#a big part of why she was struggling so much the entire time was because she wanted thancred to care for her as HER

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

[haunted-xander]

I guess old feelings don't disappear that easily

[adventuringblind]

American Sweetheart

Logan Sargeant x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: Max isn't sure about this new American rookie on the grid. Not that he isn't nice, just that he likes Max's baby sister. Featuring Lestappen being a married couple.

Warnings: Protective Max, sarcastically protective Daniel, Logan being a SIMP

Notes: Yay! Logan Fluff! I've not written for Logan yet, but I honestly love him... He's such a pookie...

Side Note: My requests are still open! If you've sent in a request, please remember I do this for fun and will try to get around to it when I can :)

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max looks at her with big pleading eyes. "Please tell me who it is?" He pouts, sticking out his bottom lip.

"No, because you'll torture him. I'd like to keep this one alive thank you." She puts the finishing touches on her makeup.

"I left the last one alive... barely, but that's not the point!"

"So if I tell you, then you won't freak out?"

"I swear it on my career-"

"It's Logan."

Max goes silent. Frozen in place as her tries to comprehend her words. The death stare at the ground tells her he's internally screaming.

She sighs, mildly worried that Max might actually scream profanities until Logan arrives. "Alright, what's your issue with this one?"

"He's American!"

She groans. It doesn't matter much where he's from, as long as he treats her right. Logan's been struggling since he came to the grid. It would make a difference if max accepted him and not just Oscar and Lando, by proxy.

"Give him a chance, please? For me?"

Max stars at her for longer than necessary. "Fine."

~~~~~

Logan appears at her door dressed in semi-formal attire. He takes in her appearance. "You look - wow..." There is a light blush on his face. It feels nice seeing as she's in something simple and modest. Just what she had to work with given she's living out of her suitcase.

They catch up on the paddock drama and how life has been going recently. Logan is a proper gentleman the entire time. She's not sure why she thought he would be any different. Logan has always been sweet to anyone he comes in contact with.

Their date goes incredibly well.

As does the second.

And the third...

Max stares at her as she sits in his room, giggling at her phone. She has no time to react as he snatches it from her hands. "Logan?! You're still talking to him?!"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "Yes, Max, I like him."

"He's American." He tosses the phone back at her. "Just let me talk to him." Max gives her puppy eyes. "Please."

"You can talk to him whenever, but if you ruin this for me, I'll break your wrists."

Max makes it his personal mission to figure out Logan through not talking to him. She has taking to simply rolling her eyes as Max drags Daniel around with him to stare at the poor boy.

Until he catches them in the paddock together and puts on the 'Mad Max' face. Logan immediately seems to shrink in on himself.

"Okay Sargeant, it's time you and I had a little discussion about your intentions with my sister." Max hauls him upwards by his bicep and Logan goes willingly like an injured puppy.

She throws him a reassuring smile and pray to Charles Leclerc that Max doesn't scare him away.

~~~~~

Max and Daniel sit across the table from Logan. He thought asking her out would be the hardest part. No, he was mistaken, this is far worse.

The Dutch has been staring daggers at him since they sat down. Daniel keeps wiggling his eyebrows like her knows something Logan doesn't. Which - despite it seeming playful - only puts Logan more on edge than he was before.

"So, Mr. America-"

"Is that really-"

"Quiet! I'm the one doing the talking here."

Logan wants to roll his eyes. He wants to run into next year if it means avoiding this conversation. "Look Max-"

"I need to know you aren't going to americanify my sister." He points an accusatory finger between Logan's eyes.

Logan reels, and Daniel finally breaks all composure. The Aussie is laughing hysterically. "Mate, what does that even mean?!"

"Look, your American ways are not ours. I will not be seeing her calling things like American football, real football."

Logan sinks into his chair. The relief evident on his face.

He's about to jump into a spiel about how he would never expect her to just assimilate into his culture. That was never his plan. However, he's doesn't get the chance.

A figure dressed in Ferrari red comes stomping around the corner. "Max Emilian!" Charles screams out for anyone to hear.

Max shrinks in on himself. Daniel is almost falling out of his chair as Charles stomps his way over. "Why are we interrogating the poor boy?" He crosses his arms like an exasperated mother.

"Because my sister-"

"Your sister was in my room pacing and ranting that you were going to scare away another boyfriend."

Max has a look of shame on his face. Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "But Charlie-"

"Nope. Not gonna work. Let's go." Charles grabs Max by the bicep and drags him away. The Dutch pouts until he's out of sight.

Logan looks at Daniel, who's finally calmed down. "Are they-?"

"Married? Yes, for like two years now. They are still convinced nobody knows." Daniel leans forward in his chair, and Logan once again is left feeling intimidated. "But seriously, kid, she's a good person. Max has always been protective over his sisters because of their home life. Just treat her right, yeah? She deserves it."

Daniel sends Logan off with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He's never run away from something so fast before. Not out of fear, no, he just needs to see her. Reassure the female that Max is less intimidating when Charles is around.

He finds her pacing outside of Williams' hospitality. Logan runs right up to her, picks her up in his arms, and spins her around.

"I take it Max was nice to you?"

"Your brother is an interesting character, but nothing would stop me from loving you."

She blushes profusely. "You love me?"

Logan rests his forhead against hers. He can't wipe the smile off his face when he looks at her. "Of course I do! And nobody is going to stop me from feeling the way I do."

She hastily lands her lips onto Logan's , not caring about who's around to see. It's just them in their own little world.

She pulls away just enough to whisper against his lips. "I love you too, Lo."

Logan has never been happier than in this moment with her in his arms and Max screeching in the distance.

[misty-caligula]

Okay this is gonna be long, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover so please bear with me. In a real way, this is my series thesis.

I’ve said before, many times now (like a cycle) that for me the most important scene is ep 1 act 1 scene 1. There’s something There that I have been struggling to see clearly, struggling to articulate, and s2e9 really finally gave me the last pieces for it.

I think that Pit Girl is the point of the entire story. But not in the way that I thought going in. I feel like I’m rambling, so I’m going to try to structure my thoughts.

Imagine you’re a new viewer. You haven’t watched yj start to finish 30 times, you’ve never even buzzed before. You turn on the tv and the FIRST thing that happens is you see ... brutality. A half dressed girl chased through the freezing woods, murdered without a chance. They drag her through the snow, string her up, pour her blood on the ground. Hack her into unrecognisable chunks. Sit around in scary outfits and rip at her, with a huge focus on the teeth, as horror music plays. Then, Misty takes off her mask, puts on her glasses, and does the worst possible thing. She smiles. Directly at you.

Again, forget everything you know and go on vibes. You’re seeing the teens pre-crash, and you’re seeing them in the third timeline, fully formed, with horror motifs and covered in fur. You’d be mistaken for thinking that you were seeing start and end. Except that... we know, and you know, that Pit Girl is the middle. These monsters somehow came back from this. How? When they’re so so so far gone?

Hence the show. I know I’m not breaking new ground here, but bear with me. I’m going somewhere.

(Edit: Readmore added because honestly, LONG post)

You’d be forgiven, fresh-faced new viewer, for thinking you were watching some kind of gross-out slasher. But what happens in S1? Restraint. Laura Lee, the first non-crash victim dies at the end of episode eight. Jackie end of ep 10. (For the sake of this thesis we’re going to be almost exclusively focused on the teens.)

And yet there’s this tonal shift, It’s like ... inevitability. Like watching a crack in a window that’s very slowly spreading. Everything is steadily Getting Worse. The weather is slowly getting colder, the days are getting darker, food’s getting scarcer, life is getting harder. But so much of this difficulty is coming from external events and pressure. Yes, cracks start to show in the internal relationship dynamics, of course, but if food was plentiful, if shrooms were less so, if the weather were better, then they could probably work out a very long term stable situation. Sadly for them, things are not stable, and the pressure is building.

Then Jackie dies and the glass gets a really big break.

It’s worth mentioning at this moment that Jackie at any time could’ve come the fuck inside. Safety and warmth and even love were available to her. All it would’ve required was for her not to be the centre of the world. To make actual goddamn concessions and join the team. Which is why she couldn’t possibly make that choice, because she had to be invited, she had to be apologised to, she had to be accommodated. She couldn’t see the rest of the ‘jackets as being people who just like her were in a really shitty situation. She saw them as being external, as being in cahoots against her, as being part of some Thing that she wasn’t in on. She couldn’t let go of the society they’d left, and she preferred to die. Which sure is a choice...

Keep all of that in mind though. We’re taught to blame Shauna for Jackie’s choices. Let’s stop with that. Jackie chose not to assimilate, she looked around the cabin at the team eating the bear and praying to the wilderness and instead of just paying lip service to fit in, like Tai, she decided to put her foot down and make a Thing of it. She decided that being Right was more important than being Included.

Seriously, keep that in mind, we’re coming back to it. Cycles, you know...

Season 2, everyone’s hungry and hey we have this spare Jackie lying around. And we joke like “ha, you gonna eat that?” Only...

No. They WEREN’T going to eat her.

Really think about that for a second. They put her in the meat shed. With the bear. Think about what that does, psychologically. Linguistically. The meat shed is made to store food. The bear has a word: carcass. Day after day after week after month they carve progressively more pathetic chunks from it, subsisting on what little it offers. In the EXACT same room, sitting right there is Jackie. Her body has a different name. Corpse. With many different connotations. At NO point does ANY of them raise the fact that they’ve taken their friend and added her to their meat stockpile.

Because they haven’t. Instead, they’ve added a new sub-room. The meat shed is now also a morgue. And nobody ever once had to say it. They got it. We got it. You got it. And while they starved and their bodies BEGGED for food, Jackie’s corpse lay there, frozen and fresh, and stubbornly refused to become a carcass, because they wouldn’t let it. They knew that there were more important things than meat, even when they were starving.

The bacchanal was a mistake. A literal error. It simply wasn’t planned, wasn’t meant to go down that way. Maybe if they HAD considered that route earlier and had a discussion about it they’d have been prepared, psychologically, maybe if they weren’t so starved. Who knows. But in the middle of the night they were offered a way out, and they took it.

But Shauna took it first.

Even in their state, even faced with an ideal roasted feast infront of them, they waited until Shauna said it was okay. Because Jackie was Shauna’s friend, and they knew that she was still a person. That this was still a corpse first. It was Shauna who was able to give them permission to survive. To turn a friend into a meal. It was not their place to take that step. To shoulder that guilt. So Shauna did it for them.

The next day they’re devastated. The heavy reality sets in, now the hunger is settled. And Jackie’s carcass is far too real, they can’t change her back into a corpse. Nat tries, bless her heart. But Tai’s screaming reaction at having eaten Jackie’s face is only an externalisation of the grief and horror and agony they’re all going through.

And after Jackie they starve again. Hope and heat and light dwindles further. Every single day they all take another step towards death. That’s what starvation is, it’s the same thing as dying, you die a little bit every day until you can’t die anymore.

Kristen falls. Misty doesn’t even consider that she might bring her back as meat. If she had’ve, she might think, maybe she’d be considered like ... heroic. It doesn’t even occur to her. She’s not going to LET those bitches eat her one and only friend, and she goes out of her way to protect her.

Shauna has her horror show birth. And, no matter WHAT the context is, she produces.... meat. In the most awful, brutal way. And while the fandom made so many jokes and stuff, the reality is that yes... at least to an extent there was real nutrients there. And it was never once even brought up as an option, by these desperate, starving girls. 

When Coach tries to kill himself, here’s a ready source of willing meat. And Misty uses it as a threat to stop him. But it’s hollow, she’s just putting on fake fangs to try to keep him safe. She’s not actually that vicious thing that she’s pretending to be, just like she’s not actually homophobic.

When Lottie tells Misty to eat her if she dies, Misty fights her on it. Lottie has to insist. Then when she tells the rest of the team, they are so overwhelmed with the selflessness of the gesture that it inspires them to twist it into their first hunt. That’s what it takes. The hunt is an act of self-sacrifice and love.

And so we get to the hunt. The proto-pit-girl, we’ve come full circle and we start to learn all these answers to questions posed in act 1 scene 1. And they’re not the answers that were assumed.

How do they get to the point of eating each other? They sacrifice themselves willingly, for the sake of each other’s survival.

Why do they hunt the way they do? Because Shauna just can’t stand to murder a friend in cold blood, a friend she cares for and has no reason to hate.

Why the spike pit? Because it keeps the blood off their hands. Because it lets them blame It and preserve a tiny fragment of their innocence.

Why the weird symbols? The ritual itself? Because they need SOMETHING to hold onto, to make it all make sense.

Why so brutal? Is it? We THINK it’s brutal. It’s certainly bloody. But Pit Girl dies almost instantly. Her pain is over fast. She doesn’t have a good time going into it, obviously, none of them want to die. But she chose to run, she could’ve taken the knife instead. And the spike trap was efficient. Yes they drag her through the snow and string her up, but it’s mechanical and just part of the process and she’s dead already. Her pain is over fast, it’s not sadistic.

Why do they chop her up into chunks like that? Because nobody wants to eat her face. Because nobody wants to struggle with her humanity, they want her to look just like any other meat. So that they might be having deer or bear or ... friend. They’re eating because they are biological machines that need to eat, that NEED death to survive. They didn’t ask to be made the way they are, and they’re doing their best to cope. Shauna, probably blindly, takes on that responsibility, to transform their friend into unrecognisable meat to change a corpse into a carcass. She takes that pain for them, holds that sin for them, out of love. So they can eat, so they can survive.

What’s with the creepy horror masks? During the ritual they can’t handle being themselves. They create alternate versions of themselves to hold what must be done. The masks aren’t there to scare anyone, because there IS NO AUDIENCE. The masks are there to hide behind. That’s why Misty takes hers off at the end of the scene. The ritual is over and they can go back to being people again.

Why is Misty fucking Quigley in charge? Because she CAN be. Because she’s strong enough. If Lott/Nat/The AQ is the goddess/queen, Misty is the priestess/handmaiden, tasked with actually carrying out her orders. She interprets the queens words when she’s too weak, she provides counsel when she needs it, she tells the team what they need to hear in the moment, she gives out the micromanagement. Misty’s the power behind the throne, because when she says she’ll do something she fucking follows through. No matter the cost. And what the team NEEDS, whether they choose to admit it or not, is a backbone.

So...

They bring home Javi. The music uses a reference that’s never been done before. It uses the spiritual powerballad that was playing when Laura Lee tried to fly away. It builds the expectation of Great Things, of big, potent ...

And then it just stops. As the girls are faced with the reality of what’s laying on the table. The cold, blue corpse of a soft child who never hurt anyone. No matter what they do, no matter how hard they try they just cannot make him a carcass. But they have made the choice already, and if they turn back now it’s not like it’ll bring him back. They’ll just be starving and regretful as he rots.

So Shauna, blind and shaking, does the best she can. And when she brings in the meat, she - of all people - understands EXACTLY what Travis is going through. She knows what he needs. Because she’s been here. With Jackie. So she brings him Javi’s heart. His core. His love. His soul.

(She doesn’t bring him Javi’s head. She cuts that off and puts it aside so nobody has to eat his face... Some things are worth more than pure nutritional survival.)

And Travis, god bless him, does the only thing he can do left to respect Javi. He takes his heart, and he bites it, raw and bloody.

It hurts him to do so. It disgusts him so much, but he manages not to throw up. It disgusts the girls too, but they watch on, horrified. And that’s the POINT. Travis makes sure that before they do this, before they do what they have to... that they all remember this is Javi, this is human, this is a person. And he preserves the horror. For all their sakes. And only then, after he’s given his blessing, after he’s done his human acts, do these starving, ravenous girls allow themselves to reach for their food.

