#then maybe it was all worth it in the end
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alexia putellas x reader after insisting on going to r's childhood home to spend christmas with her family, alexia helps r navigate a rather difficult reunion with rather difficult parents. angst -> fluff / comfort :)
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It was almost embarrassing, bringing Alexia home to a family so devoid of love. Sheâd insisted, though, never having met your parents, even though youâd met her entire extended family multiple times. Sheâd explained it adorably, that she wanted to see where you came from and the people that raised you. You werenât entirely sure how to tell her that none of that was worth seeing, so with several complaints, youâd agreed to return home for Christmas. Alexia could be difficult like that; when she wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone.Â
She wanted you to get to spend Christmas with your family, and she was making it happen. No matter what you said.Â
What you absolutely couldnât have, though, was Alexia getting to your childhood home unprepared. She had to know what she was getting herself into, and you did your best to prepare her. It started with small things, telling her how your mother was very religious, or how your father was quiet and probably wouldnât speak much. But you couldnât stop thinking of things to warn her about, until you were on the plane sitting next to her, a whole speech about your mother and her disapproval of your career falling from your mouth.Â
âAnd sheâll probably say something about us getting real jobs, and I just donât want you toââ
Alexia cut you off, grabbing the hand that was gesturing wildly as you spoke and giving it a firm squeeze. âAmor, I have been hearing that for years from people. I can take it.âÂ
Her smile was nothing but reassuring, and you werenât sure how to express just how difficult your parents and your family could be. Your girlfriend knew that your relationship with your family was strained, but youâd always been very tight-lipped about the details. You were filled to the brim with anxious anticipation, and you could tell Alexia didnât understand why you seemed to be dreading this. Christmas at home with your family should, theoretically, be an enjoyable and fun time.Â
It wouldnât be. It hadnât been, in all the years that youâd been travelling back home for it, and you knew itâd be even worse this year, because every second your mind would be consumed with being terrified of what your girlfriend would be thinking. Of your family and the way they viewed you, the way they spoke and belittled you. The fear that she would realize just how ugly and cruel your family could be and decide she didnât want that in her life was all consuming.Â
Youâd always heard that a person was the truest version of themselves with their family. This sentiment had always horrified you, your greatest fear being that it was correct. The version of you around your parents was the worst version of yourself, and Alexia was about to see all of it.Â
But didnât Alexia deserve to see what she was getting herself into with you? In the end, this was what had you convinced to let her come home with you for the holidays. She deserved to know all of the person she was with.
âAmor, hey.â Alexia called, cupping your cheek with one hand as you focused back on her, apparently having gotten lost in your thoughts. âWhere did you go just now?âÂ
Her eyes were crinkled with concern, her fingers soft on your cheek, and you felt the sudden appearance of tears pooling in your eyes. Her brow knitted together and she leaned closer, gently kissing your cheek.Â
You inhaled deeply, letting her hand in yours ground you into the present. âIâm nervous. I donât think you get thatââ
Alexia interrupted you again, covering your mouth with her hand. âI understand that your family is difficult. I understand that your relationship with them is not the best. But maybe this can be your chance to try to mend things, no? And I promise, amorcita, nothing I see from your family will make me love you any less.âÂ
Alexia kissed you again before pulling you into her chest as best she could with the arm of the airplane seat in between you. You let her hold you, wondering if she was telling the truth. If sheâd really still love you after⊠what you were increasingly sure would be a disaster was over.Â
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It started as soon as you arrived. There were a few moments of peace on the drive from the airport to your parents house, with Alexia practically smooshing her face against the window to get a glimpse of your hometown. Â
And then youâd arrived, and within a few minutes of your arrival, your mother had commented on your hair, your clothes, your career, and your lack of time spent at home. Alexia was quiet, as you knew she would be, because she still felt insecure about her English, and she much preferred to listen to it than to speak it.Â
Your parents seemed to like Alexia, at least, commenting on how put together she seemed, and how kind it was of her to bring the bottle of wine she had with her as a gift for them. You were still tense, though, standing in the pristinely white kitchen with your parents and your siblings, discussing the plans for the day. It was the 22nd, and there were still things needed to be done before everyone arrived on Christmas Eve. Alexia stood at your side, just observing.Â
âAlright, what else does everyone need to do?â Your mother asked, taking out a notepad and holding her pen at the ready over it, as if you all werenât adults that could remember simple tasks.
âI need to get the ingredients for the Christmas cookies Iâm going to make.â You stated, having done all of your shopping already and sent it ahead.Â
âReally? Youâre going to make those cookies?â Your mother replied, her fast twisting with disgust. You shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.Â
âYes, everyone normally likes them.âÂ
Your mother exchanged a look with your father, smirking as she looked back at her list. âHoney, no one eats them. I throw most of them out every year when youâre not looking.âÂ
Your face burned with embarrassment, and you shrunk into yourself, head bowed as you stared at the floor and willed everyone to stop looking at you. This was what youâd always done; instead of arguing back, youâd shut down. They could say what they wanted, but you didnât have to let it hurt you. You werenât exactly sure how to stop it from hurting, but they didnât have to know that.Â
Yet as your Mom turned to your sister to ask her what she had left to do, Alexia stepped closer towards you, grabbing your hand and taking a deep breath.Â
âI like the cookies. And so does the team, they always ask you to bring them.â Her voice was soft, words accented, but the room was silent. Your mother turned to look at her, an odd expression on her face, and you sighed internally. You could feel nothing but deep gratitude for Alexia, sweet loyal Alexia who loved anything you cooked and and refused to let even you criticize yourself.Â
Your Mother chuckled, a cruel sound that made you wince.Â
âYou donât need to lie, Alexia, youâre already way out of her league. You shouldnât have to eat her awful baking too.â Your Mother joked, a glint in her eye that told you she wasnât really joking.
Still, Alexia seemed offended at your motherâs words, and you should have known she would be. Her grip on your hand tightened, and she stepped in closer.Â
âNo, she is a good baker, and Iââ
Your father cut Alexia off, speaking for the first time since youâd arrived. âWell, the Spanish do have weird tastes. Excessively affectionate, too.â His eyes flickered down to where your hand was intertwined with Alexiaâs, his meaning clear in his tone.Â
You felt Alexiaâs hand slip from yours, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that she had turned red. This was a step too far. Making Alexia feel embarrassed for showing affection towards you⊠you could take everything they had to throw at you, but they were not allowed to mess with the best person youâd ever known.Â
You stepped forward, despite the light tug on the back of your shirt from Alexia, clearly telling you to let it go. You couldnât let it go; you could handle the disrespect from your parents, but you wouldnât let them do the same to Alexia.Â
âThat was rude, Dad.â Your voice shook pathetically, the big stand you were taking seemed pitiful as soon as you tried to speak.Â
Again, your parents just exchanged amused glances, and you could see out of the corner of your eye your siblings rolling their eyes. It seemed as if no one was on your side, and you werenât sure why you were surprised. Thatâs how it always went.Â
Without another word in your direction, your Mother turned to your siblings, asking them what they had left to do. Of course, there was no criticism of the cake your sister intended to bake, even though it always came out dry. No one told your brother that the amount of alcohol he was planning on getting was absurd. It seemed the humiliation was only reserved for you.Â
The old feeling was back, the one of deep loneliness. Youâd spent almost 18 years in this house, feeling like an outsider. Whenever you returned, it was like you reverted back to the 18 year old that had left, no matter how much time had passed. You always felt like an irrationally angry kid in the face of how your parents treated you, and you hated it. Always second guessing yourself, always half sure that you were the one in the wrong. Your parents, your brother and your sister, they all agreed that you were the problem. You were alone, here, like you always were.Â
Another tug on your hand, though, reminded you that you werenât actually alone.Â
âCome on, show me your room.â Alexia whispered, her hands gentle as she guided you out of the room. She was shocked, to say the least, at your familyâs treatment of you. Sheâd known you had a difficult relationship but she didnât imagine it was like this. Youâd been home for 10 minutes, seeing your parents for the first time in almost a year, and theyâd wasted no time trying to embarrass you in front of her. She was hoping this was a one off, though, perhaps an inside joke she had misunderstood. So, she let you lead the way to your room, taking in the small space more critically than she normally would have.Â
Her room at her mothers house was left practically untouched from when sheâd moved out. It was filled with posters of footballers and old memories. Your room here, though, was devoid of any sentiment. No pictures, no decorations, nothing that made it feel like it had been yours. Alexia wasnât sure if your parents had cleared away any trace of you from the room, or if it had never really been decorated in the first place. She wasnât sure which she preferred, honestly.Â
But as you leaned into her wordlessly for a hug as soon as the bedroom door shut behind you, Alexia began to worry. Making you bring her here was starting to feel like a mistake. She didnât have the whole picture, or even most of it. All she knew was that she hated the blank expression on your face, and she hated the way you seemed to shrink into yourself around your parents. Like youâd rather disappear than be noticed by them.Â
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It wasnât a one off, the awkward moment upon your immediate arrival home. It had barely been 24 hours, but Alexia had witnessed at least 5 different instances of your parents treating you like an inconvenient annoyance instead of the daughter they hadnât seen in almost a year.Â
First, it was your mother asking about your plans for when football ended.Â
âAll Iâm saying, honey, is that you are not going to be able to find a good job with your school records.â She tutted, before turning to Alexia. âI swear, she didnât finish a math or science class with more than a C her entire time in school.â Â
Your mother smiled, as if sheâd just told the funniest joke in the world. Alexiaâs face was one of both shock and horror. Her mami would never have said something even remotely close to what your mother had just said, even if Alexia had failed every class sheâd ever taken. It was so unnecessary, and your girlfriend could see the weight your motherâs words had over you.Â
It was more of the same from the day before; instead of saying anything in response, you just sank back into the couch, gaze fixed on the floor. This only seemed to mollify your mom, and as she kept talking, rehashing every test youâd failed, Alexia could see tears beginning to well in your eyes.Â
âHer marks were so bad before she left for football, I donât think she would have even graduated.â Your mother chuckled. It was untrue; your grades werenât that bad. Not the best, sure, but you werenât in any danger of failing or getting kicked out. Still, it was like your mouth was sealed shut, and saying anything in response wasnât possible. You couldnât defend yourself, you couldnât even look up from the ground. It was pathetic.Â
âAmor, can you help me choose what to wear tonight? I brought two sweaters, and I cannot decide.âÂ
Alexia didnât wait for a response from you, standing and reaching for your hand, well past caring that your parents seemed to think of Alexiaâs affection as something of an entertaining joke. You followed her down the hall and into your bedroom, her hand warm and soft in yours, only making the sob caught in your throat more difficult to keep in.Â
As soon as you were safely in your sadly bare bedroom, though, she was wrapping you up tight in her arms.Â
You tried to defend yourself, mortified at everything your mother had said, words mumbled into Alexiaâs sweatshirt. âIâm not dumb. She made it sound like Iâm dumb, butââ
Alexia cut you off, holding you even tighter. âYou are not dumb, I know this. Do not listen to her, do not even think about it. You are so intelligent, mi amor, I promise you.âÂ
Your body began to shake in her arms, a quiet thank you breaking the brief silence. You were crying, and it was all Alexia could do to keep holding you until the tears stopped. What else could she say?Â
But for every conversation that followed in which your mother attempted to belittle you or make you feel bad, Alexia would find an excuse to pull you away.Â
When your mother expressed her distaste for your haircut, Alexia practically wrote you a poem in the garage about how much she loved your hair.Â
When your father made a thinly veiled comment about how you were most definitely not invited to church the following day, as the other families would be judgemental about your lifestyle, Alexia was right beside you, trying to hold back her absolute fury. She forced a smile, telling your father it was better you both stay home, because ignorance and stupidity were not worth engaging with.Â
When your mother suggested you eat a salad instead of the pasta you were going to order for dinner, Alexia very pointedly informed your mother that you were among the fittest on the team. And later, laying in bed, when she could tell you were still thinking about the comment, she⊠reminded you how much she loved your body. Twice.Â
Alexia had an answer for everything, a way to make your chest stop squeezing whenever your mother opened her mouth. You werenât sure how she was doing it, werenât sure why she was possibly still here. After all of your flaws were explicitly laid out in front of her, she seemed only more determined to make it clear how much she loved you.Â
It was easier, one you decided to just focus on Alexia and not what your parents had to say. With her there with you, it felt like this was a trip you could maybe get through.Â
But then Alexia offered to take the family dog for a long walk while you caught up with your sister, by far your favorite member of the family. She thought it was important that you have time together, and she didnât mind a bit of time away from the loud chaos that had taken over the house. Â
She left with the dog, returning only 45 minutes later, with no idea what her absence had given the opportunity for.Â
Alexia came back into the house, unhooking the dog from his leash, the smile falling from her face when she sensed the tension in the room. You were nowhere to be seen, and your parents looked beyond furious, clattering around angrily in the kitchen as they cooked. Your sister sat on the couch, guilt written across her face.Â
âSheâs in her room, go,â your sister whispered, catching Alexiaâs eye and giving her a meaningful nod. It didnât take a mind reader to understand what had happened. Things had been on the brink with your parents the short time youâd been home. It seemed everything had finally boiled over. Alexia moved towards your room as fast as was socially acceptable, knocking softly on the door before opening it. You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, face wet with tears.Â
âOh, mĂ bebe,â Alexia whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her and lowering herself onto the ground next to you. Her strong arms pulled you into a tight hug, and you burrowed into her, not minding the chill of her skin from the cold outside. No hug had ever felt warmer.Â
âIâm so sorry,â you whimpered, feeling guilt upon guilt at the fact that youâd brought your girlfriend into this environment, even if sheâd insisted on it. How embarrassed she must be, to see you so easily humiliated by your parents. She must be rethinking everything, your whole relationship.Â
But, as Alexia was often inclined to do, she surprised you, tenderly wiping away your tears and giving you a reassuring smile.Â
âYou have nothing to be sorry about, nothing.â She assured you, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek.Â
âI donât want to be here anymore.âÂ
âThen letâs go. We can get flights back to Spain. Be home before Christmas, spend it ourselves. Just us.âÂ
âYouâd do that?âÂ
âOf course I would, amor.â
âYou wanted to come here, though, I donât want to ruin everything,â
Alexia cut you off. âI donât want to be anywhere that makes you unhappy.â She said softly. You looked up at her finally, and the adoring expression on her face as she gazed down at you was almost overwhelming.Â
âOkay.â You murmured, pressing your face into her shoulder. She held you close, pulling out her phone to buy tickets on the next flight out. Once that was done, she guided you away from the safety of her sweatshirt, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.Â
âGet packing. I am going to speak to your parents.âÂ
âAle,â
âNo. I am. Stay here, pack. I will be back in a moment.âÂ
â
You couldnât be sure what Alexia said to your parents. They didnât speak as you left the house, and neither did either of your siblings. They all just watched you go, a somewhat impressed look on your sisterâs face. Alexia wouldnât tell you, either, saying sheâd just told them what they needed to hear.Â
The next half a day or so went by in a blur. You were emotionally exhausted from being home, and Alexia practically had to drag you through the airport once youâd landed in Barcelona. Before you knew it, you were at Alexiaâs motherâs house for Christmas Eve. Eli had been delighted to have the both of you home, not saying a single word about how you were supposed to be at your familyâs home.Â
You could relax, finally, at Eliâs house with people you felt comfortable around. You loved Alexiaâs family, loved how they all seemed excited to see you, asked you enthusiastic questions about your life. It was nice, spending the holidays with them. With Alexiaâs arms around your shoulders, making sure you were always tucked into her side, and her family so happily chatting around you, it was so nice to be around a happy, loving family.Â
Happy, though, wasnât all you felt. You watched Alexia with her Mami, her cousins and her aunts and uncles. She fit so easily, smiling widely as she joked around with them. Alexia was loved by her family, but you were not. You never had been and you didnât understand why. Â
There had to be over 50 people in the house, and you were confident that no one would notice if you slipped off, just for a minute. Someone had noticed. Alba noticed the tears in your eyes, too, the ones you hadnât even been aware of. So, while you darted off to the bathroom, the brunette went in search of her sister.Â
She found her in a crowd of her uncles, in a heated argument about some football tactic. Alba didnât have the patience to wait until the conversation had ended, and knew that if Alexia had seen you just a few moments before, she wouldnât either.Â
âAle.â Alba said quietly, pulling on her sisterâs arm. The blonde shook her off, barely turning her head to look at her as she did so. âAlexia, now.âÂ
With a roll of her eyes, Alexia exited the conversation. âAy dios mio, what, Alba?â she huffed, dragging her feet as Alba yanked her in the direction of the bathroom.Â
âYour girlfriend snuck away, and it looked like she was crying. Just thought youâd want to know.â Alba snapped with a frown, turning on her heel and stomping away. Alexia would fix that later, she thought.Â
âAmor?â Alexia called, knocking quietly. âAre you in there?âÂ
She heard a deep inhale, and then your shaky voice. âYeah, Iâm fine. Iâll be out in a second.âÂ
Alexia tried the handle again. âLet me in, please.âÂ
A moment passed before the lock clicked open and Alexia practically threw herself through the door and into the bathroom.Â
Your makeup was running, and you were desperately trying to mop up the tears still streaming down your face.Â
âCome here.â Alexia said simply, opening her arms for you to collapse into. It was a good thing she was wearing a black sweater, or thereâd have been mascara visible all over it. You sniffled against her for a few moments, and she didnât push you to talk. She ran her hand through your hair, leaving a light kiss on the top of your head.Â
You pulled away after a moment, reaching for a tissue, but Alexia grabbed one before you could, gently wiping away the tears and running makeup off your face. She had a frown set on her face, and you misunderstood the cause.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâm okay, you can go back to your family.âÂ
Her frown deepened. ïżœïżœïżœDo not say sorry. What upset you? Did someone say something?âÂ
You shook your head, feeling more tears well up in your eyes though you knew you really shouldnât be crying anymore about this. âNo, no one said anything.â You were wilting under Alexiaâs stern gaze, so she made a conscious effort to soften, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.Â
âTell me what has you so upset.â She encouraged, pulling your body closer into hers.Â
You exhaled shakily, not quite sure how to explain it without sounding like an awful, pathetic person. âI⊠itâs justâŠâÂ
Alexia sighed, resting her hand on your cheek and encouraging you to look up at her. âYou can tell me, bebĂ©. Whatever it is, you can always tell me.âÂ
âItâs hard.â You mumbled eventually, studying the floor under your feet very closely. Â
âWhat is hard?âÂ
âBeing here.â You admitted. âWith your family who all adore you, and they should, itâs just that my family⊠they donât⊠and I just wantâŠâ Your voice broke and you slammed your mouth shut, unwilling to allow yourself to break down again.Â
âAmor,â Alexia breathed, engulfing you once more in a tight hug. âI know. It is not fair the way they treat you, I am so sorry. It makes sense that this is hard, I understand.âÂ
You held tight to your girlfriend, letting the smell of her perfume wash over you. Alexia always knew what to say. Always knew how to make you feel better. You didnât deserve someone as good as her, you were sure of that. As if reading your thoughts, Alexia leaned away from the hug and cradled your face in her hands.Â
âLetâs go home. I have a surprise for you there.â Her face was so earnest and hopeful, you felt your heart melt.Â
âBut your familyââ
âThey will understand, and I am pretty sure they will not even notice us leave anyway, it is so loud in here, everyone loves to hear the sound of their own voice.â With a fond roll of her eyes and a half smile, Alexia had you convinced. She made sure the makeup that had run while you cried was wiped off your face, before expertly leading you out of the house. As she said, most of her family was too busy chatting to notice Alexia pulling you through the crowd, though she did stop to say goodbye to her mother. Eli gave you a tight hug, sending the two of you on your way with a large shopping bag full of wrapped gifts.Â
It didnât seem to bother Alexia, leaving early. In fact, she seemed so excited about whatever surprise she had for you at home that she was practically bouncing in the driverâs seat. Her excitement remained all the way home, until you were sitting on the sofa in your shared apartment, hands dutifully covering your eyes.Â
There was some rustling in the front hall closet, what sounded like a box falling from a shelf and Alexiaâs voice quietly swearing. You smiled to yourself, hearing her footsteps approach, before something was placed in your lap.Â
âOkay! Open!â Alexia sang, sitting on the edge of the coffee table just in front of you. Opening your eyes, you found a gift bag resting in your lap, puffy as though it was a bit too small for whatever was inside, tissue paper haphazardly covering the opening of the bag. âCome on! Open!âÂ
You chuckled, pulling the tissue paper out of the reindeer covered bag, and reaching in. Before you had even processed the fabric in your hands, Alexia was leaning in to kiss you, bursting with eagerness.Â
âIt is matching Christmas pajamas!â She burst out, grinning from ear to ear as you unfolded the red and white plaid pajama pants, white long sleeve shirts with a well decorated christmas tree adorning the front.Â
You couldnât help but match her energy, smiling back at her as she explained herself.Â
âI looked up Christmas traditions we could start, just ourselves. I have a whole list, and this is the first thing on the list. New matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. A new⊠our family tradition.âÂ
It shouldnât have surprised you, that Alexia thought of you as her family, but maybe you just werenât expecting anyone to choose you when your family wouldnât even do that. You dropped the pajamas into your lap, pulling her in for a soft kiss. âYouâre the sweetest. I love it. And I love you.âÂ
âI love you more.â Alexia whispered, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. âLetâs put them on and watch a Christmas movie!âÂ
It didnât matter that Alexia didnât particularly care for Christmas movies. Not when she was waiting for you on the bed, her set of pajamas looking adorable on her. Her fading blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her face broke into a massive smile when she saw you in your set of pajamas.Â
And as you laid in Alexiaâs arms, plaid pajama covered legs tangled together as a Christmas movie played on the TV, it didnât matter so much that you didnât have your family to celebrate with. You had Alexia, and that was more than enough.Â
â
have not proofread this so pls tell me if you find a typo
i hope you enjoy! i know the holidays aren't always enjoyable for everyone, and honestly it's gonna be a weird one for me, but i hope everyone feels loved and appreciated this year.
