#the guild is her one and only family and that's how she wants it. she wants to be with them forever the past doesn't matter

[heyimkana]

Pillow Talk (1/4)

AO3 Link

Sequel to Come Home to Me but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut

Summary: Your husband, Sung Jinwoo, has been trying to restrain himself from touching you in the last few weeks, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as you're dealing with the first trimester of your pregnancy. But today, his patience is running thin. He needs to be with you, in one way or another.

Content Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff, cute family moments, and sweet, slow, passionate sex with Husband/Papa!Jinwoo (in part 2)

Word Count: 7K

Sung Jinwoo has always loved taking on treacherous dungeon raids, especially by himself. He can gain all the experience he needs to level up, gather more magic stones to build a stronger guild, and, of course, extract more shadows to join his army. But these days, as he enters a gate with a silver wedding band wrapped around his finger, he wields his daggers with a smile solely because of one reason: so you can pamper him once he gets home.

It’s not easy, you see, pretending to get hurt and act weak and sluggish all day when you’re an S-Rank Hunter famously known to be invincible. He practically is, isn’t he? With thousands of undying soldiers beneath his feet, how could anyone imagine him getting hurt? Every raid should be light work for him, which is true. Your husband could quite literally just stand there on the sidelines with both hands buried inside his coat’s pockets, smirking to himself as he imagined all the ways you could make him feel better after a supposedly long, exhausting day inside the gate (and best believe, he’d be creative with it, maybe even a bit naughty about it).

And he did, most of the time, just occasionally yawning as he watched his generals—Beru and Igris—shred the dungeon monsters to pieces. The only thing that kept him entertained during his waiting was the thought of seeing you again, of coming home to you and being welcomed with a kiss, of holding his daughter in his arms while she babbled about her “super dangerous” trip to the nearby supermarket.

Being a married man changed him, but only for the best.

Today’s raid is no different, just as tedious and time-consuming as always.

“O most noble majesty,” Beru, the former Ant King who once massacred several S-rank Hunters in a matter of seconds, kneels before his master in a deep bow, his claws clutched against his heart, one that he dedicated solely to his king. “I bring tidings of great import. The fell beast, Guardian of the Dungeon Depths, hath been vanquished in glorious combat by mine hand, thy most true and loyal servant—”

“Speak normally, or I’ll take the TV away from you.”

“Y-yes, my liege, my apologies. I hereby inform you that I have defeated the dungeon boss as you commanded. The shadow knights are now collecting the magic stones. The ants are dealing with the remaining beasts. We shall finish this raid before the sun sets low, my king.”

“Good,” Jinwoo stretches his arms over his head, his muscles taut from all the waiting. He hasn’t done a single thing since he entered the gate—aside from daydreaming about you, that is. It’s partially your fault, really, for wearing that sultry nightgown to bed last night. You were well aware that he was still too afraid to touch you ever since you discovered that you were pregnant with his second child. He could see just how uncomfortable you were dealing with your hormonal changes and your constant morning sickness. The last thing he wanted to do was to wear your body down even further by attending to his needs. And yet, you still wore that satin lace gown to bed, driving him insane with how smoothly the fabric slid across your skin, hugging your curves in all the places he’d been itching to touch. You didn’t mean to lure him in, of course; the gown was just so comfortable to sleep in, but goddammit, he wanted you so badly he had to take a bathroom trip twice to give himself some relief. 

“Great work today, Beru,” Jinwoo says. “There’s only one more thing I need you to do for me.”

“Anything, my liege.”

He looks down at him, still with his hands stuck in the pockets of his black trench coat. A smirk graces his lips with a glimmer of impishness sketched over it. “I want you to hit me in the face.”

“M-m-my liege?!” Beru’s shadowy figure was drenched in all black, but even then, it was clear that he turned pale at the request. “H-how could I, Beru, your most humble servant, do such thing to your gorgeous, most absolutely divine face, my king?”

“Don’t ever say that again,” he almost shudders from the excessive compliment before a shrug follows. “You said you’d do anything for me, right? Or was that a lie?”

“I-it is not a lie, my liege, but—”

“Should I just ask Igris instead?” He huffs loudly to the air. `“I know he wouldn’t think twice if I asked him to do something for me, especially this one. It’s a dire need, after all.” 

If there was one thing that could easily agitate the ant king, it was being compared to another shadow soldier. It was endearing, really—and borderline creepy—the way Beru was so possessive over him, always wanting to be the one who could impress the Shadow Monarch the most, to be the only one worthy of standing by his side. “Even so, my liege, I am not sure if I should—”

“Hit me.” Jinwoo’s patience runs thinner than usual. Is it really because he’s so touch-starved, yearning for you, that he’s grown this irritated? “Do it as hard as you can. If you hold back, I’ll never summon you again.”

Beru cowers at the thought. “No, please, my liege, have mercy. Anything but that.”

“Then, do it.”

“B-but—”

“Igris, come here—”

“I SHALL DO IT, MY LIEGE!” ***

Being pregnant is a mix of wonderful and trying times. Your first pregnancy was the perfect evidence of that, but since you managed to go through it somehow, you thought the second time would be easier, assuming that your body had learned enough from the previous experience to withstand it this time. You hoped you could recover from your morning sickness much faster this time around, but no.  

It’s not any easier. It’s ten times worse. And it fucking sucks.

You’ve been throwing up more today than the amount of hours you spent sleeping through the night. No matter how often you rinse your mouth or brush your teeth, you still feel the aftertaste of your bile coating your tongue. Everyday is a long day to get through. From doing chores and caring for your daughter—who has now turned four—you haven’t gotten much chance to rest. Your mood is all over the place. Every time your toddler throws a tantrum, you’re so tempted to imitate and throw a bigger one. It’s a childish thought, you know that, but if lying around the floor with your limbs flailing around could make you feel better, you would’ve probably done it.

Your body is weary. Your daughter is still running all over the place, making a mess out of the potpourri you just placed on the coffee table to chase away the pet odor in your home. The scent only lingers faintly in the air—Mr. Whiskers never smells terrible, all thanks to the High Orcs who take turns to wash him regularly—but ever since you have a life growing inside you, your sense of smell is heightened, and nearly everything makes you nauseous. If you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t have been bothered by the odor at all. 

Right now, you’re staring blankly at the dirty plates sitting on the sink, waiting to be washed. You don’t feel like finishing your chores. You don’t feel like doing anything at all, honestly. Whenever you feel like this, there’s only one thing that can fix your mood and boost it quickly, or rather, a person, and that is—

“Jinwoo…” You sigh out his name longingly as if it were a mantra that could magically restore the life within you. You speak it like a prayer, and perhaps it is, just wishing for your husband to come home soon so he can console you like always, giving you the warmest of back hugs before he plants comforting kisses down your neck and says—

“Yes, my love?”

Your husband’s voice reverberates right beside your ear, and you jolt, shrieking in surprise as a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist from behind. Jinwoo has just appeared out of thin air—no, out of your shadow—smiling at you with one corner of his lips rising higher than the other. You can hear a peal of laughter tumbling off his lips at your reaction, his mouth brushing against the side of your neck, light and tender, with a promise of something more if he’s not careful.

“Mmm, seems like someone has been missing me all day,” he comments, visibly delighted, his husky voice vibrating right onto your sensitive skin.

You whirl around to face him, your heart still caught in your throat as you throw a playful smack on his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop. doing. that?” You punctuate each word with a slap.

He chortles softly, catching your wrist with ease. Your hand appears much smaller than his, but then again, your entire body is. You're not aware of this yet, but this is one of the reasons why he’s so attracted to you. Something about you being short and tiny (compared to him, that is), your body soft and warm in his arms—it drives him crazy, shrouded him with this need to protect you, to take care of you. “Doing what?” he asks despite knowing the answer. He kisses the dip of your palm, perhaps as a token of his apology, although it doesn’t seem fairly sincere with how he’s impishly grinning at you. 

“Popping out of nowhere!” You chastise with a glare. “I swear to God, Sung Jinwoo, one of these days, I’ll get a heart attack, and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

He continues to chuckle fondly at your attitude. Placing both hands on the kitchen counter, he has your body trapped in between. Jinwoo towers over you, his body caging you in, and he still smells so wonderfully pleasant, like the perfume you bought him even after going through long hours of fighting beasts in the dungeon (your gullible self never realized that your husband was just lazing around all day during the raid, doing nothing but having questionable thoughts about you).  He’s dressed rather formally today, wearing the same white button-down shirt and the black trousers you’d prepared for him this morning. You wonder if his meeting with the higher-ups went well. It’s always the most tiresome part of the day for him, even way more than all the hours he spends inside the gates.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” Jinwoo apologizes with a playful kiss on your forehead. “I just can’t help it. You look so cute when you’re surprised.”

You continue to glower at him.

“And even cuter when you’re angry,” he adds, his grin boyish and irritatingly charming. “Where’s my welcome home kiss?”

Oh, the audacity. “You don’t get any until you learn your lesson,” you grumble as you spin back toward the sink, switching on the water and snatching a dirty plate. “Thank goodness, I was just doing the dishes. Remember the last time you did this? When I was…” You continue with your scolding, bleating one line after another, but each word is brushed aside as Jinwoo takes in the sight of you, enthralled. 

It warms his heart to see you like this, his love for you brimming in his chest simply from seeing you do something domestic in the heart of his home. Your delicate frame, your beauty showing so naturally without anything to cover your flaws—the sweet imperfections he adores. The sight of you dressed in one of his shirts, comforted by his scent, its fabric falling loose around your curves, your hair tied up in a messy bun with soft, baby hairs curled around your nape. If you had known he would come home so soon, you would’ve showered and made yourself more presentable for him, but Jinwoo loves you like this. This is the version of you that only he can see. You’re so unbelievably sexy in his eyes, and it just adds more gasoline to the scorching desire within him.

“Jinwoo, are you listening to me—ah!” An involuntary moan escapes you when he mouthes against your nape, his tongue pressing flat against your sensitive spot, your knees buckling at the sensation. He plants one kiss after another as he maps his way down to your shoulder, tugging on your collar just enough to reveal more of your skin. His kisses are no longer the featherlight ones he gave you before. They’re now laced heavily with lust, the thirst he’s been trying to constrain but failing every time. He tastes your skin, his teeth itching to sink in, disrupting your thoughts at once. 

Your plate slips off your fingers before you grip tightly onto the sink, his hand slithering past the hem of your shirt, skating over your stomach and leaving fire at its trail. “Jinwoo, w-wait…”

“If you’re not gonna give me a kiss, Sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “Maybe I should just steal it away.”

 Before you can react, his fingers frame your jaw, forcing you to face him and claiming your lips at once. Your heart rate accelerates, his torso glued to your spine, and the second you moan into the kiss, he turns you over in his arms, his self-restraint thinning into a thread. Now fully facing him, you feel your body being pushed forward, the edge of the kitchen counter digging into your back as your husband recaptures your lips with his own, slanting them even deeper. He sighs into the kiss, pleased and relieved as if he had been on his best behavior all day and the taste of your mouth was the prize he’d been waiting for. 

Taste of my mouth…?

Oh, no. 

“W-wait, stop for a bit.” You place a hand on his chest, quickly ending the kiss and tossing your face to the side, embarrassed. “You shouldn’t kiss me. I taste like vomit—” 

Jinwoo tugs you forward before you can end your sentence, his fingers clasping firmly against your wrist, keeping you under his control. He kisses you harder, fiercer, as if your little act of pushing him away elevated the hunger inside him. His free arm winds around your waist, guiding you closer to him until he can drown himself again in your warmth. 

“Jinwoo—”

“Just one more.” He thumbs the edge of your mouth, parting your lips open for him despite you trying your best not to. A low grunt erupts from the back of his throat the second he has the chance to taste you a little bit more, his desire so insatiable that he grabs you by the back of your neck, holding your body possessively without leaving you the opportunity to escape. To him, your mouth tastes like ambrosia, and he can’t help but devour you the second he gets the chance.

“Sweet,” he moans softly against your mouth. “You taste so fucking sweet, baby.”

You almost whimper in response, your hands fisting against the front of his shirt. There’s something different about him today, this sense of urgency that takes hold of him like a vice. It makes your body ache with need, too, the need to have his mouth on you, on every place he can reach and more.

Screw it. You can get angry with him some other time. You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer to you as if you wanted to fuse your bodies into one. The sweet sounds he makes grow louder, turn a pitch higher, and when he feels your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, he almost growls, his teeth grinding against the side of your neck.

Amidst the heavy breaths, you can hear the sound of gushing water coming from behind. Right, the tap! I haven’t turned it off. “Wait, Jin—the water—mmph—” Your husband doesn’t let you speak, doesn’t want to let another second lay to waste, not after he spent the whole day—no, the whole month—waiting to touch you like this.

It’s not until your daughter (who you both seem to have forgotten, shame on you) tugs on the edge of his coat that you break away from each other, leaving the two of you standing with your faces flushed, your hairs disheveled, and your minds reeling. 

“Daddy,” she gives it another pull, her lower lip jutted out in protest. The current babysitter in charge, a High Orc with a messy braid (courtesy of your daughter) and two huge, ivory fangs protruding from the bottom of his mouth, stands gawkily behind her, feeling awkward for interrupting… whatever the hell it was that was happening between you and his master. He then notices the running water, silently turning off the tap while sending you a look.

“T-thanks,” you say to the beast, ashamed. “I was… gonna get that.”

He simply nods, and thank goodness these High Orcs can’t speak because the line, “Mm-hmm, sure,” seems to be written all over his face.

Meanwhile, your husband, the one responsible for all of this, bends forward almost immediately, scooping your daughter up in his arms. “Oh, no, Daddy forgot to say hello to his little princess, didn’t he?” She nodded in response, her cheeks all puffed out. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I got distracted for a bit, but don’t worry. You have all my attention now.”

“All of it?”

“All of it,” he promises with a smile, sweet and soft, a stark contrast to the man he was just a few seconds before. “Do you want to give Daddy a kiss?” 

With a happy chirp, his daughter leaned in almost immediately, brushing her plump lips once on each of his cheeks. “Again, again,” she says, planting another kiss between his eyebrows and a peck on his nose. Both of them grin happily at each other, rubbing the tips of their noses together as her giggles fill the spaces between you. “Welcome home, Daddy.”

No matter how often he’s heard it, his heart melts just the same every time she echoes those words with her angelic voice. “Thanks, Sweetie. Hey, listen.” Still carrying his daughter in his arms, Jinwoo whirls around to have her place her attention on you. “You wanna know why I forgot to greet you today?”

“Why?”

“Because Mommy was about to cry.”

Her doe eyes widen adorably as she gasps out, “She was?”

You restrain the urge to roll your eyes as your husband continues sprouting his bullshit. “Yes, she was. You see, she missed Daddy so much todaythat she felt like crying while doing the dishes.” Now that he says it like that, you can’t help but feel abashed. That was a bit pathetic, wasn’t it? “Daddy had no choice but to go and cheer her up. Isn’t that right, Mommy?”

Your hand itches to toss him another punch. “Oh, yes, God, I was so lonely,” you mutter in your best robotic voice, sarcasm lying thickly in your voice.

“See?” Jinwoo tosses you a shameless grin, amused by your reaction. No, not just that. Happy. “Mommy could barely live without me.”

“Mm. Barely.” You land a kick to the back of his shin. Of course, that does absolutely nothing to an S-Rank Hunter like him. If anything, it only makes him want to chaff at you even harder. 

Fortunately for you, your daughter doesn’t seem like she’s seen the kisses you shared with your husband—or maybe she did, but she chose not to care. “Daddy, did you get cupcakes for me?”

“No, Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Your husband gently strokes her hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her ear. “I was in a rush on my way home.”

She blinks her eyes innocently. “Why?”