S1E1. Act 1, scene 1. We do not know who Pit Girl is. We do not know the exact circumstances that get us there. But we do know where we started now. What the original meaning is behind each of these little things. And it’s not brutality, not barbarism. It’s love. It’s not lord of the flies, a bunch of monstrous human-shaped creatures giving in to their primal nature and predating on each other. It’s a team of terrified people desperately clutching at their own humanity as hard as they can. Trying SO hard not to let that glass break, to not become the thing that the framing of act 1 scene 1 tried so VERY hard to convince us they were. Context changes everything.

And the proof is in the pudding. After they eat Jackie the shock explodes throughout the cabin. The atmosphere is thick, and horrific. Now with Javi, reduced to simple meat, carefully and lovingly seperated from what made him human, so they can grieve him while they sate their natural needs, the mood post-eating is calm and soft and warm and loving. For once they’re all together,  with grateful full stomachs and in a time of peace and plenty. They’ve done the impossible and maintained their humanity and love for each other and their respect for Javi in a nearly impossible situation.

*takes a deep breath*

Which brings us to THIS asshole.

Right from the start, Jackie is only kind of part of the team. She’s the team captain, put up there by Coach Martinez, but not because she’s the best of them but because she can maybe wrangle them into doing better. And they KNOW that she’s not really one of them. They plot around her, and just don’t bring her in on it. They put up with her, more than loving her, she’s just kind of forced upon them. But she does her best, to try to maintain some semblance of order, giving pep talks and the like.

Wait, Jackie? I mean coach. My bad.

Anyway, so Jackie has one friend, Shauna. She SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to her, but Shauna’s the only one who actually likes her. And Shauna’s her connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn as to where her real loyalties lie.

Sorry I’m talking about Jackie again.... weird.

In S1E9/10 Shauna finally chooses the team, for real. And Jackie tries to pull her back away, but Shauna puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, you’re the odd one out. Why don’t YOU leave, Jackie? Jackie looks around at the burgeoning cult, she thinks “Look at these evil monstrous bitches, and now Shauna’s one of them TOO?” And instead of finding a compromise, instead of doing introspection, instead of anything like that, Jackie goes and freezes to death because it turns out that sheer rage won’t keep you warm in sub zero temperatures. Because no matter what happens, Jackie’s Right and it’s more important to her to be Right than Included. If she’s not in charge than why is she even THERE?

Hold on, I see my mistake. Let me backtrack.

Right from the start, Coach is only kind of part of the team. He’s trying to hide from his real life, from Paul and the complexities of being genuine in society by taking on the job of coaching the ‘jackets. And they KNOW that he’s not really one of them. He’s just the guy they have to listen to, because society put him there. But he tries his best, giving pep talks and the like.

So Coach has one friend, Natalie. He SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to him, but Nat’s the only one who actually likes him. (Ignore Misty, a schoolgirl comphet crush is not the same thing). And Nat’s his connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn to where her real loyalties lie. Sometimes she’s on the bench with Coach, complaining about the state of things. Sometimes she’s in the thick of it with them all, and Coach is nowhere to be found.

In S2E9, Nat finally chooses the team, for real. And Coach tries to pull her back, but Nat puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, I’m worse than them, you’re the odd one out. Go, save yourself, you don’t belong in this place. Coach looks at a table covered in blood and gore, at Nat’s face, at the rest of the team pledging fealty to her. And instead of looking for context, or looking for compromise, or even remotely trying to understand what he’s looking at he thinks

Look at these evil monstrous bitches. They’re eating each other. They’ve all gone mad. They’ve even gotten Nat now. There’s no hope for them, there’s no hope for anyone out here.

And he decides that they’re corrupt. That the way you deal with that is fire. And he’s wrong.

(I have a theory that he’s gone and jumped off the cliff, that he set the fire to clear the corruption, and now like Jackie, unable to live in this situation any longer, he’s decided to die himself. I’d not be surprised to find him in s3e1 that way)

Jackie was a frustrating, difficult person. Because no matter how things went she just COULDN’T let go of the fact that she was trying to fit a mold that just didn’t suit her. She was raised with super high expectations, when she was really just kind of mid. And that’s fine, honestly, most people ARE mid, that’s why it’s mid. But she refused to see that those around her were shedding their social pressures, were adapting to the wilderness. They weren’t having a good time, they weren’t hunting and foraging because they were out there, camping for fun. Nobody wanted to be there. They were just trying not to complain about it, because they were all in the same boat.

Coach is similar. He simply won’t adapt. Refuses to. I mean this is a guy who’s STILL trying to live in the closet when there’s open lesbians making out in public around him. Who thinks of others as inherently monstrous when he himself, as a gay man, should know better. Because that’s what trying to fit your society-assigned role does to you.

It’s no accident that he and Jackie both spend a long time in the woods and neither of them can do something as basic as start a fucking campfire. Javi, a little kid, survived for MONTHS on his own in that cave. Coach couldn’t make it a day alone. Jackie couldn’t get through a night. They both rely so heavily on the team without ever once recognising it. Because SOMEONE was keeping the fires going. They both just ... refused to engage.

And just like Jackie can’t see that they’re not having fun out there in the woods, on the knifes edge of survival, Coach can’t see that they’re not having fun when they are so desperate they feel it’s warranted to sacrifice one of their own. He always thought of them as monsters, and he just sees what he expects to: a bunch of stupid useless teenage girls, finally doing what he always expected they would.

At any point... At ANY point he could’ve come in from the cold. He could’ve just accepted reality as they have. He could’ve taken some meat and accepted the price, as they have, joined them in their GRIEF about it, shared their humanity, and survived. Just as Jackie could’ve come in from the cold, and become part of the whole. But instead, they sit in the cold, consumed by their bitter hate, and decide that no, it’s everyone ELSE who’s wrong.

And who emerges from the burning cabin? A bunch of scared kids. Shauna, the FIRST cannibal, who saves Jackie’s prom dress before anything else. Travis, who grabs Javi’s wolf. Nat who grabs the ammunition - that they NEVER use on each other - because if they lost that they’d get SERIOUSLY desperate. And they protect each other, they make sure everyone makes it out. These supposed monsters who are so far gone they don’t even care about eating each other go out of their way to save each other, not just themselves.

Because Coach is wrong. Just like Jackie was wrong. Just like WE were wrong, in s1e1. Which brings me to my actual point.

This question is asked so many times in S1 it’s almost a mantra. And the ‘jackets’ oath of silence really builds up that it must’ve been something REALLY bad, right? But S2E9 has really made me recognise that fundamentally... Act 1 Scene 1 is entirely what everyone who asks this question is expecting.

Imagine they DID know what really happened out there. With that bloodthirsty fucking look in their eyes...

They’re not looking for an answer. They’re looking for a story. For an exciting spooky nightmare they didn’t take part in, so they can get a shiver and a thrill they didn’t earn.

They’re not looking for a love story. They’re not looking to hear how HARD these scared, tragic, broken people fought to hold onto their morals and their humanity and their sanity even against their own survival. They’re not interested in Shauna blinding herself just to try to stop her hands from shaking. They’re not looking to hear about Travis choking down the blood of his brother just to make sure that he can really FEEL it. So he can share the guilt, and never ever pretend like it’s Just Meat. The look in his eye when he can’t think of any good response to Van’s arguments that he needs to let Javi save him. What they want is...

They don’t want the context. And if the ‘jackets ever did try to tell anybody what actually DID happen out there, all they would see is ... Episode 1, Act 1, Scene 1. A bunch of monsters. Eating each other. Just like Jackie. Just like Coach. Just like we did, on first glance.

I’ve been saying this whole time that Yellowjackets is doing something really special. That it’s letting us see behind the curtain, that while everyone’s asking this big question, “what really happened?”, we’re the ones who get to know. Because it can’t be told. It can’t be spoken. It can only be seen. Experienced. I think that S2 has finally finished the first major arc in the teen timeline, that we now have the context to understand what comes next. And I do believe that it will get messy, it will devolve. Into fighting and screaming and battles. It’s tragic, but it looks like that’s the downward spiral, spiraling. As Travis and Nat deal with the guilt of what they did with Javi for each other. As Shauna and Nat butt heads and people pick sides. As Misty Mistys. As resources get even more desperate now their shelter is gone. As potentially new people (hikers? other cabin people?) get brought into conflict with them (I believe the cabin is a smoke signal, personally).

But don’t ever forget that we got here with love. Expect that the downward spiral will be lubricated with toxic, broken, codependant, self-destructive love as well. Watch them love each other to death... they’ve already begun.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

What did Andrew Lloyd Webber do to make Patti Lupone upset? Sorry, saw your tags and i was curious

Oh.

Oh honey.

You sweet child.

Anyway, get ready for one of the most infamous showdowns in all musical theatre history, with the guy who writes the straightest musicals on Broadway (derogatory) and the one and only, the matriarch, the queen, two three-time Tony award winner Patti LuPone.

So, Andrew Lloyd Webber was basically kind of a boy genius in his prime - he met his future collaborator Tim Rice when they were 17 and 20 respectively, he wrote his first big hit, Jesus Christ Superstar, at 22, with Tim Rice writing the lyrics. And it was kind of a big deal at the time because the topic was controversial (you know, the Passion with rock music), but also because Broadway wasn't that far off from its golden age and let's just say the music and style were very different from, say, My Fair Lady. Or The Sound of Music. Or Funny Girl. It was basically the Rent/Hamilton of its time. (Yeah, Stephen Sondheim was around at that time, he worked on West Side Story which was revolutionary in of itself, but he's kind of an oddball in this case. You'll understand why later.)

Their real follow up (I'm not counting Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat for a variety of reasons) was a little musical called Evita, which you might know mainly because of a song called Don't Cry For Me Argentina. Or at least, your mom has probably heard it once at the very least. It's that song that's oversung from a musical while being out of context along with I Dreamed a Dream for Les Misérables. Or Memory from Cats.

Evita tells the story of Eva Peron, the wife of an Argentinian dictator, who basically screws her way to the top and ends up becoming the mistress of Juan Peron and the most beloved woman in her country through guile and deceit. Yes, I know the historical accuracy is very much debated but I know jackshit about Argentina's history except the bare basics so don't come at me. It was first produced in the West End in London, with Elaine Paige in the role, but because of Equity issues, she couldn't reprise her role for the Broadway production. So a Julliard graduate who was mostly starring in David Mamet plays got the part instead, and that was Patti LuPone.

Patti... did not have a good time during Evita, because the part is basically the kind of score where you can tell the composer is used to writing male parts, but most female singers have a two-octave range (yes, you got Julie Andrews who used to have a three-octave range, and many others, but they're exceptions), so she struggled a lot. That being said, if you listen to live recordings of her, you wouldn't be able to tell, and it got a lot easier later on. But she had this to say:

"Evita was the worst experience of my life. I was screaming my way through a part that could only have been written by a man who hates women. And I had no support from the producers, who wanted a star performance onstage but treated me as an unknown backstage. It was like Beirut, and I fought like a banshee."

This is from Patti's autobiography, which she wrote in 2007 - 8 years after shit with ALW went down. With all that said, she won a Tony Award for Evita, and she pretty much became a musical theatre household name from then on. She played Fantine in Les Misérables, Nancy in Oliver!, Reno Sweeney in Anything Goes. Meanwhile, ALW's next big hits were Cats (I'm not even kidding, Cats was a hit), and, you guessed it, The Phantom of the Opera, which he wrote in part to showcase his then wife Sarah Brightman's triple threat talents.

So, you need to understand before I continue that ALW, from my perspective, has always had a bit of an inferiority complex. He's basically associated to writing these commercially successful musicals that show a big spectacle but aren't ultimately substantial. I'm not sure I entirely agree with that, but I do think that if he didn't have Hal Prince, Maria Bjornson, Charles Hart and Gillian Lynne backing him up for Phantom, it would have probably been a Rocky Horror Picture Show knockoff people would have forgotten about pretty quickly. This is what I mean:

Yep, that was Phantom before any of the people I mentioned above (and Michael Crawford) were really involved.

Remember how I said Stephen Sondheim was an oddball? The thing with him is that his musicals weren't always commercially successful, but in general, in part thanks to being Leonard Bernstein's protégé, he was generally pretty well-respected and it was considered that his work was bringing musicals to a whole other level. Without Sondheim, you wouldn't have Jonathan Larson, and you wouldn't have Lin-Manuel Miranda. I am convinced ALW is resentful of that, and when you stop and think about it for more than 10 seconds, it's so obvious he REALLY wants to be Sondheim or at least command the same level of respect, but that's a story for another day.

So, after Phantom, ALW had other musicals that followed that either got a meh reception or outright flopped. Then there was Sunset Boulevard, which is based on the movie of the same name with Gloria Swanson. Despite all of her griefs for Evita, Patti LuPone agreed to partake in the musical as Norma Desmond, for its production in London, with the promise that she would transfer to Broadway once that production would open. And overall, after a string of flops, Sunset was actually doing pretty well.

HOWEVER. One day, while reading the gossip column of a newspaper, Patti found out that contrary to what she was promised, Glenn Close, who was meanwhile starring as Norma in the Los Angeles production, was to play Norma on Broadway. That was a complete surprise for her since no one on the production team had bothered to tell her it was happening - and keep in mind that for the news to come up the way it did in a gossip column, it probably would have necessitated a delay of a few weeks between the producers and the newspaper, which would have given them plenty of time to break the news to Patti. And Patti kind of needed the leg up because she was pretty bitter that a) Madonna was cast in the Evita adaptation instead of her; b) they actually lowered the key to fit Madonna's voice range, and she still had to expand her own to be able to sing the (lowered) score. And trust me, Patti is mad about it to this day.

So of course, she trashed her dressing room, the cast and crew weren't even mad about it because they were as shocked and angered as she was by the news. Patti sued Andrew Lloyd Webber for breach of contract, namely for 1 MILLION DOLLARS (yup, those are the real numbers), won, used the money she got from the lawsuit to get a swimming pool, which she called (and I SHIT YOU NOT) the Andrew Lloyd Webber Memorial Pool. Since then, Webber is dead to her, to the point rumor has it she had part of a building blocked during an event so she could get out of it without coming across Webber, because she hates him so flipping much she doesn't even want to be in the same building as the guy.

(There's also drama that happened with Faye Dunaway who was supposed to replace Glenn Close after she went from Los Angeles to Broadway, except they abruptly closed the show down after Close left, but that's a story for another day)

So with all the bad press, and with ALW forced to pay 1 million dollars for Patti's lawsuit, that led Sunset's productions to close earlier than expected. ALW has stayed around since, with... mitigated output, so to say. The lowest point for a lot of people is Love Never Dies, the sequel to Phantom, which some people love, and that's fine, but it didn't do well with either critics nor fans of the original show, which ALW is EXTREMELY BUTTHURT ABOUT. And like, there are so many stories I could tell about LND alone, but I will share my own crack theory about it, since it does relate to the ask.

Anyway, buckle up.

So. There have been jokes going around for years that the Phantom in LND is basically ALW's self-insert, where he displays to the world that he's totally not over Sarah Brightman leaving him (in part because making Phantom kinda ruined their marriage lmao), despite, you know, having married since. (Aaaaaakward.) So LND basically becomes this really uncomfortable therapy session where a man writes a self-insert musical about how his ex-wife made a big mistake of leaving a sensitive artistic soul such as himself. The characters from Phantom who appear in LND are all more or less unrecognizable as a result, and one who gets it worse (in my humble opinion) is Meg Giry, who was basically Christine's sweet and loyal ballerina friend who basically went into the Phantom's lair on her own to save her friend despite the danger. In LND, she's basically a bitter hag (because ALW hates women, guess Patti was right about that), who really likes the swim and even has a stripping vaudeville number about it, written in universe by the Phantom, no less.

For comparison, here's Don Juan Triumphant (the Phantom's opera in the original):

And here's Bathing Beauty (the vaudeville number):

Yeah, so... do you see why people hate LND already?