#woso x reader#woso imagine#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas x reader#woso one shot#woso fanfics
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ᥣđ© WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hellâfor some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile itâs fucked ip :â) 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. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.
SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST
Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.
Is he dreaming? Heâs not sure. Itâs cold, he shouldnât be cold in dreams, right?Â
He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but itâs futileâthe snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.
â... are we going toâŠâ
Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but thereâs no one in sight. He can hardly see
Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?
Dazaiâs fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a childâmorbid and odd as it mightâve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that itâs part of the reason why his siblings didnât like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldnât answerâwhat happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we donât? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his motherâs side. But what-
He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood whyâthey were legitimate questionsâbut his motherâs evasion of the topic and his siblingsâ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.
His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didnât come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit dishearteningâhe canât even die correctlyâthat of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.
His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasakuâs arrival in his life. Or well, thatâs not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a haltâOdasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down.Â
Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with himâit was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didnât think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasakuâs face ever again.Â
It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazaiâs unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydiceâit was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoplesâ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth.Â
Dazai isnât particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieriâs vision.Â
Like this.Â
â... canât just stop, heâll never let it beâŠâ
This voice isnât unfamiliar. Dazaiâs head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like itâs coming from all around himâthe wind carries it, he canât tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.
A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.
Lake Cocytusâif this is what Dazai thinks it is, then itâs meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killedâyour loyalty to the Port Mafia.Â
Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he mightâve been in the months before he met you. He feels⊠unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasakuâs book. He didnât even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasnât enough. Heâd wanted more. He wanted a life with you.Â
He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.
He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then heâd be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldnât be this circleâhe doesnât think heâs ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.
Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his âbetrayalâ to you count? Itâs not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldnât be too bad, if heâs here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying himâhe wouldnât mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other.Â
Itâs kind of romantic, if you really think about it.
Something bubbles in his chestâmaybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he canât tell, he thinks maybe heâs a bit hysterical.Â
It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe heâs somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where heâs going to end up if he doesnât change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.
The thought makes him laugh.
He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, heâd wake up. He thinks you would find this funnyâone of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-
â... one life or hundreds, thatâs what he saidâŠâ
Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You donât, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.
The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kinâDazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfatherâs inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.
Traitors to country in the next sectionâDazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isnât exactly a city or country, but itâs still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazaiâs grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.
Traitors to guests in the next sectionâthis gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesnât know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened.Â
And the last sectionâtraitors to benefactors. He canât avoid looking at them; theyâre the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.
Is that-
âThereâs only one way this ends.â
Dazaiâs breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-
Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch heâs laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; heâs still reeling from what heâd just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.
Just a dream, he confirms, but now heâs more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isnât dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room heâs in is smallâthereâs no windows, thereâs a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-
âEveryone out.â
Dazaiâs gaze settles on you. Youâre standing near the far wallâyou havenât changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Aceâs blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.
They donât argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, âWeâll buy some more time. Just⊠figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?â
You finally look away from him at Chuuyaâs words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, âIt doesnât matter what I want. It has to be done.â
Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with himâand then the two of you are left alone. You donât approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadnât been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.
Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he canât catch your eye.
He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didnât the bullet kill me? Why didnât you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?
Dazai doesnât know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: âWhere are we?âÂ
Though youâd stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.
âA safe house in Sakae,â you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. âYou should take it easy⊠Youâre probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.â
Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where heâs laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes hisâhe knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can.Â
His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesnât even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his headâhe thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. Itâs only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again.Â
âI donât have enough bandages on me already?â he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesnât work.
You donât respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesnât meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:
âWill you tell me what happened?â
--
âWe need to go,â Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You donât budge from where youâre standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okayâif everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. âCome on. We canât stay here. We have to go.â
âHow do-â
âNot here,â Chuuya hisses. âCome on.â
âChuuya-â you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You canât bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. âChuuya, I need to kn-â
Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy youâre in love with.
âNot here,â Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating.Â
This time, he doesnât wait for you to follow himâhe yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazaiâs execution, but youâre haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.
He accepted it.
You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you werenât going to kill him, but that look in his eyesâŠ
He didnât know, and he accepted it anyway.
Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over itâyou saw the blood, you donât know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You donât know if Dazaiâs nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You donât know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Moriâs office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You donât even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You donât know anything.
âDonât you dare throw up on me,â Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside.Â
Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesnât say anything elseâhe knows better. This is one of the Port Mafiaâs cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyouâs subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isnât dead.
Because Dazai isnât dead. He canât be dead.
It worked. It all worked.
It had to have.Â
Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on youâhe was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. Youâre certain that heâs going to send someone to check the body now; he doesnât trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved.Â
Klaus will have to be quickâyou donât even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Moriâs shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.
You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.
âHas it been done?â
âYes,â you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. âDo you need me back at headquarters?â
âNo, Iâm sure that wasnât easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. Iâll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,â Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. â... Iâm sorry things had to end this way, dear. Iâm proud of you. You did well.â
âI know,â you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap.Â
Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesnât say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driverâs seat. Itâs a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakaeâfor better or for worse, itâs going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all youâre plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazaiâs face before you shot him.
You didnât shoot him. Not really.
But you did, you donât know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You donât even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldnât have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you wonât know until you get to the safe houseâuntil you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob youâre forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.
You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldnât have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldnât be able to protect him from Mori otherwiseâhe wouldâve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You canât protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-
You donât finish the thought.Â
You donât think youâve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesnât even know if youâll be able to follow through with it, but youâve already set yourself down the path of no return and youâve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.
Shit.
Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klausânothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that heâs okay, that you didnât-
You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. Itâs cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, youâre faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.
You see him. You see him, and heâs looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like youâre the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you canât bring yourself to look down at it, but you canât drag your eyes from his face. Canât hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that youâd just-
Your arm hurtsâsharp and painful and so sudden that youâre dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, whoâs giving you a concerned look. You realize he mustâve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that youâre back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.
Youâre almost there. How much time had passed?
Why hasnât Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?
What is going on?
Albatross doesnât stop in front of the safe houseâthere are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafiaâs cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because itâs one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.
You leave your phone in the car and youâre careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. Itâs not a Port Mafia safe houseâit was Itouâs. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragonâs Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadnât been able to track him down here until he brought you hereâhe made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafiaâs ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone.Â
Itâs only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazaiâs abilityâŠ
âDid you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?â he asks quietly, and thatâs enough of an answer.
He doesnât know.Â
You feel sickâyour stomach lurches and you donât know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesnât matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.
âChuuya, if I-â you start to say, your words are raspy and you canât even bring yourself to finish them. âIf I-â
âDonât,â he says, wrapping an arm around you. âDonât bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.â
âBut-â
âStop,â he insists. âAll youâre going to do is torture yourself.â
Isnât that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what youâre doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything youâve done. You killed Dazaiâs family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasnât enough. You ruined his life and then you took-
âHey, stop,â Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path theyâre going down. You donât realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. âI know what youâre thinking, but we canât do this right now, we need to plan. We donât have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what weâre doing. You need to snap out of it.â
You donât respond to himâyour lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. Heâs gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.
âWhere the fuck are they?â he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that heâs nervous, but heâs trying to hide it for your sake. âI need you here. What we just did-fuck-â
You try to snap out of itâyou do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but youâre selfish. Youâve always been so selfish.
You donât know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.
Your gaze snaps up, and you donât realize youâre holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazaiâs back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.
Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. âI had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldnât even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,â Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. âAnd he didnât even help me. He stood there and watched.â
âI was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,â Akutagawa replies primly. âEven more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.â
Klausâs face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, âMore important? Thank you?!â
You laugh. Itâs so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klausâs face and the goading expression on Akutagawaâs disappears. Or you think you laughâyou think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.
Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazaiâs unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.
âPut him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like heâs a fucking stuffed animal?â Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder.Â
Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You donât feel their gazes on you, so you assume theyâre giving you privacy as best they can.
He looks⊠peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine thatâs what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.
It almost broke through his skull.
He almost died.
You almost killed him.
You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. Itâs still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa mustâve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infectedâthatâs probably what took them so long.
You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, theyâre staining redâyou grimace and look away.
The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.
âWhatâs next?â Klaus asks quietly. âThis wonât work for long. Whatâs the plan?â
Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazaiâs cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.
âI have to kill Mori.â
--
Dazai suddenly understands his dream.
âItâs the only option,â you say quietly when Dazaiâs expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. âItâs the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.â
âBut-â
âHe tried to have me kill you,â you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesnât need reminding of that. Heâs abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. âWhy do you care about what happens to him?â
âHeâs your father,â Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he mightâve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesnât even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if youâre just running off heightened emotions right now. âI donât care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-â
âHeâs not my father,â you spit out, voice tight, âand maybe you shouldnât care about me.â
Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He shouldâve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.
âYouâre right heâs not your father,â Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. âI donât know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? Iâm so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-âÂ
You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazaiâs words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazaiâs gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he canât push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.
âCan we please talk about this?â you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to.Â
So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say somethingâyou look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe youâre struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation.Â
This isnât going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly.Â
âCome on,â you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. âLetâs get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.â
âI wonder why,â Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. âAre you gonna take a bath with me?â
âYou should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,â you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. âOtherwise weâll just be sitting in shit water.â
Dazai almost gags. âDonât remind me what Iâm covered in right now,â he pleads. âWhere is the shower?â
The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where heâd been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.
âIâll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,â you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. âBonding exercise.â
Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think heâs not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.
This place looks nothing like your apartment.
Your apartment is⊠plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and thatâs just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate withâgaudy Christmas lights even though itâs not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasnât come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be.Â
This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one.Â
âWhat is this place?â he asks again, because itâs something more than a safe-house, he just doesnât know what.
âI told you,â you frown. âA safe house.â
Dazaiâs lips curl down in response but he doesnât press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes heâll just have to figure it out later.
He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. Itâs weirdâthe same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, thereâs what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. Itâs just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.
You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. âThe bathroom is in thereâgo rinse off and run the bath, Iâll be in there in a minute, Iâm going to grab a change of clothes for you.â
âMkay,â Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom.Â
He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in thereâheâs not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; itâs more like something heâd expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a menâs shampoo and conditioner set.Â
A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: menâs deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. Thereâs one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.
Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. Itâs not ChuuyaâsâDazai knows that because he hasnât seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?
Heâs quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when heâs not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels niceâDazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him.Â
He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to youâheâs hardly even had a chance to process everything that happenedâbut still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldnât have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before heâs stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but youâre not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.
Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and thereâs a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isnât exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesnât need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.
Whatever youâre about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.
Another fatal mistake.
Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you beforeâthat night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didnât. He was glad for it, because he wasnât sure if he was ready, and after that⊠Well, everything went downhill after that.
Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that heâs feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twistâor, he knows you, you probably wouldnât have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.
But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesnât expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest acheâheâs missed you so much, he hadnât even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.
âIïżœïżœve missed you so much,â he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomenâthe product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi.Â
âI missed you too,â you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like youâre trying to memorize each little detailâusually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. âIâm sorry.â
Heâs not sure exactly what youâre apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. Heâs not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasnât even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breathâhe canât tell if itâs irritation or youâre just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.
The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything thatâs happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. Itâs small, circularâa bullet wound, maybe? It doesnât go through to your chest though, he wouldâve noticed that.Â
âHow did you get that?â he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and heâd probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked.Â
âHm?â you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.
The words falter on Dazaiâs lips as his gaze roves over your body. Youâre beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. Youâre beautiful, and heâs missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. Itâs only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.
âThe scar on your back,â he explains. âHow did you get it?â
âOh,â you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazaiâs chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. âAn assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was⊠reckless, saw it coming and⊠Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.â
Dazaiâs throat swells at the implication of what youâd said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, âYouâre never reckless.â
Your fingers pause in the absent patterns youâre tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if itâs a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.
âThis was Itouâs house. All of the stuff in here, itâs his familyâsâstuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,â you say quietly. Dazaiâs eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. âWe were enemies when we first met, yâknow? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.â
âMakes sense,â Dazai says dryly. âI wouldnât want Mori knowing where Iâm living either.â
Itâs an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, âI-â
âI killed him,â you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. âI killed him, Osamu.â
âI thought you said he died on a mission,â Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling.Â
âI⊠Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability⊠how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight⊠nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australiaâthatâs where she was from. Itâs how he ended up with Strain,â you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit coldâwhat happened to Itouâs family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazaiâs. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, âHe tried getting me out of the Mafia.â
âWhat?â Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. âYou wanted to leave the Mafia.â
The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted.Â
âI didnât-â you start to say before cutting yourself off. âI donât know. I think maybe a part of me mightâve wanted to. I was⊠curious. He was sneakyâhe was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.â
He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it.Â
âHis gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,â you say softly. Dazaiâs eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; thereâs a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. âImagine, we couldâve been first years together.â
Dazai doesnât dare to respond. His hand tightens around yoursâif itâs painful, you donât let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. Youâre good at socializingâcharmingâDazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that youâd be in the same group with him, and although heâd probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, heâd eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.
Or maybe, youâd meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but heâs taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably wouldâve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-
âI was curious,â you repeat, voice tighter. Thereâs more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. âI⊠I wanted to try it. I told Mori.â
Dazaiâs eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but canât finish, âDid heâŠâ
âHe said it was a great idea,â you say tightly. âHe encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldnât risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. Iâve always known it. The government had been after Itou for yearsâthey said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Moriâs been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itouâs life.â
Dazaiâs lips part to say somethingâanythingâbut he canât. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling thatâs been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears.Â
âI never shouldâve brought you into this world, Osamu.â
Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly heâs going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt.Â
He goes with the latter.
âWell itâs too late for that,â Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how youâre going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. âItâs too late, Iâm already in it. You canât just get rid of me. Take accountability.â
âYou donât think I have?â you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. âI killed your family, Osamu.â
âShe was a girl my ageâthe previous bossâs granddaughterâshe was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.â
Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers.Â
They were Dazaiâs brothers. Dazaiâs sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didnât even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlightâit was purple and it was always right in Dazaiâs eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfatherâs estate.
âYou were a kid too,â Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. âYou were fourteen. You-â
âI played a role in tracking your mother down,â you continue. Dazaiâs breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. âIt was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were⊠eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.â
âStop,â Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.
âNo,â you reply firmly. âNo. You need to understand this-â
âI do,â Dazai insists, voice cracking. âI do understand-â
âYou donât, Dazai,â you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazaiâs fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he canât because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. âYou donât, otherwise you wouldnât have been so quick to join me in here. You havenât even had time to process it.â
âYes, I have,â Dazai whispers weakly. âI have.â
âI ruined your life, Osamu,â you say quietly. âEverything bad thatâs ever happened to you started with me.â
âThatâs not true,â Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. âMy life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.â
âOsamu-â
âYouâre not listening to me,â Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situationâwhy is he failing now when it matters most? âYouâre not listening. You saved me. I love you.â
âI love you too,â you breathe out, but the words donât settle his nerves because theyâre heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.
âThen why does this still feel like a goodbye?â he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.
You donât respond, but you donât need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like youâre trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know itâs futile.Â
This is a goodbye.
--
Dazai hasnât spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.
Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. Theyâre risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.
âOut,â Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the othersâ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, âAre you all hard of hearing? I said get out.â
âWhere are we supposed to go?â Albatross demands. âHer boyâs in the bedroom. This place is small-â
âGo crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,â Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize heâs being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. âNot you.â
You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because youâre a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, heâs not really. He canât scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.
Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, whoâs watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, âI take it you told him the plan?â
âI did,â you reply quietly.
âHe didnât take it well?â Piano Man questions.
âYou know the answer to that,â you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. âWould you have taken it well?â
âOf course not, Iâd be livid,â Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. âDoes this mean weâre changing the plan?âÂ
âNo,â you tell him. âWe canât. This is the only option.â
âI know,â Piano Man says with a thin smile. âSo stop sulking and get your head in the game so we donât all die trying to perform a coup.â
Youâre startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldnât be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.
âWhy are you helping me?â you ask after a few moments.
You donât have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. âExcuse me?âÂ
âI was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?â you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.
Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. âWhen I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happensâthe next time it does, Iâm going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, donât let it happen again, yeah?â
âYeah,â you agree quietly. âIâm sorry.â
You donât apologize often, even when you know youâre entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So itâs not surprising when Piano Manâs eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.
âI know this isnât easy,â he murmurs, âbut we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.â
âI know,â you reply. â... I know.â
âGood,â he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. âLet me go get them and weâll get back to planning, okay?â
âMkay.â
You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiroâtheyâre non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that heâll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.
The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.
You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu wonât support the coup, you know it. Theyâre both loyal to Moriâboth victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. Theyâll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.
But itâs Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didnât spend it alone. The thought makes you sickâthey were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. Heâs loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, heâs loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coupâŠ
You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. Heâs seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.
âIâll talk to Ane-san,â Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. âIâll make her see reason.â
âThereâs no time for talking, Chuuya,â Piano Man tells him. âThis all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what weâre doing⊠The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.â
Frustration flashes across Chuuyaâs face. âIâm not budging on this,â he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. âEither you give me the chance to talk to her, or Iâll withdraw my support.â
âChuuya,â you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.
âNo,â Chuuya interrupts you. âI wonât actively stand against you, but I wonât stand with you if you donât give me the chance to talk to her.â
âFine,â you finally say even though you know itâs a mistake. Itâs asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. âItâs fine. She wonât be keeping her executive position.â
Chuuyaâs face twists. âBut-â
âNo.â This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. âIâm not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, Iâll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. Sheâs not retaining her executive position.â
Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. âFine.â
âI canât risk it, Chuuya,â you tell him quietly. âI need people who I trust in the inner circle. I canât trust her after what just happened.â
âI get it,â Chuuya says. âI just donât like it.â
âThat leaves three executive seats we need to fill.â Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. âYourâs, Aceâs, and Kouyou-sanâs. Do you even have three more people who you trust?â
Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann canât take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-
âVerlaine?â Chuuya offers. âHeâs got a ton of experience with the European organizationsâweâll probably need it considering Dostoevskyâs involvement with the Guild, and this Book thatâs apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, weâll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragonâs Head.â
You donât like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you donât think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but itâs nothing like what Verlaine has.
âOkay,â you agree, âand the other two?â
The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They donât have a seat at the table because itâs not their field. Their field is war, not politics⊠but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.
âWhat about Tolstoy?â a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesnât like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. âMishima?â
âTheyâre not part of the Port Mafia,â Chuuya dismisses, âthey donât get seats.â
âBut what if they were?â Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. âThe transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwiseâŠâ
âYou think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,â Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazaiâs proposition. âDoesnât that risk destabilizing us even more though?â
He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. Heâs not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but itâs just not possible. You canât have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldnât matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not whatâs best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin.Â
âNo, Osamuâs right,â you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. âNot a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and MishimaâI pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. Weâd give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. Itâs a good plan. Great one, even.â
âWill they even agree to it?â Chuuya asks doubtfully. âGo from being fully autonomous to answering to us.â
âThey pretty much already do just answer to us,â Albatross mutters.
âTheyâll agree to it,â you tell him quietly. âIâll make sure of it.â
Tolstoy wonât be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.
There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. Itâs a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.
âWhat about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?â Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesnât meet anyoneâs eyes, and you know itâs because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesnât care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.
âWe canât afford to lose the Black Lizards,â Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. âEspecially if weâre bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like theyâre being lost in the mix, yâknow?â
âIâll handle Hirotsu,â you finally say. âItâll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. Heâs loyal to Mori only to the extent that heâs good for the Port Mafia. Iâll figure it out. Leave that to me.â
âAceâs subordinates?â Albatross prompts. âThey been handled? We canât have them knowing about him. Canât have anyone knowing about him.â
âDead,â Akutagawa says. âI killed them.â
âSecurity cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?âÂ
âWiped,â Klaus answers flippantly. âWeâve gone through it every day since they met. Werenât allowed to sleep âtil made sure everything from the day was wiped. Thereâs no physical record of him ever being around us.â
âOkay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?â Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.
âYeah,ïżœïżœïżœ you say quietly. âIt all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out soâŠâ
âSo we should get started,â Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. âWeâll give you guys some time. Iâll let you know how things go with Ane-san.â
You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until itâs only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.
âIt doesnât have to be like this,â he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. âWe can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, Iâll figure something out.â
âWe donât have time,â you say, voice cracking over the words. âI love you, Osamu.â
Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesnât make it hurt any less.
âI wonât forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I canât.â
âI know.â
--
SIX WEEKS LATER
âI must say, I wasnât expecting this invitation,â a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You donât turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. âNot from you, and not after everything thatâs happened.â
âNo?â you ask absently. âItâs unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.â
âFyodor,â he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. Heâs close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at himâhis lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. âWe are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?âÂ
âDostoevsky,â you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows youâve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isnât quite as good as the one at La Scala, but youâre enjoying it well enough.
Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you donât turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neckârumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You donât die, but itâs enough to beckon your attention back to him.
âRed is your color,â he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. âYou look beautiful.â
âIt isnât yours,â you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. âNeither is flattery.â
Dostoevsky does laugh this timeâitâs soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery.Â
âIt isnât?â he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. âI wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?â
Itâs a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.
âYou said it yourself. One life or thousands.â
âIt was a bullet to the head,â you correct idlyâthe words taste like poison on your tongue, but youâre careful to not let it show on your face. âCondolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.â
âItâs okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.â
âHm,â Dostoevsky hums, amused. âI was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasnât expecting it.â
He wants to add something else but he decides against it. Heâs very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and itâs hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning.Â
Itâs why you invited him hereâyou need an idea of what heâs planning while you solidify your newfound position.
âIt seems you struggle to expect many things I do,â you note. âI should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.â
âIt is true,â he agrees with an airy laugh. âYou are a⊠difficult opponent. I will admit it.â
 âIs that so?â
Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage.Â
âYou are not guided strictly by logic,â he muses. âIt's there, of course, you are very intelligent but itâs laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated⊠I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite boldâthere was a high risk for failure. You make things⊠much more interesting. I enjoy it.â
âYou would find something like that enjoyable,â you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. âThere is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.â
âFyodor,â he corrects again with a light smile.Â
âDostoevsky.â
âHeh,â he laughs quietly. âI will⊠wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. Iâm curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. Youâre in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, arenât you?â
You donât respond. You got the answer you needed, so thereâs no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; youâll just watch the show in peace. Youâll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so youâll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise.Â
Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.
âI did have a question for though,â he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You donât like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially donât like the smile on his lips. âEntertain me?â
You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it.Â
âI heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more⊠intimate than most believe,â Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like heâs sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. âYou must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, Iâm almost jealous.â
You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.
âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
--
to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]
--
WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:
i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.
i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel
this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together
i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.
;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.
i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you
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I think posts like this are unfair towards both parties involved because, no, the person who thinks you deserve better probably doesn't mean that you're not worthy getting better for but do you know how hard it can be to get better? I've been in this situation before so maybe it is a bias but of course the other person deserves a person who can be better for them. However, it's a process and not everyone has already found their way into healing because healing is hard and a lot of times you feel like you can't get better even if you try. "You deserve better" just means that they want you to have someone who doesn't have this healing journey with set backs etc. because all they want is for you to be happy.
Though as the other person, you don't have to understand it, of course. But your mindset being that it is an insult against you and not made in favour of you seems to be an incredibly negative self perception.
You're worth getting better for, but the other person also has the right to decide that in many moments they can be incredibly hard to love due to healing not being linear. And both of you should first and foremost heal for yourself.
Relationships are hard, relationships as a mentally ill person even more so and in itself this image can definitely put into place how some people feel but I fear it's a little accusatory. A relationship ending isn't always because you do not love each other â sometimes you love each other so much that you realise that currently you're going to hurt each other. Conversations, perhaps distance, all that can help. But not accusations, not to expect the worst of the other person.
Or maybe I'm naĂŻve, god knows.
âYou deserve betterâ is an interesting way of saying Iâm not worth getting better for
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dripping velvet, purring dark
Academy era Viktor x fem! curvy reader, 4.5k, no warnings only love in this house (ok there is a conversation about some people being idiots which can be interpreted as the reader getting unwanted attention at a party but it's nothing graphic or anything i promise and no-one is mean to her) also i made viktor horny and slightly subby because that's what the gremlins in my brain wanted. you're welcome. yeah! hi! not sure what this is, but here you go. the reader is described as she/her here (and curvy, and soft, and she is wearing an evening gown, because i wanted to think about pretty dresses). idk. have a thing. happy friday.
Viktor likes to think of himself as a person who's usually capable of focusing on things pretty well. On the task at hand. Give him a faulty circuit and he'll poke at it long enough to find the broken component, no problem. An error in the calculations? He'll find that missing minus sign or forgotten exponent, easy. He'll strip a wire in his sleep.
The task at hand now, though? The problem?
He had to sit through a whole evening of presentations at the academy end-of-year party, put on a polite face for the investors, and pretend not to care that one idiot after another was lining up to flirt with you while he was watching from the sidelines. You were wearing a dress that felt sinful to look at, and there was something primitive gnawing at the inside of his chest begging to be let out, and he had to just stand there and nod through the conversations, pretend he wasn't slowly boiling from the inside out.
And he was failing miserably.Â
Heâd known he was in trouble from the moment he saw you that night â all expensive fabric covering smooth curves and soft-looking skin, sparkling eyes and easy smiles, and heâd been done for. Before this, itâd been much easier to compartmentalize his feelings; before this, it'd been easier to ignore them.Â
Before heâd kept his distance, emotionally and physically speaking, because, well, itâd been easier. He'd seen you around the Academy, all bubbling laughs and raw-honest radiant smiles and confident solutions, and he'd known that you lookedâŠappealing, but he wasn't in the habit of holding up any illusions about what you might think of him in return. His place was in the dark dusty corner of the lab, turning over the ever-ticking problems, while you were out there shining like the sun. And sometimes you came by the lab, with new ideas or suggestions or just to borrow some equipment or ask about a shipment, and he had resigned to his role of staying at his desk pretending he wasn't burning to be closer to your orbit.Â
But when he sees you in the low lighting of the party, leaning to the bar and laughing, something just breaks in him. And then he canât pretend to ignore it any longer. And sure, maybe heâs a little bit drunk, it was easier to stand these events that way, but it still feels like a solid-honest truth in his bones that he wanted to get closer to you, and suddenly he couldnât stand the conversation he was in the middle of. Because one of them â the sour idiots heâd catalogued in his head for the whole night, the stupid people trying to impress you with their embellished stories and inherited wealth who werenât worth your time â one of them was circling you like a hyena again, smiling.
You were wearing a dark, floor-length gown that wasnât, on a purely technical level, much different from what about 50% of the other guests were wearing. However, it seemed to create a significant caveat that even though there wasnât anything indecent in the dress itself, seeing it on you made him feel like maybe he shouldnât look at you for too long or he might spontaneously combust. There was a slit on the side that revealed a more than generous amount of leg when you walked, and his focus kept wandering from that to your silhouette, the soft curve of your hips, your chest, your face â no, thatâs worse, donât stare, she'll notice â and truly, he had to force himself to keep his eyes at least vaguely on the vicinity of the person who was currently talking to him. Something about statistics and return investment. Yes.Â
He nods, pretending to look interested.
The dress drapes over your hips in soft little cascades, the fabric shimmering lightly as you moved, and something in his brain was itching, begging to run his fingers over it, to know what it feels like, to know what you feel like under it, all soft and warm and pliable under his fingers, and preferably sighing something into the crook of his neck, andâ
âWe'd like to get our investment back within a year,â the guy that's talking to him says â Viktor can't even remember his name, and he doesnât really even care â and he just shifts his eyes back to the guy slowly.Â
âA year?â he repeats, with the barest amount of feigned interest, and the guy goes off in a whole new tangent. Viktor shifts his posture, and lets his eyes glide over to where you were again.Â
One of those idiots, one he thankfully doesnât have the displeasure of knowing personally but who must be the son of some crooked diplomat, says something to you and you scoff through a smile, roll your eyes, and lean further into the counter at the bar. Viktor has to pretend to be present for his own conversation â yes, the new coating material for the wires was more heat-resistant, no, there was still the issue of mechanical stress, they were working on it â and you say something in answer to the current idiot (third of the night, heâd counted), and it is killing him that he doesnât know what it is.Â
Youâd turned down the first two, from what he could tell. But this latest idiot was still talking to you, like he was in any way entitled to your company. And it's making something inside Viktor raise its hackles, and he doesnât especially like feeling like that, because he couldn't justify feeling like that to himself in any tangible way, and then it all just boiled down to a resigned even if she deserves better than that i have no business dictating that for her.Â
He's just about to focus on the conversation he was supposedly participating in again when something happens. He can't make out the details, but imbecile number three seems to lean way too close to you, says something, and smiles in a way that makes something cold creep down the back of Viktor's neck. And your expression coldens, too, and you say something to him, and turn away, more rigid than you'd been the whole evening.Â
âExcuse me,â Viktor is saying to the Investment Guy before he can fully think it through, his own voice feeling distant in his ears, and then he's walking to the bar.Â
You're alone â the idiot had had the sense to leave you alone quickly, at least. That's good. Viktor isn't sure what he's doing, but then he's leaning to the bar next to you and ordering another drink and trying to look like he isn't thinking too hard about what to do next.Â
âWhatever he just proposed to you,â Viktor says slowly, looking over the bar instead of directly at you, âI assure you you can do better.â
He can hear you take a deep breath, shift a little, and sigh it out with what sounded like almost a laugh.Â
âYeah,â you agree, âI don't know what it is about people like that that makes them think they can justâŠâ You sigh again, and make a hand gesture towards the room. âYou know.â
âUnfortunately,â he answers, resigned, âyes. I do.âÂ
He gets his drink and thanks the bartender, and then leans to the counter too, mimicking your posture, holding the drink and letting it swirl around in his glass. âHave you talked with anyone actually worth your time tonight?âÂ
You hmm. Then, âthere was a little girl earlier that told me some fascinating things about insect metamorphosis.â You say casually.Â
And Viktor laughs. Without meaning to, he laughs, and you smile in response, visibly relaxing a little.
âI don't think she was on the guest list though.â You continue.Â
He hums in response, and rearranges his grip on the handle of his cane. âSounds much more interesting than the conversations I've been in tonight.â
âI know,â you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice, âyou think we could swap out one of the main speakers with her?âÂ
He hmms again, looking over the stage thoughtfully. âI think it would count as a public service,â he nods a little, considering the list of speakers yet to come, âwhat do you think, who'd be a good target?â
You shift in your place, looking over the same list of speakers, plastered over the walls on both sides of the stage. âThe financial talk,â you answer, âMr. Ross. I'd much rather listen to insect facts than another boring talk about investing.â
Viktor nods. âYou distract him, I'll whack him unconscious?â he offers, and you laugh. You laugh, and it warms something in him.Â
âAnd then what?â you continue, still smiling, and he has to look away to keep his composure.Â
He shrugs. âEh,â he answers, âwe drag him to a bathtub somewhere and act like he just passed out there?" He shrugs, "I happen to know three ways to get out of this room that I'm pretty sure we could use unnoticed.â
âUh-huh,â you answer, âand then we just find the girl and ask her if she wants to talk about bugs for half an hour. Easy.â
âExactly,â he agrees, âand then we congratulate ourselves for making the evening better for everybody.â
"Except maybe Mr. Ross."
"No," he counters, looking over the crowd, "I think he would prefer a nice little nap. Surely not even he wants to hear himself talk all the time." He takes a sip of his drink, "and I think waking up in a bathtub would be a nice change of pace to the rumors of other places he seems to have a habit of waking up in after events such as these."
