous. 

You watch your fellow executive from the corner of your eye as his eye twitches and his lip curls up. The thin thread of control he has snaps as his tongue kisses the back of his teeth and he starts to storm forward. You stop him quickly, grabbing his wrist and giving him a sharp look.

“He-” Chuuya begins to hiss at you, but you only raise your hand to quiet him down and move forward yourself.

You don’t know if you’re making a mistake by forcing Repin’s hand before he’s ready to help, but you do know that you’re tired and you need Dazai back desperately. It’s been over a week now and if Fitzgerald has been half as aggressive with him as you have been with Zelda, then you know that he’s been playing mind games with Dazai. And Dazai is smart, yes, but how long can someone hold out when given no hope or reason to?

It takes ten long strides for you to cross the room, placing yourself between Repin and the canvas he’s working on. The man pauses, paint brush inches from your cheek, and then looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in my way,” he notes astutely.

“And you are in mine,” you counter with a thin smile. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Ilya Repin is not what you expected. From how Tolstoy described him, you expected an old stubborn coot who had one foot in the grave and acted like each day was his last on earth. Instead, you’re met with a man who can’t be much older than you—with tousled brown hair and light blue eyes, you’d think he was pretty if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He looks down at you with a pinched expression, like he’s considering painting right over your face, but after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a dramatic sigh and glares at Tolstoy over his shoulder.

“I told you not to let anyone bother me until I was done,” he complains, rolling his eyes. You watch as Chuuya’s eyes bulge at the way Repin dismisses you, a familiar red glow flickering around his fists, but Tolstoy responds to Repin before the artist can find himself splattered on his own painting.

“Ilya.” Tolstoy spits out something in such rapid-fire Russian that even you can’t catch what he said. Whatever it is, it makes Repin roll his eyes again before turning to you with a smile that’s too sweet for comfort.

“Her Highness finally decides to grace me with her presence. Honestly, I thought you’d be down here days ago—you’re awfully patient for someone whose lover’s life is on the line… Unless, you don’t actually love him? But then why go through all of this trouble?” Repin hums, leaning forward so close that it has you taking a step back, forgetting that his painting is behind you. His hand darts out to curl around the back of your neck, stopping you from hitting the wet paint while at the same time forcing you even closer to him. He looks down at you through his lashes, nose nearly brushing yours as he says, “Don’t mess up my painting.”

You click your tongue and step away from him, careful not to let it show just how disconcerted you are by his casual disrespect. Chuuya looks like he’s on the verge of bringing the whole building down, Tolstoy has left a wide berth between the two of them as the gravity manipulator becomes more and more vexed by his subordinate. You give him a look to tell him that it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem to ease him in the slightest.

“You’re lucky that you’re Leo’s cousin,” you finally say, giving Repin an equally saccharine smile as you stand a few feet away from him. He finally spins in his stool to turn his back to his painting and his attention onto you, a curious expression on his face as he looks down at you. “I’ve had people’s tongues taken for less.”

“What a waste that would be, my tongue could be used for things much more pleasurable than glossectomy,” Repin replies easily, tone laced with innuendo as his lips curl up into an amused smirk. 

Unbothered, you amend your statement. “Your hands, then—a fitting punishment for a painter, I think.”

Unfortunately, Repin is equally unphased, holding his hands out as his smile widens. “But then of what use would I be to you? I thought you needed my ability,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain what exactly his ability is because Tolstoy thought it would be better coming from the ability user himself. The man sighs and hops off of his stool, speaking as he starts to put away his painting equipment.

“Essentially, I can take memories from people and store them in my paintings,” Repin explains, walking over to a covered painting and pulling the cloth off of it, revealing a scene of a midnight rendezvous between two lovers. “This is a favor I did for an acquaintance. He was cheating on his wife, his wife figured it out and was going to grill him, he asked me to remove his memories of his mistress so his wife didn’t realize he was lying. I don’t really like him, so I keep the painting on me and light the bottom on fire whenever he irritates me.”

“What does that do?” Chuuya asks, side-eyeing the painting before turning his attention to Repin distrustfully.

Repin gives him a once over before looking back at you pointedly. You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know that he must be livid, so you give Repin an equally pointed look and wait for him to answer Chuuya’s question.

Repin sighs. “Burning the painting returns the memories to whoever they’d been taken from, so whenever I light the bottom on fire. He starts to get that looming feeling that he’s forgotten something important. He’s tortured with that feeling of something being on the tip of your tongue but unable to fully remember it. He calls me all wound up about it whenever I do… I think I might be his only friend, which is kind of sad considering I can hardly stand the sight of him…”

He’s rambling more to himself now than to you, frowning as he taps the tip of one of his paint brushes to his chin. You press your lips together as you think—removal is good, you need to have Fitzgerald’s memories of Dazai gone, along with any other of his subordinates that might’ve seen or met him.

But you need more than removal.

“What about implanting memories?” you ask, interrupting his stream of babbles. He casts you a curious look. “You can remove, but can you implant new ones to take the place of old ones?”

He studied you now, an intrigued expression on his face as if he’s seeing you in a new light. “I’ve done it once,” he says after a few moments. “It’s a far more… demanding process.”

“How so?”

“I need to have a painting ready for it,” he says. “More than that, I need a scene. A story. Every painting has a story—that’s the theory my ability is built on. Memories are stories that can be captured in paintings. I need to have the same depth of detail that a memory would have to make a painting that can be implanted as one. It’s much harder than you’d think. One lack of detail, one inconsistency, it could throw everything off, and once someone becomes suspicious that an implanted memory is a false one, it unravels. I burn the paintings here to return stolen memories; they, figuratively, burn the implanted memories in their mind once they start getting suspicious.”

Not quite as reliable as you’d hope, but you can make it work. You have to make it work. You’re running out of time, each day that passes—each hour that passes… You need to make your move, and you need to do it as soon as possible.

“If I can give you a detailed story, how long would it take you to create a painting that can be implanted as a memory?” you question.

Repin smiles, tilting his head to the side. “With the right muse? A couple of hours,” he murmurs.

Finally, you think. The relief that hits you is almost debilitating; you let out a sigh as you nod, giving Chuuya a long look. For the first time since your arrest, you feel an inkling of hope; you see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, shattering the long night that’s been hanging over you.

The end is in sight. You’ll have Dazai back before nightfall. 

“Good,” you say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Have everything ready to start.”

You don’t bother to listen to the response, turning on your heel to leave the room. You have one last thing to take care of with Zelda, and then, you can sit down with Repin to finish up the final preparations. It’s almost vindicating when you pull out your phone to send a location and time to Fitzgerald.

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

“I was sleeping,” Dazai says irritably. He wasn’t sleeping, but they don’t need to know that. Twain and James are the ones unfortunately gracing him with their presence, which is odd considering they’ve never shown up at the same before. “What?”

“Up,” Twain says, clapping his hands together twice as he ushers Dazai out of bed. “C’mon, kid. Francis is waiting. Let’s go.”

Dazai scowls when Twain grabs his bicep to pull him off the bed, slapping away the other man’s hand. His skin crawls where his fingers had once been—Dazai has never enjoyed physical touch, not until he met you, but even then it’s limited to you and you alone.

He misses you.

A heavy air settles around him as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t know why he’s started to descend into such a depressive spiral since Lucy’s departure from the room, he thought he would be happy knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him, but he’s only become increasingly more despondent. 

His fingers feel numb and clunky as he pulls on a pair of shoes—you bought him them. You bought him everything he’s wearing right now, actually. Despite the fact that Fitzgerald has brought Dazai several new pairs of clothes to wear, he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he’d arrived in. He’s sure it smells terribly and he must look like a mess, but Dazai’s mind has always been cruel and now more than ever, it enjoys playing tricks on him.

He’s never slept well before. Usually he doesn’t sleep at all, but when he does, he’s plagued with nightmares. The past few days, weeks, however long he’s been here, it’s been no different. When he sleeps—which is frustratingly often because of the head injury he received the day they kidnapped him—he wakes from long, vivid nightmares of lives where he never met you. He wakes entirely convinced that the entire past few months with you was just an elaborate dream that his mind made up to torture him, that you don’t exist, that you’re just a figment of his imagination created to show him a life that he could’ve had if he were more normal.

It’s only the physical evidence of you that drags him out of a dangerous spiral—the clothes you bought him, the lingering scent of you on him, and the few marks that remain on his body from the night spent with you in the cabin. But your scent is fading and the marks are disappearing, so all he has is the clothes on his back to remind him that you’re real, you’re alive, you’ll come for him.

You’ll come for him. 

“Where are we going?” Dazai finally asks, finishing getting on his shoes, but he doesn’t budge as he stares at the two of them, waiting for a response. They don’t give him one. He wonders if the Guild is done with him, if they’re skipping over torture and going right to execution. “Hello? I asked a question.”

“I told ya,” Twain tells him, stepping out of the room and raising his eyebrows, urging him to move along. “To Francis.”

“But why?” Dazai presses. “Why didn’t he come here? Where are we going?”

Twain and James share a long look, like they don’t want to explain to Dazai where they’re going. And-

And Dazai doesn’t dare get his hopes up—he knows better—but it’s impossible to stop the way his body physically reacts to the realization he just came to. His throat swells and he works on over time trying to stop the way his heart suddenly starts racing. He can’t.

Twain would’ve eagerly told him if they were marching him off to be executed; he’s been gloating over the fact that you ‘left him to rot’ since you were released from prison. If this were the Guild getting rid of him, Twain would be just as vocal about that, but it’s not, so could it be…? 

He stares at the two members of the Guild. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he waits to see what they say.

It’s an eternity before Twain rolls his eyes and says, “Seems your girl didn’t forget about you. She called for a parley. We’re going out to meet her.”

Dazai lets out a wavering puff of air, one that he can’t bite back. The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipates, after what seems like weeks of darkness and despair, Dazai finally sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I told you,” he tells them, voice a bit more breathless than he meant for it to be. “I told you she’d come. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Twain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Get moving,” he snips, forcing Dazai out of the room and leading him down unfamiliar halls. Dazai is quick to map out the place, noting all of the twists and turns just in case he somehow ends back up here. He’ll get out on his own if he has to, he’s not spending another night in this place. “Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she’ll be able to come to an agreement with Francis.”

Dazai is a bit too smug as he says, “If she reaches out to meet you, then it’s already over. She wouldn’t have reached out to meet you if she wasn’t sure things would land in her favor, otherwise she would’ve reached out days ago.”

It’s the truth—Dazai knows it. His faith in you wasn’t misplaced, never has been and never will be. You just needed time to make sure everything was in place because you didn’t want to find yourself on unequal grounds during the negotiation. He almost feels giddy as he follows Twain and James out of the building, walking in the direction of a long black car.

Their base is in one of the southern wards, he recognizes immediately. Sakae or Totsuka… maybe Kanazawa. It’s in a residential district, and there's a road sign to Kamakura, so he must be in Sakae or the southern part of Totsuka. His gaze flickers back over to the two escorting him, wondering why they wouldn’t have blindfolded him before leading him out of the building.

Maybe they think it doesn’t matter—they don’t intend on coming back to this base for whatever reason after their meeting with you, or maybe… Dazai’s gaze lingers on the side of Twain’s face, noting the way his jaw is tight and his eyes keep flickering around aimlessly. He looks over to James, seeing the larger man in a similar state.

“You’re nervous,” Dazai voices, still entirely too smug. When Twain doesn’t respond, only giving him a sharp side-eye, he realizes that his assumption was right, and it makes him even more amused. As he gets into the black car, he gives the man a simpering smile before saying, “Good, you should be.”

Fitzgerald is already in the car waiting for them. He’s so hyper-focused on his phone that he doesn’t even realize the three of them entered the car until Twain says something. Dazai should probably be paying attention to what they’re saying, but he finds himself dizzy over the thought of seeing you again. 

When the car starts moving, his heart starts racing. He doesn’t know where they’re meeting you, but it can’t possibly be more than a thirty minute drive and that means he’s thirty minutes from seeing you again after days—weeks, maybe—of isolation. He finds himself nervous, almost, because he doesn’t really know what to expect from you—are you mad at him for what happened? Do you still want to be with him? Dazai is unsure because he thinks that even if you did want nothing to do with him anymore, you’d still make sure to protect him if he got caught up in this.

He chews the inside of his cheek, doubt whittling away at his excitement; he’s only drawn back to the present when Fitzgerald responds to something that Twain says.

“I haven’t heard from Zelda today,” he murmurs, looking a bit unsure. “She usually calls when she wakes up in the morning.”

Zelda, Dazai notes the name down, recalling that Lucy had mentioned it too and thinking back to the comment Fitzgerald had made during the second conversation he had with him. I’ve only met one other… you remind me much of her. His gaze flickers down to the man’s left hand, seeing the gold wedding band sitting on his ring finger.

Fitzgerald notices Dazai’s lingering gaze and sighs before looking away, staring out the windshield as the driver continues down the road in the direction of Nishi-ku. After a few moments, he says quietly, “Zelda is my wife… All of this, it’s for her.”

His tone is solemn, eyes heavy as he stares ahead. Dazai tilts his head to the side as he studies the older man, curious. “All of this?” he asks dryly. “You kidnapped me because of your wife?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curve up into a resigned smile. “Yes,” he says. Dazai’s brows furrow, mind racing as he tries to put together the few puzzle pieces he’s been given. What does his endeavor in Yokohama and with the Port Mafia have anything to do with his wife? He’s missing something. “I’ve done terrible things in the name of love, I’ve gone well past the point of no return. I have to see things through now.”

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu. I have done terrible things for you, and I would do them again and again and again.”

Dazai misses you. The reminder of your words from the beach house makes his body ache with longing. Yet, Fitzgerald’s words don’t settle well with Dazai. They make his skin crawl with nerves, itching uncomfortably beneath his bandages—he needs to replace them, he’s hadn’t had the chance to change them since the Guild kidnapped him. They’re all yellowed and grimy now, and they’re almost intolerable against his skin. He wants to go home. Wants to be with you. 

“What do you mean?” Dazai presses. “What does this have anything to do with your wife?”

Dazai figured that the Guild was just trying to expand into Japan and wanted their first foothold to be in Yokohama to unseat the Port Mafia as the reigning leaders of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld… but what would that have to do with his wife? It doesn’t make sense. There’s something he’s missing, something that runs deeper than just territorial conflicts. 

Before Fitzgerald can answer, Twain clears his throat, giving Dazai a suspicious look before speaking to his boss. “I’m sure Zelda is fine,” Twain says. “The nights have been getting longer and colder back home, she always gets more quiet when winter comes around.”

Any disposition Fitzgerald might’ve had to answer Dazai’s questions is gone as the man sighs and leans back in his chair. Dazai shoots Twain a dirty look, to which he receives an entirely too smug one. Bitter and irritated, he hopes that you humble the redhead severely in the meeting.

“You’re right,” Fitzgerald says more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll see if J.D. can stop by the high-rise after this meeting, he offered to check in on her since he decided not to come along.”

Fitzgerald doesn’t seem inclined to continue any conversation at all. He looks out the window of the passenger seat and a tense silence falls over the car—Dazai is wildly uncomfortable between Twain and James. He can feel both of their thighs bumping against his with each turn the car takes and the forced physical contact makes all of this even more unbearable. 

The seconds feel like hours, the minutes feel like days. When the car finally pulls to a stop, Dazai is itching to claw past Twain so he can have fresh air and personal space. The other man takes far too long to open the door—Dazai thinks it’s on purpose from the way he gives him an entertained look. Dazai scowls at Twain and shoulders right past him, frustrated and antsy, and then-

And then he sees you.

Dazai’s breath catches when he steps out of the car, nearly tripping over his foot when he realizes that you’re standing outside of the teahouse. There are two people on either side of you, but he’s tunnel-visioned on you and you alone. The world could be burning around him and all he would be able to see was you.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful now when he’s been deprived of the sight of you for so long. The sun is setting over the bay and Dazai thinks he could drown in the image of you, that he could die happy now that he’s seen you again. You’re dressed neatly in a suit and your expression is cold and closed off, but he can see the way your eyes soften as soon as he’s in sight and it makes his whole body warm with a comfort he’s been so awfully deprived of the past few weeks.

He loves you. He’s missed you. The apology that he’s been rehearsing every day since he was kidnapped threatens to burst from his lips along with everything he wished he said to you but thought he’d never have the chance to. He refrains, if only barely, because he knows now isn't the time for this, not in this setting, but he itches to be at your side, to feel your skin on his again. 

“Don’t try anything funny, yeah?” Twain says with an unkind smile as he nudges Dazai forward. He feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to his lower back, a silent threat for if he was thinking about running to your side.

Fitzgerald walks in front of the three of them, stopping at the bottom of the stairs you’re standing on—a power play, Dazai recognizes, you on a higher ground forcing them to crane their necks to look up at you. Now that Dazai is only partially dazzled by your appearance, he recognizes Nakahara Chuuya and Piano Man on either side of you. The three of you seem to be purposely blocking the entrance of the teahouse and don’t make any effort to move once Dazai and three members of the Guild start making their way to you.

“Do you intend for us to parley out in the open? I would’ve thought that the Port Mafia would appreciate discretion more than that,” Fitzgerald notes dryly.

“I’m afraid we will not be parleying under the current circumstances,” you sigh, and your voice. God, your voice is heavenly, he’s missed it desperately. “You send your… guest over to the car waiting right over there, and then we can talk.”

Hm? Dazai watches curiously, wondering what you’re playing at. There’s no way that the Guild will just hand over their leverage before going into a negotiation, even Dazai knows that much. He knows that you wouldn’t have called this meeting unless you got yourself on even footing with them, but even footing wouldn’t be enough to force Fitzgerald to hand his only advantage over to you. Unless… 

“Unfortunately, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Fitzgerald says with a thin smile. “Once we’ve come to an understanding, I’ll be happy to return your lover to you.”

Lover, Dazai thinks a bit dreamily as if he’s not currently a hostage.

You let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a kind one. Dazai snaps himself out of the borderline trance he was in because of how he was addressed when he hears it, gaze flickering back over to you. The smile on your face is small, but equally unkind, like you know something that Fitzgerald doesn’t. From the way Fitzgerald stiffens, he seems to realize that too.

“I fear that I’m the only one in any position to be making demands,” you say light-heartedly. Dazai watches as you slide something off of the ring finger of your left hand, brows furrowing as you hold up a ring between your thumb and pointer finger, showcasing it for Fitzgerald. “Beautiful ring, truly… You must really love her.”

You flick the ring toward them carelessly. Dazai watches as it bounces against the ground with a soft plink once, then twice, and then everything descends into chaos around him. 

His eyes widen as a gold glow emanates from around Fitzgerald—within a blink, he’s in front of you, Chuuya and Piano Man, fist raised as he threatens to land a devastating blow onto you. Dazai’s lips part in a cry that doesn’t even have the chance to escape his lips because Chuuya is instantly between the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow activated as he throws Fitzgerald back roughly into the road. 

The gun that had been pressed to Dazai’s back is now at his temple, and as Fitzgerald rises back to his feet, you raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Careful now,” you say, an amused lilt to your tone. “We don’t want things to get violent before negotiations even start. Zelda is a lovely woman, I’d hate for something to happen to her.”

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, voice strained, but he deactivates his ability, expression hard as he glares at you. “She has nothing to do with any of this. She-”

“Neither did he,” you interrupt, the easy tone replaced with a much colder one. “Let him go, and then you can come in and we can talk.”

The standstill that takes feels like an eternity. James and Twain stare at Fitzgerald, waiting for orders, and Fitzgerald stares at you, angry and frustrated. It’s almost odd seeing the suave and collected man that’s held him captive the past few days acting like a cornered animal. Dazai supposes he can’t blame him—if he’s done all of this for his wife only for you to now have her as a hostage… Dazai would pity him if he still wasn’t so bitter about the head wound and weeks of captivity. 

Finally, Fitzgerald nods. After a moment’s hesitation and with a conflicted expression, Twain drops the gun that’s pointed at his head. Fitzgerald is stiff as he makes his way forward, Twain and James a step behind him, leaving Dazai standing alone at the bottom of the steps of the teahouse.

You smile thinly as you step out of the way for them, letting them walk into the building. “Good choice,” you say quietly, mockingly because you know that he didn’t have another choice. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a quick look with you before following the Guild members into the building, leaving you alone outside with him. Dazai stares up at you, all of his practiced words failing him, he wants to walk up the stairs to you but his legs are rooted to the ground. He doesn’t need to move though, because as soon as the doors shut behind them, you’re rushing down from your high ground to him.

Dazai nearly collapses into you as soon as he feels your arms around him. One arm curls around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wraps around his waist to hold him steady when he leans his full body weight onto you. He has so much he wants to say to you, but he can’t even speak a single word—his breath is ragged and his nails bite into the back of your suit jacket, face pressed in the crook of your neck.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for running out on you, I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I’m-

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Your voice cracks over your words and Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows back a lump. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, voice muffled against your skin. His lashes flutter as his eyes slide shut, basking in the familiarity of your arms. For the first time in weeks, Dazai feels safe, he feels warm, he feels like he’s home. “I knew you would come.”

Your arms tighten around him and Dazai almost wants to ask you to skip the meeting with the Guild and come home with him. He doesn’t—mostly because he doesn’t think he has any grounds to ask you to do anything after everything that’s happened, but also because a part of him worries that you might agree to it and he knows this meeting is critical. 

When you pull away from him, Dazai barely bites back a protest but he can’t stop the way his face drops as soon as your arms drop from around him. You notice, a soft smile curling at your lips as you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Dazai leans into your touch, eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dazai whispers after a few moments. He’s always struggled with apologies, and even now, the words taste like ash in his mouth, but he forces them out. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, I-”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, not even letting him finish. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have let the argument escalate the way it did, I knew better. What happened isn’t your fault.”