And that's not the only thing with Meg! She's also pining for the Phantom to pay attention to her and threatens to drown the Phantom and Christine's secret love child when he makes it clear that he's gonna love Christine for EVA AND EVA.

So, with everything we learned today about ALW, would someone like him view someone like Patti LuPone as some sort of crazy, bitter diva who's obsessed with him for whatever reason? Absolutely. Would he be petty enough to insert Patti LuPone into his self-insert musical, which gave us the version of Meg Giry we got in LND? Of course. Why does Meg love to swim so much and why does she drag Gustave out ostensibly for a swim? Is it a dig at Patti's Andrew Lloyd Webber Memorial Pool? Maybe.

I kind of hope we find out one day if that theory is true. And maybe start a kickstarter so Patti can add this painting from the 2004 movie in her collection.

Fun fact: during the process of casting for the 2004 movie adaptation of POTO, ALW allegedly suggested Patti LuPone to play Carlotta... only for Joel Schumacher to have to awkwardly remind him that they were not on speaking terms. The idea was therefore promptly dropped.

[springwitch26]

hots for teacher (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

part 2

summary: you've been infatuated with melissa schemmenti ever since you worked under her as a student teacher. what will happen when you meet again a few years later?

warnings: NSFW content, implied future smut (part 2 on the way??), praise kink, age gap idk

notes: hi everyone! my name is april, and this is my first ever fanfiction. i wrote this for fun and then decided to share it with the community, because i love the little gay women in my phone! i've been reading fics on tumblr for as long as i've been on the internet, so this is a strange experience for me. anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you guys think!

tonight you looked sexy, and you knew it. you wore a sinfully short black dress with colorful butterflies. it was one of your favorites; it showed just the right amount and hugged just the right places to be tantalizing. your eyes were painted with thin black wings and soft, glittery eyeshadow that made you look like a sweet dream. your lips glistened and your hair was tied up in two dutch braids. you were a vision.

all this meant that you were not the least bit surprised when a deep, sultry female voice sounded from behind where you sat at the bar.

"it should be illegal to look like that in public."

you smiled coyly and turned around to face the stranger.

"why? see something you like?" when you turned to face her, however, you were met with a familiar face. it was a face you'd seen in your dreams time after time: your former boss, melissa schemmenti.

you had been assigned to work with melissa as a student teacher while you were in school for your teaching certification. at the time, she was teaching two grades simultaneously, so she was grateful to have you there to ease the burden. it didn't hurt that you were always so eager to please. you wanted to learn and become the best teacher you could be.

of course, your motives weren't entirely pure. you were attracted to melissa from the moment you saw her. you remembered it like it was yesterday: her flaming red hair was slightly messy from trying to wrangle her double class, and her glasses sat askew on her nose. then you came along and turned everything around. she would give you to-do lists, and you would finish them before lunchtime the same day.

"great job, hon! you're so good, don't know what i'd do without you..." she'd say each time, beaming with pride at her new prodigee.

"o-of course, ms. schemmenti. what else can i do for you?" you'd respond, blushing profusely at the praise and struggling to hold her intense gaze.

within a week of having you, melissa was caught up on all her work. she couldn't help but feel like you were an angel, or some kind of gift from god. whatever you were, she cherished you. as the two of you spent more time together, she started to want you more and more. every project, every conversation, every smile you two shared only added to your chemistry.

she had fun with it--teasing you with special pet names and praise, watching you get all flustered and squirmy. she knew you liked her back. you weren't the most subtle about your desire.

melissa would never act on her feelings, though. you were a doe-eyed twenty-something with big dreams, and she was your much older boss. getting involved with you would be too messy. but she always held out hope, even after you left abbott, that one day you'd meet again.

you studied melissa's sly smirk for a moment, in disbelief at your luck. it had been two years since you left abbott. you had your own big girl job now, and you were a bit more mature. there was nothing stopping you from acting on your desires.

"oh my god, ms. schemmenti! please, have a drink with me. it's been a while." you hoped you didn't sound too desperate, although you definitely looked desperate once you got a good glance at her.

her look was striking. your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned her form, dressed in red leather pants and a button-down shirt. her arms were visibly muscled, even through the jacket. the black button-down shirt she wore was unbuttoned just enough to tease her cleavage. around her waist was a thick black belt that you wanted to pull on. her fiery hair was tied back haphazardly in a high ponytail, just messy enough to be sexy. and her hands—god, her fingers were long and ringed and—

"whatever you say, kid," she shrugged and sat down next to you, giving you a playful smile. "and you can call me melissa now."

she had a mischievous glint in her eye, probably knowing how you felt just by the wanton way you stared at her. when she sat down beside you, you felt your whole body heat up. your thighs were almost touching from the proximity, and you could smell her intoxicating perfume with each inhale. feeling her body so close to yours had you more drunk than the alcohol. it didn't help that her eyes now roamed over your body shamelessly, taking in your glistening lips and lingering on your soft cleavage. you tried your best to play it cool.

you talked for a while, catching up on everything. you told her about your new job at a suburban elementary school, your volunteer tutoring on the weekends, your summers in the mountains. she beamed with pride hearing of your accomplishments.

"that's great, y/n! sounds like you're goin' places."

"thank you! i think i owe a lot of my success to my student teaching experience—everyone at abbott was great, including you. especially you," you looked at her with an intense gaze, feeling your desire catch up with you.

"you were such a passionate mentor. you just had this way of getting me excited..." you trailed off as you fixated on the stirrings of a smirk on her face.

"...excited about learning," you finished shakily.

"mm-hmm," she chuckled.

maybe it was the alcohol, or the simple fact that she was right next to you and seemingly devouring you with her eyes, but you became bolder then. you only had one shot at this.

"i mean, you really touched me in a way that nobody else could," you leaned in, dragging out your syllables for emphasis. "i worked so hard because i just needed to be good for you."

now she was the one shuddering. you had the upper hand, if only for a moment. but she quickly got her boldness back.

"i noticed that. always so bright and attentive. i bragged to all the other teachers about what a good girl you were." to top it all off, she punctuated her sentence by placing her hand firmly on your knee.

you thought you were going to explode right then and there. your skin erupted in goosebumps at her touch, and you spread your legs ever so slightly to indicate your consent. her face split into a smug grin and she began to crawl her fingers up your thigh, agonizingly slowly.

your response came as a shaky whisper. you were sure you must have soaked through your panties just from her teasing touches.

"it's good to know that you thought so highly of me. i looked up to you a lot," you said sheepishly. "um, i'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but i did have a bit of a crush on you..."

"oh, yeah. that doesn't surprise me. don't be embarrassed, hon. you can't help what you feel," her hand had stalled at the midpoint of your thigh, and she looked at you with sincerity.

"it doesn't surprise you?" you asked, struggling to get the words out once she resumed stroking your thigh.

"i had my suspicions," she said with a knowing smirk. "i'm sharper than i look, ya know."

her darkened eyes sent shivers down your spine. you felt your core heat up at the humiliation of knowing she knew exactly what you thought about her.

"am i that obvious?" you asked, somewhat breathily.

"oh, sweetheart," she laughed. she leaned in close and you could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her breath on your skin. her fingers pinched the skin of your thigh as she whispered to you. "you sat five feet away from me for months, always wearin' those little black skirts. you think i didn't see you rub your thighs together every time i gave you praise?"

her hand now caressed your inner thigh softly, teasingly. you failed to respond, trying to process her words but finding yourself unable to do anything but whimper almost silently.

"so soft here. mhmm," she husked into your ear. there was a hint of giddiness in her voice, as if she was pleased with herself for taking you apart so easily. "does that feel good, princess? do you like it when i touch you?"

"yes!" you said, almost too loudly for the public setting. "yes, i like it very much."

"good," she whispered as her fingers found the edge of your panties. your thighs spread even wider, and you let out a small gasp.

"we've got lots more to catch up on, don't we?" she continued, her fingers drawing feather-light circles over your clit through the fabric. you wondered if she could feel you throbbing for her. your hips bucked up to meet her hand, and she slapped your thigh in warning. "if you wanna keep talkin', we can head back to mine..."

you turned to her with big, glazed-over eyes. still whimpering, you nodded rapidly, earning a laugh from the older woman. she grabbed your hand and guided you out of the packed bar.

"i'm gonna wreck you, hon," she mumbled without looking back at you.

[hoyowomentournament]

FINALS!!! Furina vs Kiana Kaslana

(Propaganda under the cut)

Furina:

the girl who saved fontaine. condemned herself to a life of silent pain and suffering without any warning or preparation. she could confide in no one, seek out help from no one, all while bearing the weight of her entire nation on her shoulders. not only did her willpower save everyone in fontaine, but after the prophecy was averted, she was finally allowed to live a normal life.

Kiana Kaslana:

TLDR: she's kiana kaslana what do you MEAN!!!! kiana is a beautifully written character who fully encapsulates what hi3 is about and she's so full of love and guilt and (most importantly) hope. she's a clone who struggles with her own identity/inhumanity and traumas extending from when she was a young child and her guilt but is so so resilient and so so so so compassionate which ultimately reinforces her humanity :)

kiana's character IS the honkai impact thesis statement. i don't even mean it as in she's the literal main character and face of honkai i genuinely mean it when i say she just IS honkai impact. she reflects every single theme that they portray [hope over nihilism (chapter 25 || the flame chasers and just. the previous era in general), having agency over your identity and your own story (himeko, her being k423 and being so linked to sirin, everlasting flames || the kaslana household name honestly, bronya, fu hua, mei, sirin), believing in the humanity's inherent worth (chapter 25, arc city || elysia <- important since as a current era herrscher, she is a successor to elysia AND as kiana kaslana, she is a narrative parallel of elysia), having faith in the youth (himeko, kevin || the other flame chasers! notably su), etc.] her character being so reflective is also sooooo OUGH to think about when you view it as a reflection of honkai's 50,000 year samsara because kiana is a representation of these themes coming full circle (especially since many of these stretch back to the previous era and elysia).

SHE FEELS SO MUCH. she's so full of love and guilt. she clearly prioritizes others over herself and part of her arc is her learning to value and love herself as well!!! she would give herself for the world ten times over because she holds so much affection for humanity!! (WHILE FEELING DEHUMANIZED BECAUSE OF HER IDENTITY AS BOTH A HERRSCHER AND K423) and it's actively apart of her character's growth :'')

dear god her growth… okok. so i think first you have to understand that a lot of kiana's growth obviously coincides w general maturity as she grows from a teenager to a young adult. but aside from that i think people often forget that younger kiana is incredibly self sufficient since her father literally left her with little to no explanation when she was like. what 8? the insecurity she feels at that! the anger she has to navigate while also balancing it with her own feelings of missing and loving him. basically: kiana has struggled a lot w instability and is thus kinda good at navigating it. ex: she isnt shaken by nagazora and literally tries again and again and again to save mei and convince mei to let her help. the thing is this fucks w her a bit though because a big thing that she does as a means to cope w instability is avoiding them (not reflective of real life of course, but in the fictional hi3 this is partially represented in kiana's repressed memories about her actual origins as k423). she can not stand the realization that she killed himeko that she's so deep in denial and doesnt truly realize it until more than 10 chapters after himeko dies! she's so horrified with her being a herrscher she actively tries to not use her powers out of fear, even when it puts her in harms way (the chapter XI-EX CG!!!!!! her literally trying to kill herself!!) she literally runs away from her friends and loved ones because she's so scared of hurting them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is why her promise to himeko to not run away is so important!! because it addresses one of kiana's biggest flaws!!!!! this is especially important bc her refusal to continue her avoidance feeds into her arc during the herrscher of dominion chapters where she both faces her own guilt/identity and deliberately chooses perseverance and hope over nihilism!! she is hope!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

can I request a Vox x reader fluff where they've both been struggling to come to terms with their feelings but when something (you can decide what) happens and the reader gets hurt really badly, he confesses

ANOOOOOOOOON!! YOU. GET ME. SO GOOD. HOW DARE YOU HIT ME UP WITH ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES?? Literally, give this trope to me as many times as yall want. I'll find a million ways to write it. Reap the repercussions and enjoy the food you beautiful homie, you!

Star-Crossed Idiots [Vox x Reader]

Vox refused to believe it.

Velvette had been the one to call him out on his shit first. Unlike him, she had a semblance of emotional maturity that meant she was perceptive to shit that flew over his head entirely. While he didn't understand why he found himself going out of his way to spend time with you, Velvette figured it out in a matter of days. The very fact that he had kept his involvement with you a secret was suspicious in itself. Not to mention, Velvette realized before he did. When she discovered his feelings for you, she found it hilarious. And a touch pathetic.

"I mean really Vox, you have zero reason to even know them," Velvette scoffed as she sipped on the frappuccino he had used to buy her silence. Things were already messy enough with Valentino. He had no intention of the pissy moth hearing of this until whatever this was, was sorted.

"Yet you constantly check in on their phone activity, go out of your way to run into them on the streets, and now they're even working for you just because your needy ass wanted an excuse to see them on the regular," Velvette listed as Vox did everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

Vox buried his face in his hands and groaned while Velvette rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't it just be easier to ask them out at this point? I love you, darling, but you're making this so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"No," Vox growled as he looked up and shot her a warning glare. "Do you have any idea how much shit we'd be in if I just started dating some random sinner? And that's only if the feelings were mutual."

He ran his hand down his screen with a huff, turning to look at Vark swimming up to the glass. While Vox had originally had the aquarium extend to the meeting rooms for a sense of looming intimidation, he'd found quite a bit of comfort in his sharks being able to follow him through the tower.

"Look, for all we know, I'm just pent up," Vox tried to reason. It sounded fake, even to his own ears, but he was in denial. There was too much bullshit he'd have to face if he really was as whipped for you as he feared. "It's been a shit couple of weeks. I probably just need a break and a good fuck and this will all be something you make fun of me about next week for ever entertaining in the first place."

Velvette shook her head, sighing as she pulled out her phone and started to scroll.

"Whatever you say."

---

You refused to believe it.

There was no way you fell for Vox of all people. For starters, you told yourself you'd never love again! Every time you'd tried, disaster followed. It didn't help that any potential match was one to be made in Hell. Granted, you knew not everyone in Hell was bad. There were a lot of sinners who you firmly believed belonged in Heaven or some sort of equivalent.

But even so... Vox was definitely not one of those people. Not that that was the important part or truly mattered. You were no saint either, you were also in Hell.

"I don't see what the big deal is toots," Angel Dust sighed as he watched you give Fat Nuggets attention to keep your hands busy through the stress. "There are worse people to have a crush on."

"There's better too," you whined. "I'd rather not have a crush at all," you muttered bitterly as your hand continued the soothing action of petting the teacup pig.

You'd originally been on the production team for one of Valentino's studios. That was how you befriended Angel Dust and why Vox scooped you out from under Valentino to work on his own set. He told you it was because he valued someone who had an ear for audio balance, but Angel said he'd only offered you the new job after the overlord walked in on the cameraman flirting with you right before.

"Why not just fuck the guy and see if it's a matter of heart or a matter of-"

You laughed as you covered Angel's mouth with one of your hands. "Okay, okay! Don't... finish that sentence. I won't let you taint poor little Fat Nuggets ears with your porn language."

Angel snickered as you pulled back your hand. "But you see my point, right?"

"I do," you sighed. "But that's... not really my style. If anything, I think it'd just hurt to see him after something like a casual fling. The idea of him wanting my body, but not me? Yeah no. I'll choose the healthier option of repressing my feelings, thank you very much."

"I'm telling ya, he's into you," Angel groaned. "I've seen the way he is with people he thinks are hot. I've seen him with Val. You're different, toots."