âGood point,â you shift in your place, settling to lean to the counter a bit closer to him. âPerfect plan. But why'd you get to whack him unconscious and not me?â
Viktor blinks. Lifts one eyebrow. âBecause you are by far more distracting than I am,â he answers, âand I thought the plan could use the distraction.â
âI don't think that's true,â you answer, âI think you're plenty distracting on your own.â
Now, he lets himself look at you. Really, properly look at you, and not even half-trying to hide it. You're smiling now, shoulders relaxed, holding your drink with fingers wrapped loosely around it, and in the warm lights of the bar there's a golden glow on your skin, and something breathless at the bottom of his stomach is aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to see if his hand would fit on your waist as well as he thinks it would, to see how you would react to that, if he could make you smile in a different way, what sounds he could get you to make for himâ
âAgree to disagree,â he says, averts his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink.Â
Tries to tell that wild-hungry purring thing in him to behave.Â
Someone reasonable comes to talk to you â and it's about work, which isâŠsomething, probably, he has to stop himself from thinking it's better than those earlier idiots, because who's he to decide that for you? He gives you a casual wave and a nod as you depart with a smile and get swept up in the conversation about new ideas and solutions and this-new-thing you've been looking at. And he watches as you start talking excitedly, all golden and glittering, easy conversation and confident smiles, and quietly (not-so quietly) he concludes that maybe you hadn't had many worthwhile conversations with any of the guests that night because you were the most worthwhile person in there to talk to.Â
He stays there sipping his drink and wondering what would be the closest appropriate time to slip out. He'd made an appearance, and technically nothing could be expected from him beyond that point. Sure, Jayce might tell him he could've stayed a bit longer, he could use the support, but nothing dramatic would happen.Â
The party drones on, and he makes no effort to move â and really, he tries not to think about it too much, but that was at least in part because he wanted to keep looking at you. He promptly ignores this, even when you're laughing at something someone else said and that heavy-dark-purring something at the bottom of his stomach doesn't like it very much.Â
Someone comes to ask for his opinion on something, and with a tiny sigh, he lets them pull him into the loop of conversations again. Yes, we are trying to simplify the design, no we can't cut back from the materials, they are what they are for a reason.Â
Somewhere around his third âWhy would you think that?â of that particular conversation, he's had enough. People were stupid, and he's had enough. He's just trying to come up with ways to get out of the conversation preferably without starting a scandal of some sort, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at who it belongs to, and then everything in his head is quiet for a moment.Â
âHey,â you say, smiling, âsorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a moment?â you ask, slipping your hand feather-light down his arm, and he has to suppress a shiver.Â
Viktor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and then, like an idiot, says nothing. But he turns to leave, thankful for the window of opportunity. Â
âYou remember that thing we talked about before?â you continue as you steer him away from the earlier group smoothly, âI found someone who's interested in those three escape routes you had up your sleeve.âÂ
âWho?â he asks, because that's the only thing he can think of. You've linked your arm with his, and you're leaning on him, and you're soft and warm and you smell good, and he doesnât trust his ability to form a full sentence.Â
âMe,â you answer, âand judging by how you just looked out there,â you continue, âyou.â
Viktor swallows, and something in his brain purrs at the idea.Â
âThis way,â he says, nodding towards an old stage exit, and honestly, he doesnât even care why you want to leave, he's just grateful for the distraction and the company and drinking in every warm square inch of skin contact that you're willing to give him, even if it is just walking with your shoulder pressed against his.Â
If it turned out to be a plot where you actually wanted to whack someone unconscious, he'd worry about that later. For now he was just happy to leave, and happier that you were leaving with him.Â
It's easy to slip away from the crowd, and into the space between the stage curtain and the wall, if you know where you're going. You effortlessly fall a bit further from his side but keep his hand on yours, letting him pull you along, and quietly he wonders how and why and holy shit. He decides not to question it though, and keeps walking through the dim space between the cold old wall and the cascades of warm heavy velvet curtains.Â
âDo you want to leave the party,â he asks, voice quiet now that the background buzz of people was muffled by the curtain, âor just get away from it?âÂ
You hmm behind him, clearly through a smile, and he makes the mistake of looking back at you. Surrounded by the dark red velvet curtains and only slivers of light from each side, his head â and the rest of his body â get entirely the wrong idea of what you're doing in there, because you look like a goddess in the small dim space, and he might crumble into ashes if he keeps looking at you, or he might do something stupid like pull you closer and press you into the wall, to see if your eyes would widen, if you'd gasp from the cold wall, if he could find other ways to make you gaspâ
so he turns his eyes away and keeps talking.Â
He quickly finds he has to clear his throat before he can do that. âThere is a staff entrance that goes past the kitchen a little ways further,â he says, and motions forwards, âor there is a disused indoor balcony surrounding the stage. You would be able to see the party, but it'd feelâŠremoved.â
You lean closer, close enough that when your voice is muffled by the surrounding velvet, it feels like you're speaking right in his ear, and he has to swallow and remind himself that that's just situational coincidence, nothing more.Â
âWhy do you know so many ways to get out of here?â you ask, âYou sneak out a lot?âÂ
âI am a fan of interesting architecture,â he answers, âand not as much a fan of pretentious social gatherings.âÂ
âFair,â you answer, then lean your chin on his shoulder, and he feels like his spine might spontaneously melt. âIn your expertise, what would you recommend?â
âWell,â he says, trying to make it sound casual and like he wasn't breathless at all, âI think the balcony has some fairly interesting architecture.â And the lights of the party would look pretty from there. And you'd both get a breather away from the crowd. And he'd get to keep talking to you a little bit longer. And, as selfish as the thought felt, he couldn't deny it; he'd get to keep having you to himself for a little bit longer.Â
âShow me the balcony,â you smile, and he obliges. Happily, he obliges. So he pulls you into a narrow staircase, and then, up.Â
At the end of it there is a room that could, only by technical definition alone, be called a balcony â it was more like a hole carved into the wall, having at some point been used for seating or equipment space at events and concerts, and now just served as half-forgotten extra storage. It had, he supposed, once upon a time looked like the banquet hall did, all smooth surfaces and warm lights and thematically switched-out decorations, but now it was mostly the standard red velvet and dark wood and light marble, forgotten by the party and some of the golden light from the hall spilling into it by pure coincidence. There were velvet curtains on each side of the room, and you drop his hand to go look over the railing, and down at the party.Â
His hand instantly feels cold without yours in it, but he tries his best to ignore this, and follows you to look down at the party, too.Â
It looks much smaller from up there. Less chaotic.Â
âI didn't know there was a space like this here.â You say quietly, âcan they see us?âÂ
âPart of the design,â he answers, âyou're not supposed to notice these spaces unless people want you to. Good place to hide extra orchestra pieces and make it feel like the sound is coming from nowhere. Andââ he looks over at the people, colorful and mingling, âno, they can't. Not unless you want them to.â Then, he smiles, just a little. âBut they'll be able to hear us, if we direct our voices upwards and wait for things to quiet down there first.â
You turn to look at him.Â
âSloped ceilings,â he explains with a shrug, âagain, good for a hidden orchestra accompaniment.âÂ
âBut they can't hear us talking?*
âNot over themselves,â he answers, âironic, I know.â
You hum thoughtfully and turn around, with your back to the railing, and then you look at him and he needs to kick his brain back in line. You were gorgeous in the dim lighting, all relaxed and smiling, andâ
He grips the handle of his cane a little tighter.Â
âGood,â you say, and the way you say it â all quiet and warm and liquid â makes something in him purr again, entirely against his better judgement.Â
âWhy is it good?â he asks, because he has to hold on to some semblance of logic here, because otherwise he might just vaporize out into the atmosphere.Â
âWhy do you think?â you ask, slowly turning to face him, and oh that just isn't fair. You're just there, just a warm breath of space away, all soft and pretty and languidâ
He doesnât know what to say, so he goes with what feels like the safest course of action.Â
âIn case we want to plot any more ways to violently derail the evening's program?â
You exhale a small laugh and lean back.Â
And then you lift a hand on his chest, and he's pretty sure his heart might be overheating soon.Â
âSure,â you answer, âthat.â You inch closer, and Viktor is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. âOr anything else we might not want them overhearing.â
âLike?â He exhales, careful not to break the moment, and then you smile, warm and private and for him, and his insides liquify into warm, honey-thick goo, and oh, heâs not going to recover from this.Â
âLike,â you repeat slowly, and then you push yourself away from the balcony railing, just slightly, into the side of the wall covered by the velvet curtain, and he lets you pull him with you, he's not stupid. His brain â along with the rest of his body â might be in the process of actively melting, but he's not stupid. If you wanted to pull him into a shadowed, velvet-covered corner, he would follow no questions asked, especially on a night like this when his insides were buzzing and you looked like that. When you looked at him like that. You smile again, and stop moving when your back hits a wall, and then you pull him just close enough to whisper into his ear. â...Anything else we might not want them overhearing.â you repeat, and, yeah, Viktor is close to becoming the best documented case of human combustion in recorded history.Â
In the dim lighting, he searches your eyes into his, and you watch him, waiting, radiating heat between him and the velvet-covered wall. He's not sure why you were acting like this, but all signs were pointing towards you wanting the same thing he did, and he's not sure what he did to get this lucky, but with his every cell buzzing and vibrating and keening over to get closer, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.Â
He wants to ask âwhy meâ or âare you sureâ but what comes out is a broken, desperate whisper of a âcan I touch you?â, and you answer with a grin and with your fingers tangled to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.Â
âYes,â you breathe, âplease.â
And really, he wouldn't have thought it would be so simple, but it's the please that does him in â just one whispered word and his brain short-circuits in an overflowing flash of white-hot need. Need to trigger that again, need to please, and need to finally give in to the pleasure waiting to boil. And then it all comes rushing out; the hunger.Â
His hands are on your waist in an instant, and his cane clatters to the ground as he leans his weight on you and the wall and for a moment, he has the sense to hope the curtains don't come tumbling down, and they don't, which is good enough for him, because then he can let go of that particular worry and focus solely on finding your lips to his and making the most of every second of this that you're willing to give him.Â
The sensations hit his brain like flashes of bright light; how soft you are under his fingers, like he'd hoped, the fabric smooth and silky, giving away easily under his touch. How warm you are, warm and breathing in a fluttered little gasp, the dusty old velvet mixing in with your sweet scent, and then when he gets his lips on youâ
After that it's just golden-dark-velvet-honey-thick bliss. You breathe out a small sound that drips down his spinal cord and goes straight to the purring pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he swallows it with a hungry, greedy, desperate groan that comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, and his head is swimming with warm and real and soft and for meâ
He is happily overloading his brain with this, and he doesnât even care. He presses closer to you and you exhale another sweet little sound that makes him bare his teeth, and then his lips are on your neck and he doesnât know anything except that he wants you to keep making those sounds and he likes the way your hands tangle in his hair and tug.Â
âTell me what you want,â he mutters to the skin of your neck, pulling you closer by the waist, and absolutely relishing in the way your chest rises and falls with short little pants he can hear you take in and out. In and out, and as he tugs at your waist again, just a bit closer, and drags his teeth against your pulse lightly, one of those exhales turns into a sweet little whine.Â
He grins against your skin.Â
He doesnât waste the time or energy pretending he isn't an absolute mess over you, right now â his own breathing ragged and fast and his heart hammering in his ears, his whole body buzzing with want â but that didn't mean seeing you react that way didn't make him want to purr.Â
Didn't make his insides heat up with I did that. I got her like this. She made that sound for me. For me. It's mine.Â
You take a breath, slow and rugged, and then you tug him towards one of the velvet-covered seats. And he moves like he's floating, letting you guide him, because what else is he going to do? You tug him into the seat and he sits on it, gladly, and stays there looking up at you with his eyes wide and only half-lidded and his heart hammering, waiting for more.Â
You give him another one of those small, private, knowing smiles, your eyes hazy, and then you step to stand right in front of him.Â
And then you hover over him, just waiting for him to pull you into his lap. He does, because he is selfish and greedy and burning, and he's pretty sure he's going to implode if he doesnât get that delicious pressure on him soon, and his hand fits your waist perfectly, and then when when you do straddle him, your hips pressing down on his, he whines. He lets out a breathless little whine, he can feel it in the base of his spine, and it makes that hunger in him want more.Â
âOnly the voices directed upwards travel down there, right?â you ask, voice quiet and dripping right into his ear and pooling at the bottom of his stomach.Â
He swallows. âYes.âÂ
You hum thoughtfully, and press your body closer to his, all soft and warm and perfect, sinking your lips down to his neck and he shivers, instinctually tilting back his head with a sigh, exposing more of his neck to you.Â
âBetter keep quiet, then.âÂ
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Stolas just standing there and letting blitz hug him in the end is all good, right? He is just sad because of octavia and accepting that blitz is there with him right?? It's not that he regrets chosing him, right??? (I just need affirmation)
You know what? I've found myself needing reassurance about this too. So let's take a moment to look at the facts together, shall we?
(This reply turned out way longer than I expected it to đ
sorry!)
Fact #1 - Stolas is still coming to terms with the consequences of his actions. He spends the whole episode finding out just how much his life has changed. Learning how to navigate groceries, and laundry, and meals, and having a job, and worrying about money.
Mid-episode, he has a breakdown where he truly questions if everything he gave up was worth it just for a fantasy. At this point in the episode, he still hasn't realised how much he means to Blitz. As far as he's concerned, he did all of this for someone who doesn't reciprocate his feelings. But by the end of the episode, though, his feelings have settled enough to understand and express what he has known to be true all along: that saving Blitz was the right thing to do.
What Stolas regrets isn't saving Blitz's life, or even loving Blitz in the first place.
What he regrets are the choices he made that led them to this. He feels guilty for selfishly (or, rather, naively) playing out his fantasies. He's the one who established the deal, who let Blitz illegally use the book for many months, who wasn't always sensible about how he expressed his love for Blitz publicly and despite being married, and who allowed himself to ignore the reality of his situation so he could live in his own, personal romcomâall of which ultimately led to the events of Mastermind and the loss of Via.
And all the guilt and regret he's grappling with (however justified it might be) is exacerbated by fact #2, which is:
Fact #2 - Stolas is off his medication. He's been off it for a month now. Symptoms of depression (especially untreated depression) include mood swings, irritability, self-hatred and low self-esteem, passive/active suicidal ideation, pessimism and hopelessness about the future, catastrophising, black-and-white thinking, and anhedonia (inability to feel pleasure and to find joy in thingsâand peopleâwho used to bring you it). All symptoms Stolas exhibits throughout this episode.
So, even if he shows a lack of emotion toward Blitz at times, or irritation to seemingly minor things like low doors or "secretating" or Karen's behaviour, even if he acts regretful and angry and desolate... a lot of these emotions and behaviours are a result of his depression, and not of actually hating the life he chose.
Fact #3 - Stolas loves Blitz. He always has, and always will. I could point at a thousand different moments in the show when Stolas' love for Blitz has transpired, but I'm going to leave it at his line from Mastermind: "I would rather be dead than live life without you by my side."
Even after everything they've gone through, even now that he's taken Blitz off his pedestal and can acknowledge that Blitz can be a fucking idiot... Stolas simply does not want to live a life without Blitz. It has always been Blitz. It will always be Blitz.
Stolas loves Blitz.
Fact #4 - Stolas kissed Blitz. Before he truly hits rock bottom as a result of Octavia cutting him out, Stolas is so ecstatic that Blitz cares, that Blitz was willing to go to such lengths to save his life, that he can't hold back the need to kiss Blitz mid-air. Suddenly, none of his earlier frustration matters. Nothing matters expect for how elated he is that Blitz loves him back. So he smiles and he pulls Blitz into a kiss because he can't bear not to kiss Blitz for a moment longer.
Look at this man. Look at how happy he is. Because it's always been Blitz, and maybe it was a fantasy for a long time, but it doesn't have to be anymore. Maybe this can be real now. He's so happy he (and I) could cry.
Fact #5 - Stolas didn't deny loving Blitz. When Via said "You don't love me, you love him," the script very purposefully did not have Stolas go "no, no, Via, that's not trueâ" or say anything else that might make Blitz doubt, even for a moment, that Stolas loves him. Because that much is true. He does love Blitz. He just also loves Via. Which brings me to:
Fact #6 - Blitz knows Stolas loves him. At no point throughout the episode does Blitz doubt, even for a second, that Stolas loves him. And we know this because Blitz's walls remain down at all times. If Blitz doubted he was loved, if he had even the slightest of reservations, those walls would come crawling back up whether he wanted them to or not. It's what he's been trained and conditioned to doâit's how he's kept his heart safe ever since the accident.
But now, he knows his heart is safe with Stolas. He believes it enough to not depend on his walls to feel at ease. He believes it enough to let himself take care of Stolas and be soft with Stolas without the slightest trace of hesitation.
Look at Blitz's face. This is the face of a man who knows that even if Stolas isn't okay right now, things will get better. And when they do, they'll both still be in love with each other. This is the face of a man who can't wait for something beautiful to flourish between them, but who is in no rush to get there. He knows the road ahead is hard and painful, but he has faith in Stolas. In both of them.
Fact #6 - Stolas was happy to share a private, romantic dance with Blitz. Despite everything going through his mind, he found comfort and happiness in dancing with Blitz; in getting to have this little moment with him.
He found relief in the fact that Blitz stayed with him this time, even after Stolas told him, once again, that he didn't have to stay.
His reaction to Blitz initiating a dance between them is genuine surprise, immediately followed by an enamoured little smile at the mere notion that he gets to have this, now.
And, as they dance, he keeps smiling and leaning into Blitz, going as far as to manage a deep, heartfelt laugh at Blitz's words. This, for an unmedicated, depressed person going through one of the worst days of his life, is huge in itself. It shows that, even in the worst of times, he finds undeniable comfort and happiness in Blitz.
And, after their dance, Stolas looks at Blitz with a sobriety and soft sort of realisation that shows he's finally coming to terms with the fact that this is real. After everything he's lost, after all the fantasies he hoped for for so long and believed he'd never have, he finally gets to have this.
Despite the pain he's going through, Stolas looks at Blitz and sees the man he loves.
Notice how Blitz's eyes trail down to Stolas' mouth. And Stolas realises. And doesn't move away. Waiting, expectantly, for Blitz's next move, fully expecting it to be a kiss.
But then Blitz hugs him instead, and Stolas doesn't hug back.
And it's not because he doesn't want to be hugged by Blitz. It's not because his feelings for Blitz have changed, or dimmed, or disappeared. It's not because he regrets loving Blitz, or saving him. It's not because he doesn't want to have a close, healthy, loving romantic relationship with Blitz.
It's because of facts #1 (he's grappling with so much guilt and coming to terms with the consequences of his actions) and #2 (he's experiencing symptoms of unmedicated depression). And, above all, it's because of fact #7, which is...
Fact #7 - Stolas doesn't know how to be loved. Stolas has never had support. He has never had a shoulder to cry on, or someone to hold him when he needed it. When he's feeling vulnerable and broken, he defaults to hugging himself as a way to self-soothe, because that's the only comfort he's ever known.
And because he's never known comfort from othersâbecause it was never allowed or safe for him to need or ask for comfort from othersâall Stolas knows to do with his vulnerability is hide it. So much so that, the two times we see him begin to break down in front of Blitz, he either portals Blitz away or masks his tears and pain immediately. Even as he drunkenly rambles about wanting to be held, he still makes sure not to appear like he actually needs a hug.
So when he finds himself being held by Blitz in a warm, comforting hug, Stolas doesn't know how to respond. Because he's never had this. He's never had an opportunity to learn how to exist in someone's comforting embrace, how to interact with this kind of physical contact. He still has to learn how to feel safe between arms that aren't his own.
Simply put, Stolas still doesn't know how to hold Blitz back.
That doesn't mean Stolas doesn't want or need physical comfort. He needs it desperatelyâeveryone does. But wanting something and knowing how to actually have it are two very different things, and Blitz knows that better than anyone, because he's wanted Stolas for a very long time, but didn't, until very recently, know how to feel safe accepting Stolas' love.
And that's why Blitz is completely understanding of the fact that all Stolas can do, all Stolas has the ability to do, is stand there and let himself be held, and let his emotions go through him. In, and out, with every breath, with every second. And get slowly acquainted with what being comforted by the person he loves feels like.
Thirty-something years of trauma can't be undone in a single hug, or a single conversation, and it's going to take time for Stolas to learn how to be present while in Blitz's arms, and how to return that emotional closeness.
