#you think you know what a room would look like & then you draw it and are like. fuck. what the hell. how does interior design work again

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 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 hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) 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? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right? 

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 it’s futile—the 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.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what 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 don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s 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 why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ 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 didn’t 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 disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that 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 Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku 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. 

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t 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 Odasaku’s face ever again. 

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth. 

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision. 

Like this. 

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t 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 Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia. 

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you. 

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 he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t 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. 

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical. 

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t 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, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one 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-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, 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 kin—Dazai 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 grandfather’s 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 section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t 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. 

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re 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-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s 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 he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s 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 don’t 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, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t 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 can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?” 

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” 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. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

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 he’s 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 his—he 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. 

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again. 

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” 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 doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t 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:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

--

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

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 you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating. 

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he 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 Dazai’s execution, but you’re 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 weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside. 

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 doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s 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 isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have. 

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved. 

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t 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 Mori’s 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.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” 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. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap. 

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s 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 you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re 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 wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve 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 can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought. 

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve 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 Klaus—nothing 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 he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re 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 he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re 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 can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve 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 you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s 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 you’re 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. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s 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 hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone. 

It’s 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 Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know. 

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t 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 you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your 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. He’s 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.

“Where the fuck are they?” 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 he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you 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 you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t 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 don’t realize you’re 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 Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I 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 couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you 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 Dazai’s 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.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder. 

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 don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re 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 that’s 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. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s 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, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s 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.

“I have to kill Mori.”

--

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s 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. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

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 should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-” 

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s 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. Dazai’s 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 can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to. 

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation. 

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly. 

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” 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. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

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 he’d 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.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

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 he’s 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 that’s 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 with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s 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 hasn’t 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. 

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. 

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t 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 he’ll 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. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s 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. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom. 

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d 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 men’s shampoo and conditioner set. 

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: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s 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. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai 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. 

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s 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 you’re 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 there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re 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 before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t 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 he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t 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 doesn’t 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 ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi. 

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually 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. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re 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 that’s 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. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that. 

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked. 

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s 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. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” 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 Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An 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.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s 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.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff 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,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? 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.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s 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, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling. 

“I… 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 Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted. 

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he 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.”

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. 

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai 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 you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He 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 wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s 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 Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears. 

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s 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. 

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” 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. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she 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.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers. 

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s 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 didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s 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 grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” 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. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It 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.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s 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 can’t 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. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My 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.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile. 

This is a goodbye.

--

Dazai hasn’t 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. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t 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, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?” 

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t 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.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?” 

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” 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. “When 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 happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re 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 it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re 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 he’ll 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 won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll 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 it’s 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 didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s 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.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

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 can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t 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 it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s 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.

“What about Tolstoy?” 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 doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t 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 wouldn’t 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 what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin. 

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not 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 Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t 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. It’s 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.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll 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. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?” 

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s 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.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

--

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?” 

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t 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 neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery. 

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I 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?”

It’s 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.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s 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 it’s 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. 

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

 “Is that so?”

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. 

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s 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 bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile. 

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll 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 you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise. 

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it. 

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

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.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

--

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

[mariespen]

Breaking Trust. ˚➶ ｡˚

protective!Rafe Cameron x reader warnings: swearing, guns and firing into the air/ground, aggressive anger, anger issues, MDNI: fingering, p in v, praise summary: "You only noticed Rafe when he was storming down to the sandy bonfire, gun in hand." based on this request! thank you so much!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You were perched like a porcelain doll on Rafe’s lap as the two of you watched a new movie on the TV. His hands were massaging the back of your head softly as his eyes were glued between your thighs and the screen itself. You were squinting at the captions, trying to not ask too many questions. It was your fault, anyways. You let Rafe put on a boring war movie that was three hours long. That alone should show how much you love him.

After thirty minutes into the movie, your phone subtly pings on the spot it was laying on the coffee table. You peered down casually, not drawing Rafe’s attention. The message on the dim screen was from the pouge’s group chat that you had just recently been added to. Without Rafe’s knowledge, of course. Your boyfriend, king of the kooks, had it out for any pouge that came within a mile of his perfect girlfriend. If it was up to Rafe, you would be in your own museum and displayed in a pretty box, for him and only him. In his words, 

“I don’t want the dirt on my shoes touching my pretty girl.”

Of course, this phrase was only spurred on because you got shoulder checked by a guy from the cut. You barely blinked before Rafe made sure he couldn’t move to get in your way again. That being said, if your boyfriend found out you were in a group chat with pouges, he just might lose it.

“I gotta pee baby.” You said softly, faking a squirm as you got up quickly and grabbed your phone. You looked down, seeing Rafe’s small pout. You giggled, kissing his cheek, “I’ll be back, promise.” Rafe nodded and watched your ass sway as you walked into the bathroom, his eyes glued to something new now. You closed the door quickly, scrolling through the messages.

JJ: Beach?

JB: when

JJ: idk like 11

Kie!: kk

Pope: Sounds good.

You felt nervous and a little out of place, but you still wanted to go. Hanging out with the pouges gives you the sense of adrenaline that you’ve been craving for longer than you realized. Your thumbs were shaking and your body was quick with nerves as you typed out your third ever message in the chat.

Me: perf!

Maybe it was too girlie or too kook-y. Were they even talking to you? What if they forgot they added you? Before you could come up with another scenario in your head;

*JJ liked your message*

A sigh of relief left your body and a wave of excitement stuck to your chest. All that was left was figuring out a way to avoid Rafe and make sure he’s not suspicious of you leaving so suddenly.

“Baby, are you okay?” His voice gently yells across Tannyhill.

“Yeah!” You replied, trying to not sound as frantic as you felt.

With a forged sense of causality, you walked back into the living room. The sound of your feet against the hardwood spurred Rafe’s attention and he turned over his shoulder to see you.

“What took so long?” He asked, a slight concern in his tone. “My girlfriends texted, they want to hang out!” You said, coming up with the obvious lie on the spot.

“Which ones?” Rafe asked, cocking his head.

“You know.. Kenna and Eliza!” A smile plastered on your face. You’ve never been good at lying.

Something about Rafe felt different as he shrugged and told you to have fun. Thinking you made it out, you ran up to his room to re-apply some makeup and grab a change of clothes to wear at the beach. A bikini was in your sights and you grabbed it, along with a draped skirt and one of Rafe’s sweaters. Shoving everything into a beach bag, you headed back downstairs.

“Where ya goin?” Rafe asked, towering over you now.

“Beach!” You replied, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s 10:30 at night baby, are you sure?” He gently pushed, his arms coming up to hold your shoulders with concern.

“Yeah, I promise!” You kissed his cheek and brushed past him, “I love you!”

“I love you too.” Rafe sighed, obviously stressed about the abrupt change in plans.

With a surprising lack of resistance from your boyfriend, you got into your car and began to drive down to the cut, meeting the pouges at their normal spot on the beach. You grinned as cheers were heard when you showed up, a bonfire already being started. Kiera met you in the sand, a beer in her hand as she slurred her laughter. 

“Hi Kie!” You giggled with her, beginning your walk down to the fire.

JJ and John B met you with a beer and marshmallows, encouraging you to make s’mores. The fire grew throughout the night and you drunkenly ran around with them. The sand kicked at your feet as you ran from JJ after stealing his knife and the water drenching you and Kie when she convinced you to run into the waves. Pope talked to you with the others, and you mindlessly listened to his rants as you traced drawings in the sand, John B’s towel wrapped around you. Your lack of observance was a weakness. Throughout the excitement and exhilaration, you failed to notice Rafe’s truck parked at an overlook, with your boyfriend inside. His eyes were on you as you drank and forgot about anything besides what was keeping your attention that second.

When you had left the house originally, Rafe was concerned. He had his original suspicions, so he reluctantly let you leave. Topper and Kelce had invited themselves into Tannyhill once they realized your car wasn’t there anymore, but they instead found Rafe watching your location intently. After some comically deep discussions, Topper had convinced Rafe to follow you. Admittedly, this was an easy thing to convince him of. Rafe’s keys were in his pocket the moment you left. He drove with urgency, seeking you out. Rafe told himself that he was just worried about your safety. At the beach this late, the sneaker waves could grab you in a second. Deep down, he knew that there was a lack of trust, and he needed to talk to you about it. You only noticed Rafe when he was storming down to the sandy bonfire, gun in hand.

“Get away from my fucking girl!” He yelled, firing a warning shot into the air.

Confrontation sparked instantly as you tried to beg Rafe to not do anything he would regret while the pouges taunted him like it was a game. Your heart broke on the betrayal from either side. Rafe’s constant threat through the bullets in his gun and the lack of protection or awareness from the others was giving you anxiety. Your boyfriend didn’t play pretend when it came to you.

“Rafe.. Rafe please! Put it down!” You begged, tugging on his bicep.

“You brought them this.” He responded, firing a shot into the sand.

“Fuck you Rafe!” JJ spat on the dent the bullet made.

Tears flooded your eyes as neither group let up. You felt utterly hopeless and all to blame. The only thing to divert the attention of everyone was the soft sound of sirens and the illumination of quick-approaching lights. Rafe pulled you along with him, forcing you into his passenger seat with a subtle undertone of gentleness, not wanting to hurt you badly. The tires dragged through the sand as your boyfriend sped away, driving back to Tannyhill.

The air in his truck was thick with anger and anxiety. Rafe’s lack of words were enough to speak for themselves. You stared out the window in disbelief, trying to push everything away.

The truck parked at Tannyhill and Rafe got out, slamming his door before coming to the other side, picking you up from the car and carrying you into the house with a sense of annoyance. Rafe took you up to his room with little protest and sat you down on the bed.

“What the fuck?” He asked, obviously hurt by your lies.

“Rafe m’so sorry baby I-“ You began the apology rant you prepared in the car, but he cut you off.

“I trusted you. Why the fuck did you lie?” He said, scoffing at your tears, “Don’t start with me. Tell me.” “You hate them!” The words flew from your mouth, “They are my friends and I still want to hang out with them but you hate pouges! For no reason!” Your voice was rising without you realizing.

Rafe groaned in anger, “That’s a good enough reason on its own!”

“Not to bring a gun!” You yelled, emotions running high.

In an instant, he shoved your makeup off the dresser and onto the floor, shattering the pretty pink Miss Dior bottle he bought for your anniversary.

“Stop!” You sobbed, crumpling into the bed.

“I’m fucking done! You can’t keep pulling this shit!” Rafe yelled back, storming out of the room.

The strong scent of the perfume gave you a pounding headache. You crawled off of the bed and staggered into the bathroom, laying in the empty bathtub to escape the scent. You fell asleep quickly, the emotional and physical exhaustion sweeping your feet. There was no signs of Rafe as your eyelids became heavy and protested the bright bathroom light. The curled position you had pulled yourself into was the same one you fell into a deep sleep in.

Soft mutters and shaking movements awakened you slightly, hours later. Rafe cradled you in his arms, kissing your forehead. The bedroom no longer smelled like the shattered bottle of perfume, implying that he had come back in and cleaned up the mess he had made.

The blankets were a glorious feeling as he helped you into bed, wrapping his arms around you.

“M’sorry.” Rafe whispered, falling asleep with you in his arms. You were quick to follow, escaping reality to sleep.

The sun shined through your window, just as bright as the moon was the night before. Your boyfriend laid next to you, kissing your arms softly. The gentle movements woke you up, and once he realized this, he began to apologize.

“Baby I’m so sorry.” He whispered, holding your chin to lock your gaze on him, “I overreacted.” “I’m sorry too.” You responded, tearing up and collapsing into his arms, “I broke your trust. I should’ve just talked to you.” “Shh.. s’okay.” Rafe reassured, his hands playing with your hair subconsciously, “I let my anger get the best of me. I shouldn’t have.”

 You laid in his arms, feeling more alive than you did with the pouges the night before. “Let me make it up to you?” Rafe whispered, pulling you up and kissing your neck gently. You giggled before gasping at his cautious hickeys.