“Because Daddy misses you, of course,” Jinwoo smiles warmly, affectionately, the kind of fatherly smile that you didn’t think he could display so naturally on his lips when you first started dating him. “I missed you so much, Princess. I was thinking about you all the time during the raid that I could hardly concentrate.” Well, that and how you looked in your sexy nightgown, to be exact. “I was only gone for a few hours, but I just couldn’t wait to see you again. So, the second the gate was closed, I ran straight home.” 

Teleported, you grumble inwardly with a snort, even when I’ve already told him not to.

“Is that why you got a cut on your cheek? Because you were distracted?” Your daughter questions him, staggering you. 

What?

You quickly turn to your husband, examining his face with your eyebrows sewn in concern. Although it’s barely visible, it’s true. There’s a cut on his cheek, a thin line of crimson on his smooth, pasty skin, like an accidental brush of a pen on paper. This kind of injury is nothing and will naturally heal within a day or two, but still, it frightens you somehow that there’s a being out there who could lay a finger on him—on someone who’s supposed to be untouchable. You were certain that he was only clearing an A-rank dungeon today. Surely, it couldn’t have been so dangerous? 

“Are you okay?” You ask him softly, almost motherly, carefully holding his face as if that little cut made his body a million times more fragile. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Jinwoo bites down on his lip as your anxiety grows. Is it so bad that it’s hard for him to say? You wonder worriedly. Of course, you don't realize in the slightest that he’s only catching it between his teeth because he’s afraid that his mischievous smile will break on his lips and give his plan away. Jinwoo has been craving to be loved, touched, and spoiled endlessly by you today. With you looking this concerned, he’s already walking the path of success. He’s not going to let his little grin betray him at the last minute. 

“No, nowhere else, Sweetheart,” he says with a tender smile. “Just this one on my cheek. I’m okay, though. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a cut.” Because that was all Beru could manage to do, he continues inwardly, almost releasing a disappointed sigh. Three chances. He gave that stupid ant three chances to wound his face as best as he could without putting any defense whatsoever, and this little cut on his face was all Beru could do. To be fair, knowing his immense durability and his tremendous physical strength, landing just a scratch itselfis considered a feat, but still… Had he had a bigger bruise blooming on his face, you’d take better care of him, wouldn’t you?

You breathe out in relief at his reply but continue to press further. It’s not a matter of pain; it’s the fact that there’s somebody out there who can lay a hand on him. What happens if it gets worse? What if he comes home with a wound next time instead of a cut? No, what if he doesn’t come home at all? 

“Jinwoo…” You twine your fingers around his lean ones. “Did something happen in the ga—”

“IT WAS BECAUSE OF ME, MY QUEEN!” A voice suddenly bursts into your hearing, coming from a small, shadowy figure that seeps out from beneath your husband’s collar. It’s Beru, you realize, but shaped in a different form. Instead of taking his usual humanoid figure, he’s much smaller in size, a floating head with a pair of antennae, so tiny he could fit in your daughter’s palm. 

“B-Beru?”

“Yes, my queen, it is I, Beru, your faithful servant,” the shadow soldier speaks. “With the deepest regret, I must confess that I have brought harm to our king’s heavenly face. To atone for my sins, I shall accept any punishment you bestow upon me, milady.” 

Your frown only deepens.“Wait, I don’t understand. What happened exactly?”

The shadow seems to fidget. “H-Half an hour ago, inside the gate, my liege requested me to—”

“Beru got distracted during the fight,” Jinwoo explains casually, cutting him off so smoothly with his smile intact. “I got this cut when I tried to save him. Isn’t that right,” he turns his head slightly to the side to face the shadow, his eyes gleaming eerily like a purple moon in a pitch-black sky, his voice turning an octave lower, “Beru?”

You can hear the shadow whimper in horror before it flies back to his collar, hiding behind the fabric. Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why is Beru acting weird?”

“When is he not acting weird?” Your husband responds nonchalantly. You can’t trust him when he’s smirking like this. No matter how good he looks with it, you can’t. You shouldn’t.

“I’ll put a bandaid on it, Daddy!” Your daughter chirps before jumping away from his arms, rushing to get the first aid kit. When she returns with the box, running toward her father with her little feet, Jinwoo kneels before her. His smile, his posture, the soft look on his face—everything reminds you of the prince in your daughter’s storybook, the one she’s fallen hopelessly in love with.

No wonder she loves her daddy so much, you think fondly to yourself, your heart thawing at the sight of your daughter applying a bandaid to his cheek. She looks so serious as she does it, mustering all her brain power to ensure she covers the cut perfectly. Once she’s done, she plants a kiss over it, sweet and adorable. “There, there.” She pats his cheek. “You’re all better now.”

Jinwoo’s face radiates with joy, but the bow of his lips remains sweet and tender as always. “Thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome, Daddy.” She pecks his nose once before she tugs on his hand. “Now, come on! Let’s have a tea party! You can be the queen, and I’ll be the princess, and Mr. Whiskers can be the king!”

“Right now?” Jinwoo chuckles, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He has the energy to play with you all night, but having tea parties with an overexcited toddler can be quite draining indeed, especially when he has to play the role of a noblewoman—who’s married to a cat, for some reason—to keep her entertained. “Can Daddy take a shower first?”

“No! The tea will get cold if you do that!” 

“All right, all right. Can I, at least, play a more masculine role this time? A prince, maybe?”

“No, we need to have a queen in the story!”

“Why can't Mommy be the queen, then?”

“Because Mommy is busy doing her chores,” you answer with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, completely ignoring the pleading look your husband is sending you. "Remember to use your girly voice, Husband.”

Jinwoo squints his eyes at you. "Is this your payback from earlier?”

You flaunt your coquettish grin. “Maybe.”

He sighs despite his little smile threatening to crawl back to his lips. "You're lucky I love you, Sweetheart.”

“Daddy, come on!” She hops on her feet, tugging him even further toward the living room. “And you too, Orky, hurry up! You’re the maid. You need to serve us some cake!”

The High Orc releases a sigh. Tossing his messy braid over his shoulder, he retrieves his apron from the counter—one that you’d sewn yourself for him as a gift for being an exceptionally patient babysitter—and follows after their steps. 

To anyone else’s eyes, the sight of South Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter, a fluffy yet somewhat demonic cat, a brawny High Orc, and a toddler with messy pigtails having a tea party on a tiny plastic table in your living room might be too absurd to take in, but this is just an everyday scenery in your lovely home. Even so, you’ll never take this for granted. The sense of relief of being safe and sound, the happiness of being together, the warmth that spreads right to your center…. These are the things that you pray every night to last forever.

And it is something that Sung Jinwoo protects more than the universe itself. ***

A sigh slips out of you as you slide underneath the blanket, the bed’s soft and almost heaven-like the moment you lie down. It has been an exhausting day, and you still haven’t gotten to bring much food into your system. Tomorrow will be better, you convince yourself. Hopefully, all the healthy juice and vitamins you’ve consumed throughout the day could replenish the nutrients your baby needs.

The bathroom door clicks open, shining light into an otherwise dimmed room. Steams of hot water cloud the room as your husband steps out with a towel hanging over his head. He’s dressed in nothing but his black sweatpants, his body lean and toned, still glistening with water. He’s mesmerizing as always and effortlessly so. You avert your gaze away, however, as you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being ogled at and have him tease you about it all night—because he definitely will if he catches you drooling at the sight. He’s done that before, and he’s only eager to do it again.

Jinwoo exhales as he sits on the edge of the bed, sounding just as tired as you are. Little did you know that this was just an act to have you indulge him in more ways than one until his thirst for your affection was quenched. 

You roll around to face him, lying on your side and making a pillow out of your arm. “Long day at work?”

“Just a little,” he answers. You notice how water droplets are still dripping from his hair, drenching his shoulders and… rolling down his… broad, muscular back…

You swallow, forcing yourself not to stare—not too much, at least—at how the muscles in his shoulder blades contort when he lifts his hand to rub the towel against his hair but damn it, it is getting very distracting. You can’t help it, really. It’s just been so long since you two have been intimate with each other, and that… session you had with him in the kitchen only made your longing for him a million times worse. “You do look more weary than usual. Did the bath help? I used the expensive bath salts for you.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, it was relaxing. We should’ve taken a bath together.”

“We wouldn’t have been relaxing if we bathed together.”

“Really?” He arches an eyebrow suggestively. “And why is that?”

Your voice reduces to a mumble when you reply, “You know why.”

His little smirk tells you that yes, he does know, but he just wants to see you grimacing from shame when you say it out loud. “Were you worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself?” 

The truth was, you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to, but your husband doesn’t need to know about that. “Isn’t that exactly what happened last time?”

“Only because you didn’t ask me to behave,” he cocks his head to the side, his lips curving devilishly. “You should’ve asked me to be a good boy for you, Sweetheart. I wouldn’t have touched you if that was the case. And I always keep my promise, you know that.”

Oh, he does, all right. The same way he did during your honeymoon phase when he promised you that he wouldn't stop fucking you until the sun came out. Underestimating his stamina was the biggest mistake of your life. He had your legs trembling so badly the following day, you had to call off work. 

But that’s it, isn’t it? That's exactly what you want to happen right here, right now. Jinwoo has been so considerate of your pregnancy that he decided to put a leash on himself. It’s a sweet thing for him to do, but sometimes, you just wish he’d tear it apart and set himself free. It would be nice if he could just be a little rough with you right now, not caring too much about how you feel and just focusing on what he wanted to do. But he’s not that kind of man, and that’s why you married him.

Despite his aloof, stoic demeanor and how vicious he can be during battles, he’s the most gentle lover you’ve ever been with, especially when he knows you’re not ready to deal with anything like that yet, both physically and emotionally (or so he thought). He’s truly all a woman could look for in a husband. Protective and strong. Loving. Caring. Treating you with the same amount of tenderness as he treats his own mother. But, still, a slight change wouldn’t be too bad, would it? If he could just be a little selfish in bed today, succumbing to his desire to touch you and make love to you without restraint… That would be nice, right?

“Baby, you okay?”

His deep voice startles you, dragging you out of your stupor. “Yeah, I was just, umm…” You clear your throat, heat filling your cheeks. “Your hair’s dripping. Want me to help you dry it off?”

His lips part in what seems to be surprise before he wrings them together into a smile. First mission, clear, he claims triumphantly in his head. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not.” You make your way toward him, your legs sliding against the sheets before you kneel behind him, giving his shoulders a little squeeze. “You’re my husband. It makes me happy when I get to take care of you, especially when you’ve worked so hard all day.”

“Mm. Yeah. I’ve worked so hard today.”

Oblivious to the demonic cackle he’s trying to bite down, you step down from the bed, searching for the hair dryer you stored inside the drawer. Jinwoo waits in silence, leaning back with two hands propping his weight on the sheets behind him, his legs spread wide open. His eyes roam over your body, following every curve and dip, his fingers itching to just tear your nightgown away and replace every inch of satin with the softness of his kiss and the heat of his desire. 

You notice the way his hooded eyes cascade to the valley between your breasts as you walk toward him, your stomach swirling at this thrilling thought of being so physically wanted. With how he chews on his bottom lip as he gazes at you, his thoughts wandering to places they shouldn’t be, he makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world, a goddess he’s so close to touch and taste, yet the heaven forbids him for it.

“My eyes are up here, Husband.”

He lets his gaze linger for one more second before they flick back to you. “I know,” he smirks, shameless. After watching you plug your hairdryer in the nearest socket, he gestures you to come close and settle yourself between his legs, his smile welcoming—no, inviting. “Come here,” he suggests with a couple of pats on his thigh. 

You know what he’s asking, and God, you want to just give in and obey whatever he commands you to, but you decide to ignore him at the last second. Sitting on his lap right now when you’re nearly consumed by this aching need to be touched is just too risky. You have to be careful if you don’t want to appear so… needy. 

“Sometimes I think you’re not older than five. Look at how wet your hair is.” You reprimand him playfully as you try to shake away the excess water from his hair with his towel. You let yourself move closer to him, standing between his legs, your face hovering close enough to entice him but not enough for him to feel the sweetness of your breath caressing his skin. “Did you even use your towel? You’re still soaked and—” 

Your line ends shortly in a yelp when Jinwoo easily lifts your body with one arm coiled around your waist, placing you down on one of his thighs. He lets his arm linger protectively around you, making sure to keep you safe and secure on his lap. “Comfortable, Sweetheart?” He asks with a puckish grin. 

No, it’s not comfortable. It’s torturous. 

See, the thing is, it’s easy for you to touch him first, to reach out and kiss him and explore his mouth until he groans and has no choice but to take you. But the last time you approached him first, the last time you were so clingy, and needy, and just desperate for his touch, it boosted his ego so much that he ended up smirking every time he saw you. For the whole fucking week, that is. He didn’t even say anything when you asked him with a suspicious glare, “Why do you keep smirking at me like that?” He’d just shrug and continue to smirk even more, and it annoyed you—flustered you—terribly because the words, “Nothing, I just keep remembering how cute you looked when you were begging me the other day,” were painted vividly all over his face. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction again. Never. 

If he wants to make love to you tonight, if he wants to even touch you for a bit, he’s going to have to ask for it.

But when he looks this fucking handsome with his mysterious, sapphire-like eyes, his hair wet and pushed back by your hand, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for yours to close the space between them… It takes you everything not to fall in his arms.

Despite all these thoughts gyrating in your head, screaming to be turned into actions, you keep yourself composed on the outside; your stare remains flat. “Do I really have to dry your hair like this? While sitting on your thigh?”

“What, I just don’t want my pregnant wife to get tired from standing too long,” he argues, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “It makes me happy when I get to take care of my wife, too, you know.” His eyes droop a little as he says the line, and fuck, fuck, he definitely just stole a glance at your lips there.

This little devil. “I know you didn’t use your towel. You’ve been plotting this whole thing right from the start.”

“Plotting is such a dramatic word,” Jinwoo replies, followed by a small laughter. “I just want my wife to spoil me for a bit.” He places a hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing against your inner thigh. It brushes against the hem of your gown as he purrs, “Is that so wrong, Sweetheart?” You watch his digit slip underneath the fabric, never going further up, aiming just to tease. “For your husband to ask his wife for some love?” 

Even just that already causes you to swallow your breath. “I think I’ve loved you enough today.”

“Hmm, I don't know.” He leans close to your ear, his warm, minty breath swaying your soft strands with each word spoken. “I’m a bit greedy, after all. I might need you to pamper me all night long.”

Your head swirls under temptation but you keep yourself strong. You return the safe distance between you, placing a hand on his… bare chest. God, he needs to put on some shirt. “You could’ve just asked me to dry your hair instead of drenching the sheets.” 

His little smile, the way he’s tilting his head slightly to the side, staring at you with his eyes turning all soft, lost in your own… Curse you, Sung Jinwoo. “You’re right, sorry.” He’s not sorry. He’s already planning to drench the sheets in one way or another, you can tell, and you’re excited about it. Though it won’t take long for that excitement to turn into frustration with the way he keeps touching you but not actually touching you. 

Why won’t he just do it? Why won’t he just say that he misses me as much as I miss him, wants me—no, needs me as much as I need him? It would’ve saved us a lot of time if he could just kiss me right now.

What you don’t know is that, from his side, your husband isn’t really seeking a chance to make love to you tonight. He wants to—God, only heaven knows just how much he wants to devour you right now—but he won’t force you to do something so physically straining when you already look so weary. Still, he needs to touch you today, to explore you, to taste you, or otherwise, he’ll just lose his mind. He doesn’t even care if he gets no relief himself. He just needs to be with you in that way, but being the little shit that he is, he wants to tease you about it. After all, what makes your sex life so fun and adventurous is this little game you always play, seeing who’s going to yield to their desire first, and start begging the other for mercy.

So far, Jinwoo is winning, but that doesn’t mean you can’t turn the tides. “Come on. Let’s dry your hair.”

“Mm.” Jinwoo lowers his head (yes, even when you’re sitting on his thigh; he’s still taller than you), cutely nuzzling his face against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “I’ll be in your care, Noona.”