You smile sadly at Angel and put Fat Nuggets down on the bed. It was clear you didn't believe Angel and he was on the verge of ripping out his fur because of it. The two of you were so unbelievably oblivious it was gonna kill him again. "Thanks, Angie but... it's okay. Really, it is."

He sighed and eventually let it go. The two of you talked about other things for a while before Charlie peeked into his room to ask for your help on something. Once you were gone, he rolled over the conversation in his mind as he tried to think of ways to get the ball rolling on your love life.

Angel shook his head with a sigh and pulled out his phone. He scooped up Fat Nuggets and flopped back in his bed as the dialing sound filled the room. The line connected, and he was quick to the point.

"Hey, I know we don't really talk, but I've got an idea."

---

"Really Angie, I don't think this was necessary," You grumbled as you tugged down on the all-too-short skirt of the outfit he'd squeezed you into.

"Oh, but it was and it is," Angel grinned as he took your hand and twirled you in the entry hall to the club. You rolled your eyes and let him spin you in jest. He'd asked you to come with him to one of your old coworkers' birthday parties.

Apparently, one of the rules was to dress like you'd get hired to dance at the club. At least, that had been Angel's excuse when you questioned why he was hovering over you as he did your hair, and makeup and held up several outfits to your body that you doubted would fit.

Despite the discomfort of getting all dolled up, you were happy he'd invited you. It had been a while since you saw your old friends. That being said, it would have been more fun if you weren't tugging down your skirt every two minutes. You weren't the only one hyperaware of how much of your skin was exposed. Nor of the way the fabric hugged your frame tightly. Several of your old friends had suggested you return to the studio with a job in front of the camera instead of in the shadows of the set.

You'd been having a good time, sticking to the corner of the room with some of your old friends to watch the drinks while the rest were out on the dance floor. One of the drunker sinners of the bunch accidentally knocked over some of the drinks while she'd been telling a story about the recent cam show she did. You volunteered to go get more napkins from the bar. One of your friends came with you to reorder the ruined drinks and the two of you had nearly pushed your way through the crowd when you heard a familiar voice call your name through the noise.

Vox didn't have to fight through the crowd the way you had. The second sinners saw the glow of his screen, they were quick to move out of his path. Your friend touched your arm, pulling your attention away from the approaching overlord. They winked at you and told you they had the drink issue handled.

When you turned, you caught Vox's screen flickering from pink to his usual blue. You had never seen any color other than the "You don't get to sleep" blue light, so you assumed it was just a trick of the flashing dance lights above.

"I didn't think you'd be here," you say to break the tension. This wasn't the first time you'd seen him in casual wear, nor was it the first time you'd seen Vox since realizing you had feelings for him. Even so, your heart was beating hard just from the sight of him.

"A-Ah yeah, well," Vox stammered as the music blared through the busy room. "Velvette wanted to drop by. She said something about wanting to check the place out as a potential venue for an upcoming show."

"Just the two of you?" you ask, perking up slightly.

"It was supposed to be," Vox chuckled dryly. His grin was tired and forced as he looked to the side and scanned the room. "Valentino heard we were coming here and tagged along. I don't know why, but Velvette got really heated about it. Something about him fucking up her plans..."

"Oh," your shoulders drop. You cringe internally, wishing you could take back the bitterness in your voice. You hoped it wasn't too obvious, but the way Vox was looking at you like you were some sort of a puzzle told you everything you needed to know.

You actually loved Velevette. She was sassy and cutthroat but had a kind side to her as well. Valentino however... He'd been the source of a lot of suffering for the people you cared about. While the more obvious examples of Angel Dust returning to the hotel looking like shit came to mind, so did the times you had to comfort Vox after being yanked this way and that by the moth emotionally.

That was actually how you'd realized you'd come to care for him as deeply as you do. He'd been standing alone in one of the meeting rooms with a distant look on his face. When you found him and asked him if he was okay, he tried to play it off with his usual bravado, but couldn't. He never cried in front of you, he only vented his frustrations about Valentino and you listened. You sympathized. And eventually, you found yourself wishing you could be the one to treat him better.

Vox opened his mouth to say something, only for Valentino to slip his arm around his shoulder, appearing out of nowhere from the crowd.

"There you are baby," he purred, his fingers immediately slipping under the collar of Vox's vest. You resisted the urge to gag as Valentino took a long puff from his pipe and blew the majority of the smoke in your direction.

"I was wondering where you up and fucked off to," Valentino grinned as he leaned down to nip drunkenly at Vox's shoulder. "You left me all alone with our little fashionista, "Valentino scoffed. "She's in such a bitchy mood."

If it wasn't bad enough that Valentino was practically drooling all over Vox in front of you and pretending you weren't there, insult was only added to injury when Valentino grinned at you with sharp teeth when he called Velvette bitchy.

"Come back and unwind with me," Valentino hummed as he started to kiss up Vox's neck. "Some of my best toys are here tonight. Don't you want to play?"

If Vox had any doubt he was in Hell before, he had every reason to confirm the fact at this moment. He'd fallen out of love with Valentino, but the almost... the almost killed him. To make it worse, he was completely frozen, letting it all happen in front of you. He made no moves to stop Valentino, he made no moves to reciprocate. He simply froze.

Unable to watch any longer as Vox continued to fall for the very same game of tug-o-war he told you he was done with, you bite your lip and turn on your heel. You can't tell if you heard Vox say your name or if it was just a trick of the crowd.

"Anyone else gonna drink this?" You asked as you rejoined your friends still at the table and pointed to one of the more full glasses left on the table. When your friends who were sober enough to answer said you could go for it, you tossed it back in one shot.

You griped to one of your friends who had stayed behind to watch over those too drunk to make good choices. The two of you had been having a damn good venting session about how stupid you felt your feelings were when the entire bar swayed. Your words slurred as your body grew heavy.

One second you were sitting up, wondering why your friend looked so concerned. The next second there was a sharp pain against the temple of your forehead, followed by a heavy thunk, more pain, and darkness.

---

Vox had been desperately searching the dance floor for any sign of you. He'd torn away from Valentino and the moth hadn't bothered to follow. Vox would... handle that another time. For as much as he denied his feelings for you this morning, the second he saw the hurt look in your eyes he knew he had to tell you. There was no way he could ignore the sharp lurch in his chest at the sight of you.

He didn't know what it meant. He couldn't tell if it was just a sense of betrayal after he'd been so open with you about Valentino or if it was something more. Every time he found himself wanting to talk about his true feelings on anything, he wanted to talk to you. Every time he had a rare second alone in the middle of the night, the only touch he craved was yours. Yes, he had a history with Valentino, but he didn't actively want that. He wanted you.

He finally spotted you across the room, sitting at a table with one of the whores he'd seen at Valentino's studio and getting way too close to them for his liking. He made his way through the drunken idiots who were too far gone to notice him, keeping his eyes on you as you started swaying dangerously.

You tried to reach down for something on the table and Vox swore as you lost what little balance you had and fell over. Someone got in his way so he didn't see the impact, but somehow he heard it. Through all the noise he heard the sharp thud and the panicked swearing of the person you were with after.

Vox was suddenly shoving every idiot out of his way, ignoring their shouts as he ran into the small clearing and found you on the ground with blood seeping from your head. He was immediately on his knees, scooping you up as the sinner who'd been with you started freaking out.

The only thing Vox could hear was a high-pitched whine as he pulled you to him and tried to frantically find where you were bleeding from. Half of your head was dripping with blood and he vaguely registered your friend saying your head had hit the edge of the table.

"Just s̴̢̃ḧ̸̺u̸͇͋t̷̯͂ ̷̬̂u̶͖̓p̵̳͗!̶̳͌," Vox snapped as he whipped up and affixed the sinner with a violent glare. He didn't care that half the club was looking at him. For once, he didn't care that he'd made a scene. Logically, he knew something like this couldn't kill you, you were all already dead. But his hands were shaking violently and the buzzing in his head was getting louder because you weren't moving.

Everything around him flashed with bright blue light as he held you close and teleported out of the club without even thinking about it. The two of you reappeared in his room back at the tower and he let out a shaky breath as he placed you down on his bed.

Not knowing what to do, Vox quickly crossed the room and threw his bathroom door open as he searched for anything he could use to stop the bleeding. He was muttering furiously as he nearly ripped the hinges off the cupboard under the sink looking for anything he could use.

Vox let out a loud, angry shout as his body kept glitching. His movements were jerky and he'd hit his head on the sink twice now. Just as he was about to have an absolute meltdown, he heard you groan from his bedroom. His head snapped up and he turned around at the sound of your voice so fast he was surprised he didn't snap his own neck.

Vox yanked a towel off of the wall and scrambled across the nylon tiles as he fell into his room with all the grace of a CEO that he clearly had. He swore, picking himself up and coming over to you as you sat up and clutched your head.

"Shit, that stuff was stronger than I thought," you groaned. "Note to self, don't just chug random alcohol at the club." you tried to laugh, only to hiss as the pain in your head doubled down due to the movement.

"You're a fucking idiot," Vox sighed as he sat down next to you and lifted the towel to your head.

You flinched at the contact, and Vox grabbed your wrist with his free hand. "Stay still," he frowned, pressing again on the wound. "You're still bleeding."

Trying not to do more damage, you stay as still as possible while he tries to stop the bleeding. The silence is heavy between the two of you before you mumble quietly.

"Sorry..."

Vox blinks, frowning down at you. "For what?"

You avoid eye contact the best you can given your current condition and fist your hands on your thighs nervously. "For acting like an idiot. You've told me about how hard it is with Valentino. I should've said or done something and not have gotten..."

"Upset?" Vox finished for you quietly. You flinched, unable to read the tone in his voice. He sighed and slowly lifted the towel from your head, before lowering it. "Why did you?"

"It's stupid," you bite your lip, hand drifting up curiously to see how bad the wound is. Before your fingers could brush against your hair, Vox's hand grabbed your wrists again.

"Try me."

You couldn't say if it was due to the pain, blood loss, or alcohol in your system, but the moment you finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye, you said fuck it. Vox gasped as you surged forward and pressed your lips against his. He'd barely had a chance to process the feeling before you were already turned away from him and rambling some bullshit about how you knew he didn't feel the same.

He took your hand, ignoring the anxious nonsense flowing from your mouth, and lifted it to his lips. Your speech died on your tongue as his lips pressed against the palm of your hand.

"Do you have any idea how much you've been on my mind?" He growled softly, his lips trailing up your arm slowly as he practically worshiped your skin.

If it wasn't for the fact that your blood was still on his hands, Vox would have been so much more rough with you. He would have grabbed you and crashed his lips against yours. He would have torn the fabric that hugged your curves so tightly off of your body and shown you just how badly he'd been needing you.

Instead, he made do with tracing his claw under your chin and guiding you to face him properly. His eyes searched yours for any doubt or sign that you'd acted purely on adrenaline and not something more. When your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed, he knew. As he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, as his arms snaked down and pulled you flush against him like you'd break, as your fingers found a home in his vest he knew.

You wanted him too. You fell for him too. This wasn't a game of "do they, don't they" like the one he'd played with Valentino for so fucking long.

His breath hitched, his arms tightening around you before he slowly pulled back and laughed breathlessly.

"Does this mean we're dating?" you ask, smiling at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

"God that sounds cheesy," Vox grimaced. The phrase felt so... high school bullshit. But it wasn't wrong. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He reached down, hesitating before his clawed hand gently covered yours. "But yeah... I guess it does," he smiled softer than you'd ever seen before.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Hope requests aren't closed. Could I request Gepard, Argenti, Dan Heng, and Jing Yuan with a s/o who is an excellent inventor? Toys, machines, they can make anything.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ They weren't when you requested so you're good! Also, I don't write for Argenti so hope you don't mind me changing him for Serval! She just suits here so well and I need more of the girlies so you can say I kinda took the opportunity there~ Anyway, hope it's still up to your liking!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ Dan Heng probably knows both a lot and a little about subject of inventing

✧ he read about it and even saw few constructions due to adventuring from planet to planet, but he also never really did it himself

✧ you'll have to introduce him to all the shortcuts while inventing something because he knows just the long and boring way, like instructions said, he'll do the exact steps

✧ he doesn't really mind and find it actually quite interesting to help you around

✧ but if your workshop is loud... he may not be big fan... and if you're trabilazer like him and all the noise is coming from the next room? Yeah, he'd loose it...

"Y/N. How about we go grab some sweets and you finish your work later? I need a break..."

✧ don't get him wrong, he's happy you're working on your skills but he just doesn't like the noise and would much prefer go on a walk while you work

✧ but at least he helps you with cleaning and quieter parts of inventing!

✧ tho if you live on planet and he rarely visits you we it is... he may not mind the noise as much. He's simply more focused on spending some quality time with you than that

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane @toyaswif3y - come get your quiet but scary trabilazer!

✧ Gepard is honestly happy for your achievements and you probably met each other through Serval

✧ but... let no one ask him who's better inventor... he's not gonna be able to choose between you and his sister so he'll end up with basic answer, simply saying you're both great which he's not lying about

✧ but if we can avoid that, he knows quite a bit about it so he'll often drop by and see how you're doing

✧ and if you need help, he wouldn't mind doing so we long as he's not busy

✧ if he won't know something... he can always ask you or Serval if you'll need some professional advice too!

✧ this boy is so busy and now he also has 2 inventors to help... he often leaves you or Serval mid day to go to another one, so he won't seem like he's playing favorites because he loves you both equally, just in different ways

"Hey love, I'll go see how Serval's doing, okey? I'll come back later so I can help you more since I know you're busy. I'll be back in 1 of 2 hours."

✧ but... Serval often kicks him out to help his partner, she's like tou cupid if you think about it...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Serval is too!! You guys either met through work and bonded OR became close and just later realized you're both inventors

✧ when you were far enough into relationship, she definitely wanted to combine your two workshops so instead of "competing against each other", you could work together

✧ and lemme tell you... if you do it, your business is going CRAZY since you're both one of the best inventors in Belebog

✧ if you ever struggle with idea, fixing or making something, she's the one you should go for!

✧ she knows you're a bit better than her and will often mention it, not because she had low self-esteem but because she's proud girlfriend and wants to compliment you

"Hehe~ C'mon, you're the best at it! You need to teach me your trick someday, alright? In exchange... I could take you on a date next week! I'll clear my schedule so we can spend entire day with each other."

✧ expect her to be a little flirty from time to time when you work, sneaking little notes between not important machines so you'll wonder why it's not working just to find love letter there, or send some flying little robot with hear or chocolates on it... many can happen when she's in the playful mood!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Jing Yuan most likely knows every citizen of Xianzhou Luofu, some worse some better... so he definitely knew you even before you got into relationship

✧ but your relationship either developed by him hiring you one day or him getting w little crush and visiting you often

✧ and when you're together, he'll often drop by to see how you're doing and he'll you around

✧ and when he can't come check up on you because of his work... he'll simply send someone to you! It can be either Cloud Knight on patrol or Yanqing passing by

✧ he loves seeing how much you can do with just the idea and materials. So he'll sometimes sit down next to you and watch you work

✧ his favorite thing is to see the project developed all the way from simple scratch to finished product

✧ he'll also remind you of breaks, taking you out for something sweet or to restaurant whenever you finish project you've been working for days

"It looks great, my dear. Now let's go eat something. My treat. Trust me, you deserve it for all the good work you did there."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your soft general~

[zer05trange]

Roaring Sea

000. Prologue

⋆｡°✩ (childe x fem!reader)✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ premise: When Ajax stumbles across a humble bakery with his brother, he has no idea the new fight he'll have to win. Because though the Fatui Harbinger explored the waters of many nations and many different conflicts, he knew nothing about the dangerous sea of relationships.

⋆｡°✩wc: 2.1k

⋆｡°✩content warnings: none for the prologue!