Dazai begs to differ. Your words don’t ease his guilt, but he doesn’t want to argue with you about it, so he lets it drop. His eyes flutter shut again when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, fingers carding absently through the tips of his hair. He doesn’t want to leave you again, almost wants to ask if he could stay for the meeting, but again, he doesn’t.

“Atsushi and Kyouka are going to go back to the apartment with you,” you finally tell him what he’s been dreading, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you send him off. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, a bit more dramatic than he intended, and you give him a fond smile.

“I left some crab linguine in the microwave for you,” you add. Dazai lights up at the mention of his favorite food—he hasn't had crab since the night he was kidnapped by the Guild. “Go, the quicker I can get this over with, the quicker we can get home and curl up in bed together.”

Dazai makes a show of pouting and being unhappy, but he does step away from you in the direction of the car. He doesn’t get out of arm’s reach before he’s pausing and looking at you again, you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I love you,” he says very softly, almost like he’s hesitant. Not hesitant in his love for you, just hesitant voicing the words out loud when he knows how much the world likes to fuck with him. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he said it first.

You give him a small, adoring smile. “I love you too, Osamu.”

Dazai lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way over to the car. As his fingers curl around the handle of the door, he pauses and looks back at you, remembering something crucial that he’d been meaning to tell you, calling your name.

“Yeah?” you ask with a frown, looking a bit concerned.

“The Guild isn’t working alone,” he says. “Fitzgerald… he mentioned that he had allies, referred to them as rats that he didn’t trust not to be spying on conversations. He also knows what your ability is, one of your executives is feeding information to him and the Ivory Eagle.”

Your expression shifts into a more unreadable one, gaze shifting from him to look out at the horizon. “Rats, hm?” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Dazai isn’t sure what you mean by that, but he figures he’ll bother you for more information when he gets the chance later. He gets into the car with another quiet goodbye, hardly paying attention as Atsushi and Kyouka greet him. His eyes stay on you even as the car pulls away, and you don’t budge from your spot at the bottom of the steps until the car is out of sight.

Somehow, Dazai still has a looming feeling that he’s not out of the woods yet.

—

You enter the teahouse a few moments after the car disappears around the bend leading to the main street of Nishi-ku. The air is brisk and familiar, you’ve spent many days and nights at this teahouse dealing with business for the Mafia. It's your favorite place to bring adversaries for negotiations—the owners are always quick to accommodate you even for last minute meetings, and they’re pleasant enough company when you’re there early waiting for the other party. 

Despite having seen and held Dazai, you still somehow feel discouraged. There’s an unexplainable heaviness in your chest as you make your way into the private room in the back of the teahouse, closing the door quietly behind you.

Chuuya and Piano Man sit on either side of the empty chair left for you; Fitzgerald opposite you with his two lackeys on either side of him. An executive of the Family sits at the head of the negotiation table—originally, you wanted Tolstoy to oversee the negotiation, but you figured that Fitzgerald would be at ease with a more neutral party as the host, and two executives of the Family were already in Yokohama to meet with Piano Man. While the Family is definitely more aligned with the Port Mafia, they also have significant business endeavors in Guild territory, whereas the whole world knows that the Three Deaths and the Port Mafia are pretty much extensions of each other because of your relationship with Tolstoy.

The Family executive is a young woman—you recognize her vaguely, most of your meetings have been with Goldoni himself, but she usually follows along like a silent shadow. You think Goldoni has her set to take over as the next ‘Father’ after him. Regardless, as soon as you take your seat at the negotiation table, she looks at you, waiting for you to begin the discussions. 

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

“Where is she?” Fitzgerald interrupts, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “Where is my wife?” 

The executive of the Family turns an unimpressed look onto Fitzgerald. What a fumble, you think, amused. Negotiations aren’t just political devices to create a space for peaceful conferences between rival factions, they’re also used as avenues that can make or break alliances. Disrespect the mediator of the negotiation and you might just find yourself on the outs of the entire organization—the mediator chooses who gives the first dialogue of the negotiation, you don’t ignore that unless you want to piss people off.

You raise your eyebrows at Fitzgerald. “I didn’t say I would give her back to you if you let him go. I said we would talk.”

Fitzgerald slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. His two subordinates share a look with one another, and you feel Chuuya’s hand rest on your knee, ready to activate his ability at a moment’s notice if Fitzgerald tries to attack you.

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, jaw tight and voice rough, clearly trying to restrain himself. “I let him go, so give me her back.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and then you say, “No.”

Chuuya doesn’t sigh, he knows better than to not show a united front at the negotiation table, but you know that even though he knows this is necessary, he doesn’t like it. Still, you find yourself enjoying it—what Fitzgerald is feeling right now, you’ve felt for almost two weeks. You’ve never claimed to not be vindictive. 

Your smile widens a bit when Fitzgerald stares at you, expression entirely unreadable. You raise your hands up casually as you shrug, finding the whole situation entertaining. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask, amusement clear in your tone. “I never would’ve given Dazai up in your position. Much less without even getting a promise out of me to get your own hostage freed. That’s crazy.”

You almost expect Fitzgerald to launch himself right at you, no ability activated, just throwing hands, but after what feels like an eternity, he sits back down, back rigid and teeth grinding together. 

“What do you want then?” Fitzgerald asks, his voice is still strained but he’s calmer now.

“Why are you in Yokohama?” Instead of telling him what you want, you hit him with a question yourself, watching him carefully. Now that he’s calmer, your ability starts to go to work—not nearly enough to override how on edge he is because of the situation with his wife, but enough for you to work with. “We both know this isn’t about territory, Fitzgerald-san. Let’s start this off right; tell me what you’re really here for, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

Fitzgerald’s subordinates share a look with one another, and Fitzgerald himself does not seem keen on answering your question. Interesting, you think, what’s so important that it makes him hesitate even under these circumstances? This is something big, it has to be, especially if Dazai heard correctly and Dostoevsky is involved—that man only ever gets involved with conflicts that have high stakes that he knows he can win, and that doesn’t bode well for you. 

“It is about territory to some extent,” Fitzgerald finally says, resigned. When you narrow your eyes, he shakes his head and continues. “We’re looking for something here in Yokohama. So yes, we were trying to get a foothold in the city so we would have an easier time looking.”

What?

You can feel both Piano Man and Chuuya give you a sharp look, but you keep your gaze trained on Fitzgerald. Your mind races trying to figure out what he means by this, but you just don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together. You need to press for more. 

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

Fitzgerald stares at you, lips pressed together, expression cold and conflicted. You stare right back, unrelenting. After a few moments, he shakes his head and says, “A book.”

“A book?” you echo. 

“A book,” Fitzgerald confirms. “A reality altering book.”

“What?” Piano Man asks sharply, unable to help himself. You give him a look from the corner of your eye—only the two people sitting in the central seats are supposed to speak during negotiations, but you honestly can’t blame him, because you don’t fully understand what Fitzgerald just said to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly. “A reality altering book here in Yokohama? Where did you hear this from? How do you know it’s real?” 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky of the House of the Dead-” You almost roll your eyes. Of course, it’s him. You’re glad you decided to go with the route you did now. “-approached me about it. It’s something that I simply can’t let pass me by… my daughter…”

Fitzgerald’s face twists in pain; you almost feel bad for everything you’ve done with Zelda. Almost. His two subordinates—Twain and James—lower their gaze to the table, frowning. After a few moments of silence, and carefully constructing a question to figure out if this ‘reality altering book’ might be real’, you speak again.

“And how do you know this book is real? I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t start a full blown war over what could just be a wild goose hunt, what makes you think this thing actually exists?” 

“James was with me when I spoke to Dostoevsky, his ability allows him to decipher whether or not someone is lying. More than that, I’ve seen the Book at work,” Fitzgerald says. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise at his words, more so at the fact that he doesn’t seem to be lying. “Dostoevsky… he has one page of this Book. To prove its ability, and to secure an alliance with the Order of the Clocktower and the Guild, he used a section of it. The Book is real, I was promised a page of it to bring my daughter back if I helped Dostoevsky retrieve it.”

What the fuck. 

You stare at Fitzgerald, careful to keep any emotion off your face even though you’re full of turmoil on the inside. If there’s even a chance that Fitzgerald is telling the truth and there’s now a reality altering Book at play, and not only that, if Dostoevsky already has a page of it, that changes everything. There’s no telling what has or has not been altered, the entire truth of this reality is at question. How much damage could be done with a single page? How does it work? There’s too many variables. 

It might not even be real, you think, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Dostoevsky is notoriously manipulative, there’s always a chance that he manufactured the existence of this book to get Fitzgerald and Christie to do his dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled something like that—he could’ve used someone else’s ability to make it seem like the page of the Book altered reality to ‘prove it’ to the two other leaders… but somehow you have a feeling that might not be the case. 

“What does the Book have to do with the weretiger you put the bounty on?” you ask. 

You’re starting to feel a bit anxious—this is way more than you anticipated, and there’s so many bad implications that you almost feel overwhelmed, but now’s not the time to let it get to you. You need to focus, you can’t afford to shut down. You need to understand what’s happening before finishing up this negotiation, especially now that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie are seemingly involved. 

“We were told that the weretiger is essential in finding the Book,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “I wasn’t told more than that. I intended on getting my hands on him to figure out why.”

Atsushi doesn’t know anything about this Book. The first thing you did when you got ahold of him was interrogate him for any reason the Guild might’ve put so high of a bounty on his head. Your mind drifts back to Dazai’s theory—that maybe the tiger is a separate consciousness, maybe the tiger knows something about the Book, but you’re not going to voice your theories now. You’ll talk about it with Chuuya and Piano Man later.

“I see,” you say with a thin smile. “How enlightening.”

“Where’s my wife?” Fitzgerald asks again. “I told you everything you want, I-”

“I didn’t promise to give you your wife back if you answered my questions,” you tell him dryly, tone a bit mocking. “That’s twice now. You’d think you would learn.”

You almost commend Fitzgerald for not instantly snapping at you. He stares at you, expression tight and voice strained as he speaks, “Tell me what you want for my wife. Enough of this.”

You watch him listlessly for a few moments, trying to decide if there’s any more pressing information that you should get for him. You’ll have a chance later, but you need to figure out if there’s anything more that might affect the plan you’ve concocted with Tolstoy and Repin. You don’t think there is, and you have to be careful with what you say anyway considering the human lie detector is sitting right next to Fitzgerald, so after a hesitation that lasts too long for Fitzgerald’s comfort, you finally give him your answer.

“How many of your subordinates are aware of Dazai’s existence?”

“Just the three of us,” Fitzgerald replies. Your eyes narrow, so he continues, “I didn’t want it to get out to Dostoevsky. I was worried he would capitalize on the situation before I could. These two were only made aware because they were the ones I had bring him in.”

“Is that so?” you ask coolly. “And which one was the one that left the massive bruise on the side of his face?” 

You don’t get a response, you don’t expect to, but you do catch the way that both glance at the man sitting on the left—Henry James. Your gaze slides from the man over to the far right corner where Akutagawa is standing; Klaus is in the far left one, but Akutagawa will be more brutal if you let him off his leash for this, and you want him to suffer. The boy catches your gaze and gives an imperceptible nod, acknowledging your silent request.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say even though you’ve gotten your answer. “I’ll release Zelda to you, but there’s one non-negotiable condition to it.”

“Tell me it,” Fitzgerald demands. “I’ll do it.”

You lean back in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you study him for a moment, and then you tell him, “You’ll meet with a friend of mine. He has an ability that allows him to alter memories. All memories of Dazai will be removed.”

The room goes silent at once. The redhead, Twain, stiffens in his seat and casts a justifiably wary look toward Fitzgerald who looks caught off guard by the request. You imagine that he probably assumed you would demand he stops working with Dostoevsky and leaves Yokohama. You don’t need to demand that, because that will come as soon as Repin does his job… but Fitzgerald doesn’t know that, of course. 

“How do I know you won’t mess with other things in my head? That you’ll only remove those memories?” Fitzgerald asks tightly.

Originally, you planned on lying and telling him that Repin’s ability didn’t have the power to do anything more than memory removal, but you can’t do that with Henry James sitting next to Fitzgerald, so you're forced to pivot.

You shrug and say, “You’ll have to trust me not to.”

Fitzgerald stares at you, and it feels like hours even though it’s only been a few passing seconds, but when he speaks, you feel as though you’ve won. 

“Fine,” Fitzgerald agrees, expression pinched and conflicted, swallowing thickly. “Fine.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile when you realize he’s decided to trust you—not that there was much of a choice for him if he ever wanted to see his wife again. 

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

“So… uh,” a white-haired boy says awkwardly as soon as Dazai settles in the car next to him. A girl with black hair dressed in a red kimono sits on the other side of him, back stiff and expression eerily blank as she watches Dazai—she doesn’t blink, hardly breathes, Dazai is almost unnerved. “Don’t mind Kyouka. She takes our missions… really seriously, and you’re our mission right now, so…”

“I’m your mission?” Dazai asks dryly, sighing as he rests his head against the head rest, careful to not touch either of the teens sitting next to him. God, he’s tired of being around people, he just wants to curl up in bed. Preferably with you. 

“Mhm.” He nods his head a bit too enthusiastically. “Boss told us to make sure you get to her apartment. We’re gonna stay with you until she gets there.”

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

Evidently, it shows on his face because the boy cringes in on himself and says, “We’ll leave you be, I’m sure you’ve had an, uh, exhausting past two weeks. You won’t even know we’re there. Promise.”

Dazai side eyes him, noticing the way the boy stares ahead embarrassed as if contemplating all of the words he just spoke. He looks… normal for the most part—not like the girl sitting on Dazai’s other side, definitely not like that emo Akutagawa that trails after you like a lost dog, and certainly not like that unhinged brat Klaus who follows you around.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asks for a few moments, sparing the kid from his own thoughts. The kid looks at him startled as if he didn’t expect Dazai to willingly speak to him. “Well?”

“Ah-” he splutters out and then smiles a bit. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Just Atsushi is fine though. It’s nice to finally meet you, y’know, without the others around.” 

He lets out an awkward laugh and Dazai recalls the last time he saw the boy—he was with the other two outside of your building when Dazai first got the blackmail on you. Of the three of them, he seemed the most nervous. He’s met both Klaus and Akutagawa since then, unfortunately, but never him.

“That’s Kyouka-chan, by the way. She’s not much for conversation, but she’s great. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly the best situation, and boss has me training all the time to try to learn better control over my ability, and Kyouka’s always on missions for Kouyou-san so you probably haven’t met her yet.”

Dazai nods, although he’s not fully paying attention. “What’s your ability?” he asks absently, wishing he was sitting at the window so he could at least distract himself with the passing buildings. 

“I can, uh, turn into a tiger. I can’t control when though,” Atsushi explains, tossing Dazai a sheepish smile. “That’s why I’m always training. I need to be able to control it without relying on boss or, uh, the collar.”

“You’re the weretiger,” Dazai realizes, glancing at Atsushi and then down to the collar around his neck. He can’t tell from first glance what exactly it does, but before he can figure it out, the boy is speaking again.

“She’s mentioned me?” Atsushi leans forward, eyes wide. “What did she say? Did she say anything about how my training is going? She’s been so busy, I haven’t really been able to get any feedback from her, but I’ve made some progress with controlling my transformations… Kind of.”

“Uh,” Dazai says smartly. Weak-hearted, too soft, not fit for the Mafia. Atsushi's smile starts to drop, so Dazai quickly adds, “Yeah, she has. She’s noticed all of the work you’ve been doing. She’s impressed.”

Atsushi frowns and side eyes Dazai. “She’s never impressed with anything. You don’t need to lie.”

Dazai grimaces and decides not to argue. Instead, he asks, “How did you end up with the Port Mafia?”

“Oh, ah… it’s a long story,” Atsushi says, laughing awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I lived at an orphanage, but I got kicked out because there wasn’t enough food. Or well, actually it was probably because I was attacking people when I turned into a tiger at night. But it was for the best anyway! And, well, I ended up here in Yokohama, and I guess at night when I transformed, I started attacking Port Mafia warehouses. So boss sent Klaus and Akutagawa to, uh, kill me, I guess. Or capture me, maybe, for the bounty. I’m not sure now that I think about it; it felt like they wanted to kill me, but they’re both also always trying to kill everything, it’s just their natural state. But I wasn’t tiger-me when they got there, I was me-me, so they brought me back to her… um, and then I talked to her for a bit and she told me about the bounty, and then she fought the other executives to not hand me over to the Guild, and now I’m here.”

Dazai stares at Atsushi. “Wow,” he replies blandly. “Quite the story.” 

Atsushi flushes. “You asked,” he accuses, scowling at Dazai and looking away.

“Yes, very narrative, ten out of ten story-telling skills,” Dazai says with a simpering smile. He notices the stone-faced Kyouka’s lips curl up as she looks out the window, as if trying to hide it, so he considers it a win, even if Atsushi gives him an outraged look. “What?”

“We can’t all be literature majors, some of us spent our entire lives in an orphanage only to be kidnapped by the Mafia as soon as we got out,” Atsushi hisses, face still pink as he pointedly looks away from Dazai. 

“Actually, I’m a creative writing and classics double major if we’re being specific,” Dazai corrects with a sweet smile. “... How did you even know that?” 

Atsushi clicks his tongue and side-eyes Dazai. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Dazai squints at Atsushi, a bit insulted. “Where do you think I heard it from?”

You, Dazai realizes, lips curling up a little instinctively. He wonders how much you talk about him—Atsushi isn’t the first to throw in his face that he’s supposed to be smart. Klaus did when he first met Dazai outside your building, Chuuya has too. He imagines you must brag about him, and it makes Dazai’s chest feel warm and bubbly because he’s never had someone brag about him before. Never.

“You make her happy, y’know,” Atsushi says quietly. He’s not looking at Dazai, opting to stare out the window instead. “She’s… not as… Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You can’t just say that,” Dazai complains, interested in knowing what Atsushi was about to say about you, but the boy seals his lips shut and stares out the window. Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Hime is not as cruel as she pretends to be,” Dazai startles at the voice of a young girl, almost forgetting that Kyouka is on his opposite side. “She looks out for everyone, but doesn’t let anyone look out for her. Acts like she doesn’t care so no one cares about her, but she does. A lot. Ane-san worries about her, I can tell.”

Atsushi nods. “When she found out everything that… happened at the orphanage, she had the whole staff removed and replaced them. Made sure what happened to me didn’t happen to anyone else,” he says quietly, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Dazai isn’t sure what happened at the orphanage, but he doubts it was anything good. 

“Hime and Ane-san helped me figure out the truth of what happened to my parents,” Kyouka agrees softly. “Ane-san couldn’t have gotten the files without her help.”

“And she’s done stuff for Klaus and Akutagawa too,” Atsushi adds, “but she won’t let anyone else help her with anything. Not me, not Klaus or Akutagawa. Hardly even Executive Nakahara. She relies on you though, I think a lot more than she realizes… she’s not been good the past few weeks.”

Dazai’s expression drops, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor of the car. He’s wondered while he’s been captured how you might be doing. When he got really in his head, he imagined that you were doing perfectly fine without him, didn’t even care that he was gone. He thinks maybe he would’ve preferred that than to know that you haven’t been doing well, he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that you were hurting because of him and his stupid decisions.

He’ll just have to make it up to you, he decides. He’ll make it up to you once everything has calmed down. But how? He can’t buy you nice things like you do for him because he’s broke. If he tries to take you out somewhere to eat (not that he can even afford it), you wouldn’t let him pay the bill. Maybe… maybe he could show you what he’s been working on for his poetry workshop.

His face flames up at the thought, pushing it away immediately.

No, he’ll think of something else.

“Why is your face all red?” Kyouka suddenly asks, eyes sharp as she stares at him. “Are you ill? Did they poison you before releasing you? Look at me, I can call Doc-”

“I’m fine,” Dazai bristles, flustered. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Kyouka looks unconvinced, reaching forward to try to press her hand to Dazai’s forehead. Dazai leans back, almost into Atsushi, who yelps and worms away from him.

“Stop that,” he hisses, grateful when the car rolls to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your building. Dazai is climbing over a protesting Atsushi and pushing open the door before the car has even fully stopped. “Thank god.”

He almost trips and falls, foot catching on Atsushi’s leg as he stumbles out of the car. He ignores Atsushi and Kyouka rushing to scramble after him as he rushes into the building. He’s too eager to be back in your apartment, he has every intention of getting up there and locking himself in your bedroom until you get back. 

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

It’s almost too surreal for him to believe. He’d just about come to terms with the fact that he was never going to see you again, that his fate was in that cold and ugly room the Guild had him trapped in, but now he’s moments away from being back in the familiarity of your apartment. 

Moments away from being home. 

In a few hours, when you��re back, he’ll be able to curl up in your arm, he’ll be able to hear your voice, he’ll be able to be with you. He just wants to be with you. And he will be. Soon, he-

Dazai freezes when he takes a few steps into the lobby of your building and feels the muzzle of a gun press to his lower back. His eyes widen and he hears Atsushi and Kyouka skid to a stop a few steps behind him. He swallows thickly, realizing while he’d been lost in thought, he’d also lost track of his surroundings. 

There’s a group of unfamiliar people in the lobby of your building, all armed and all wearing strange collars around their necks. Not like the one Atsushi wears, these ones are large metal ones with a gem implanted in the middle. Your doorman, an older man named Hinata who Dazai has become acquainted with over the past two months, lays dead on top of his desk, hand still reaching out for his phone. 

“Who-”

“Shhh,” an equally unfamiliar voice says dismissively. It’s nasally and grating to the ears, Dazai already knows this man is going to be a piece of work. “Don’t speak, I want to get this done and over with.”

“Ace,” Atsushi shouts angrily. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him.”