N-Noona?! Your face catches on fire. Turning the tides has never been so difficult. It’s been years since he last called you that way that you’ve forgotten just how easily he could make your heartbeat soar with merely a single word. You’re only a year older than him, which is not a big deal, but he surely takes it to his advantage—an effective way to cause your stomach to flip with every call.

“Hmm? What’s wrong, Noona?”

Stay calm, stay calm. “Nothing.” Exhaling a bit too harshly, you switch on your hairdryer and draw it closer to his hair, your fingers carding through the locks, sometimes ruffling them. He smiles to himself, looking all pleased and giddy—well, as giddy as someone as cool as Sung Jinwoo could be. Seeing how he leans further into your touch, silently pleading for another touch the same way a little boy would ask for praise, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the sight. How can a 190cm tall, muscular S-Rank Hunter—the Lord of the Undead himself—be so adorable? 

“You’re like a dog,” you comment with a hint of mirth in your voice, “wanting to be petted.”

Jinwoo responds by playfully trying to bite your hand, clamping his teeth together, his pointy fangs bared. And you wish he had. You wish he’d sink his teeth into your skin, leaving marks on you again after so long. He always does that in bed, doesn’t he? Leaving love bites all over your neck, his teeth grinding against your shoulder as he drove himself in and out of you. It was as if he wanted to remind you again and again that you were his, only his, to give himself the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only man who you’d allow to do whatever he wanted with your body. 

 And when he gets rough… When he turns feral in bed because you just rile him up so much… When he flips you over to your stomach, one hand binding both of your wrists together before he presses his weight onto you—

“You’re stopping again,” Jinwoo says with a coy smile. “What are you thinking about, Sweetheart?”

You, fucking me from behind. “N-nothing.” You work your hand; your movement’s no longer as poised. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he simpers.

“Oh, shut up. I’m just thinking about…” Think quickly, think quickly, think quickly. “Your hair.”

"What about it?”

“It’s just… really soft. Surprisingly soft.” It amazes you how you manage to keep yourself composed with those filthy thoughts raging like a storm in your head. You continue to ruffle his hair, shaking the water away. “Fluffy, even.”

“You say that as if you’d never touched my hair before,” he titters softly. His eyes then flick back to yours, the blue in them sketched thickly with the desire he’s been trying to rein in. “When you’ve done so much more than that.”

You don’t know what drives you to do it—perhaps it’s some kind of reflex as the sultry nights you’d spent with his head trapped between your legs comes to your recollection—but you yank on his strands, and he lets out this low, deep groan from the back of his throat, his gaze turning dark and heavy when he warns, “Careful, Sweetheart.”

He’s not reminding you to be gentle, not at all. He’s warning you not to push his buttons more than you already do. He’s already suffering as it is, trying to hold himself back from having his way with you, and you tugging on his roots like this, reminding him of all those times when you were pleading for him to thrust his tongue deep inside your core, is not helping.

“Then, don’t make it weird,” you reciprocate with a little pinch on his nose. After combing your fingers through his hair one last time, you switch off the hairdryer. “Done. You’re all dry now.” You return to your feet, itching to get away from him before you’re swallowed by the urge to yank his hair back again and latch your mouth against his throat. “Let me tidy this up first and—”

Your sentence ends in a short gasp when his arms tangle around your waist once more, and the next time you blink, you find yourself pinned down to the bed, his knee placed just between your thighs, dangerously close to your core. His face hovers just above yours, his lips twitching into a smirk as he gazes down at you with a hint of naughtiness in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says, leaning in until the tips of your noses are mere millimeters away from brushing against each other. “Making my favorite food for dinner. Preparing my bath and drying my hair. You’ve been so good to me today.” With your chin trapped between lean fingers, he angles your head to the side, his breath fanning the skin below your ear. “I think my sweet girl deserves a little reward.” His voice is beyond seductive, awakening all the butterflies inside you. “Tell me what you want, baby. Let me take care of you this time.”

You grip the sheets underneath you, your heart thumping in anticipation. “I can ask for... anything?”

He chuckles, the sound low and tantalizing, his nose probing against the pulsating vein on your neck. “Anything.”

You swallow thickly, a thousand different wishes bursting into your head at once. 

“T-then… I want you to…” ***

Continue to Part 2

[mullermilkshake]

A well known announcement goes public

Part 12 <- Part 13 -> Part 14

The Chairman announces your pregnancy publicly.

At twenty weeks, the twins are around the size of bananas.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Pregnant reader, Manipulation, intrusive thoughts, thoughts of harming others/murder/ torture,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

The Chairman reluctantly waited until you were twenty weeks along to make the announcement. Leaving it a little late, the public were already starting to ask questions and rumors started spreading online as to what caused your absence.

The rumours were spot on, a hidden pregnancy from the public eye for now, and views on it were mostly positive. What sparked controversy, was who the father was.

Some lost hopefuls begged that Jong-in was the father, having already fathered two children by now with Hae-in and another hunter Jinwoo didn't bother to learn the name of, they surmised you being the third. Others spoke of Baek being in the lead over your body, fathering a child with you, though they were just hopeful romantics with a huge heart for the guild master to start a family.

And there were those that called themselves ‘team Jinwoo’, speaking out how he would make the best match for you. Admittedly, the comments and whispers made his head swell. He didn't need to be told tha, he knew full well what was best for you. 

It was him.

It was Jinwoo who battled your hormonal mood swings and crazy cravings in the middle of the night.

It was Jinwoo who let you use him when you were sexually frustrated as your belly grew bigger.

And it was Jinwoo who was slowly starting to take care of everything you needed and wanted without resistance from you like before.

He was best for you. Not Jong-in. Not Baek.

Him.

Some disagreed and hated that theory, that Jinwoo would never dream of being with you, let alone getting you pregnant. They were just haters though, swinging their dicks in the wind and despite making his eye twitch, Jinwoo ignored them for a time and drowned out the negativity because he had to.

Reading a comment on the wrong day made him want to go out and kill something. For a time, solo raids satiated him, but as of late, the bigger the babies got and more vulnerable you were, anything talking ill of you made Jinwoo want to choose violence.

You didn’t speak much on it though, not to Jinwoo at least, sitting quietly at anything suggesting you in the news or online. Even during one of your days where you'd cry non stop at virtually nothing, the opinions of the public did not seem to sway you.

It wasn’t until the day of the announcement of your pregnancy that Jinwoo found out who you were consoling with.

Hae-in, and by extension, Jong-in. By now, the Chairman had moved Hae-in to the association's facility and practically left her there. She had been forgotten. Jinwoo assumed that’s where your newfound connection with Hae-in formed. With Igris watching closely in your shadow, Jinwoo understood a lot when he took the chance to see.

Now, Igris couldn’t talk, but his presence allowed a more detailed overview that his regular shadows couldn’t produce. A window into another place. At times it was simple stuff, pregnancy things you and her could relate to. Hae-in spoke of how she missed Jong-in and for a while it seemed like she had grown fond of him and less of Jinwoo.

Perfect. 

And then, you started bringing up Jong-in unprompted. It triggered a long conversation about him and what he was like behind closed doors, his likes and dislikes and all the things that made him tick. Hae-in confirmed what everybody already knew. Jong-in was a great guy, and it made Jinwoo want to vomit. He didn’t care what everyone thought, only you, and if you still enjoyed Jong-in’s company, Jinwoo was doing something wrong.

Just like now, you flocked to Hae-in immediately during the public event and left Jinwoo standing against the wall just waiting for the Chairman to make the announcement.

“So… Twins, huh?” Baek appeared beside him, talking discreetly with a whiskey in his hand. “That’ll be quite the handful.”

Jinwoo wasn’t in the mood to talk, yet he pandered to him. “Yeah, it was quite the shock, but she’s doing really great.”

He watched you closely with adoration in his eyes and burning curiosity on his brain. Jinwoo always did love your smile, though he wondered why you were smiling so much when he wasn't there to make you laugh or see your face brighten up when he came into view.

“I can imagine. I don’t know what I’d do if I heard that news.”

Baek’s tone sounded sincere enough. Yes, the news of twins was a shock, but as more time went on, Jinwoo couldn’t see his little family any other way. And now that you were safely into your second trimester, the Chairman had cleared more pairings in the programme.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve been paired up now with someone, too. How is that going?”

Baek nodded and sipped his whiskey. “Mhm, an A-Rank, actually. She’s nice, it’s kinda weird though. Not to mention all the pressure of being a guild master, I can relate to Jong-in now. Weren't you thinking of starting your own guild? Are you still wanting to do it, or waiting until after the birth?”

Jinwoo knew the feeling all too well. Though the first few times he slept with you were a dream come true, you and he still needed time to understand each other’s likes and dislikes and get into a rhythm. And as far as the guild went, Jinwoo did have plans on starting the guild properly with Jin-ho, things got waylaid. But in honesty, he had been neglecting his responsibilities to be with you.

I should really contact him. I'll do it later.

“Yeah, I'll get around to it after the twins are here. And to be honest, you’ll move past the awkwardness eventually. It takes time but, as soon as you see the scan for the first time after seeing those two lines on that stick, you’ll just get it.” He told him what he wanted to hear.

No one would have an experience like Jinwoo did with you, no one.

Baek pondered on those words, swirling his whiskey before downing it in one last gulp. “I guess you’re right. It’s the Chairman that’s making it awkward, I can see why you two were so stressed out.”

“Yeah, it’s… intense. Things will ease off once you get her pregnant. It did with us.”

It didn't, though Jinwoo was working on a vice to keep the Chairman away for a while. Hs stifling presence seemed like good faith most of the time, but the very sight of him made you cringe, and therefore stress out. If you were stressed, the twins were too.

“Well, I guess it’s about time I became a father. I’m sort of glad I’m not with another S-Rank truth be told, not that some others are upset by it.”

“How so?”

Baek shrugged. “Being a guild master, some people think I should have been with another S-Rank, it’s just elitist bullshit. I tend to ignore it where I can.”

Jinwoo agreed, like civilians knew what things hunters actually went through… they’d never survive any of it. “Yeah, just buckle down for now, you’ll get past it.”

“Yeah… it’s time to father up, I guess.”

A father. A dad. Jinwoo thought about your idea of letting the association get their hands on his children, would Baek let that happen? 

Jinwoo knew you meant well, he did, after he managed to really calm down he saw some reason. Yet his mind would not let that sit as an end result and stand by while his babies were separated. He’d get by with what he had and his children wouldn’t go hungry, or cold and would have a roof over their heads with you as their mother. Being S-Rank hunters, money wasn't a s much of an issue and you made it out to be. Jinwoo could sell things left right and centre as he continued levelling up, and people would buy it, guaranteed.

Different meant scary, it was how you saw it. But it didn't have to be.

You hadn’t spoken about it since that day in the car. It was still on your mind, that much was clear.

“You won’t put the baby in the facility?” Jinwoo asked, curious to his response.

“Hell no. If I’m going to be a father, then I’ll be a father.” He hesitated to speak after, but he asked the question Jinwoo really didn’t want to hear. “Are you two going to do that?”

Now, Jinwoo wasn’t about to reveal the invisible heart in his sleeve to someone that wasn’t himself or you. 

“We aren’t, I was just curious. A lot has changed over the last few months and it got me thinking, that’s all.” Jinwoo lied, but it was to protect you, to protect your delicate mindset.

“Right, I think that’s what Jong-in and Hunter Cha were thinking about. Y’know, getting support now that Jong-in’s been given more responsibilities. Hunter Cha is settling in well at the facility, apparently they’re waiting on her hand and foot.”

If they were waiting on Hae-in’s every wish, then how would they look after you? Jinwoo did wonder, he often thought about that place and whether it was truly what was best. But only if he came with you.

“Hunter Sung, I was wondering where you had gone to.” The Chairman popped into view with that signature smug smile on his face with your own name at his lips. “You’re usually by her side most of the time. Though while you’re here, I’d like to talk with you in private before this announcement is made public.”

This isn’t good. 

“Of course.” 

Jinwoo nodded Baek off and followed the Chairman into a room off of the main atrium of the association headquarters. A quiet room to the side for serious conversations, leather armchairs to sit and swirl whiskey before exchanging thoughtless words of politics and stocks.

“What is it, Chairman?”

“Well, now that you have made the progress you have, I have a new preposition for you- please, sit.”

Jinwoo sat and slouched, the way his stomach did when his gut screamed in the deathly silent room to keep his wits about him.

The Chairman said your name again more seriously. “After the announcement, I will put through the paperwork to move her to the facility with Hunter Cha…”

No, no, no… 

“Twins with S-Rank mana are truly a marvel and she needs all the support she can get, we have the best doctors and equipment on site to ensure those babies are healthy when they arrive and you can visit whenever you want. I’m excited to see what other pregnancies follow suit with you at the centre of it.”

No, no, no! 

“You want… you want to split us up?” Jinwoo couldn’t believe his ears. “You want to send her away?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way so bluntly, but putting her there will allow another hunter to move in with you. I think this is perfect to really get the programme going. You can’t relax freely if she’s there.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no, Hunter Sung?”

“I said no. There’s nothing more to it. She’s not going anywhere with my children inside of her and even after that. She’s my responsibility and this conversation is over.” Jinwoo shot to his feet and aimed for the door.

“Hunter Sung-”

He stormed out of the room to find you, using Igri’s energy to locate you quickly while the adrenaline pumping through his body heightened his senses. Little did he know, you were talking with Jong-in, laughing at something he said in the right way to just piss him off.

If he wasn't already pissed off and thinking off all the ways he could explode the Chairman's head, he fucking was now. He blinked rapidly to try hide the rage he had to the side to talk with you, heading over there when Jong-in spotted him first.

Jong-in was on that explosion list too. He could only explode someone's head once, so it had to be perfect. Crushing it was one way, listening to the sickening crack and squelch of the brain squirting through the cracks as it opened. Maybe he could get Iron to do it do him, slowly enough so he heard the screams of terror.

No, it hard rot be Jinwoo himself to even get a scrap of enjoyment out of it.

Why the fuck was Jong-in talking to you with such familiarity.

“Jinwoo, it’s been a while… Are you alright?” Jong-in shot up from his seat with more than an ounce of concern behind his glasses.

You caught sight of him and climbed out of your seat as best you could. “Jinwoo-” Your face screwed up and you grabbed onto his shirt with white knuckles and gritted teeth. “Shit- shit, leg cramp- leg cramp!” 

Jinwoo held onto you and let you ride it out, spasms and back pain were becoming a nuisance, even with eye's handmaiden takin the brunt of it. 

Still, looking around, Jinwoo didn’t have the time to give you, seeing the Chairman head over to address the crowded room full of hunters and journalists. “Baby, we need to talk, now.” 

“What is it-”

“Greetings all, I am truly grateful to have all of you attend on this wonderful occasion.” The Chairman commanded the room and the mic. “As you know, the hunters association has taken the initiative in doing our part for the future of hunters after the loss of several S-Rank hunters during the events of Jeju island.” 

The whole room stood silent, hanging on every word the he said. Jinwoo watched on with very little control as it slipped through his fingers and into the man on stage’s large hands.

“And in our endeavour to try and restore confidence and passion in the association after our loss, I am very proud to announce that we have been blessed with twins who are exhibiting high levels of mana in the womb.” 

The room erupted into hushed whispers and glances around until the Chairman announced that it was you who was pregnant, then all eyes were on you. Jinwoo held your hand as people came over congratulating you and him with smiles and flashes from cameras.

Whilst you were swarmed, the Chairman took this distraction to announce the second part of his speech. The bastard. 

“Hunter Sung has valiantly supported the association with his hard work and will continue to do so. Whilst he will support the growth of the children he has fathered like Hunter Choi, he will take another giant step and begin trying with a new assigned hunter to continue the effort to gain back our world from the effects of Jeju island. For that, you have my respect, Hunter Sung.” 

Jinwoo didn’t know what was worse. 

The fact that the Chairman spoke for him and pulled some underhanded shit to make Jinwoo want to throttle him in front of everyone, wring his neck and let Beru punch a hole through his chest so he could shower in the spray of blood and clean himself from the fury he struggled to hide.