His hand wandered to the hem of your panties, playing with them to tease you. Your anticipatory moans lead him forward, getting on top of your desperate body.

“Rafe.. please..” You mumbled, grabbing out for him.

“Be patient, love.” He whispered, kissing down your legs after stripping you of your panties and top.

Your lips met one last time before you felt his fingers softly rub circles into your clit. You moaned out for him, holding onto his bicep for any kind of stability. 

“R-rafe..” You whimpered.

“So wet f’me.. swear you get sexier every day. Just don’t wanna share my girl.” He mumbled, kissing your neck.

“Close..” Your eyes rolled back, dumb on his fingers alone.

“No baby..” Rafe chuckled as you whined at the loss of his hand, “You’re going to cum on me, yeah?” The moan you cried out was pornographic as he slowly dragged his hard cock through your walls.

“Always so fuckin’ tight.” He groaned, fucking you slowly and deep. Rafe felt your every clench and spasm, speeding his pace up with ease.

“Too- too much..!” You cried, drunk off of pleasure as he fucked you on his cock.

“No baby.. you got it. Be good.” He whispered, feeling you coming closer and closer to edge, “So perfect.. like you were fuckin’ made f’me.” 

“Close!” You cried out, the rest of your mind consumed with the pleasure he was fucking into you. Your body trembled as you came, shaking underneath him and clenching around his cock. He groaned, gripping your hair and burying his face into the crook of your neck as he came inside of you.

Rolling off of you, Rafe laid lazily beside you. He turned his head after a few minutes, kissing you on the cheek and getting up from the bed, despite your lazy protests.

“Gotta get you cleaned up..” He said, his tone soft and careful as he wiped you down with a warm cloth.

Rafe showered your spent body in kisses before pulling you up and carrying you downstairs to the couch, kicking the forgotten cap of your broken perfume bottle under the dresser.

“Gotta get you new perfume, hm?” He said, kissing your cheek and letting you snuggle into his lap on the couch.

Rafe turned on the TV, resuming the same movie from last night. You groaned, rolling your eyes and burying your face in his bare chest.

“You love me.” Rafe said with a chuckle, kissing the top of your head.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 6

Summary: You aren't sure what gift to get for your Secret Santa.

CW: Swearing.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Here's a bit of a long one for you guys! Enjoy!

--

"Fuck!"

You were laying in bed, nestled under your softest duvet, looking in horror at your laptop screen.

It was just after 7am and you weren't sure how many of the boys would be up at this time, especially on a weekend. You knew Sirius had a gig the previous night and he liked a sleep in, but this was kind of an emergency.

Since living with the boys and becoming friends with Mary, you were slowly being integrated into their friend group. You didn't mind of course. In fact, you liked having people to hang out with since moving to the city. Everyone was so lovely and inclusive and you really liked being part of a group. However, that meant that not only were the four of you hosting their annual Christmas party, but you were roped into participating in their Secret Santa as well.

Upon waking up that morning, you'd received a message from Mary, letting you know that the Secret Santa assignments had been sent out the night prior. You'd checked your emails, only to realize you were severely fucked.

The name of your draw was none other than Dorcas.

Now, it wasn't her in particular you had a problem with. In fact, quite the contrary. You liked Dorcas. She was cool and funny and had amazing style.

Your problem resided in the fact that you'd only met her maybe four times over the month you'd been living with the boys and she wasn't a particularly open person. You had no clue what kind of gift she would like.

"No. You know what? This is fine," you told yourself, throwing your blanket off and marching out of your room.

You weren't surprised to see that the living room was empty. You did notice that James' running shoes were not in the stand by the door, which meant he was probably out for a morning jog (in the freezing cold like a crazy person).

With a huff you wandered down the hall. You bypassed Remus' room, during which you were sure you could hear the clicking of a keyboard. You came to a halt in front of Sirius' door, preparing yourself for an onslaught as you hesitantly reached out to knock.

"What?" a sleep-garbled voice muttered lowly from beyond the door.

Gently you pushed it open, a sheepish smile painting your lips as you peered into the room.

Sirius was laying on his stomach in bed, blanket splayed lazily over his hip bone and an arm squashed beneath his pillow. He was shirtless and you couldn't help but let your eyes trace the contours of his bare back. His face was pressed against the pillow, eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks and long, dark hair splayed across his face.

Even in the early hours of the morning, still riddled with the remnants of sleep, he looked like a work of art.

"Hey!" you muttered softly, feeling slightly guilty now for disturbing him.

He sighed thickly, rolling over to squint at your through half lidded eyes. "Is everything okay?"

His voice was deep and croaky like it always was after he woke up but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine.

"I need your help with something."

He frowned slightly, blinking as if still trying to regain awareness. "Sure. Come in."

He patted the bed beside him and your eyes widened. You approached cautiously and sat down tentatively on the edge. You looked around the room. It was encased in darkness with the blinds half drawn shut. You hadn't been in her all that often. Come to think of it, you'd never really made it past the doorway before.

The bedsheets were dark grey to match with the black furniture that was placed around. There was a guitar on a stand in the corner and the walls were adorned with band posters and what were clearly centerfolds torn from various bikini magazines.

You cleared your throat as you perched yourself awkwardly, not wanting to encroach on his space.

He chuckled softly. "Come on, doll. I don't bite."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," you teased softly as you moved to position yourself back against the pillow beside him.

He let out a throaty laugh and rolled over to face you, leaning up on an elbow.

"So, what was so important that you had to wake me up at the crack of dawn for?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," you chuckled nervously. Sirius always seemed to have that effect on you. "I, um, don't suppose you've had a chance to look at your Secret Santa draw yet?"

He raised a brow. "No I can't say that I have."

"Well, I looked at mine this morning and I need your help picking out a present. I got-"

"Hey! No!" he cut you off. "You're not supposed to tell me! That's the rules."

You gave him a pleading look. "I know but I really don't know this person that well and I thought you could help me pick a gift for them."

"No! Nope!" He shook his head firmly. "If I know who you got, and I know who I got, it won't be hard to figure out the rest and I definitely don't want to know who got me!"

"Come on Sirius! Please??" You pleaded with him.

"No. Sorry, I can't help you."

"Please! it was just-"

"Lalalalalalala."

You raised a brow as he put his fingers in his ears, interrupting you the way a child would.

"Wow, Sirius. Very mature," you deadpanned.

"Sorry! Can't hear you," he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, getting up of the bed.

"Ugh, you're no help," you groaned. You exited his room and wandered back out towards the kitchen, plopping yourself down at a bar stool.

If by some magical miracle of timing, it was right then that the door swung open and James entered the apartment. He was sweaty and wearing a long-sleeved, skin tight, running shirt that clung to his skin, giving you a very direct view of his abs. You couldn't help but admire him for a moment as he took off his joggers.

"Hey love! You're up early for a Saturday."

"Well, at least I'm not a maniac that goes for a morning jog when it's snowing outside!" you rebutted.

He chuckled deeply. "Gotta keep myself in shape somehow."

You just smiled as he grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"So what are you doing up so early?" He questioned, leaning back against the counter and taking a long sip.

"Well, I've found myself in a bit of a... situation."

He quirked a brow. "Do tell."

"I checked my Secret Santa assignment this morning and I kind of got someone I have no idea what to buy for."

"That does seem like a bit of an issue," he noted playfully.

"Do you think you'd be able to help me? Sirius said no," you asked bashfully.

He smirked. "Of course, love. Although I am a bit offended, you didn't come to me first!"

You rolled your eyes affectionately. " I would've if you were actually here and not out trying to give yourself hypothermia."

He chuckled once more. "Touché."

--

The mall was crowded with it only being a few days out from Christmas. You had hoped that Mary would've left a little more than a day for you to purchase your gift before the party tomorrow, but in true Mary fashion, she'd gotten distracted with a final project at work and had forgotten to do the draw earlier.

You looked up at James who stood beside you. "So what kind of stuff do you think Dorcas would like?"

He furrowed his brows thinking for a moment. "She likes painting. And I know she works out a lot."

You sighed. "Okay, I can work with that. Come on."

You grabbed him by the arm and dragged him through the masses of people.

--

You were walking around an expensive homewares shop and hour later, still yet to find the perfect gift for Dorcas. You picked up a ceramic elephant and examined it. You swiftly placed it back down when you noticed the price.

"Hey? Do you think Mary would like this?" James called from across the store.

He was holding up a pretty crystal vase.

You turned away from what you were looking at. "Didn't you already buy her a coffee mug and an eyeshadow palette?"

"Yeah but this is so pretty! I think she'd really like it."

You shook your head. "James, you are aware that there's a £30 spending limit, right?"

He sighed dramatically. "I know but I there's just so much good stuff here!"

You chuckled. You knew he was already way over the limit anyway, money clearly not being an issue for James. You felt the need to intervene before he bought her the whole store.

"I love the enthusiasm but sometimes smaller is better, okay? You don't want to upstage everyone else."

He huffed and placed the vase back on the shelf. "Okay, fine."

"Good. Now, you're supposed to be helping me find my gift," you reminded him.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

He was pouting like a little kid and you reached a hand up to ruffle his hair affectionately. "I'm sure you'll be fine with what you have, James. Mary is going to love it. Now come on, lets try somewhere else."

You left that store and continued wandering through the mall. You looked up at the Christmas decorations that lined the rows of shops, and the people running too and frow, trying to finish their last minute Christmas shopping. You always loved the atmosphere at this time of year, when the festive spirit was running high, and you knew for a fact that James felt the same. Your gaze drifted over to the man walking beside you as his eyes scanned the rows of shops, He had number of bags in hand, all containing gifts for his loved ones. The thought made you feel giddy and a soft smile graced your face. You didn't think you'd ever met someone as generous and thoughtful as James was.

"What about over there?" He pulled you from your thoughts as he pointed to an art shop that was a few metres away.

"It's worth a try," you replied.

The shop was rather large, you realised upon entry, filled with various paintings, canvases and art supplies, ranging from reasonably priced to vastly expensive.

You felt a little overwhelmed, looking around at all the items.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" a voice emerged from behind you. You turned to see a young woman, probably a few years older than the two of you. She was smiling kindly, her long blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail.

"Yes actually," you stated. "I'm looking for a Christmas present for a friend. I know she likes to paint but you have so many things in here, I'm not sure where to start."

"Not to worry," she said kindly. "Lets see if it can point you in the right direction."

You followed the lady through the shop, assessing various items and trying to find something that both jumped out at you, but was also within your assigned budget.

"What about this?" She asked eventually. "It's very popular with people who come in. In fact, I think this might be our last one."

It was a set of paintbrushes in a wooden case, each with a different coloured handle and varied in size.

"I'm sure your friend already has her own set of brushes but these ones come with portable case. Great for someone who likes to paint in different locations."

"it's perfect," you told her. You looked at the price. It was £30 exactly.

You snatched up the item and headed towards the counter to pay. It was then that you realised James was missing.

You paid for the item and once you had it secured in your possession, you looked around the shop in search of him.

"Sorry, have you seen my friend?" You asked the lady that was serving you.

"No, I haven't. Sorry," she shook her head.

"That's alright. He seems to have wandered off."

You took your bag and walked back through the aisles, searching. You wondered how such a tall, burly man was able to disappear so easily.

It was the Christmas section of the shop that you found him in. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you when you saw him.

"James! What on earth?"

He smiled at you sheepishly. He was wrapped up in tinsel like a Christmas tree.

"I'm sorry. It's just so pretty. I didn't have enough hands! I slung it over my arm to carry it to the counter but then it got all tangled. I think I might be stuck."

"Can't take you anywhere!" you told him, playfully. "Here let me help."

Slowly you managed to uncoil the ribbon from around his biceps and place it back on the shelf it came from.

"I think we should probably stay away from tinsel for now."

"You're probably right," he chuckled. "So did you find something for Dorcas in the end?"

You looked up at him, staring into his big hazel eyes.

"Yeah, I did."

He smiled that ridiculously charming smile of his.

"Good. Now lets get out of here before I accidentally destroy the place."

You giggled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the shop.

--

You were on your way out of the mall when you stopped dead in your tracks.