But Blitz has faith in him. Blitz is willing to be patient and soft with him while he gets better. Blitz is ready to meet Stolas where he's at, because he knows, beyond a trace of doubt, that they love one another, and they're going to be okay. Even if Stolas doesn't know it yetâeven if we, the audience don't know it yetâBlitz knows.
And that's just going to have to be enough for now.
And because this post got completely away from me, I shall conclude by quoting their song, because it summarises their story better than I ever could:
Truer love is hard to find. â€ïž
#helluva boss sinsmas#helluva boss spoilers#helluva boss#stolitz#Long post#helluva boss meta#helluva boss stolas#helluva boss blitz#blitz helluva boss#stolas helluva boss#stolas goetia#Blitzo#image description in alt
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Substitute Santa
written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 22
prompt: Santa | rated: G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington, pre Steddie, tbc
"Thank you, son. This means a lot to me."
Eddie grumbles into the phone, says 'No problem, old man. I'm happy to help.' before hanging up, not really feeling his own words despite his uncle's gratitude.
Eddie groans loudly, head tilted back, eyes pinched close - he really should've just said no. But he knows how important this is to Wayne and for all that man has done for him, this really is only a small favour to ask of his nephew.
It's just- ugh.
The prospect of having to sit in a room full of noisy, snotty children for three hours, wearing that ridiculous costume, sweating his butt off underneath the suit, is one Eddie could definitely do without.
For as long as he can remember, every year, his uncle has dressed up as Santa for the Hawkins' annual Christmas charity event at the community centre.
This year, unfortunately, Wayne won't be able to make it because- 'How are the kids supposed to believe Santa will bring their gifts in time when he can't even walk properly?'
Because unlike Santa, Wayne isn't some kind of magical creature, so when he tripped and broke his foot, it meant cast and crutches and rest, even if he keeps forgetting that last part.
Eddie had already made plans to visit him for the holidays, but since his accident happened a few days ago, he decided to take some time off work and head home a week earlier. Which, apparently, gave Wayne the idea that, instead of asking one of the many other possible candidates, Eddie could take up his role this year.
'Keeping up the Munson tradition.'
So, that's what got him into this mess. And although he knows it'll make his uncle happy, he dreads it. Hates it. Wishes it would already be over so he can forget all about it.
The community centre is packed with people. There are little stands where they sell handmade goods and cookies and hot drinks. And at the far end of the room, right in front of the beautifully decorated Christmas tree, he finds the area where half an hour from now, he'll be sitting in the massive wooden chair that reminds him a bit of the makeshift throne he used to sit in while playing his favourite nerd game with his friends in the school's basement.
His DM skills will come in handy today; he was always good at acting, doing voices, and slipping into different roles - so passing as Santa should be easy as pie.
Maybe it'll be half as bad as he thought. Although he's still not sure about handling the kids. Or their parents. Because he knows how impatient and annoying they can get when they have to wait in line for too long.
Two hours in, Eddie is already on the brink of a nervous breakdown. The kid on his lap has been crying for 5 minutes, not wanting to follow his embarrassed mother's plea to 'just sit still and look at the camera'. It's not the first time this happens, and he's pretty sure, not the last.
He already had to bite his tongue multiple times not to yell at someone for cutting the line, or at parents for trying to force their kids to sit on this big, scary man's lap when they clearly didn't want to. No 'nice picture for Grandma and Grandpa' is worth traumatising a child. So Eddie makes sure to always ask the kid in question whether they want to sit or just stand by his side.
When Sobbing Charly's mom has finally gotten a decent enough shot, Eddie takes a deep breath and turns to the next kid in line.
It's a girl, maybe 4 or 5, looking at him with big, curious eyes from where sheâs half-hidden behind her dad.
"Robbie's a little shy, sorry. We can just come back later, don't wanna hold up the line," the man says apologetically, and when Eddie looks up at him, he instantly recognises the face.
Standing before him is Steve Harrington, someone he hasn't seen in years, who apparently has a daughter now, and- wow. Eddie needs a moment to process it all. Because he might've had a little crush on the guy back in high school. Okay maybe a massive one. And seeing him now, looking somehow even prettier than he had back then, makes Eddieâs heart flutter.
He shakes himself out of it and turns his attention back to the girl.
"Don't need to be shy Robbie, I know you've been very good this year. Just like your dad. Right, Steve?" Eddie winks at the man whose expression freezes when he seems to realise who is hidden underneath the costume.
"Dad! Santa knows your name!" the girl says in wonder and Eddie has to bite back a laugh.
"Duh, I told you Santa knows everything," Steve answers with a smile directed at Eddie and suddenly the room seems much brighter than before.
Robbie comes out of her hiding spot, still holding Steve's hand tight.
"Can my dad be in the photo with me?" she asks and her big, hazel eyes make Eddie's heart melt.
"Of course, he can."
Before Eddie realises what's happening, he's got both, Steve and his daughter in his lap, cheering at the camera and- Eddie will definitely need a drink after that, if he survives this.
Once they're done, Steve stands up quickly, mouthing 'Sorry' at him, smiling his pretty smile again, and Eddie feels hot all over. Must be the costume, he's sure.
He tries not to let his mind wander to other scenarios of Steve in his lap, turns to Robbie instead, acting as casual as possible when he asks her what her biggest wish for Christmas is.
She thinks about it for a moment, before leaning in to whisper in his ear.
"I wish my dad would find someone that makes him happy."
Oh.
Well. Eddie would gladly make that happen.
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You should have known better. Itâs not the first time youâve been ditched, but it might be the last. Huh.Â
You make good money on your work. Youâre nothing noble or special. Youâre just damn good at your job. Fighting and killing come second hand. You could blame it on your parents. Blame it on working at a slaughterhouse. Blame it on getting picked on and having to fight for yourself. Blame it on needing cash to live. The details donât matter all that much. Youâre a good fighter and a better killer. Someone told you that your need to survive made you different. You donât think so and youâre tired of hearing it.Â
Itâs not just the shady folks that hire you. You get plenty of employers of good standing. The adventurers arenât special. A set in a line of many that want extra hands or extra cannon fodder. You tend to be lucky enough to be the former. Youâve ended up in jail more than once for people like this. Your wealthier employers tend to bail you out. You were valuable enough for the extra investment. Worth more alive, and all that. So youâve been around a few dozen times.Â
Being ditched in the field isnât new but being half dead is.Â
You should have seen it on their faces. You should have known better. They didnât want you there, but someone thought they needed you. It makes sense they ditched you once the boss went down.Â
But damn. They didnât even watch it happen. Straight for the loot, huh? On some level you respect it, on the other level youâre bleeding out and you can only watch them run away. Not even a one liner? A spit on your body? A single piece of gold thrown on your body and a good âthereâs your payment, you filthy animal.âÂ
Huh. Maybe you deserve it. You never messed with theatrics. Why would you get any?Â
Things are fading in and out. Blood loss is always a pain to deal with. It would be easier to let go, you think. You still put pressure on the wound in your stomach and side and breathe through the pain. Itâd be insulting if you just let yourself keel over, right? No, youâre just scared.Â
âGuess weâre both expendable, huh?âÂ
You donât have it in you to startle. The boss that you were damn sure was dead is not that. Alive enough to banter with you. Itâs more than you offered anyone. What a sweetheart.Â
âDunno,â you say. âNever really thought of it.â
It makes sense. Youâre not a hero. What were the chances of you actually out-living adventurers like the ones that ditched you here? Youâre worth more alive, but when is the investment no longer worth it?
ââS funny,â the boss says. Chatty, you think. What can you do but humor them? âDidnât think heroes would leave their own behind.âÂ
âI was hired,â you say.Â
âReally?âÂ
They laugh. Then cough and choke on blood or their own spit. You wait for them to finish their cackling, and then continue to wait for the end.Â
âThey're always picky with their heroes, huh?âÂ
Oh boy, the pronoun game.Â
âDonât care,â you say. May whatever higher power there is forgive your temper as youâre dying. âItâs work.âÂ
âAh. Youâre one of those,â they say. Like they know you. Ugh. You want to finish the job. âI always liked those. Basic motivations are the best. Nothing to second guess.âÂ
You roll your eyes. Youâve heard it all before. What is it worth now?Â
âI tried the whole leader thing,â they say. âGood worshippers are hard to find, you know?â
You donât. You wonât.Â
âSounds more like a cult.â âEh. Same thing,â they dismiss.Â
âWhat were you even the god of?â you snap. You canât help it. This guy wasnât any more special than you--that is: not.
âAnything I could get my hands on,â they say. âI wasnât picky. Got enough of something that I became this, though.â
A boss. A few tiers above the usual monsters that you can find, always locked up in some kind of home base.Â
âSo were you a god or not?â
âNo, never got that far. Wouldnât have lost to you if I did.â
âSure. Lie to yourself.â
They laugh again, âI like that. Confidence like that is usually up on some pedestal. Good on you.âÂ
âYeah. Did me a lot of good.âÂ
âDid you enough,â they say. âYouâre not new at this, must have been going for a while.â
âItâs work,â you repeat. Itâs always work. Itâs to survive.Â
âYou want a new job?â they ask.Â
You lift your head enough to look over at them. Theyâre flat on their back. Your spear is still in their chest. Itâs whatâs keeping them from bleeding out. You know better than to leave the weapon in, but you were distracted by the whole dying thing.Â
Itâs getting harder to keep the pressure on your wound. Your hands are getting weaker. Youâre getting weaker. Youâre surprised youâre still awake. And what is this guy talking about? âŠYouâll indulge it. What else are you going to do?Â
âContract?â you ask.Â
âSure,â they say.Â
A silver contract appears in front of you, something you donât see too often. The consequences on silvers are serious, most people just do physical ones or bronzes.Â
You squint to make sense of the blurring letters.Â
âFollower? Really? What, are you still trying to form that cult?â you snort. It hurts and you dig your fingers into your skin. You donât even feel it.Â
âGood clerics are hard to find,â they say.
âHah, and your lucky cleric is about to kick the bucket,â you say. âSucks to be you.â
âRead it.âÂ
âSorry. It gets hard to read with blood in your eyes.âÂ
âYou live. You worship me.âÂ
You grimace. Sounds like a hassle. But⊠the idea of continuing to live is like candy. What else is there to do? Itâs work.
You sign.Â
Youâre a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, âGuess weâre both expendable, huh?â
#gale writes#this is an idea i've had bouncing around for a hot minute#what if you made a deal to worship a dying god and you were good at the job. what if you both needed each other to survive#good clerics are hard to find
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The Emperorâs Gaze
Pairing: Emperor Geta x reader
Warnings : Fluff
Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I couldnât get Geta out of my mind so⊠here we are đ€đ€
Word Count: 2.5k
Masterlist Part 2
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The palace was a labyrinth of marble corridors and gilded chambers, each corner a testament to Romeâs wealth and power. For those who served its rulers, it was also a maze of rules, where a single misstep could lead to ruin. You had learned this early, keeping your head low and your presence quieter still.
Your role as a maid was one of humble necessityâsweeping the floors, polishing silver, ensuring the tapestries hung just so. Others gossiped about the palaceâs intrigues, but you avoided such folly. It was better not to know.
Tonight, however, was different. The air was heavy with expectation. The emperor himself, Geta, had returned from a victorious campaign, and the palace was alive with revelry. You had hoped to avoid the feast entirely, yet a last-minute order sent you to the grand hall with a pitcher of wine in hand.
The moment you stepped inside, the scale of the event hit you like a wave. Braziers cast a golden glow over the sprawling chamber, their flames reflected in polished bronze shields mounted on the walls. Senators and noblemen lounged on silk-draped couches, while musicians played softly in the background. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine hung thick in the air.
At the far end of the hall, seated atop a raised platform, was the man himself. Emperor Geta.
He looked every bit the ruler of an empire. His dark crimson robes, edged in gold, flowed around him like a mantle of fire. The laurels on his head gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, but it was his presence that truly dominated the room. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the hall with a mix of boredom and subtle amusement, his dark eyes flickering over each guest as if weighing their worth.
You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the floor as you approached the head of the table, clutching the pitcher so tightly your knuckles turned white. The clamor of conversation around you seemed deafening, yet you moved unnoticedâjust as you preferred.
Until you didnât.
As you leaned forward to refill the emperorâs goblet, your trembling hands betrayed you. The lip of the pitcher brushed his fingers, and before you could pull back, he spoke.
âStop.â
The single word was quiet, yet it silenced the room. A hush fell over the feast as all eyes turned toward the emperorâand you.
Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the pitcher still in hand. Slowly, hesitantly, you straightened.
âLook at me.â
It wasnât a request.
For a moment, you debated disobedience. Maybe if you bowed deeply enough, heâd let you slip away unnoticed. But something in his toneâfirm yet curiousâcompelled you to obey. You lifted your gaze, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it.
When your eyes met his, the world seemed to shrink.
His face was sharp, regal, yet there was a warmth in his deep brown eyes that you hadnât expected. He studied you in silence, his gaze moving over your face with the precision of a man who missed nothing. Your breath hitched, your pulse racing under the weight of his scrutiny.
âWhat is your name?â he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. âY/N, my lord.â
âY/N,â he repeated, the syllables slow and deliberate, as though savoring them. His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didnât quite reach his eyes. âHow long have you served in my palace?â
âTwo years, my lord.â
His head tilted slightly, as if considering your answer. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. You felt the stares of the assembled nobles boring into you, some curious, others envious.
âTwo years,â he mused, almost to himself. âAnd yet, Iâve never noticed you before.â
Your cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and confusion. Was that an insult? A compliment? You didnât dare ask.
Getaâs gaze lingered on you a moment longer, then he leaned back in his chair, dismissing you with a slight wave of his hand. âYou may go.â
You didnât need to be told twice. Bowing deeply, you retreated as quickly as decorum allowed, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty pitcher. The whispers began before you even reached the doors.
Back in the safety of the servantsâ quarters, you pressed your back against the cool stone wall, your heart still racing. What had just happened? Why had the emperor singled you out in such a public way?
Unbeknownst to you, Getaâs thoughts lingered on the timid maid with the downcast eyes and steady voice. In a hall filled with Romeâs finest, it was you who had caught his attention.
And he wasnât the type to let such curiosity go unanswered.
ââ
The next few days passed in a haze of unease. Though you tried to immerse yourself in your duties, the memory of the emperorâs gaze lingered, as vivid as if it had happened moments ago. Whispers of that night followed you through the palaceâservants and guards speculating about why the emperor had spoken to you, of all people.
You did your best to ignore them. You were a maid, nothing more. Whatever had sparked his interest that night would surely fade.
Or so you thought.
It began subtly at first. A guard would appear in the kitchens as you worked, delivering a cryptic message: âThe emperor has requested his chambers be attended to by Y/N.â The head housekeeper, though confused by the unusual request, complied without question. After all, one did not defy the emperorâs wishes.
And so, for three mornings in a row, you found yourself alone in his private quarters. The rooms were grand, draped in rich fabrics and adorned with treasures from across the empire. Yet they felt oddly⊠personal. A small desk near the window held stacks of parchment, the ink-stained quills hinting at late-night writings. A sword, its hilt worn with use, rested casually against the wall.
The first two mornings passed without incident. You worked quickly, cleaning and tidying without lingering, half expecting the emperor to appear at any moment. But he didnât.
Until the third morning.
You had just finished smoothing the folds of his bedâs silk coverlet when you heard the door open behind you. Your breath caught, and you turned slowly, clutching the edge of the bed to steady yourself.
There he was, dressed in a simple tunic, his firey hair slightly tousled as though heâd only just risen. Without the laurels and formal attire, he looked younger, almost approachable. Almost.
âY/N,â he greeted, his voice warm yet carrying the weight of command.
âMy lord,â you replied, bowing deeply. Your hands twisted the hem of your apron nervously as you straightened, unsure of what to do or say.
He stepped further into the room, his gaze locked on you as if he were trying to solve a riddle. âTell me, do you always avoid looking at me, or is it just since the feast?â
The question startled you. You glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away again. âIâŠI did not wish to presume, my lord.â
A soft chuckle escaped him, and he crossed the room to stand before you. âPresume what? That Iâm a man who enjoys being ignored?â
You blinked, unsure how to respond. Was he teasing you? Testing you?
âYou intrigue me, Y/N,â he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something quieter, more genuine. âIn a palace filled with people clamoring for my attention, you shy away from it. Why?â
You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. âBecause attention in this palace is⊠dangerous, my lord.â
He tilted his head, considering your answer. âWise,â he murmured. âBut perhaps unwarranted.â
Your eyes snapped up to his, surprised by his response. His expression was unreadable, but there was no trace of mockery in his tone.
âDangerous or not,â he continued, âI find myself drawn to you. And Iâve never been one to ignore my instincts.â
You didnât know how to respond to that. The room felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of his words.
âTell me,â he said, stepping closer, âwhat do you think of me?â
Your heart leapt into your throat. What was he asking? Why was he asking? You couldnât afford to offend him, yet honesty seemed just as perilous.
âI thinkâŠâ you began cautiously, your eyes darting to the floor, âthat you are a great emperor, my lord. Respected. Feared.â
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught you off guard. âFeared,â he repeated, shaking his head. âAnd are you afraid of me, Y/N?â
Your silence was answer enough.
Geta reached out then, his hand brushing your chin. Gently, he tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, unexpected.
âYou donât need to fear me,â he said softly, his eyes searching yours. âNot when I intend to protect you.â
Your breath hitched at his words, your mind spinning. Protect you? From what? From whom? You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the two of you suspended in the quiet intimacy of that moment.
Then a knock at the door shattered the silence.
Getaâs hand dropped, his expression hardening as he turned toward the door. âEnter.â
A servant appeared, bowing low. âMy lord, the council awaits your presence.â
Geta nodded, his composure returning as swiftly as it had slipped. He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering. âWe will speak again, Y/N.â
And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the room, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and anticipation.
ââ
The following days passed in a strange blur. You carried out your duties with the same diligence as always, yet your mind was consumed by the emperorâs words: *You donât need to fear me. Not when I intend to protect you.*
What had he meant by that? Protect you from what? And why had he chosen you, out of all the people in the palace, to share such a promise?
The whispers among the staff had only grown louder. They noticed, of courseâthe way the emperorâs gaze lingered on you when he passed through the halls, the way he seemed to seek you out in moments when no one else dared approach. You tried to ignore it, but the weight of their eyes was impossible to escape.
It was on a quiet afternoon, as you scrubbed the marble floors of the palaceâs western wing, that your solitude was once again interrupted. The sound of boots echoed down the corridor, drawing closer with each passing moment. You didnât look up, assuming it was a guard or another servant on an errand.