Or that the look of betrayal in your glassy eyes, your trembling lip looking back at him.

"Jinwoo... is that true?"

<<< We interrupt this broadcast for a vote. >>>

(I've never written childbirth before so it'll be an experience for all of us 🤗)

Also, do you wan't a gender reveal poll? Let me know! 🤗

Part 12 <- Part 13 -> Part 14

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[through-a-blackhole]

Natsu Dragneel thinks Lucy Heartfilia is weird and these are the reasons why:

- The first time he meets her, she thanks him and he’s confused because he didn’t do shit except get beat up by random women, yet she tells him that she’s somehow thankful for him

- She treats him and Happy to food, and they alternate between listening to her and stuffing their faces with meat. She talks about magic and guilds, and gushes about Fairy Tail and dreams of joining his family

- She wrecks an entire harbor and freaks out, as if Natsu didn’t do half the damage himself, but joins him when he invites her to run away with him

- Lucy is so confusing, Natsu thinks. She wears clothes that reveal much of her skin, uses her sex appeal for bargains, reads those romance novels, but gets shy at the slightest talks of love

- She forms a team with him and he picks a job requiring a blonde maid, and he thinks it’s so silly of her to dress up with a maid costume and call him master

- He finds out she’s an heiress, and he almost wants to laugh because she’s an heiress of railways and trains, and he actually laughs when he realizes that Lucy had been affecting him even before they met

- She acts like a princess most of the time, obvious in how she speaks and carries herself, and Natsu is once again reminded that she grew up with wealth but then some of her quirks show through, like how thrifty she is with money, and the irony of it all isn’t lost on him

- She looks for love most of the time, and when the opportunity presented itself in a black-haired guy who loved to read and was interested in celestial spirits, she blew it all off to join him and Happy on a job

- She jumps off a fucking tower just because she knew he’d catch her, and he did but for a second he thought he wouldn’t make it, and when he catches her, his heart beats so loudly it could almost burst out of his ribcage

- He is confused; he died as a human, was brought to life as a demon, and grew up as the son of a dragon, and lived life as a fairy tail mage. He asks Lucy how he looks like and she smiles and says like Natsu, and he collapses against her chest in relief

- Lucy cries a lot and it is a common misconception that she’s the weakest one in their team, but Natsu knows Lucy is definitely the strongest

- He is once again confused when she doubts her abilities because why would she ever feel like she is the weakest? She is a Celestial spirit mage who has 10 out of the 12 Zodiac keys, all of whom adore her in addition to having the Celestial Spirit King’s favor, she’s done leaps and bounds in terms of magic, especially for someone who has only started seriously using their magic at age 17 whereas the entire guild has started practicing it ever since they were kids, and Lucy is one of the best mages in Fairy Tail despite her incredibly short time in wielding her power

- She breaks into him and Happy’s house to clean, and throws a fit when she realizes they weren’t coming home, but softens up when she finds them asleep in her apartment

- She’s weird. She’s so weird and loud and she hides inside a clock to escape the cold weather instead of just wearing a jacket.

- He loves her, though. Natsu would never trade Lucy for anything, he loves her with all of his heart, all of her weirdness and quirky traits and the way she hugs him is nice and she smells comforting and he feels safe around her

[lulushults]

why does no one talk about the real implications of natsu becoming end?

people go on and on and on about how nalu isnt real because natsu’s ‘too stupid to understand love’, but…r u guys not seeing whats literally right before ur eyes? let me explain :)

natsu was told by zeref himself, and then shown a direct demonstration, of the fact that zeref and natsu are directly connected, meaning if zeref dies, natsu dies.

then we get natsu finding presumably dead lucy, and going apeshit and becoming hell bent on killing zeref before being interrupted by gray.

so? what ya’ll think natsu just thought well lucys dead, lets go finish the task at hand and kill zeref yipee!

natsu was told if zeref dies, HE dies. and immediately after finding lucy ‘dead’, he loses literally every thought in his head except for his drive to kill zeref.

u wanna know why? because lucy has had such a dramatic effect on natsu’s life, personality and happiness that the thought of living without lucy drove him straight too a main source that he can rely on to end his life. in that moment he forgot about everyone he was leaving behind, happy included, and wanted to join lucy in ‘death’.

mr go happy natsu that everyone thinks has exactly 0 thoughts inside his head and goes out of his way to hide his feelings, immediately decided the next step and only step of action after discovering lucy was to end his own life because he couldnt bare to not have her in his. natsu relys on lucy as a main source of safety and comfort, sure he never directly says it out loud but he shows this through the way he acts with her. the way he goes out of his way to be in his apartment with her constantly. the way he feels he needs to protect her. the way he gets so aggrivated when another man flirts with her, because to him shes HIS lucy and he just cannot allow another man to steal her away from him. not to mention he also outright said lucy’s scent makes him feel comfortable.

i’ve always believed that natsu and lucy are connected in more ways than one. they’re eachother best friends. they’re so clearly in love. and they are eachother safety blankets. they both rely on eachother for stability and comfort whether directly or indirectly, the small glances when natsu notices shes upset, lucy always wanting to look out for him and immediately becoming worried whenever they’re apart despite knowing he can take care of himself. and i also wholeheartedly agree that if one of them were to die, the other would not be able to live anymore. if natsu were to die, lucy would drown in the feeling of loneliness despite being surrounded by the guild. without natsu, who does she really have left? hes so implemented into her daily routine that she couldn’t continue her everyday life because everything would feel so out of the ordinary and just…wrong. waking up without his heat next to her. walking to the guild with him. eating with him. going on jobs with him. and then falling asleep and feeling him sneak into her bed while she pretends to be asleep all the while slowly inching closer to him because shes enjoys his company.

and as we literally saw first hand in the final season, natsu does not under any circumstances want to live without her either. who would splurge on his expensive eating habits on jobs? who’s apartment would he break into? who’s bed would he sneak into? who’s fridge would he secretly break into every day to steal food? natsu has never cared about love, or relationships, or starting a family or even getting married. until he met her. and now shes so naturally integrated into his life that he just can’t imagine how he would go about putting a smile on his face without her there to make it so easy for him.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

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

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

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She believed you.

It took four days.

You like Dostoevsky. It's been a while since the two of you have been able to toy with one another, and you're eager to see how he reacts to you turning the Guild against him. Plus, his rats have been caught in Port Mafia territory too frequently the past few weeks, and since you're not sure if it's a warning or a threat, you may as well land the first blow.

And it's just more simple for you. Since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a message to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

He will.

He will.

He has to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

He is so tired. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you need more than removal.

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

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

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

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

He misses you.

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

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

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

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

You’ll come for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he sees you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

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

“A book?” you echo. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

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

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

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

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, he’ll think of something else.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

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

Moments away from being home. 

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

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

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

“Who-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Is it done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not odd—scary. 

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

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

It scares you.

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

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

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

“You think it’s been long enough?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

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

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

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

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

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t see Dazai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thatbirdrestaurant]

A deeply unnecessary analysis of NaLu and Natsu's feelings

I'm as much of a sucker for insta-love NaLu as the next guy, but I do genuinely believe it took these two a while to fall in love. I can't deny that there was an immediate attraction, especially on Lucy's end, and I do think romantic feelings have been stewing between the two of them since as early as season one, but the realization took a really long time to hit.

We'll start off talking about Lucy, because I have the least to say about her. I've said before that I think Lucy didn't realize she had feelings for Natsu until she realized she was in love with him, which was after the events of the Eclipse Gate. I can pinpoint the exact moment she realized; the moment right after, when her and Natsu are standing in the rubble, and she just starts crying before running to hug him. I think that's the moment she realized that she loves him, and she has for a while.

I believe it took so long for Lucy to realize because she grew up in a very sheltered environment. Her only exposure to typical teenage experiences that didn't involve arranged marriages was teen magazines; she knew what it felt like to be superficially attracted to someone, when someone was objectively attractive, and she's had crushes before, but never really been in love.

We're moving onto Natsu now, because I have the most to say about him by a landslide. For immediate starters, I don't really recognize 100 Year Quest; even though I love all the GruVia development within it, I find it to be a very unnecessary spin-off that doesn't respect its characters, especially Natsu. It's done horrible things for his maturity as a whole, including all the development with Lucy.

Natsu loves Lucy, that's something I've believed for a very long time, and he shows it in his actions more than anything. He's protective of her, he loves spending time with her and he's upset when she isn't around, and he wants to move Heaven and Earth for her. He has since pretty much day one.

But he doesn't realize he has feelings for her until their fight with Kain, and he doesn't even realize he's in love with her until he watches her (future self) die.

That doesn't sound right, though, does it? How can someone watch a scene like Natsu putting the rainbow sakura on a boat, just so Lucy can see it bloom, and think he doesn't realize he likes her until much, much later?

Natsu was raised in an environment where you would cut off both arms and a leg for your friends and family. Fairy Tail is a guild that values familial relationships and friendships more than anything. I truly believe that, to Natsu, most of the things he did for Lucy before the fight with Kain, he did with what he thought were platonic intentions.

On top of that, I do headcanon Natsu to be on the aromantic spectrum. He doesn't feel romantic attraction as "easily" as other people do, and he very seldom actually recognizes it as such. He knows what it is - how could he not, when surrounded by it so often - but he's never really felt it himself. Maybe he had a bit of a childhood crush on Lisanna, but that's stretching it thin. She was his best friend, that's for certain.

Natsu thinks he and Lucy are as normal as friends as anyone else in the guild, until she has the chance to leave him behind for her own safety, and she absolutely refuses. I cannot watch that scene without feeling like I'm watching Natsu fall in love, realize his feelings at the very least.

Another NaLu trope I'm an absolute sucker for is that Natsu thinks, and has thought, him and Lucy have been dating for quite some time. Do I realistically believe so? No, I don't.

I think, to some capacity, Natsu knows that Lucy loves him, too, the same way that he loves her, and I think he believes that's a mutual understanding. To Natsu, they both know how they feel, that they're in love, but they're not in a rush to discuss it, to put a label on it.

He knows they act like a couple, that people who pass them on the street see a boyfriend with his girlfriend, and that's enough for him at the moment.

Natsu and Lucy's final conversation before the end of the series was a confession. Hiro Mashima can pry this belief from my cold dead hands. That was Natsu's way of confessing his love for Lucy, his way of expressing that he wants them to be together forever, but he's still Natsu, and he still thinks Lucy knows he loves her.

Lucy is a very shy person; she gets flustered just from Natsu standing too close, and Natsu is already content with the two of them just existing near one another. Would he like to hug and kiss Lucy? Of course he would, but he doesn't need it.

Where him and Lucy are is already more than enough for him, he just, unfortunately, doesn't realize that Lucy isn't on the same page. She would like to be, though she doesn't even realize it, but she doesn't quite have the courage for it.

While I do think Lucy is pining for Natsu, I don't think she's doing so painfully. She gets flustered when people insinuate her and Natsu are a couple, as anyone would, but she doesn't seem very torn up about correcting people. She loves him, yes, but she's completely fine with just being his friend. She's grateful enough to have him in her life.

They're in this weird limbo of 'not a couple, but not just friends' because while they're not oblivious to their own feelings, they're oblivious to the impression the other has about their relationship. Natsu thinks they're dating, but are taking things slow; Lucy thinks they're just friends, but would love to be more.

[shiiro-arts]

Hi! I really love your posts. I wanted to ask can you please go into more detail about how you think Lucy acts more hyperactive compared to Natsu when they are alone. You said that in an older post and I wanted to get your take on that in more detail because it makes sense and I never really thought about it until you said it!! Thank you so much!!

Of course!!!

Okey, so I want to start with this picture:

Natsu gets calm and relaxed arround Lucy, this is not a headcanon, or the fandom being delusional, it's straight up facts.

With a relaxed state of mind comes how one really behaves, and with Natsu, it's extremely obvious.

We can compare it to how he acts with everyone else in the guild versus Lucy (when they are alone)

Here he was alone with Gray FOR 3 DAYS, and the only thing they did was fight (I'm not saying they don't have a good relationship, they have a very healthy rivalry)

Gildarts:

Erza:

This second pic just shows how even erza knows that his first instinct would be to fight her given the chance:

Laxus:

And anyone in the guild really

Now, I know that the people I showed are people Natsu admires, people he wants to defeat in the future in a fair fight, but that doesn't mean he can't have real relaxing moments with them, for example, Erza. She is like his older sister and Natsu glorifies her, but he doesn't see her as someone he can relax with like he does with Lucy.

In other words, Natsu uses the guild to vent.

While Lucy is his safe place.

I, personally, believe that Natsu uses his fights in the guild to make a point. To make people see that he is reliable, that's why he keeps challenging the strongest guild members.

I'm not saying he doesn't think lucy is strong, he just doesn't WANT to fight her. Actually, not only he doesn't want to fight her, he can't, at least not willingly.

The guild does know that he is strong, they just remind him that he is just not there yet, he has the potential, but he needs time, and while this is true we have never seen Lucy doubt Natsu's strenght. She ALWAYS thinks that he is going to win, no matter what, no matter who he is against. Lucy completely believes that he will win no matter what.

Natsu uses his time with Lucy to actually relax, he doesn't see the necesity to fight Lucy, since she actually believes that he is the strongest, she has absolute blind and complete faith in Natsu, giving him what he actually needs, rest.

The reason why I say she seems more hyperactive compared to Natsu is not because she necessarily is, it's just that Natsu can actually relax with her, making her seem more hyperactive.

When both of them are relaxed, they look like a god damn family

Sorry for going all out with the pics, I just love them so much

[theshipsong]

platonic dracule mihawk x reader in a poly cross guild situation. reader is an astrologer and cross guild's navigator. glimmers of past mishanks and mihopero and allusions to the elbaph arc.

⸺

Mihawk didn't often invite himself into your tent, especially not with the addition to Cross Guild of one Gecko Moria and his darling daughter who recently took a liking to Crocodile, so you startled like a horse when you finally caught the swordsman in the periphery of your vision.

"God, Mihawk, would you make some noise at least?"

"I made plenty. You're just careless."

Even if Perona didn't bias you with her grievances against him, you thought you might like Mihawk less now that he involved himself in you self defense training, seeing how freely he criticized you these days.

"Does your roommate know you're burning through our paper budget?" he said with a nod.

You huffed. Your writing desk was an impractical escritoire that you would have begged "your roommate" to trade if he wasn't Sir Crocodile, perfectly at home with his massive bureau, and you had five horoscopes and counting taped to its tiny desktop drawers.

"I'm busy."

"I can see that." Mihawk didn't need to squint to examine them from where he sat in Crocodile's armchair, and you scrunched your nose to readjust your drooping glasses. "...Perona, I take it?"

He said her name in a tone that would have passed for neutral if you didn't know him.

"Good eye." You would have mock applauded if you didn't think he'd chuck his cross knife at you.

"And squares are..."

His lips thinned and turned into a frown, and you felt a dangerous amount of pity well up in side you. He could read them well enough to discern angles, and knew the relationship between Perona's sun sign and his own—the same as yours.

You decided to pursue a tangent.

"You know, you and I are the only people here who know our birth times."

"Hm."

"I suppose piracy isn't usually a life for people with... well, people who know their parents." You wouldn't have been so eager to leave the North Blue if it weren't for your mother's rages, and Mihawk hadn't exactly shared his life story with you, so you didn't want to assume. "But you've totally seen an astrologer. Right?"

To your surprise, Mihawk groaned, his head knocking into the chair's winged back as he let out a totally frustrated near-roar unlike any noise he made in bed, and scrubbed his hands over his face and into his beard. "Red-Haired," he muttered into his palms.

"What was that?"

Mihawk moved his hands to glare at you. "Red. Haired. Shanks."

You grinned. "A yonkou took you to get your fortune told."

"No. Not mine. His." You knew the man would love nothing more than a dry red, how his eyes darted to your and Crocodile's modest bar cart. "The King of Pirates found Shanks in a damn treasure chest, and at some point he met his birth family and learned his birth date but had no desire to meet them again to get the time, so he told this astrologer he wanted it—calculated?"