"Oh my god," you sighed whistfully.

In a shop window, on display as part of a Christmas themed clothing line, was probably the most beautiful dress you'd ever seen. It was thigh-length with a square neckline and adorned with gold glitter that twinkled in the light. It was breathtaking.

"That's beautiful," James stated, coming to stand beside you.

"It really is," you responded.

"You should try it on!"

"Oh no. I don't think they'd have it in my size."

"I'm sure they do!" James encouraged. "Come on, lets go in."

Before you had time to respond, James had taken you by the hand and was pulling you through the doorway into the shop.

"Excuse me," he called to the assistant that stood behind the counter. "My friend would like to try on the gold dress in the window. Do you think you'd have it in her size?"

"Certainly," the lady replied with a smile. "Right this way."

--

You stood in the change-room, staring at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit, the dress looked amazing on you. It hugged all your curves perfectly.

"Can I see it?" you heard James call from outside the closed curtain.

"Okay," you responded.

You took a deep breath. Why were you suddenly so nervous?

With a shaky hand you drew back the curtain and James' jaw all but dropped to the floor.

"Oh my god," he muttered, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Do you like it?" you asked shyly.

"You look incredible, y/n! Give me a spin."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you spun around awkwardly. You weren't used to this kind of attention. Especially not from a man as utterly gorgeous as James.

"You should get it!"

You smiled but shook your head. "It's beautiful but it's unfortunately wayyy out of my budget."

"Okay, no problem. I'll get it for you!"

Your head snapped up to look at him. "What? No. I can't ask you to do that, James."

He just smiled. "You're not asking. I'm offering. And it would be a tragedy not to buy it! Not when you look like that."

"Are you sure?" you muttered. You could feel your cheeks growing hot.

"Absolutely."

He stood up abruptly, walking over and placing a kiss on your cheek. You felt your breath leave your body at the gesture.

"Now go get changed while I pay," he instructed.

You looked up at him, feeling electricity buzz against your skin where his hand sat on your waist. You nodded, sure that if you tried to speak in that moment, nothing would come out. He had literally left you speechless.

Then he pulled away, venturing across the shop to pay for your new dress. You let out a heavy sigh as you watched him. It's official, you realised.

You were doomed.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill

[daisymbin]

Hello, I hope you are doing good... Well, it's my first time requesting, so please bare with me. Can you do prompt number 1 and 39 from the suggestive genre? Regency AU would be amazing for this story!

Perhaps strangers to enemies to lovers (no FWB twist, honestly speaking, I am bored of that twist coming in so) Omega reader and Alpha Cheol...

I'll be honest this is my first take on this type of au and this one took me quite awhile but I tried my best so please go easy on me 🥲

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

suggestive prompt #1: "if you keep looking at me like that, I might kiss you." +

suggestive prompt #39: "you're mine, remember that."

the grand ballroom was filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation, but your attention was nowhere near the polite chatter or the dancers gliding across the polished floor. your eyes were fixed on seungcheol, who stood across the room, looking far too at ease in his perfectly tailored coat, his sharp gaze never wavering from you.

alpha. that’s what he was. and you, an omega, were the last person he should have his eyes on, especially not in this setting where wolves like him ruled the land with their dominance and their power.

but that didn’t stop you from feeling the heat of his gaze, pulling at you in a way that made your heart race, your instincts stirring against the careful mask of composure you’d worked so hard to maintain. you hated how much it affected you, the way your body betrayed you every time he so much as glanced in your direction.

"you look like you're about to rip my throat out," seungcheol's voice broke through your thoughts, low and teasing as he appeared at your side, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.

you glared at him, turning slightly to face him. "maybe i should," you muttered, trying to keep your composure, but he only chuckled, as if the very idea amused him.

"careful, sweetheart," he warned, his voice darkening. "if you keep looking at me like that, i might kiss you."

you felt the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart hammering in your chest. it was impossible to ignore the tension between you two—seungcheol, the proud alpha, and you, the omega who had been taught from a young age to avoid provoking alphas like him.

but there was something about the way he carried himself, something in the way his scent—earthy and rich—clung to the air around him, that made it impossible for you to ignore.

"you’re bold for someone who knows nothing about the consequences," you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.

seungcheol leaned in closer, the scent of his dominance enveloping you, making your pulse quicken. "oh, don't worry,i know exactly what i’m doing, omega," he murmured, the word tasting like a challenge on his tongue. "and i think you like it."

his presence was overwhelming. alpha energy rippled from him in waves, and despite yourself, you could feel your body responding; your scent slipping in the air, a subtle betrayal of your desire.

he caught it. of course, he did. his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, and his eyes darkened with something that made your breath catch.

"you can’t hide it, sweetheart," seungcheol whispered, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. "you’re mine. remember that."

your heart stuttered at the words. it was a claim, a warning, and an invitation all at once. his dominance was undeniable, and no matter how hard you fought it, you felt yourself being pulled in, the magnetic force of his presence drawing you closer, making your instincts rise to the surface.

"i’m not yours, i'm not anyone's," you shot back, though your voice lacked conviction. you tried to pull away, but the alpha wasn’t finished yet.

seungcheol’s grip tightened on your wrist, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your inner arm. "you don’t get to decide that," he growled softly. "you can fight it all you want, but you can’t deny the way your body reacts to me."

he tugged you towards him, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body seeping into your own. the scent of his arousal filled your senses, and you cursed the way your body reacted—how your omega instincts flared, how you couldn’t stop the flush of heat that crept down your neck and settled in the pit of your stomach.

"stop pretending," he whispered, lips brushing against your ear as he held you in place. "i can smell how you feel. you're mine, whether you want it or not."

before you could respond, seungcheol pulled you into a secluded alcove, away from the prying eyes of the ballroom. his hands were on you immediately, tugging you closer, his scent wrapping around you, overwhelming you.

"careful, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with desire as he pushed you against the wall. his lips ghosted over your neck, where the pulse of your omega scent was strongest, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, burning you alive.

"seungcheol," you whispered, but the protest was weak, barely audible. he just chuckled darkly, one of his hands sliding down to your waist, the other tangling in your hair to hold your head in place.

"you want this, dont you?" he said, his voice so low it was almost a growl. "i can feel it. i can smell it."

he was right. the pull, the undeniable attraction, the way your body seemed to crave him—it was impossible to deny. your omega instincts were screaming for submission, and your heart was thundering in your chest, torn between pride and desire.

"admit it," he coaxed, pressing his lips against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "you want me. you’ve always wanted me."

you gasped as his hands slid down to your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, pulling you closer to him.

"say it," seungcheol demanded, his voice laced with both hunger and command. "say you want me, sweetheart."

"i want you," you breathed, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession.

his eyes gleamed with triumph, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "good girl."

and then, without warning, his lips crashed onto yours. it was all fire and hunger—no more games, no more teasing. he kissed you like he’d been starving for this moment, and you kissed him back, every ounce of your body finally surrendering to the pull.

and in that moment, you accepted it. because there was no escaping him now.

his hands slid under your dress, pulling you onto him, his body fitting against yours in a way that made your head spin. “you’re mine, remember that,” he repeated again, as if reminding you of something you already knew, as if trying to ingrained it into your brain.

[j-sunct]

lose my breath @ HYUNJIN & CHAN

𓂃 if hyunjin hadn't chosen such a boring movie, y/n wouldn't have fingers in her pussy, much less bangchan's dick in her mouth.

❀ chanjinㅤㅤㅤ ' ㅤㅤㅤfem!reader

smutㅤ  ㅤ╱ㅤ    👤ㅤ   minors do not interact

⋆ war'ningsㅤㅤ───ㅤㅤthreesome, chan and hyunjin have a stable relationship with reader, fingering, blowjob, dirty talk, teasing, exhibitionism.

s/n, bangchan and hyunjin had a kind of itinerary for saturdays. they would ALWAYS go see movies together, both to strengthen their relationship since, with the hustle and bustle of the weekdays, they actually ended up forgetting about each other.

today was another one of those movie sessions; popcorn made, and hyunjin was choosing the movie, since this week was his turn.

“i think i found it!" hyun shouted from the living room, ready to press play. s/n returned to the kitchen with a bucket of popcorn, while chan tried to balance three glasses of soda

“wich movie is that?" s/n asked as she sat in the middle of the couch, with the popcorn bowl between her legs.

“honestly, i don't know. i just saw the cover and found it a little interesting.” hwang confessed, leaning over to grab a portion of the popcorn.

meanwhile, bangchan seemed very focused on the movie, "i really hope this movie is good, hyunjin. don't waste our precious time.” he stated, chuckling lightly. not that the movie being bad was a problem, they had the whole weekend to enjoy it.

jinnie joined in the laughter, as well as y/n. “i promise, hyung, that i won't waste our saturday. this movie has potential, trust me." he gave a thumbs up, an attempt to sound confident.

“so, let's get started!” s/n said and finally, played the movie.

—

unfortunately, bangchan was right about his opinion of the movie — that's what hyunjin thought, sighing lightly. he didn't want to show that he was completely bored with it.

the romance was poorly developed, scenes so cliché that they made him roll his eyes. at first, he didn't imagine it was a romance film, but it was. this is like a moral lesson "kids, always read the synopsis before choosing something!”

it really did seem boring until hyunjin noticed how the popcorn bucket was positioned on y/n’s legs. it was like a light bulb went off over his head. why not a fuck?

first of all, he checked her and bangchan's attention... both completely focused on the movie. perfect.

playing innocent, he reached out to "grab some popcorn from the bowl", but no. his hand rested under y/n's crotch, without even any provocation or anything like that.

her eyes widened before slowly drifting towards where hyun's hand was positioned. shit. could he be a little less of a pervert? even over her shorts, his fingertips caused a slight friction that made her sigh. the need to get wet was tempting.

hyunjin's thin fingers wandered over y/n's clothes, now definitely applying a little pressure. it was inevitable for her not to feel her pussy contract a little and the liquid flow out consequently.

bangchan was right there, he could see her at any moment, calling her a "whore" for letting herself be touched so easily... but what could she do? she really wanted to be hyunjin's whore, let him use her for free, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

it was so good, the feeling of the juices starting to run from y/n's little hole, hyunjin's fingers stimulating her clitoris that, even over so many layers of clothing, was capable of making her lose focus of the film.

little by little, hyunjin brought his mouth closer to y/n's ear, just to whisper. “it's good, isn't it? the feeling of knowing you could get caught at any moment.” he laughed, softly. without drawing bangchan's attention. “like, chan can look over at any moment, see you practically begging for dick and just, fuck you. use you.” he continued laughing until he stopped moving his hand and walked away completely.

y/n mumbled in denial, the feeling was too good to be abandoned. why did hyunjin stop?

“chris, i think it's time to get this perversion out of our girl.”

bangchan turned around, a smile already plastered on his face. "from the moment she accepted your touches, hyun.”

y/n was in complete shock, maybe even feeling vulnerable, but still completely wet to receive chan and jinnie. “she doesn't even deny it, does you, love?" the older man placed his hand on her chin, forcing her to look at him.

hyunjin approached from behind, placing his hands on her hips. he saw y/n shake her head. so defenseless. taking advantage of the fact that all her attention was on bangchan now, he approached the waistband of her shorts, slowly lowering them. then he removed her panties, which for a moment remained stuck to the cavity, due to her juices. “naughty girl..." he laughed, almost mockingly.

y/n at the same time that she felt exposed, she felt completely excited, wanting to be touched. she grabbed bangchan's shoulders, when she finally felt hyunjin enter two fingers inside.

“ngl... wait…” y/n muttered, digging her nails into chris' shoulder. “i'm tight…” she whispered, more like a moan, as her pussy sent vibrations into hyunjin's hand.

bangchan took advantage of the moment to unbutton his pants, caressing his own volume over his white underwear. some whispers came out of chris' mouth, his dick looked so big. he was excited, it was a fact. a pool of pre-cum covered his underwear, right at the mark of the head of his cock.

y/n can't help but bite her lips, bangchan practically jerking off right in front of her, while hyunjin fingers her. she finally took action, pulling down his underwear until chan's private parts were visible.

