#believe me my brain and body have so many problems it's just these two being a pain in the ass rn

[werewolf-transgenderism]

i'm sorry you feel that way. you may have been cursed with a medical condition and the horrors, but you also have done tremendous work to be a very kind and gentle soul who works their ass off.

so yeah you may be cursed, but you made the choice to be a wonderful person despite it all. and quite frankly i think that is beautiful. and if you have a hard time reminding yourself of that, i will pester you with compliments and kindness because that is what you deserve :)

💖💖💖

[aly4khq]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 - ✩✩✩

✩✩✩ - 𝓼𝔂𝓵𝓾𝓼

ꜱᴜᴍ: your little stalker crow overheard you talking about sex with him but it didn't go how you thought it would.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: edging, sex from behind, hair pulling, bondage, marking, pussy eating, crying, praise.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1k+, i think because i did the calculation and then forgot it all!!

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: i can't believe that sylus has taken over my mind like this, but i will forever be a rafayel girlie 🤞🏾

"i promise you that it's never been hard to take dick, all you need is the strength, errr–technique!, the right man and the right puss, if you get me." you casually spoke to your friend as the two of you sat and ate your food in a restaurant, the atmosphere calming even thought the conversation was taking more of a deeper meaning — which all started with the question 'how do you take dick in such a small hole?'. the same question that you used to ask to your friends when you were a virgin, well, when you and sylus weren't together yet. but this conversation about sex in general only began when she had asked about how it was like dating the one and only Head of Onychinus, Mr Sylus himself. and probably how you survive being with a merciless, roughed-edged man.

"yeah but what if you aren't the problem?" she spoke like it was the most obvious question ever, your head tiring in response. urging her to continue, she complied, "what if you are all prepared and sexy and shit but the other one is..lacking horribly in that department. you do realise that we're talking about modern men here, not your love obsessed man you've gotten. i mean—" she rambled on, forgetting all about your food and her carbonara that sat untouched on the table near the window. the both of you enjoying your time and speaking to the other.

"yes but that's why you don't have sex on the same day you meet them you dumbass, you wait. if you want a little...pleasure or so, then i beg you just buy a massive dildo and firm it." she looked at you like there was the biggest disgusting deep secret that was suddenly displaced on your face, a deep frown as you sighed in response. "come on, boo. what do you want me to say to ease your worries?" your tone went from calming to worried, wanting to help your younger buddy with her poor scared self.

"um...this sounds so disgusting and weird but what was your first time like?" they bluntly asked, their eyes diverted from your figure to the table— the window— oh the table again. they were obviously nervous to begin with, not wanting to overstep boundaries but also just wanting some advice with someone they trust. "well..you know, my first time was with my current mannn—" "okay we get it, get to the point." you scoffed, kicking their ankle under the table as they hissed. their hand going to rub the poor slightly throbbing flesh that you currently assaulted. "pardon you? don't get bratty with me, missy."

"anyway, he was gentle with me. taking it slow and easy, but also testing my limits a little, trying to see how much i can really take but also trying to ease me into it-do you get what i'm saying?" they nodded, my hands rested under my chin as they listening intensely. you thought, a finger on your lip as you hummed. it was a comfortable silence until they spoke up, pretending to be annoyed. "do you guys rawdog each other so much you've forgotten? if he that obsessed?"

you let out a hearty chuckle, before trying to answer, only to be interrupted by them again. their scoffs of fake innocence but also curiosity filling the table. "what the best size for a dick?" as the silence grew, your finger went to your bottom lip that was jutting out, deep in thought. many many sounds going through your poor brain until you realised. your body slightly flinched, your hands dropping from your lips as your eyes widening. like a light bulb popping beside your head, the thought came into your mind. both of your eyes finally met, your playful gaze scaring everyone that sees.

"well, the best ones are ones that are thicker instead of longer, the longer it is the harder it is to take personally. i've never met someone with both though—" you were interrupted by your phone vibrating in your pocket, the familiar feeling instantly made you dig you hand in and check who was calling you at this time. oh, speaking of the devil, it was sylus. your finger pressed accept, before you put it on phone instead of speaker. you held the phone to your ear before pressing your ear and your shoulder together to continuing eating your food. your friend also continuing, eating her barely touched food.

"hello?—" "the best ones are thicker than longer huh?" you halted, your friend staring at you in confusion as you tried to come back to earth, the switches turning in your mind. after finally finding a way to speak, you let out a little nervous giggle, "well—um, i think it's true..?" his deep chuckle was enough to give you and idea of what's awaiting you. "come home. and quickly, sweetie." with the three buzz's, you realised that he was not gonna let you forget about this one. "...mephisto that silly silly bird..." you politely spoke to your friend, "hey sorry, sylus needs me at home, are you okay with me leaving now?" your friend was confused until a playful smile came onto their lips, "someone's gonna get dicked downnn." you slapped their shoulder roughly before calling a waiter to pack the food for you too.

once you both had split your ways and you were finally back in the comfort of his mansion, you walked through your bedroom door before instantly being retrained by the hands. a crimson and black misty string surrounding your wrists as a tough, firm arm came around your neck, holding your flesh gently. "thicker...is—" his grip tightened. "—better, but you've never met someone with both?" your own hands struggled against his evol, eyes shocked but it slowly changed to one's of playfulness. but he beat you to it, "why are you lying, kitten?" you let out a huff of brattiness, "well it's true, is it not? i'm not lying, basta—ARDD! sylus!" he flipped you over, shoving you onto the bed. your stomach on the edge of the mattress as you scoffed. "you!—" "i'll remind you of what it's like."

and thats how it started.

his hands pulled on the waistband of your skirt, the material was slowly ripped off of your body. the sounds of strings of fabric being pulled away from each other filling the room that was already stuffed with lust and anticipation. but that beautiful silky skirt cost you a good £10 in primark, "hey! that skirt cost me a good tener!" you complained, your head turning to stare at the drunk man behind you, his own glare was focused on your peachy butt admiring the shine from the moonlight before it shifted to your eyes. his glare alone makes your pussy clench, clench around absolutely nothing but air.

reluctantly, your head turned back around, resting the side of your head on the soft duvet below you as your arm stayed trapped behind your back. a deep sigh can from your mouth as you got comfortable, but not for long. you hissed, feeling the sharp sting of his fingernails digging into your skin. the amount of force being put into it was incredibly pleasurable. the pain nearly instantly turning into delight, shameless moan escaping your mouth. "uuhhh!...mhm..!" just then, his fingers ran over your skin that was dented with his marks, the feeling overwhelmingly ticklish. his fingers only giving you satisfactory and he has barely even undressed or touched you properly. you squirmed like crazy, twitching at every sensitive touch on your curves.