âY/N.â
The sound of your name, spoken in that familiar voice, sent a shiver down your spine. You froze, your hands stilling against the wet cloth. Slowly, you turned to see him standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed simply again, his tunic and cloak free of the heavy embellishments he wore in public.
âMy lord,â you said, bowing your head quickly, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest.
He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble. âIs this how you spend your afternoons? Scrubbing floors?â
You dared a small smile, though you kept your eyes lowered. âItâs honest work, my lord.â
His expression softened. âHonest, perhaps. But a waste of your talents, I think.â
You blinked, startled. âMy⊠talents?â
He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to your level. âDo you know what intrigues me about you, Y/N?â
You shook your head, your breath caught somewhere between confusion and anticipation.
âYou see things others donât,â he said, his voice low. âYou understand the dangers of this palace, the way power twists and turns. But you also carry yourself with graceâhumility. Itâs rare.â
You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Was he testing you again? Trying to unsettle you? Yet there was no trace of malice in his tone, only sincerity.
âI donât belong in your world, my lord,â you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.
âNo,â he agreed. âYou donât. And perhaps thatâs why I find you so⊠refreshing.â
His words hung between you, their weight heavy with unspoken meaning. You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, your heart racing in a way you couldnât control.
âCome with me,â he said suddenly, standing and offering his hand.
Your eyes widened. âMy lord, Iââ
âNo arguments,â he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. âYouâve spent enough time scrubbing these floors. Humor me for a while.â
Hesitating only a moment, you placed your hand in his. His grip was steady, warm, and surprisingly gentle as he helped you to your feet. He led you through the palace, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.
The halls grew quieter the further you went, until you found yourself in a secluded garden, hidden away behind towering marble walls. The air was cool, the scent of blooming jasmine filling your lungs. A small fountain trickled in the center, its soft gurgle the only sound.
âThis is my favorite place,â he said, releasing your hand and turning to face you. âAway from the politics, the noise. No one comes here without my permission.â
You looked around, awed by the serene beauty of the space. It was unlike anything youâd seen in the palaceâa haven untouched by the chaos of court.
âWhy did you bring me here?â you asked softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the fountain.
âBecause I want you to understand something,â he said, stepping closer. âIn this palace, youâre rightâattention can be dangerous. But it can also be a shield.â
You frowned, confused. âA shield?â
âYes.â His eyes locked onto yours, their intensity stealing your breath. âAs long as my attention is on you, no one else will dare harm you. They wonât dare use you to get to me.â
Your chest tightened at his words. Was this his way of protecting you? Claiming you as his, if only to keep the vultures at bay?
âBut why me?â you asked, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. âIâm just a maid. Why would you risk your reputation for someone like me?â
His lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. âBecause youâre the first person in years to see me as a man, not just an emperor.â
The weight of his confession left you speechless. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his fingers warm against your skin.
âYou donât have to answer now,â he said softly, his voice a low murmur. âBut when the time comes, I want you to trust me. Will you try?â
You nodded, unable to find your voice. His smile grew, a flicker of warmth crossing his otherwise guarded expression.
âGood,â he said, stepping back. âNow, come. Thereâs more to this garden I want to show you.â
And as you followed him deeper into the hidden sanctuary, you couldnât help but feel that, for the first time, the world might not be such a dangerous place after all.
Next
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnightđ
#x reader#emperor geta#geta x reader#geta x you#gladiator 2#gladiator ii#gladiator ll#joseph quinn gladiator#emperor geta x reader#emperor geta x you#emperor geta x female reader#emperor geta x y/n
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please,, please,, please,, rhea being all cuddly then soft sex⊠its a need
this request just melted my heart â„ïž
rhea ripley x reader
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
âŒïžsoft rhea, soft sex, a lot of feels and fluffâŒïž
needing me
âyouâre so cuddly todayâ you whispered amused against her soft skin.
currently laying down on the bed, on your favorite position - your head between her head and shoulder, your leg over her thick ones, hands intertwined together while she was whispering softly to you.
âiâm always cuddlyâ she mumbled, pretending to be annoyed by you, making you laugh.
ânot as much as you are today, maybe itâs the christmas spiritâ you looked up to her, challenging her look.
âplease, i canât wait for christmas season to be overâŠâ she huffed.
âoh right, i forgot you are the grinchâŠâ she laughed as you pretended to be annoyed âbut iâm glad youâre home now, we can spend some time together, watch a lot of moviesâŠâ
âcuddle and spend days in bedâ she winked down at you.
âjust to cuddle?â teasing her back.
âoh so youâve been needing me, uh?â she whispered and in a swift move she was pinning you underneath her warm body âi think i can solve thatâŠâ
ârheaâŠyouâre tickling meâ you said laughing the moment you felt her cold hands grazing underneath your t-shirt.
she watched you big loving eyes âi can solve that tooâŠjust trust meâ she whispered before pressing a soft kiss upon your lips. her cold hands moved against your skin, making you shiver âlet me help you with this oneâŠâ she whispered, referring to the oversized âmamiâ t-shirt you bought for her on etsy but that somehow, you always ended up wearing.
raising your arms just to give her better access, in a swift move the shirt was laying down on the floor.
âno bra, uh? do you wanna be on the naughty list this year?â she joked, making you laugh âyouâre so pretty baby, i canât believe we have this week just for usâŠâ she whispered.
thinking of how hard it was for you two to find a moment to stay together. with her being on raw and you being drafted on smackdown, you always ended up having a day and a half to spend together so you never failed to cherish sweet moments like that one.
âi knowâŠâ you met her soft smile. she tried so many times to get you on raw so you two could be together and travel together but hunter said no multiple times, saying that your feud with tiffany was attracting attention and definitely attracting more fans and he didnât want to ruin your big moment like that.
then rhea herself offered to be drafted on smackdown but again, hunter said no.
you fought hard for what you had and no matter how little less time you had to spend together, you both always made sure it was worth it.
âheyâŠwhat is your mind thinking?â she asked, shoving some hair behind your ear.
ânothingâŠi just, i wish we could be together all days, moments like this get me nostalgicâ you chuckled, making her laugh.
âi knowâŠitâll get better after mania, i promise youâ rhea smirked, clearly knowing something you didnât know. but before you could ask questions, she pressed another sweet kiss upon your lips âno questionsâŠlet me enjoy my time off with my girlfriendâ.
âokayâŠâ you whispered, letting her kiss you from your lips to your neck and down your chest. releasing a soft breath, you felt her warm tongue gently kissing above your breast, long enough to tease you ârheaâŠâ.
âpatience, iâm gonna give you exactly what you need, just hold on a little for me, okay?â and you knew you couldnât say no when she asked so nicely. so you stayed there, feeling rhea torturing your breast before she decided to tease your nipples too.
a soft moan escaped your lips, making rhea chuckle âsensitive, arenât we?â
ânot my fault you didnât touch me in a weekâŠâ you decided to be bratty a little bit, making rhea stop her movement and make her look up at you.
âis that so?â she asked, clearly amused.
âyesâŠâ you whispered.
âthen, let me fix my mistake babyâŠâ - you loved this sweet side of rhea. in other occasions she would have punished you or edged you until you couldnât take it anymore but not this time. instead she took her sweet time in undressing you properly. removing your pants first and then the white lacy panties you had underneath âyouâre gonna kill me one dayâŠhow did i get so lucky with you?â but before you could answer, her thumb was already teasing between your folds.
letting a quite pornographic sound out from your lips, you felt rhea laughing at your reaction.
âyes, youâve been needing meïżœïżœïżœâ she whispered, feeling how wet you already were.
âi need you, pleaseâ you said, rhea already knew that.
she softly teased your clit with her thumb, making small circles around it. her eyes were fixed on your face, studying your expression âwhat do you want baby, fingers or my tongue?â - it was rare that she let you decide what you wanted but she knew how down youâve been feeling these past weeks where you had little to no time to spend together and she didnât want to upset you.
âyou, i want you rheaâŠâ she chucked at your impatience.
while her thumb kept moving around your clit, she asked you the question again.
âyou. the strap, pleaseâŠâ you opened your eyes up to her, as if you were begging.
âi donât wanna hurt youâŠi need you to get you ready firstâ she couldnât wait to be inside of you, she couldnât wait to feel your chest pressed against hers but she wanted to take things slow.
âiâm ready, i promise youâŠcanât you feel how wet i am? please, i need youâ her touch was intoxicating for you and she knew there was no chance of fighting with you. so she gave in, completely.
releasing her hand from your clit, she moved to the closet to get the strap - the purple one you gave her for her birthday, the one she has been using on you when she wanted to wreck you and leave you a panting mess.
slowly walking towards the bed, she stopped just to undress herself and adjust the harness over her hips. never leaving your eyes, she watched carefully at all the little movements your face was making. from how you bit your lips to how you closed your eyes just to take a deep breath.
everything she did looked hot for you and having her standing naked in front of you was making your head spinning.
when she was done, she crawled back on the bed on top of you âyou ready princess?â she teased, definitely already knowing the answer.
âyes pleaseâŠi need youâ you couldnât wait any longer or else you were going to explode.
she slowly dragged the strap up and down your folds, collecting your juices as she teased your clit with the tip of it. squeezing your eyes, you felt your body was on fire.
âdonât stop pleaseâŠâ you looked up at her with begging eyes.
in other occasions she would have done the opposite of what you asked. she would have teased you until you couldnât take it anymore but not tonight. tonight she was ready to give you all you asked and more.
âiâm sliding in baby, take a deep breath for meâ she warned you. knowing that the purple strap always worked magic on you, making you feel so full and stretched out. it was the one she used to destroy you but tonight rhea wanted to try something different.
you relaxed against her skin and when you felt the strap resting between your walls, you let out a shaky breath. suddenly feeling so warm and full. rhea still had to move, giving you time to adjust.
âyou can move, pleaseâ and she did as you told her.
but this time, she kept her pace slow. the tip of the strap brushing over your sweet spot, making you shiver and moan every time. her chest pressed against yours. feeling her hard nipples against your was making your head dizzy.
she gently pinned your hands above your head with one of her strong hands while the other one held your chin between her fingers.
lowering her head down just to meet your lips in a soft kiss âi could kiss you all night longâ she whispered against your lips, making you smile into the kiss.
sweet love making with rhea taking care of you in the sweetest way possible.
with each thrust you felt like you were close and rhea felt it too from how you tried to close your legs around her.
âyou coming baby?â she whispered, leaving a tender kiss against your collarbone.
âuh uhâŠâ you moaned, too lost in the pleasure to speak.
the feeling of the strap hitting your spot and rheaâs lips all over your neck were enough to make you crumble under her skin.
closing your eyes and letting your mouth fall open, you moaned her name as you came. the friction of the strap against her clit and the feeling of your body responding too good to her touch were enough to make her cum too.
she gently released your hands and in a quick but steady move she grabbed you by the hips and made you sit on her strap as she came, making you feel all of the strap length inside of you.
your hands quickly went to her back - maybe leaving a scratch or two as you still were riding out your first orgasm.
âoh fuck babyâŠyou feel too fucking goodâŠâ she moaned as she hid her face in the crook of your neck, her teeth grazing over your skin.
it took you a moment to come down from your high. your eyes were still closed but your breath came back to normal while rhea was now kissing the skin she bit before.
âshitâŠâ you whispered, opening your eyes only to be met with a loving rhea.
âyou good baby?â her hand quickly moved some of the hair that got stuck on your face.
you nodded âi amâŠiâm perfectly fineâŠi just wanna cuddleâ you mumbled, not wanting to sound too weak but rhea watched you with sweet eyes before helping you remove yourself from her waist.
slowly, you removed yourself from the strap she was still wearing.
âwe did a messâŠâ you looked down at the purple strap that was now covered in your juices.
rhea chuckled, taking the harness off from herself and throwing it somewhere in the room âiâll do the cleaning later, now i want to lay down with youâŠâ
you couldnât help the big smile that formed on your face when rhea said those words.
laying down on the bed, you let your head rest on her shoulder again as her hands went to move on your back, gently massaging your soft skin.
âi wish we could stay like this foreverâŠâ you whispered.
âi knowâŠbut hey, letâs focus on the time we can spend together now okay? everything is going to be okay, just trust meâŠâ she said, trying to ease your mood just a little bit.
you nodded, closing your eyes and letting rheaâs touch lullaby you to sleep.
rhea smiled looking down at you, thinking how lucky she was to have found a partner like you.
if only you knew that she was going to propose on christmas dayâŠ
#wwe#wwe x reader#wwe imagine#wwe x you#wwe imagines#wwe one shot#wwe x oc#wwe network#rhea ripley smut#rhea ripley imagine#rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley imagines#wwe rhea ripley#rhea ripley wwe#rhea ripley#rhea ripley oneshot#rhea ripley one shot#rhea ripley fluff#rhea ripley x oc#wwe rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley x you#rhea ripley x y/n#rhea ripley angst#rhea ripley story#mami rhea ripley#mami ripley#rhea ripley mami#mami rhea#rhea ripley x original character#rhea ripley is hot lol
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Yes, these pages are genuinely so heartbreaking if you read it this way.
Ms. Pauling learns the truth ââ that this woman she's been serving and desiring isn't a genius mastermind with a justifiable motive, but a toxic tar pit who will drag her down with her ââ and realizes that in order to save her, she needs to let her go and let her die. That refusing to let her keep living is a mercy. Ms. Pauling looks like she's on the verge of tears when the Administrator turns away from her and just... stops caring about her the moment she doesn't have what she wants. She never really mattered.
All these slow-paced panels of the mercs giving Ms. Pauling space as she silently grieves in shock. The blank, sunken, numb stare. Faced with a total reset of her life. You can feel the weight and guilt and relief of a huge burden being lifted through the death of a loved one. She loved the Administrator, so she let her go; now she's finally free.
But here, Engie floats the idea that her love could endure as obsession and worship. As total servitude, even after death, to the Administrator's legacy and whatever lovely fantasy Ms. Pauling had of her. And she stares at this last piece of Australium with manic temptation. But Ms. Pauling rejects it and discards it all. It's done.
There's something to be said about Ms. Pauling being in an abusive relationship with the Administrator and allowing herself to be used like this for validation. Because lets be real, Ms. Pauling is treated horribly with zero recognition and she often just laughs it off or rationalizes as necessary to better serve the Administrator.
(it's honestly extremely obvious. ask yourself why ms. pauling believes getting manipulated, attacked, and shot by the administrator is worth it and not a big deal.)
I think when Engie tells her, "And you oughta know that [if you keep it] you won't never be free of it. And I mean maybe really never," he's talking about their relationship. That if she doesn't leave and drop this baggage and self-destructive love now, the Administrator will have her claws in her for the rest of her life. She will be dependent on her forever. It's a great way of showing how just "ending" a relationship like this is never the end; the shit will follow you until you purge everything.
In short, Ms. Pauling's arc is about surviving toxic boss-employee yuri and finding the strength and bravery to fully walk away from an abusive relationship and that's why she's the strongest TF2 character.
The final TF2 issue really got to me. Spoilers, but itâs the reveal that all of this suffering and murder and war over gravel and shitty land was for nothing but senseless, bottomless hatred. That the administrator canât even remember where this revenge plot started as she flashes through different false memories of her parentsâ deaths. There was never a tragic backstory or justification, only terrible people doing despicable things. And despite how crass and stupid and unserious TF2 is, the story subverts every expectation by showing the survivors and inheritors willingly breaking the cycle. Ms. Pauling lies to the administrator and chooses not to save her, and finally lets her die. (Hurts even more if you read into the subtext that Ms. Pauling is in love with the administrator.) She lets the final cache of Australium go and walks away from the burden and legacy of a century-old bloodfeud. Hale lets Grayâs daughter go and live her life freely. Spy is the first to arrive at Scoutâs house and meet his big family, finally takes off his mask, and helps with the kids. Even Merasmus exhaustedly makes peace with himself and Soldier and chooses not to curse him or something. Thereâs nothing to finish, no promises to keep, and no one to avenge. The only thing to do is break the cycle and walk away.
It feels odd how happy and warm everything is, but it feels so right and earned. These bloodthirsty, awful, violent men were expendable cogs in a machine of endless violence, and they found a way out. Itâs a genuinely great message about letting go the past that burdens you and finding the will and a way to hit the bricks, change, and be happy. Maybe they donât technically deserve happiness, but theyâve got it nonetheless, and theyâre not gonna let it go to waste. Theyâre still all crazy and violent, but on their own terms now and with people who love them! Smiles.
#ms pauling isn't in the time skip epilogue. so i hope she's doing ok. like i hope she ACTUALLY threw all that australium away#reblog#long post#personal#rant#drzootsuit#putting my film and media studies major to good use rn lol
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[/slams a request form on your desk like an over zealous court room anime dude]
Mx.Revel, consider this a request of the utmost importance! This request is for none other than your personal favorite cybertronian, whom ever they may be.
Thank you for your time, your honor, I concede.
Thatâs Wheeljack, buuuut how about an angst ficlet? Was thinking about how utterly ill equipped Shockwave is to deal with emotions other than anger and a scenario where Soundwave is grieving a cassette. Shock wanting to do something for his friend, basically the only Cybertronian that doesnât find him deeply unsettling, and he doesnât understand he canât just replace the cassette with something near the same size. Honestly, I just wanted to do an alternate take with these two. Title is âClumsy Heartâ by The Matches
Clumsy Heart
IDW Shockwave x Reader, Soundwave x Reader
âą Servos of his one hand flexing as the uncomfortable noise in his processor grows, those invasive thoughts and shadows of memory that arenât his floating to the surface, half seen and hazy. Watching Soundwave cradle the still form of a cassette to himself, the way his servos ghost over that small shape making the chaos worse. Becoming uncomfortable, unable to really understand this grief, but realizing that he should know this. That he hates this. He can repair the frame, but the spark is gone. Senses his friend wonât appreciate it if he resurrects a pale shadow, even if heâs not sure why he knows that.
âą Spark aching at the loss, Soundwave is aware of his other cassettes echoing his pain. Of Shockwave lingering nearby, head tipped to study him like his grief is something foreign and fascinating. âLeave me,â he says, servos gently touching that little face. Had they looked for him at the end? Knowing heâd be there in time to save them like he always is. All of them trusting without question that heâll protect them. And heâd failed. Feels like coming apart, losing something so dear to him, a part of him. Finally, Shockwave drifts away, leaving him to grieve with his surviving cassettes.
âą Leaving the base, trying to get rid of that tangling, unpleasant feeling of dissonance, Shockwave tips his head up to the night sky. Trying to understand. Wanting to. Canât bring back the cassette, but he can find a replacement. Something similar. If itâs the loss of a small symbiote he cares for that is paining Soundwave, maybe another small thing he can care for will ease that grief? Doesnât know, canât really understand why he grieves at the loss. Everything dies. Itâs inevitable. And itâs illogical to mourn the inevitable. Striding into the night, he ponders replacements. Something that can speak with him like a cassette. Something small and alive. One of the little, organic natives would do.