"Rectified." You gestured at your possible Perona charts.

"—To prove he wasn't lying. Because he's." Mihawk sighed. "March 9."

It took you less than a second to realize. "The same as yours."

You knew nothing of Shanks' character, just the physical qualities of his hair and one arm, and that your fool of an ex-captain likely meant to challenge him in that stupid alliance.

"Wait. So did he know his age before then?"

Mihawk inhaled through his nose, what would've been a snort of amusement from another man. "You doubt the Roger Pirates could count?" You shrugged. "He's younger than me," he conceded.

"Well, there you go. Those are entirely different charts. It's not like you're twins or anything. But," You frowned. "Rectification takes a lot of time. A lot of interviews." When you were able to sit Perona down long enough to focus, you more or less grilled her on each year of her life she could remember.

"Is that what they call it?"

"Over multiple meetings," you said, ignoring him. "Then did Shanks... bring you to each time?"

"We got thrown out. He tried to charm them into doing it quickly."

You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh. "There's been attempts to start astrologer's guilds or professional organizations, what have you," you said. "You two would be blacklisted."

"Good thing I have you."

You were friends who sometimes fucked and you thought of him more as Perona's, or even more Crocodile's, so the idea of being had by Dracule Mihawk was odd, but not unwelcome.

"Let's look at yours later," you said. "More in-depth. I have some thoughts."

"Like?"

"My roommate likes Saturnine people. And now that I'm closing in on Perona's..." You chose your words carefully. "I've historically only done synastry for failed relationships. Or troubled ones."

Mihawk's lips turned up in an almost-grin. "It's a date."

[lavellaned]

Actually I think one of the reasons why this game is so awful to get through is how it treats abuse, abusers, and abuse victims.

Under cut due to length of rambling:

First of all, Morrigan. Abused as a child by her mother, Flemeth aka Mythal, learned about the world and how to interact with it in a skewed way. Was treated in a way that no child should be by anyone let alone their parent.

Fast forward to Inquisition, particularly a worldstate in which Kieran is alive. The scene in the fade where Morrigan confronts Flemythal is one of the most important and special scenes in all of dragon age to me.

Growing up through abuse as a child you never think "I don't deserve this", you mainly think things like "Why is this happening to me?" and "Bad things happen to me." You know that these things are bad and make you feel bad, but when your baseline for how you should experience the world is abusive, you don't have the point of reference to think otherwise. And then you grow up. You look back on the abuse through the eyes of the child who experienced it but also through the detached, adult view that you currently have and have to reconcile the two. It's not easier nor pleasant. Getting to the age your abuser was/getting into the position of power your abuser had over you is difficult. Being at that stage and picturing yourself doing what was done to you to someone else is fucking sickening, and then you start to realize "I wasn't the problem, it WASN'T my fault, YOU are the one that's fucked up." But a lot of people can't and therefore the cycle of abuse continues.

But Morrigan does. She straight up tells her abuser "I will not be the mother you were to me." To have a character who survived childhood abuse be able to reach a point in their life where they can take back their personhood from their abuser is pretty damn important, actually. To this day I get weepy just thinking about it.

And then fucking veilguard happened.

Not only does it not matter if Kieran is alive or if Morrigan drank from the well (something that would BIND HER SPIRIT TO HER ABUSER), but Morrigan straight up let Mythal hitch a ride in her. The very thing that Morrigan tried to prevent ever since the first goddamn game? And we're all just supposed to accept and be ok with this?

The only way I can see this not being a complete character assassination of Morrigan is if Mythal just straight up possessed her unwillingly/killed her. Have Mythal use Morrigan as a information receptacle for new players, but also use old players' already-implemented relationship with her as a way to manipulate them. Either way, shit sucks.

Then there's the Crows. You know, the guild who takes children from brothels, orphanages, the streets and puts them through Hunger Games levels of training in which they either die or survive to become a slave assassin for the rest of their life. Not in veilguard. We're all just one big happy family. We rule Antiva, yippee!

Finally, there's Solas. One could argue his entire existence is the product of abuse, and everything that has happened in Thedas is because of it. I think framing his regrets as physical manifestations that want to kill him is a really interesting narrative choice. Unlocking the regret murals was one of the very few parts of this game that invoked a strong emotional response from me, not just because I'm an unapologetic Solas Enjoyer but because the implications are heartbreaking.

And then the game has you sit through the most fucking unbearable CBT group therapy session to talk about them with some of the most annoying damn people in Thedas who treat the literal apocalyptic levels of abuse Solas went through for millennia as something like a joke? And we the player are not given the option to challenge this? This game makes the point to force the player to agree with the flippant attitudes brought up from this.

Then brings up the final scene with Solas. Do I think the meeting with Mythal and Solas was handled well? Yes and no, but that's for another time. Solas is so far in the trenches of the trauma of abuse that he will not stop until his abuser pretty much tells him "I'm done abusing you." I think this was good and bad, again another time.

The way Solas interacts with his abuser is the direct flipside of how Morrigan does. You see more than one way someone can heal/not heal from it.

Morrigan, someone with arguable little power in the world, stands up against her abuser unflinchingly.

Solas, described through history as a GOD, someone with unfathomable amounts of knowledge and power, cowers and offers his abuser a literal weapon to kill him with, unprompted.

If this was a good game, it would be about regret but also about survivor's guilt, something that those who survived abuse have to deal with for the rest of their lives. But it's not, because it's a a bad game.

[tenthousandyearsx]

...suddenly a breaking news ticker appeared. [Seseong Guild Leader Sung Hyunjae, Wedding Scheduled for January 1st.] …Huh? I blinked. What? What? Gyeol and I both gaped. It was time, I guess. He was planning to get married before he turned forty. Since next year would be the last year of his thirties, I could understand. No matter how you look at it, thirties and forties feel different, right? Yeah, better do it before it’s too late. It’s sudden, but I can understand. Wait a minute, though—he didn’t get married before the regression, did he? And who is he marrying? Wasn't he dating no one? The first of January wasn’t far off, so why rush into a wedding as if frying beans in a flash of lightning? Is he showing his skill attributes by getting married suddenly? – Ah, ah. Gyeol, who was about to call out to me, closed his mouth again. As expected, Sanchez, who had been staring at the TV in shock, spoke to us. [...] At Sanchez's words, Gyeol tugged on my shoulder and shouted. – Dad, is that real?! “Well, I don’t know. I never saw any signs of dating. Did they fall for each other during a party or something?” Could that be it? But with who? No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t think of anyone who might have been in a relationship with Sung Hyunjae. After all, that guy wasn’t the type to take an interest in anyone... It wouldn’t be Chief Song, would it? Surely not. But then again, who else could it be but Chief Song? What is this? Could this only happen in America? Both are Korean, so they’d have to follow Korean law. Could they have gotten U.S. citizenship in just five days? For an S-class hunter, dual citizenship would be easy to obtain. ...So where should I send my congratulatory gift? Sung Hyunjae is rich, so should I send it to Chief Song? No, wait, there’s no way those two are getting married! I don’t know about Sung Hyunjae, but there’s no way Chief Song would go along with that! – Dad, dad, are you okay? “Uh, yeah. But seriously, who’s bold enough to... Did they fall for his face? You shouldn’t marry someone just for their looks. Though, he is quite wealthy.” Marriage, huh? I wonder if Sung Hyunjae’s wedding will have a buffet. Who will sit at the family seats? I’ve never heard anything about the Seseong Guild Leader’s parents. But since we’re somewhat close, should I offer to MC the wedding? Usually, it’s a friend of the groom who does it. But I can’t have Chief Song do it. [It has not yet been confirmed, but they are said to be an S-class awakened.] The announcer's voice echoed from the TV. What? S-class? No way, it can’t really be Chief Song, can it?! [The individual was spotted to be a woman in her twenties, but nothing is confirmed–] “Do you have no conscience?!” Even if she’s in her late twenties, that’s a ten-year age gap! No way, I can’t MC this wedding. If by any chance it turns out to be a young woman in her early twenties, I’ll ruin this wedding myself for the sake of business honor. After that, the TV didn’t offer any more useful information. S-class hunters even make breaking news with things like this, huh? Well, if they marry a foreigner and move to another country, it would become a national issue. I looked at Sanchez with desperate eyes. “Aren’t you curious about what’s going on? I happen to have the direct number of the Seseong Guild Leader, so just one call–let me make one call!” [...] However, Sanchez shook his head firmly and told me to wait here before stepping outside again. [...]

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi, if this marriage that was announced today is something you wanted, please strike me with lightning right now.” Three seconds. 3, 2, 1. No lightning. Guess I can go ahead and stop this. [...]

“What the hell is Sung Hyunjae up to? Is he really too busy to send a single message?” I opened the messaging app. [America’s Hero^^] I saw my last message to Sung Hyunjae, where I had cursed at him. It was nonsense after he had complimented my outfit, saying it looked good on me. “…I guess we’ve sort of become friends, huh.” So I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know. [If you don’t send a wedding invitation by today, I’m coming for you.] [...] Come to think of it, how many times has this happened now? His birthday party invite, he ghosted me without replying, then I barged in and blew up his house. The cruise was wrecked, and the hotel wasn’t spared either. So Sung Hyunjae must have intentionally not sent the invitation, knowing I'd ruin the wedding venue. Was that the signal he was sending, that he wanted me to destroy it? [...] “Yerim-ie, I guess we’ll have to attend the wedding too.”

– The S Classes that I Raised – Chapter 603: Wedding Season

[theoneandonlysemla]

WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by: @hircines-hunter @chiqita @sulphuricgrin @silly-little-diary @skyrim-forever @elavoria

Tagging: @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @firefly-factory @sanzas-reverie @changelingsandothernonsense @pocket-vvardvark @ladytanithia @labskeever @heavy-metal-dick @sheirukitriesfandom @tiredela @dirty-bosmer @boiledkwamaegg @pyre-of-pages

Hello everyone! I had a great day so far, finally being able to ride the horse again after months. Well, there have been shit things too; the dog awoke me with puking and the cat has let a rat loose in the house. Uh, anyway here's about my creative progress:

I did manage to finish the line work of another mucha study with Lovira starring in it today and started to put the base colours in. Did a lot of it yesterday while listening to fics hehe! Here she is:

But wait, there is more! (under the cut for lenght)

I've been active in writing and the weekend coming I'll publish another chapter of Dealings with Daedra. The blorbos have gotten into a situation in the last one and getting involuntarily involved with the Dark Brotherhood as put Moronturd in a really bad mood and poor Astrid has to endure it.

“Shhh,” he made. “Think before you speak. What do you prefer? To protect this patron or for your little family to get out of this sanctuary alive?” He gave her time to think, but after two minutes had passed, his fingers drummed on the tabletop close to him. “What is it now?” he urged. “Sithis forgive me, Nightmother save my soul,” Astrid uttered, closing her eyes. “I don’t have a name, but it was one of the Vigils of Stendarr. Mentioned something of an old fiend he needs eliminated, as the Vigil had no interest in pursuing it. He has paid the blood price. Her fate is sealed and I need to - ” “This Dunmer is a prisoner of the Thalmor, more precise my prisoner. It is my duty to solve the riddle of her condition. The Dark Brotherhood will not touch a hair on her head. Is that clear, Astrid? Will you get me my prisoner now?” Morotar spoke and cracked a joint in his finger. “I can’t just let her out of here and - ” “Astrid,” he repeated her name, slow and low. Inching closer, he stood now before the woman, noting how he was at least a head taller than her. A little magicka trickled in his arm, dripped out of his finger and ignited the air around the cage they formed. He lifted his hand, held the flame close to her face. So close, that it must have burned, yet she did not dare to wince. Red spread on her skin. “Listen to me. I will explain it to you only one more time. If you want your guild to withstand longer and not be ash in the morning, do what I say. I will not hesitate to perish you all in flames, burning all of you to crisps. Get me my prisoner. Now.” “Morotar, you should - ” Lovira tried to speak, yet the wicked glare he shot her made her fall silent. Meanwhile, Astrid tried to move her head away, yet the gentle touch of Morotar’s other hand held her in place. The red on her cheek deepened and soon bubbles would spread, white, hurting and filled with liquid. “Astrid, I have brought the Dunmer,” the voice of the boy chimed in. Shaking and unsure, of course. Had he gotten Nevri out of her cell for the execution or had he overheard the conversation?

We're not ending here! I also have worked a bit more on Ancano and Faralda trash and I'm hoping to get this out soon. I'm still thinking of a name for this bullshit, if you have any ideas that play into the entire hunting theme, hit me up. For now, have the pathetic pebble man and the gorgeous perfect flawless woman by his side:

“Since when do you care for my reading times? I remember a time you even took my books from me. Are those times now over?” A trick question. And still it awoke memories in him of their beginning, how he had known to leave an imprint on her mind. They had been getting along quite well back then, discussing magic theory. Faralda was an excellent conversation partner in academic field, one he had missed dearly. Nevertheless, he did not regret that his ulterior motives, the reasons he had actually had for making contact, had pushed their way to the fore. “You always assume the worst of me,” he answered. “How could I do anything else? You’ve show me awful sides of yourself. I saw how ugly you are on the inside. You cloak it well, make yourself appealing and desirable. But that mask you wear sits lose and you’ve shown me your true face a little too often, did you not?” The glint in her eye spoke not only of the grudge she harboured, of the anger that burned inside her soul, it too showed her urge to provoke him, to let him fall of the tightrope he so carefully walked. The moment he was to plunge into the abyss, she’d wave after him, another of her wicked grins on her lips. He knew that she was to win, every time and always, but in him stirred the impulse to resist. It was the most stupid thing and brought him stumbling right into the trap she had laid out but perhaps there was a chance to earn the sweetest of pains from it. “There is no mask, dear. It is what you tell yourself to feel better. So you don’t have to admit how terribly naïve you were, when falling for me. You were blinded by the idea of me that you had built up in your mind and the moment I did no longer meet these expectations, you lost your control.” Of course there had been a mask. She spoke the truth and nothing but the truth, but Ancano did not want to let that slip. The constant accusations were enough. He had paid for what he had done already with loosing her, all the lingering and yearning he had went through more stabs in his heart and how it had peaked had been enough. He had cleared his depts and now, she was to change her demeanour. A mirthless laugh followed his words. Faralda put her book to the side, crossing her legs. The coat over them slipped and exposed a piece of bare skin beneath. Was that not too cold? Ancano’s gaze lingered on her ankle, the gold of her skin calling out for his touch. “You twist the truth again,” she stated, following his eyes and finding the point he fixated. As if by accident, she slipped her hand over the coat, pulling it a bit further down, her leg freed a little more. Ancano swallowed hard, the small hairs in the nape of his neck standing upright. It cost him the strength of a thunderstorm to avert his glare and find her face again. Reproach was written all over it, a little fold had formed between her eyebrows, adding to those that framed her squinted lids. “See, you say I twist the truth no matter how honest I am to you,” he answered, his tongue now dry in his mouth. “I can't please you, no matter what I say or do. You will always find faults in me. Because you want to.” “Tzz,” she made, rolling her eyes. “You should hear yourself speak. Such a pitiful creature you are, never searching any fault in yourself but finding it only in others. I do not want to find your faults, you reveal them to me openly. I can see through you since you broke me. I know how you play and now you complain that I joined your game?” “You do not play fair.” “Did you ever?”

[thesummerstorms]

You know, I'm deeply invested in Teia's relationship not only with Viago but with Rook de Riva. But damn, I want to know what Teia is like as a Talon! Who is she close to in her own House? How does she govern? Like we all have these pieces of her worldview and beliefs that definitely all coexist but have to cause tension as well?

Viago's POV in Eight Little Talons says "Teia was always trying to make the others like him. She grew up on the streets. To her, joining the Crows was akin to finding a family. Caterina was the mother she never had. Giuli had been her jealous sister. Emil and Bolivar, the rich and drunk uncles respectively".