"ah! sylus!" you backed away, trying to escape the moment. his chuckles were annoyed, he was so annoying. his hands pushed you back onto the back by your thighs, his purlicue just lifting the gloves of your ass up to feel the softness of your skin. "jeez, take a picture it'll last longer—"

CLICK! you halted at the sound, it was normal for you to be photographed by him but what confused you was why the sound was on. "did you put the shutter sound on just for that?" you scoffed, trying to make him sound petty — which he is — before he latched his mouth onto your pussy just like that. "oh! wow- ah! there! right there..." he was ruthlessly sucking on your folds, your thighs clenching around his head tightly at the sensation. the feeling of his tongue sending shocks up your spine and straight to your pussy. but there was no point because he was already sucking your clit with precision and accuracy.

his tongue reaching far into your hole, swirling around making a mess with your folds. but he wasn't as gentle as he was with his hands, those fingers were just nicely caressing your thighs, running up and down your delicate skin with admiration. a few satisfied grunts coming from his mouth that was covering in your juices. "huuuh!— sy- right there! mhm!" your leg slowly rose from its position on the floor, you body backing up towards him as the feeling became overwhelming, his tongue always managed to make you squirm

his tongue reached deep into your hole, your body clenching around his own organ with sensitivity. "hahhh!" you could feel the tension in your tummy begin to rise, the feeling getting even harder to keep to yourself. yet you could barely even warn sylus. the coil snapped as your let yourself go on his tongue, delighted grunts leaving his mouth as he nodded. "that's some good fucking pussy, jeez sweets." his body lifted from his position of the floor to hover behind you.

the sounds of his belt clanking against the marble floor made you tense up, your thighs pressed together while your pussy clenched around nothing. you could just hear your man undressing, getting ready to take you nasty. but nothing could prepare you from the amount of restraints you were put in. his hands still kept a firm grasp on your already tied hands whilst his other hand went for your locks; pulling gently to hear your sounds. a deep sigh escaping your mouth as he slowly slid himself inside, making sure you feel every inch with precision. "come on," ",a little more." ",you can do way more than that baby." his sounds of praise weee enough for you to tell out his name. birds flapping away from the windowsill at the sound of your scream, sadly one of them being the poor crow that sylus possesses.

he gave you a good 1 minute to relax into his touch before he began moving...at a slow pace, his hands holding onto your wrists as he caressed the soft flesh of your arms and hands to give you some reassurance that you were doing good. "well done...well done baby." his pace only increased once he saw that you were starting to run away from the sheer force of his hips, even though he was going slow, his pelvis connected with the gloves of your ass with a harsh plap! and yes did he continue to torture you. your eyes producing tears as the pleasure and pain from his dick and his hand pulling of your hair, but you were soothed. "shh...shh...don't cry baby. just take it."

you began to squirm, your hips shaking as well as your back arcing and moving around from his body. a scoff echoed the room. "take it," his voice was harsh, the tone rushed yet also so precise with every single syllable. you moaned out loud with delight, feeling him so deep that your speech was nearly gone. his thrust went straight up to your lungs. "you said you've never—" thrust. "met someone—" thrust. "with a long and thick dick huh? huh?—" thrust.

"so take it, take both."

do not steal @aly4khq's work even tho they are trash!

date made: 8-10/9/24

i do not give permission to repost, claim as your own or copy elsewhere.

[frogchiro]

I hope I’m not bothering you with my ancient greek mythology stuff my little brain is going into overdrive👉👈

Just…sculptor/painter reader using the gladiators as her nude model…running your hands over their muscles and gushing how strong they are and how amazing your latest piece is going to come out!

You don’t even notice they’re getting hard as you run your fingers over their adonis belt commenting how they’re your new muse for your art

I almost (s)creamed the moment I saw this ask nonnie dear you're a genius ;;

Also I feel the need to mention this; please do keep in mind that this is only my silly au and most probably will have historical inaccuracies so if you're a true history/ancient greece/roman enjoyer, please go mild on me ;;

But back to the drill...You are so right??? Like...I imagine that reader would be a young, aspiring artist with a knack for painting. Maybe she doesn't come from a wealthy family so any true school for it is out of the question, your own parents only came along when you started selling your painting and doing commissions for nobles and it actually started to bring in money. Your road to success is still long but you're managing! Plus you're 'stupidly determined like your father' as your mother says so you try to stay positive!

The one problem you had was something you believed many artists suffered from; inspiration and models. Specifically human models. The human body and physique fascinated you from an early age, the moving muscles, facial expressions to different stimuli and so much more but...the problem were the models, or rather the lack thereof.

You could probably hire someone but the money spend on that would be way too much for your limited budget so the next best thing was the coliseum! It was a blessing in poor disguise, the gladiators trained there almost daily and luckily the head keeper of the arena begrudingly let you stay there and practice in exchange for a satchel of money but to be honest...the practice wasn't the only thing you longed for when visiting the coliseum almost daily, it was the gladiators.

They were huge, burly men in their prime, all of them looking like they were born with a sword or spear in hand and to grow up to become warrior and you'd be lying if you said that warmth didn't spread through your body and centered in your lower belly whenever these big, loud and boisterous men didn't call out for you and purred in dripping, low voices how pent up they are and what they wouldn't give for a pretty soft thing like you :((

The worst (or best) part was when you were practicing nude drawings which were equally fascinating and hard to draw, especially with all these men being so...shameless with it. You loved the human body, all artists do but still you were a young lady and watching all the gladiators walking around the barracks all naked and proud was...an experience to say the least and brought a pang of warmth between your thighs, especially when they were so happy to parade themselves like proud stallions in front of you :((

Strong, toned bodies glistening with sweat and water, their hardening cocks proudly on show whenever you run your soft hands over their toned torsos to study the way muscles move and twitch whenever you run your fingers over a sensitive spot, the most reactive being two of the many foreign gladiators, Johnny or like he insisted to be called 'Soap' and Kyle or 'Gaz', like he wants to be called.