âą Breath fogging in the morning air, you check the rifle. Exhausted after being up all night finding every single photo heâs in and cutting out his face. Taping those hateful little visages all over his Xbox, all his games, those stupid baseball cards and then lining them up for execution on the lawn. A petty bit of satisfaction as you line up the first shot and fire. For the bra hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. A game disc explodes in jagged shards. For those slutty lace panties on your kitchen counter. The cards arenât as satisfying, just scattering. For that bitch in your bed and the look on his face when youâd come home early because work was slow. Slowly, picking targets and destroying them since you canât go after him, heâs not worth it. The crap heâd left when youâd grabbed the rifle and chased him and her naked out of your house last night? Fair game.
âą Is this a valid course of action? It seems logical. If something has been lost and is causing a problem, replacing it should resolve the issue. Aware that it might be a bit more nuanced than that, because of emotions he canât grasp, he moves through the woods outside the base. Itâs a sound theory and it canât make things worse to try. Probably. That, too, eludes him. An answer that relies on emotion.
âą Reloading the rifle, you hear a branch crack and come crashing down in the woods behind you. Making you flinch and nearly drop the gun. Itâd been windy the day before, a branch must have broken. Turning toward the sound, your mouth falls open as a giant steps out of the woods, a single red optic finding you, antenna flicking up. âAcceptable,â it growls as the fine hair at your nape prickles. Opening fire on it as it strides your way, completely unfazed. Dropping the rifle to run, you scream as it bends and snags you in a giant hand.
âą Still weighed down by grief even after laying the cassette to rest, Soundwaveâs head lifts at the sound of screaming. Of terror and pain that goes right through so soon after his own loss. Freezing as he spots Shockwave entering his quarters and his attention drops to the small form wriggling like mad in his grip. Speechless as the scientist drops the human on the desk and the tiny creature lunges to their feet and runs, only to stop short as they hit the edge and realize how high up it is. Can feel the chaos and fear in their mind, that panic so bright and hurtful. âA replacement,â Shockwave says, gesturing at the terrified thing with his cannon. Like itâs as simple as that. Like a human can replace his cassette. That people are interchangeable. Turning away from the edge, terrified eyes look up at him and that fear nearly cripples him. You canât replace what heâs lost, but you do need him. Hates Shockwave right then and those frightened eyes.
Next
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hihi friend <3333 requesting something a little more different bc as someone who loves a good breeding kink (in form of dirty talk and dirty talk only!!) i still do not EVER want kids and cannot fathom the whole birth process. can i ask for what loganâs reaction would be a reader who doesnât want kids?
maybe theyâre not that established in their relationship and theyâre fooling around (awink) and when logan brings out the breeding talk she just kinda panics and pushes him off/uses her safe word because she does NOT want kids
like i said kinda different but ur one of my fav logan writers and i canât find anything like this so i wanted to request it đ« đ«¶đŒ
As someone who also doesnât want kids but has a massive breeding kink, real. (Also FAVORITE???? EEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK)
Logan with an s/o who doesnât want kids!
⊠To be entirely honest, Logan never thought of himself as a fatherly type, hell, he never thought of himself even staying in a relationship long enough to even have kids.
⊠You however, are the exception.
⊠He can see himself growing old for once, more importantly, he can see himself growing old with you.
⊠So is it surprising that somewhere along the line instead of just you and him, he started imagining a kid hanging off you too?
⊠He wouldnât even know how to bring it up, and heâs still of the belief that heâd be a god awful father
⊠But if youâd have him, heâd try his damndest to be the best father a kids ever gonna have
⊠He doesnât tell you that heâs even thought of having a kid, too afraid to bring it up in case you get scared
⊠But one night it accidentally slips out while heâs got you pinned under him
⊠It really was an accident, you just sounded so good and you were squeezing his cock just perfectlyâ
⊠Something inside him snaps, tears itâs way to the forefront of his mind, eyes fixated where his cock almost bulges against your stomachâ
⊠Right where youâd be carrying his kid
⊠He bows over you, practically covers you with his body, head bent and panting into your ear like a wild animal.
⊠Heâs not totally aware of himself, almost as if heâs a spectator; he feels everything, maybe even too much.
⊠Youâre scratching at his back, moaning his name so pretty, begging him for more, more, donât stop, pleaseâ
⊠It was an accident when he holds you by the hips, growls in your earânot gonna stop, not until Iâve put a kid in you.
⊠Youâre always the most beautiful thing heâs laid eyes on but for that moment, when you locked your legs and begged him to breed you, you looked like Aphrodite herself. The way you milked him for all heâs worth, heâs not sure heâll ever reach a high like that again.
⊠The next morning he wakes up beside you, a dopey smile on his face when he sees the evidence of your love-making on every inch of you.
⊠His hickeys, fresh and dark, painted across your neck, all the way to your collarbone.
⊠Quite simply, you look like you got attacked
⊠However, even better than those was the proof of his love, your cum-stained thighs, just slightly spread apart as you slept.
⊠He wonât lie, it took him more than a bit of self-control not to take you again after seeing that.
⊠Lucky for him, your eyes fluttered open before he could pursue that train of thought.
âGâmorninââ you groan, stretching your very sore body. When you feel the remnants of last nights affairs on your skin itâs as if a switch is flipped, the slight frown on your face, the hesitant look you give as you quickly waddle to the bathroomâhe did something wrong, he just doesnât know what yet.
He waits until after the waters stopped, giving you a peace offering in the form of his t-shirts. It overshadows you, but itâll do.
âDid I do something wrong?â He asks nervously. Loganâs never been good at talking much, but he tries his best when it comes to you.
âNo, no,â you deny, but itâs written on your face. You can barely look at him, fiddling with the ends of his shirt.
âYou sure? Because you ran out of bed like a bat out of hell.â
Again, you canât seem to keep your eyes on him. âItâs not you per se, I meanâŠâ
âSay it,â he insists. âI can handle it.â
A pause. âDid you mean what you said last night?â
Even the mention of last night makes his body tingle, the remains of each and every memory fresh in his mind. Thereâs a lop-sided smile on his face when he answers, lackadaisical even. âI said a LOT of things last night darling, youâre gonna have to be specific here.â
You bit your lips nervously. âWhat you said about being pregnant.â
Oh, he thinks, and now the shoes finally dropped. At the time you seemed enthusiastic, but looking at you nowâŠyou look scared out of your mind.
Heâs quick to move closer, inviting you to sit beside him with a couple taps to the bed. The moment you do heâs got you in his arms, making sure he can feel you relax before he says a word.
âDarling, be honest with me, do you want to have kids?â
You tense in his hold, both dread and fear evident in your voice. âI donât know? Maybe in the future?â
âMaybe ainât an answer.â He says, stroking your hair. âNo need to lie.â
You shouldâve known Logan would see right through you. You shake your head with a sigh, unwilling to look at him in fear of the disappointment youâre certain is painted on his features.
ââŠNot really, no. But if you wanted themââ
âStop, donât finish that,â he sighs. âIf you donât want kids, then thatâs it. No kids.â
Shock, relief, a flurry of emotions take hold of you when you pull away, staring him down for any hint of dishonesty. Your heart soars when you donât find any.
âAre you sure? Because it didnât seem that way last night,â you stutter, and heâs quick to soothe your worries.
A quick peck to your lips, and he makes himself crystal clear. âListen to me, Iâm not gonna force ya to do something you donât wanna do. If you donât want kids then thereâs nothing to worry about, Iâm not an asshole.â
Your eyes almost water, the weight of fear lifting off your shoulders as you weakly chuckle. âYâknow, the amount of times Iâve had this conversationâit always ends in a break up. This isâŠreally refreshing, honestly.â
âYouâve been dating a bunch of assholes,â he taunts, kissing your temple. âDonât worry though, youâve got me.â
âAnd youâre not an asshole?â You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him.
âMhm,â he mumbles. âNot to you, at least.â
As he does so, he makes it a point to pull you closer, bury his face into your neck and inhale. âEven if you donât want kids, I still get to breed ya, right?â
#Iâm gonna be honest I do not think this is my best work#but I have GOT to clean out my inbox#healthy heaping of smut/fluff tonight :3#Robo writes#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#wolverine#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut
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Roleplay with Zayne...
â§Ë° Just a thought butâŠI see people say doctor x patient roleplay with Zayne would be hot but I canât help but think he would be too busy pointing out plot holes and taking it a little too serious LOL.
Word Count: 446
Tags: zayne x gn!reader, sfw, funny, fluff <3
You lounged on the edge of the bed, your leg crossed just enough to hint at something more, as Zayne adjusted the stethoscope hanging around his neck. The pristine lab coat he usually wore to work fit him perfectly, and his usual serious expression made him look like this was genuinely an examination.
He clicked the end of his pen and looked at you expectantly, his clipboard poised in hand. âShall we begin?â he asked in that smooth, professional tone.
You let your lips curl into a sly smile. âDoctor, Iâve been feelingâŠstrange lately. Like, really tense. I think I need a hands-on examination.â
Zayne tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. âHmm. Tension could be due to several factors. Could you be more specific about the location? Is it muscular, neurological, or psychological?â
You blinked, caught off guard for a moment. âOh, itâsâŠall over,â you replied, recovering quickly and leaning forward, lowering your voice to a suggestive whisper. âMaybe you could check for yourself?â
Zayne stroked his chin thoughtfully, his gaze narrowing in concentration. ââAll overâ? Thatâs highly unusual,â he said, tapping his clipboard. âAre you experiencing fever or chills? Perhaps this is an early indication of a systemic issueâthough I must question why you waited until now to seek assistance. This could have been an emergency.â
You stared at him, incredulous. âZayneâŠyouâre not supposed to focus on the symptoms,â you said, trying to stay patient. âYouâre supposed toââ
âNot focus on the symptoms?â he interrupted, looking genuinely alarmed. âHow can I, as your doctor, ensure accurate treatment without proper diagnostic attention?â
You opened your mouth to argue but decided it wasnât worth it. Instead, you inhaled deeply, trying a different tactic. âOkay, fine,â you said, waving a hand. âMaybe itâs⊠stress-related. Maybe Iâve been so busy I havenât had time toâŠrelax.â
Zayne nodded solemnly, as if this was the most logical explanation. âStress is a common factor,â he said. âI could prescribe a course of action to alleviate that. Letâs see⊠meditation? Yoga? Perhaps I should refer you to a licensed therapist to explore these deeper issuesââ
âThe therapy I need,â you interrupted sharply, cutting him off, âinvolves you. Right now. In this room.â
He blinked at you, his face perfectly blank for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. âUnorthodox,â he admitted, âbut I suppose direct intervention could be beneficial. Very well. Iâll need you to lie down.â
Finally. Some action. You let out a relieved sigh, leaning back and sliding onto the bed. âOh, gladlyââ
âNow,â Zayne said, grabbing his clipboard again and flipping to a fresh page. âTell me about your sleep schedule. Do you consume any caffeine past 3 PM?â
ââŠâ
ââŠâ
#umi writes âĄïž#love and deepspace#lads#love and deepspace zayne#zayne x reader#zayne x reader smut#zayne love and deepspace#love and deep space#lads zayne#love and deepspace smut#lnds#l&ds#lads smut#lnds zayne#l&ds zayne#li shen#doctor zayne#I had a dream about this and wrote it lmaooo
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must be love
â you find saeâs phone opened, and you decide to snoop.
or; sae gets exposed for being a fake idgafer. this is too sappy. 2.7k words, this is my longest fic in my whole life⊠what life feels like as a girl who loves too much core
tags: @narcjsistx
â for rhi. love ya, partner.
âshe seems really eager to please,
but she has quite the backbone.â
you huff out in frustration. âah!! ughâŠâ you scowl. sae raises his eyebrow. âmy groupmate never started on her share of the work⊠ugh, now i have to cram it..!â you explain your sudden outburst. sae scoffs. âthen tell your teacher or something. itâs not like i can do anything about it, im not your teacher.â he, quite obviously, points out. âwh⊠ugh, iâm gonna⊠i justâ needed to let out my anger.â you groan, face planting and screaming into your textbook. and he hums in response. although he didnât show it on his face, your outburst was quite out of character for the person he had grown to know. it was⊠weird, to say the least. and it had caused him to make a mental note not to anger you.
âher generosity knows no bounds.â
âsae, this is for you. merry christmas!â you hand him a wrapped box. âhm..? i donât take christmas gifts.â he bluntly states. âi havenât gotten any gifts since i was 10 years old.â you scoff to yourself. âmaybe thatâs why youâve always got that stick in your ass.â you tease. âexcuse me?â he glares daggers at you. âaaaanyway! open it!â you shove the box into his hands. he looks at the box, and then at you, and he decides to open it. ânew cleats.â he acknowledges. yes, mhm. these were indeed cleats..! âi didnât need these, i was going to buy them myself.â he states.
âi know, you could probably buy them yourself. but, i thought iâd save you the hassle, yâknow?â how thoughtful of you. he eyes the cleats up and down; itâs an expensive brand, but itâs worth the price for the quality. ââŠthanks.â he says, at last. he didnât expect a gift from you, he doesnât have one prepared for you. heâll make sure to buy you something youâll love later. âoh! hold on, i wanted to give you some other things âȘ~â you fish a keychain and envelope out of your bag and hand it to him.
ââŠcinnamoroll..?â he questions. âitâs cute right? i thought youâd like it.â what an odd way of thinking⊠never once has he mentioned anything about cinnamoroll. but then again, it is pretty cute. ââŠwell, i wonât say i hate it. thank you.â he thanks you as he eyes the envelope. âah, donât read it in front of me..! i got a bit sappy, itâs pretty. embarrassingâŠâ you awkwardly laugh. âah, got it.â
later that day, he opened the envelope. there was a letter; it had cute doodles all over. and, heâd be lying if he said that he didnât feel your affection radiating off the letter. it was⊠really sweet.
âwhat a beautiful human being she is.â
itoshi sae is what you like to call a shy lover, if you were to put it kindly.
you know for a fact that he loves you, he just isnât good at verbally expressing it. words of affection are too sappy for him. he prefers to show it through the thoughtfulness of his gifts, and the longing touches of his hands, which seem to never leave yourâs.
you know he loves you. but, you canât help but wish for him to say it more often.
it wasnât many nights lately that the two of you would have a date night. with saeâs rigorous training schedule and endless interviews, the only thing he wants to do at night is to fall asleep beside you.
however, today was the end of the season. meaning, sae would have much more free-time for you.
with saeâs last game for the year completed in 0-4, the first thing he had to do was call you. even though you werenât far away at all, sitting in the VIP lounge with the relatives and girlfriends of saeâs teammates.
âs/o?â he calls your attention. âmhm? congratulations on your win, babe! i knew youâd win.â you congratulate him. âthey could barely keep the ball when they had it. is it really an achievement for me to have won this match?â he says, almost sassily. âpsshâ alright. i get it, mr. âtepid.â.â you tease.
âdonât call me that.â he huffs. âstay where you are. iâll go to you.â he commands. you hum in acknowledgment, and he hangs up.
he doesnât keep you waiting too long before showing up. âthere you areâŠâ he sighs in relief, kissing you as his hands automatically find themselves on your bodyâ one tangled in your hair, and the other resting on the curve of your spine.
once he finds the will in himself to finally pull away, heâs breathless.
he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, his fingers flowing through your hair. ââŠget ready for our date later tonight, yeah? formal wear.â
you nod, and his lips curl upward. âiâll see you later.â
you decided to go all out, pull all the brakes. and when sae picks you up in his car, he canât help thinking that you look like a dream. âare you sure you arenât a model?â he muses to himself. his heart twists, and the fat of his cheeks redden with affection. your hair flows like silk, and that glimmer in your eyes was once a star, handpicked from the skies, heâs sure of it.
everything about you encourages him to keep staring, but he manages to get ahold of himself. ââŠyouâŠlook beautiful.â is the only thing he can get himself to say. but, beautiful doesnât seem to encapsulate it, not at all. itâs not even close. beautiful is only a fraction of what he thinks. âheh, you think so?â you ask. âyeah; beautiful.â he assures. âletâs go.â he says, barely turning his attention away from you as he turns to the road.
the drive to the restaurant is quiet, but saeâs mind is screaming at him. his eyes canât stop moving back to take sneaky glances of you. he drinks up your beauty like a serpent, and he still hasnât had his fill.
ââŠweâre here.â he pulls the shift into itsâ brake. he gets out, and hands his keys to the valet boyâ his words are inaudible through the car door, but he quickly finishes his conversation and moves to open your car door.
you take your first step out, and his hand immediately moves to help you out. god, you might be even prettier under the gleam of moonlight, shining like the pearl of the planet.
his arm moves and snakes around your waist, guiding you into the restaurant under the flash of paparazzi cameras. he grimaces at the loud, pitchy voices of news interviewers, begging for a comment; anything for a headline quote.
the gentle touch of his fingers tighten, as he silently encourages you to walk faster, and lose the crowd. the two of you hurry up, and dash into the restaurant, where youâre greeted with a dim candlelight, mahogany walls, and the rhythmic trumpet of jazz.
âwelcome, mr. itoshi.â the receptionist greets. âyour table for two is right this way.â she quickly guides the two of you into a secluded part of the restaurant, just like heâs always done as to make sure neither of you are spotted and harassed in public.
lamps hang on the walls, creating a romantic atmosphere. and the curved dark-brown leather booth couch perfectly complements the dark oak roundtable.
the date isnât too different from the others. the two of you chat about anything that comes to mind. but, itâs actually more like itâs just you chattering on, and sae listening as he admires that excited grin on your face.
on the outside looking in, itâs obvious how he has heart eyes when he stares at you. heâs in a trance as he listens to the rich honeying sweetness of your voice; his finger traces the lines on the roundtable, wishing that itâd be the crinkles of your smile heâs tracing when he blinks and opens his eyes again.
his trance is broken though, when his phone rings. damn it, he forgot to put his phone on do not disturb⊠âsomething wrong?â you ask sae, and he takes his phone out of his pocket. ânot sure. there shouldnât be a problem, i cancelled everything for tonight. ugh⊠just a second, amorâŠâ he remorsefully takes your hand in his as a silent gesture of apology. he took too long to pick up the phone, it already went outâŠ
he opened his call app, and saw that it was from his publicist, dabadie. he groaned before picking up.