“what a little bitch... can't wait to suck my dick, huh?” bangchan held y/n's face, pressing her cheeks into a sort of pout.

“you should know by now, chris. make her suck your fucking dick and make those ridiculous noises.” hyunjin was eagerly searching for her sweet spot, he wanted to make the girl have all the pleasure in the world and he knew that all that dirty talk only excited her even more. her pulsating hole only confirmed that, tightening more and more around the korean's fingers.

hyunjin went in circular movements, working more where y/n was excited, where she moaned and begged for more of him, until he came out with his fingers completely smeared with her juice.

hyun's fingers were coated in y/n's slick arousal as he worked her tight hole, his movements growing more urgent with each passing second. her moans grew louder, that little body trembling in need.

chan took advantage of the moment, guiding her face towards his throbbing cock. "open wide, baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "i'm going to feed you my dick."

y/n eagerly parted her lips, her tongue darting out to lick the tip of christopher's cock. she moaned at the taste of his pre-cum, her eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

bangchan pushed forward, sliding his cock into y/n's warm, wet mouth. she took him deep, her throat contracting around his shaft. channie groaned in pleasure, his hips rocking forward to meet her eager mouth.

hyunjin watched the scene unfold, his own cock throbbing with need. he added a third finger to y/n's pussy, stretching her further. "damn, you're so good taking hyung's dick…" he grunted, his fingers pumping in and out of her slick heat.

her moans vibrated around bangchan's cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. he grabbed a fistful of her hair, guiding her head as he fucked her mouth. "that's it, baby. take my cock like a good little slut."

jinnie could feel y/n's walls fluttering around his fingers, a telltale sign of her impending orgasm. he rubbed her clit with his thumb, pushing her over the edge.

y/n came hard, her pussy gushing around hyunjin's fingers. she moaned around bangchan's cock, her body shaking with the force of her climax.

bangchan couldn't hold back any longer. with a grunt, he pulled out of her mouth and came, his hot seed splattering across her face and tits.

slowly, hyun removed his fingers from inside the girl, seeing all that juice and sticky cum on his hand. he felt a desire to taste her and, for sure, next time, he would suck her pussy.

“you taste very good, honey.” he stated precisely, his tongue around his long, thin fingers, cleaning them thoroughly.

[aventurineswife]

So uh. I love your attempt on dadchurin so I will show this. I sort of did this with my personal ocxcanon with Aven's OC yumechild (she has siblings, one of which isn't an Avgin) but maybe you can whip up something similar with this prompt of his child saying they're proud of him and is glad they have matching eyes with him

“The coolest eyes of the bestest Dad in the universe!”

Summary: Aventurine shares a heartfelt interaction with his child, who proudly declares their love for their shared eyes and unwavering support for their "coolest dad in the universe." Beneath Aventurine's usual flamboyance, he grapples with the unexpected warmth and hope his child brings to his guarded heart.

Tags: Aventurine and his child, Fluff, Parent-Child Bonding, Emotional Vulnerability, Protective Child, Hidden Soft Side.

Warnings: Mentions of Aventurine’s guarded nature and emotional struggles (light emotional themes).

A/N: ☹️the drawing is so cute!🥺💕, I hope you enjoy this!

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the elegant curtains, casting golden light across the room. Aventurine stood at the polished bar, his fingers tracing the edge of a fine glass, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his lips. The room was filled with the subtle elegance he was so accustomed to—luxurious, but devoid of anything truly personal. Yet, something about the quiet hum of the evening made him feel a flicker of something deeper than usual.

"Papa, look!" A voice called out, filled with infectious enthusiasm. Aventurine's attention snapped to the source of the interruption.

There, standing with hands on hips and an expression of utmost determination, was his child—a bundle of energy with the same captivating magenta and cyan eyes that Aventurine himself wore like a mask. The child was grinning, eyes gleaming as if they held the secret to the universe.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Aventurine’s voice carried his usual smooth, playful tone, though there was a hint of curiosity.

“I love having these eyes!” The child exclaimed, bouncing on their feet. “After all, it’s the same coolest eyes as the bestest dad in the universe!”

Aventurine’s heart fluttered in surprise, his gaze softening for just a fraction of a second. The statement hit him like a stray dart, its sincerity unexpected. He blinked, his usual bravado slipping for a moment as he looked into his child's face. He saw the same fire, the same spark that had driven him to succeed, to survive. But hearing it from someone else, especially from someone so young, left him momentarily speechless.

“You... you think so?” Aventurine’s voice wavered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure, flashing that signature smile. Still, his eyes betrayed the depth of emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.

“Of course, Papa!” The child puffed out their chest with pride, throwing their arms wide as if the universe itself should take note of the revelation. “And if anyone makes fun of me and my papa, I can punch them! Like this!” The child swung an exaggerated punch into the air, their voice rising with enthusiasm. “Pow! How dare they!”

Aventurine couldn’t suppress a laugh, though it was laced with a touch of disbelief. He shook his head, an affectionate warmth creeping into his expression. “Sweetheart, please, don’t go punching anyone... Your parent would be mad. Do that less, hmm?”

The child beamed, as if the very idea of protecting their father with such boisterous force was the most natural thing in the world. “But they’re bad if they say mean stuff, Papa! No one gets to mess with you!” They beamed up at him with unrestrained joy.

Aventurine chuckled, though there was a bittersweet edge to it, as if the weight of his past experiences was briefly lifting. He crouched down to meet the child’s eyes, gazing into those familiar magenta and cyan depths that mirrored his own. "You’ve got my eyes," he said softly, his tone almost reverent. “You know, these eyes have seen things most can’t even imagine... But seeing them on you makes me believe there’s hope."

The child tilted their head, clearly unsure of what to make of such a statement but brimming with love. “I like our eyes. They make me feel strong! Just like you, Papa.”

Aventurine’s heart stirred, the walls he so carefully built around himself threatening to crumble under the weight of his emotions. He smiled, a genuine curve of his lips. "And I’m proud of you," he said, his voice low and tender, a rare admission. "You’re stronger than you know, sweetheart."

The child’s eyes sparkled as they hugged him tightly, nearly knocking him off balance. “I’m glad I have the coolest dad in the universe!”

Aventurine stood up straight, one hand resting on the back of their head, holding them close as if he feared they might disappear in an instant. "You’ve always been the best part of my world," he whispered softly, the words barely a breath between them.

For once, the game of chance and strategy didn’t matter. In this quiet moment, Aventurine felt something that had eluded him for so long—a sense of purpose that wasn’t defined by survival or manipulation. It was defined by connection, by a child who believed in him more than anyone ever had.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

An Amazing First Kiss - Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Title: An Amazing First Kiss

Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend (Mentioned)

WC: 1,651

Warnings: Try at writing a Cockney accent, Reader's nervous, italics, Reader's nervous about first kiss, Hobie is the best boyfriend, hurt/comfort idk?, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, mini angst, very brief mentions of lying, and fluff

To cut right to the chase, you were dating the amazing, and super lovable, Hobie Brown. You met him when he was performing with his band at some pub with your friend, and you just couldn't look away from him. His charisma, how easily he seemed to draw people to him, his passion for music, and just the way he’d spot you in the crowd. It made you feel as if no one else existed in the world, except you and him.

His dark brown eyes - even though they were covered by his Spider-Punk mask - had found yours in the crowd. He, too, was unable to look away. The way you softly danced in spot, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Your friend's arm linked with yours, your friends jumping up and down with more enthusiasm, but you drew him in; entranced him. It wasn't long until the two of you started seeing each other, going out for dates and whatnot. And it wasn’t long until the both of you started dating, and he revealed his secret identity to you.

Everything was perfect, except that you were very nervous. You were worried that Hobie might want to kiss you soon. And it's not that you don't want to kiss him. You did… You really did. And you would, eventually. But, at the moment, you just weren't ready. But it seemed that Hobie was. Only last week, he tried ‘the lean in’. But you were quick to come up with some sort of excuse. But, it was coming to a point where you hated lying to him and not talking to him about it. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing something wrong or that you weren’t interested or attracted to him.

The first time he tried to lean in, you had been sitting on the couch together, in his loft, watching a movie. Well, you weren't really paying much attention to it, and neither was Hobie.

"'is movie's bit boring, innit?" He muttered, his arm resting over your shoulders, his fingers randomly drumming along your forearm to an irregular beat. 

"Not the best movie I've seen, no," You agreed, glancing at him, "But it's entertaining to a degree."

Looking down at you, he continued, "'is guy a bit of a git 'ough." Hobie randomly gestured towards the screen where the main character was fighting with his brother.

“I agree…” Looking up at him, your words began to trail off when you noticed how close your faces were to one another. Looking into his beautiful brown eyes, you felt your stomach flip flop. However, you began to inwardly panic as he began to lean in. Red, flashing lights blared inside your mind as you froze and jumped out of his arms and off the couch. Letting out an awkward chuckle, you gestured down at your watch. "I have to go... Uh... Feed my cat." You stumbled over your words, making your way to the front door. Opening the door, you turned to give him a nervous grin, "I'll see you tomorrow, love you!"