But with the Crows, there's that infamous line from Neri to Rook de Riva about Crow families: "You're not worried about him, are you? You're family! And sure, we've all killed family. But sadly, Rook. Sadly."

What does that mean for how she acts as Talon? Is she close to any of her Crows? What are her lines? How does she maintain the total control a Talon needs to not be stabbed in the back for her position while also viewing her House this way? And her status among the Talons and the Crows is a huge deal specifically because of her age and her origins! This is not a woman who interited a Talon's seat. This is someone who was ruthless enough to take it at a record setting young age despite the deck being set against her.

In ELT again, Teia's POV says: "Still, Bolivar’s innocence meant the guilt of either Caterina or Emil. Just the thought made Teia’s stomach lurch... Emil and Caterina had been the most welcoming when she’d been named Talon. An elf born in an alley with no family or connections, Teia and her rise to power had caused quite the controversy. The Antivan Crows always told new recruits that anyone could become a Talon, but it rarely happened." She says she doesn't let her past define her, but others still try to define/limit her because of it.

And the info in the game code for her links that specifically to her idealism. " Abandoned as a child, she has a soft spot for the downtrodden." That translates over even into how she operates as an assassin, and she has to be reminded that others don't always see it the same way:

“You’re getting bogged down by the details. Lera wasn’t a queen. These ‘poor souls,’ as you put it, weren’t templars. The who is immaterial, it’s the what that matters.” Teia frowned. “The who matters. There are rules. Unless guilty, we don’t kill the help. And cake should be sacred,” she added glumly. Viago straightened his gloves. “No, you don’t kill the help. Do you really think Bolivar, Emil, or even your precious Dante would think twice about slitting the throat of a witness—innocent or not?”

Dante flinched. The air was oppressive like an infirmary tent in summer. “You should’ve killed me. I deserved it.” “Men rarely get what they deserve,” Teia muttered, eager to change the subject. “They do when you’re involved.” He reached over to give her hand a tentative squeeze. “You specialize in the killing of cruel men.” It wasn’t something Teia set out to do, but cruel men seemed drawn to her. She didn’t mind. They made for easy coin and a good night’s rest.

So despite Emil's betrayal, Teia is the one who is actually moved to reflect on what he says about the Crows even when she think's he's full of BS.

“Do you know how the Crows began?” Emil asked. “Before the masks and the tattoos and the houses?” Teia thought back to her lessons as a girl. “They were monks—near Treviso? They poisoned a duke who was terrorizing their village.” He nodded approvingly. “They were a group of individuals who did what needed to be done to protect the Antivan people. Over the years, we lost sight of that. Now, it’s all about family. Blood. Instead of a claw working as one, we fight over scraps. Eventually, we’ll all starve.”

“Every life is worth a price. And I have the coin to pay it. We’re nothing but a glorified guild of mercenaries now.” Emil glared up at them, his body twisting awkwardly from being pinned down by the iron poker. He reminded Teia of the rabid dogs that roamed the docks of Antiva City. ... Of all the things from her life before the Crows, it was those dogs that haunted her the most. They’d gone wrong. “Crows aren’t mercenaries, Emil,” she said, lifting her dagger. “We have standards. And you’re beneath them.”

Which is where we get our more reformist Teia! But, like... that doesn't make her "the morally good Crow." She takes pride in her kills and in her abilities and her ability to come out on top in the games everyone is playing.

The game files say: "Teia believes she's a celebrity athlete who will die gloriously before she gets old and live forever in song. She has no guilt about being an assassin, and thinks anyone who judges her for it just doesn't understand how things work in Antiva, or indeed anywhere in the world where powerful men play games."

And she is brutal, almost gleefully ruthless when Emil is revealed to be the traitor, despite her earlier hesitation and the fact that he had been kindest to her.

He pulled the curved dagger from his jacket pocket and lunged forward, crossing the room in three strides. He swiped toward Viago, aiming for the jugular.

Men. Always in such a rush. Teia deftly slid between Emil and Viago. Arching her back, she curled under Emil’s blade, then stabbed his boot—skin, bone, and leather—with the iron poker. His dagger clattered on the ground. “A gentleman like you should know better,” Teia purred, grinding the poker into the wooden floor. “Ladies first.” He didn’t scream like she expected. Old Crows were built of sturdy stuff.

--

“Crows aren’t mercenaries, Emil,” she said, lifting her dagger. “We have standards. And you’re beneath them.” Following Teia’s lead, Viago, Bolivar, and Caterina all raised their blades. The steel glinted in the fire’s light. Emil spat again—a bloody, bubble-filled blob of saliva. “Go on, then.” As one, the Talons descended upon him. Sharp claws of metal rose and fell until each Crow got their pound of flesh.

And I think that's a side of Teia that gets ignored. She's a Talon. She wouldn't make it to Talon without ruthlessness, a certain joy in her work, especially given her background. And she doesn't actually believe that the core concept of the Crows is wrong. Just some of the execution and the end results.

Which means you're simultaneously having these two very different aspects of Teia in charge. She's the one who has a certain moral code, a softness for the downtrodden, ideals about what it should mean to be a Crow. But you also have a woman who is ruthless enough to promote herself to the leader position of an assassin's House and therefore most know how to play the games of power and control, who enjoys killing.

She can't be the kind of person who became a Talon and still come down purely in the morally good chart. There are still games she needs to play, and she enjoys that she's one of the best at playing them.

Andarateia Cantori is not some perfect fix it for the Crows.

So what does that look like for her as a Talon? Who in her House is she close to? What reforms has she already made with her own people? What has she done to keep control against other Cantori assassins who might have seen her as too soft or as having the wrong background to lead? What are her parameters for leadership? How does she prevent or punish betrayal? What qualifies as a betrayal versus a mistake and does it make a difference? What does her Crows being "family" mean to her? Or does she limit who that applies to out of self preservation? Do any of her Crows resent her for her connections to Viago and Caterina, thinking she's using them to protect her own position?

I need an entire novel of just Teia as the leader of House Cantori, like, stat.

[ashtavula]

Hihihi! Could I please request a royalty/nobility au with the housewardens? Like them as a dashing Mr. Darcy, if that makes sense.

So, since this is pretty open ended, I'm just going with headcanons on what sort of role they'd have in this au. Though it might be more like an otome au? But if you like it, or want to see more, please don't hesitate to ask!

Royalty AU - The Housewardens

You are the only heir to the throne, and now, you've been given a "simple" task. Find someone to marry before the year is over! Your butler clears his throat, and names some of your potential suitors...

Riddle - The Marquess' Son

-Riddle is the sole child of Marquess and Marchioness Rosehearts. His family is well known for funding medical research, and they're generally well respected. At least, publicly. In private, many nobles whisper about the cruelty of Marchioness Rosehearts, and Riddle's overbearing strictness. Your butler also states that, when your parents announced your eligibility for marriage, she was the very first to put her son's name forward. It makes you think that Riddle had no say in being a candidate.

-Riddle himself is rumored to be at odds with his family, considering his friendship with the local baker, Trey Clover, and other commoners. His mother has publicly denounced the idea that her family mingles with the lower classes, but Riddle continues to be spotted around the bakery regardless. It makes you wonder if he's not quite as strict as the rumors claim...

Leona - The Second Prince

-Leona is the second born prince of a neighboring country. His brother, King Falena, has maintained his country's status quo, but it's becoming rather obvious that Leona doesn't approve of his family's excessive lifestyle while their kingdom's poorest starve. Supposedly, Falena is growing increasingly desperate to marry Leona off to a foreigner so he can be removed from Sunset Savannah's political sphere. Leona's own people talk about him being a lazy, power hungry rebel, and this gives you pause. You haven't heard a single positive thing yet. There must be more to the man than this...

-Your butler goes on to mention that this is merely what your country's spies have found out. According to official correspondence, Leona is a laid back man with a handsome appearance, and a sharp intellect. The sheer difference in those descriptions startles you, and makes you wonder. Who exactly is Prince Leona?

Azul - The Information Broker

-Azul Ashengrotto is the head of the country's biggest information guild. Hiring his Octavinelle Agency is the best way to dig up dirt on anybody, and no one knows just how he acquires that much intelligence. Your parents have listed him as a potential candidate in the hopes that, should you marry him, he would give you access to the wealth of information he has at his fingertips. According to rumors, you must give him something of equal exchange for anything he tells you. You frown as you hear about people selling things like their voices, and their magic to him. He can't be that cruel. Right?

-According to people who have made deals with him, he has a taste for the finer things in life. He'd certainly jump at the opportunity to court you, as you are the heir to the throne. Before your butler can finish, a strange man enters the room. His mismatched eyes gleam as he hands you a letter, stamped with the Octavinelle Agency insignia. The letter is simple, but it sends a chill up your spine. "Your Highness, if you are considering marriage, then please come by my agency. I can tell you anything you wish to know about your suitors, and I'll even waive my usual fees. The only thing I ask in return is for your company. Signed, Azul Ashengrotto." Before you can question the man, he slips out of the parlor. How peculiar...

Kalim - The Merchant Prince

-Your butler clears his throat, and moves on. Next on the list is Kalim Al-Asim, heir to the Al-Asim Trade Company. Merchants under their banner travel far and wide, bringing wondrous things that many people have never seen before. In his country, rich merchants practically become royalty, and Kalim's family is the wealthiest of those families. If you choose him, it will invigorate your country's economy, and your parents approve of this. Also, according to the people who have seen him, he's cheerful and compassionate.

-However, your butler warns that his family has a dark side. In the Scalding Sands, poison is the weapon of choice, and Kalim's life has likely been threatened numerous times. And that his own siblings and cousins are likely his biggest enemies. If you married him, you'd be subjected to the same treatment. You'd constantly have to watch your back, and worry that every sip of wine would be your last. Is that truly a life you wish to lead?

Vil - The Duke

-Vil Schoenheit is the youngest Duke to grace your country's nobility. He's also the fairest. Countless numbers of men and women fawn over his beauty, yet he has rejected every advance that has come his way. This had led to nasty rumors that he has impossible standards, and that his heart must be made of ice. He apparently also has a keen mind, though there are some whispers that he uses that intellect to brew deadly poisons. Who those poisons are meant for, nobody knows.

-His dukedom also contains some of your country's most beautiful locations. Lush forests and thriving apple orchards span his lands, and his people prosper under his rule. However, people do wonder why all of his citizens seem to be good looking, and why nobody seems to oppose him. Is it just a coincidence, or is there a darker reason behind his seemingly perfect dukedom?

Idia - The Inventor

-Idia Shroud is, without a doubt, one of the smartest men in your kingdom. However, his reputation, and several rumors, precede him. He's known for being extremely reclusive, and he's almost never been seen in public. Instead, he trusts an automaton, Ortho, to complete various tasks. And the few times he has been spotted sparked a frenzy of strange rumors. There's talk around the capital that he's been cursed, marked by unholy fire. Your brows furrow. Is he truly one of the candidates for your hand in marriage?

-Aside from the rumors that swirl around him, he's genuinely skilled. Ortho is a completely sentient automaton, and several of his other inventions have changed the average citizen's quality of life for the better. He's the reason your kingdom is more advanced than any other, and that counts for a lot. He's a bit bizarre, but rumors about his supposed "curse" stirs your curiosity.

Malleus - The Briar King

-Your butler shivers, and mentions King Malleus in a hushed tone. He is the King of Briar Valley, a strange land that nobody has ever actually seen. There are old tales about his kingdom. Stories that state that the land is populated by the fae, and that their king is not truly a fae, but a fearsome dragon. These tales claim that any being who opposes the Briar King will be incinerated in a plume of dragon fire, and that he demands complete loyalty from his subjects. As you begin to wonder why your parents would give you such an option, you get your answer. For the first time, Malleus has left his kingdom, and is visiting yours. This might be your kingdom's only chance to forge an alliance with the powerful, mysterious fae.

-There is a bit more information than just wild tales. According to your butler, an odd fae visited the castle yesterday, and told your parents a bit more about Malleus. This fae stated that his king was not quite as intimidating as the stories claim, and that Malleus yearned for companionship more than anything else. Your gaze softened. You, as the heir to a kingdom, knew that a royal life could be a lonely one. If he also felt the ache of solitude, then, he surely couldn't be a monster, like the people say.

Now that you've heard about your potential suitors, only one question remains...

Who will you choose?

[aventurineswife]

Hey! I read your Star Rail fics and loved them! So i wanted to ask/request an idea (only if you want to of course!😊) A Ratio x Reader where the Reader is Aventurines sister👀. She worked at the ipc before but now switched to work at the Inteligensia guild. She becomes good friends with Ratio during that time (and maybe they both start to get a tiiinyyy crush on the other😉). I have two ideas about how Ratio would find out: first; One day the two of them were having their break together when Aventurine comes in, bringing something that Reader forgot at home (maybe Lunch?) Ratio hears that and wonders just how Reader even met Aventurine or why they are appearently living together(getting a little jealous~?)...until Aventurine reveals that they are siblings.

Second; Ratio has to bring something to Reader, maybe she forgot something, so she sends him her adress and Aventurine opens the door. Ratio is completely shocked, because how could a Person like you, who is the complete opposite of Aventurine (Reserved, soft-spoken, polite, likeable...Ratio's words, not mine😅) be related to him??...As time passes their feelings for eachother become deeper...and Aventurine's keen observations notice it. He completely supports the two, acting as a wingman and teasing Ratio that someday they could even become in-laws😅(i really hope this isn't too long😔) Have a good day or night😇!

Through Jealous Eyes

Summary: You, Aventurine's younger sister, have joined the Intelligentsia Guild, where you’ve grown close to Dr. Ratio. During a break, Aventurine drops by to bring you your forgotten lunch, leaving Ratio surprised to learn about your sibling relationship. The revelation before stired unexpected jealousy and curiosity in Ratio, leading to subtle tensions and unspoken emotions between you both.

Tags: Ratio x Female!Reader, Slow Burn, Sibling Dynamics (With Aven), Subtle Jealousy, Fluff with Tension, Confessions in Progress, Found Family Themes, Mutual Pining.

Warnings: Mild Emotional Tension, Mentions of Sibling Teasing, Subtle Romantic Undertones.

A/N: I went with the first one 🤭😋

The Intelligentsia Guild was bustling as usual, the halls filled with the hum of intellect and ambition. Ratio was at his usual perch, his focus unwavering as he sifted through ancient texts, deciphering long-lost knowledge that might shift the tides of understanding across the galaxy. His hair, slightly tousled from his intense concentration, partially veiled the sharp gleam of his eyes, which were ever watchful for any new breakthrough.

But his mind kept drifting. It wasn't the texts that distracted him, but the person across the room—the one who had become his most unexpected and intriguing acquaintance: you.

You, the newest member of the Guild, had transferred from the IPC to pursue your own interests in knowledge and exploration. From the very first day, Ratio had noticed you—your sharp wit, your curious mind, and the subtle warmth that surrounded you. You were different from the usual guild members. Your eyes, often alight with passion, always seemed to spark something in him. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about you that made him… curious.

Perhaps it was your innate ability to see through the layers of his intellect to the emotions lurking beneath. Maybe it was your quiet, determined nature, which matched his own in many ways. Or maybe it was simply that, as you worked together, your conversations had evolved into something more… personal.

But there was one thing Ratio didn’t know about you: the mystery of Aventurine.

It was the usual break time when you and Ratio decided to take a moment to relax in one of the quieter corners of the Guild. You had a few papers scattered on the table, but there was no real urgency in your conversation. The two of you often found it easy to slip into a natural rhythm, exchanging ideas, laughter, and even fleeting moments of silence, which spoke louder than words.

As you took a sip of your drink, your phone buzzed.

“Ah, sorry, I think that’s my brother,” you said, glancing down at the device. “I’ll be right back.”