“No can do, weretiger,” the same man, Ace, drawls. “On orders from the Boss. I suggest you step out of the way, I was told he needed to be alive… but anyone that tried… well, you see what happened to old man Hinata over here. Never liked him, thought because he answered directly to our precious hime that he was something special. He wasn’t. Neither are the two of you, so get out of the way so I can complete my mission, yeah? Yeah. Good.”

Atsushi and Kyouka don’t verbally respond, but they don’t need to. Kyouka seemingly responds well enough from the sound of her katana being drawn, Dazai wants to turn around to look, but the gun against his lower back stops him. He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to cry, of course things couldn’t be this easy. He should’ve known better.

Ace clicks his tongue and Dazai still can’t see him, but he can tell just from the mocking tone he uses that the man must have a really punchable face. “Careful, Kyouka-chan, you won’t be the only one getting in trouble for going against the boss’s direct orders. Little hime and Kouyou-san will face the consequences for your disobedience too. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Kyouka-chan, it’s okay,” Dazai says, voice deceptively even. “It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but if they’re not going to kill Dazai on the spot, then he can safely assume that they want something from him. That means he’ll have time to stall. Enough time for you to finish up the negotiations and get here. 

“But-”

“You heard it from the man himself,” Ace sings, forcing Dazai to turn around to walk right back the way he came. “Swords down and claws away, kids, and step over to the side so my men can make sure you don’t go and let our shining star know what’s happening too early, alright? Let’s give her time to handle things with the Guild so we don’t have to worry about those irritating Americans anymore.”

Dazai was right. Ace’s face is extremely punchable, and his hands twitch at his side when the man has the nerve to give Dazai a very smug smirk. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to knock that girl off her high horse for a long time. Longer than you can imagine,” he says wistfully. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to do it. Get moving.”

“She’s gonna kill you,” Dazai says quietly.

“And disobey a direct order from the Boss?” Ace mocks. “You must not know her as well as you thought you did. She’s like a loyal hound to that man. A real bitch if I do say so myself.”

Dazai’s body moves before he actually processes the words, arm shooting out and fist cracking against the man’s jaw hard. Dazai is almost proud of himself as he watches Ace crumple to the ground, groaning, realizing that even after all of this time, he can at least somewhat remember the self-defense lessons that Odasaku forced Dazai to take part in. Though he doesn’t have much time to bask in his pride, because for the second time in less than a month, his head is bashed in by a baton and he crumples to the ground hard.

Shit, he thinks, pain coursing through him as his vision starts to go black. This is bad. This is-

—

“Is it done?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Repin says, holding up his hand as he swiftly walks past you. “I have paintings to create. Too many memories are flooding my head right now, if I have to see that moron you call a boyfriend for longer than I have to, I will gouge my eyes out.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Don’t forget our deal,” Repin shouts as he leaves the room. “I’ll be cashing in on it. Those additions you asked for were not easy work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. “Go do what you need to do.”

Chuuya looks concerned. “Deal?” he demands. “What deal?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh, shaking your head and turning your gaze back to the one-way glass showing the room that Twain and Fitzgerald are sitting in.

The two are chatting with one another, oblivious to what just happened to them. Repin told you to give it a few minutes before going in, let their brain adjust to the new memories he implanted, but you’re impatient. You want to finish things up here so you can get to Dazai. You miss him desperately already—the few seconds you were able to hold him in your arms were simply not enough. Each passing minute without him now is agonizing.

Before you can spiral deeper into your thoughts, the doors to the room behind you open. Akutagawa and Klaus step into the room—an impassive look on the former’s face, as if his coat isn’t dripping blood onto the ground beneath him, and the latter has a wild smile on his face and an even wilder look in his eyes. Akutagawa evidently allowed the other boy to partake in the bloodshed considering Klaus’s face is smeared with an equally disturbing amount of blood.

“It has been done,” Akutagawa announces, raising his chin. “Henry James was killed.”

“Really fucking brutally too,” Klaus interjects with a laugh that almost disconcerts you. “Wanna come see?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Call the clean up crews.”

Klaus visibly pouts at your words, but Akutagawa nods and pulls out his phone, taking a step away. You turn your attention back to the room, lips pressed together. It’s… odd almost—Fitzgerald and Twain talk casually, not knowing that the negotiation that took place between the two of you even happened, not knowing that 

Not odd—scary. 

You’ve encountered all types of abilities before. Chuuya and Akutagawa have two of the most lethal abilities you’ve ever come across. Klaus’s ability has always disconcerted you with the way it takes and takes and takes from the boy, knowing that someday it would consume him entirely. There was a child you once met with an ability kind of like yours—a type of mental manipulation triggered by physical harm to the user that ravaged the human psyche with hallucinations; they couldn’t control their ability, couldn’t even stop it at their own will, so you had to have them killed. Ayatsuji Yukito, the notorious Homicide Detective that the Special Division has recently leashed, concerns you because the man could kill just about everyone you care about with minimal effort if he’s ever brought into Yokohama to investigate the Port Mafia.

But this is different. Repin’s ability alters the mind so fundamentally that you don’t even know your mind has been altered. That scares you. It scares you almost as much as the prospect of that reality altering book Fitzgerald mentioned. The idea that one person could completely manufacture your perceived reality and you’d have no idea…

It scares you.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asks quietly as Akutagawa and Klaus leave the room to direct the cleaning crew to wherever they butchered Henry James. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Just want to be back at my apartment.”

“Soon,” Chuuya tells you, nudging your shoulder. “You wanna go in and talk to them now?”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Go for it. I’m gonna head up to the conference room. Mori wants to see us after you’re done here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to see Osamu first,” you mutter. “I need to make sure he’s okay before…”

Before getting back into all of this bullshit. You just need to spend ten minutes with him before doing anything else. Ten minutes. Even though he’s back, and you know he’s safe, you watched him get into the car with Kyouka and Atsushi… you’re still on edge. You don’t know why, but you’re still on edge.

Chuuya nods. “I’ll cover for you,” he promises. “Now go finish things here.”

You don’t say anything else, sighing as you make your way over to the door. You wrap your fingers around the door handle, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts. You already know what you’re going to say—you’ve scripted it out, rehearsed it a hundred times. You’ve gone over information with Repin dozens of times to make sure everything is ironed out. 

You know what you’re going to say, you just have to say it, and then you can go see Dazai.

With that thought in mind, you push open the door to the room where the two Guild members are waiting for, making sure the smile on your face is warm and inviting while amping up your ability just enough for it to have a physical effect on them. The tenseness in their shoulders eases, and Fitzgerald rises to his feet with a small smile. 

“Ah, Miss Mori-” God, being called that makes your skin crawl. You can’t remember the last time someone actually referred to you that way—you even prefer hime to it. You have to make an effort to not let the irritation show on your face as Fitzgerald continues speaking, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Fitzgerald-san,” you greet lightly, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it firmly and you add, “I wish it didn’t have to be under the circumstances.”

Fitzgerald grimaces as he nods and takes a step back. “Yes,” he agrees, voice low. “My wife. You have her?” 

“I do,” you tell him, taking a seat next to him. “She’s… not doing well.” 

This is a more casual setting, a sitting room in one of the central building’s higher levels—a few couches set up in the center of the room around a coffee table, a window overlooking the city and a bar on the opposite side of the room. Twain lounges back in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room by the window while Fitzgerald sits closer to you. You chose this setting on purpose: it’s more intimate, less official than a negotiation room. 

More like a meeting between friends than enemies, which is exactly what this has become with Repin’s meddling. 

Fitzgerald sighs and looks away, lashes fluttering. “I feared that would be the case,” he murmurs. “How bad is it?”

You give him a small, sympathetic smile as an answer and Fitzgerald inhales sharply, rubbing his hand across his lower face, forehead creased in worry. 

“I should’ve known better than to deal with Dostoevsky,” he sighs, despondence lacing his tone. “I was warned, but…”

“Many have made the mistake of falling for his charms,” you say quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Good, you start to become a bit more comfortable. Repin pulled through. If all went according to plan, Fitzgerald should believe that Dostoevsky was the one to have Zelda kidnapped, and the Port Mafia was able to intercept. You’ve spent the past few hours tying up all the loose ends—Tolstoy handled the security cameras in New York, you the ones here in Yokohama, there’s no physical evidence left of Tolstoy’s involvement in Zelda’s kidnapping and you’ve ensured rumors have already started spreading about Fitzgerald reneging on his alliance with Dostoevsky and Christie by withholding information. You don’t need to whisper anything else, the entire world knows that Fyodor Dostoevsky does not take treachery lightly, the assumptions will be made on their own. 

“I can when my wife is on the line because of it,” Fitzgerald snaps, and then lets out another heavy breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him easily. “I understand.”

“Can I see her?” Fitzgerald finally asks hesitantly. “Or is she…”

You make sure the expression on your face is contemplative, a bit concerned and then say, “You can, but I don’t know if it will go well… Dostoevsky… he did a lot of damage to her psyche with the stories he was telling her. I’ve hardly been able to make any progress with her, I’ve only been able to convince her that I’m a friend.”

Fitzgerald grimaces and looks away. While he decides what to say, you contemplate your next move. You have Lippmann ready to bring Zelda into the room; you know that she won’t take the sight of Francis kindly, you’ve ensured that much. Zelda Fitzgerald’s mind has been all but shattered even without the use of your ability. But if Fitzgerald insists on taking her with him, which there’s a good chance he will, you’ll lose some very critical leverage over the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever manages to unravel the memories Repin has woven into his mind, it’ll leave the Port Mafia vulnerable to a full blown war with the Guild without a hostage in hand. 

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

“I want to see her,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “Please.”

You nod and glance down at your phone to shoot a text to Lippmann. You’ll only have a few seconds before he walks through the door with Zelda, but you’ll have to figure out your exact approach once you see how visceral her reaction is to Fitzgerald. Though you know it'll be bad, if it’s not bad enough, you won’t be able to convince Fitzgerald that she needs your help. 

The door to the room cracks open and Fitzgerald is on his feet in a second, holding his breath as Lippmann steps in, holding the door open for the fragile woman. His blue eyes are glittering with amusement as he catches your gaze, and you find yourself relaxing, realizing he must’ve been able to get her worked up before leading her in here.

You lean back in your seat, folding your hands in your lap, settling in to watch the show about to unfold. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for it to begin.

Zelda freezes in the door frame as soon as her eyes fall on Fitzgerald. You watch the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen and the way her pupils dilate. She mouths the word ‘no’ before speaking it, shaking her head slowly.

“Honey,” Fitzgerald whispers, taking a step forward, but Zelda takes a step back as soon as he does. “Honey.”

“Stay away from me.” Zelda’s voice breaks over the words, lips visibly trembling as she presses her back against the door frame. She looks like she’s on the verge of fleeing, but Albatross’s sudden presence in the door stops her. “Stay away. You lied to me. You lied. Frances… our daughter, my daughter, you…”

“What?” Fitzgerald breathes out, brows furrowing in confusion. “Zelda, honey, what are you talking about? I don’t-”

“You lied,” Zelda cries, voice rising. “You lied to me. You took my daughter from me, get him away from me, get him away! I don’t want to see him, I don’t-”

Zelda is hyperventilating, hardly breathing properly, eyes wide, wet and watery. You nod at Lippmann, and the man leads her out of the room. It’s quiet once she’s gone—your gaze sweeps across the room, Twain looks sick from where he’s sitting stiffly in the chair he’d been lounging in and Fitzgerald, the powerful leader of the Guild, looks crushed, ashen as he takes a shaky step backward to sit back down.

To his credit, he still tries to keep himself put together. You can tell from the way his breaths are robotically even and his fingers are trembling in his lap. You watch him for a few seconds before reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to help her,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I’ve been told you know what my ability is, is that true?”

You know that it is, you were careful to make sure that Repin didn’t disturb any of those memories. You figured it could help you in convincing him to let you keep Zelda if he thought you could undo the damage ‘Dostoevsky’ had done. 

“I don’t want you messing with my wife’s head,” Fitzgerald spits out. “That Russian bastard has done enough damage.”

“Of course not,” you agree amiably. “That’s not what I mean. I can use my ability to keep people at ease. Every other hour she’s going into violent fits of hysteria… tries hurting herself, I-”

Fitzgerald lets out a sharp breath, looking away. “What did he tell her?” he asks, voice wavering. “She mentioned Frances. I-”

“From what I was able to gather, she seems to think your daughter is alive and you helped her… escape to a foreign country to live out her life away from Zelda,” you say, watching Fitzgerald’s face twist in distress and frustration as he buries his face in his hands. “I can release her to you, if that’s what you want, but-”

“You can help her?” Fitzgerald demands, looking at you. His eyes are red and glassy but his face is tight. He seems to be doing his best to not fall apart until you’re gone, but his self control is wavering the more he hears about Zelda. 

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

Here’s your chance. You can’t mess it up.

“When Zelda is having those… hysterical fits, she’s impossible to reason with and can’t settle down on her own. I’ve only been using my ability to calm her down so I can speak with her. It’s taking a lot of time, but since I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a friend, I think I’ll be able to make progress in convincing her that Dostoevsky's lies were just that—lies. It’ll be… tenuous, definitely won’t be a smooth path, but I think, with time, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Will there be any side effects to you using your ability to calm her down?” he questions, watching you carefully.

“Nothing major,” you say honestly. “In the future, she’ll probably feel instinctually more relaxed around me—her brain will just associate me with being at ease, so even if I’m not actively using my ability, it’ll still reflect that way, but no lasting effects.”

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

“Help her. Please,” he says, voice raspy. “When Dostoevsky comes to Yokohama, you’ll have the Guild’s support in dealing with him. I swear it. Just help my wife.”

Wow, you think, almost unnerved by how well this worked out. You have Dazai back, you managed to keep Zelda, and you turned the Guild against Dostoevsky. You can’t help but feel like there’s going to be some sort of catch, or that it’s going to backfire. It would track considering how poor your luck has recently been. But for now, you roll with it and hope for the best. You'll start preparing for the worst after you’ve been able to spend a few days with Dazai. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” you say, rising to your feet and giving Fitzgerald a small smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll have one of my men wait outside to escort you back to the lobby when you’re ready.”

Fitzgerald thanks you, and you finally turn to leave, ready to see Dazai. You just need fifteen minutes with him before you go off to your meeting with the other executives. You need to see him, hold him, talk to him. Need to make sure this isn’t all some cruel, elaborate trick your mind has played on you before heading into another exhausting meeting. 

Klaus, Akutagawa and Albatross are waiting outside for you. Albatross parts his lips to speak but you shake your head, not wanting to risk saying anything until you’re well out of ear shot of this room, just in case. They follow you to the elevator, and it’s only once the doors close that Albatross bursts into laughter.

“You’re one evil bitch,” Albatross snickers. “Fucking that woman’s head up just to play the hero? That’s messed up even for you, doll. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you toss a wink at Albatross. “I’ll sleep just fine tonight with Dazai in my bed.”

“Gross,” Albatross complains, rolling his eyes. “No, but really. This was one big play—less than two hours and we’ve managed to totally turn the tables. Crazy. What exactly did you have Repin do besides remove their memories of your boy?” 

“Before Dazai went back to my apartment, he told me that the Guild was working with Dostoevsky,” you explain as the elevator gets to the lobby. Albatross walks at your side, Klaus and Akutagawa trailing behind the two of you as you make your way out of the building to walk across the property to your building. “I already intended on using Dostoevsky and Nabokov as scapegoats, but this made it a lot easier. Fitzgerald was withholding information from him-”

“Everyone knows that bastard doesn’t let disloyalty slide,” Albatross grins sharply. “Of course he’d retaliate.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “I had Repin twist the situation. Made them believe that Dostoevsky was the one that had Zelda kidnapped, but we were able to intercept. Only Tolstoy’s executives, our executives, and my direct subordinates know the truth. Tolstoy handled CCTV in the States, we handled the ones here. If Dostoevsky tries to convince Fitzgerald that it’s not true, there’s no proof—only he said, she said—and even if he does…”

“We still have Zelda,” Albatross finishes with a sharp grin. “Evil. I can’t believe we managed to come out of that with your boy back, the Guild on our side, and the hostage still in our custody. God, I love you. You can be fucking terrifying sometimes, y’know that?” 

Your lips part to make a quip back at him as you push open the doors to your building, but the words die on your tongue as your gaze lands on what’s awaiting for you in the lobby. The first thing you see is your doorman slumped over the desk, blood dripping over the side and pooling on the ground in front of it. The next thing you see is Kyouka and Atsushi, both unconscious, needles discarded carelessly on the ground next to them.

You don’t see Dazai.

“What the fuck,” Albatross breathes out, pulling out his gun and shifting to stand in front of you. “Klaus, go check on Atsushi and Kyouka.”

Klaus and Akutagawa rush from behind you—Klaus to Kyouka and Atsushi, trying to wake the two of them up, and Akutagawa in front of you and Albatross, Rashumon at the ready. You can feel Albatross’s hand tight around your forearm, you can hear him talking but you can’t make out any word that he’s saying.

“This isn’t real,” you say flatly as you stare ahead. “This cannot be real.”

Something bubbles in your chest—you don’t know if it’s rage, distress or sheer hysteria, you think a combination of all three because although your blood is simmering, you feel your eyes misting over and a laugh about to burst from your lips because what the fuck? 

You press your hand to your mouth, hardly even registering what’s going on around you. Klaus is trying to shake Atsushi and Kyouka awake, Akutagawa is scouting out the rest of the lobby to make sure no assailants are still lingering, and Albatross is trying to get your attention but you don’t take notice of him, shaking your head, and trying to hide the way your lips are curling up into a disbelieving smile.

What a joke, you think, breath catching as you pace over to Klaus, Atsushi and Kyouka. Shit.

As soon as Atsushi’s eyes flutter open, you’re grabbing his chin and craning his neck to force him to look you in the eye. “Where is he?” you ask, voice surprisingly steady. “Where is he? What happened? Answer me, Atsushi.”

Albatross says your name and grabs your wrist to try to get you to back off, but you toss his hand right off of you. Atsushi is still out of it, not understanding what you’re asking him, but before your frustration can bubble over, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

Your hand drops from Atsushi’s face to reach into your pocket. Your fingers are stiff and clunky as you pull your phone out, and as soon as you see the name on your screen, you know. 

You don’t say anything as you answer the call and lift the phone to your ear, waiting for the person on the other line to speak first. 

“Hello, little hime,” Mori says, you can hear the smile on his lips. “Have you finished with the Guild?”

“Where is he?” you ask in response. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now,” Mori hums, sounding entirely too amused. “I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him. I can see why you like him as much as you do.”

“Everything I do for you,” you hiss, the nails of your free hand digging into your palm. “Everything I do, and this is how you repay me. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything you want, and you can’t even spare me a shred of fucking loyalty. You-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Mori sighs and your blood pressure skyrockets. “I’m doing this to protect you, as has everything I’ve ever done. You truly have no faith in me.”

“To protect me?” you shout, your throat burns and it’s a struggle to force yourself to breathe properly. You feel dizzy, a panic attack coming on, but now is not the time, you need to calm down. “You did this to protect me?”

“I did,” Mori agrees. “This boy had been lying to you for months. I had a feeling, but I wanted to confirm it before bringing anything up to you. I know you care for him. I didn’t want to unnecessarily break your heart.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you, little hime. I have to many people, but never you. He’s been lying to you about who he is… I suggest you get up here quickly.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your voice wavers this time, you can’t stop it. You can feel several sets of concerned eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet any of them. “Stop being cryptic, just spit it out.”

“The boy’s name is not Dazai Osamu, dear. It’s Tsushima Shuji.”

Your ears ring as his words slowly process through your head. Your silence is enough of an answer for Mori.

“I’ll be waiting in the conference room for you. Do get here soon.”

[nondelphic]

Hello, hope you're doing well and that I'm not bothering you. I know this blog is for relatable writing posts, and I very much do find them relatable (kudos to you), but I was wondering if I could ask for some advice. Why you? IDK, you seem like a nice person, and you do writing stuff, so I figured why not ask? You don't have to respond, but here goes:

Just, how do you get started? I have so many scenes (literally entire dang novels and story arcs) in my head that are quite vivid, I can hear the dialogue, vividly see the scene and map out everything in my head, but the second I try to put it on paper (or google doc), my brain just freezes up and shuts down, partly out of fear of not being able to do good or cringing hard at it. I know people say to just do it and get it out since a bad draft is better than nothing, but, how do you convince your brain to sit down and actually write out the scenes?

I probably kind of just answered my own question, but it would be nice to get some feedback from an internet stranger (technically speaking) who knows this sort of thing. Anyways, I hope you're doing well and that you have a good day/night :)

Do feel free to ignore this though, I don't want to be a bother.

nondelphic writing tips: overcoming the "brain freeze" when starting to write

first off, thank you for reaching out!! i feel you on the vivid mental movies that suddenly go static the second you try to write them down—this is such a common struggle, and you’re definitely not alone (ノ_<、) so here’s the thing: your brain knows what it wants to create, but perfectionism is sneaking in and hitting the brakes. it wants it to be just right before it’s even out of your head, which is a recipe for freeze mode. here are a few tricks to warm up (i hope something helps!!):

✧ start tiny

instead of aiming to write a full scene, jot down one line of dialogue or one tiny detail you see in your mind. sometimes just easing in with a line or two makes the brain relax, like “oh, we’re just dipping our toes in, not jumping into the deep end.”

✧ embrace cringe

if it helps, tell yourself that this draft will be messy, and that’s okay. i call it the “potato draft” stage—ugly but foundational. no one needs to see this stage, so just spill whatever comes. you’re capturing the vibe of your story idea, not the final masterpiece.