“Love you…” As the door shut, Hobie let out a deep sigh, falling back upon the couch. Raising his legs up, he propped his feet on the coffee table. Why did you leave like that? And when did you get a cat?

~~~

A couple of weeks later, you were back in Hobie's loft, baking cookies. You hummed along to the song that Hobie was playing on his guitar in the other room, your thoughts drifting elsewhere as you worked. You didn't know how much time passed, or when Hobie stopped practicing, but as his arms wrapped around your waist, you couldn't help but smile. 

"Wha’ are you makin' 'is time?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of your head as you pressed the heart-shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

"I think you know what I'm making, Hobie." You sputtered out a small laugh, "It's quite obvious." 

He let out a small chuckle, before asking, "Well, 'ow many are you makin’ 'en?" 

"About ten, I think? I won't know until I cut them all out." You patted his hand on your stomach briefly, “And you’re not eating them all like last time.”

Hobie hummed as he pulled away from you, his fingers brushing your waist as he did so, causing a shiver to run down your spine; heading to the stove, he grabbed the kettle, "You want some rosy?" He asked, setting the kettle on the burner, and turning it on. 

Glancing over at him, he was already looking at you, leaning against the counter beside the stove, arms crossed. His gaze was warm, and his grin was - as always - breathtaking. You returned his smile, "Sure, thanks. That would be nice. Do we still have Earl Grey?" You asked before going back to the cookies as Hobie went to fetch the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself.

“‘Ave no scooby-doo.” He answered, before searching around in the cupboards, pushing other boxes of tea around until he spotted the Earl Grey, grabbing the tea box.

Reaching over your shoulder, his chest pressed into your side, Hobie grabbed the sugar from the counter near you. Looking up at him, you were surprised to see him still looking at you. There was that look again, the one that made your insides just turn into mush. But, as if in slow motion, he began to lean in. Quickly, you turned to look back down at the cookies, his lips pressing a kiss into your warm cheek; the coolness of his lip ring sending goosebumps over your skin.

Hobie pulled back, titling his head at you, his eyebrows narrowing as you slid the cookies into the oven; pursing his lips. Hobie was beginning to really wonder now. You seemed reluctant to kiss him, which made Hobie wonder if he had done something wrong. Did he do something? Say something? Did you just not want to kiss him? Hobie snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the screeching kettle.

Now, Hobie wasn't one to keep quiet about things bothering him. After pouring both him and you a cup of tea, he joined you on his couch. Setting both the cups on the coffee table, Hobie turned himself in his seat to face you, his arm resting on the back of the couch.

"Let's cut to 'e chase, yeah? 'Ave I done some'nin wrong?" He asked you, a slightly concerned expression crossing his features. 

Your shoulders slumped and a small, sad smile formed on your face as you looked down. "No. You haven't done anything wrong, H." You looked over at him, your sad smile turning into a frown upon meeting his eyes, "I... Uh, I don't think I'm ready to kiss yet." You knew Hobie wouldn’t break up with you because of this, but it was an irrational fear that your brain liked to tease you with.

Hobie, though, tilted his head, looking confused at this response. Noticing your frown, the unleashed tears in your eyes. Hobie moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You melted into his embrace, relaxing in his grasp as you let out a sigh of relief. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. "I 'ough' you just didn't want to kiss me, or some'nin' like 'at." 

You shook your head at his words, nuzzling your face into his chest, "No, I... I just don't think I'm ready to kiss anyone right now... I think sometime in the future I will be ready, I don't want you to think that I just won't kiss you ever."

At this, Hobie chuckled, lightly squeezing your shoulder. "Ya silly, luv." He teased, "You should know 'at it's fine. We ain't rushin' into anythin'. You’re stuck with me. I’m not gonna jus’ up and leave ‘cause you ain’t ready to kiss me."

Nodding your head, you gently pulled yourself out of his embrace, looking up at him. "Thank you, Hobie."

"Anytime, luv." He said, moving to lie down on the couch, opening his arms to you. You gladly climbed on top of him, laying your head on his chest; cuddling with Hobie always felt like home. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm under your ear, a comforting sound that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant. 

Leaning up on your arms, you looked down at him, "You're amazing, you know that, right?" Grinning, he reached up and ruffled your hair, causing you to scrunch up your nose. "Oi, don't mess up my beautiful locks," You laughed, jokingly swatting his hand away.

"An' I'm always amazin’. ‘Ough’ you knew ‘at ‘bout me already." He said with a wink, causing you to giggle. 

Staring down at him, you silently admired him. His dark complexion, chocolate brown eyes, high cheekbones, the piercings on his eyebrow and lip. Suddenly, you had an idea. "Hobie, honey, I’ve got an idea." You stated, grinning.

The tall boy sat up with you, a slight tilt of his head and an intrigued look on his face, "What's 'at?" Shifting on his lap, you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, his cheeks soft under your gentle touch. Giving him a small smile, you leaned forward. You shut your eyes before the tip of your nose bumped into his. Softly, you shook your head, giggling, your nose rubbing against his in an nose kiss. As you opened your eyes again, you saw Hobie staring back at you, his eyes half-lidded. A smirk played across his features, "Wow, luv." He whispered.

"Pretty amazing first kiss, eh?" You joked, your hands dropping from his cheeks, and reaching for his hands; interlacing your fingers with his.

"Oh, very amazin’ indeed." He said, bringing your hands to his lips, and kissing each knuckle. “Maybe even more amazin’ ‘an me.”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[ang3lmoans]

Was anger even a factor anymore? Angel couldn't decide. Before his best friend walked out the door he felt nothing but hurt and turmoil. Now, when he opened the door and saw Garam standing there looking so damn cute he could barely think straight. Having Axel try to attack him truly put into perspective what Garam was possibly going through behind closed doors. Angel was still dealing with what was said to him. But anger wasn't present. “I can take you to bed like this? Do you hear yourself sometimes” Angel let out a laugh as he followed Garam to his bedroom. “We had a pretty big fight. Did you really want me to carry you?” If the other wasn't drunk he might have given in to his urges. However, he had held on for many years. Priding himself on his self-control. He wasn't about to give up that streek so easily. As he followed the man to his room he kicked himself for not taking down all the random towels and blankets he had scattered around covering the mirrors. He mentally prayed Garam was too inebriated to focus on details. “Don't you want my towel to drop? Maybe see something else you like” Angel teased knowing that would stop the man's giggling. As they entered the room the taller man led him to the bed and pulled back the covers for his best friend. “Get in bed. I'm going to get dressed but I should dry off some.” Angel backed away toward his draws picking through them. He finally settled on his usual shorts and a t-shirt before disappearing into the bathroom. He took his time drying off trying to remember to carry Garam to his bed the other night. Wondering what he was thinking. Knowing he would never do something so bold sober. Chuckling to himself the man finally got dressed and came out of the bathroom. As he laid eyes on his best friend he was grateful the man came home. Before the other’s ex showed up he didn't think he would get sleep not knowing where Garam was. But he wouldn't dare text to ask. His eyes softened as he walked over to the bed and climbed in. For tonight he needed to let go of their argument and enjoy drunk Garam. He was always cute, but when he got drunk like this it was hard to be upset with him. “We can talk in the morning. I'll make breakfast, alright?”

garam's eyes fluttered when angel praised him for coming home. something as simple as being called a good boy made his heart race even more. "i thought it meant you were done being mad at me. how could i say no when you're begging to have me back?" even if there was a chance that angel was still mad, garam would have come back if the man had asked. it was hard to deny somebody like angel, all it really took was a simple please and garam could feel himself caving. as the other had moved closer, staring down to him, garam froze once again. his heart was beating so hard at this point, he was sure angel could hear it and that made him nervous. for some reason, garam just really did not want angel to realize the kind of effect he had on him. it was like he was a child with a crush, too afraid to admit to the feelings he had out of fear of rejection, fear of teasing. but he knew he shouldn't be feeling this way, especially since angel had already confessed his feelings for garam. he did his best not to break eye contact but there was a short moment there where his eyes shifted down to the other's lips, thinking the other might have tried to kiss him with how close he'd gotten, but they were quick to move back up to find angel's eyes again. as relieved as he was when that moment didn't come, when angel continued to speak, there was still a part of garam that was a bit disappointed. that feeling, however, was quick to vanish once angel had called him baby. he was a little embarrassed to realize that angel had known what garam had called him, he didn't think the other knew what it meant. "i'm not that drunk," his words were mumbled, as if he were ashamed to admit that he'd been drinking in the first place but, at the time, he was desperate to stop feeling as bad as he did. now, he wished he hadn't drank as much as he did. he approached the other so he could take the man's hand but he kept his feet glued in place once they were standing side by side. "you know, you carried me to bed in your arms last night." he noted, specifically because all angel was offering tonight was his hand. "i'll let you take me like this," he lifted their hands together, giving his a small squeeze, "since you're practically naked right now." he snickered, looking down to the towel slung around angel's hips. "wouldn't want anything slipping out," garam continued through soft giggles now, taking the initiative to pull angel back towards his room. not wanting angel's towel to fall wasn't the only reason he was okay with walking to bed himself, though. it was for his own benefit, too, as he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle more physical contact than what they already shared right now.

[scimagic]

Any tips for artist tryna improve their art? Love ur art and would love to some tips and tricks of yours! ^^

BOOHOO;; THANK YOU!! THAT'S SUCH A NICE COMPLIMENT TO ME;; Like what do you mean you like what I do enough that you want to hear some tips from me!! DON'T MAKE ME CRY FHDJKSA

I really really tried to make things short for you but I don't think I was very successful dkhkdh but I hope you find them useful!! <3

Tracing (not the stealing kind):

Tracing is not bad when it's used to study, some of my college assignments were copying renaissance artists' sketches! Hell, when I was a kid I used to trace Undertale fanart I liked and look where I'm at fhjkads

When you study other people's styles, you can actually gather a lot of information like line weight or proportions, colors, even stylization. So get your favorite artists' pieces and really look at them for a long time, draw them, then apply what you learn into your own art. Just be careful to not steal or claim something as your own!

Focus on one area at a time:

Now you have to chose one area to practice on. You could tackle on many at a time but I find it easier to pinpoint what I would like to do first and then move on to the next thing.

There's a lot of subjects you can go into like anatomy, rendering, backgrounds, but you just have to find one area in them and get a lot of references.

For anatomy you can go into: muscle movement, figure drawing, body parts in different angles.

Rendering: Shading, lighting, color theory.

Backgrounds: Point perspective, different camera angles, landscapes or detailed room scenes.

Don't overwhelm yourself either! Take one thing at a time!

Dear god get a reference board:

Pinterest really helped me find styles I wanted to study and anatomy tips to incorporate in my art. It really relates to my first point but having an actual compilation of how things look next to you really helps. It also helps keeping them organized like so:

Do The Thing™️ anyway:

I know it's repetitive but it genuinely works you have to trust me, practice does make progress. Stop letting fear hold you back on compositions you think are great or believe you don't have "enough skills yet" to work on them. You will never get enough skills if you don't try.

My college classes forced me to pick up watercolors and paint backgrounds and I learned a lot just from trying it out. Make mistakes!! Have fun! That's how you truly improve on your skills!

Be patient and loving with yourself (and your art!):

I cannot stress enough how important it is to love your art in order to grow. You NEED to learn how to be patient with your art AND your journey because it will never compare to anyone's!! Art is not a competition nor a race, it's a medium to express yourself through a process you like. That's why there's millions of art styles and why each of them cater to a different audience!

Once you do, you can actually ask important questions like "Did I like the process? What can I improve on next time? What's something I liked I want to continue incorporating into my art?", and it helps with self esteem too.

And last but not least:

Have fun!!

Art is a journey of self-discovery, it's not meant to be something that weighs you down or makes you feel bad when you're not working on it. Take constant breaks! No matter how short or how long! If you get tired or incredibly frustrated at it, then it's probably best you take a break from it!

Thank you for listening and supporting me!! I love you!!

[okaysonny]

make it like your birthday every day ╏ crystal choi

ᯓ★ summary: crystal's birthday coincides with her time of grieving.

ᯓ★ details: angst, no reader, the whole gang appears :p spoilers for 516!

ᯓ★ wc: 1.1k

ᯓ�� A/N: because i miss my diva okay?🙄 hello fellow crystal enthusiasts :3 (i said next fic would be zack and johan but i'm still working on that! enjoy this in the meantime 🙏🏽)

divider: @thecutestgrotto

crystal is used to the silence.