These two are always purring low withing their chests to you as you look all over them, their backs, chests, stomachs, making you promise to do a special commission only for them but you're just nodding dumbly because you're too transfixed on the god-like bodies to draw :(

Another gladiator you're very fond of is a huge, blonde foreigner named Simon, or 'Ghost'. A formidable warrior, a veteran for sure, it looked like Ares himself send this one here to grace the people with a demigod of war. He was always incredibly patient with you, letting you roam your hands over his body and all the numerous scars decorating his skin. Once you saw Simon up close you immediately realized why people called him a demigod-he was beautiful. A strong and powerful man in his prime, his muscles jumping and twitching beneath his thick skin and a layer of fat, power and virility was literally radiating off of this man, and you insistently tried not to look at the long and thick cock hanging between his legs, twitching and pulsating with arousal whenever you marveled over his body and your fingers ran over his adonis belt <3

[spockiguess]

Breeding Jealousy Part 1 || Peter Quill x Fem!Reader

A/N: This took me way too long to finish, but here’s the first part of a two (maybe three, no promises) part series. Thank you so much to Sav for helping me edit and leaving very silly comments on my Doc. I know my Quill fics are so incredibly out of left field, but my track record shows that this should actually be expected! So hah! Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this even if it took me a couple of days. I’m thinking of writing a Peter x Male/GN reader, so let me know if y’all would want to see that. 

Warnings: Smut, Use of Terms like Cunt and Pussy

Pairing: Peter Quill/Female Reader

Sure, you loved being a Guardian, but it definitely came with its hang ups. Be it the death-defying dance you had to walk every time you encountered another fuckhead with god-like abilities or the sickening injuries sustained from those perilous fights, being a part of Peter Quill’s infamous group of heroic outlaws took a heavy toll most days. 

Lately, you’ve been finding yourself exhausted beyond comprehension and in dire need of release. So, after much pushing from Mantis and even Nebula, you decided to have a night where you let all inhibitions loose and finally got dicked down in the way you most deserved. 

And that came in the form of you putting on your tightest, blackest, latex dress that just barely covered your ass and smearing on the sultriest makeup you could think up all to visit one of Knowhere’s many clubs. Being a planet made up of mostly outlaws, the people knew how to fucking party. 

Excitement coursed through your veins, and you exited your tiny bathroom ready to conquer the world. 

Futuristic black heels clacked against the metal floors of your shared housing with a resounding confidence as you traversed multiple floors and staircases, purse in hand. 

You felt alive for the first time in eight months, and when you entered the common area, you acknowledged Peter–your captain and longtime crush–with a nonchalant wave, barely even bothered by the way he looked you up and down multiple times. 

“Where’re you going?” Peter asked incredulously. 

“Out,” You answered back excitedly, a wide grin plastered across your face. 

With a shocked expression, Peter muttered to himself doubtfully, “Out. Yeah, right. Out,” before he spoke up again, “So where is this out?” 

Pausing just before the door, you turned back to Peter, unwavering, “Korthax.” Peter spluttered, knocking over his drink and immediately rose from his seat. 

“You’re going to Korthax looking like that? Why?” Peter crossed his arms and you sighed knowing your fun would have to wait until Peter’s little interrogation was over. 

Deciding not to answer his question for now, you teased Peter, “Looking like what, exactly?” Peter just scoffed and motioned to your body, as if that explained everything. 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shrugged, “I’m just going out to have fun and hopefully sleep in a bed that isn’t mine tonight. Does that bother you?” 

Peter scoffed again, completely unwilling to believe what he was seeing, “Yes, actually, it does bother me.” 

This time, you were the one to scoff, “Okay, why? I’m an adult, aren’t I? I get to choose how I spend my free time.” 

Peter wasn’t having any of it and crossed the room in a few long strides, getting right in your face, “Not when those choices could put you in a ton of danger.” Peter gave his best serious face but rejoiced internally, totally satisfied with his response. His argument had practically no holes, he thought. 

“Right, because when we face off against literal gods, that’s fine. But when I want to go out, then it’s a problem. Thanks, I get it now.” You were being a little rude and extremely sarcastic, but at this point, you were fed up with Peter’s sudden interest in your personal life and how you conducted it. 

Peter short circuited, his brain literally could not think of one smart response to that. With what you were insinuating, you were right. Peter himself constantly puts you in danger, so why is now any different? 

Still, Peter wasn’t a man known for backing down against good logic, so he doubled down and got even closer, “Do you know how dangerous some of these people are? At least with the people we fight, you know what they’re capable of. Here, you’re at a disadvantage– you feel too safe.” 

You were also extremely hard-headed, so you got closer as well, your faces just mere inches away from each other, “These are your people, are they not? You banter with them, you literally call them family. And now they’re suddenly big scary monsters just waiting to take advantage of me? What a crock of shit.” 

Peter blew a big puff of air out of his flaring nose, obviously annoyed with your indignation at his abrupt prodding. Peter was backed into a corner, you were much smarter than people gave you credit for. Speaking harshly, Peter began, “Fine. You want the truth?”

You cocked your head to the side, your face sprouting a vicious smile as you rested your hands on your hips, “Yes, Peter, I’d love the truth.” 

A minute passed before Peter finally began to swallow all of his anxiety and fears regarding his feelings about you, he reasoned it was about time to let the truth flow anyway. “I like you. I mean, I really like you.” 

Peter spoke lowly, his voice a resentful whisper, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the first day I saw you. So imagine being me, seeing you, wearing that, and you’re talking about spending your night with some cheap lowlife when I’m right here. Now that is a crock of shit.”

Oh. Well, that certainly puts a dent in your plan. Well, fuck it, you thought. Taking Peter’s face in your hands, you pressed your soft, rouged lips against his and pressed your body against him, trying to communicate the utter want you’ve felt for him ever since you joined his ragtag band of misfits. 

Peter groaned wantonly, his calloused hands flying to the seat of your ass and squeezing greedily as he deepened the passionate kiss. Fireworks went off in your head. It was all finally happening. 

Peter’s tongue swiped against your lips and you opened them in hazy approval, letting him dominate your very being with not one complaint. 

Soon, you had to break away to catch your breath. A single strand of saliva kept the two of you connected before it broke off and landed on your chins. A fog of lust clouded your minds and the only thing you could think about was getting in the other’s pants. 