✧ trick the brain with “notes”

try writing scenes as if you’re just jotting “notes” or a “sketch” for later. it’s weirdly freeing and convinces your mind that it’s not permanent, making it easier to just get words out.

writing is about building up that “just write” muscle, so even if it feels clunky at first, you’re moving forward, and that’s progress! i hope this helps a bit, and sending good vibes and hugs your way (っ˘ω˘ς )

[sysig]

He deserves a bit of everything, as a treat (Patreon)

[cryptidsdad]

just realized that since we took the mattress out of the guest bedroom (so I can put my own in there once we build the bed frame) that I have nowhere to sleep tonight

[icewindandboringhorror]

Daily Log 5

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Not much, I had to run errands most of the day and also felt incredibly tired, probably because the cats woke me up like 4 times last night begging for food and things. Overly warm and headachey a lot.

I planted a few new flowers, and pressed more flowers and clovers in my Large Sturdy Flower Pressing Book as well.

Actually worked on translating the text for the previously mentioned tapestry/painting thing. I think I've decided that it doesn't really matter very much, because nobody else even knows anything about this conlang except for me, so they won't know if it's wrong lol.. It is not entirely completed after all (complete enough to translate most simple sentences into consistently, but also there are a few spots here and there where I haven't fully worked out the way some part of speech actually functions or etc., or I wrote down one thing that later contradicts something else, so occasionally I reach a sentence that I'm not sure exactly which rule to follow to translate, and I need to do a larger comprehensive organization of the document to work out all the kinks and declare officially like 'THIS is the ONE way this is done' etc. etc.) - so because of that, I think I'll just kind of 'do my best' and if the rules now end up changing in the future as I further work on the language, then, that's fine, because nobody can read it anyway lol. Kind of like that song on my side music youtube that's sung in genuine Avirrekava lyrics but also I wrote them years ago and some of the sentences have now become outdated/invalid.

Washed and cleaned some kale so it will be dry for me to maybe make silly kale chips tomorrow.

Final proofreading + posting of the poll adventure thing.

eughh,, literally nothing else.. I hate running errands because it always makes me feel drained and sick after, plus I get nothing else done all day except for just going places. I know checking my p.o. box and picking up cat food and stuff is technically still a productive action, but it just feels like.. i should be getting all of my long term projects done instead lol.. what about the videos?? or worldbuilding?? what does grocery shopping have to do with elves??!?! >:V (aside from pretending to be a group of fantasy creatures evaluating produce having an imaginary conversation with yourself at the store ghghj,, but that is not productive either lol)

Notable sights: Found 13 four leaf clovers, and 2 five leaf clovers, though one of them is almost a 6 leaf (like one of the leaves is nearly split all the way into a sort of heart shape, just not entirely). Also two of the clovers are HUGE, probably the biggest 4 leaf clovers I've ever collected, like 2 inches across maybe. The sky was very pretty a lot with big fluffy white clouds. Not a 'sight' really, but I got to sit in air conditioning for a little while today and it was very nice. I love the cold crisp kind of stale air smell, like walking into a freezer or something (which I used to do when I was a kid, I would sneak into a walk-in freezer at a school cafeteria and just sit there for a while lol), it's comforting to me.

Goals moving forward: Consistent sleep schedule. Focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with ones I have. Physical therapy exercises. Plant nasturtiums. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc. Do the new costumes I've planned. MAKE SCULPTURES at some point, I miss them.

Notable foods: Had a bit of smoked gouda and green onions in my Mandated Completely Plain Flavorless Grits For Breakfast this morning, as a littol treat lol.. Tried a 'biscoff' ice cream bar, which is generally a flavor profile I like, but I think I would usually rather be eating a cookie than having ice cream. Also an Ensure nutritional drink, which I know most people consider gross but I genuinely like them.. maybe it's like a source of comfort when my stomach is too sick to eat, like 'oh well at least I can have this cold smooth textured chalky chocolate thing' lol.

Sort of like how I have positive conditioning to feel safe/comfortable in bathrooms (due to it usually being one of the only places you can safely retreat from a social situation or get out of crowds in public areas, etc.), even though rationally I have no particular reason to like bathrooms much, and most people dislike public bathrooms especially. Fellow public bathroom and ensure nutritional shake lovers unite! (3 of us in the entire world)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[reasonsforhope]

Federal regulators on Tuesday [April 23, 2024] enacted a nationwide ban on new noncompete agreements, which keep millions of Americans — from minimum-wage earners to CEOs — from switching jobs within their industries.

The Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday afternoon voted 3-to-2 to approve the new rule, which will ban noncompetes for all workers when the regulations take effect in 120 days [So, the ban starts in early September, 2024!]. For senior executives, existing noncompetes can remain in force. For all other employees, existing noncompetes are not enforceable.

[That's right: if you're currently under a noncompete agreement, it's completely invalid as of September 2024! You're free!!]

The antitrust and consumer protection agency heard from thousands of people who said they had been harmed by noncompetes, illustrating how the agreements are "robbing people of their economic liberty," FTC Chair Lina Khan said. 

The FTC commissioners voted along party lines, with its two Republicans arguing the agency lacked the jurisdiction to enact the rule and that such moves should be made in Congress...

Why it matters

The new rule could impact tens of millions of workers, said Heidi Shierholz, a labor economist and president of the Economic Policy Institute, a left-leaning think tank. 

"For nonunion workers, the only leverage they have is their ability to quit their job," Shierholz told CBS MoneyWatch. "Noncompetes don't just stop you from taking a job — they stop you from starting your own business."

Since proposing the new rule, the FTC has received more than 26,000 public comments on the regulations. The final rule adopted "would generally prevent most employers from using noncompete clauses," the FTC said in a statement.

The agency's action comes more than two years after President Biden directed the agency to "curtail the unfair use" of noncompetes, under which employees effectively sign away future work opportunities in their industry as a condition of keeping their current job. The president's executive order urged the FTC to target such labor restrictions and others that improperly constrain employees from seeking work.

"The freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy," Khan said in a statement making the case for axing noncompetes. "Noncompetes block workers from freely switching jobs, depriving them of higher wages and better working conditions, and depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand."

Real-life consequences

In laying out its rationale for banishing noncompetes from the labor landscape, the FTC offered real-life examples of how the agreements can hurt workers.

In one case, a single father earned about $11 an hour as a security guard for a Florida firm, but resigned a few weeks after taking the job when his child care fell through. Months later, he took a job as a security guard at a bank, making nearly $15 an hour. But the bank terminated his employment after receiving a letter from the man's prior employer stating he had signed a two-year noncompete.

In another example, a factory manager at a textile company saw his paycheck dry up after the 2008 financial crisis. A rival textile company offered him a better job and a big raise, but his noncompete blocked him from taking it, according to the FTC. A subsequent legal battle took three years, wiping out his savings. 

-via CBS Moneywatch, April 24, 2024

--

Note:

A lot of people think that noncompete agreements are only a white-collar issue, but they absolutely affect blue-collar workers too, as you can see from the security guard anecdote.

In fact, one in six food and service workers are bound by noncompete agreements. That's right - one in six food workers can't leave Burger King to work for Wendy's [hypothetical example], in the name of "trade secrets." (x, x, x)

Noncompete agreements also restrict workers in industries from tech and video games to neighborhood yoga studios. "The White House estimates that tens of millions of workers are subject to noncompete agreements, even in states like California where they're banned." (x, x, x)

The FTC estimates that the ban will lead to "the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade." (x)

Clearer explanation of noncompete agreements below the cut.

Noncompete agreements can restrict workers from leaving for a better job or starting their own business.

Noncompetes often effectively coerce workers into staying in jobs they want to leave, and even force them to leave a profession or relocate.

Noncompetes can prevent workers from accepting higher-paying jobs, and even curtail the pay of workers not subject to them directly.

Of the more than 26,000 comments received by the FTC, more than 25,000 supported banning noncompetes. 

[lustlovehart]

Monster!Twst is so good

I haven’t seen the entire lore but… I’d love to cuddle with slime Azul, I’d be more interested in studying them than killing them..

Since requests are open, how would the monster boys react to you trying to study them? Like by observing their bodies and behavior, and being sweet to them.

A/n: Just like the monsters list, characters who haven’t had their species revealed yet, will stay vague to avoid spoilers! and Fellow and Skully are here too— There’s also a new rule for requests! Anything above 5 characters will be in headcanon format rather than full fics! This also, ended up being way longer than it needed to be…

Pairing: [Monster!Twst] x Reader ft, Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Cater, Trey, Leona, Jack, Ruggie, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Epel, Rook, Idia, Malleus, Sebek, Silver, Lilia, Rollo, Neige, Fellow, Skully

Warnings: Flirting (That Reader reciprocates w/o knowing), Obssesion, Posseive Traits, Reader is in their personal space, Indirect Kissing, Some are suggestive, mentions of their crimes, a lot of spelling errors, some are cheesy, Mentions of marking

Honestly, It really depends on when you try studying them. If you attempt this on your first meeting rather than later down the line, they’ll assume you’re like every other Monster Hunter who’s come after them. Out of the thousands, at least 500 of them must’ve tried studying their behaviors. Their attempts fail, as all of them don’t take very keenly to being used as guinea pigs to find more out about their species. Anyone who’s tried advancing their understanding, have disapeared without a trace.

However, If you’re you, and do this later in the line after your respective first meeting, it really depends on the monsters them self.

Those who like it/Help you

- Riddle, is actually very keen on helping you pursue your knowledge in the vast world of monsters (Only you though, anyone else ended up becoming a monster themself, or dead.) You should be more educated in this field, and truthfully, Riddle might as well be the reason why you know must of these beasts weaknesses. Though, you do find it a bit interesting he leaves details on ghosts vague. Unbeknownst to you, if anyone else was around, they would no doubt tell you he was doing it to knock out the rest of his competition much easier.

He grows a really bright red when your face is practically inches away from his unattainable physical form, which just makes it more embarrassing for him. For heavens sake, he doesn't even have an actual body for you to come close to, yet his knuckles tremble when your face is practically placed in the crook of his as your fingers ghost over his stitches. You can only feel the cold his figure provides, yet it doesn’t stop him from feeling all the warmth you exude in your fingertips alone.

“You’re very pretty when you glow Riddle.” He’s sure he would’ve died a second death at this moment if it was possible. He shoos away the thought when he sees the pure smile you grace him with. He inhales a deep breath, allowing himself to pretend to hold your hand in his, leaning his upper half forward.

“And… You don’t need to glow to be…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, quickly closing his mouth again when you’re the one who leans closer into him. “Pretty.” He doesn’t even realize the words leave his mouth, his posture straightening immediately.

Your hand leaves his own at his words, the apparition looking up in confusion at your hesitance. “That reminds me of someone…”

… That wretched monster hunter you’ve taken to calling your “one and only”.

You won’t ever notice it, but his hollow hands grip themselves so hard, he digs his nails into his palm. Something that shouldn’t be possible. It seems you cause a rage so deep, Riddles capable of transcending the rules of the after life.

- “Deuce… Please stop moving. It’s hard to do any examining while you’re squirming...” Can you blame him?! It’s really hard to stay calm while you’re practically chest to chest to him!! He can feel the warmth from your still beating heart through your skin transfer to his hollow cavity. If he thinks hard enough, he can imagine the two of you becoming one with each other, falling so deeply in love your hearts combine… Just like his mother told him. (All the more reason for you to not leave!) He understands he agreed to give his body for “education”, but it still doesn’t stop that rapid succession of panic that sets through him. If he still had running blood, he’s sure he’d be just as bright as Riddle…

His thought are further seized when he can feel your fingers intertwine around his, hushed whispers of what’s and unattainable stuttering filling the air. “You can still feel perfectly fine right? Or is it phantom pain…?”

“I… I can still feel you…— It…! I can still feel it…” He’s extremely flustered the whole time you conduct your research on him. You’re not sure why he’s so nervous… But to him, it must be so obvious why he’s freaking out…!

You encase his face in your hands, waiting for his sole eye to connect with yours. He finally stills, the hue of your pupils a comforting color in his eyes, his posture naturally relaxing.

“Calm down Deuce, I’ve barely even done anything!” You… Haven’t…?! But that felt like so much in just a minute. You release him from your grasp, slowly reaching towards the empty cavity in his chest.

His heart is exposed, just like how expressive he is with his emotions. The moment you reach out, he catches your wrist, a bone cracking grasp halting your movements.

“There’s a human here.” Those words don’t need any piecing together, but you don’t even have the chance to stop him before he leaves, a hunger in his movements. It’s… shocking how quick his countenance can go from flustering to… scary.

- Floyd run #1. The moment you mention even the slightest interest in him (his species, not him specifically, but his ears automatically drown that out.), he’s grabbing your ankle and pulling you into the water with him. His slimy tail tightly wraps around you while the sharp bone sticking out acts like armor for your bottom half. Or perhaps a cage. Works as both honestly.

Either way, your dragged to a remote beach, finally unraveled from Floyds limb, only to be pinned underneath his clawed hands on the hot sand.

“What does shrimpy wanna know then “huh~? I’ll let yah feel me up all yah want...“ You don’t know how he makes that one eye he has so intimidating, but he does, a little too well. You can’t really reply before Floyd roughly grasps your wrist, pulling your limb close to his chest and dragging your palm so you feel that cold wet skin of his. Despite how enthusiastic he is with make you touch every part of him, there’s a softness to his rough grasp. Hard enough to have you know every part of him, but soft enough to never truly hurt you. “Shrimpy should let me feel em’ up too.”

You pause, looking up at him from your spot in the sand, a goofy smile paiting his lips, as if he doesn’t eat sailors on a daily basis. That boyish grin is wiped off when he feels you place his clawed, webbed fingers on your chest.

“You’re bein’ real nice. I’ll let yah get a stab at me yeah? After that though you gotta let me eat those two Mackrel and Crabby zombies that follow you around everywhere okay~?“ he leans down from his once propped up position, his palm still laid on your beating heart as he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with a fondness undeserving on a monster.

“Absouloutely not.“

“Aww, and I thought you liked me more than those two...“ he sounds upset at the loss of a meal, but the way his tail wraps around your legs tell you he feels the exact opposite.

- Jade run #2. He’s just as, if not even more so, enthusiastic at the prospect of you researching me just like Floyd. The way he goes about it however is entirely different. While Floyd will look at you with the fondest of smiles as he practically offers himself up as sacrifice for you, Jade weirdly enough, makes you feel like you’re the one working for this research.

“You wish to know more about serpents? Then, come i’ll allow you to run those humane hands all over. Please be gentle with me.” You think you’re being gentle, slowly reaching your hands out to feel his cool skin, only for him to duck out last moment. You try again and you’re palm is met with only air, a gentleman’s smile plastered on his face.

“Oh? What’s wrong? Do you perhaps not wish to touch me? My my… and I thought you were kind.” The forced sniffles and non-existent tears he wipes from his eye serve as a reminder to who Jade is. His eye widens when he feels soft hands grip his shoulders pinning him to hot gold sand. “It seems, Floyd wasn’t lying when he said you’re fun.” his hand finds itself around your wrist, a gentle cold hold grasps itself on your skin, a shiver going down your spine at the contact. “Will you dissect me? Or perhaps you’ll eat me. If it’s the later, I do hope i’m suitable to your tastes.” at the mention of food he lifts your limb to his mouth, allowing sharp fangs to trace them self over your palm.

“You’re being weird Jade.”

“Is asking to conduct research on a living being not weird as well?” the pressure from his canines increase, at this point you won’t be surprised if blood peeks out. “Humans have an interesting tradition if not.” his words make him pause before releasing his hold on your wrist, his hand quickly flying to your neck to pull you down. “I wonder, have you researched other humans like this too?”

There’s a certain malice in his eyes, only visible if you focus extremely hard.

“No…? Why would I find other humans interesting? I’d rather be here than studying things I already know…”

He’s silent for a moment, which is almost always never a good thing. But the way he smiles with soft slitted eyes at your answer tells you he must be satisfied.

- Kalim is so happy telling you about him! If you think about it, it’s like you’re a couple talking about your day! (It’s really not considering he’s describing all the heinous wishes people have asked him to grant.)

The moment he opens his mouth to describe everything he knows about Genies, he pauses before sagging down into you.

He actually… Doesn’t know very much… Jamil is the one who always keeps record of this stuff, so he doesn’t know very much about himself. But…! He can’t just let Jamil tell you all about him! He’s not trying to be mean but, he wants to be the one who teaches you, not Jamil!

He’s quick to perk up at the first thought that comes to mind. He’ll get you to talk about yourself first! So while you’re telling him about yourself, he can think about Genie facts.

“Do Genies—”

“What’s your favorite food?!” This plan backfires when he completely forgets the “Genie facts” part and is too absorbed in knowing you better. By the time you’re finished and finally resume this interview of yours, he’s quick to remember his lack of answer.

He’ll laugh it off with ease though, just telling you if you wish for it, he’ll grant it. (Please wish for it so then he can answer you…!)

“I’m… good…” He’ll repeatedly ask you if you’re sure, if you don’t want him to grant all your wishes. (He has broken the 3 wish limit multiple times for you. You’re not sure how he does it, but he does.)

“Y’know what, I’ll try asking Jamil okay?” You’re under the impression Kalim will agree to this idea. You’re quickly proven wring when Kalim blocks your path and insists he’ll remember something! Just… Don’t rely on Jamil this time, Kalim wants to be the one you depend on for once.

- Sometimes you have the sneaking suspicion Rook is studying you instead of the other way around... Touches that start out as expermientations turn into lingering grazes from Rook, who can’t seem to let go of your hand. It’s even worse if you’re in a dimly lit area, with the shadows that surround you two practically suffocating. You’re assured that this darkness is Rook’s overwhelming... Affection... At play.

“Amour, it’s okay! Allow me to show you all of me.” His shadowed fingers gently intertwined with your own, his eyes glowing a bright green in the dark of night, quickly shitting them when he begins his monologue “Truly…! To be bare in front of each other is the truest form of beauty…” you get that Rooks certainly eccentric, but you didn’t expect him to be this ecstatic.

Through the window, the light of the moon slightly peaks through the glass, cutting the shade that adorns your body and illuminating your features in a pretty white. “To be a beast you wish to know so intimately… Maqnifique…!—“ he finally opens those glowing eyes of his to gaze at your sitting form, finally noticing the pretty shine the moon gives you.

For once, Rook isn’t talking about beauty. He’s only staring at you in silence, his eyes wide with a hunger. It’s like… he’s gluttonous with the visage of you, greedily consuming the sight into his memory. He finally breaks out of his stupor when he leans down, touching his forehead to your own with a gentleness unbecoming for the shadow monster. You’re left to stare deep into his olive pupils, letting his fingers brush against your cheek.

“My, have you noticed how dirty you are trickster?” When he finishes wiping the soil from your face, he remains still, not moving his forehead away from yours in the slightest.

“Well, I ran through the forest so…”

“Even with grime on you, there’s a beauty held in that sight.” You’re too absorbed in his eyes, in his words, to notice the way tendrils of shadows curl around your waist, a gentle hold gripping you. “I’m sure whatever filth covers you, i’ll never be able to take my eyes off you, never.”

You believe his sweet words, those whispers of adoration serving as a confidence booster for yourself.

But… You can’t help but worry about him always watching you.

- Malleus tilts his head at you. He... Doesn’t get it. Is this a humans courting ritual? Why are you insistent on practically sitting over him for “research“. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like it, if anything he’ll be a bit too forward with his enjoyment at this development of you on him, yet he still doesn’t know why you need too.

Even though he doesn’t really get it, he’ll still gladly lend you his entirety for you to satiate your curiosity. In return, he’d like to examine you too. Waking up to cold stone leaning over you is certainly a scary sight, glowing moss staring down into your soul as Malleus moves even closer to your once slumbering form.

“Malleus? What are you doing…?”

“You called it research.” You look up at him, a sigh leaving your throat before sitting up, tired eyes piercing through that stone exterior. Your bed creaks at the shift in weight, more drastically than usual considering a being of pure stone, who’s also very tall, is perched on your mattress.

“So, you wanna research me?” He blinks a few times before admitting that he does. He wants to know how intimate this is, surely this studying doesn’t call for the proximity you always commit when studying him, or even the watchful eye you have whenever he’s going about his day. Malleus isn’t a fool, far from it, he’s not naive. He understands the general consensus with finding knowledge, he’s just unsure if the way you do it, is more personal.

In truth, he wants to know if you research the other monsters who are utterly enchanted by you, the same way. If that’s the case… He’s not quite sure if anyone, including you, will be capable of quenching the rage that will sure from his castle. He’s sure the entire world will suffer the wrath he’ll release.

These thoughts disperse when your fingers trace the patterns on his horns with a tenderness he’s not familiar with. All the more reason to be addicted to your touch. He leans into your warmth on instinct, closing his eyes as the stone of his body visibly relaxes despite its solidity. You pause when Malleus opens his eyes again, a firmness in his voice that’s entirely different from the softness he just displayed.

“Do you touch the others like this too?”

“Uhm… I kinda have to if I wanna know more about them—“ A boom of lightning cracks the window to your side, glass shattering all over the space. Your skin is only narrowly avoided due to Malleus’s swift shielding of your body, your skin feeling cold hard stone.

“I see.”

- Lilia practically jumps on you instead of vice versa, letting you examine each part of him up close and personal. Occasionally he’ll chuckle and ask you if you’re enjoying this lesson in anatomy. If you tilt your head at him in confusion, he’ll smile before scooping you into his arms with his incredibly small stature that’s unfit to carry such a load, and jump out a window. For what you reason you don’t know but when you finish screaming he’ll tell you all about the differnt times he’s horrified people to feed off them.

Don’t ask what kind of feed he means though, whether it’s vitality or literal, you won’t ask questions.

Or, if you tell him you are enjoying such a lecture, you commit an act many hunters have attempted to pull on him but failed. You make Lilia stop in his tracks. He’s quick to recover though, asking you if you’d like to go further in your studies, a fiendish smile on his lips as he leans in a hairs width away from you.