Ratio, who had been sipping on his own drink, raised an eyebrow at the mention of your brother. You were always vague about him, but it wasn’t uncommon for you to mention Aventurine in passing. He had never really thought much about it, though. Why would he? You were a capable, brilliant individual in your own right. But there was a nagging curiosity in him that he couldn't shake.

It wasn’t until Aventurine appeared, breezing into the room with an easy confidence that mirrored your own, that Ratio felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. He was carrying a lunchbox—your lunchbox, to be precise—and handed it to you with a smirk.

“I knew you’d forget it again,” Aventurine said casually, giving you an affectionate ruffle on the head. “Next time, maybe you can actually remember it, hm?”

You laughed softly, your smile warm as you took the lunchbox from him. "Thanks, Aventurine. You always know when I need saving."

Ratio, who had been watching the interaction in silence, couldn't help but feel a strange tension coil in his chest. There was something about their easy rapport, the way you accepted the lunch with such familiarity, that made him... uncomfortable? Jealous, perhaps?

He cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on the exchange. “I didn’t realize you two were so close,” he remarked, his voice a little sharper than intended.

You looked up at him with a surprised expression. “Oh, yes. Aventurine is my older brother,” you explained, your voice softening with a touch of affection as you spoke his name.

Aventurine flashed a grin at Ratio, clearly enjoying the confusion he had caused. “You didn’t know? I guess it’s because my dear sister tends to downplay her family a little. Too modest for her own good.”

Ratio blinked, processing the new information. Siblings? How could he not have known? He hadn’t connected the dots before, but now that it was laid bare before him, it made perfect sense. The way you carried yourself—so confident, so sharp—could only have been influenced by someone as calculated as Aventurine.

But then came the realization that hit him harder than expected: Why did this matter to him so much?

He felt an odd sense of discomfort. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, he told himself it wasn’t—but the way Aventurine had so casually interacted with you, as if the two of you shared an unbreakable bond, made Ratio’s thoughts spiral in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to understand this dynamic between you both, and more than that, he found himself wanting to know you more.

“Well, that’s quite a surprise,” Ratio said, his voice lacking its usual warmth. He tried to mask the slight tension in his shoulders, but it was no use. He couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted.

Aventurine, clearly enjoying the subtle unease he’d instigated, raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve taken quite a liking to my sister,” he teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Don’t worry, Ratio. She’s as sharp as a blade, but she won’t bite.”

You gave him an exasperated look, as if this teasing was far from new to you, but Ratio noticed the way your eyes flicked toward him, your expression unreadable for a brief moment. Was it possible that you were… aware of the tension?

“I’ll let you two get back to your conversation,” Aventurine continued with a wink, turning on his heel and making his way out of the room. “But don’t take too long. I’m sure we have more to talk about, right, sis?”

As the door closed behind him, the silence between you and Ratio stretched. You stared at your lunch for a moment before glancing up at him, your expression softening.

“Sorry about that,” you said with a small, apologetic smile. “Aventurine tends to be a bit… much, but he means well.”

Ratio simply nodded, his gaze not leaving your face. He could sense there was more to your words, something unspoken between the two of you. Something he hadn’t been privy to until now.

“No need to apologize,” he replied, though his voice was quieter than usual. “I just… didn’t realize how close you two were.”

You met his eyes, a glimmer of understanding in your gaze. “We’ve been through a lot together,” you said simply. “But I’m not defined by him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Ratio’s heart stuttered at the way you phrased it, as if there were something more between the lines of your words. A rush of emotions—curiosity, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite place—washed over him.

“I’m not worried,” he muttered, his eyes averting from yours as he quickly returned to his work, hoping his voice didn’t betray him. “I just… didn’t expect to learn that.”

You chuckled softly, a sound that somehow seemed to calm the storm building inside him. “Well, now you know. And maybe that’ll help you understand me a little better.”

Ratio couldn’t deny that it did. But there was still something else lingering in the air between you two—something unspoken, a tension neither of you seemed ready to acknowledge.

And as he sat there, pretending to read the texts in front of him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was closer to understanding you—and himself—than ever before.

[iratempestatis]

Heyy! How are u? I hope you’re doing well i saw you wanted some requests for xiao and i thought of an idea so we know xiao’s true form is a bird right? How about xiao’s s/o one day discovers it by an accident? Like maybe the s/o is an adventurer and was exploring around liyue in the night and happened to hear the whistling sound we hear in the game in liyue (the one where xiao calls for his dead friends) and the s/o goes to see what the noise is the rest is up to you

Entwined.

Xiao x gn!reader, 5.5k words. Some angst and then all fluff, it may not have been exactly what you wanted but I do hope you like it! I love bird Xiao <3 Feel free to send more Xiao asks! Rest assured I will write them even if it takes some time :3

Being an adventurer is hard work.

Find a suitable commission (which never happens), figure out any additional details (clients never provide enough info, especially the rich ones), plan your schedule, budget and equipment accordingly (it often falls short thanks to their unreasonable demands), finally carry out the commission (it often turns out to be far more frustrating and time consuming than you anticipated), get angry when the client stubbornly refuses to cough up the original sum of mora (this thankfully doesn’t happen as much), nurse your wounds (ouch) and worry nonstop about any sudden emergencies (what if you get injured? What’s going to happen when you get old?) You sometimes wish you listened to your family and became a scholar instead.

Anyway, you’re currently locked in a bitter battle with a rank one (1) asshole, so maybe you just have an unreasonably short fuse right now.

Some days past an old, rich Fontainian posted a commission at the Liyue branch of the Adventurers guild. And you were lucky enough to snag it. It was a stroke of sheer fortune, quite literally, too- if you could meet the client’s demands, you’d end up with a completely inane amount of mora. You planned on doing this mission solo- after all, any expenses incurred would be more than covered by the heaps of mora you’d be swimming in soon enough.

But some conniving liar told Katheryne you’d agreed to pair up with him- and she believed him before you could confirm it, so now you’re officially partners… which means you’re forced to share the spoils.

You’re so tempted to drop the commission altogether, but-

“But that’s what he wants,” you hiss, hiking up the trail along the beautiful mountains of Jueyun Karst. Normally this would be a soothing trip- Jueyun Karst is so glorious you sometimes wonder if the gods picked a random mortal’s preferences to model it after (yours), but today you saw only the bad, like the still smoking fires left behind by some careless brigands, and a dead mouse. You consider bringing it back to Changsheng as a twisted joke- no, she’d paralyse you. Best to focus on the task at hand. You go over the details.

The commission was vague (rich, old man), although a bit sad (old man). If you really did find what he wants though (unlikely, vague request, but if partially fulfilled, you get half the mora) you wouldn’t have to work at all for perhaps the next six months (rich man).

Apparently, a long, long time ago, the rich old man saw a beautiful apparition in the form of a woman. Lost in the foggy mountains on a rainy day, he saw her seated on a tree nestled deep somewhere in Jueyun Karst. She apparently rescued his life, by appearing on a different tree each time he got too close, leading him out the valley. When he asked for her name, she responded with a mere scoff, then vanished for good.

You’re pretty sure that’s either bull or some ghost. Sounded disturbingly like an Inazuman tale you heard once. Either way, she doesn’t exactly sound like a normal person.

And he wants you to find her.

How are you even supposed to do that? The old man is decrepit, according to Katheryne, who (bless her bionic heart) tried her damnedest to convince him it was something out of the ordinary, and that he should give up. You agree with her- you’re pretty sure it was either a ghost (no finding it), an adeptus (no finding them) or an actual mortal woman (Xiao’s influencing you too much. You could’ve just said woman. Also, if it really was just a woman, which she wasn’t, she’s probably dead by now.)

But you didn’t really have the heart to tell the old man that. Or maybe you got a little greedy. But hey, he can afford it! And you just might end up end up giving his broken heart some closure, right?

You figure you’ll ask around, look for the grave. So far you’ve had no leads, besides some blue haired kid (with the ugliest haircut, you think, then feel bad for thinking that of a kid) lying to your face in an attempt to prank you. It’s so strange, because you’re pretty sure you’ve seen her-? Him? With someone important, in silks and brocade. You just can’t remember who… but you digress.

You’ve checked everywhere you could think of in the past two, almost three weeks. Nothing. You’ve even been to Mingyun Village- again, nothing. Right up until a child in Qingce told you she saw a similar pretty woman, on a tree in Jueyun Karst. Really.

You’ve spent days in Jueyun Karst, craning your neck and nearly stumbling down mountain slopes, eyes throbbing from the light, spine burning. But nothing. You considered taking the easy way out and telling him it was Cloud Retainer, but you’re an adventurer with morals and besides, anyone who’s met her knows she never stops talking. But on the subject of your quarry, why did that bitch find a nondescript tree to sit in every time? Was it so hard to just go sit on the big, glowy one?

“Old hag,” you mutter. Your calves feel about as solid as almond tofu right now, and your brain just as smooth. You have no idea how you’re going to do this, but. The mora.

You glance at the note Katheryne gave you. It told you just a few things- a dark haired woman in a tree, with hair that fluttered like downy feathers in the wind (poetic old man. Also rich, you remind yourself), pale, in a tree, nothing more.

You sigh.

At least Jueyun Karst is pretty at night.

And comfortable enough to camp in, you figure. Granted, there’s some treasure hoarders and monsters, but it is the abode of the adepti after all.

You shrug, and trudge upward along the winding paths. Darkness is gathering, but your eyes adjust.

Eventually, the lingering shadows cease to lengthen and melt into the darkness enveloping the mountain as a whole. You’re disconcerted as you start to make camp in a copse, but reassured by the small blaze you’ve lit to warm yourself at some distance.

Upon making camp, you settle down on the grass with a snack. The wind rustles through your little copse and you see the moon emerge, denuding its robe of clouds. Silvery fingertips trail across the land, painting, muting Jueyun Karst beneath its touch.

It’s peaceful, yet haunting.

What’s more haunting though, is the soft, yet somehow piercing, keening cry that wafts through the air.

It’s slow at first, just a trilling hum that gets clearer and higher with every moment before lilting and fading away.

You blink. You’ve never heard such a sound before. Is it a musical instrument? A bird of some sort?

You hear it again. It doesn’t start slowly this time- it’s high, all at once, then a low humming before rising in a wail once more. It sounds like music. It sounds like weeping. And for some inexplicable reason, you feel your chest tighten and feel hollow, all at once.

This is a bad idea, you tell yourself as you scrabble to put out the fire. You remind yourself of the same once more as you pack all your things (after you just made camp, too), fingers trembling, dropping things. Perhaps this is it, the maiden you were looking for.

You sling the bag across your shoulder with a force that makes you stumble, then start making your way up the hill.

Maybe this really is it, you think. In the distance you see tiny glows, nestled away across the vale. Probably treasure hoarders. For some reason, your heart aches.

It feels like you’ve been sitting stagnant for too long. Everything around you has grown. When you pull your hand up to wipe away a tear, you see it shrouded in spiderwebs. They reach past your ribs, to your elbow, to the rest of you. Force their way gently into your mouth, into your ears. They’re in your nostrils. You cannot breathe.

Arriving near the source of the sound, you sit onto the grass for a moment, to rest. The webs are swaying, scratching uncomfortably across all of you. Tightening and loosening and tangling, keeping you in place. You cannot move.

You’ll cut yourself.

Get a grip. Oh, Morax.

There’s a lull in the cries and your head feels lighter all of a sudden. You blink, then start to get up- utterly nonplussed, what are you doing here-

A sobbing, recoiling cry abruptly sounds from before you, the maker contained away in the hurst right before you, overlooking the valley. The moon skips ahead, weaves between the clouds.

Steeling yourself, heart racing, you enter the thicket peek, behind the tree and look up towards the sound.

It’s a… something. A mess of tattered wings and bloodied feathers and too many eyes. In the night they all look black and silver, but realisation hits you with the force of a thousand spears- this is Xiao.

It’s Xiao.

Keening, weeping, alone. Seated on a tree, cradled in its branches. Shielded by its crown. He’s crying.

He’s crying.

He sheds no tears in his avian form- large gold eyes turned to the moon, muscular neck lain limply across a branch. You see his throat move and his eyes shut- eyes that are still gold, even in the dark- as he lets out another cry.

You can see his back and tail- the rest is covered by multiple sprawling wings. They’re dark. Looking at them feels as though looking at a human bruise on an oil painting. Disconcerting. The smoke coming off them makes them smudge into the dark, become one with it.

He’s beautiful.

But he’s crying and you’ve never known you could feel such anguish at someone else’s grief. Pain, sure, but this is something eyes. Tears well in your eyes to compensate for his current form. One runs down your cheek and it snaps you to your senses- what are you doing, just standing around?

You step towards him, arms outstretched, his name on the tip of your tongue. Your mind’s a mess. Vaguely, you can tell there is something amiss. Voices slither inside your head, voices that don’t belong, filling it up with murmurs in a tongue you don’t understand. Full of vitriol, they ignite emotions within you you didn’t even know existed. Grief so intense you feel as though your heart really is bleeding into your chest. Fury so immense you can’t help but slam a palm into the trunk of the tree next to you and gasp. They twine and twist into shapes and colours you cannot see. For just a moment, you’re blinded, agony blooming across your body. You shudder, gasp.

Something is wrong.

Your vision turns hazy- you glance up to see the bird descend before you, wings magnificently spread, beak- no, mouth now- open, crying out in alarm. You collapse into his outstretched arms and it feels like too much and nothing all at once. Warm water- warm tears- fall onto your temple as your knees buckle. You feel vertigo when he instead has lowered you gently to the ground. Just as you faint, you see him- mouth open, gritted teeth, face damp with tears. You say his name- at least you try-

When you come to, you’re in Bubu Pharmacy.

You feel so unencumbered all at once- the flames across your skin extinguished, the voices silent, the webs gently spooled away. Thank Baizhu. And you can see again, see normally, blind once more to the auras and colours mortals mustn’t see- or perhaps you hallucinated it all.

The old man from the funeral parlour- Zhongli, you recall- is seated on a chair next to you. His posture is a little slack. Sitting up with some difficulty, you see that his eyes are shut. The harbour is silent.

You glance out the window only to see the cheerless night sky mirror the inky ocean below.

Oh no.

You cannot delay. What are you doing here? How long were you asleep? You’re wearing loose, white clothes- who changed you? No matter. You need to find Xiao, because he was crying and your lungs feel like they’re folding in on themselves, and by Morax, he’s probably all alone once more, and you’ve added to his pain by being foolish and interrupting him as he vents in a moment of catharsis-

You stumble out of bed and look around to gather your things, then decide to just come collect them later. You’ve no time to waste. You hear Zhongli inhale deeply as he suddenly awakens- why was this guy in here with you anyways- and quickly bolt, locking the door behind you as you do so.

Sorry, Mr. Zhongli.

You regret not taking his talks about Karmic debt as seriously as you should have. You’re not worried for yourself- you feel much better already (you lift your vision up to your heart. You’re beyond grateful- it’s the only gift the gods have ever given you, their only gift that matters) but Xiao must feel abominable guilt right now. You must reach him, tell him you’re fine, tell him it’s not his fault.

You’re halfway across the main bridge on the northern side of Liyue harbour when you realise it’ll take way too long to find Xiao like this. You could call out his name, of course, but you don’t want to accidentally make him teleport and exert himself in the middle of a breakdown.

You run your hand through your hair, almost pulling it out as you do and glare out at the sea. From the corner of your eye you see the Millelith guards standing by the gate shoot one another unnerved glances, then turn towards you. What’s their problem?

Now irritable, you make your way towards them to politely ask what the matter is- but they clutch one another in terror and immediately start shrieking. You yelp and duck, looking around frantically for the danger. The guards continue babbling and pointing, then screech again as you panic and frantically crawl towards them. Maybe you’re a bit more disoriented than you thought you were, because the only people you see on the bridge are you and the guards pointing at you- oh.

You stop crawling and look at them, pushing back the hair from your face as you stumble to your feet. The buffer guard has the smaller one planted firmly before himself like a shield. You sigh and they squeak. Then the bigger one cries out-

“Adeptus Xiao!”