The premature coolness of Snezhnayan autumn is nothing to Ajax and his brother. It’s comforting, in fact. It reminds him of an older, easier time when his soul wasn't tainted by the horrors of this world. Often, Ajax thinks of what it would be like to be normal, to have a normal social life.

If his work could possibly permit it, he would've loved to meet someone with whom he could share his heart. But thanks to his plummet into the abyss, and the years he's worked for the Fatui, he doesn't have a heart that could be given to someone.

The part of his heart that hasn’t faltered is for the love of his family. And that’s why on a more lax week of work, he finds himself walking down a city street with Teucer by his side, glancing at different shops and places that interest his little brother. Their destination was one shop that his brother kept talking about, one that he needed his big brother to try out.

“Big brother! We have to go,” Ajax remembers his brother exclaiming just a few hours earlier. The young boy continued to ramble about a bakery he often frequented, with a kind, yet strong-willed owner that would never fail to make time to converse with his little brother.

Almost the entire stroll to the destination, Teucer spoke of when the owner; the time she slipped Teucer extra pastries free of charge for his other siblings, showing him how to make his favorite items on the menu, or never letting him venture out into the cold without some sort of hot drink to keep him company.

“This one’s it!” He hears Teucer pipe up, stopping in front of the row of shops. It was two stories, fitting with the rest of the line of stores. It was cute, and shockingly modern looking on the outside. He can see the soft illumination on the inside, with a sufficient amount of booths and tables for its size. Teucer goes running into the shop, leaving Ajax to catch up to his little brother. 

By the time he enters the shop, Teucer is already chatting away with someone behind the counter, peering up at the woman who’s smiling down at him. 

“ if you give me a few minutes, your favorite is just about done baking, and it’ll be nice and hot for you, all right?” He hears her say.

Oh, her voice is much younger and brighter than he imagined it would be. He looks up at her, and she was not what he thought she’d look like as well. Young, sophisticated, and positively gorgeous . He straightens up his posture a bit before walking toward the counter. 

“Good evening,” She says, “You look a little like someone I know.”

“Y/N, that’s my big brother! The one that got me that toy I showed you a few days ago!” Teucer responds, jumping up and down with his hands on the counter. 

Y/N. Fitting, Ajax thinks. 

“I have heard about you. The toy maker, yes?” You turn to him and he nods, “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Tartaglia,” He says in return, “You have a lovely bakery, and the food here looks delicious!”

You laugh, and Tartaglia feels his smile widen ever so slightly as his chest tightens up. He thinks he may be dying.

“Thank you, pick whatever you’d like, please,” You say back to him.

Though you were expecting Teucer to come into your bakery, since he hadn’t been in a few days, you were not expecting to see his striking, tall, and slightly intimidating brother. 

This Tartaglia was an odd one. From what you’ve heard from him he seemed to be a caring, loving, and attentive brother. But you struggled to find a spark in his eyes, and that sent a chill down your spine. 

He’s donning an oxblood colored long sleeve button up and white pants, and you don’t fail to miss the hydro vision on his waistband either. He has the same deep gingered hair, blue eyes, and freckles that his brother has. However, he’s very tall and muscular, with a sharp facial structure adorned with a pretty-boy face. You’d make a bet that he’s nothing but trouble. 

His overall energy is intense, ominous, and foreboding. But he's friendly to you, at least, and his body language was a little more than friendly, but you shrug it off. It’s not every day that a handsome customer takes an interest in you.

The two brothers found their seats a few minutes ago, so you go back to preparing other baked goods and taking care of the few customers who are also in your store. However, you don’t fail to miss the glances Tartaglia keeps making at you. 

He looked awfully familiar, and not just because he was the brother of your most loyal customer, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he was so recognizable. You hear Teucer call your name and you perk your head up to see the little boy calling you over. No one was ordering, so you come from the confines of your counter and over to their booth. Walking over to their area, you see Tartaglia’s eyes go straight from your face, to your hip. You glance down for a moment, wondering what in Tevyat he could be looking at. 

Ah, you think, as your own eyes find the soft glow of your vision. But you shrug that off, you already saw his vision that resides on his waist. 

“Yes, Teucer?” You say as you look down at the younger boy. 

“Did you put something new in your frosting?” He asks, with his eyebrow cocked up.

“I did, actually. I added more sugar as an experiment. Do you like it?” You respond, stunned at how he would’ve figured that out, especially because it was such a miniscule amount of sugar.

“I really do,” He says as he takes another forkful into his mouth. 

“Ms. Y/N,” you hear the other brother, “Are those moon pies?” He points to your display case. 

“They are. I try to have a little something from each of the nations, it’s a good source for variety,” You respond as you look back at your assortments of goods, most of which were taken by earlier customers. 

“And you make all of those?” He asks. You nod your head, letting out a quaint ‘mhm’ with a proud look on your face. 

“Well what I’ve had is delicious so far, I need to come back to you and try everything!” He exclaims, beaming up at you with a wide smile and a wink.  

You chuckle awkwardly before a couple walks into your store, unknowingly becoming your saving grace. You rush behind the counter, feeling his eyes burning into your back as you walk away from him. As you serve the two customers their order, you notice how the two were looking at each other lovingly and how the man pulled out the chair just for the woman to sit down. The way the two treated each other pulled at your heartstrings, though a normal reaction when one witnessed romance, there was a tinge of jealousy behind the feeling as well. 

Sure, you thought about entering the terrifying world of relationships, but you're way too focused on your blossoming business to have yet another stressor on you. But, more often than you’d like, you imagine what it would be like for someone to sweep you off of your feet, to spend time with, and battle the cold of the nation by being bundled up together. You always reason with your thoughts, because it is simply not the wisest thing to do, no matter how bitter the lovey-dovey couples make you. 

You bring yourself back to the present, the couple already left, as have many other customers. It’s getting later in the evening, and you look over at the remaining two customers that reside in their booth. A small smile makes its way to your face when you see how engaged Tartaglia is in his brother’s rambling. It wasn’t often that you saw siblings this close, even in a nation where family is treasured. 

The two look over at you as you finish cleaning up for the night, their mugs empty and their saucers clear, except for a few crumbs. You call them over to your display case, and they follow suit. 

“Pick whatever you’d like,” You sternly demand of them, “They either go to me or my dog, so take however much you want. Maybe some for your other siblings?” 

Teucer’s eyes brighten as he frantically starts studying the case, pointing out a multitude of sweets before you can even reach for the tongs. The entire time, Tartaglia switches his eyes from his brother to you, both in admiration.

You can feel his intimidating gaze and although he's never spoken to you until today, he's taken a liking to you. His energy toward you has been… interesting, to say the least, in the few hours you've known him. But surely it’s completely harmless, and you doubt that any of his weirdly flirty intentions were something he was going to take seriously.

So why not just let it happen?

“It’s getting dark, Teucer. let's get on our way so Ms. Y/N can get home,”  Tartaglia says while his eyes stay focused on your face, a sly smile pulled on his lips. 

“Oh it’s no big deal, my house isn’t too far away,” You point to above the shop, where you reside upstairs, “I’m much more worried about you two getting home before you freeze.”

Tartaglia laughs at that, causing you to look to the side awkwardly. Did you say something that hilarious? You brush it off and hand the two their large bag of assortments. 

“Get home safe, you two,” you say as the two prepare to leave the bakery, “I can’t have my favorite customer and his older brother frozen to death!” 

As they leave, Tartaglia turns around and waves to you with a wink, making you scoff and roll your eyes as you walk toward the door as well. You lock it behind you, and switch the OPEN sign to CLOSED. You watch the two walk off, Teucer still chattering on and on as they disappear down the city.

Walking over to their booth to clean it up, a velvety blue bag catches your eye. It must be a mora pouch, next to a napkin with wording on it. 

You have to teach me how you make such an excellent apple cake! I’ll be back soon, Лапушка.

                     P.S. Thank you for treating Teucer the way you do. 

     —Tartaglia ;)

You scoff and roll your eyes, yet again, this time without him there to see your reaction. What is this guy’s deal? You open the pouch and almost drop it, shocked at what is inside. It has to be thousands of mora, too much to be considered a tip. If this is how he’s trying to harmlessly flirt with you, it’s not working too well. Instead, it freaks you out as to what to do with it. A customer shouldn’t be tipping that much, you think, so you plan on returning it whenever he comes next as he promised.

You eventually finish cleaning up and rush upstairs to your apartment, much like most nights. But tonight, your cheeks feel more heat in them than usual.

As Ajax walks his brother home, his mind fills with more emotion than he's felt in a long time. The fact that you could bring out a little crush within him stunned him. In all his travels, even his life before his corruption, he never felt anything romantic for anyone. 

Why was he yearning to see more of you, though he just met you? Was it the way you took such care for his brother, your kind attitude, though you were slightly austere to his dumb advances? Was it the vision, the sigil that proves you’re a warrior? Or was it your beautiful eyes, your skin, your hair, your lips, your—

No. A Fatui Harbinger should not become weak in the knees for one person. One person he just met an hour ago? Absolutely not. His job called for his time, his body, and his everything. And he doesn’t have the time to become so attached to anyone. 

Though maybe, a microscopic part of his mind was scared. Scared of having feelings for anyone. 

Because though the Fatui Harbinger explored the waters of many nations and many different conflicts, he knew nothing about the roaring sea of relationships.

⋆｡°✩translation: Лапушка— sweetheart, darling

⋆｡°✩a/n: thank you so much for reading! this work is already fully--written so updates should be every few days or weekly!

[outlawyunho]

Pretty - Shota Aizawa

word count - 3K synopsis - shota aizawa would do anything for you, even if it meant going past his comfort zone. warnings - she/her reader, drunk! reader, aizawa is the king of consent lets be real, coercion, reader is a horny mess but so is aizawa, aizawa is S-O-F-T for reader lemme tell you, some kissing, grinding, heavy petting (maybe?), dub-con if you squint, idk this was entirely self indulgent im not gonna lie to you minors do not interact

It's not like this was the first time he'd seen you utterly shit-faced. No, not in the slightest. He's known you for years, since high school when he was just a floppy haired emo boy and you were a goddess that decided three dorks were her best friends. He's seen you drunk countless times over the years, thanks to Mic and his ability to make you forget you are a grown up. A Pro-Hero at that. But you were too persuaded by your friends' efforts to have a good time. Shot after shot after shot- Aizawa lost count after the fifth double shot that you pounded back, giggling with Mic as Aizawa watched you wipe the liquor that was trailing down your chin.  He should have known right then he was in for a hell of a night.

"Okay, just..shit.. okay.." He's struggling, he really is, between your limp body held to his chest by his strong arm that's wrapped around your waist and the effort it took to get you here, in his apartment, he's more than happy to tuck you to sleep in his bed and call it a night on the couch. Expect you're not only drunk, you're high. High off some dank smelling stuff Midnight pulled out of her purse while you were all waiting for the cab. Aizawa loves his friends but sometimes he loathes them so completely it drives him mad. Face pinched tight, the tips of his ears blushed a deep crimson. That's how he looked standing beside you outside the bar as you swayed and laughed as you hit the thick blunt Mic passed you. 

He drops you as carefully as he can onto his large couch, winded and tired as he tosses his keys on the coffee table and loosens his tie. You lay there giggling to yourself as you stare up at him, your eyes redder than his at this point. His hair is tucked back in a loose attempt at a half up bun, the strands that normally lay over his eyes tucked neatly behind his ears, and his face is clean shaven and flushed from lugging your nearly limp body up the stairs.

"You're so pretty." You coo and fuck if it doesn't make his stomach flip- but you're drunk. Completely wasted in fact and he knew it when you had told Mic before the two of you had left that you thought he was an amazing singer. Aizawa knows for a fact that's a lie. 

"Yeah, yeah. You're so fucking gone. How does your body even handle that much alcohol?" His voice is gruff but there's a fondness in it. Because of course there is. He loves you. Has loved you since said emo days. It's never stopped, never ceased in the slightest. Why else would he deal with your excessively drunk ass? 

You stretch, either completely ignoring or just not hearing his words, stretch nice and big with your arms thrown over you head and your back arched sharply. A hollow moan rumbles out of your mouth and through his apartment and his eyes flicker to the velvet skirt of your dress that has fallen so dangerously close to exposing you. Aizawa looks at the ceiling, jaw clenching, fist balled up in the pockets of his black slacks. 

"So pretty.." Your voice is far off, a gentle murmur to yourself as you keep staring at him like he put the stars in the night sky. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He says about your comment because.. yeah, you're definitely beyond drunk right now. "You need to sleep this off, gonna feel like shit tomorrow."

It's like you dont even fucking hear him. 

"Mm, but I mean it. Think about you so much." You smooth your bare foot down his slack covered thigh, your mouth parted and pretty as you say, "So pretty and kind and strong, drive me crazy, Sho." 

Aizawa can't fucking breathe. Heart pounding in his chest as he looks down at the sight of you, looking so fucked out but he hasn't even touched you. No, this was all your own doing. 

No. This was the alcohol. The weed. You didn't mean it, you were just fucked up. 

"Angel." His voice is a warning and fuck if he can't see the way it makes your whole body shiver. Oh, this isn't good. "You are way too drunk and I am way too sober to have this conversation right now."

"I'm not that drunk!" Expect it's all slurred words and mashed teeth and if you weren't looking at him like you might consume his soul he might have laughed at that. "Don't you want me, Shota?" 

God, his face is burning, dick twitching in his slacks and it washes deep shame through his body. He feels like he's fucking short circuiting, his resolve wobbling like your bottom lip as you look up at him with your most appealing doe eyes. 

"How about, uh, I.. I make you something to eat and then you can sleep this off?" His voice is held together by a wavering thread, words filling his dry mouth as fast as he can form them. He can't do this right now. He needs you to carry your ass to sleep so he can go take care of the massive problem you've brought to life in his pants. 

You sit up, teetering only slightly as you lean you head against the back of the couch and groan, rubbing your thighs together and fuck, Aizawa is doing everything he can to not think about that. You're so….needy. 

"I don't wanna eat, I want you." You peer up at him, and he knows what you're about to do before you even do it. What's worse? He knows he's gonna fucking fall for it. Like he always does. "I guess you don't want me though.." 

Your voice is pathetic, breathy and wounded, and your face is so downtrodden, that frown so deep it sends a pain through Aizawa's heart like a dagger. 

He sits on the couch quickly, locking his gaze on your watery eyes. Fuck, you were actually crying about this. Aizawa wants to die when his dick twitches at the sight of a lone tear tracking down the pretty apple of your cheek. You do things to him, things that no one else is able to do and the worst part is you don't even have to try.

"I didn't say I didn't want you." He says cautiously, thumb wiping the tears away as you turn to him with that fucking pout that never fails to work on him. 

You lean into the warmth of his hand, your own fingers coming to wrap tight around his wrist to keep him there. 

"But.. you keep saying no." You pout and he wants to kiss it off your face. 

"No. I'm saying you're drunk and I'm not gonna take advantage of my best friend because she's drunk. That's not me." His voice is stern. Resolute. But then your mouth parts and the tip of your pretty pink tongue swipes over the tip of his thumb and he almost loses his shit right then and there. 

"You're not taking advantage of me if I want it." You say so coyly and Aizawa snatches his hand back, points an accusing finger at your wicked smiling face. 

"You can't want it if you're drunk, Angel. Stop fighting me on it. The answer is no." He's steady and authoritative on the outside but on the inside his heart is pounding, cock aching within its confines. All Aizawa can really think is "What the fuck is going on?" He'd never seen you act like this before. 

"Okay." You sigh sadly, voice small. You seem to curl in on yourself as you sit next to him but then your head pops up and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end when you press him with the most innocent look. If he didn't know you, he might have fallen for it, but he does know you. Knows that you're a manipulative little shit when you wanted to be, especially when it's to get him to do something he doesn't wanna do. 