Peter was one step ahead of the curve though, and before you knew it, you were being hauled up and over Peter’s shoulder. With a yelp, you dropped your purse and your already short dress rode up even farther, leaving you shivering at the feeling of the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy. 

Peter noticed this immediately (you swore his brain was wired to scope out anything even slightly appealing within a ten mile radius), and slapped your bare ass, commenting, “Seriously, a thong? How desperate were you?” 

You slapped his ass in return, “Oh, fuck you.” 

“You’re certainly about to,” Peter grinned wickedly. 

Eventually, you made it to Peter’s cramped bedroom and he carefully laid you on his raggedy bed, admiring you for a long moment. Having abandoned your heels on the trek there, you teasingly ran one of your feet against Peter’s tented pants, beckoning him closer. 

Peter hastily obliged and dove in, kissing you wildly as he bunched your dress above your hips and situated himself between your spread legs. His large hands traversed your mostly naked skin before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thong and yanked them down. 

You gasped and Peter took this opportunity to capture you in another heated kiss while his thumb slid through your slick folds and honed in on your throbbing clit. Moaning, you kissed Peter back feverishly, your hand coming down to grip his wrist as he rubbed your clit in slow circles. 

Breaking apart once again, Peter kissed along the length of your neck before biting your collarbone, then soothing the mark with his tongue. Your other hand flew to Peter’s hair which you grabbed a tuft of and tugged. Peter groaned, pressing against your clit harder, causing you to moan in return. 

Sliding down your body, Peter’s face aligned with your weeping cunt before he gave you a cocky look (one eyebrow arched, smile devilishly lopsided) and licked a hot stripe along your pussy, his mouth locking around your clit.

You bucked into Peter’s face and pulled at his hair even more, jerking at the vibrations his breathless moans sent straight into your aching core. Everything felt hot: your body, your soul, the very air in the room, you couldn’t focus on a single thing. 

All you knew in that moment was Peter’s eager mouth licking and sucking at your most sensitive spot with a hunger unparalleled. The action sent a blindingly hot energy rippling through you, like an electric current traveling through a copper wire, making you gasp in pleasure. 

Your fingers wound tighter into Peter’s luscious hair as you felt this energy ball up in the depths of your core and send radiating shockwaves that caused you to yell Peter’s name like it was a divine prayer capable of saving you from this sinful hedonism. 

Wetness dripped from Peter’s chin as your body spasmed and that energy finally released in a seemingly cosmic explosion that sent stars reeling across the universe. Still experiencing the aftershocks, Peter came back up and kissed you long and hard, his hand coming to hold the back of your neck.

Feeling somewhat devious, you gathered up the gumption to lock your legs around Peter’s waist and force him onto his back with a blanket-muffled thump. Not wasting a second, you rearranged yourself so that you were now sitting between Peter’s muscular legs. 

The outlaw was still wearing his faded jeans, so you made quick work of them by popping the button, pulling the zipper, and tugging both his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. 

Peter smiled widely, chuckling, “Eager, aren’t we?” You grinned, watching as his dick sprang to life and slapped against his toned belly. It was big, in both length and width, and you wondered if you’d even be able to take half of it in your mouth.

You were a trooper, though, so you took his thick cock in your hand and retorted, “Oh, I can be bored, if you want,” mirroring his actions from earlier, you licked a wet stripe from Peter’s base to his tip, locking eyes with him before continuing, “That is totally do-able.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, about to make a comeback when you hoped for the best and swallowed as much of Peter’s dick as you could in one fell swoop. 

“Fuck!” Peter cursed, his hand flying to the back of your head and grabbing a bunch of hair. 

Peter’s immediate reaction only fueled your intense desire to please and you took more of his length into your mouth, trying to stop your gag reflex the moment his cock hit the back of your throat. Curly brown hairs tickled your nose once you reached the hilt, and you soothingly rubbed the sides of Peter’s thighs before resting your hands on his, pushing down to signal that you would really like to be face-fucked. 

Peter got the memo and swore again before bracing himself against the bed. Not a moment passed before your mouth was being used like some sort of personal masturbator and tears quickly filled your eyes as Peter’s dick ravaged your throat. 

What kept you going was hearing Peter’s utterly indecent moans and achy whines as he got himself off, desperately chasing his own nearing climax.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Peter whined, head falling back against his pillow.  

Soon, Peter’s breath began to hitch and his hips pistoned into your mouth with such speed that it almost made you dizzy. Only a few minutes later did Peter finally still and pump hot cum down your throat as his fingers dug further into your hair, keeping you right in place. 

Peter cooed, “That’s right, baby, take it all,” before he finally let go of your head. Catching your breath, you wiped some of the remnants marking your lips and made a show of licking it off your fingers. Peter was already getting hard again, but seeing that made all the blood rush from his head to his cock. 

“That good?” you teased, climbing back up Peter’s body. Peter only nodded before kissing you deeply, you could taste each other’s essences on your tongues. 

Feeling beat, you plopped down next to Peter’s still-heaving body after wrangling yourself out of your clothes and snuggled closely, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. Peter decided to ignore his dick for the moment and wormed his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer. The sun began to rise outside of his window, but it didn’t matter as the both of you fell asleep within moments. 

[jennilah]

a very dumb deep dive

gather round, i saw a few people say they want to crawl into the head of someone who had trouble telling Hoffman and Strahm apart upon first viewing. I offer mine for the picking because i think ive identified, at least in MY personal experience, the various elements that came together that formed the ultimate confusion

if this is not relatable nor informative, i hope it is at least a little silly. this is all in good fun and obviously the difference between them is clear as day to me now

this will be longer than it should be.

PRECURSOR POINT NUMBER ONE...

I do not remember character names. Not until they are recurring, or I've rewatched a film a few times. Sometimes it will take me an entire 12-21 episode season length for me to know characters by name in a show. I've seen some Saw films more than 6 times now and I still don't know everyone in the traps 🤷‍♀️

PRECURSOR POINT NUMBER TWO..

at the time of watching Saw IV for the first time, the madness has not yet set in for Hoffman and Strahm for me. In fact, I didn't like either of them. I wasn't looking at them with my deranged eyes yet.