You’re quick to walk away and ponder what he meant by further. Like, eating people? Or maybe showing you his other capabilities.

Or... Something else...?

- Skully is so enthusiatic when you bring up any hint towards studying him. For a moment, he malfunctions, blinking his eight bright orange eyes in your direction before scooping you up and placing kisses all over you, be it on your hand or on your face. In some instances, he’s only an inch away from truly kissing you on your lips. He caims he wants to save that for a speacial occasion later. What that is, you don’t wanna know.

He’ll quickly place your hands on different parts of his body, a fang filled smile gushing about his different qualities. See this? That’s how he sticks to walls! And this!? That’s how he climbs when he doesn’t feel like using his human legs! Oh oh! This is how he eats!!!

Sometimes he even has you examine parts of him that you share in common. The way he shows you though is different, more tender in a sense. He’ll delicately grab your hand and reach it towards his chest, shedding articles of cover to let your palm touch skin to skin to his beating heart.

“That’s how I live.“ you already knew that, you have one too- “With you though, I don’t need it as much.“ you’re starting to question where it is exactly this spider gets all his confidence... Little do you know when you leave he wraps himself in a cacoon while freaking out about how he just said that to you.

Unlike the others on this list though, he won’t provide you information on any other species. You’re nothing like them, not at all…. So why would you ever want to know more about them? Before you know it, thick webs trap your surroundings, Skully’s honey hands grasping your own as boney skeleton legs cage you in between him and a tree trunk.

You just need to know about him… It’s okay, you’re nothing like those other humans… You actually like him! So…

Let him love you.

- Fellow is an interesting case… He toes the line between wanting to help you and being neutral. He serandes you with promises of knowledge, in turn you must accompany him on his stage. Yet, the moment you agree to join him, he’ll quickly dress you in lace fit for a doll, forgetting his promise and only twirling you around like the star he claims you to be.

“Fellow I thought you said—” you can’t finish your thought before he hurriedly spins you, your body dropping into his arms as his hand strengthens its grip on your waist.

“Yes yes, I remember my promise don’t worry! I could never lie to a sparkling hunter like you.” it’s unclear if the sparkling is referring to your personality or the pretty clothes he's dressed you in. But… It’s obvious he has no intention of letting you go so soon. With a newfound determination in your mind, he continues prancing around with you inside the circle of his theater, your hand flying to his chest, your first question of research ready to be answered.

Is this marionette hollow? Or does he have a heart?

“My my,” you squeak when he spins you away, your hand off him just as soon as it was on him. His style of dancing is very different from the way everyone else waltzes with you. It’s fast paced yet still holds a regal of elegance. “You’re touchy today. I’m afraid our agreement will be fulfilled when we’re done dear hunter! Don’t fret, I only tell the truth.” He definitely doesn’t, but you don’t retort, You’re still set on fulfilling your goal, allowing him to twirl and speak to you with a countenance of a showman, rather than the puppet one plays with. The soft sound of a music box echoing through the walls is unsettling, yet calming at the same time, it’s a weird affect.

“So tell me, who was that human talking to you?” … human? What is he…? Your mind clicks together the pieces in a flash.

“He was just trying to buy me a drink is all.” he smiles, but the cracks in his mouth distract you from his true demeanor. That of bitterness.

“Is that so? It’s fortunate I stole you away from him then! I hear such drinks are harmful to your kind. Unless, you wanted him to indulge you.” the music box slowly nears its end, the final note having Fellow slowly dip you down with a delicacy entirely separate from the rest of the dance.

“I mean, a drink would’ve been…” your words grow softer at the sight of a dark silhouette hanging from the ceiling, the clear strings swaying him side from side. He’s been propped up in a way akin to a chandelier, but rather than beauty, it’s filled with a grotesquely brutal decorum “Fellow… what did you…” You’re practically swung up into solid arms, Fellow effortlessly carrying you across the stage. Your questions fall on synthetic ears as he carries you behind the curtain, placing you down on his fancy velvet couch.

“You’ve visited my refuge, it’s only right now I live to my promise and let you know me down to my true core.” he bows down with the confidence of a director. But...

You’re not so sure you want to know anything about this marionette anymore…

Those who are Neutral/Don’t help you but don’t stop you either

- “Why would you wanna learn about us? What, you wanna marry a zombie— Ow…! Okay it doesn’t hurt but ow!” Ace is insufferable with his teasing. Even if you showcase your desire to learn about them as entirely work related, he continues to say you just have a thing for monsters. It’s not as if he seizes you from studying him, he lets your eyes wander and even your hands, but that persona of his never fails to kick in…

“You’re practically kissing me at this point, might as well do it—” if you put your index over his mouth to shush him, and then let your thumb trace over his bottom lip… the remark he initially held is stuck in his throat as he watches you with bated breath, waiting. Waiting for what? He doesn’t even know. But, he’s for sure waiting for you to do something. The only action he takes is his eyes shifting over every part of your closed up face, as if he’s attempting to engrave each detail into a non-existent brain.

“You have a pretty face, Ace. To bad you don’t have a brain…” The next day, he’s a lot more docile than previously, even staying extremely still when you go over examinations. Doesn’t even tease you when you watch him limply walk. “You’re a lot quieter than yesterday.”

“Someone said I had a pretty face. I’m just showing it off like they asked,” he pauses before slightly rotating his body to face you but still stay positioned forward, “I give you my pretty face, and you let me watch yours.” Now it’s your turn to wait in embarrassment.

He goes back to the hospital and kicks his legs while burying his head in an old detoriated pillow

- Trey isn’t going out of his way to help you at all, but he’ll smile that kind yet put together (secretly conniving) smile while he leans back an allows you to trace your hands all around his limbs. He won’t tell anyone, but he feels a sense of pride swell inside of him when you gawk over how built he is. They have to rely on him for all the heavy lifting, considering he’s essentially a giant and the only one who can carry anything. ( half of the group phases through everything and the other half have limbs constantly falling off of them.)

“You can still build muscle? Huh… that’s interesting…” Trey’s really happy he locked the door, it’d certainly be an uproar if anyone saw you squeezing the muscle on his bicep. He just hopes Riddle and Cater decide to knock before phasing through the door…

Though, he can’t deny the secret desire of someone seeing you two so close and private. He was human(?) at some point too. The tradition of public affection still lingers in his newfound boy, it makes sense he’d want someone to see you two.

Your hand barely brushes against sewed skin before he flinches, your head quickly turning up to question him before jumping back at the feeling of his hand pulling you in. Your body is pushed against his, before the pressure of his arms gradually releases a gentle expression on his face.

“Sorry, there was a bug.” was there really…? You have a sneaking suspicion not to believe him, but out of the five monsters that live in Heartslaybul he’s essentially the only collected mind to trust. You don’t inquire any further, only continuing to attach and reattach his body while experimentally shocking him occasionally.

Unknown to you, but entirely acknowledged by Trey, a flustered, open-mouthed Deuce stands outside the window at such a display of intamicy. Trey hopes you don’t leave anytime soon, who else will fawn over him with such intensity? When his hands tighten around your own, you assume it to be a reflex. It’s not.

- Before you even have to the chance to close in on Leona, he’s already catching your wrist and pulling your face to his, mere inches spacing between you and the mummy. The glare he gives you is practically death inducing, your youthfulness being sapped from your skin the longer you lean into him. You’re sucked out of your trance when the feeling of a pair of fingers presses into your lips, a feint taste of… pomegranate? Invading your taste buds. The flavor reminds you of death.

“Huh, it worked.” you only quirk your eyebrow up at him, his head leaning back as guttural laugh sounds through the dusty air. “You were wondering what mummies taste like right?” No way… He did it?! You only joked about a kiss being a good way of testing that theory! You don’t have the chance to retort when the feeling of rough bandages slowly curl their way around your limb, pulling you even closer than you already were. “Well? Are you gonna investigate further or is that all the info you need for a mummy?”

He must underestimate your curiosity, as even he’s taken aback when your hand pushes him further into his throne, your eyes scrutinizing each detail on his body as your legs are propped up on each side of him. Truth be told, you’re a little scared Ruggies gonna walk in and see the scene in front of him, but you push all worries aside when the prospect of research rears its head.

“You’re right. I think the king should allow me to see his importance up close.” You don’t notice it, and you never will from the numerous wraps that preserve his body. But, the single organ that was left inside him, skips a beat at your words. He’s important to you, even if it’s just for research. You’re blinded with interest at examining him, the effect your words have on him completely go over your head, so much so you don’t even notice the way his hands grip tightly onto your waist, each ribbon of cloth increasing their grasp too.

It’s a definite fact, this monster hunter will never leave his palace. Not because you’re dead, but simply because he must keep you here. He’ll make sure you’ll want to stay.

After this occurrence, it’s a rinse and repeat where Leona lets you do your thing before embarrassing you and then pretending nothing happened the next day.

- Ruggie tells you he’ll strap himelf to an examination table and let your hands run wild if you offer him something in return. You never accept, only consider. If you were to give him something… what would you give him…? Next time you meet him and ask, he laughs at you, “i can’t believe you actually believed that…!” You were on the verge of striking him with your fist, yet you don’t. He’s wiping tears from his eyes before gazing at your hand, a cloth sack dangling from your grasp. He grins at the sight, taking a step forward.

“I would’ve done it for free. Really rare deal, just for you shishi~”

“Well don’t, because that would mean I got this for nothing…” you lift the bag up to his face, the werehyena quirking his eyebrow before clawed hands swiftly grab the sack, opening the contents on the floor.

It’s food.

He stares wordlessly at the meal below him, only looking up at you after a few moments. You’re ready to watch him scarf down each individual dish like it’s breathing but he doesn’t. His hands slowly lift up, splitting the food in the middle, patting the spot next to him with a sharp teethed smile.

Silently, you sit next to him, watching him diligently consume the food. Except…

With each bite, you notice the pieces of red in-between his canines, and… two newly found wedding rings on his index.

Did he… already eat before this…? And if he did, you have a sneaking suspicion you know his victims…

Your thoughts are dispersed when then feeling of scarlet fruit is placed on your lips, an expecting Ruggie hinting you to eat.

You… don’t feel like eating anything red right now…

- Vil is already used to having humans gawk at him, whether from lust, a twisted version of lust they believe to be love, or pure rage. So, he just assumes his charm has already started to worm it’s filthy way into your heart when you stare at him and examine his skin more often. A shame really, you’re like the rest of his food now… But, he could use it to his favor, maybe he should just bed you already and hope you fall in love with him like the rest of them—

“Vil, do incubus eat things that aren’t just… bed stuff…?” He should laugh really, at the way you describe his way of feeding to be bed stuff. “I wanna know.” Now he’s letting it out. Truly, it’s adorable how different your countenance is compared to when you’re attempting to slay him.

“If I said no? What if I told you i’m positively starving right now? Would you let me feed off you?” before you know it, he’s towering above where you’re sat, his fingers caging you’re chin to make you look up at him, gentle flaps of his wings cooling your gradually heating exterior. His tail slowly crawling it’s way up your torso. He’s honestly expecting you to back out, either cowering in embarrassment, or even cursing him with a thousand Die in hell! Who knew you could be so bold outside of your job too… Just the thing that made him interested in you as a living being rather than sustenance.

Your fingers snake around his own, carefully placating them to lay on your thigh, causing the all famed incubus, Vil Schoenheit, who's sucked thousands dry of their vitality, kneel on his knee in front of you, diligently awaiting your next words. His slit eyes don’t even blink, the only sign of wavering patience being the tail he has continuously trace patterns into your collar.

“If doing that helps me see behind the act of an Incubus, I might as well offer myself as your dinner.” Bold, how very bold. Vil should find you a job in acting in the underworld, he’s sure you would do splendidly. Though, the more he thinks about it, he’d prefer that confidence of yours to only be for his eyes and not the entirety of hell.

The next day, he sits still in his chair as you let your fingers trace over him in the name of investigation! He doesn’t help you, making you do all the work to uncover the truth about his species, but, he won’t ever stop you either. Just like how he won’t ever stop or help you when you attempt to leave his dear manor.

- Epel has a really big desire to show off, bragging about his capabilities despite only being a vampire for a short time. But, he also wants to be cool for you. What’s the point in bragging about his talents when he comes off as desperate? That’s no good, he needs to come off as cool and powerful…! He doesn’t wanna make the comparison, but it’s the only thing he can think of.

He wants to act like Vil. He doesn’t wanna be him but… You always seem to be around him whenever possible, and when he’s not available you’re with Rook…! He really just can’t win can he…

So, he hides his secret desire, acting with nonchalance when you finally ask the question of investigating him.

For once though, he does feel victorious when your fingers prance around his fingers, thoroughly feeling the edge with a wonder. When you tell him about Jamils similarity though, he’s back to feeling defeated… So he isn’t unique in your eyes?

After your initial studying session, he’s left wandering the night for his next meal, a deep rooted disappointment flooding (still) veins. At this point, he’ll pounce on whatever moves first. So, he does, the sound of rustling leaves making him take a single step with pure speed, pinning the human to a tree trunk, readying his fangs to dive into their neck.

But there’s a smell. A smell so familiar, so sweet. So… You.

“Epel…?” He looks up at you with eyes blown so wide they could pop out. His grip on you is practically trembling with hunger, he needs food now. Despite his obvious starvation, he slowly leans away from your jugular, ready to escape. He’s only stopped at the feeling of your hand placing itself behind his head, pulling him back into your side. He looks up with an expression of worry, attempting to silently word an “are you sure?”, your reply being a small nod.

His fangs peak out before diving in, his former meek attitude disappearing as he greedily consumes you.

If this is how he feeds… Then you’re happy your plan worked. If it had been anyone else, he surely would’ve killed them, draining them completely dry.

You wave your free hand, quietly shooing away the innocent civilian from the scene.

- Silver is actually entirely willing to let you experiment your whims on him. If it makes you happy, why wouldn’t he want to? Whenever you’re happy he’s happy too. It’s just… He’s asleep to frequently to actually tell you he’s okay with it.

“Silver! Silver…? Oh, you’re asleep again…” you lay down on the grass, meeting him face to face on the floor. You don’t realize it, but before you know it your bodies only a few inches away from his, practically nudged to his. If Sebek saw, you’re sure he would call you two heinous for allowing human and monster interrelationships...

You can’t help when your hand instinctively reaches up, brushing ivory hair away from his face while your fingers trace down the colored glittering skin on the edges of his face. Whenever he’s awake, he always tells you he’s okay to submit his body to you, yet whenever you try he’s always slumbering.

A shiver goes down your spine before your eyes grow heavy. Seems you actually did discover something new about him, touching that hued skin of his grows weariness. You don’t have any time to celebrate your founding before you pass out next to him, soft snores leaving you as your arm is draped over his neck, practically sleeping with him like a couple.

When you come to, you feel the soft skin of a shoulder on your cheek, looking up at the rarest event possible.

You and Silver being awake at the same time.

“Allow me, to be your experiment.”

“I feel like I should be asking you that instead Silver…”

Those who hate it (but are secretly neutral/like it)

- Cater is even sure what he is. He understands he’s a ghost, but there’s something else to it. So, don’t gaze at such a horrifying face with all that curiosity, a curiosity he’s never held for himself despite not knowing his own species either. For a moment, his face scrunches at the request before returning to his usually facade.

“Hah…! You should be careful! What if I said yes and ate you whole! Cay-Cay’s gonna say no, kay?” and he leaves it at that.

He’s the same makeup as Riddle, so… What does it matter? You don’t need him to look into. Besides, it might be for the best. Nobody especially you, should ever gaze at him in his entirety.

If you did… Would you think he was boring? Would you think he wasn’t happy?

Is he happy?

He’s been dead for so long, dying in the same time frame with Riddle and Trey. Yet, he still can’t get over the grief he feels at this. He lost the entirety of his life from that… that…!

He jumps back at the sight of your hand on his face. His face… If you knew you’d hate him. You can’t feel his face, and he can only narrowly feel your palm, but you can see him visibly melt into your “touch”.

He’s not sure what he looked like to you, but the furrow in your brows tell him part of those thoughts came to light. Or maybe you miracoulousyly found out the truth about his face.

He takes a breath, before floating to your side. “Didn’t know you were so determined to look into me! Maybe this is your way of flirting.”

“I wasn’t trying to do that…!” your fluster makes him laugh, resting his arm over your shoulder.

So you don’t know about his face. Good.

- Jack has known you for so long, so… He doesn’t want you to see the version of himself he’s hid from you all this time, that would completely ruin all the time he spent curating his human persona. Plus, would you even allow him to protect you anymore if you truly knew him…?

If you know more about what he is, it wouldn’t be the best thing, but not the worst. The worst would be you refusing him and his safeguard from fear of his true strength. What would be the point of everything he did if you just ended up getting hurt? He knows you’re not entirely weak. If you were, there’s no way you would be in the profession you are.

But you’re still human. You’re still the same human who he’s seen with bruises and cuts all over. You’re the same human who's broken bones before just for a job.

You’re the same human who would smile at him despite all these injuries, laughing at him and Rollo for their worries.

“Jack, please, let me know you.”

He stares at you, the same rock hard expression planted on his face.

“… Okay.”

- No…! Don’t look at him so intently…! With all that… adoration…? You’ve yet to tell Azul just how pretty you think he is, especially at night when certain lights reflect off him in such a pretty way. It’s like stars are shining inside of him. Is he a vicious monster whos lead thousands of sailors to their death in his stomach? Yes. Does that stop him from being a curiosity you must satiate? No, unfortunately.

He’s always taken to the form of a Human when possible, so it’s rare to see him in his truest form. Since he can’t eat while he’s a human, the best bet you have of truly studying him is when it’s time for him to eat. He’ll be caught by surprise when there’s a wall of rocks blocking his exit to the sea, emerging from the water in confusion before doubling back in shock when he can feel your hands grasp the gross slimy texture of his body.

“Wait…! Don’t I’m…!” he’s on the verge of saying pathetic before a shell he gifted you is placed on his mouth.

“Pretty.” you whisper with a certain tenderness. In his panic, he fails to see the different bioluminescent coral that glow through his body, only narrowly being blocked by his three hearts. He’s erratic, you shouldn't see him… He’s not in the picture-esque form he’s decided to wed you in! (When he made that choice, no one knows.) Yet, the way you admiringly lead him back to the ledge of the pool as you trace over his body makes him slowly calm down.

It’s… nice. It’s nice how enamored you are with him, he feels wanted. Not like those filthy sea parasites who sail their wooden boats and attempt to pierce him with spears and arrows. He’s on the verge of even sleeping in your arms from the sheer comfort before the dulls sensation of lips are softly pecked where his hearts are located. The action makes him quickly perk up from the attempted slumber.

“Sorry, I was curious on if you would change colors if I did that… But, well you did!” You’re… not wrong. He can see the way his color shifts from purple to pink. Luckily, you seem to enamored by his current camouflage malfunction to notice the way all three of his hearts beat quickly and in rapid succession. “See? you’re handsome Azul.” The way you smile at him, your hair soaked while your clothes are heavy with water, is just too much… His placates his viscous hand on your hand, strings of slime dripping from your head as he slowly hugs you towards his body, the armor shield her wear the only thing stopping you from essentially becoming one with him.

While he allows his arms to swallow you, the only thoughts that seem to run in his head are, about how much he can’t bear to let you go, if you leave this cove he’ll surely be gulped whole in despair, so, he won’t allow it.

- Jamil is his typical self when you ask him, not saying any words or even hissing any sounds, just a look that communicates “Why would you even wanna do that?“. But it’s bone chilling enough for you to semi-give up on inquiring any further. You don’t ask, and you don’t secretly research him, but, you do spend a fair amount of effort showing him your interest.

He won’t admit it, but he actually wanted to say yes at your first request. Why wouldn’t he want you to fawn over him? Having you spend time with him, having you research him in close proximity, having you actually care about his existence. But he still has a sense of pride, he’s not gonna so easily admit he’d like to be treated…

“Jamil, I was thinking, Kalim would be up for me to ask him questions right? He seems like he would.”

…

Jamils bottom half slithers to your side, effortlessly picking you up and hoisting you over his shoulder. You don’t have the chance to ask him what he’s doing before you feel your behind gently sat on a table. Jamil leans down, his hair acting like a makeshift curtain while he looks at you.

“What do you wanna know first?” His forked tongue peaks out between his fangs, slit eyes looking down at you with expectancy.

“You want me to…?”

“I do.” The way he quickly replied gives you your confirmation, your hands flying up grasp his face in your palms, feeling the scales on his skin with urgency. The pretty color immediately attracts you, your finger moving across to drag your skin over it. Except, you accidentally make contact with the sharp poisonous fangs placed in his mouth, your attention immediately caught.

He doesn’t need a sign to know what you want, gaping his lips open for you to see. Your eyes are practically star shaped with all your attention on him, it feels great. He inhales, patiently allowing you to do whatever you wish.

His gaze trails down at your arm. Maybe it’s time to renew the mark underneath that sleeve. Except this time, you’ll know he left it.

- Idia doesn’t have much to offer (Or so he thinks). He’s basically just a person…! Who guides souls to the afterlife but that’s all…! Yet, the way you so eagerly watch him swing his scythe makes him secretly wish he did have more to show you. If he was more interesting surely you wouldn’t become bored with him. It’s not fair really, why did all those other beasts get cool appearances and abilities… Their personalities aren’t all that great… They all just have looks…! And like, crazy powers… and confidence.

“Idia…? Why are you curled into a ball?” You carefully tuck a strand of his flamed hair behind his ear, trying to get a clear view of his face. Your try is disturbed when Idia shakes his head and allows his hair to fall into place, not daring to move his head from your body. Everyone else can have their cool personas, this… this is all his.