"What about.." You start and he's about to cut you off before you can even say whatever ridiculous shit you've managed to think of in the messy state you're in, but he's not quick enough. "Just one little kiss, please Shota?" 

"No, absolutely not." But his stomach does this stupid little flip just at the thought and he can't not look down at your lips. You catch him, eyes glinting as you scoot a little closer. You may be a Pro-Hero but you are a fucking evil women. Sinful in a way that Aizawa isn't sure he can stay away from, no matter his moral compass. 

"Just one itty bitty kiss and I'll go to bed like a good girl, I promise, Sho." You look so good saying it, and sound even better. But Shota Aizawa is not a fool and Shota Aizawa has known you far too long to let something so hormonal ruin one of his most treasured friendships, even if he did want you so badly it was tearing him up inside. 

You shuffle closer, right hand coming down softly on his thigh and his whole body freezes. His eyes slant as he looks over to you. 

"I said-" 

"You won't be doing anything wrong, Shota. I know you'd never take advantage of me." You lean in, ghost you breath across his neck and Aizawa seriously can't fucking breathe. "You're the best friend a girl could ask for, Sho, I know you'd never hurt me " 

Your voice is honey dipped venom and Aizawa's chest seizes when your thumb starts stroking a soft line up and down his thigh. 

No, no, no, no, no. Fuccckk.

Your lips look so soft, bitten and shiny with your spit and so close. He imagines you taste like whiskey and cherries and the spearmint chapstick you made him put in his pocket so you didn't lose it. 

"I…I.." 

"I promise I'll be so good, just for you." 

"Only one." He says and….wait what the fuck did he say? His brain has betrayed him, or maybe it was his dick, doesn't matter when there isn't anytime to process what the fuck he's just agreed to. 

You're pressing your lips to his as his mind flounders, your nails digging into the meat of his thigh as you taste him for the first time after all these years. 

You moan so loud and lewdly, it ricochets around his living room, and his head, and his heart. The sound sends a shiver down both of your spines. You taste just like he thought you would, plush lips pushed against his own. The kiss wasn't anything special but because it was you it was the hottest kiss Aizawa has ever had. 

Only one. Only one. Only one. 

No, he can't, he has to stop this. You taste too sweet, the little moans and whines escaping your throat are doing too much for him. He wants to hear more. Needs to hear more; but not like this. Not when you're drunk. He'd be a horrible friend, a horrible person, if he let this continue. So he pulls away, leaning back, eyes fluttering open, mouth beginning to speak.

He can't get a single fucking thing out when your pushing back towards him, your hands grabbing his face to hold him still. It's him that moans this time, a shocked gaspy moan that you swallow without a second thought. You toss your leg over his lap, grind yourself down against the hard line of his cock beneath his pants. 

This kiss was miles away from the other. Teeth biting against his bottom lip, your tongue licking into his mouth, your hands ruining the bun he had his hair in as you yank the black tie out. And your hips, they won't stop grinding against him, it's so hot but so wrong and that stomach bubbling shame makes its appearance again. He braces his hands on your hips trying, in vain, to stall you but you only work faster. Rutting and whining and whispering his name. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He separates your mouths, bites at his lip when you settle for licking a fat stripe up his neck, sucking just below his ear.

"We can't, we gotta stop." He doesn't know how he manages to get the words out and somehow he's unsure if they even came from him. He's never sounded like this before. What the hell are you doing to him? 

You pin his hands against the back of the couch, something that felt so strange considering he could have you wrapped up in his scarf in barely a second. Except, he doesn't have the scarf at this moment and you've driven his willpower straight into the mud. 

"I'm so sorry, Shota." You whisper into his ear, licking at his ear lobe. "I'm sorry, I just need you so bad."

In that second, with your mouth and hips dizzying his brain, he finally realizes something. 

He wasn't taking advantage of you, you were taking advantage of him. 

The realization hits him so hard he gasps; or maybe that was because you picked that moment to swivel your hips just so that he could feel the way your lips parted under your lace panties and slotted over him. Even through the layers he could feel that wet hot heat. 

"Gotta stop." Was he even trying? "Angel, we have to stop. We g-gotta go to sleep before this gets out of hand." He tries once again to push you away but you only shake your head and clinge tighter, fingers lost in his hair as you chase the release that's been slowly building in your stomach. 

"No." You grit out between this little gasp that has his hands clenching in the skirt of your dress. He doesn't move them, they just sit there gripping the fabric as he thinks about how much of a pathetic weak man he is for letting you trick him like this. "Don't wanna sleep, want you to fill me up. Wanna feel you deep inside me, Shota." You punctate his name with a high pitched whine and that's it, that's all it takes. 

That wavering thread, his moral compass? Gone just from the way you say his name. 

He lunges at you, wraps his hand around the column of your throat and for the first time since you jumped him your hips finally still. 

"You are such a fucking brat." Aizawa growls, squeezing your throat just tight enough to make your head fuzzy. You wanted to play dirty? Fine. He could be dirty too.

He reaches his hand behind you to blindly drag the zipper on the back of your dress down, snatching the front off your shoulders and down your arms. He pulls it down until your bare chest is exposed to him, nipples pebbled in the cool air of his apartment, let's the dress settle around you waist before he's balling his fist in the material and using it to drag your hips against his. 

"Fuckk." He groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. You whimper as you watch him use you now, all that confidence and control gone as you tremble with every grind and rut. He's pushing his hips up into you now, no longer holding back, and the feeling is mind-blowing.

"Shota.." You begin to whisper but he's quickly silencing you with his lips, hungry and searching, as they attack your own. 

"Fucking evil women." He smacks the supple skin of your ass, hard. So hard it has you falling into his chest, burying your nose into his neck. Aizawa grabs the back of your neck with his big hand, presses hard enough that you know that's your place now. You were no longer running the show. 

"Drunk off your fucking ass," he bites out before actually biting into the skin of you shoulder. You whine pathetically, suddenly embarrassed of the sound of your wet soppy cunt humping against his nice trousers. "Can't take no for a fucking answer. Thought you were gonna be a good girl, Angel? What happened to that?" 

You can't speak, your body quivering as you orgasm approaches, a hot white heat that tingles from your head to your toes. You manage to grit out a weak "I'm sorry, Sho.", but it's just about as pathetic as you feel right now. 

"So fuckin' impatient. Why couldn't you have waited till tomorrow?" He grits out, his head spinning. He wouldn't fuck you tonight, that's too far. He knows despite this little performance you've put on that you are in fact still inebriated and he'd never forgive himself if he did something that sober you wouldn't have wanted. But this? If you want to get off so badly, he'll make it happen. 

Because you should know by now- Shota Aizawa would do anything for you. 

"Please." You whimper out even though you're not really sure what you're asking for. But that doesn't matter, because Aizawa knows.

He slips his hand down between the two of you, thumb finding your clit pressed roughly against the wet lace of your panties. He rubs tight, teasing circles over your sensitive nub, kissing and sucking at the soft skin of your chest as he peers up at your pleasure stricken face. You look so beautiful like this, it's addicting, something he's dreamed about for years. To finally experience it though? It was unlike anything he'd imagined, especially when your eyes clamp shut, nails digging into his shoulder as you cum- hard.

"Fuck, Shota!" You gasp around a steady chant of yes yes yes's. "I love you, oh my god, I love you so much, Sho." 

You collapse into his chest, body trembling and jerking every now and then from the small aftershocks that rush through you. He rubs your back as you catch your breath, his lips pressing the sweetest most adoring kisses to your forehead.

"I mean it." You say, breathing heavily through your nose and Shota hums in response as he looks down at where you're cradled to his chest.

"Mean what?" He asks and his breath is ragged, rough sounding. You huff a bit as you adjust your weight in his lap. 

"I'm not that drunk…and that you're pretty…and that..I love you." Your voice is so shy now, so unsure, such a stark comparison from the girl that jumped him only fifteen minutes ago. 

Aizawa feels the heat that rushes to his cheeks, the heavy thud of his heart. He loves you more than you can ever know and hearing you finally say it back, especially while you were grinding against him, was enough to make him cum in his pants.

Which he did. Like a fucking high school kid. It was honestly kinda ridiculous the way you molded him however you wanted to, how he let you do it. He couldn't imagine letting anyone see him the way he allows you to. Only you.

Always you.

"Can we go to sleep now, Angel?" He asks into your temple and you answer with a yawn and a nod, sleepy eyes fluttering shut. 

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (1)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!

Notes and TW: I wanted to write something that simultaneously includes some fun Jade moments as well as my own thoughts on some tropes. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

You’ve known the truth for a while—that this world exists inside a story. This is a world that revolves around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around you exists to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world is created for “(Y/N).”

You are Friend A. Friend A is a foolish girl who puts (Y/N) into a dangerous situation, involving her with the mafia. (Y/N) is saved by a tall, dark, and brooding man who turns out to be a mafia boss. They will face dangers in the underworld until all threats are eliminated, and then they will live out the rest of their lives in blissful peace as though they are good people. Friend A is never mentioned again after page two.

You are Friend A. You are aware of that.

So why don’t you break out of your role in this story? Why should you play your part instead of using this knowledge to change the flow of the plot?

Simply because the plot is beneficial to you.

You are Friend A. You are a core member of the Leech Mafia. When (Y/N) enters the mafia, her actions flick the first domino of a long chain of events, eventually leading to the prosperity of the Leech family and expanding their influence. Because no matter what, this story caters to (Y/N)’s livelihood.

And why should you interfere with something that will eventually pay out big for you?

There she is now, coming down the street with a smile. Her indistinct hair is in a messy bun that she always throws together in seconds. Her pants emphasize her incredibly tiny waist, and her eyes sparkle with the light of constellations when she sees you. A light blush dusts her cheeks even though she doesn’t wear makeup, and she passes all the people captivated by her on the sidewalk, oblivious to their stares, because she doesn’t believe in her innate beauty and charisma—the beauty and charisma that the story says she has.

“Oh, there you are!” Her voice, clear and sweet, rings out to you. You wave back, just as you are supposed to. “You said you wanted to get sweets from the bakery that just opened, right? I’m so excited. I love sweets! I saved up some money just for this.”

A dialogue line full of exposition. You nod and lead the way.

“Have you seen their Magicam posts? The cakes are so pretty.”

Her giggles chime like bells. “I think the strawberry one is the cutest!”

Your small talk has little to no substance. It exists only to pass the time. To be honest, you don’t mind. If this were any normal day, you would have enjoyed this. You would have visited that bakery with (Y/N), gone home with a strawberry tart, checked up on the ledgers for the mafia, and slept while fed and content. But today is the inciting incident of the story, and you have your part to play.

A dark alleyway is where these things always take place in stories. Four men smoking and muttering ominously to themselves lean against a brick wall, hidden in shadow. Their eyes follow your every step. You make sure to walk on the outside of the sidewalk so that (Y/N) passes by the alley. As expected, their hands shoot out and grab her arm.

“Hey, you there.” One of the thugs licks his chops. “Got a minute to spare, pretty thing?”

Generic “bad guy” dialogue. Of course, he’s talking to (Y/N). You don’t need to do anything yet except make sure the pieces are in place. A flutter of black fabric in the corner of your vision assures you that the main lead is ready and waiting.

“Get your hands off me!” (Y/N) struggles against his much stronger grip to no avail. The men pull us into the alleyway and corner us against a dumpster. Tasteful.

“Don’t be so harsh.” Another thug whose voice scrapes like glass shards to the ears grabs your shoulder. You don’t shrug him off. Right now, your role is to lay low and let the main character shine. “We just wanna show you a good time.”

“You can fuck right off! And don’t touch my friend.” (Y/N) shows off her generically headstrong personality now. She probably thinks that she should protect you. You are Friend A, without any special characteristics, a piece of cannon fodder that cannot do anything on your own. Even though (Y/N) doesn’t consciously think that way, this is how she perceives the world. She is not wrong for doing so—she’s being sweet, in the way that she is designed to be.

You don’t have anything to do while she shoots off her scathing remarks, so you take your time to observe the thugs. Just as the story you read describes, these men come from an easily identifiable rival mafia. All four have a tattoo of a handsaw on their bodies—the symbol of the Carpenter Mafia, the current major group in the Queendom of Roses. Common soldiers, no doubt. Not anyone of importance . . . yet.

Thug Number One brings your attention back to the conversation by yanking on your hair. It hurts a little. Irritating, but you can bear with it. (Y/N) looks outraged.

“How about this? Since you’re so determined to save your friend, I’ll let her go if you give yourself to us.” He continues with his harassment by grabbing your cheeks with his grimy fingers. You inhale deeply and immediately regret it due to the smell of his breath. Your mind urges you to refrain from giving him a nice fist to the face. Not just from his treatment of you, but also from his gross proposition to (Y/N). Despite your respective roles in this story, she is still your friend. Hearing him throw those slimy words at her leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

(Y/N) puts up a struggle. “I won’t give you anything!”

“Do you think you’re in a position to make demands?”

She hesitates, looking at you with conflicting emotions warring on her features. Takes a deep breath, just as the story says she would. Then, with a wavering voice and a tough façade, she agrees.

You take your cue to run from the alleyway, abandoning her the way Friend A is meant to do. You don’t have to worry. After all, the thugs won’t be able to do anything before the male lead steps in and saves her.

There isn’t much time to waste until you get an update on the story. You hail a taxi to a neighbourhood by the sea. You tip the driver handsomely, bid him a good day, then walk another block before arriving at a mansion. There’s nobody here to greet you except the security guards at the front gates.

You scan the trees. Looks like he’s in a good mood. When he’s upset, he doesn’t usually climb. He hasn’t noticed you yet—his back is turned, his head buried in a particularly thick patch of leaves, and you’re downwind.

“Floyd!”

He turns so suddenly that you’re worried he’ll get whiplash. A grin lights up his face, and without a single reservation, he jumps right off the tree and lands smoothly on your side of the fence surrounding one of the Leeches' many properties. The sun shines across his handsome, sharp features. Of course, the twin brother of the male lead must be gorgeous in accordance with the axioms that govern this world.

“Handfish, how was it? Did Jade meet her?” Even though you are Friend A in this story, to Floyd, you are just his friend. He hasn’t given you a generic nickname like the “minnows” that he calls the family’s soldiers and staff. To him, you are an individual who is interesting enough to grant a personal nickname. Even if that nickname is “Red Handfish.”

“Yeah, he did. I saw his blazer.” You think back to the black fabric you saw before entering the alley. “I bet he’s doing the whole ‘I can’t let you live’ conversation with her.”

In the story, one of the thugs reveals Jade’s identity as a mafia boss in front of (Y/N) before he passes out. How a common foot soldier of the Carpenter mafia can recognize Jade, whose face is kept classified from lower-ranked members of the underworld, is worrying enough to warrant investigation. This could simply be a result of poor writing from the original plot, but you are also an example of the original story’s loose ends. If someone like you, who was meant to disappear after page two, can still have any significance and will instead of vaporizing immediately after you left that alley, then you can’t be too careful.

“Bet he’s being real smooth with it.” Floyd cackles, his raspy laugh reminding you of a chain smoker after five consecutive packs. “She’s gonna fall for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Of course. We’re talking about Jade.” Even under regular circumstances, he’s charming enough to lure any poor, unsuspecting fool to their demise. “They’re going to come here any minute now. Let’s go inside.”

You pass the security guards and enter the Leech property. A perfectly paved ground with colourful stones and not a weed in sight. A marble fountain surrounded by neat, rectangular hedges. And of course, the enormous white mansion with huge double doors, which in turn have proportionally huge fancy glass windows. For (Y/N) to have a “perfect” ending, the world must allow her to escape her current life of scrimping and saving by marrying her into a wealthy family.

“I wonder what the little minnow looks like.” Floyd hums, sauntering into the living room. “I bet she’d break easily if I squeezed real hard, huh?”