Without my crazy brain activated, sometimes I'll get face blindness between people who have similar enough hair and stuff. I'll use clothes as an identifier if I can

Meaning, I didn't notice anything like face details, mannerisms, body shapes- to me, it was one dark haired white guy in a suit and another dark haired white guy in a suit who both worked in law enforcement.

uh oh

PRECURSOR POINT NUMBER THREE..

in a very elaborate plot like this with many interwoven stories being told, especially with police procedure, has a lot of details that get lost on me upon first watch because I simply easily misunderstand what is happening. I zone out on stuff like legal talk because I don't know that world at all, and the more general plot information to absorb, the more I forget.

"But [character] SAYS..!" oh, I'm aware! If you pay attention and can remember character names, everything is pretty clear in this movie!

so between all three points, you see where I'm starting to go with this.

THAT BRINGS US TO..

Saw IV. let me describe to you what I believe my thought process was to the best of my memory.

This guy shows up. as far as I knew, this was the first time I've met this character. I forgot he was in Saw III because he was only in it for a second and I definitely don't remember him among the sea of other characters.

ok. sure. new detective because the others are dead. got it 👌

next time we see him is a few minutes later, now in this lighting. I don't have his features memorized yet. I'm pretty sure I put it together that it was the same guy as before, and I see he's in a new outfit.

keep in mind he is not at all referred to with a NAME yet, until Perez shows up and introduces all three of them at the same time

here comes "Strahm," as he was quickly introduced in practically the same breath, from the FBI. and he looks like this.

I mentally go "ok FBI guy in the suit" because my occasional bout of face blindness is activating rn. The problems are on the horizon for me

I survived that scene, but the scene right after? I'm doomed.

Major Confusion #1:

this treacherous interrogation footage, ft Hoffman's ass and slutty, slutty suspenders (but I did NOT give him even a second glance here yet. genuinely.)

I'm 100% sure I just didn't know who I was looking at in this footage at all just because of the outfit change

and then the boys are back in town. and they're BOTH WEARING THIS...

This was mean. this was fucked. I was doomed. My brain is already churning trying to keep up with what the footage was, now there's two dark haired white men in dark suits. Who was who again? I think the guy who just turned off the TV was the new detective. The guy who was talking to the Swat guy before. Yeah....

Major Confusion #2:

Next time we see them, Strahm and Perez are watching the interrogation footage. They quickly start talking Jigsaw stuff and my mind is already working overtime figuring out what information is and isn't important to hold on to.

Hoffman says hello for like 1 minute and then fucks off.

My brain is going "ok.. that footage was an old interrogation... mhm..."

this is the information my brain has decided to retain from that scene for later.

Major Confusion #3

this dark haired white guy in a suit got kidnapped idfk. the shots are all very short and he's enshrouded in shadow or SUPER close-up, and I don't know to recognize him by his lips yet. clearly Im more focused on his hair color and suit, so this could be fuckin anyone

Perez said something about officers being in danger earlier, I think I thought maybe it was irony and the cocky FBI guy was the one who got kidnapped instead? i dont know.

then after the first test of Rigg's game, you see Perez and Strahm again for a SECOND. I def didn't pay them much attention. My mind is elsewhere- the insanity of the previous scene

Major Confusion #4:

then FINALLY... we see Hoffman again in the slut chair

and what have we learned about me so far?

let me sum up my logic for you

Now, if only I was certain on their names..

I'm not going to go over every single scene, but I guarantee you, the confusion was fully set in by this point. That detective from the beginning either really just went home, or he was working with Perez. Or maybe it's the FBI guy and someone else is in the chair? No idea.

My brain retained that one slightly misguided bit of information from the interrogation footage and thought This Guy, Whoever This Guy Is, was interrogating Jill a second time. (Wrong.)

there was no memory of the guy's big ass in that footage or anything. that was also way the fuck in the intro and there was a LOT more that happened between then and now in the movie to remember now. and people really don't say each other's names that often.

Yeah there's also that flashback footage showing The Guy In the Chair and Rigg back in the day, but I was too far gone. That was simply the story of how That Guy and Art Blanc knew each other.

and boy does Chair Guy not do much for the rest of the movie, so there was not much more info about his identity that I could try to work out. Maybe he was just some new random guy meant to die in someone else's game because he is kind of a dirty cop?

Pretty sure I was resigned to the fact that I was watching completely utterly confused by the third act.

then fucking JEFF DENLON shows up and i remember either mentally or physically throwing my hands up like "ok now i REALLY dont know whats going on"

I remember I was still excited by the thrill of it, just completely lost as to who was who and what the fuck was going on.

as Eric Matthews was yelling "WHO'S COMING THROUGH THAT DOOR?" i remember going "I DONT KNOW, MAN!!!!!!"

The Grand Clear-up:

THE REVEAL.

Through the power of the Hello Zepp reveal montage, I finally understood "OHHHH YOU'RE THE DETECTIVE FROM THE BEGINNING!!!"

i had other confusions that i eventually worked out, but I went into Saw V much more clear on who was who. There was Hoffman the evil detective, and Strahm the jerk FBI guy (who I then softened up to throughout V, no longer thinking he was a jerk)

and, if I couldn't physically tell who was on screen because I still struggled a little bit with that... I looked for Strahm's bandage :)

and thats my story lmao...

anyway finding out just how many other people mixed them up or confused them or couldn't tell them apart makes me feel so validated thank u. i understand u

[theanonymousninja247]

Random Turtle HC: Raph & Anxiety

*clears throat and approaches microphone before hitting whiteboard with a ruler* A-HEM! Behold my theories peasants!

As we see expresses in the VERY 1st episode of ROTTMNT, the turtles can recognize each others signature scents and can smell fear.

Raph especially is shown briefly through the brothers dialogue to be the most aware and self conscious about said scent to the point of becoming defensive about it.

This leads me to believe that due to both natural biological olfactory senses and increased abilities due to mutation, the turtle brothers (with an advanced ability tipping to Raph due to his size and sensitivity) can actually smell the hormone cortisol.

WebMD defines cortisol as, “Your body’s main stress hormone. It works with certain parts of your brain to control your mood, motivation, and fear.”

Simply put, the turtle boys can literally smell fear.

Now I know you’re asking yourself, “Okaaaaaay cool fun fact I guess, what does that have to do anything with me?”