This bitch. You probably are delirious because by now you’ve lost any semblance of self control and feel nothing but fury. Xiao’s going through something right now! You’re not a ghost! Isn’t this supposed to be an era of mortals?

“COWARDS!” You howl, launching yourself at the duo and throw aside the shorter guard with strength you didn’t know you possessed. Before you can grab the bigger one and clamp his lips shut with your bare fingernails, however, you feel slender, firm arms wrap around your waist and tug you gently back against a warm torso.

Xiao’s long, elaborate sleeve drapes over your front as he holds you. You feel his breath against your neck. You’re immediately consumed by worry so potent you can barely recall what you were even angry about. He leans into you a little and you press your palm against his cheek.

He seems exhausted.

✦—————————————✦

You ended up taking Xiao home that night- or was it morning? You wish you knew. All you do know is that he slumped against you and you half walked, half dragged him home, providing no explanation to the Millelith guards (they didn’t demand one either.)

Xiao drowsed off as soon as you got home and once you’ve sufficiently fussed over him, cocooned him in layers upon layers of blankets (it’s cold out) and put copious amounts of snacks and water on the bedside table, you make your way over to the couch and crash out.

Just in case.

Sleep takes you easily, pushing past your desperate, incoherent rambles, bringing your body some much needed rest. You awaken when you feel the sun jab rudely at your eyes with its bright, unswerving fingers.

It’s nearly afternoon.

You push yourself up slowly till you’re seated, checking for tiredness or any injuries. None. You’re positive this time- you’re in your right senses.

Your face flushes when you recall what happened yesterday. Or was it today? No matter. Praying to never see those guards again, you slide off the couch and make your way towards your bedroom.

Xiao’s upright, alert and giving his ungloved hands a glare so severe you nearly flinch. When he turns towards you, though, his eyes soften to a degree that might make one doubt him even capable of anger. You can’t help but mirror his softness.

You also can’t help feeling a bit downcast, however, and you suspect it shows. Racking your brains for something- anything- to say, you part your lips, but only end up exhaling. You’re having trouble meeting his eyes. You suspect he feels the same.

You stand at the threshold for several moments before finally making your way in, and Xiao’s off the bed in an instant. You feel hands grip your heart and twist when he moves wordlessly across the room, away from you, gesturing towards the bed.

You hate it.

Xiao lives in terror of losing his loved ones- paranoia makes him check in on them from afar, gift amulets, slay any evil that might hurt them. Scores of times he’s caught you before you fell, warned you of danger, reminded you to take care of yourself before you even noticed something amiss.

You know him keeping his distance is him ensuring your safety. Him showing you he cares. It serves only to heighten your anguish.

This has been among your worst fears since the moment you began to care for him- that he’d consider himself a danger to someone he loves.

“Xiao,” you whisper, and your voice wavers more than you wanted to, is softer than you intended. He meets your eyes at that, finally, finally and your chest constricts at his wary gaze. You’re tempted to make light of it- tell him you’re fine, banter a little- but you know that’ll only leave him with a heavier heart, wondering when he’d hurt someone next. You need to address this now, for his sake.

“Hey.” You smile. Good, your voice didn’t waver this time. “Are you…” You trail off. How do you even begin to talk about this?

This isn’t awkward, this is a minefield, except it’ll blow up in his face if you mess up somehow. Your heart quickens.

You try to calm yourself. What does Baizhu say? Don’t borrow anxiety from the future? The future is in motion right now, Baizhu! Useless man.

“I’m sorry.”

You blink rapidly, nonplussed. “What—”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, in a tone so repentant you almost respond with a hurried ‘it’s okay’ despite him having done nothing wrong. Despite it all, a tiny laugh bubbles up in your chest.

Baizhu, that silly old man (he’s your age). You suppose he is right sometimes. (Always.)

You’ve both lived too long, have survived too much to worry about something as small as this. Sure, in a vacuum, it is scary- but truth be told you feel fine- in fact you think you have an even better understanding now of the agony that has become his everyday, that he has endured for eons. This is something you can fix.

You smile and make your way towards Xiao, draw him into your embrace. He makes a quiet sound of protest that’s promptly muffled by you pushing his head affectionately into your shoulder. He exhales, then kisses it and remains in your arms but makes no move to wrap you in his.

That’s fine. You exhale . Xiao feels your breath waft over his ear, your warm, chapped lips as they brush over his face, landing tiny kisses. Your heart continues beating.

You’re there, right with him. Safe. Alive. Alright.

You sway gently, just holding him until eventually he places his palms on your waist and draws you a bit closer, ever so gently. As though you were the soft, powdery wings of a tiny butterfly in the dry summer months.

Before he can apologise- you do. You’re composed at first when you murmur an apology and explain how you came across him- but quickly become teary eyed when you recall how he looked up in that tree, mourning, all alone. His heart hurts. He hates seeing you cry, hates that he caused it- but he finds it difficult to dwell on anything else but the fact that you saw his monstrous, contaminated form and thought him beautiful. That you instantly wanted to hold him close. He feels dizzy.

“And,” you continue, sniffling, “I couldn’t think of anything else. I just felt overwhelmed. I just wanted to- to comfort you.” You’re not going to mention the voices and the pain. Maybe in a few decades. Maybe on your deathbed when it won’t matter anyway. You hear Baizhu’s ‘tsk tsk’ in your head and some vague speech about trust and communication, but you don’t care enough about that right now.

“And then I fainted.” You shrug. “Then I’m guessing you brought me to Baizhu? But I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault at all. I should’ve known to be more careful-“

“Please don’t lie to me.” His voice is soft, strained. He wishes you’d tell him the truth. Was it that much worse? “Tell me what else happened. Did it hurt? Do you feel better now? I’m so-“

You clamp a hand over his mouth. “It’s not your fault!” You protest. “What if some Inazuman wrestler guy threw me at you and you broke your arm, that wouldn’t be my fault- shh don’t interrupt me.” You put your other palm over the first and he exhales, warm breath wafting over your knuckles. You feel calmer already. The wonders of Xiao’s hugs never cease to impress.

“And… yeah, it hurt a bit. There were voices in my head.” He looks stricken. You consider making a garbage joke to cheer him up, but remember you were trying to be a mature adult and sigh. “My body hurt, too. Is that what it’s like for you? All the time?”

He hesitates, but nods with a sigh. “I’ve had centuries to get used to it, however.” You wait for him to draw you even closer, but he’s just looking, taking in your features. He looks as though he’s reassuring himself but not with much relief in sight.

You draw closer on your own instead, with a snort. “It all happened so fast, though. And it… it sucked honestly, even if it was just a couple of minutes. I’m sorry it’s like that for you every day.”

“It lessens with good company.” He finally looks relieved- apparently enough to even jest a little. “Which is likely why it worsens with you.”

You gasp in mock outrage. Maybe Baizhu was right about this whole communication thing. This is going well so far- or maybe not, because the next thing to come gently out Xiao’s mouth is a request to not approach him if he’s having a breakdown henceforth.

“Sorry, no can do. Nuh-uh.”

You swear you see question marks form over his head. “This is not a ‘nuh-uh’ situation, (Name). You could die or develop chronic health issues.” He frowns. “I don’t think-“

“I grasp the gravity of this situation,” you retort, a bit frustrated too. “I’ll stay away if I see or sense the Karmic debt- I will make some other adeptus come to you, though-“

“You cannot make the adep-“

“I will.“

He sighs.

“And,” you continue, “I’ll keep an eye. From afar, but I’ll keep an eye on you and wait for it to be over, before I can come to you again. And if you’re ever sad in a more ordinary sort of way, I will not leave your side, no matter what.” You press your forehead to his with a quiet sigh. “Because I love you. And it hurts when you’re in pain.”

There’s a pause, with neither of you moving. You hear a group of teenagers laugh outside and run past the house. You wonder if that blue haired brat from earlier is with them.

Xiao exhales, then finally (FINALLY!) wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, impossibly so. You rest your cheek against his as he gives you a rueful smile. You’ve won! Ah no, what was it Baizhu said? There’s no individual victor in relationships? Damn, you’re a good student.

But seeing Xiao so close once more… you’re certain you’ve won regardless.

✦—————————————✦

The next couple of hours are spent relaxing, unwinding and examining one another for injuries (this is why you’re perfect together. Mutual respect? Mutual affection? Yes, but also mutual anxiety). A worried Baizhu also comes to pay a visit. He’s angry about you vanishing without notice but cools off quickly as you and Xiao assuage his worries. Changsheng is not so easily mollified and turns even more furious upon being called an ‘angry little noodle’ by you.

Come noon, you and Xiao make your way to Wanmin- neither of you are in much of a mood to cook.

Besides, your consolations have worked wonders and Xiao looks considerably calmer than he did in the morning. Not exactly cheerful, but a happy display is a rarity even on the best of days, so you acquiesce. He’s still careful and is being extra-gentle with you, but you’re glad he’s not blaming himself for not noticing you sooner anymore.

Unbeknownst to you, though, his eyes are on you constantly. Truth be told, he’s only really agreed to dine out in order to observe your movements, reactions to light and the crowd to check for any lingering effects of his Karma. You’ve decimated his morbid expectations though (much to his immense relief)- cheerier than ever, you buy bread and meat for any stray animals you come across, happily greet the friends you bump into and tilt your face upwards to bemusedly watch the clouds form increasingly obscene shapes (what are you up to, Retainer?)

He's a little stunned at how quickly everything happened- he expected his culpability to haunt him for much longer and feels guilty for getting over it so fast. It’s not that he doesn’t care- you matter to him more than anything in Liyue and were anything to actually happen to you because of him, he would truly would have lost the strength he used to cling to his brittle life.

It's just… a bit absurd. You haven’t raised a fuss at all about yourself, besides complaining a little initially. You comforted him instead, and were confused when he tried to reciprocate because “it happened, but it’s over. It’s not your fault and I really am okay now.” You seem to have meant it when you told him it was a terrible but distant memory. In your defence, the ordeal did take only a couple of minutes before he teleported you abruptly to Bubu Pharmacy (he still owes Baizhu an apology for dropping a whole human being into his arms and bolting).

So he allows himself to relax (the voices in his head tell him to split himself on his spear. He hurt you once, he’ll do it again. He imagines you screaming at them to piss off and ends up smiling softly instead).

He shakes his head when you ask what he’s amused about, bright eyed and curious and he gives you the fondest of expressions when you glance away and up at Katheryne. Xiangling teasingly gags at him from behind you, then yelps and runs into the kitchens to dodge Shenhe’s glares.

Xiao wishes you picked a table in the back- the Adventurer’s Guild is plainly visible from where you’re seated and something up there clearly has you distracted. No matter. At least now he can take you in without interruptions.

You look invested- eyes narrowing with amusement first, then further to slits with annoyance. Startled, he turns to see exactly what evoked such disdain from you, and his eyes meet that of a dark haired man, presently engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman dressed in Fontaine’s fashions. Maybe. Those shoes aren’t fashionable anywhere, he’s pretty sure. Menogias would’ve wept.

The man that’s earned your ire happens to appear quite exquisite by mortal standards- handsome and tall and- Xiao shoots you a hurried glance. Yes, that’s anger, thank the skies-

“You see that guy over there?” You bring the glass to your lips for a sip before lowering it with more force than is necessary. “He’s the jerk I told you about. The one who’s stealing half my commission.”

Xiao blinks. “But he hasn’t found anyone according to the description, has he?”

You frown. “Obviously not. If she really did- hm?”

He turns in his chair to see Katheryne and the men approach- one barrel chested and tall, the other slight and elderly, shuffling along with the pace and gait of a caterpillar. When they get a bit closer, however, the old man stiffens, then breaks into a rapid hobble, before pausing right before Xiao and bursting into tears.

What the- this is fine. He’s not too close. Xiao is still and wide eyed like a startled deer. You bite back the urge to kiss his face all over, then fight the momentary urge to punt the old man as he reaches out to touch Xiao’s face, still bawling. Xiao jerks and stands. The man turns to you as you grab his arm and try to gently sooth him, smacking you away.

“Oh,” he blubbers. “So many nights you’ve haunted my dreams. How I’ve waited all these years. I knew- I knew-“ he coughs, vehemently shakes his fist to keep the rest of you away. “Don’t come closer! I know her- that’s the love of my life!”

Mortals.

The lovely maiden in a tree being Xiao did not surprise you in the slightest. It was a bit startling but you feel incredibly foolish for not connecting the dots earlier.

Pretty maiden up in a tree.

“Really, who else could it be?” You bite into the muffin you bought on the way home.

“Xi- Cloud Retainer.”

“Oh. Is she pretty?”

Xiao tilts his head. He’s adorable. You resist the urge to haul him back down the road for another meal- what a miserable date, that was.

After finally catching Xiao the old man first wept into his chest (he reminded you of an unused hair tie with how scrunched up and tiny he was. The old man, to be clear, not Xiao. Xiao is tiny but firm), then clasped his clawed hands within his own soft, wrinkly ones (you’re glad Xiao didn’t forget his gloves and you can tell he’s even gladder) and begged Xiao to go with him to Fontaine.

Xiao’s answer being an alarmed, emphatic ‘no’ only succeeded in making the man cling tighter and cry harder.

You did start feeling terrible for the poor guy by that point, so you gave him a handkerchief and some water, sat him down and once he was finally calm and lucid, you explained to him that this was not the maiden he saw all those years ago, but in fact, your beloved.

Your kindness evaporated fast though when he smacked you in the face with your own hankie and swore to never pay you your commission. You left to eat elsewhere at that point. That sounded like a problem for your (rather distressed) ‘partner.’

Presently, though, you’re waiting for Xiao to tell you more about Cloud Retainer. You’ve surmised two things from his slip ups; she lives in the harbour nowadays, and her name starts with “Sh.”

You’re honestly convinced it’s Shenhe, and even more so when Xiao tells you she’s more imposing than pretty. When you tell him your guess, though, he gives an uncharacteristic laugh, so bright and warm. You want to store it in a bottle to sip at on the cold days.

When you tell him so upon reaching home, he just laughs again (!) and kisses your entwined hands. He prays you won't let go.

[king-goober]

Erza Scarlet x Male Reader

For Erza love is something she’s secretly dreamed of. She loves her guild like family, but the idea of finding that special someone is like an itch that just pops up from time to time. She thinks about it once, it’s all she can think about for the rest of the day.

When the two of you started dating, she was over the moon. However, she tried her best to hide her elation as best she could…she failed. Seriously, try asking her out to dinner and watch as she tries to hide the stupid smile on her face while denying it’s even there.

Sweets, she loves them, especially anything with strawberries. Strawberry cake is her favorite thing to munch on, and you’re the only person in the world she’s willing to share her food with. Thing is, you don’t get your own fork, she’ll feed you. No, it’s not negotiable.

Erza is more than aware of her own beauty, why else would she have so many outfits that she looks so good in? So expect her to take you clothes shopping with her to get a second opinion, and she wants honest feedback. She’s not the type of woman who wants you to lie and spare her feelings.

“(Y/n), how does this one look?” *walks out of the dressing room with a beautiful red dress* “I like this one, but I think the color matches my hair a little too much”

*(y/n) nods in agreement*

Erza is not afraid to be physical with you. She just loves feeling you close to her, whether it’s a simple hug or resting your head on her chest, it makes her feel safe knowing you’re right there with her. Just pray that she does it on a day shes not wearing her armor because she might accidentally give you a concussion.

Despite being confident in many aspects of her life, Erza will not initiate your first kiss. She’ll hint at it, but actually being the one to make the first move might make her explode. However, when you eventually do have your first kiss she absolutely melts, in this state she feels more vulnerable than shes ever been, just taking in this moment as her face grows redder and redder with every passing second.

This girl has been through a lot. She’s tough, but talking about the past takes time. When she’s ready, just listen and comfort her, because she’ll do the same for you if she has too.

Long story short, Erza is a hopeless romantic who treats your relationship like the greatest adventure she’s ever had.