her house, though grand and luxurious, is eerily quiet. it's always been empty in a way — filled with the kind of wealth that couldn’t replace love. but since her father's death, the quiet had grown unbearable.

i need space. she tells herself. to think. to process. to figure out what her life should look like without her father's shadow looming over it.

so when her phone lights up with a message, her first instinct was to ignore the pings like usual. however, the words made her pause.

(1) New Message - 2:43 PM Zack Lee EMERGENCY!!! MEET US AT THE CAFÉ ASAP! IT'S IMPORTANT!

her brows furrow. strange. she barely talks to zack. if he's texting her out of the blue, it must be urgent, right?

she finds herself getting up before she considers further. if she can be of help, she should. no matter how difficult it feels right now.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the café is bustling when she arrives, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the air. crystal hesitates at the door, scanning the room for any sign of zack...or daniel, she secretly hopes. her chubby body always draws attention - never the good kind. and today, she feels particularly self-conscious, not bothering to dress up or brush her hair properly.

jace is behind the counter, wiping a mug. his eyes widen slightly when he spots her, but he shoots a small smile as if he'd been expecting her, before resuming back to his task. strange indeed. she spots zack sitting at a big table nearby, waving frantically.

“finally!” he says as she slides into the seat across. “we’ve been waiting forever”

“we?” crystal glances around. it's just zack. “what’s this about?”

“just wait a second” zack says, grinning mischievously - like he's in on some big secret.

crystal narrows her eyes. “if this is some kind of prank—”

before she can finish, the door swings open. daniel, jay, vasco, zoe, mira, and even eli. crystal blinks in confusion as they approach, each of them holding something — balloons, a cake, even a clumsily wrapped gift. they all look so...different from the last time she'd seen them.

“surprise!” they all shout.

crystal freezes. “what?”

“it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” daniel says, sitting down. not quite the daniel she hoped to see, but still daniel nonetheless.

crystal blinks at the sight before her, her mind struggling to connect the dots. she didn't tell anyone. she’d assumed no one would remember, let alone go to this much trouble. for a moment, she's speechless. they stand around a small cake, candles flickering gently, the faint scent of vanilla wafting around them.

eli and vasco were holding a banner spelling out "happy birthday crystal!" in uneven letters. maybe it's her imagination, but she swears she sees the slightest flush on eli's cheeks as he smiles gently at her.

"you guys did this...for me?" her voice is barely above a whisper. her gaze sweeps over the group, taking in their proud smiles.

"of course we did!" daniel grins from ear to ear.

crystal’s throat tightens. she's not used to this. people don’t usually go out of their way for her — at least, not without expecting something in return. and she certainly didn't expect it from them.

she takes a shaky breath, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as if to ground herself. "i…i don’t know what to say" she finally manages.

zoe chimes in, her eyes sparkling. "you don’t have to say anything! we just want to wish you happy birthday!"

“...happy birthday crystal” mira says softly, placing the cake in front of her.

crystal stares at it, a faint blush creeping up her face. she hadn’t blown out a birthday candle in years. it feels…childish. silly. but as she sees the faces of her friends — genuine and warm — it doesn't feel that way at all.

“...thank you everyone” she says, her own smile beginning to form.

“make a wish!” vasco exclaims, clapping his hands excitedly.

she hesitantly leans in, closing her eyes, before blowing out the candle. the group erupts into cheers, and for the first time in ages, crystal laughs. a real, unguarded laugh.

as they settle in together, sharing stories and cake, crystal feels the weight on her chest begin to lift. she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed this —missed them.

towards the end of the celebration, as they begin cleaning up, daniel leans over to her. “we want to remind you” he says softly, “that you’re not alone crystal. we’re here for you”

she doesn't respond right away, the words settling in deep. he didn't even mention her father. no "we're sorry for your loss" or anything. just those kind words.

“thanks daniel” she says quietly.

as crystal walks home, the gift bag dangles from her fingers, a tangible reminder of today's events. her heart feels lighter, though confusion still lingers at the edges.

she didn’t confide in anyone about her grief. it's not like she doesn't trust them. she just doesn't know how. she never felt particularly close to them, or to anyone, really. relationships had always felt…conditional, built on utility or convenience. that's the world she grew up in.

and yet, they had gone through all this trouble for her. for her birthday. a day she hadn’t even thought worth celebrating.

she frowns, her grip tightening slightly on the bag. why? what did she do to deserve this kind of effort? she hadn’t been much of a friend lately. she pushed them away, didn't respond to messages, and holed herself up at home. she didn’t ask for their help. she didn’t expect it. and still, they’d shown up.

none of them can possibly comprehend the life she lives — the weight of being charles choi’s daughter, the expectations, the secrets, the overwhelming sense of isolation.

...and her two bodies. something she can never confess. how can anyone understand what it feels like to live two lives in one?

her gaze falls to the pavement, her steps slowing.

but then, maybe they don't need to understand.

maybe it doesn't matter if they can’t grasp the complexities of her life, or the bizarre, otherworldly reality of her two forms. because today, none of that matters. they had been there, not because they know her struggles, but because they care. they had shown up with balloons and cake and awkward, heartfelt words, and it had been enough to soothe the ache in her chest.

her lips curled into a small, reluctant smile.

maybe their kindness doesn’t have to be earned. maybe it doesn't have to come from a place of understanding. maybe it's enough for it to be freely given.

crystal glances up at the darkening sky.

for the first time in a long while, the silence doesn't feel so suffocating.

A/N: i will never forgive ptj for sidelining crystal like this. her new appearances better be GOOD.

[silver-bees]

An excerpt of a letter written to Sherlock Holmes by Dr. John Watson that was left out of his public account of the adventure of the hound of the Baskervilles 

We had arrived back at the house after our fruitless search for the convict and I was nearly ready to retire when Sir Henry called out to me, his voice hoarse. “Watson, might you sit up with me for the night?” He seemed scared, not at all like the brazen man I had first met at Baker Street. My heart softened at his request, I sat back down without a word and we both gazed into the fire for a few minutes. Finally his voice broke through the still drawing room air. 

“I don’t know what to think. I was certain the curse was merely some old fairy story. I still half believe that, or maybe I just want to believe it, but that sound we heard…it was unmistakable.” “Stapleton said it may be the call of a rare bird” I replied but even to myself it sounded empty. As though either of us, or anyone else for that matter, could have been mistaken as to what that sound really was. “Or maybe some shepherd’s dog that got loose on the moor.” I continued, trying my best to sound unconcerned. “I suppose, though it sounded rather large for a sheepdog did it not?” He glanced over to me and I could see the terror glinting in his eyes. I put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let it get you without a fight” I reassured. I kept my voice steady for him, but truth be told I felt nearly as shaken as he looked. Sir Henry took a deep, shuddering breath and a rough laugh burst from his throat as though against his will. “I’d much rather you not let it get me at all!” he exclaimed with a hint of his former bravado, “You know, I do feel safer with you by my side. I’ve been reading some of your accounts of your adventures with Holmes.” “Have you?” I asked with some little surprise.

“Stapleton lent them to me, apparently he quite enjoys them as well. I must say, you’re quite a writer. I’ve never been one for reading all that much but your accounts are most entertaining” I felt pride well in my chest at his words.

“Well, perhaps someday ‘the curse of the baskervilles’ will be added to their number” “It would be an honor,” he chuckled. 

We sat there for a few hours, the heat of the fire and some excellent brandy (courtesy of the late Sir Charles’ cellar) bringing the color back to his cheeks. Finally he brought the subject back around to my writing.

“You know Watson, I think you sell yourself short. In all your accounts you seem to rarely speak of your own achievements.” “Holmes said something similar to me on the morning your case was brought to us, though in his case I feel it was a little backhanded.”

“I mean it, Watson. You spend so many words detailing Holmes’ achievements and, while they do indeed seem marvelous, it leaves little room for praise of your own kindness. I would never have guessed from the way you write the sort of reassurance your company provides.” 

I must admit I blushed quite a lot at that. I admired Sir Henry and to hear such words from him made me feel things I simply don’t have words for. 

“I fear you exaggerate for the sake of my ego, my dear fellow” I deflected. 

“Certainly not! I appreciate Holmes taking my case, but to have you by my side is invaluable. I truly don’t know what I’d have done tonight when I heard that ghostly howl if you were not there to steady my nerves.” “Well, I certainly appreciate you saying that.” 

He looked at me for a long moment, the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes and his brow furrowed in contemplation. 

“Watson-” he started suddenly

“John,” I gently corrected, “We’re close enough to drop the formality” He nodded curtly. 

“John, if you do write an account of our time together, might I ask you to leave something out? Can you keep a secret, I mean?”

Of course I was hesitant to reply. I felt torn between my dedication to the details of the case and to keeping my dear friend’s privacy. 

“If it relates to-” “It doesn’t,” he assured me, “it is a strictly personal matter” “Then the public will never hear of it”

“Well, you know that I’m a bachelor…” he began with some hesitation. I was certain he was about to tell me he had some affection for Miss Stapleton. He did not. “I may always be a bachelor,” he continued, “I have little interest in women really” “That’s not so strange,” I reassured him, “Holmes has no interest in women either. I’ve known a few men who went for years having little interest in women until they met someone in particular and became enamoured.” “It’s not that I have no interests whatsoever,” he corrected, seeming to struggle for words, “I am Interested in someone, but I fear I am not suited for marriage with the person I am interested in” I couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re a baronette, my dear friend, what woman could possibly object to your place in society?” “That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean that he isn’t a woman” he said a bit gruffly. I understood suddenly why he had been so cagey about it and ensured that I wouldn’t publicize his secret. I nodded, letting him know that I caught his meaning while I formulated what to say in response. “I see. Well in that case, I should inform you that while I do have some interest in women, I have an equal interest in men.” I could see his eyes go wide in the dying light of the fire. It seemed I had taken him by surprise. 

“Well then, a fellow bachelor! What a pleasant surprise. Not that I have any right to ask, but are you and Holmes…?” He left the question open.

“Not exactly. I’ve considered it, but he never returned my feelings. He tells me he has no romantic inclination whatsoever.” Sir Henry seemed a little disappointed and I suspected I knew the cause. “But I am past those feelings. I moved on once I realized they weren’t returned.” 

“Have you anyone on your mind presently?” he asked and I fancy I heard some hope in his voice. 

“I believe so, yes, and I have reason to suspect I’m on his mind as well.” I gave him a meaningful glance. 

We didn’t say anything more. We didn’t need to say anything. He put his hand in mine and we watched the last embers of the fire burn out as dawn broke over the moor. 

Dear Sherlock Holmes fanfic write, please, please PLEASE One of you write a fanfic about Watson and Sir Henry (the hound of the baskervilles). I've been shipping them since I've seen the granade episode. THEY HAVE CHEMISTRY I PROMISE JUST TRY WRITING THE FANFIC (please?)

[lovers-rck]

price on emotion | caitlyn kiramman x vi

okay first of all hi.

okay second of all this fic is inspired by this drawing made by @/XWilson127 on twitter. can't stop thinking about it so yeah.

i lost my ability to write so this kinda sucks

enjoy

☆

outside its raining. lightning pierces through the curtains into that poorly lit room.

vi lies on the bed. her limbs feel incredibly tense to the point that she wonders if it is possible that her muscles have contracted so much that they can never return to normal. today it was her turn to fight, at first that giant man managed to destabilize her with a punch in her chest, so hard that she lost her breath for a good ten seconds. she thinks she only got air in her lungs back just because she saw that stupid smile of victory in that man's face and she got mad.

but she had won anyway, so she went home with a taste of victory and a bottle of alcohol. loris wasn't in town today to celebrate, so now she was in her rented room, watching how the light was hitting in the empty bottles of alcohol reflecting the color in her wall, like a cheap aurora borealis.

her room is a mess. besides the bottles of alcohol scattered on the floor, vi's room is decorated with clothes everywhere; on the floor, on the door handle, on her bed. from her point of view, she can see the little mark that jinx left on her last visit made with the paint that vi uses for her fights.

jinx has been in and out for a couple months now. last time she showed up when vi was sleeping; when the pink haired girl opened her eyes to hear drawers being rattled, a pair of long blue braids greeted her. vi remembers how her first instinct was to attack her, then jinx insulted her, then left. to this day vi doesn't know how she managed to get into the apartment.

so yeah, jinx has been... there.

before vi can wander further in her thoughts, a knock on the door catches her attention. she thinks maybe it's from the heavy blizzard outside, so she doesn't think much of it; she keeps looking at jinx mark.