*takes a step back and adjust glasses with a smirk*

My dear dear fellow tumblr, allow me to share the wonders of mixing fact, madness and media all in one! *sounds of maniacal cackling can be heard*

(I wrote this with the intent to be platonic but it could be romantic if you squint long enough)

•So we've established Raph can smell fear right?

•As a protective big brother who is quite literally in fact “BIG” he knows a thing or two about getting scared

• Especially when it comes to looking out for people he cares about

•Hes been fighting baddies for his family since he was a tot! From keeping away scary dreams at night, from crushed ancient metal zombies to terrifying alien virus monsters, there ain't much he hasn't seen

•So when you join the ranks of the Mad Dogz, you immediately also get a built in prtoector

•Raphs been looking out for the little guys his whole life, what's one more?

•Not to mention you're kinda cute, so he doesn't mind sticking around a little bit closer

•But you're different than most folks, Raph notices. I mean besides the fact that you WILLING want to be friends with 4 mutant turtles of all things.

•No besides your abnormal incredible bravery in looking beyond the status quo to reach out the hand of friendship to these reckless reptiles, Raph noticed that you just kind of…smelled

•Not in a bad way or anything just…you always seemed to have a lingering scent of fear on you

•And Raph would know. Hed recognize that scent anywhere. It's a scent that ghosts every hour of every day for him. Nighttime and being alone especially.

•Raph hates being scared. He's the biggest and the oldest. He's supposed to look after his peeps! And he can't do that if he's frozen with fear all the time!

•So what does he do? Raph faces the problem head on like he always do.

•You get scared a lot. That's understandable, but Raph decides to make it his business that you don't need to be scared when he's around.

•Raph’ll protect ya

•Be prepared to have this turtle subtly (orrer not to much so because although he's a ninja he ain't exactly tactful or subtle) watching you every time you and the gang get all together

•Its not hard. You've always caught his attention for some reason or another. So looking at you is something he does without even realizing it.

•He’s looking for triggers, anything that gets that heart rate of yours spiking and that scent start to waft.

•Fidgeting hands, bouncing knees, shutting down and slinking into your hoodie, nervous chewing, pulling or playing with your hair and pacing, he's got eyes on it all.

•Once a trigger has been spotted, Raph immediately tries to locate the source

•Too many people? Suddenly you find a 6ft something giant turtle behind you, letting you know with his massive presence alone that he got your back. Literally.

•He kinda likes this position because he can see everyone that comes close enough to interact with you and everybody can see him.

•All he's got to do is narrow his eyes a little a give em a flash of that all too familiar snaggle tooth of his if he thinks someone's being mean and he gets his unspoken threat across just fine

•Not to mention you're also close enough to grab if someone he doesn't deem fit for your attention gets a little too close for his liking. But he doesn't say that part out loud.

•Scared of talking? You suddenly feel the cool tip of his massive scaely alligator tail (anatomically correct alligator tail be darned, I'm going with the fandoms HCs for this one) gently wrapping around your ankle as a physical reminder that he's right there here to support you

•Overwhelmed and the world feels like it's closing in on you? Raphs massive size is a natural battering ram that allows him to pass through thick crowds with easy. He's not afraid to help heard you into a quiet little corner away from it all

•Years of practice with Donnie allows him the experience to ask you if you're good with touch.

•If yes, you know you're going to be instantly wrapped into his arms, pulled flushed up against the worn keratin of his plastron. Raph’s always been more of “hands-on experience” kinda of guy anyway.

•Raph gives good hugs. They're firm and tight, padded with the security of arms who have been holding the weight of the world for years.

•He will rest his chin on top of your head, gently guiding your head with the motion ever so slightly so you're somehow perfectly nestled right against his heart.

•It's a loud heart, especially when you're up so close. It's actually his strongest muscle and one he's most proud of. He cares about you, so he reckons he’ll allow you the privilege of getting close to it. In more ways than one.

•Raph doesn't talk much during these special security hugs. He's never really been much good with words anyways. Raph knows sometimes the noise can be too much, but he also knows that the silence can be defeaning. So being a turtle comes with some built in perks that make up a happy medium.

•Hes got a special churr saved for special situations just like this one. It's one of the lowest and deepest ones he's capable of making. More akin to a muted growl more than anything the way it vibrates his chest as you're pressed up against it. You can feel it more than hear it and it just takes a handful of minutes listening to this bad boy before Raph can sense your fear stink slowly dissipating and your natural sweet scent can return.

•Raph can smell fear, and there's something incredibly humbling for this Atlas of a turtle to have the sweet experience of watching that scent drift away whenever he gets the privilege of being close to you like this.

•”You don't need to be scared no more, Sweet Pea. Raph’s got ya. I'm gonna be right here until you're ready to face the world again. Until then, let me just hold ya.”

Dedicated to the one and only @anobodyinabog. Sorry this took so long,but I hope your day gets better Shortcake. Please know you're always looked out for and loved ok? 🧡❤️

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Bad Writing Can Make A Privileged Character Unintentionally Unlikable Or Likable

Although my opinion won't be popular on this site, I don't think being privileged prevents you from being sympathetic or having a hard life (specifically when it comes to abuse). However, I do think it comes down to how the narrative executes and treats said privileged character. This can be shown in Velma's interpretation of Fred and Stolas from Helluva Boss. The former is an example of trying to make this guy a privileged, rich white boy who who are supposed to hate for getting everything in life handed to him just like Velma (blah). While with Stolas, who are supposed to sympathize with him despite being rich he has a bad home life with his wife, father was distant from him, and trapped in an arranged marriage.

However, it's funny enough I have seen more people feel sorry for Fred than Stolas as time goes on. The reason is despite his rich background his parents really are the worst compared to Paimon who was at worst a neglectful parent while his parents are control freaks who belittle him for being babyish and later his mother even planned to kill him to swap brains just because she believed he would ruin everything she built. The show also goes out of it's way to shit on him and make him the butt of many jokes as a way to do lame "white people" suck. Seriously, despite his supposed privilege he takes a lot of damage in the show: being falsely accused of murder, body shamed for having a tiny dong, being sent to prison (and people relishing that a white man was falsely imprisoned), having his own mother try to murder him so she can have someone more competent run the family business, and finally he witnesses said mother being murdered. Again an example of despite the narrative telling us he has it good everything that was shown shows that his so-called privilege doesn't protect him from the tons of shit thrown at him.