âsae! you didnât mention that youâd be going out on a date today, your paparazzi shot is already all over social medias..!â he worriedly stammers. âi didnât? well, whatever⊠itâs just a date photo anyway.â sae shrugs, speaking quietly to ensure that you donât hear. ârightâ but⊠you know the internet⊠they might criticize you, and say that sheâs distracting you from soccerâŠâ
sae is about to correct himâ heâs about to say that you arenât distracting him from his career, but he holds back once he remembers that youâre right beside him, eagerly waiting for his attention to be back on you.
âi⊠have to speak to you for a second, im already outside the restaurant⊠the paparazzi didnât censor out the location well enough either⊠so, the agencyâs security car will follow you two homeâŠâ he adds on. sae sighs. âi have to speak to you too. iâll meet you outside.â he hangs up. he huffs in exasperation and shallowly drops his phone, making it clatter on the table; the screen is left open on his call record. âim sorry, amor⊠i have to quickly take care of something, iâll be back soon, i promise.â he kisses your hand.
âhmph, donât worry. itâs dabadie, right? heâs always worried about somethingâŠâ you laugh. of course youâd be understanding about it. you always understood. âheh, that he is.â he sasses before leaving the table.
âŠand you canât help but notice that his phone is still open.
his phone is practically yelling at you, âcheck out whatâs on me, s/o! check it out right now!â, and you simply canât resist the temptation to!
first, you simply scroll around at his call record; nothing too interesting, itâs filled with calls from dabadie, and you. as well as occasional calls from his mom. how tepid, as sae would put it. you exit the app, and find his home screen wallpaper to be a picture he took of you; youâre looking out into the distance, the large castle of sleeping beauty in the background.
you smile to yourself at that cute photo, and move to his photos; itâs filled with photos of you, and almost none of himâ not unless you were beside him. you scroll down to check out his older photos; theyâre childhood pictures, only a few of them are with rin included.
âŠ
âŠanyways, âwhat is in sae itoshiâs notes app?â, you ponder. you open his notes app.
âthings i want to eat: 1. omelette, 2. paella, 3. pesto pastaâ
âonitsuka tiger mexico - kill bill/grey, new balance 2002r - grey, asics gel NYC - oyster greyâ
âlaundryâ
âi love youâ
you laugh at the randomness of his notes, quickly scrolling through them. itâs true when they say that a boyâs notes is truly random.
but that last note catches your eye. itâs a pretty odd note that just says âi love youâ with no additional text. and, it makes you wonder.
saeâs an organized person, more or less. so, his notes must be filed too. and, youâre correct. there are three files; âlistsâ, âimportant documentsâ, and a file with your initial as itsâ name.
the other two donât seem as interesting, nor seem as mysterious. so, you click on the mysterious file.
and, the file is filled with everything about you; heâs written down your birthday (including the timeâŠ), your family membersâ names, foods you like to eat when you arenât feeling well, shows that you like to watch⊠everything.
and, thereâs a note that catches your eye. itâs a cut-off sentence, since it was too long. you decide to feed your curiosity and click on the note.
âshe talks to everyone, even the people she doesnât like.
it takes a lot to piss her off.
sheâs always kind to me, after all.
she seems really eager to please, but she has quite the backbone.
she works really hard, but i donât think many see it.
her generosity knows no bounds, and she always knows what kind of joke to make.
i didnât think it was possible for a soul to be so beautiful.
nor, that someone like i would meet a soul like herâs.
but, im grateful to the stars above that i met her.
someone as kind as her deserves to receive all the love she gives.
i donât think she knows how loved she really is though.
what a beautiful human being she is.
there simply isnât enough words to describe the way her dimples crinkle when sheâs happy.
the day she was conceived, the gods mustâve tenderly sculpted her heart out of ivory and gold.
the way she enamors everyone in the room simply by walking inside, and the way her personality shines in her rushed, yet sweet handwriting.
one day, i hope sheâll finally be perpetually happy.
so, that she can always shine that enchanting smile of herâs.
she deserves all of it.â
was this a poem..? it didnât seem like it, it didnât rhyme, and the stanzas didnât have equal amounts of lines⊠but, the way he worded it out almost made it seem like he was a poet.
you donât⊠even know what to think at such a romantic confession. itâs certainly much more than sae has ever verbally said to you. but, the fact that he had written this with you in mind makes your heart pound like crazy.
youâve always known that sae loves you, but seeing his private thoughts all written out for you to read was⊠overwhelming.
âgoing through my texts, amor? iâm not texting any other woman besides you.â sae nonchalantly jokes. shitâ time went quicker than youâd thought. âah, nn⊠just got a bit curious, babeâŠâ you hum. âwhat were you looking at..?â he asks, and his eyes widen the moment he sees what you were reading. out of all the things on his phone, that was the last thing he wanted you reading.
he embarrassedly closes his phone. âso⊠what was all that writing about..? were you trying to be a poet?â you jokingly ask; you knew that sae wasnât mad, per say⊠he was probably just embarrassed. ân..no⊠it was, ahâŠâ he clears his throat. âit was just⊠something i typed out when i realized i had many observations about you that i needed to write down. i just got sidetracked while i was typing.â he explains.
you smile, your entire body feeling like youâre on fire. the love you feel for sae itoshi feels like too much to contain in your heart. âit was really sweet, saeâŠâ you assure him. for some reason, you have the odd incentive to just⊠cry right now. you love him so much.
âi know. but, itâs also too sappy.â he huffs. âaw, donât be so shy⊠i know youâre just a huge softie under that tough surfaceâŠâ you tease, moving closer to cuddle up to his side. âim not soft. i just love you, okay?â he groans. âdonât make me say embarrassing things.â
your smile widens, making him look at you with that lovesick look in his eyes. âaww⊠well, i guess i know how much you love me now anyway, so thatâs good enough..!â you mentally fist pump at this small victory.
the atmosphere suddenly feels light again as you start to chatter again, teasing him slightly before going back to what you were speaking about before he had left. and still, saeâs looking at you like youâre the world cup trophy, like youâre all heâs dreamed of.
and sae thinksâŠ
ââŠyouâll know how sappy i can get when itâs our wedding day.â
but he should save that for another 5 years, or so.
#blue lock#blue lock x reader#bllk#bllk fluff#blue lock sae#bllk x you#bllk x reader#bllk sae#sae itoshi x y/n#sae itoshi x you#sae itoshi#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae#blue lock sae itoshi#sae itoshi imagines#itoshi sae imagines
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All I Want For Solstice, (Is You)
Summary: What could possibly be better than celebrating Winter Solstice with your family?
Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Shit ton of fluff, sappy feelings, pregnancy
Word count: 1.5k
A/N: I hope this pieces was alright, Iâd thought it be finished a lot earlier this December since I started writing it in November. But my cat unexpectedly became sick and had to be put down so Iâve been taking time to mourn his passing as well as getting back the energy to write again. Anyways, I hope you all will have a wonderful Winter Holiday however youâre celebrating!
â
âWeâre going to be late!â You hurried down the stairs as fast as you could in your, although low but still, heels. Scanning eyes searched for your handbag while simultaneously putting on the earrings that Azriel gifted you for your last birthday.
Azriel came out from the kitchen, a gift bag with the presents for your friends in hand. âMaybe a little. The others can survive our absence for a few minutes. Remember last Winter Solstice? Cassian and Nesta didnât arrive until more than half an hour after everyone else.â
You huffed a breathless chuckle, grabbing for one of the warmer formal coats on the clothing rack in the hallway. âYeah, and theyâll never hear the end of it. Iâd rather not have a repeat of last year.â
Azriel, who was already dressed and ready to go outside, took a gentle hold of your upper arms. You halted to a stop at the sudden touch. â[Name], slow down, take a deep breath. You know that stress isnât good for you.â
Breathing in deep through your nose and slowly releasing it through your mouth, you could feel the tightness in your shoulders loosen. Azriel smiled, gently squeezing his hands around your flesh. âGood, thatâs better.â
Nodding, you slumped your head forward, resting your temple against your bondmateâs firm shoulder. âSorry.â
Warm hands cupped your cheeks softly, tilting your head up so that he could look at you. Azrielâs hazel eyes held that warm and tender look that he only reserved for you, for the love of his life.
âSweetheart, you never have to apologize for that. I just want you to be healthy and happy, the both of you.â
His hands instinctively left your cheeks to wander down your dress, settling over your swollen stomach, one lone shadow joining their masterâs hands. You were well into the third and last trimester, and with just a few more weeks worth of time, the growing baby within you was to be born.
With it being your and Azrielâs first child, every single aspect of the pregnancy was completely new, both beautiful beyond words, and downright scary at times. While the both of you were ready and eager to welcome a little boy or girl, it is frightening thinking that someone so small and precious was to be brought into the world.
You sighed, leaning into the familiar and comforting touch. Azriel was always touching your belly ever since the news of a little life growing inside you were revealed, you're almost surprised they hadnât left marks on your skin yet. His shadows were not much better, if Azriel couldnât be near you for any reason, several of them would remain beside you to watch over and protect.
âWeâre both okay, how could we not be when we have such a doting male taking care of us?â As if in agreement with your words, a foot kicked your stomach, right under one of Azrielâs palm. A smile grew on your lips, and Azriel downright beamed at the feel. You cooed, gazing lovingly at your round stomach, âYeah, isnât that right, little one?â
Another kick, this time firmer and the small laugh that escaped from Azriel sounded a little choked. He leaned down, pressing a long kiss against where his hands had been seconds before. With his lips still pressed against you, Azriel whispered words that you had a hard time hearing. But the way he spoke them, the affection dripping from his voice, you knew they were made of love.
After a few more moments, Azriel seemed to be able to tear himself away from your belly, the shadow retreating to their master. Once back up on his feet, he leaned down to press a slow kiss on your lips. You couldnât help but melt against your bandmate, arms wrapping themself around his neck to keep him close. The need after breath was what finally made you have to pull back from those alluring lips.
âAre you ready to leave?â Azriel mumbled, aiding your limbs in to your coat and buttoned it up. He pressed a kiss against your temple, a strong forearm sneaking behind and round your waist. At your smile and nod, the two of you opened the door and stepped out into the snow.
The Townhouse was bustling with activity when Azriel and you arrived. Loud talking, laughter and the clinking of silverware in the kitchen greeted your ears immediately after the door closed behind the two of you. Shrugging off the small amount of snow that had collected on your coat and in your hair, Azriel helped you out of the coat as well as his own.
With his arm wrapped around your waist, Azriel and you stepped further into the warm house and into the kitchen. Feyre, who was leaning against the counter beside Rhysand, noticed your arrival first. She threw herself over to you, giving you a hug. âAzriel, [Name]! Welcome, the foodâs almost ready!â
âWeâre not late, are we?â You asked upon being released, immediately being enveloped in a hug by Rhys, then Cassian, followed by Nesta, Mor, and lastly Elain. Amren had unfortunately been busy elsewhere and unable to join your family for celebration.
âNo, no, youâre fine. Cassian and Nesta just arrived minutes earlier.â Rhysand reassured you, pulling away from hugging his fellow Illyrian brother. Azriel gave you a pointed, but tender look, as if saying âtold you soâ. You rolled your eyes at him, a somewhat sheepish smile tugging on your lips.
Azriel huffed, pressing his lips against your temple. His arm creeped back around your side, his hand resting against your stomach as he so usually did the last couple months. You leaned back against his steady form with a content smile.
Cassian, having seen the whole scene, let out a snort and smirked at Azriel. âYouâre so wiped, Az.â
Your mateâs eyes that had been locked on you hardened a bit in warning, directing his gaze at Cassian. Feyre and Azriel stifled a giggle when Nestaâs hand made contact with the back of her mate's head, a tsked âidiotâ escaping her mouth.
The smirk remained, but his eyes gave away to gentleness. âOn a serious note, weâre so happy for you two. How are you and the baby doing [Name]? Not long left till your little one is here.â
You smiled, your own hand settling on top of your husbandâs on your stomach. âWeâre doing great Cass. Just a couple more weeks before you get to meet your niece or nephew.â
âFrom what Iâve gathered, Azriel seems certain that itâs a girl.â Rhysand said, sharing a look with you. That was indeed true, whenever Azriel would speak with you about your unborn child, he would always call them a girl. Whether it was about the nursery or baby clothes or what color their eyes would have, the Shadowsinger thought you two would have a daughter.
You knew your mate would be ecstatic no matter if the baby would turn out to be a boy or girl, but it did secretly warm your heart imagining Azriel with a daughter. But you would have to wait for the birth to find out if your mate was right or not.
âI guess weâll just have to wait to find out.â You said wistfully. Azriel hummed, a loving smile on his face. He leaned down, pressing a brief kiss on your lips, whispering low for only you to hear. âI canât wait to meet her, or him.â
Feyre smiled at your comment, gazing at her own mate before looking at the stove. âYes, indeed we will. Anyways, the food should be ready. Letâs eat!â
The following hour was spent at the dining table, surrounded by your closest friends and family eating a delicious meal and delightful drinks. Cheeks almost sore from smiling and belly full and content, everybody eventually migrated to the living room to land on the couches and armchairs.
After the gifts were given, received and opened, Azriel sat on an armchair that was appropriately sized for Illyrian wings with you sitting with your back pressed against his chest. The sun had already gone down and the snow fell heavy outside, the energy from the day had been all but spent. In your wonderful mateâs arms, you couldnât help but to be dowsing.
âDid you have fun today, sweetheart?â Azriel asked low, just for you to hear. You nodded, tipping your head back to look at him, a slow and sleepy smile spreading across your face. âThis was the best Solstice Iâve ever celebrated.â
A warm and tender hand caressed your flushed cheek. His other hand rested on your belly, thumb swiping back and forth against the stretched skin. A couple of his shadows flowed across the skin that was not covered by his hand, curious and delighted by their soon to be new friend.
The baby within was peacefully sleeping after having kicked the whole time that the gifts had been opened. âIâm glad that you feel the same. I take it that we should be heading home soon?â
You hummed, leaning back further in Azrielâs warm embrace, face nuzzling deeper into his shoulder blade. âNot just yet. Stay like this for a little while longer, your comfortable.â
Azriel chuckled but tightened his arms around you, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. âWhatever my mate wants, she gets.â
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel fluff#acotar#acotar x reader#azriel x female!reader#acotar bat boys#bat boys#writingstreetspirit
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Before I go on vacation, I present my list of my top books for 2024.
COMICS:
Roaming by Jillian Tamaki & Mariko Tamaki
Bunt! by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert
Ukazu and Rupert are a powerhouse team, and as an art school adjunct, this already funny GN is even funnier (albeit in a way that necessitates a skull emoji in the educator groupchat)
Tiffanyâs Griffon by Magnolia Porter Siddell & Maddi Gonzalez
Phobos and Deimos by J Dalton
Delicious in Dungeon by Ryoko Kui
It's a tough task to reach a satisfying conclusion to a series that was as strong as Dungeon, but I think Kui accomplished it!
Fool Night by Kasumi Yasuda
King in Limbo by Ai Tanaka
Over the last year I've been drawn towards comic series that work with a retro, fixed-width inking style, and King especially informed some recent experiments of mine.
PROSE:
Twins by Bari Wood & Jack Geasland
When I learned Wood was responsible for the book that became Dead Ringers, I knew I had to try it. This is the one that wins my "Oh, shit! Wow!! Okay!!!" award for the year (distinctions previously awarded to Cyteen and Manhunt).
The Bezzle by Cory Doctorow
DS9: A Stitch in Time by Andrew J. Robinson
Those of you who read my journal comic from last August might recall that I met Robinson at a Trek convention! I'd learned from reading these books that Stitch was considered a white whale among collectors, and now I absolutely understand why. If you're a DS9 fan and you want to try any book from the original run of novels, try this one. By which I mean, try the far easier-to-find audiobook version.
Translation State by Ann Leckie
A Woman of the Iron People by Eleanor Arnason
Fellow SBCF participant Erin Roseberry had shared this title as an inspiration for their comic, The Maker of Grave-Goods, and I was especially interested in trying a book by a Twin Cities author. What a serendipitous find!
Arboreality by Rebecca Campbell
For the third year in a row, a book nominated for the Le Guin Prize makes the list.
Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin
This is another book I always told myself I'd try someday, and was it ever worth it! I spent some time talking about my experience with this story (and its accompanying materials that fill out the world) in my talk with Evan Dahm on his show.
See you in the new year! I've packed some thick books for a long flight, so I'm starting my 2025 reading pile right away!
Reruns of my previous two lists, 2023, and 2022, below the cut.
2023
COMICS:
Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano
Out of Style by Devi Putri Megwati
Skip and Loafer by Misaki Takamatsu
The Harrowing of Hell by Evan Dahm
The Infinity Particle by Wendy Xu
Esteban by Matthieu Bonhomme
I covered my ShortBox reccs back in October, but since then I also picked up Pearl Hunting by Hana Chatani when it came to itch.io and adored it.
PROSE:Â
So yes, maybe I'm cheating by including Moby Dick since I'm not all the way finished, but Whale Weekly really did end up being a great tool for getting me to crack open my gorgeous Evan Dahm-illustrated copy I've had for a while.
My favorite book of the year is Roadside Picnic by Arkady & Boris Strugatsky. I genuinely did read it the first week of January, but after having it recommended to me for years, I'm thrilled it didn't disappoint. Maybe I am someone who likes Russian novels after all???
Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto
Such Nice People by Sandra Scoppettone
Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh (I jokingly placed these three in the "READ đ FEMALE đ AUTHORS đ" category because they don't have anything in common other than describing some of the most upsetting/bizarre scenarios I've read this year. Cyteen especially! Wowee!!!)
Brother Alive by Zain Khalid
Glory by Vladimir Nabokov
A Different Trek by David K. Seitz, which I mentioned as my vacation book for the Star Trek convention, but it's given me some great suggestions for more books, both fiction and otherwise. Also, I read... 11 more DS9 books this year.Â
2022
COMICS:
Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa
Vattu by Evan Dahm
The Well by Choo and Jake Wyatt
Wash Day Diaries by Robyn Smith and Jamila Rowser
Some ShortBox Comics Fair entries that are graphic novella length and are really good include Food School by Jade Armstrong and The God of Arepo by Reimena Yee et al.
PROSE:
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters
The Murders of Molly Southbourne by Tade Thompson
How to Blow Up a Pipeline by Andreas Malm
Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin
Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman
Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers
The Past is Red by Catherynne M. Valente
edit: oh my god I can't believe I forgot Perfume by Patrick SĂŒskind
Honorable mentions from the pile of DS9 novelizations include Revenant by Alex White (for successfully pulling off a Sara Paretsky-style mystery in space) and Dominion War: Call to Arms by Diane Carey (for absolutely unhinged adjective choices).
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