a clap of thunder explodes in the sky, vi feels the earth that holds her rumble. she really wishes that loris would be here tonight. he is good company, she thinks; he is quiet, so most of the talking is on vi's part, usually riddled with strange babbling and exaggeratedly pronounced words because of the alcohol.

lately, vi has noticed how the alcohol has worn off; she still can't decide if she likes it or if it scares her. her life has been all about finding options to avoid consciousness for the past few months, from bruises to the cheapest alcohol she could find at the corner store. they work for a couple of weeks, then she is back at the same spot where she started.

another knock on the door comes.

she doesn't consider herself suicidal. she doesn't want to die, for sure, but she is aware of her personality's propensity for not-so-healthy methods. or so she thinks.

it's the third knock on the door that succeeds in calling vi to the surface of her thoughts. she lets out a groan of pain as she gets out of bed, her legs dragging heavily toward the door.

vi thinks maybe it's loris, deploying a sudden apparition that manages to save vi from that boring, lonely rainy night. she also thinks it might be jinx, but jinx isn't polite enough to knock on the door.

instead, a pair of crooked teeths greet her.

"what took you so long? it's raining outside."

her body instinctively slides to the side, leaving the way clear for the slender body to scurry inside quickly. a sea-blue haze pervades the room, and vi feels like she hasn't had a drop of alcohol in years.

"yeah, hello to you too" vi mutters, closing the door.

the noise of the storm leaves the room, but the presence of water makes an appearance; in front of her, caitlyn is soaking wet. the locks of her long hair shed fat drops of water, her uniform turns a darker shade where the drops landed, which becomes tighter and louder with every step she takes, leaving an unobtrusive trail for her craft.

cailtyn's eyebrows furrow. her lips open, but no sound comes from them. vi sits on the bed, her eyes match those of the blue-haired woman; it's been two weeks.

for the past few months an unorthodox routine has been going on in those four walls that vi calls home. she doesn't remember when it started, or how it became so recurrent, but when the nights became lonely and boring, she would catch herself waiting for a knock on the door.

or at least that was two weeks ago, when caitlyn showed signs of life.

"so, you came back from the dead" vi says, her legs manspreading

caitlyn purses her lips "i was busy"

"yeah, i can tell"

"things got... complicated" her hair sheds droplets of water; vi follows the path of one with her eyes, who descends caitlyn's long torso.

vi's eyes reconnect with caitlyn's as the droplet disappears "you don't owe me explanations" vi murmurs

vi can't figure out where in the recesses of her being such hostility comes from, she feels a little stupid about it, but she can't help it. two fucking weeks.

caitlyn's eyes transform, they become harder, less bright, emptier. "you are right. i dont owe you nothing" she says, her strong accent punctuating every word.

the atmosphere feels tense. the thunder continues to make a presentation in the sky, which lights up with each flash of lightning, small rays of light among so much darkness.

"so" vi says "what brings you here?"

vi knows, and caitlyn knows that vi knows. she knows why caitlyn is there, that night, when a thunderstorm is practically tearing the city apart. she could be anywhere, but there she is, in vi's disgusting room, which smells like alcohol and something that she cannot decipher.

caitlyn's furtive visits happen on random days of the week, sometimes in her civilian clothes, sometimes in her enforcer's clothes; usually at night time, when the streets of zaun lie uninhabited, where any sound could be mistaken for the rushing wind.

vi can recite this nightly routine as if it were the anthem: caitlyn shows up at her door with an excuse of being in the middle of an investigation, vi says she doesn't know anything about it, they argue, and then they fuck.

sometimes vi thinks caitlyn's lie isn't necessary, but she can't help but feel that it adds a more interesting twist to the whole thing.

"i heard that jinx has been around lately" caitlyn says, and vi smiles.

well, she hasn't used that one in a while. it's fair.

"mhm" vi says "so that is all it takes for you to come back. jinx."

"i already told you. things has been busy."

"no, i know" vi says "since deciding which fancy restaurant to go eat at every night must be complicated" she knows that she's been a little bit to hard on her, but she can't help to care.

caitlyn lets out a snort. everything she's saying is true, or at least partially true.

normally, caitlyn's secret, spontaneous visits occurred once a week, twice a week if she was feeling lucky, but those last two weeks luck was not something that characterized them. the weight of the power that her own family name inherited from her had been stealing overtime from caitlyn's life, and she had been feeling a little bit of a struggle to take care of it. sometimes caitlyn felt as if her last name was something tangible, a solid object she had to carry all day, every day, for the rest of eternity.

but her words aren't sincere enough to tell vi is that during these weeks apart, caitlyn has been searching for vi's essence in other women.

things were never easy between them. somehow, something always got left unsaid in between them, pricking like a thorn in the prettiest rose in the whole garden, pressing the skin against the thorn to see how long it can last before you hurt yourself.

she knows. she knows all of this is pointless, she knows that sex isn't enough with vi, that somehow nothing is enough with her lately. these last weeks, she found herself daydreaming about the curvature of her nose, the ink on her cheek, the scar on her lips.

but she can't afford that. even coming from a wealthy family, caitlyn can't afford the luxury of feelings, nothing there seems to have a price for her to get it, so the closest thing she can get is the sex.

and she knows that it may be selfish, but if that is the only thing she can get from vi, she will take it.

"i don't care if you don't believe me" caitlyn says "i dont know why i even bother to tell you".

her words sound harsh, her thick accent stands out.

when vi stands up, a few inches separate them. the only source of light from a dim lamp on the makeshift bedside table illuminates caitlyn's features, a dance of light and shadow reflected on her face. vi thinks that maybe the way her face is illuminated is her favorite aurora borealis.

vi's fingertips gently brush the seam of caitlyn's skirt, wrapping the fabric around her finger and causing a slight tug. she can see caitlyn's chest rise and fall.

"what are you really here for, cupcake?"

and that is all it takes.

vi still has her fight makeup on; the black shadow is scattered across her eyelids, there are spots where the shadow has patched and left large uneven chunks. she has a band-aid over her eyebrow and the artificially dyed hair lie messily across her face, but still, underneath all that, it doesn't stop her from seeing the moment when caitlyn leaves her performance and launches into her touch.

everything feels desperate. their lips fight fiercely in an intense kiss, the sound of saliva and wet lips floods the room that was once tamed by the rain outside. vi's hands clutch at caitlyn's jaw, who allows herself to be manipulated with pleasure.

none of it is tender; it's carnal. bot of them are aware of the sound of spit and heaving breaths heard in the room, but none of them seem to care enough to stop. two weeks.

caitlyn's slender, nimble fingers drop vi's leather jacket to the floor, which falls with a thud. her fingertips touch every inch of accessible skin with desperation, trying to memorize every detail, every texture of her physiognomy, to absorb every reaction of her body and then repeat the action and get the same results. the blue-haired woman's hands slip down vi's shirt until they find her breasts, where she squeezes and rubs, pinches and plays.

she loves vi's body. maybe it's superficial, but the way her muscles contract and her skin lies so tight is something that caitlyn could swear changes her brain chemistry.

she can feel how vi drags her toward the bed with steps too clumsy that they are both surprised when their bodies collide against the soft mattress and not the cold floor. caitlyn falls on top of vi, but quickly vi goes on top, leaving caitlyn's long body under her power. vi's hands navigate the full expanse of skin, her fingers sliding the fabric of caitlyn's skirt toward her hips, leaving the flesh of her thighs exposed.

vi's lips leave caitlyn's for a new adventure that begins at her neck. vi sucks and bites lightly like a famished animal, she can feel the taste of rain on caitlyn's skin, who lets out muffled moans.

she can feel vi's fingers squeezing the flesh of her inner thighs. the touch is hard and ecstatic, and both can predict the marks that will appear in the not-too-distant future. their fingers entwine in vi's hair, who whimpers as she is tugged with pleasure.

she has missed this. no one has ever treated her, or well, fuck her, like vi does. she likes that she doesn't feel the necessity of being in control with her, that she can lay down and vi will make her feel good no matter what. with vi, everything flows.

when other women got to touch caitly's body, she often found herself being overly calculating, the need to be in control of the situation overtaking her in a way where enjoyment was the last thing on the list, focused on displaying that performance for an imaginary audience.

last week, caitlyn found herself in a brothel. when the girl was eating her out, caitlyn couldn't force herself to enjoy the moment, so when she faked an orgasm and went home, she vowed never to return.

with vi, caitlyn is stripped of this obsessive need for control.

a flash of lightning illuminates the room. vi can see the desire in cait's eyes.

sometimes vi feels like it's all meaningless; too many nights have passed where the alcohol doesn't work as intended and her mind navigates the sea of worries that inhabit her being, convincing herself that the next time caitlyn shows up at her door, vi won't open it, that she will stop satisfying the needs of a piltover enforcer who only comes to her aid when the nights seem endless and sleep is not present, when frustration and the desire to ignore the exaggerated power she possesses suddenly invades her, guiding her blindly to that dark and lonely room. vi thinks that this is the only way she can break the cycle in half.

but then, for a fraction of a millisecond, she sees that familiar look in caitlyn's eyes and vi knows that her desire has betrayed her once again.

and she hates it. she hates that when all of the sex is over, she goes back to the same place where she started; drunk, beaten and missing a warmth that doesn't belong to her. there have been multiple nights when caitlyn's face where the only thing she could see, where every tone of midnight blue sent shocks through her whole body reminding her that she is alive, and alone.

but she'd rather have a little bit of caitlyn than none of her.

one night, after vi won a fight against a fucking monster -that's what she called him-, she went to a bar with loris, with the excuse that she deserved a good drink after she was about to be beaten to death. the night went well, loris bought her a drink and they talked about the next rounds, training, among other things, but when vi turned to look at loris, a flash of blue eyes caught her attention.

her ears were deafened and loris' words were forgotten. vi could have sworn she felt her heart stop for a few seconds, her skin drained of any trace of color and a bead of cold sweat ran down her spine, paralyzing her completely in a pigsty in the depths of zaun.

it wasn't many seconds before that woman turned around and her identity was revealed; it wasn't her. of course. she took a shot after that, and ended up throwing up on some random people's porch on the way back home, with loris by her side.

but that doesn't matter at the moment, not when vi's fingers slip inside caitlyn's underwear, the fabric of the skirt covering up that indecent act taking place in the privacy of four walls.

she didn't tell violet that these last two weeks she's been away she touched herself imagining that her fingers were vi's. or that she put a handful of pillows down imagining that it was vi beside her and not her usual solitude.

she wasn't allowed to say that.

vi straightens up. look at that view; the way cait is spreading her legs, the way her hips chase vi's touch, how her eyebrows furrow and her lips search for air. caitlyn's hands tug vi's t-shirt hard enough for vi to get the message. she pulls it off and tosses it to the floor, revealing her breasts to cait, who is already drooling.

they usually don't talk when they have sex, the only things that are uttered aloud are directions, like faster or louder, or some insult when vi pushes cait too hard when she is overstimulated.

the lack of talking is not because they don't care about each other, but because they have learned each other's bodies in such a way that they don't need words. a language so intimate that there are only two speakers in the whole world.

the bleached locks fall over her face in a perfectly messy way that caitlyn doesn't know whether to run them off or leave them there for her enjoyment, but before she can even decide, vi leans over and drops a trickle of saliva toward caitlyn's pussy.

caitlyn stifles a moan, her body getting used to the change in temperature. she feels vi's saliva running down her folds.

all of it it's so nasty, but she likes it.

vi's fingers quickly unbutton her pants, revealing the strap clinging to her pelvis. caitlyn wants to roll her eyes at that.

then she thinks if she is seeing someone else.

the head of the fake penis rubs against caitlyn's entrance. vi takes the length of it and moves it up and down, spreading that whitish liquid and sending shudders through the blue-haired woman's body.

vi feels mesmerized. the wet noises make her go crazy, the way caitlyn moves her hips in desperation, her lips letting out low moans. her fingers attack her clitoris, massaging that bundle of nerves as if all the time in the world belonged to her.

she knows she can make cait feel good, and that fills her with an explosion of power that vi feels drunk.

a thunderclap explodes outside, the earth beneath the floor that holds them trembles. the whole world belongs to them.

the light in the room is not bright enough to reveal how much they have missed each other.

another thunderclap.

caitlyn loves being teased by vi, but it's been two fucking weeks, and she can't wait anymore longer.

so when vi pulls out the strap, caitlyn pulls on vi's arm until her back hits the mattress and she's positioned on top of her body, her thighs on either side of vi's legs, who lies mesmerized by the sight.

her uniform is still on as if nothing has happened, the fabric of her skirt bunched up over her hips, a wet mark revealed in her underwear where vi touched her.

vi rests her weight on one of her arms, her torso is leaning back slightly, her other hand holds caitlyn's bare thigh.