And again going back to Stolas he in contrast is constantly shown to have everything in the narrative try to treat him as a sympathetic kicked dog who just wants to find love despite the stigma of being with a lower class demon. However, everything in this seems forced because it's made to ignore how much power he has over Blitzo which has been the main source of problem which is he hovers the book over him in exchange for sexual favors. As a result Blitzo feels trapped in the relationship due to Stolas having the upperhand. However, the narrative refuses to fully embrace it and skirts around it to prevent Stolas from being problematic. Also despite being shown as a cheater the narrative again goes out of it's way to try to make it justified that he did it due to making his wife so one dimensionally abusive. And again it's been brought up his daughter is a prop made to make him seem like a good dad, when in reality he has put his love for Blitzo over his daughter to the point he seems to neglect her more but we are expected to her to just tolerate it because he's supposedly trying. As a result, we don't see him sympathetic despite his privilege we see how privilege he is and wish he'd get over himself.

I do think that makes the biggest difference between the two because of the fact that Fred was allowed to change and realize he was crappy while the narrative enables Stolas to always view himself as a victim and dismiss his actions as not hurting people. Again I do not believe being privilege dismisses you from sympathy because the point of equality is that sympathy can be given to anyone regardless of status. However, I can't be sympathetic to someone who tries to cry about something while abusing their privilege on someone which is what Stolas does often, but the narrative wants to think everything is good. It just winds up making me hate him more and realize what a pathetic pos he is, while someone like Fred is made to be pathetic actually tries to better himself and hopefully does grow even more in the second season. Again bad writing is what it takes to sympathize with or not with how a privileged character is presented.

[es-draws]

Why are so many of us are so turned on by weight gain? Where do kinks come from? I'm curious if there's any science behind it. Which part of the brain is involved? Sorry for the multiple questions in a long ramble

No worries, I had the same question! Probably the top thing I think about with this kink. I've done a lot of research, and what I found is that we really don't know where fetishes come from.

Psychologists are split into two camps - it's either something you develop and learn, or something that you were innately born with.

Some research suggests that fetishes are developed in childhood, and are learned through exposure to specific scenarios and instances that end up "triggering" a sexual response. The most common example here is spanking - Freud and those that subscribe to his theories believe that spanking during childhood leads to sexual urges for spanking as an adult. With feedism, I've heard people say that being exposed to fat admiration at a young age triggered their kink. Listen to Fat Bottomed Girls if you want to hear an example of how a fat naughty nanny can cause you to enjoy big butts.

But many psychologists now believe that fetishes are innate. There's some prominent research on foot fetishes that shows that the neurons for feet and genitals are close enough to overlap. But just like how we once thought that anything that wasn't heteronormative was "learned", it is now much more commonly believed that sexual preference is something people are born with. The precise cause can't be easily found neurologically, but it seems likely that some are innately attracted to things that aren't as common as others.

As for me personally? I have always found weight gain attractive. I can think of no life experience that triggered or developed this kink for me. And I know many, many other feedists who say the same thing. So I personally would ascribe to the "born this way" hypothesis, but I also know that others might disagree, based on their own experiences.

And as a final note, I think we should be wary of the "fetishes develop in childhood" theory. Why? Then it becomes easy to say that this fetish is something that "went wrong" with you. You were exposed to trauma around your body weight, that's why you have this weird kink! You had an ED and body issues - see? It's all just a mental problem. Your feedism fetish is just another disorder. You should get therapy so we can "fix" you. Sounds a bit like how they used to treat other marginalized folks, don't you think?

This is just my opinion, but I'd be curious to hear other people's experiences too, of course!

[alj4890]

Always Winning

(Tobias Carrick x F!MC) in a Choices Open Heart one-shot.

Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week

Day 2: WWTD? Tobias randomly buys a lottery ticket while getting his morning coffee. Turns out it's the winner, and he's just won $50 million dollars. What does he do?

A/N For this one, we'll set it in Book 3's canon, but my MC is single and perhaps not as against dating someone she works with as she originally thought 😏 This one got away from me.

Masterlist

"It can't be." Tobias whispered.

He stared down at the lottery ticket in his hand, then reread the numbers on the screen.

"Holy--" He covered his mouth, eyes growing larger the more he realized the truth.

He'd just won fifty million dollars.

If it hadn't been for the visit up to New York City to see his older brother and his wife and kids for the weekend, he wouldn't have given in to a wild whim to buy a ticket. He'd decided to top off his gas and grab a coffee for the road before the drive back to Boston. While at the gas station, he remembered how he used to buy a lottery ticket every so often during college.

His younger self swore that all he needed was one set of numbers, just one chance. No need to buy multiple tickets. It made no sense to do so when you already knew you were the lucky, always winning sort.

Remembering that naive, fun loving guy, he purchased one Powerball.

Jumping to his feet with a whoop, he pumped his arms in the air. A thousand, or rather a million, thoughts rushed through his brain on what he should do with the money.

He knew that early twenties Tobias would have blown a large chunk of it on a trip around the world and probably a few sports cars. He'd then have given some to his two brothers.

"I'll still do that." He announced to his empty room. "I'll give some to Hugh and Phillip for the kids' future."

He had no doubt his young nieces and nephews would go far in their chosen careers. They were Carrick's after all. Even though they were all under the age of ten, with one still in diapers; he believed they were on their way to greatness.

A few million invested along with what his brothers already had saved would have them more than ready for a future of buying homes, paying for college, or starting a business.

They might even take after their favorite uncle and want to spend it on a trip around the world.

Tobias began to pace. Having settled on that, he wondered if he should quit work and do that traveling he'd always dreamt of doing.

Granted, he'd already visited many areas of the world that were on his must see list. He'd always been wealthy. Money was never a problem for the Carrick's. Being a physician had only increased his fortune.

The thought of no longer being a doctor made him pause. He couldn't imagine waking up without that purpose. He never imagined retiring early, especially this early in his career.

But if he had the means, should he look into doing something else?

He couldn't think of another profession that could hold his interest like medicine. He thrived on the unending mysteries the human body offered. The innate drive he felt to not only solve those very mysteries along with finding cures was unlike anything else he'd experienced.

"Retirement will have to wait." He muttered.

His mind began to wander to another reason he wasn't quite ready to hang up his stethoscope.

If he did retire, he would lose his time with Dr. Christy Valentine.