“Can you… hunt all of them down faster…” his words are barely audible, a low whisper that’s drowned out with silence. He avoids all eye contact with you, only allowing his head on your thighs to be your sole connection.

“You… want more people to guide?”

… Yeah never mind. He quickly shuts that thought down. The idea of being stuck with all of those heinous extroverts and having to lead them to their after life… It sounds absolutely horrible. He can see it now, all their dismissive looks when they realize it’s him who’s showing them the way, he’s sure they would scoff at him.

Then he finally remembers something. He can simply… Leave them to wonder purgatory, for eternity.

He’s done it before. Whenever a mortal got on his nerves, he leaves them stranded and left on their own, only their consciousness as their only friend. Time flows differently for such people, so when he comes back, they’re trembling from insanity. Years of isolation, especially after just dying, makes anyone break. It’s perfect.

“Yeah, I… I do want more people to guide.” He sits up, looking you straight in the eyes with a confidence you’ve never seen on him. “And… You can study me… As much as you want.”

- “Human! I will not be subjected to your inhumane tactics of investigation!” It’s ironic coming from Sebek, considering there are several bones and bodies beneath his swamp that were surely not killed humanely by his hand.

You put your hand up, not even attempting to touch him, just calming him down, and he swats it away with a speed that’s completely unnecessary. “I must maintain a peak if I am to remain my lieges retainer!”

“Than wouldn’t it make sense to check you? To see if you’re in fit shape to serve him.” he squints his eyes at you, visibly mulling over the question. On one hand, it’s improper to engage an intimacy so close to a weak human, on the other… There’s a part of him that has the desire to spend a little time with you. After all, you spend a lot of your time with the others, as they can be on land with you as much as they want, which is utterly scandalous…

But, he can only spend a few hours with you before having to return to his marsh.

He’s silent, straight lipped as he looks down at you.

“… No.” you hunch over, completely expecting him to decline, you didn’t think he’d give you such a serious face. For a moment, you actually thought he was gonna accept…! “Being so close to a mortal in that vicinity is practically treason.”

You get it… Why is he still hammering the point in?

He leans down, an all too tall frame casting a shadow over you. Yet his pupils do anything to not look you in the eye at the proximity, even though it was him who enacted the space. “… I don’t need your time.” the way he says it makes you think he’s talking to himself rather than you. Is he? You serve him a smile. He might not be looking at you, but you’re sure it at least reaches his peripherals.

“Okay, Then I won’t use it on you.” That came off stronger than intended, but you don’t try to save your words, only walking away with a wave.

The next day Sebek says he hurt his shoulder and must get it tended to…. What do you mean you don’t need all this information on his species? Of course you do! What if you mess up his structure in your attempt to navigate a foreign being!

Those who genuinely hate it

- Rollo could never hate you… No of course not. But there’s a deep, festering, wretched part of him that wishes your curiosity would just be satiated and you wouldn’t have to look upon such a hideous form…! Monstrous, ugly, so sinful… so…unhuman…! It’s not even because of the actually form itself, rather, how pitiful it feels to know he’s not even the same species of you. It makes him feel so unworthy of your affections, he doesn’t deserve the purity you provide for him, yet, he can’t help but consume each drop of joy you spare him with the utmost of greed and gluttony. It’s like, he’s been starved for hundreds of years before meeting you.

Which… In retrospect… isn’t that far off from his truth…

“Rollo, it’s okay, I just wanna see you up close.” … Please don’t talk to him in such an innocent tone. He was already unable to handle your hope while parading as a human, you really think he can control himself in his truest form?

- Neige feels bad turning down your requests of investigating him. No, really! If he could he would allow you to run your hands through his fingers all you want! Even letting you follow him around as he preforms his angelic deeds. He just… he can’t let you see... He can’t let you see the black feathers that adorn his back.

Because if you did… You would know… You would know just how deep his care for you goes. Which isn't a bad thing! He wants you to know how much he loves you, you just can’t know the more aggressive sides of that love…

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan who glitches in his transmigration, but the original Shen Qingqiu still dies of a qi deviation.

So the System still needs someone with narrative relevance to throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss. In a fit of desperation, it contrives circumstances after Shen Qingqiu's death to move Luo Binghe to An Ding Peak (not that difficult), and then the System makes Shang Qinghua be Luo Binghe's new scum master who casts him down.

Airplane's thrilled, really. Cultivators aren't supposed to get ulcers but damned if he doesn't come close to one anyway. Between Shen Qingqiu and then just a while later Liu Qingge both dying from qi deviations, and Shang Qinghua looking like a stiff breeze could take him out any day now, poor Mu Qingfang is also just about at his wits' end.

But it's not all bad news! On An Ding Peak, Luo Binghe actually finds himself surrounded by the kinds of people who are accustomed to being bullied by the rest of the sect. So they're pretty sympathetic to him, and it's easier for someone with basic laboring skills to advance on that peak too. His chores don't decrease too much, but he actually gets rewarded for doing them well, and no one tries to kick him out of the dorms or anything. Shang Qinghua doesn't either go out of his way to bully or praise Luo Binghe, correctly reasoning that his best shot at not getting a gruesome death is to just be a more forgettable bad guy than an abusive dirtbag or a heart-wrenching betrayal. He doesn't sabotage Luo Binghe's cultivation (no point, and it would just farm resentment later) but he also doesn't go out of his way to help him improve (not gonna arm his inevitable maybe-probably-murderer with better weapons!), so Luo Binghe's situation sees an overall improvement but not the zero-to-hero treatment he'd have got with Shen Yuan either.

When Shang Qinghua shoves Luo Binghe into the Abyss (he just full on picks him up and tosses him like a sack of beans, better to rip it off quick like a bandage), LBH is upset, but he's not especially surprised or dismayed about Shang Qinghua's part in it. Later on he'll be kind of confused, because he just assumed that of course the righteous sect cultivator would abhor the demon, but it turns out Shang Qinghua has been working for a demon since before Luo Binghe even came to the sect? But then it still kind of makes sense because a Heavenly Demon would definitely pose a risk to Mobei Jun and to Mobei Jun's rule. Shang Qinghua, he supposes, is just really loyal to his specific demon.

Luo Binghe's subsequent revenge quest is also somewhat mitigated by the Abyss actually not being that bad.

The Abyss is not actually that bad thanks to the glitched out Shen Yuan having been camping there for several years now.

So when Shen Yuan's transmigration failed it failed because he "woke up" during the process, realized where the System intended to put him, was like no way in goddamn hell am I being that guy about it, and actually kind of won the ensuing tug-of-war. The System couldn't put him in Shen Qingqiu but Shen Yuan didn't want to go back to his dead body either, so he ended up stuck in the nearest available space for lost interdimensional beings. Which was the Endless Abyss.

Luckily Shen Yuan's quasi-transmigrated imparted an equivalent cultivation level as Shen Jiu's to him, and the glitch made him able to sense and manipulate certain extra-dimensional energies, so he manifested as this weird godlike being able to manipulate and control aspects of the Abyss. So he set about transforming Airplane's Torment Nexus into a viable ecosystem (the current version would not be anything approaching sustainable were it not for divine/narrative intervention, and is constantly on the verge of destabilizing into unlivable ruin that would only be fit for some particularly hardy microorganisms).

It's still like, a monster land full of demonic creatures and terrifying phenomenon, but with Shen Yuan's assistance it becomes something more like a demonic wildlife reserve than a dimensional horror plane. Though it is still a dimensional horror plane, and Shen Yuan is its chief dimensional horror. He treats it sort of like those dungeon building or wildlife park sims, figuring out how to keep everything in balance while still preserving all the interesting parts. A lot of the extreme survival issues of the Abyss are more of a result of it being environmentally unstable than a result of its actual denizens, and once he smooths out a lot of the messy dimensional edges and creates stable vents for the fluctuating energy run-off, the demonic inhabits start behaving less like horror movie monsters and more like animals. They're still wild and dangerous and prone to killing one another, but also more cautious, and able to access enough stable resources that they can even start to be picky about what they pursue.

Turns out that a lot of creatures in the Abyss actually don't like fighting and dying and being brutally injured on a regular basis, even if they can heal from it!

Shen Yuan has even discovered that some like chin scritches (he's not terribly worried about habituating them to people, given how rarely any people actually access the Abyss, but also because he's not really all that people-ish himself these days).

This means that one of Luo Binghe's first encounters with the horrible creatures of the Abyss, is in fact a pack of wolf-like monsters thoroughly avoiding an actual fight with him. In fact most of the denizens of the Abyss just avoid him. They can smell the Heavenly Demon energy rolling off of him, and given the current abundance of alternatives to dealing with that, virtually none of the monsters actually choose to challenge him. There are still a few that will go after anything that's bleeding, but that problem stops once Luo Binghe's physiology heals his wounds, which takes like... a couple hours, max.

Despite the stories he's heard, Luo Binghe is relieved to find that the Abyss is not quite so terrible as all that. Normal survival skills suffice for seeing him through much of it. He's able to hunt for food, scavenge for tools, and even finds potable water fairly easily. After a few weeks, he also comes across a ruin which seems to be inhabited.

The being inhabiting it is plainly a god, although he demurs and refutes such assertions whenever Binghe is too frank. He's a strange being, at turns looking like some queer approximation of a human, at other times blinking and winking in and out of existence, in patterns of strange lights and oddly geometrical fire. But he's surprisingly not hostile, letting Binghe rest in his residence, and even directing him towards points of interest. Accompanying him, too, though he seems to think that Binghe doesn't notice the odd almost spiderweb-like patterns that appear on things which he's influencing. The god calls himself The Peerless One, or at least that's what Luo Binghe infers from some writings on the ruin. The Peerless One offers instruction, seemingly without thinking about it, and gets flustered at being addressed by title, so Binghe also begins to refer to him as Shizun after a while.

[babygorewhore]

Birthday Girl

Dad’s best friend Logan Howlett x Mutant! fem reader

Your long time crush on your dad’s best friend comes to a head the night of your 26th birthday. W.C a little over 2k.

Thank you so much to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me!!!! I love you!!!

Warnings! Age gap! Male masturbation! Panty stealing! Drinking! Female receiving oral! Praise! Slight degrading! Unprotected sex! Stomach bulge!

It wasn’t like you were committing a crime or anything but it felt incredibly naughty as you stared through the crack of the spare bedroom door.

Logan Howlett, your dad’s best friend was fucking his fist on the mattress. The middle aged man, physically younger than your father but in actuality he was hundreds of years old.

You kept your breathing as shallow as possible, knowing any wrong move he would hear you or smell you but he was too distracted at the moment. Logan was staying a few days at your home while his apartment was being fixed.

Like any normal girl, you had a massive crush on him. Ever since you met him, a few years ago on your twenty first birthday when your father protected him from mutant hunter, you were head over heels.

His gruff, harsh demeanor and bad temper didn’t scare you. Oppositely, you enjoyed the way he dealt with people. He spoke everything you secretly thought. He just wasn’t afraid to say it. Your father was normal but your deceased mother passed on a mutation. One you kept hidden from other people, until yesterday when Logan finally saw you use it. You lit a fire outside, unaware he was outside smoking a cigar.

You grimaced when you heard him turn around with an unreadable expression and head back inside the house. Neither of you had spoken after that.

You were on a college break, visiting home for your birthday that was tomorrow. Your dad wasn’t going to attend the party at the local bar your best friend was throwing so you had a celebratory dinner earlier.

And now, you were still watching Logan roll his hips. Thrusting into his beefy hand that tugged himself as he panted and you had to bite your lip when you heard him moan.

Only he said your name as he pleasured himself.

Shock overcame you as he repeated it and then you caught a glimpse of a pair of black panties that were yours.

That son of a bitch.

A mixture of smugness and your hackles rising settled in your chest. He was always polite towards you, treated you as anyone would expect given his friendship with your dad. But he hadn’t hinted that he felt attracted to you. Let alone attracted enough to you to steal a pair of underwear from your room, wrap them around his dick and jerk off.

You just saw Logan’s dirty little secret and you smirked to yourself. A pulse in between your thighs throbbed as he came to his climax. Cum sprayed on his hand, his thick fingers shaking as it coated your panties. He sloppily wiped his hand on his exposed lower stomach. Hardened muscle twitching and you finally stepped away.

Your vibrator entertained the sensitive center of your pussy minutes later in your bedroom. The image of Logan touching himself seared in your mind as you toyed with your entrance at the same time. Wishing it was him instead with his much larger size.

The next morning, after you’d only gotten a few measly hours of sleep from fucking your toy, you’d jogged into the kitchen. You saw your father pouring himself and you a cup of coffee. But you didn’t see Logan.

“Ah, yeah, Logan had to head off early. The nice professor he’s friends with offered him speedier help with his apartment.” Your father explained, noticing the look of confusion on your face.

You tried to hide your disappointment but your dad must have caught on. “I know you’re sweet on him so I told him about the party tonight.”

You could have strangled him but you sat down and grumbled.

Your childhood home was a farm, hidden away from the main town. Easier to keep your mutation a secret and your mother before she died. Which was the reason you didn’t think twice about using your power.

“Logan gave me the blues for keeping the fact you were a pyro a secret,” Your dad chuckled and you winced. “But he came around. He always does.”

“Yeah, well he’s missing my birthday again. So, he must still be offended.” You indicated that you wanted a change of subject and it was dropped.

When you changed into your outfit later after a shower, applying a face full of makeup, you realized that Logan had taken another pair of underwear.

The bar was warm, not only from the lights but also from the shot pouring down your throat. Your best friend cheered as you slammed a hand on the counter playfully. Your black dress hugged you in all the right places, heels making your legs flex when you sauntered. You felt confident as you celebrated the number 26.

You both danced, drank and even sang a few karaoke songs. She had gifted you a silver crown when you came in and you pushed away thoughts of Logan for a while.

Until you saw him at the end of the bar, lazily sipping a beer wearing a deep red t-shirt. It accentuated his strong form and you ran your tongue along your lower lip. Tasting flavored lip gloss. Your friend turned and whipped back to you.

“Is that him?” She mouthed and you nodded. She giggled and gestured with her head for you to approach him.

You grasped your other alcohol drink, downing a large gulp and smoothed your hair. You walked towards him and plastered a charming smile.

“Logan? I didn’t expect to see you here!” He had the decency to lower his head, his way of greeting and he raised the bottle between his fingers.

“Stopped in for a few beers.” His short response made you bristle, especially knowing he did like you.

“Do you want to join us? It’s my birthday.” Your question hung in the air for a few seconds and Logan seemed to contemplate it.

“I’m gonna pass on that. But happy birthday. You’re a good girl. Your old man did a great job with you. Sure your mama would be proud of ya.” Logan’s refusal mixed in with a compliment made you unsure what to say.

Instinctively, you set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. He was so firm, radiating heat and he looked at your fingers.

“Logan, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what you saw,” you began but he cut you off with a shrug, making you drop your hand.

“Don’t worry about it. None of my business. But it wouldn’t have hurt to know that you would have needed protection during the attack.” He gripped the beer bottle harder and you clenched your jaw.

“And it wouldn’t have hurt to know you were stealing my panties but here we are.”

Logan dropped the bottle and you smiled wickedly until he stood up. He lightly wrapped his hand around your forearm and leaned down. He opened and closed his mouth but you only focused on the smell of alcohol. You leaned up, your lips finding his jaw and you kissed lightly. His facial hair tickled your skin and he jerked back.

“You-you-“

“Is this dude showing you a good time?” You looked and saw a man near your age standing close to you. He was cute but not on Logan’s level.

“We’re in the middle of a conversation.” Logan barked at him but the younger male wouldn’t be scared off right away.

“Looks like the lady is the one making all the moves and you’re just not paying attention. Come on, baby. Let me buy you a round.”

“Yeah, I’d love that.” You answered and Logan growled.

“I’m not done talking to you-“ And you walked off.

Or you tried to but you felt steel arms loop underneath your legs and support your back. Your feet dangled above the ground, your heels clacking as Logan began marching towards the exit. You smacked him upside the head.

“Logan! My friend-“ you shrieked and you saw her shocked yet pleased expression.

“I’ll call an Uber!” She called out and waved.

Logan wasn’t fazed by your tipsy protests and another smack to his head. He carried you effortlessly to his truck that was parked in a dark corner.

But your pettiness caused you to scurry away when he set you down and climbed into the bed of the truck.

You clumsily landed in a heap on your ass, dress hitched up and Logan sighed in frustration. “Get in the passenger seat. I’m gonna take you home.”

“I’m not going home yet. I was having fun and you’re being a grumpy dickwad.” You narrowed your eyes and Logan held out his hands exasperated.

“Grumpy dickwad?”

“Yeah! And panty stealer!”

“Keep your voice down!” He hissed and you raised your eyebrows. Sensing a challenge.

Logan caught on to the idea in your head and swiftly hopped in the back of the truck. He cupped his palm over your mouth.

“Shhh, the hells the matter with you?” You nipped at him and he rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Biting? That’s childish.”

You flicked your fingers, a small flame appearing like you were about to light a candle and you waved it near his arm. Logan reached down and smacked the side of your ass. You gasped from behind his hand.

“Yeah. You want another one? Keep being a little stubborn mule and I’ll do it harder.” You thought about it but he slowly removed his palm.

Logan noticed your lipgloss smeared and he swiped his thumb across your lip. You sucked the digit into your mouth and he exhaled sharply. He pulled it out and leaned in closer.

“I know I shouldn’t have taken them. Made me feel like a dirty old man but-you’re so fuckin gorgeous I forgot myself.” His tone held lust and regret. Logan pressed his forehead to yours and you breathed in his scent.

“Kiss me.” You whispered and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, don’t make me beg. You’ve already taken two pairs…it’s the least you can do.” You gave him pouty lips.

Logan seized the opportunity and caught your mouth in a kiss. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His brutal force he always held was there. The way his hands moved and roamed your curves. He squeezed your hips and moved you on your back.

He pulled you closer as Logan’s weight hovered above your body. His hand moved to massage your tit as his jean clad thighs maneuvered between yours.

“Can’t say no to you, birthday girl. You gonna let me taste that pretty pussy?” He whispered and you whined with a nod. Logan kissed his way down, moving aside your panties and he groaned.

He buried his face in your cunt, his tongue lapping at your clit and took his time savoring your taste. You grind your pelvis against his face, Logan pulled back and spit on your pussy. He sucked and fucked your entrance with his mouth. Causing your nipples to harden as he squeezed your breast.

“That’s my girl, hump my face. Mhm, knew you were a slut but didn’t think you’d be a goddamn perv.” Logan sneered and took your clit between his lips.

You were gasping and arching your back as your orgasm was approaching. Your fingers were in his dark hair peppered with gray and pulling hard. It was probably suffocating him as your thighs pressed against his head but he didn’t care.

You were seconds from cumming when he ripped away but didn’t give you time to protest. Logan shoved his jeans down, halfway down his legs and he took his dick out. He ran the tip along your slit, smearing the precum.

You wrapped your thighs around him, ankles crossing as Logan thrusted into you. His size made you suck in a harsh breath but he aided you by circling your center with his thumb. Logan slammed into balls deep, making you moan.

His lips kissed your neck as he felt the bulge in your stomach.

“Fuckin you full. Knew you could take it. You’re such a good girl, feel so good. Shit, such a tight pussy.” He praised and your eyes rolled back.

“Going dumb on me already? My dick so good you’re panting like a puppy?” Logan ran his tongue along your throat and gave you a messy kiss.

The pleasure was overwhelming and he hauled your legs higher. Taking them from around his waist and gave you a deeper angle. Your underwear was still moved to the side, he liked feeling the material against his cock.

You drooled as you came on his dick, creaming on it and Logan moved harder. Deeper and your head lulled back as he fucked you through it.

“Uh huh, let me have it. Give me all that cum, doll. Such a good little whore,” he chuckled. “You gonna let me fill you up?”

“Please,” You managed and Logan gave you a couple more thrusts before his dick twitched.

Thick ropes of cum emptied into you and Logan huffed. Moaning and rolling his hips as he chased his high.

“You did such a good job,” He told you and slowed down. “You wanna head out somewhere? I wanna make sure to lick up my mess I made in you.”

Dividers by @anitalenia

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @marchsfreakshow @taintandviolent @starkeysprincess @usergeta @loserboysandlithium @oceanblvd111 @justafangirls-blog

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Basically, it’s discovered that to help stabilize Danielle, aka Ellie, it’d be best to have her be smaller. She refused to be turned into a kid by Frostbite/her own power ability, when Danny remembered the shrink ray his parents made. The side effect is that they’re kind of stuck as humans when they’re that small—they can use some ghost powers, but basically, it’s a weird side effect of the shrink ray. That’s canon, by the fucking way, lmao

Anyways, so Ellie agrees, and Danny will shrink himself with the ray to her size to help her out when needed/when she wants company her size, with Jazz, Sam, and Tucker occasionally helping out. Sam buys one of those really ornate Victorian dollhouses, with wooden everything, and Danny does some… renovations… so that it no longer opens and is a proper house. There’s still some oddities because it’s a dollhouse originally, but it was easier and faster to give her a home. One of the first additions was a water/wastewater system, followed like two hours later by an electrical system. Since it was so small, Danny was able to do it fairly quickly in his big size, occasionally going small and using the small window for using his powers to double check on things.

The water system had to be refilled every week, unless hooked up to a plumbing system in a house, which Danny made some outlets for in Jazz’s room—it was easier and had significantly less questions/didn’t stand out as much if placed in Jazz’s room. They usually did it every three days, though, as the plug-in process was still a bit… hinky. The tanks for holding the water were in the ‘basement’, which was mostly inaccessible from the inside of the dollhouse but basically looked like a big stand the dollhouse stayed on. Like someone ripped a full house out of the ground WITH the basement attached. There was a small access hallway down some stairs in the house for the clean water system, though.