"do you need help?" vi says. she feels like she hasn't used her voice in a million times. her throat itches.

caitlyn shakes her head. her hands seek support on vi's broad shoulders, which lend themselves without complaint. her body lifts a little, vi can see her chew her lower lip hard, and before sinking into the strap, caitlyn pulls her underwear to the side.

vi thinks that was the hottest thing ever. she also thinks she can cum with just that.

when caitlyn feels the base of the strap touch her skin, she lets out a sigh. she never tried this position with vi before, or with any other women. she feels full. somehow, her throat feels full, as if a million moans made themselves at home in her throat, and that at the slightest movement of her hips they'll all come rushing out.

she goes up, and then down. she does this a few times before she can get used to. her hands never leave vi's shoulders, squeezing the tanned skin tightly as the strap hits some sensitive part inside her. quickly, caitlyn's rhythm increases, who dances her hips faster and harder.

the sound of skin colliding is as dirty as it is addictive. vi lets out slight moans, not just from the sight, but because csitlyn's thrusts cause the base of the strap to rub against her clit, making her see stars.

vi's lips find their home again on caitlyn's neck, who facilitates access. everything feels hot. the redhead's skin burns, her neck carries a flush that extends into her cleavage, a path vi has traversed countless times. the pace only increases with each second, caitlyn's hips become unruly, the movements more awkward and faster. vi tilts her hips up, and the sound caitlyn makes is one she's never heard before.

she does this a couple of times before caitlyn starts to shake. vi's lips come up, capturing caitlyn's in a wet kiss, caitlyn fucks herself into vi while her mouth is getting fucked the same way by vi's tongue, who shamelessly assaults caitlyn's mouth.

more than a kiss it might seem like an attempt to shut the other up mutually, the guttural moans die on the other's tongue, vibrating at the movement of the onslaught. vi's hand travels from caitlyn's throat, caressing every inch of her body, squeezing the flesh of her hips and thighs, until it reaches her clitoris, where it presses.

she can't kiss caitlyn no more. she can't keep her mouth shut, her legs tremble and vi knows she's on the verge of an explosion. her moans sound more like whimpers, jumping on vi again and again.

"violet" cailtyn moans, her voice is shaky and high-pitched.

her pleasure is so great that it drugs her. caitlyn feels the need to vomit all her feelings to vi, to tell her that she really is the woman she imagined every time another girl touched her, that when she closes her eyes her scar on her lip is the only thing she can see, that her heart constantly seeks her warmth.

but she can't do it, so when she climaxes and the orgasm passes, she rises from vi's lap, her legs shaky and sticky

"let me know if you hear from Jinx."

and she's gone.

[allison3k0]

MR S UPDATE - Friday (BIG DAY OML) (Last day of school before the winter break)

I F*CKING HUGGED HIM TODAY.

Alright, so, today was chill cuz it was the last day of school before the winter break, and since I was done my animation project tomorrow, during animation (3rd period) I asked my anim teacher if I could go see Mr S cuz I had something to give him, and he let me go so I started going. My anim period is also Mr S' prep so it works out well to give him stuff without him being in a rush to leave or anything.

So I peaked my head into his room cuz he left the door open, and it was dark so I was wondered if he was there, and he was in fact there, so I saw him and said "Hey!" and he said "Hey!" and then I walked in with the mug with the candy canes and said "So, I have something for you" and set the mug down on the desk in front of him and he said "Thank you!" and then I set down the two packets of hot choco I brought him too, and he said "Thank you" again. He picked up the mug and looked at it and said "Oh my gosh, did you draw this?" and I said "Yeah, I drew it myself" and he said "Oh my gosh this is adorable" and I said "Thank you!" and then I said "I also have this" and put a crochet little duck made with grey yarn for the body and green yarn for the accents like the bill and feet and a little tuft of hair on top of its head (it reminded me of him for some reason), and he said "Oh my gosh, (as if he was surprised by the number of things) I didn't know you crochet, I'll have to make sure my dog doesn't get this" and I said "Yeah be careful your dog doesn't get it. Yeah, I don't crochet often, but I learned from my mom" and he said "Wow, thank you so much!" and I said "No problem" and then I was thinking about asking him for a hug but I kept hesitating and then I chickened out, and then he was saying stuff to end the convo like "Well, I hope you have a good break, a good holiday, and I'll see you in the new year." and I interrupted him saying "Wait, I'm coming in after school" and he said "Oh, you're coming in after school?" and I said "Yeah" and then he said "Oh okay" and then I said "I'll see you later then!" and he said "See you later!" and then I left to go back to class.

So then fourth period I was just daydreaming about how to get a hug from him, and what would happen after school, going through every possible scenario and how to word it when I ask for a hug cuz I'd much rather ask than assume he's okay with it and embarrass myself. That period dragged on foreverrrr and then I was finally able to go to my locker and then go see Mr S.

I went to his classroom after school as usual but he was talking with his EA so I was waiting til they were done to say hi, and I did, and they both said hi back. And Mr S said "Hi, how was the rest of your day?" and I said "Great, actually" and he said "Great actually?" and I said "Yeah, psych was really chill, we had a lesson but it was a chill lesson and we had a big class discussion in between too" and he seemed genuinely interested. And then his EA left and we said happy holidays and whatnot. Me and Mr S talked about his plans for the break, and he said "WE'RE going to (town name) to (continues)" like I'm sorry, who tf is WE? He was talking about his fam before that, so maybe he was referring to his fam? But maybe he was referring to a partner? Then he asked me about my plans and I mentioned how I'm going to see a movie tomorrow (still not sure if that's actually happening) but he asked who I'm going to see it with, so I told him "My friend E (Insert first name here, we'll call her Bestie E or E), the one that took me to her cousin's wedding" and he was like "Oh" but like... Why does it matter to him who I go with? Is he trying to figure out if I'm single? Cuz I am 😏.

But anyways, we continued talking a while until he started packing up and I started packing up so I wouldn't miss my chance to hug him while I had it, but holy sh he gets ready fast and he was at the door ready to lock it while it was open, and he was saying "Well, have a great break, don't work too much on school stuff" and I missed the rest cuz I was panicking inside cuz he was about to leave and I wasn't about to let that opportunity go, so I put down my backpack and purse and said "Wait, can I hug you?" in the most frail, barely audible, tiny, lowercase voice ever 😭 and he said "Sure, of course!" AND GAVE ME THE CUTEST MOST GENUINE SMILE I'VE EVER SEEN HIM HAVE. IT WAS LIKE A FACE OF ADMIRATION OR ADORATION. And omg the hug was so short it's so sad but when I first hugged him, I PUT MY ARMS AROUND HIM UNDER HIS ARMS AND HE PUT HIS ARMS AROUND MY SHOULDERS KIND OF- I JUST REALIZED I HUGGED HIS BODY LIKE I TOUCHED HIS BODY OMFG SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP FOAMING AT THE MOUTH- Anyways, he was so nice and warm, AND FOR A SECOND I LAID MY HEAD ON HIS SHOULDER WHILE WE HUGGED, and then I felt the hug was gonna get awkward if it went any longer, but he didn't exactly pull away, I just kinda felt like it was time to let go so I did and the hug was over 😭 it was so short.

When it was over I said "I haven't had a hug in a while" and he said "Oh really?" and I said "Yeah, thank you" and he said "No problem!" with the cutest ahh smile I've ever seen on him before. And we were getting ready to part ways so I said "Alright, thank you so much" and he said "Of course!" and then I said "Bye! See you after the break!" and he said "Bye! Have a great break!" and then I left.

After I left, my hands were shaking so much and so were my knees and I could barely walk so I had to stand outside for a minute before leaving to go home.

[cariantha]

Sweet December

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 (post-attack) Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Category: Fluff, Christmas Word count: 1K Summary: Ethan eavesdrops on a conversation between Sawyer and her best friend. A/N: This fic was inspired by this Instagram reel and a little “Caption This” fun with a friend. It was meant to be an angsty fic, but then I listened to Sweet December by Brett Eldridge and Kelly Clarkson and changed directions. Merry Christmas!🎄

Events/Prompts: Participating in Winter Holidays 2024 hosted by @choicesholidays | Cuddling by the fireplace

With plans to spend their day off together, Ethan insisted that Sawyer come to his after her late-night shift at the hospital. The apartment was dark except for the glow of his bedside lamps, drawing attention away from the living room and the surprise he had set up for his girl. 

The tactic worked. An exhausted Sawyer entered the quiet apartment well after midnight and headed straight for the bedroom like a moth to the flame. After a quick kiss and a much-needed shower, she draped herself over Ethan’s body like a blanket and passed out within minutes. 

It was mid-morning when Sawyer padded into the kitchen, still a little groggy, with her phone pressed to her ear. Finding no evidence of Ethan's morning coffee, she assumed he was still at the gym, which was his usual weekend routine. 

“That sounds like so much fun. I’ve always wanted to visit New York during Christmas time…” Sawyer told the person on the other end of the line. “Maybe next year.”

Putting the phone on speaker so she could start the coffee, her best friend’s voice filled the room. 

“What about you? Are you going home to Arizona for Christmas?” Christian asked. 

“No. I love my family and know they are concerned, but they have been so overbearing that I’ve started dodging their calls,” she confessed. 

“Oof.” 

“I know,” Sawyer grimaced guiltily, “and I know they mean well, but I just need time to process things on my own. I can’t take any more time off, anyway. I just got back to work and need to catch up on my clinic hours. Besides, I’m looking forward to experiencing a Christmas like in the movies. You know, someplace cold enough that it snows, and you can cozy up by the fire and drink hot chocolate."

“Will you spend Christmas with Ethan, then?”   

From the living room, Ethan watched as Sawyer shrugged her shoulders. He’d been listening to their conversation while he lounged in front of the fireplace, waiting for her to turn around and notice him. 

"I don't want to assume, but I hope so," Sawyer answered softly, then sighed deeply. "God, Christian, I know it sounds so corny, but when I start feeling all upside down, he turns me right around."

"Awww..."

Ethan continued to watch and listen as she tinkered with the coffee machine. 

"We’re both working on Christmas, but a wintery night cuddling by the fire like we had at Dagger Mountain would be amazing. As for anything else, I think Ethan’s more the ‘spirit of Christmas’ type than the ‘holiday spirit’ type. Last year, when I came over to help with Naveen's case, I brought him one of those potted tabletop trees from the hospital gift shop because he didn't have a tree or a wreath or anything. It made me sad for him."  

Ethan raised his brows in surprise, then looked to the corner of the room where, the night before, he set a five-foot balsam fir into a tree stand. Boxes of ornaments and garland that the doorman helped carry into the apartment sat on the floor nearby.  

Christian chuckled. “You sound like Cindy Lou Who talking about the Grinch. Girl, he's been a bachelor for a long time. Guys don't care about that shit. Sam wouldn't bother either if it weren't for the boys."

"Yeah, I guess you’re right." 

A loud pop from the living room made Sawyer jump. She quickly spun around to find Ethan reclined in front of the fireplace. Christian’s voice faded into the background as Sawyer's senses awakened with the warmth of the roaring fire. The smell of fresh pine needles. The twinkling of white lights in the corner. The soft crooning of Bing Crosby’s “Silver Bells.” The taste of creamy chocolate and peppermint from the cup that Ethan walked over and offered her. 

“Sawyer? Hellooo… did I lose you?” 

Reaching for her phone, she apologized to her friend. “Sorry about that, um, Ethan just surprised me… Can I call you back later?” 

“Of course! I should go anyway. I think Sam and the boys are ready to leave for the ice rink.”

“Have fun and send me pics. Love you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

Sawyer ended the call and set her phone aside. “Hi,” she greeted, standing on her tiptoes. 

“Morning,” Ethan answered, bending down to meet her halfway for a tender kiss. 

Gesturing to the living room, “What’s all this?”

“Since you're not going home for Christmas, I thought we could celebrate together. Here.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he confirmed with a peck to her lips.

“I’d love that...” she blushed with embarrassment, “as you probably heard.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked at the glowing tree. “You bought a real tree?”

“Given your family’s Christmas tree business, I knew anything else would be considered sacrilege.”

She smiled up at him. “You remembered that?” 

“When it comes to you, I remember everything.”

Pressing herself tighter against him, Sawyer rested her cheek on his chest. “It’s so cozy in here. And look! It’s snowing outside.” Sawyer moved to sit on the sofa, tugging the sleeve of Ethan’s robe to get him to follow. “Come cuddle with me.”

Ethan sat, draping an arm over her shoulder, tucking her into his side. But just as they got comfortable, Ethan moved to stand up. 

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot,” he started, “I bought one of those big fluffy blankets you said I needed for cuddling on the couch. It’s in the hall closet.”

Sawyer smiled so big. “You are so sweet sometimes.”

“Sweet?! Uh-oh, my reputation for being a Grinch is in jeopardy.”

Reminded again that he heard every word of her conversation, she scowled at him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to eavesdrop? You could have cleared your throat or something.”

Ethan winked, letting her know there was nothing to worry about. “Let me grab the blanket.”

“No,” she demanded, catching his hand before he walked away. Lying back, she pulled him down and on top of her. “A blanket’s good, but you’re even better.”

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[fisheito]

i told myself that yakuei only had one position then i proved myself (sorta) wrong

my fave face here:

[sysig]

You’ve caught my Wandering Eye ♥ (Patreon)