“Don’t do that.” The two of you sit on a velvet couch. Floyd’s long limbs sprawl out and take up the majority of the space. You settle on the far end. “And are you going to keep calling her a minnow?”

“Dunno, haven’t met her yet.”

“She’s very pretty. When you meet her, I’m sure you’ll get the feeling that there’s something special about her.”

The story emphasizes how much Floyd adores (Y/N). She is supposed to become a sort of mood stabilizer for him, keeping him consistently happy in her presence. You wonder if that will actually happen. Floyd can and will throw tantrums around people he holds dear. His mood that flips at the drop of the hat seems difficult to stabilize on just affection alone.

He shrugs non-committedly. Just as you’re about to suggest a nickname he could use, your phone buzzes.

Five minutes away. Jade’s text is short and to the point. You stand and stretch, getting ready to play Peeping Tom.

“Remember, don’t say anything about the original plot, okay?” Floyd’s unpredictable nature worries you. You know that your reminder won’t do much if Floyd decides it would be fun to spill the beans anyway, but you can’t help yourself.

“I know, I know.” He frowns and waves you off. Laughing, you move to the room across the hall. He hates being told what to do, but he’s in a good mood right now. It won’t be a problem.

The front door creaks open. Through a crack in the door, you watch Jade carry (Y/N) in his arms like a princess and set her down on the couch. Smooth, easy, efficient, the way he likes to do everything. Even though you know he is acting, his movements, the soft look in his eyes, are almost believable to you. And you’ve known him for fifteen years. There’s an odd stirring in your chest. Guilt? Envy? You tamp it down.

For a fraction of a second, you swear you make eye contact with him. If he notices you, he doesn’t show it. He seems to redouble his efforts on acting sweet to (Y/N). It might just be your imagination.

Floyd pokes around at the two of them the way he always does when he’s curious about something new. His grating laugh fills the air while Jade bandages a scrape on her knee. Good, the scene is going exactly as described in the story. (Y/N)’s first colourful and memorable experience with her future family. Her new family must be fun, rich, kind to her, and love her unconditionally no matter the circumstances. Her new family has to be better in every way compared to her current one—a mother who passed away at childbirth and a scummy father who neglects her. For an author, these are simply lazy ways to give her a tragic backstory and simultaneously pretend her parents don’t exist for the rest of the story because they don’t add to the romance.

How horrible. How could a late mother and neglectful father not affect a person? How could they simply be written off as another thing the male lead “saves” her from? And for that matter, how can the author casually write in a scene where she is cornered by adult men who are physically far stronger than her, who harass her and make disgusting comments, just so she can meet the male lead? How can they just pretend that won’t lead to any trauma?

You know firsthand how (Y/N) lives her life, because despite the story labeling you as the disposable Friend A, you genuinely have been her friend for the past year. You’ve seen her live on plain rice porridge for days to cut grocery costs. You’ve seen her wear clothes until they are threads because she can’t afford to buy new ones. Oh, but isn’t it wonderful that she’s skinny and looks good in everything?

What a load of bullshit.

[skania]

It's so funny how Aqua talks big about manipulating Akane, yet she ends up being the person he is most honest with in the entire manga (alongside Gotanda) 😂

It's even funnier when you realize this trend started from the very moment he set out to lead Akane on!

He deliberately kisses her to trap her in a fake relationship with him, but Akane sees right through him and to the fact that he isn't looking to date her because he is romantically interested in her.

I believe this is when Aqua first begins to realize Akane is not someone who can be easily fooled, and he rewards her perceptiveness with a truth.

To me, dating is just an extension of my work: This is part of my revenge plan

I'm highly interested in you as an actress: The way you get inside Ai's mind and understand her so perfectly is extremely useful to me

So of course, Akane reads in between the lines and realizes he wants to use her for something.

From the get-go, the one time Aqua intended to lie and manipulate Akane, he couldn't do it. She immediately shot it down.

What's more, Aqua here is telling her a truth while hiding his real motives. But Akane sees through that either way.

Aqua intended for his relationship with Akane to be a lie, but from the very beginning the truth starts to slip in.

At first, it's only because Akane sees right through him. But this soon changes, and Aqua starts sharing his truths all on his own.

(Spoilers for the entire manga below the cut!)

She is also the person he opens up to about his thoughts and feelings once he thinks his revenge is over. He tells her literally everything, from the DNA tests he ran and his struggles throughout all these years, to how relieved he feels now that it's all over.

She also knows that Himekawa and the twins are related.

But this honesty streak doesn't only apply to Aqua's revenge. She's even the first person he allows to see his old acting videos!

The one thing Aqua can't tell Akane about is that he is Goro's reincarnation, but he still goes and shares his entire backstory with her either way.

He later talks big about feeding Akane information so she would find the corpse for him, but sharing Goro's backstory and feelings wasn't relevant at all!

This all gets to a point that Aqua turns to Akane for answers when he is going through an existential crisis about what to do.

What it comes down to is that Akane makes Aqua feel understood. After spending so many years hiding his truth, Aqua craves that feeling.

That's why he can't help but to reveal more and more pieces of himself to Akane, including as much as he can of the one truth he can't say to anyone at all.

Akane, thank you for finding me.

tl;dr It's hilarious how Aqua intended for his relationship with Akane to be a lie, only for it to practically become the relationship he's most honest in lol

[metacrisisdoctor]

i think sometimes people have a hard time seeing jackie as an individual person and this leads to them sort of seeing her as a villian in rose's story.

in my opinion it's pretty important that as much as jackie is sometimes wrong about things, she is also right about a lot of things as well.

i do feel like jackie was unintentionally holding rose back out of fear of losing her, hence her "airs and graces" comment etc- but rarely do people think of why jackie feels like this.

think of jackie tyler. in doomsday she is forty. this means when we meet her and rose she is 39, meaning she had rose at age 20, meaning she was pregnant at age 19- the same age rose is when we meet her.

19 is young.

think of jackie tyler, age 21, widowed with an infant daughter, on an estate and looked down upon. in army of ghosts we see that jackie's father passed away years ago, and we never see her mother either.

this is partly why the fandoms universal eyeroll at love and monsters frustrates me. that episode fleshes jackie out and shows us how deeply alone she is, but how loyal she is to rose despite the fact that the only family she has sees her as second best. the tentoo and jackie big finish audios also bring attention to this. jackie is not afraid of rose advancing in life, she is afraid of being left behind. because she has no one.

it pains me that the bf audios with her and tentoo aren't more widely known because they explore jackie and her relationship with both the doctor and rose a lot. we see how much jackie loves, and has always loved, the doctor. how she too missed him after doomsday. how she wants to be close to him again but she's afraid of what him being back in rose's life means as well, because now that the doctor is in their world, what is stopping them from leaving again? and i think it's important that jackie feels that way because it shows that her love for rose isn't just because she was lonely, despite it having had played a large part.

she genuinely loves them both and does not want to be without them, so much so that she says if/when the tardis grows the doctor has to take them all- because he has a family now. this mirrors the doctor telling donna that rose had a family and that they had become his family as well in the runaway bride.

in this sense, we should know that the doctor and jackie are on the same page. we know how much he missed rose and how that extends to the sense of family he found in the christmas invasion. however, jackie's own poor self image leads to her projecting her own fear of being left behind onto tentoo and to his relationship with rose and it causes friction in their relationship until they can both be honest with each other in the climax of the audios when they're about to die together and realize they want to live, which is why rose trapped them into talking in the first place.

jackie struggles because rose was so young when she met the doctor, and she was RIGHTFULLY wary of their relationship considering the last time rose trusted a man he left her behind and took all her money. in the audios we hear jackie say that she was the one who payed off all of rose's debts which is a stark contrast to the idea some people seem to have that jackie didn't have a job and mooches off of rose entirely- which makes no sense anyway because how does she keep the lights on at home when rose is missing for an entire year? it's much more plausible that she and rose both have jobs, and that she was going to look for a second job.

jackie gets everything she wanted in a sense. her husband back, a son, rose is still with her, but her own low sense of self is something that is hard for her to shake off because she has been looked down upon for so long because of who she is and how she was raised, so much so that the thought that rose looks down on her terrifies her. in the end of time flashback we sees jackie say that at that point in her life she isn't gonna do much better; but rose tells her she doesn't know that which speaks volumes. rose is afraid of falling victim to the helplessness jackie has in the last twenty years, but we also see that deep down jackie also wants more to her life as well, she just thinks it's too late.

jackie is proud of rose, she grows to love the doctor, but her fear of rose losing herself entirely is a valid one. just like rose wanting more out of life is valid as well. they're both right and they're both wrong which is why they bicker but also very very clearly absolutely love each other more than anything.

this is why the ending rose gets is perfect for everyone. rose gets to keep defending the earth at unit with the doctor, a life that she always wanted. the doctor gets to, in one life, have a family and be human and jackie gets to find her sense of self again and find "more" in her life, and doesn't lose what makes her who she is at all because people like jackie - working class people - are the ones who make it possible for "bigger" things to happen which is what the purpose of the back and forth between rose and jackie is. rose wanting more from her life is valid, but it's also important to rememeber not to look down on people who you subconsciously see as "less" because "less" is just as valuable.

of course rose leaving helped jackie grow, but sometimes the way people talk about jackie is unintentionally classist while also defending rose from classism.

[renthony]

I've seen plenty of folks express the opinion that it doesn't matter where the adults are in stories written for young audiences, because the point of the story is to give children an escapist fantasy.

But to be honest, both as a child and as an adult, I've always preferred it when family/youth media answers the question of, "no seriously, where are the parents?" because it adds so much to the story even if the parents aren't fully fleshed-out characters. The parents don't have to be present, or good, or helpful, but it always feels like a richer narrative when the question, "where are the adults?" is actually addressed.

Answer the question of "where are the adults," but more importantly, give the younger characters opinions about those adults and why they aren't present (if they aren't present).

In Gregor the Overlander, the answer to "where are these kids' parents?" is answered by having Gregor's mother Grace be an overworked single mom who has to delegate household labor to her eldest kid, and having Gregor's father be mysteriously missing as part of the story. Gregor's grandmother has dementia and the family has to worry about her care while also living in poverty. Gregor's mom being frequently absent because they're desperate and she has to struggle to feed the kids adds so much depth to Gregor's characterization, and explains why he's so hyper-independent, protective of his sisters, and determined to find their dad. Gregor's mom doesn't go on his adventures with him, but we know exactly where she is, how Gregor feels about leaving her behind, and what their relationship is like.

In The Owl House, the answer to "where are the adults?" is answered by having the adults be important parts of the narrative even when they're not on-screen. Luz's mom Camilla is deeply relevant to the narrative even though we don't see her much until season 3, and we know where she is and why she's there even while Luz is off adventuring without her. The story of Luz's dad Manny is slowly revealed through the show and casts an entirely different light on everything as we learn about him. Luz's relationship with Camilla is a core part of Luz's personality and story, even when Camilla isn't present. The other adult characters have their own narratives, too, that add to the core story in some really fun ways.

I've never liked stories where the adults are just Mysteriously Absent and it never gets addressed. How does it affect these kids to be Kids Against The World? That feels like a big form of characterization that just gets completely ignored most of the time! Even if the adults aren't around, we should at least know how the kids feel about that absence.

A kid who's happy to be free of the adults is a different character entirely from the kid who's scared and wants to go back to their mom, you know?

[helloalycia]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 [𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄] — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: as you struggle to accept Lucy Gray's absence, Mayfair continues to push your buttons, landing you in hot water with your parents.

warning/s: mentions of the Hunger Games (duh) and mild violence.

author's note: here is the final part! also happy new year everyone, forgot to say it! hope you like this one :)

one / two / masterlist / wattpad

It was difficult to keep up with the Games as they went on during the week. I'd never had need to before, but this year was different for obvious reasons.

The electricity in District 12 was shit enough as is, but even worse so was the signal on the TV when it did occasionally work. I caught the Games and interviews a few times, but not for very long and never did I actually see Lucy Gray, only some of the other tributes or very dark scenes of the arena. She could have died already for all I knew, but deep in my heart, I just couldn't believe that.

I tried to be there for the Covey as much as I could, checking in on them at least once a day throughout the week, and they did the same for me, the lot of us forming a sort of support group. And I also had Y/BF/N to keep me sane throughout it all, but the only people who didn't understand my change in attitude were my parents. I couldn't blame them of course, considering they didn't know what Lucy Gray was to me, but it was still hard.

One evening at dinner time, my appetite wasn't very big. It hadn't been since Lucy Gray had left, but it was beginning to be ruined entirely when my dad started talking about the Games as a pastime.

"...keep getting a bunch of comms from the Capitol about how popular it is this year," he was saying, a mere comment but one that upset me because all I could think about was Lucy Gray. "Apparently Lucy Gray is a popular contender. The Capitol love her singing."

My fork dropped from my hand as a frown curled on my lips. How dare the Capitol love her, only to send her to her death for their entertainment.

"What's wrong?" my dad asked, but my mum shook her head at him. Not seeming to get the hint, he said, "What? She's been off all night. I'm just asking."

She shook her head again, making him sigh with offence, and I couldn't take sitting here for much longer.

"Can I please be excused?" I asked without looking at either of them.

"Of course, honey," my mum said sympathetically, and I was grateful that she seemed emotionally aware enough to notice something was up.

Leaving the dining room immediately, I headed straight for my bedroom and got straight into bed, needing the comfort and warmth of my duvet. It was lame to imagine it was Lucy Gray here with me, I knew it, but I did it anyway.

I should have said it back. Why didn't I say it back? I knew I loved her, I had loved her for a while now. How couldn't I? But I didn't say it and I fucking should have. God, I was a fool.

About twenty minutes later, a knock on my door pulled me from my disassociation, and when I didn't answer, my dad stuck his head through the door. Once he spotted me, he let himself in a took a seat at the edge of my bed, a guilty expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, which surprised me. "I've been so busy at work that I haven't realised how hard it must be seeing one of your schoolmates in the Games."

That wasn't it at all, but I shrugged anyway.

"She was a friend," he noticed. "Wasn't she?"

I couldn't answer, not without my heart breaking at the truth of who she was to me.

He sighed gently. "She was bad news, Y/N."

I clenched my jaw at his biased opinion. "Forget it–"

"Wait," he cut me off. "Let me finish."

I looked up at him, glaring, but he didn't let it faze him.

"She's bad news, but she was still a good girl. And I'm sorry for what she's going through," he said, in his strange way of trying to understand.

It was the best I would get from him, especially since he didn't know the truth, so I accepted it. "Thank you."

He leaned down to hug me, and like the little girl I was, I let my daddy comfort me like he used to.

"Me and your mother are worried about you," he said once he pulled back. "Please eat more."

I nodded reluctantly. The last thing I wanted to do was worry them. He seemed to accept my answer, as he relaxed a little then left me to get some sleep.

Once again, it was a difficult night.

She could still be alive, that was what I kept telling myself. The Games hadn't ended, not that I knew of, and though I didn't truly know if she had died in the few days it had been going on, I kept telling myself the opposite. She could still be hiding from everyone, or somehow got lucky and taken out her opponents. I wasn't sure, but thinking anything else was breaking me.

I was at the markets with Y/BF/N, helping her pick up some bits for her parents and trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn't be thinking of Lucy Gray, when none other than Mayfair decided to piss me off.

"Well, if it isn't Y/L/N," she said with amusement, Billy Taupe at her side. "Haven't seen you around much. Not since your little songbird left."

I rolled my eyes and ignored her taunting, not in the mood to put up with her. Y/BF/N ignored her too, the two of us looking at some shirts for her mum, but Mayfair wasn't getting the hint.

"You're lookin' a little rough," she continued. "Not doin' so hot without her?"