The electric system was fairly simple, as it didn’t cost much energy to light a dollhouse and heat/cool water. There was an AC unit, Ellie’s request, but it hardly was used and was fairly efficient just due to pure size. It was fueled by ecto batteries, which Danny made sure had a few rechargability options—just because it was efficient energy didn’t mean it didn’t ever need recharging. There was a very small ecto filter, but due to its relative small size, was easy to clean and was fairly stable, so they had a whole closet of them just chilling out, both filled and empty. The battery itself could be charged by ecto sources, Danny’s own blood, or ambient ectoplasm gained by using something that looked like a solar panel and a satellite dish had a child that the batter could be placed in. The hookup also allowed for like… normal D cell batteries.

They would buy dollhouse furniture, and occasionally just buy the big version then shrink it down. Ellie had a huge old house to herself, basically, might as well go ham. And she had a fun time with the designer doll clothes Sam liked to get, although the cheap doll clothes from the store were also fun. Best option was just buying normal clothes and shrinking them, but using things that were already small or just making stuff using normal sized objects was fun.

At some point, though, the Fenton siblings decide to go on a trip. Ellie begs to be taken along, and Jazz agrees—there’s a doll showcase in Gotham, and Jazz wanted to see if anything caught Ellie’s interest. Danny, having a room in the dollhouse himself, also went along. Might as well make it a sibling’s trip, right?

Ellie can be full size for small chunks of time, which they did while exploring the expo. They found some cool things to add, and some doll clothes Ellie was far too interested in trying on, as well as some to force on Danny later. He sighed, but like—that’s his little cousin-sister, he’d put up with it. After all, he learned how to plumb an entire (miniature) house in two days when she refused to move in until it had a fully functional bathroom, so.

Anyways!

They have a fun time, and sure, lugging the relatively giant dollhouse was a PAIN, but it was Ellie’s home, and some stabilizing tech made it relatively safe to move without risking everything freaking breaking. They load everything in again, and the dollhouse is now restocked with clothes, tiny furniture, and a lot of shrunken supplies—some foods are just hard to work with full size, and are easier to shrink, okay? Also soap, paper goods, pencils and pens, books, etc. Jazz loads the thing into her car, and Danny offers to stay with Ellie in the dollhouse—so Jazz gets them in, and shrinks them down, holding onto the shrink ray in the meantime.

All is going relatively well in Gotham traffic until there’s a rogue attack.

Go figure.

Jazz ends up unconscious, and Danny and Ellie can’t do anything before the rogue is taken care of and a paramedic team comes up. They hide back in the dollhouse, listening as the medics say she seems to be okay, just unconscious. A relief, but now they’re taking Jazz away. Fenton luck states she’s one of the few actually injured. The Bat Brigade comes by, and Batman notices that there’s a wallet for one Danny Fenton. Red Robin confirms that Jazz was likely here with at least two other people, based on the ticket stubs for the expo. However, there is a strange lack of social media presence, Danny doesn’t have a photo ID, and there’s no way of knowing for SURE that it was just Danny with her, if it was just two other people, or if Danny was in the car with her. Still, as they can’t find him but DO have his sister and his wallet, they assume he might be missing, possibly kidnapped.

The Gotham PD of course take in the car, although it’s pretty trashed. Knowing well and good that the dollhouse and such things are actually quite expensive, Commissioner Gordon mentions that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Batman to maybe hold onto the Fenton’s things that *aren’t* related to the investigation.

Batman just takes everything. Including a rather peculiar looking gun that seems to have sustained some damage during the attack and car crash.

Gordon sighs. Figures.

So, Danny and Ellie end up in Wayne Manor. Most of the things end up in the Batcave, but Alfred insists that they place the doll things upstairs in the manor proper—the cave isn’t *that* damp, but doll things are small and delicate. So, upstairs they go.

At first, it’s fine. Danny and Ellie are fine in the dollhouse, and it’ll be at least a week before any of the systems NEED to be worked with.

Then Ellie ends up with a massive migraine. She gets them, on occasion, a sort of growing pain. Usually, they just shrink some medicine for her as she needs it, because she’s like—twelve. While they did have some medicine that had been pre-shrunk, when they were stocking up in Gotham, it turns out pain medicine was more expensive there. Not by much, but they figured—they’ll just stock up in Amity Park, they’ll be there in two days.

Haha. Nope.

So, Danny finally has to venture out. He lucks into finding the first aid kit—why there was one in the main living room, he’s not sure—and is currently working on trying to get open the blister packet of an ibuprofen when Alfred finds him.

Alfred stares at this tiny boy with a tiny make-shift knife trying to get into… over the counter pain medication.

Danny stares at this butler guy who had very gently cleaned the outside and noted the strange fact that the dollhouse did not open.

Danny waves at Alfred.

Alfred waves a tiny finger back.

“Hello,” Alfred says softly, which is fantastic because loud noises could get painful—part of the reason for Ellie’s headache was an argument between Tim and Damian. “How do you do?”

Danny hesitates, before he makes an exaggerated so-so gesture.

“You understand me?”

Danny nods—it’s rare for people to understand what he’s saying when he’s 5 inches tall.

“How wonderful,” Alfred smiles. “And how can I help our young guest tonight?”

Danny gestures to the blister packet.

“Pain medication? Isn’t that a little bit large for you.”

The teen thinks for a second on how to communicate. He points to the pill, then makes a slight show of pretending to grind something, like a mortar and pestle.

Thankfully, Alfred got the idea. “Would it be easier if I ground it up for you?”

Danny takes a moment to think before accepting with an enthusiastic nod.

“Very well,” Alfred says, taking the blister packet in one hand. He then hold his other out, palm up, like a platform. “Would you like to come with me?”

Danny ‘his survival instincts died when he did’ Fenton gets into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred grinds up the pill into a fine powder. Danny hands him a tiny bottle—still large in Danny’s hands, as it was not a shrunk bottle—that he had tied around his waist. Alfred fills it, and hands it back.

“I assume you came from the tiny house we have in our living room?”

Danny again nods. Alfred takes him there, setting him down outside the front door. Danny bows, and sure it’s Japanese as hell, and he’s white as all get out, but it’s a generally understood gesture of thanks. He hopes.

Alfred understands it just fine. “I bid you goodnight, then. Perhaps we will talk more, when you are feeling better?”

Danny hesitates, again, but he nods. Alfred had been nice enough, so far.

Danny heads in, quickly measuring out the medicine—shrunk pressure plates and scales and weights made what it was measuring relative—to him the weights on the hand balance scale felt the same weight. Ellie got her medicine, and they both went back to sleep.

He told her in the morning what happened. Ellie was strangely gung-ho about meeting this butler guy, and so—when no one else was around—, she and Danny went onto the tiny balcony as Alfred came in to dust.

“Oh my,” he said. “There’s two of you, now. Should I expect more?”

Both of them did an exaggerated ‘no’ dance.

“Very well, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Part I

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

''So you're just goin' to sit there and tell me that isn't my daughter.'' Simon says bluntly, tone even yet carrying a snark hidden that you came to listen so many times after working with him— never once directed at you until now.

''It's really none of your business, Ghost.'' You don't even spare a glance at him, simply looking at your little girl, fingers gently running through her short hair. She looks exactly like Simon, though that will never take away your love for her.

''You're not denyin' it.'' He hesitantly sits down next to you, secretly afraid you'll bite his head off. The glare you shoot his way is enough confirmation that you would if you could. You sigh softly, the air leaving your lungs before being sucked back in, not wanting to argue in front of your little girl despite her not understanding words yet.

''Well, what's it to you? Why do you need to know?'' I can't handle you leaving me again.

''Don't be like that.'' His tone is soft, almost pleading. It has been over a year since he broke up with you, yet that doesn't make the loss any easier, not now that he knows he has a daughter, no matter how much you tried to hide it from him.

''Why didn't you tell me?'' He asks gently, feeling like he's walking on eggshells. It's the first time ever he feels that way with you, and he doesn't blame you in the slightest. It takes a few seconds of you thinking before you answer.

''I was terrified of you choosing to walk away from her... to be a deadbeat. I didn't want to have that image of you, because that would have hurt more than the break up.'' Your voice is more calm, though for all the wrong reasons. The familiar tingling all over your nose is back, eyes stinging as you try to hold back tears, too prideful to cry in front of him again.

''That's what you think o' me?'' He replies in nothing but pure disbelief and slight disgust. He would never walk away from his child, no matter how much that would destroy all the walls he has been building for years, stones upon stones carefully piled on top of each other, so strong nothing could ever break through— until you came along.

''I was fucking scared, okay?'' You look away and wipe your eyes with one hand, the other one carefully supporting the neck of the baby on your lap. Simon sighs, his bare hand hesitantly reaching down to trace the features of the tiny girl, being careful with her as if she would break if he applied any pressure. He notices your eyes glued to his hand, eyebrows furrowed. He's about to move his hand away until you adjust the little girl so he can touch her face without the awkward angle.

''Give me one more chance. Please— please, let me be a father to her.'' Simon never begged for anything, not even when he was tortured for months to no end, drugged, beaten like a dog, yet here he is; begging his ex for a chance to keep the girl in his life. You don't reply.

''I'll do everything I can. What I should've done. I want to be here, please.'' He was so damn ready to get on his knees and beg if that's what it took for you to let him be involved in her life. He's not asking you to be together— he knows he doesn't deserve that chance.

''She's looking at you like she knows you.'' Your response is ominous to say the least. You want to deny him, to tell him he doesn't even deserve to be able to touch the little girl you birthed alone, that he doesn't deserve the chance at a family after he destroyed 4 years of a relationship because of the very same thing, but... your little girl is looking up at him with pure admiration and curiosity in her big brown eyes, her tiny hand struggling to hold one of his fingers. Growing up with a single parent yourself, you know she deserves better, and you're willing to put your pride and pain aside to make sure she gets the world.

''Okay.'' You reply after taking a deep breath, holding it into your lungs for what feels like forever, choosing to ignore the strong arms wrapping around you, bringing all three of you close. It feels... right.

[NEXT]

[die-auster]

Some "if Yue is alive and went travelling with the Gaang" designs

With a ton of text about cultural inspiration.

The main book 2 look

I wanted to show cultural differences between the tribes, so Yue's look is sort of Mongolian. There were Mongolian-styled hats in the Northern tribe, and Yue's dress under the coat looked like a Mongolian deel (thanks @atlaculture for all these posts about clothes and everything else!), so it's not much against the canon information.

So she's wearing a deel again with a second layer - there are chinese actors on photos as far as I know; I hope it's okay. One-shoulder silhouette refers to later Aang's clothes because Yue is still kind of a spiritual person (she wasn't a fighter, so I want her to have some other useful talent �� not a bender or healer like Katara or a non-bender warrior like Suki). Violet, pink and white were originally her colors, no changes here. Three blue characters would be too much for a group of five, and total white is not practical at all. I like to think that violet color shows high rank in the Avatar universe; in the original series it was only worn by princess Yue, Kanna, the chief Hakoda's mother, and by king Bumi.

Yue's boots here are mongolian gutals/gutuls (the collage is already big, but I used them again for one of Book 3-looks).

Her hair become simpler – just two braids and a hairpiece, to match her previous decorated hairdo. I guess if she's travelling with the Gaang she's not that much of a Moon Spirit anymore (maybe she returned the part of the moon spirit that saved her and was healed other way?), so I decided to forego the moon-referring part. Also it will be easier to do by herself since she has no servants now... The headdress I took from modern Mongolian dancers; the front part is crescent-moon-shaped.

The Ba Sing Se dress

I fell in love with this Ao Dai dress, it's simple, long and elegant. But... it's mostly Vietnamese… and I'm afraid that it's modern and not historically accurate. Also it does not really go together with other Ba Sing Se dresses :( because I did not want to just copy-paste some background look. But there is at least one dress with a tail, thigh high slits and a standing collar on the dress underneath, so... I guess my choice is not that bad? The tail makes her look more royal. The fan is the same which Toph and Katara had. For the palette I chose Yue's white color with EK greens and warm yellow/ochre to match Katara and Toph. The hairdo is copied from the series; I chose one with the tassel on the right, to refer the NWT/Korean accessories.

The Fire Nation disguise

A confession – I don't like FN clothes. I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it properly, so I almost copied that attire (left one) – asymmetry, as a Thai touch, which again matches Aang's Invasion Buddhist-like clothes. The palette keeps Yue's signature white, with some pink of a warmer shade, as they wear it in the Fire Nation. And the "royal" long skirt, 'cause she's still not a fighter. The look is simplified so I could not keep zigzag ornament on her longyi skirt, therefore I moved it onto the top part.

I used Thai dancers jewelry and... flip flops? idk how they are called in Southeast Asia (don't like Sokka and Katara's FN shoes at all, why the design is so complicated?).

For covering her hair I used a turban, inspired by Myanmar turbans; a white one, so if some hair will show, it won't be too noticeable. Also Yue could still be easily recognised on screen/page by her white head. The long end of the fabric on her right resembles burmese hairstyle silhouette.

The Invasion-and-till-finale look

For her dress I used a deel (again); the sleeveless jacket is an hommage to her original design and has some Korean vibes, like Toph's Ba Sing Se dress (at least I hope so). Katara and Sokka's season 1 looks have Korean influence, so I guess it's okay. Gutals are from her Book 2 main look. I have a soft spot for them.

My favorite thing is her hair :)))) It's a mix of Inuit/Mongolian braids and a hairpiece, also from the Book 2 look. This time there will be more braids. Two on the front – I wanted to keep them from her original hairdo, but now they are braided together (I saw this on the Alaskan Inuit/Eskimo women photos). On the back there are five, inspired by a Mongolian hairdo for young unmarried girls, who wore multiple braids. I decided to make five, because Alaskian Inuit language uses this amount for counting and with two front braids it'll make seven, which is a lucky Mongolian number. And in theory a limited number should be easier to animate.

The post-canon noble look

After the final battle I thought Yue will come back to Agna Qel'a and become a more active political figure. I chose a white kuspuk (blue color is still for Katara and Sokka), showing that she is ready to lead her tribe after this journey, not the passive perfect princess she was before. "She is associated in canon with the masculine yang of the yin and yang and the moon which, in most Inuit and Eskimo cultures, is considered masculine as well. While white kuspuks are associated with men and specifically family patriarchs, a feminine kuspuk in white makes plenty of sense for Yue's character" – @mostly-mundane-atla helped me a lot with the cultural meaning of the clothes (I am so grateful!). Also it's an hommage to her total-white Moon Spirit look. And I changed her hair again to Greenland updo with two tied braids on the front – more complicated than the simple braids she wore during the journey. It looks formal.

NWT is less Inuit-inspired and has a strong Mongolian touch (to make them look more "modern"? dunno) but I guess the formal wear for the spiritual princess could refer to older traditions. Which should be the same with SWT, 'cause SWT was originally a part of NWT – or so I heard. For example, Kuruk, the NWT Avatar who lived about 400 years ago, has nothing Mongolian in his look.

All the looks are simplified to match the style of the original cartoon. I know there should be more details and embroidery, but my goal here was to draw something (at least theoretically) applicable for animation. And no Hahn's betrothal necklace of course.

Also I want to mention here other great Yue designs, since they are the inspiration behind the overall idea of the post – the moon looks and "Yue joins the Gaang" outfits by amazingly talented @chiptrillino.

P.S.: an important note

This is my first attempt ever to design outfits that could fit the world of A:tLA. I am not Asian or ingenious, not an expert in their cultures or costume history at all, not a professional character designer. I am just a fan who tried to create designs with respect to real cultures and people. Nothing here was supposed to be offensive in any way. If something still is – please inform me so I could fix it as soon as possible.

I hope, as a fan, I have the right to draw fanarts looking for an inspiration in the cultures that inspired the original cartoon.

If you see mistakes in my post, be it in drawings or a text, also feel free to tell me. I will deeply appreciate it.

[animexts]

Please don't die | Megumi Fushiguro

Sumarry: Megumi feels his world crumble when he sees Y/n on the brink of death.

Paring: Megumi X Mother figure!Reader | WC: 2.877

A/N: Well, I'm sorry for any mistakes I made here, I'll review it later. This story, the reader is Gojo's wife.

Main masterlist | jjk Masterlist

────────────────────

Megumi feels her body freeze when she sees Y/n's body being thrown by the curse they were facing.

"Y/n-sensei!" He hears Itadori screaming in the background, but all he can pay attention to is Y/n's bleeding body lying unconscious on the floor.

“It's not your fault”

Is what she would say to him, and then she would give him that smile that manages to relax his whole body.

Y/n was a special grade sorceress, and to Megumi, she was not only the best sorceress, but also the best person.

She was smart, responsible, loving and just the best mother he could ever have.

"Why didn't you fucking take care of her?"

Megumi thinks, clenching her fists with all her strength.

He never thought he would want Gojo's presence as much as he does now.

As if his legs were moving by themselves, he was running over to Y/n and kneeling beside her body.

"Sensei please wake up." He says rocking her gently.

"Sensei please... please don't die mom." He says crying and rubbing his hand on her face.

If he was a little stronger, if he was faster, he never wanted to fulfill the promise he made with Gojo a few years ago so much.

"Listen Megumi, since we're going to share Y/n, you need to promise me that you'll take care of her with your life." Gojo says looking seriously at the Boy.

"She's strong, I don't think she needs my protection." The boy says with his arms crossed. "She's strong yes, but it turns out she'd rather protect those she loves than herself." Megumi looks at Gojo and sighs

"Okay, I promise to protect her"

And during her lifetime, Megumi saw how right Gojo was, Y/n put herself in danger several times to save him or some of the students, both first and second years.

"They're just kids"

Was what she always said.

And unfortunately, that's what was happening now, Y/n spent the day exorcising curses practically alone, as seeing how Itadori and Nobara were still hurt from the previous mission, it sure exhausted her.

"Please Mom, don't leave me too." Megumi says hugging Y/n's body.

He is so desperate, he didn't even notice Gojo coming and finally exorcising the curse.

The Shaman feels his blood run cold when he sees his wife covered in blood, it was even sadder to see Megumi in that state.

"Megumi, let's take her to shoko." Satoru says trying to take his wife from Megumi's arms.

"No! don't take her away from me!" He says holding tighter.

"Come on Megumi, if I take her it will be faster, please is my wife you're holding." Gojo says and Megumi, still reluctant, hands Y/n to Gojo, who immediately leaves.

"Don't worry, Y/n sensei Is one.of the strongest people I've ever met, well she and Gojo sensei." Itadori says putting his hand on Megumi's shoulder.

The strongest couple

Megumi remembers perfectly well only the day when Gojo introduced Y/n to him and his sister. Unlike Gojo, Y/n was responsible, more serious and easier to talk to.

"Here you are, my beautiful wife Y/n!" Gojo says putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm not your wife." Y/n says pushing him, and bending down to be at the children's height.

"You're not YET"

"Hi, don't worry, me and this idiot here will take good care of you two." Y/n says, and gives the kids a warm smile.

And that's what she's been doing since they met, Megumi thinks, no, rehash that, he KNEW he wouldn't be the man he is today if it weren't for Y/n's (and Gojo's, of course) incredible upbringing.

"You're worried about sensei aren't you?" Nobara says, as the three walk back to the school.

"I'm sure you don't have to worry, she's pretty tough!" Itadori says smiling.

"I hope you're right." Megumi says, and feels her palms sweat when they arrive at school, and see Gojo sitting on the stairs.

"Look who's here! It took you a while huh." Gojo says standing up and Megumi sighs in relief.

Even though he knows that his sensei is very good at hiding his feelings, he knows that the feeling of losing his wife, best friend, could not be hidden.

Gojo looks at him and sees the anguish on his face.

"She's fine, she's in there resting." He says, and Megumi's face turns red.

"I knew!" Itadori says jumping up.

"You two can go rest, Megumi and I are having a family reunion here with Miss Saves Everyone's Life." Gojo says, and he and Megumi head to their rooms.

"I'm sorry sensei, I couldn't protect her as I should have and as I promised you." Megumi says as the two walk to their rooms.

"I know how much you love her, and you tried to protect her, just like I know how stubborn my wife is, when she wants to protect someone, nobody can stop her." Gojo says and notices that Megumi has clenched her fists.

"I thought you were used to her craziness by now." Satoru says trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the feeling of almost losing her."

"Me neither" Gojo thinks.

Gojo knocks on the door, and opens it carefully, Megumi almost cries when she sees the state of the woman who always conveys that powerful and independent aura.

"Gumi!" Y/n speaks softly but with happiness in her voice when she sees the younger boy.

"Sensei..." He says quietly, as he doesn't trust his voice anymore.

"Oh Gumi, I was so worried about you." She says with teary eyes.

"I... I'm sorry sensei, I couldn't protect you like I should have." Megumi bows with her eyes closed, making Gojo and Y/n look at him in surprise.

"What are you talking about? I should protect you Gumi, I know I'm not your blood mother but-"

"Don't finish that sentence, you are my mother, and I owe you my life you've protected me my whole life, I want to protect you now... mom." Megumi says crying.

"Oh my love come here." Y/n says opening his arms, making the younger boy immediately fall into the woman's embrace, just like when he was younger.

"You'll always be my baby." Y/n says and kisses Megumi's head, you might think he wouldn't like it, but coming from her, he almost cries from her affection.

"I think for the sake of my sanity, and Megumi's, you better stop giving your life for others, because baby I swear that if you die, the world will gain two crazy mad sorcerers." Gojo says taking off his blindfold.

"And we don't want that right?" Y/n says laughing.

"No, definitely not." Megumi responds by laughing too.

Gojo and Y/n look at each other smiling fondly, they were doing a good job.

"Family hug!" Gojo says lying on top of Megumi.

"You're going to hurt Y/n you freak, get out of here." Megumi says trying to push Gojo away.

They weren't the most perfect family of all, but there was more love than many out there.

────────────────────

[hiraethwrote]

Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.

Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.

From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.

And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?

Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.

Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.

Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?

Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.

Then you came creeping into his life.

You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.

Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.

“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”

“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.

Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.

A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.

A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.

“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”

You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.

“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”

When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.

“Satoru?”

Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.

“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.

You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.

“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.

“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”

You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”

“What else can you make?”

“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”

“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”

“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.

Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.

Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.

To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.

Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

9 | four stupid letters?

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, heavy sexual tension, a tinge of angst (?), a needy Choso, etc.

❧ Word Count | 4.8k

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Given that you weren’t the biggest fan of lying to Gojo about your sexual encounters with Choso, you took that one conversation you had with him as a sign. Under no circumstances would you let Choso have his way with you again. Hell, after that conversation, you’re not sure if you even wanted Choso to touch you again.

Now that’s a lot easier said than done but you eventually manage. And by eventually, it’s meant that all it took was a single night of rest for you to wake up the next day and come to your senses.

It was Saturday, which meant that later that night, the Halloween party you’d been invited to would be taking place and you’d be going with Gojo. As such, you woke up rather early and assumed the entire day would go by rather smoothly with little to no surprises.

Unfortunately for you, the day was full of surprises. 

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

After you prepared yourself for the day, the first thing you did was head to your shared kitchen like always. Since it was so early, you weren’t surprised to find the kitchen empty and the space void of a particularly tattooed man.

The kitchen was relatively clean, safe for the sink full of used glasses and utensils that you noticed as you rounded the island in the middle of the space. Which was just perfect seeing as the only thing you came into the kitchen for was to fix yourself a glass of cold water. Releasing a long sigh as you contemplated washing one cup, you end up scoffing to yourself at the used glasses in the sink and turning for the cabinet.

Now, the kitchen is quiet and still, the only sounds coming from your footsteps as you move around and the shift in the air as you swing the upper cabinet open in search of an unused cup. A yawn leaves your lips while your eyes lazily scan the cabinet space, finding that the only glasses available to you are the ones your stupidly tall roommate decided to place all the way on the highest shelf.

Now you were left with two small decisions; turn back and wash a glass, or strain yourself trying to reach a new one. Seeing as the latter takes less labor, you end up pushing up on your toes and extending your arm up, placing your free hand on the counter to balance yourself as you reach for the glass on the top shelf and closest to the edge.

You take a deep breath as your fingertips graze the cold glass, a sigh escaping your lips at the amount of effort this small task is taking, up until your middle finger grazes the side more firmly and you’re almost sure you’re able to maneuver the glass down. Struggling with that for about a minute longer, you’re soon startled by a very warm presence right behind you.

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, a waft of mind-numbing cologne wrapping around your stretched frame and sneaking into your nose, and a firm body pressing into your backside as a larger arm reaches past yours and swiftly swipes that targeted glass up from the top shelf. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn your head back and say anything because the glass you’d been reaching for is making its way down and you’re feeling someone’s warm breath at the crown of your ear.

“Mornin’,” Is all Choso purrs in that groggy rich voice of his, tone dripping with a deepness that immediately gives you butterflies and makes your back stiffen up.

Then there’s a hand at your waist and you finally flinch at his presence. It’d been so damn tranquil in the kitchen just moments ago, the room cold and calm before Choso miraculously appeared behind you, making all the lack of warmth in the air null and void as your body went rigid and your heart rate spiked.

“M-Morning Cho,” You end up stammering, letting out a long exhale as you ease down off of your toes, your backside pressing back against Choso a bit more now. 

A small hum of acknowledgment leaves his throat and you swear all thoughts of distancing yourself from this man fly entirely out the window at that very moment. Choso brings the glass down completely and places it to the side, leaving space on the counter in front of you. Your eyes simply watch the movement of his hand, unconsciously studying the way his fingers curl around the glass, admiring those scuffs and scratches decorating his skin, and-

“You alright?” Choso rasps beside your ear, making you flinch yet again, “You’re staring at my hands.” He points out bluntly.

Your lashes bat and you shake yourself out of your stupor, turning your head slightly so that you can look him in the eyes. His gaze is low-lidded and met with yours rather quickly, long dark hair loosely framing his face as you take in his naturally sleepy expression.

You gulp, “I’m fine, sorry. You jus’ scared me, that’s all.”

Choso merely tips his head further to the side, eyes narrowing at you before they openly drop down to your lips, “My bad,” He hums rather softly. Then, you catch the way the corner of his lips begins to lift, “I was actually watchin’ you for a minute or two, y’know. I wasn’t gonna come help you at first.”

“What made you change your mind?” You scoff as you raise a brow at the man.

Both of his hands suddenly find their place on your waist and you drop your gaze down immediately, “The thought of me behind you like this,” Choso whispers, bringing his lower lip into his mouth for a moment as he gently pulls your body back to be flush against his. 

Your ass is quickly met with his cock straining slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. You gasp, “Cho-”

“Fuck,” He curses under his breath, lips brushing over yours with how close your face was to his, “You torture me, y’know..” Choso suddenly tells you.

His hips draw back slightly and just as you go to respond, he rolls them forward against you softly, “No, I d-don’t,” You utter breathily, caught off guard by the way he suddenly rubs against you as if he were in heat or something.

Your best friend then cracks a lazy smile, “Yeah ya’ do, you can feel what you do t’me,” He explains while pushing his hips forward firmly, causing you to press against the counter as your body is sandwiched between it and his hips. 

After that, the two of you are quiet for a moment and you can feel yourself getting worked up. Choso stares at your lips hungrily like every second without his atop them is killing him on the inside, all as he rocks his hips forward against your ass a few times, leaving you a bit breathy while you keep your eyes on him.

Then, Choso’s lifting a hand up to your throat and tilting his head further, “Look at you,” He hushes out, “You want it jus’ as badly as I do.”

That seems to break you out of your little daze, “Choso, I told you before… I-I don’t wanna have sex with you again.”

He groans and you swear you hear the faintest whine slipping past his lips at the sound of your rejection, “I know what you told me,” He huffs out, “But, are you sure?” As those words leave his lips, his crotch is flush with your rear again and you can feel every inch of him twitching for you. 

A sliver of chills slip up your spine and your voice is contrastingly needy, “I’m positive, Cho.”

Choso scoffs, “You don’t sound positive.”

And this is exactly why stopping whatever it is you started with Choso is damn there impossible. Ever since you had sex with him, he’s always like this with you. The unfortunate thing for you is how damn smooth he is with it, it’s not like he makes his intentions painstakingly obvious at first, he just eases into things and it makes your mind go blank every single time.

It always ends up like this with him. Even a few days ago, you went from watching some show with him like you always do to being pinned down on the couch beneath him, panting into his mouth as he ground his aching cock down against you between the layers of your clothes. It didn’t go any farther than that since you knew how to wiggle your way out of those kinds of situations but you can hardly even explain how you ended up in those positions in the first place.

Just like now for example, where Choso’s eagerly rubbing himself against you, whispering to you about how badly he wants you up until the cold sound of your voice makes him freeze against you.

“Choso,” You eventually say, “Stop,” The moment that word leaves your lips, he freezes without question, “How many times do I have to tell you this, huh? I’m not sleeping with you again.”

He’s completely motionless for a moment, letting your words sink into his brain and allowing his disappointment to run throughout his body. Then, he lets out a long sigh and moves his hands. Though, he doesn’t remove his hands from you, no. Instead, your best friend wraps his arms around your waist and his face drops into the crook of your neck, making you jump in slight surprise as he hugs you from behind.

Choso is still very warm behind you but you’ll take this needy hug of his over him humping you like some dog in heat any day because-

“You don’t get it, do you?” Choso whispers against your skin. His lips are slow to glide along your neck, a firm hum of your name leaving his mouth as his voice seems to break with every syllable that leaves him, “I want you so bad.”

Again, you’re left freezing to both his words and his touch, your heart feeling heavy as it sinks a bit within your chest. 

Choso kisses all up and down your neck, “All of you,” He continues gently in a low tone while his fingers slip under your shirt, “I don’t know what the hell you did to me but…” He slides over to kiss your shoulder, “I really need to feel you again.”

You let out a shaky little chuckle, trying to make light of his lustful confession, “Looks like I’ve got you whipped, huh?” You tease.

He grins against your skin, “Oh fuck you.”

Smiling, you suppress another laugh, “You really really want to, don’t you?”

Your best friend sighs heavily and you feel his hands begin to slide up. They stop right under your breasts and you notice he seems to be waiting for you to protest. When you do nothing but let out another soft breath of air, he licks a long stipe along your neck and his hands cup your chest fully.

Then he’s in your ear again, “Yeah,” Choso grunts, lightly fondling your breasts in a way that makes you sigh again, “Yeah, I do. I thought I made that clear, no? What part of ‘I want all of you’ didn’t you get, hm?” His fingers shift and he gives your nipples a slight pinch, pressing his lips further against your ear, “Do I need to be more direct than that? Would you rather me to tell you how I want to bend you over this countertop and fuck you til’ you can’t think of anything or anyone else but me? Huh?”

For a second, a really quick second, you almost considered throwing all of your morals out the window and letting him do exactly that. He already had his erection pressed against your ass, his hands were massaging your tits in a way that made you pure putty in his hold, and that stupidly deep voice of his in your ear did not fail to make you shamefully aroused.

“Choso…” You mumble, to which his touch grows softer and he lightly nips at your ear, “We can’t.” Your voice is firmer than it was before and you think he finally gets the hint.

You’re quickly proven wrong when Choso shamelessly whines, “But why? Hm? I’ll stop, y’know I will but, jus’ tell me why.”

Your head tips back against him and your eyes lift to the ceiling as his fingers curve against your breasts and continue to massage each mound in his hand, “You know why… I just can’t, okay?” You sigh.

At that, he seems to finally get it. Although, even if he didn’t, he would’ve stopped either way. His touch is slow to slip off of you and you feel a gush of cold air wrap around your body as he pulls himself away from you entirely, turning to further himself into the kitchen. 

You move to fix your shirt a bit, taking a deep breath to collect yourself and then glancing over to him as he makes his way toward the fridge.

Choso lets out a dramatic groan as he swings the refrigerator open and you watch him bring a hand up to scratch the back of his head, “Y’know, you’re awfully loyal to someone you’re not even in a relationship with,” He points out casually.

Your eyes roll at that and you scoff, “Letting you touch me and kiss me does not make me loyal to him.”

Since his back is facing you, you’re unable to see the way your words make him crack an irritated little grin, “Riight, but that’s as far as we can go because that’s so much better than us havin’ sex,” He utters sarcastically, not even giving you a moment to respond to that before he’s speaking again, “But, hey, I’m not gonna force you to do anything with me. Jus’ doesn’t make much sense, y’know? It’s like… what’s he got that I don’t?”

Okay, maybe you’re perceiving things wrong but, if you didn’t know any better—it almost sounded like Choso was… jealous?

Which throws you all the way off because, Choso, jealous? Of what? Gojo? It sounded bizarre just to think about. Hell, so bizarre that it almost made you laugh. 

Your moment of processing his question makes the man impatient, to which he glances back over his shoulder at you and cocks an eyebrow, “Hm?”

You snap away from your thoughts and shrug, “He actually likes me as a person and not just for my body.”

Choso deadpans at that statement. You could not be serious right now. “What?” Choso scoffs, his face twisting up into a slight scowl, “I’m sorry, did I miss a few chapters? Since when has our friendship been based or built on me yearning for your body?”

Your words seem to have flown entirely over his head, “That’s not what I’m saying Choso.”

“Then what are you sayin’? Cause’ last time I checked,” He suddenly shuts the fridge and turns around to face you, “Gojo’s been trying to do nothing but fuck you lately.”

His statement makes you frown, “No he hasn’t…”

“Yeah? He hasn’t?” Choso scoffs at your obliviousness, “You think he’ll still wanna be around you after he gets what he wants?”

“Of course he will! Satoru’s not like that-,” As soon as those words leave your lips, you’re receiving a phone call from the man in question, “See? Look, he’s even calling me right now.”

It’s like Choso is rendered paralyzed at the sight of you pulling your phone out of your pocket to answer that incoming call. He’s stuck in a trance watching the way you answer and bringing the phone to your ear, flashing a smile at whatever Gojo had said to you already. 

Just like that, all your attention was stripped away from him and he couldn’t believe it. Whatever you were saying went entirely through one ear and out the other because before Choso even realized it, his feet were moving on their own and he was making his way back over to you. Once he stood right in front of you again, you still kept that same smile on your face as you listened to Gojo on the other end but your gaze traveled up to Choso.

Though, your eyes didn’t need to travel too far up because Choso was leaning down to you. Luckily Gojo was doing that thing where he rambles on and on about something without expecting anyone to reply until he’s finished so, the way you go quiet isn’t noticed. Choso leans in close and tilts his head opposite of yours, taking your jaw into his hand and tipping your head up firmly.

He doesn’t do anything but stare at you for a second, to which you soon realize he’s actually trying to hear what Gojo’s saying to you.

“—and then Suguru was telling me about the last party that was hosted by her, the one I didn’t go to, and apparently-,” The sound of Gojo’s storytelling is scoffed at by the man all too close to you right now. A scoff that could’ve even been heard by Gojo if he’d shut up for just a second.

Then Choso focuses back onto you and you could tell by the way his eyes lowered onto yours. “I wonder…” Choso whispers very softly, warm breath fanning over your lips. “I wonder how he’d feel knowing you let me do stuff like this to you,” As his statement comes to an end, his lips are steady to melt onto yours.

And so there you are—on the phone with Gojo Satoru as your best friend Choso Kamo kisses you. The bad thing about this wasn’t even the kiss itself or the fact that Gojo was on the line. It’s the way you let it happen, the way you continue it, the way you kiss back that makes this all so very wrong. 

Choso’s gentle against your lips, intentionally moving slowly so that his mouth makes no noise sliding over yours. Gojo’s clueless as he talks and talks (practically to himself at this point) and your best friend tightens his grip on your jaw. You cannot explain why exactly you let Choso kiss you or why you’re even kissing him back right now but either way, one could argue that you actually like this.

You like having these two men want you. This rush of adrenaline that spikes throughout your body as Choso slips his tongue past your welcoming lips almost makes you dizzy. You push against Choso with need and he quickly smiles into the kiss, holding back a laugh at how easy you make things for him.

When his lips detach from yours with a very faint but wet smack, he’s staring deeply into your eyes. Again with a hushed tone so that his voice isn’t picked up by your phone, “Did it mean anything to you?” Choso mumbles.

Your brows twist up and Gojo’s voice is steadily fading out your ears as your attention shifts.

Your best friend pecks your lips again, “That night we had together… Did it mean anything to ya’?” He murmurs, lips moving to say something further but his tone is so soft that you hardly hear what he says. “Do I mean anything to you anymore? Or am I jus’ your friend now?”

You can feel the way your heart churns at that. Your lashes bat and you open your mouth to say something but what comes out makes Choso roll his eyes. “Satoru,” You utter surprisingly, causing the man on the phone to stop mid-sentence with a hum. “Give me uh, one second-“

Choso sees the way you’re only about to mute the phone and out of spite, or maybe jealousy, or some sort of dislike for the guy, he swipes your phone out of your hand and ends the call. Your eyes go all wide and you want to yell at him for that but he doesn’t give you a chance. Your phone is tossed onto the counter behind you and within a second, you’re being lifted up onto that same space.

“Cho-“ You just barely gasp before he’s crashing his lips into yours yet again.

He’s a bit more aggressive now, kissing you like his life depends on it and like he won’t get an opportunity like this again. Then he’s dropping his hands to your thighs and tugging your body to be flush with his, letting you feel the way he’s still hard after all this time, if not harder.

Choso nibbles on your lower lip, tugs at it, sucks on it, shoves his tongue back into your mouth—anything you can think of, he was doing at the moment. You could hear your phone buzzing behind you but when you tried to messily reach back and grab it, Choso moved a hand to yours and pinned your fingers down against the counter. You let out a whine against him and his mind just blanks at that.

His cock was twitching like crazy against your cunt and you were losing your breath by the second. Gasping, “Choso please-,” in between kisses only to be ignored until he feels like prying himself away for longer than one second.

Choso’s panting by that point and the look in his eyes is simply starved. “Answer me,” He huffs out in a demanding tone.

You’ve got this unintentional pout on your face that makes him want to kiss you all over again but he ignores it for the sake of his sanity. “A-Answer what?” You breathe back.

“My question, princess,” He whispers against your lips, “Did that night mean anything to you or not?”

All dazed and confused, your lips are lagging behind in voicing how you feel right now. “I…” Your brows twist up a little, “I don’t know Cho… I just-“

His eyes are so possessive that you can feel yourself shrinking beneath that gaze of his, “Do you not feel that?” He asks.

You blink, “Feel what??”

“This,” Choso purrs with a slow grind of his hips forward. Then he’s dropping his head to the crook of your neck and breathing hotly against you, “Can’t you see you’re driving me insane? If that night didn’t mean anything to you, that’s fine, I don’t give a shit. But come on now, it can’t be just me.”

You’re quiet for a moment after that, allowing his words to soak up into the tensed atmosphere. The only sound is the mixed panting from you two and the continuous buzz of your phone. There’s a beat of silence once your phone goes still and you let out a long sigh.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around what the hell is up with Choso today even if you tried, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t get you outta my fuckin’ head,” He hums, “All I think about is you, you, you, you. It’s killing me.”

It’s almost comical to you at this point—trying to imagine Choso being this clingy after one night with you is rather difficult. So, you roll your eyes and your words leave you softly, “You’re just… saying that.”

“This ain’t proof enough?” He continues, leaving a trail of mushy little kisses down the side of your neck, “What other way do I have to say this—I want you.”

“No, you wanna fuck me,” You correct, “There’s a difference-“

Choso shrugs, “I don’t see why there has to be.”

“Because-“

You’re cut off by your phone starting back up with its buzzing. 

“Because what? Ignore that guy for ten fuckin’ seconds, please. Just give me your attention,” Choso pleads as he lifts his head and flashes you with these desperate puppy-dog-like eyes. “Only me. Think about only me for jus’ a second, that’s all I ask.”

You gulp at this sudden change in demeanor, “Choso what’s wrong with you? I know we had sex but c’mon, you’re acting crazy.”

“I’m acting crazy? You kiss me back while you’re on the phone with your ‘crush’ but I’m the one actin’ crazy?” His questions almost come off as harsh but his tone is nothing but tender, “You let me do all this to you but I’m the crazy one??”

A huff slips past you, “Yes! Do you not hear yourself right now?”

He scoffs, “I do. But do you not see yourself right now? Do you not realize the things you do? You say you don’t want me and that you want this to stop but then you do the exact fucking opposite. You glare at me like you hate me and then kiss me like you love me so, tell me, which is it?”

Yet another beat of silence passes as you just gape at him with this dumbfounded look. It’s so odd with Choso, one moment you’re making out with him and then the next it’s whatever the hell this is right now.

All you’re left to react with is a lost mumble of, “What?”

“…Y'know what, fuck it.” Choso lets out yet another scoff and shakes his head. “I don’t even care anymore,” He claims while his hands lift into the air as if he were admitting defeat.

By this point, it’s not even clear whether or not you’re the one being complicated or him. Well, maybe it is clear, just not to you at this moment…

“Choso..” You start off again as you reach a hand out to pull him back toward you.

He avoids your touch entirely and takes a step back, “What?”

“I don’t know what I want,” You explain, “I… I know I like Satoru but-,”

“Yeah, that’s pretty fuckin obvious.” He utters under his breath.

You take that snarky comment of his lightly, “But… I don’t know about you..”

He shrugs, “I mean at this point, what about me? I’m jus’ your best friend that you run to for dick whenever he doesn’t give you any, right?”

Perplexity takes over your features, “W-What? No, I-“

“It’s okay, really,” Anyone with ears could hear from his tone alone that things were far from okay. “I told you I don’t care anymore,” He repeats before shrugging it all off again.

The only thing you can manage to respond with is another, “Choso, please.”

He nods his chin toward your phone, “Call your boyfriend back before he shows up here unannounced again.” Then, he turns away and makes his way out of the kitchen.

“Wait-“

“Oh,” Pausing once he’s just out of the area, “You texted me last night about askin’ me something, what was it?”

“Don’t just change the subject Cho,” You plead with a look of sympathy, “I’m trying to say that-“

“I don’t care,” He cuts off crisply, almost meanly. “What were you gonna ask me?”

You hate it when he does this. It irks you on an entirely deeper level than what you’re showcasing at the moment but, you’ve been down similar roads like this with Choso before and no matter how much you push the subject—once he’s dropped it or moved on, you can forget getting any sort of response from him about it.

So, you slowly look away from him and mumble out that question of yours. “…Do you wanna come to Hori’s Halloween party tomorrow...?”

“Oh, that? She texted me about that a few days ago, but uh..” He moves a hand to scratch the back of his neck in thought, “You know I don’t do parties so, why’re you askin’?”

The air feels slightly lighter now. “She seemed to really like you and asked me to convince you to come so… y’know,” You shrug.

Choso nods, “Oh. Well, I’ll go if you want me to.”

Your eyes carefully dance back over to him and you think about that for a second. You and Choso don’t go to parties together often, you two don’t exactly have the best history with partying together but… Hori seemed like a sweet girl so getting Choso to come would be nice of you, right? Even if that requires making him go for you.

“I do,” You tell him, watching the way his face lights up ever so slightly.

Then, he narrows his eyes skeptically, “You… do?”

“Mhm.”

Choso looks at you for a few seconds longer before nodding in agreement. “Alright then,” He says, turning to head toward his room, “Jus’ remember that.”

“Remember what?” You ask.

Looking back over his shoulder, “I’m only going for you.” Is the last thing he says to you before finally making his full exit off into his bedroom.

mlist | last chapter | next chapter |

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