"You okay?" Y/BF/N said quietly for me to hear, and I nodded.

"She won't be doin' much singing in the arena, I suppose," Mayfair added. "Other priorities and such."

"Will you shut up?" I snapped at her, knowing she wasn't going to leave if I didn't speak.

"Or what?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, as if daring me.

I clenched my jaw, glaring at her, but Y/BF/N squeezed my arm gently.

"Forget her," she reminded me, and I would have listened, but Mayfair didn't know when to shut up, and I just couldn't take her attitude anymore.

"It's where she belongs," she said, my final straw. "She's not so charmin' when she's dead–"

I smacked her hard across the face, making a few passers-by stop to witness the commotion, and Billy Taupe and Y/BF/N gasped with surprise. It felt good, I wouldn't lie, especially when I saw the redness on Mayfair's cheek.

Mayfair glared fiercely before lungeing at me, sending me backwards into the vegetable stand. The breath was knocked out of me, and then she yanked on my hair harshly, making me scream at the suddenness of it all. I shoved her backwards and she grabbed my jacket in the process, forcing me to get out of it before she could have me in her clutches. Furious, I lunged for her with every intention to punch that smug smile right off her face, but someone blocked my way and held me at bay.

It was a peacekeeper, and they were doing the same with her, and I wouldn't have doubted she was my mirror at the moment – angry and red-faced.

That was how I found myself sat in my dad's office for the second time in my life, though this time Mayfair was seated beside me, and her father was here too.

"...and it doesn't make sense why you were both fighting!" my father was saying with confusion. "You're both friends, aren't you?"

I scoffed at that, crossing my arms defensively. The mayor shook his head with disapproval, before looking to his daughter.

"Are you gonna tell me why you fought?" he asked her, opting for a gentler approach.

The two of them had been trying to get to the bottom of our fight for ten minutes now, but neither Mayfair and I were willing to talk.

"Why don't you tell them why you got bitch slapped?" I finally spoke, looking to Mayfair with a sneer.

"Y/N!" my dad scolded, but Mayfair spoke up a second afterwards, meeting my glare.

"Why don't you tell your dad why you're so upset about the chosen District 12 girl tribute this year?"

I pressed my lips together to contain every insult that was threatening to be said, instead settling on burning holes into Mayfair's face. Neither of us spoke, knowing we couldn't admit to anything, even if we wanted to get each other into trouble.

Everybody knew Mayfair had something to do with Lucy Gray's reaping, but there was no physical proof, and her admitting why she was fighting with me in the first place would be all the evidence my dad needed to intervene. Similarly, my dad could never find out exactly what Lucy Gray meant to me and why I was so defensive against Mayfair. So, we were at a stalemate.

"Fine," the mayor decided, sounding tired. "We'll agree to disagree, but this behaviour is not tolerated."

"You'll avoid each other if you have to, but I don't want to see this happen again," my dad ordered.

I rolled my eyes as Mayfair scoffed under her breath. We were soon dismissed, escorted home separately, and though my mum tried to get the truth out of me, I was unwilling to share it. I was just surprised I hadn't received a punishment from my dad, especially when he came home later that evening. For whatever reason, he let it slide.

I'd just have to avoid Mayfair, it seemed. Easier said than done, but it was better than ripping her head off out of pure anger. I'd never hated someone so much in my life, but fighting her wouldn't bring me back Lucy Gray, no matter how much I wanted it to.

It was a few days later when I was bringing some tea into my dad's study, per my mum's request, when I saw him ending a phone call with a surprised look on his face. I set the tea down on his desk before glancing at him with concern.

"You okay?" I asked. "Who was that?"

He blinked, as if still digesting whatever he'd heard. "It was the Capitol. Apparently I'm to escort home the winner of the Hunger Games."

I furrowed my eyebrows, unsure if I'd heard correctly. "What? You're what?"

"That songbird, your schoolmate, Lucy Gray Baird," he clarified. "She won."

My breathing hitched as I widened my eyes. Lucy Gray had won? She'd won the Hunger Games? She was alive?

"Lucy Gray– she's coming home?" I asked, feeling the rate of my heart increasing with every piece of information discovered. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning," my dad answered, taking the cup of tea.

Tomorrow. She was coming home tomorrow!

"The Covey," I got out, struggling to contain my excitement, bewilderment and surprise all at once, "do they know?"

My dad quirked a brow at my reaction. "I'll be sure to let them know. I'm sure they'll want to be there at the station when she arrives."

Oh, they were going to be so happy to have Lucy Gray back! How I wished I could see their reaction when my dad told them. And tomorrow morning – I could be there too, when they greeted her at the station! I could finally see her and touch her and hold her and–

"You know you won't be there, right?" my dad burst my bubble in seconds. "I know I said she was a good girl, but this changes things, Y/N. She's dangerous. Who knows what she did to win the Games? How many kids do you think she killed in there?"

"As many as she needed to," I said sternly. "It was the Games. That's how you play them."

He shook his head, disagreeing. "I want you nowhere near her or them. You hear me?"

"I go to school with them," I reminded him through gritted teeth.

"You know what I mean."

I swallowed thickly, in disbelief that he would create a villain of her for something she was forced to do. But what was I to expect from a man who never trusted the Covey in the first place? Sure, they were good for a party, but to have them in your circle was a different story. I hated that he thought that.

No, there was no way he was going to stop me from seeing her. Not after she finally made it out alive.

My dad wasn't joking when he said he didn't want me at the station to greet Lucy Gray. As if he expected me to disobey him, he left some peacekeepers to guard the area, only letting the Covey there to pick her up.

I had no choice but to wait not far out from the station, out of sight from the peacekeepers but directly on the only route back to their house in the Seam, so they'd have to pass me to get home. The Covey knew of my plan, so I found myself waiting there eagerly for Lucy Gray's arrival.

No matter how hard I tried to plan what I would do and say once I saw her, nothing seemed right. I decided to just let it be and do what felt right in the moment, but just the thought of seeing her again after a whole week and a half which felt like much longer left me nervous.

I checked my watch. 10am. Her train should have been pulling in now. I made sure I looked somewhat presentable before waiting another ten minutes, and then I heard footsteps. I turned around and saw the Covey, all chatting away with Lucy Gray in the middle.

She looked stunning, a little underweight, but with that same positive glow that only she could possess with a single smile. Already, tears were forming in my eyes because I was finally seeing her again in person, it wasn't my dreams.

Her eyes soon found mine and she slowed down, smile fading once she realised it was me. I wet my lips, straightening up subconsciously, and approached her.

"We'll give you a minute," Barb Azure said, squeezing my shoulder with a relieved smile, before leading the others away.

I glanced at them, before returning my attention to Lucy Gray, who was single-handedly warming my heart. She was back. She was alive. I hadn't missed my chance.

Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her tightly, eyes closing as tears dropped down my cheeks. "I love you too," I muttered into her shoulder. "So much."

I felt her arms wrapping around me too, and then she began to laugh quietly, sending shivers all over my skin. I didn't let go, not for a whole minute, and neither did she. Never again did I think I'd be able to hold her so close, let alone tell her I loved her too.

"You did it," I said, pulling back slightly, and I realised she was crying too.

She nodded in response, and I lifted my hand to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away her tears.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see you at the station," I said quickly. "My dad said no and he had guards there so I couldn't–"

She cut me off with a kiss, brief but delicate, making the fireworks in my chest explode at the contact.

"I missed you so goddamn much," she said once she pulled away, resting her forehead on mine.

"I missed you too," was all I could say, and even then it didn't feel like enough.

The way I missed her was indescribable. A part of me had been missing this whole time, and now that she was back, I felt whole again. I couldn't lose her again, I just couldn't.

Losing Lucy Gray and being lucky enough to get her back only made me realise one thing: life was too short to hide what meant the most to you. And though Lucy Gray was adamant on not causing trouble between my family and I, happy to be my secret, I just couldn't take it any longer.

Sneaking around and lying to my parents wasn't worth it, and Lucy Gray deserved so much better than that, especially after all she'd faced. So, I finally had the guts to tell my parents the truth.

About a week after the Games ended, I found my parents sat in the living room, the one day off my dad had which meant they were both present.

"Mum, dad, I need to tell you something important," I said when I found the courage.

My mum, who was reading a book, looked up at me, sensing my nerves. "Honey, you okay?"

I nodded, then stood in front of the couch before them. My dad lowered his newspaper and quirked a brow, both confused and intrigued by my entry.

"I just need you to listen before you reply," I said carefully. "Please, don't be angry."

"Well, now you're worrying us," my dad said, straightening up in his seat. "You in trouble?"

I shook my head, before taking a deep breath. "So, you know Lucy Gray, the girl who–"

"Won the Hunger Games, yes we know," my dad finished for me.

"Your school friend, right?" my mum asked.

I nodded. "Yes, she's... she's much more than that though." At this, my dad raised both his eyebrows, so I quickly added, "I know you wanted me to stay away from her and her family, but they aren't bad people. They're just a little different. They only have each other."

"That's not an excuse for the things they get up to," my dad retorted, but my mum nudged him and shot him a look that told him to pipe down.

"Thanks," I said to her gratefully, before continuing, "So, yeah, Lucy Gray. Well, the thing is..." Now or never. "I'm in love with her. And she's in love with me. And I don't want you to hate me or be disappointed, because I can't help who I'm in love with."

My dad wore a blank expression, as my mum was surprised and tried to digest my words. I stayed quiet for a moment, giving them chance to process and also calm my racing heart.

"Being in love with her doesn't change a thing," I explained, unable to stay quiet for too long. "I'm still doing well in school, still on track for the job at the Justice Building, but I love her. And I want to be with her without having to hide it from you both. She's more than a friend, always has been."

My palms were growing increasingly sweaty as neither of them said anything, and I soon wondered if I'd spoken at all because of their silence. But then my dad stood up and glared at me, and I knew it was real.

"Are you crazy, Y/N?! Lucy Gray?! You're in love with the Covey girl?!" he yelled. "What the hell are you thinking?!"

"Y/D/N, calm down–" my mum said, standing up too.

"Calm down?! She's throwing her future away for nothing!" he shouted, before shaking her hands off and leaving the room suddenly.

As the echo of the door slamming filled the silence, I hugged myself uncomfortably and waited for round two with my mum.

"Give him time," she said softly, surprising me. I looked up, and she rested a hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you for telling us the truth. Couldn't have been easy with your father's attitude."

I blinked, sighing with relief. She wasn't angry.

"Lucy Gray seems lovely," she added with a warm smile. "It's a shame that she was picked for the Games, but her positivity hasn't faltered, that much is clear. She's strong."

"She is," I agreed, still in disbelief that my mum wasn't upset with me.

She pulled me in for a hug, squeezing me gently. "I should've known it was something more when you were acting all weird when she was gone. I'm sorry that you couldn't trust me."

"It's not you," I assured her, pulling apart. "I just wasn't sure how to say it, knowing how dad feels about them."

"Oh, I'll sort him out," she said dismissively. "Now come here. I wasn't finished with the hug."

I laughed, letting her pull me in for an even tighter embrace.

"You gonna tell me what the surprise is or are you just gonna keep dragging me behind you?"

Lucy Gray scoffed dramatically at my words, not stopping as she dragged me by the hand, leading me to the meadow. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I just told you, would it, darlin'?"

I tried not to laugh at how easily frustrated she could get with my impatience. Ever since I'd told my parents the truth about us, of which my dad eventually came around to the idea thanks to my mum, I no longer had to sneak around with Lucy Gray. And today, she'd quite literally dragged me all the way from my house and out here to the meadow for a 'surprise'.

After much playful protesting from me and groaning from Lucy Gray, we finally reached her favourite spot at the top of the meadow. A giant tree sat on the brow of the hill that overlooked the whole field, with another log beneath it that Lucy Gray loved to visit to write songs or be alone. Already waiting for us was her guitar, propped up against the log.

"Am I about to be serenaded again?" I teased, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"Shut up and sit down," she ordered lightheartedly, and I laughed as I did just that.

She grabbed her guitar before sitting next to me, facing me slightly. Really, I'd been eager to hear her sing for me since she did last time (which now felt like so long ago). Since she'd been back from the Games, she'd returned to performing in the Hob as usual, of which I'd watched with adoration. But this was different, less of a performance and much more intimate than being on a stage could allow.

"So, I don't know if you remember that song I was writin' for you before... y'know," she began in an uncharacteristically shy voice, "but I finally finished it."

"Lucy Gray, of course I remember," I told her with a small smile. "It's the best thing anyone's ever done for me."

She began to smile too, nodding. "Right. Well, like I said, I managed to finish it. And I'd like to sing it for you, if you'll let me."

I nodded encouragingly, getting comfortable on the log and admiring her as she also got ready. Licking her lips, she began to strum her guitar, starting off quiet before settling on a rhythm that was dreamy and delicate and soothing.

"Love songs are fleeting,

but the melodies stick with you.

I have learned your heart,

and memorised the tune.

It's my favourite,

I'll sing it in any occasion.

It'll be my soundtrack,

beyond our youth."

Just like she did the last time, her voice was soft but strong, quiet but powerful, and her eyes were closed as she felt the meaning of every word. Even after hearing it a second time, I was hanging onto her every word, eager to hear the rest.

"Honey now we're older,

but we'll never age.

I don't think my love will

ever start to fade.

My attachment to you

isn't subject to change.

My heart’s yours forever

and always."

She gave me a comforting smile that sent a warmth all over my body as she finished the chorus, and I didn't know what to do. Her words were beautiful, and I felt too lucky to have someone who felt that way about me.

"Every note you hum,

is a classic through and through.

I'll add them to a list called

'All Things I Look Forward To'.

It's my favourite,

even if no one will play it.

I only want a future

filled with you."

Again, even after hearing it a second time, I was in awe. Tears of happiness pooled in my eyes as she moved onto the chorus again, her voice smooth and stunning, lulling me into her trance. She hummed as she played, building up to the bridge, and I never wanted her to stop.

"I'll sing it it still in 10 years time

20, 30, 99.

I'll dance as long as I can stand,

partner for life take my hand.

We'll set the record for strongest love,

keep the vinyl free of dust.

Spin it soft eternally

and my dear you'll sing with me."

I wiped at my tears, embarrassed and simultaneously unbothered because nobody had ever made me feel this way before. She saw a future with me? She'd looked that far ahead and saw me by her side?

"Honey now we're older,

but we'll never age.

I don't think my love will

ever start to fade.

My attachment to you

isn't subject to change.

My heart's yours forever

and always."

She kept playing, notes as delicate as they were at the start, and hummed along until she faded the whole thing out, and then we were sat in silence as her words carried into the meadow.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, her shy smile returning as she set the guitar down.

"What do I think...," I repeated quietly, still reeling from her song. "I think that I didn't expect you to beat what you sang last time. That, surely, you couldn't improve it. But you proved me wrong and did just that."

She let out a chuckle, rolling her eyes to distract from the pink dusting her cheeks.

"Lucy Gray, I think you just made me fall even more in love with you, which is a feat considering I'm already in way too deep," I said lightheartedly, but I meant every word.

She wasn't sure what to say, and I couldn't think of anything more to add that would show her how she'd made me feel. So, I leaned forward and I kissed her. Resting my hand on the back of her neck, I pulled her close, pressing my lips to hers and sighing contently when she fell right into it.

I could have kissed her all day, but air became a problem and I remembered what I wanted to say to her.

"The song," I breathed out, meeting her honey-golden eyes. "What you said? It's the same for me too. Forever and always. I feel the same way. It's beautiful, Lucy Gray."

As if that was what she'd wanted to hear, her shoulders relaxed and she smiled beautifully. "I'm so glad you like it, Y/N."

I mirrored her smile before leaning again, this time taking it slower and appreciating the feeling of her so close to me. It was a feeling I was certain I could never forget.