His lips quirked into a smile. There was something about Chris that made his days at Edenbrook a delight. Not only was he able to be a part of the famed diagnostics team, he was given an opportunity to get to know her better.

Everything he discovered about her made him want to know even more.

She made work fun for him. He'd originally thought working with Ethan again would be what would make it so, but it ended up being Chris. Her sense of humor meshed well with his own. Her intelligence was something he marveled at. She had a warmth that was irresistible.

He couldn't think of anything he disliked about her, save for one little detail.

She wasn't his.

In fact, she wasn't anyone's. Before he moved over to Edenbrook, she'd teetered on almost being Ethan's. He didn't know the whole story behind that particular folly. All he did know was that Chris had sworn off dating anyone she worked with.

Since he didn't know how to broach the subject that they were perfect for one another, he'd settled (for the time being) in becoming very good friends with her. Many nights were spent over dinner or drinks, talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

He could see her becoming more and more comfortable around him. His occasional flirty comments had the ability to not only make her smile but also blush. He suspected she felt something more for him. Perhaps, the time was drawing near where he could finally make his move.

Glancing down at his lottery ticket, he thought about saving some of the money for his own nest egg. If things went the way he hoped, Chris might one day become his wife. He'd want to build her the home of her dreams.

And maybe...they might start a family of their own.

He knew that was Chris's dream. She told him that since she had the career she'd always hoped for, she wanted to one day have a family all her own.

****************

A few months earlier...

"I don't think that's too much to ask." She mumbled over drinks. "I know my love life is pretty much non-existent, but there has to be someone out there who wants what I want too."

"I wouldn't say your love life is non-existent." Tobias countered. "Just stalled."

Her lips quirked into a brief smile. "That does sound more promising."

"Trust me, Chris," he leaned closer to her, "you will have all that you want."

She lifted her eyes to his. Blushing somewhat over having him so near and for basically crying over her love life, she tried to make it a joke.

"Are we adding fortune telling skills to your resume?" She teased.

Tobias rolled his eyes. "You don't need psychic powers to see that you're the whole package."

Chris stilled. "You think I'm the whole package?"

"Any man who doesn't see it is a fool." He told her. "And I've never been a fool."

Chris's lips parted to say something. The two were interrupted before she had a chance to speak by Bryce coming over to tell them about one of their patient's surgical consultation. The conversation never returned to what they'd been discussing.

Tobias was left wondering what she'd been about to say of his observation.

**************

"Saving for my own future wouldn't be such a bad idea."

Besides, if he and Chris weren't meant to be and he never met anyone else, then he could make certain his nieces and nephews inherited his fortune.

He sat down on his sofa to study his winning ticket. Something was still off about his decision. He didn't really need fifty million dollars. Giving some to his family and of course the taxes that he would have to pay, still left him with more than he needed.

I need more time to think.

Reaching for his phone, he called Ethan.

"I won't be coming to the hospital this week." He told him.

"Are you sick?" Ethan asked.

"No." Tobias sighed. "I need some time alone to figure out a few personal issues."

"Call if you need longer than a week." Ethan told him.

"Will do." Tobias replied.

After ending the call, he decided to sleep on his decisions.

**************

Five days later...

Tobias had just finished a conference call with his brothers when he heard a brisk, yet persistent tapping on his front door.

Curious, he peeked out to see who his unexpected visitor could be.

Eyes widening, he opened the door.

"Chris?" He leaned against the doorframe and flashed his most charming smile. "What brings you here?"

She folded her arms, eyes narrowing while doing a quick study of him.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

He waved down his body. "Can't you tell?"

Instead of her typical laughter whenever he playfully complimented himself, she instead bit down on her bottom lip.

"Ethan said you needed some personal time off."

"That's right." He stepped back to invite her in.

Her worry only grew with how casual he was being about everything.

"May I take your coat?" He asked.

She glanced down at her crisp, white Edenbrook coat. She'd forgotten to remove it when she decided to leave work and come check on him.

Without a word, she shrugged out of it and handed it to him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He noticed the time. "You probably haven't had lunch yet. I could make us some--"

"I don't want anything." She cut him off.

He raised an eyebrow over her brisk tone.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"You!" She snapped. "I know it's none of my business, but you never take personal days!"

"That's not true." He motioned for her to sit down. "I went to visit my mom last month for her birthday."

"That wasn't personal." She stressed while taking a seat near him. "You always tell me when you plan a vacation or to go see your family."

"I suppose I do." He grinned over that fact.

"So why couldn't you tell me about taking off?" She demanded.

Chris knew she sounded crazy. Something hit her the wrong way when he didn't bother to tell her he wasn't coming in to work this week. Having to ask Ethan if he knew whether or not Tobias was sick had been hard enough.

Weren't they friends? Didn't she tell him everything? Didn't he feel like he could tell her if something was wrong?

Her fear, that had grown larger when she didn't hear from him, was that he was planning on leaving Edenbrook for another hospital. Things had been tense between him and Ethan since he started. She wouldn't blame him for going to work somewhere else.

She couldn't imagine losing him now that she knew him. She refused to dig deeper into why having him near was so important to her.

You swore off men you work with, she reminded herself. See what happens when you actually fall for them.

She jumped to her feet, bumping into his coffee table and nearly tripping over the area rug.

"Chris?" He reached out to try and steady her. He felt his own alarm over her abrupt behavior when she moved further out of his reach.

"I should go!" She raked a hand through her hair, almost yanking a handful out. "I shouldn't have come to nag you into telling me what's going on. It's none of my business what you do with your time. Your reasons are your own for taking off."

"Hold on!" He grasped her arm, stopping her near sprint out of his living room. "I can tell you."

"Really," she tried to twist free, "there's no need."

"I won the lottery." He announced.

She stilled. Her temper nearly exploded over him making light of her concern.

"Fine! Don't tell me." She snapped. "I don't know why I came here."

"I'm serious!" He went to retrieve all the paperwork he'd received when he accepted the winnings. "Look."

She glanced down. Her anger turned to astonishment when she saw his bank draft.

"YOU WON FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS!" She shouted.

"I did." He chuckled over her reaction.

"No wonder you took off work!" She dropped back down on his sofa.

Tobias watched as her surprise gave way to utter sadness.

"Being a multimillionaire isn't that awful." He joked.

"You're not coming back are you?" She asked, fighting back tears.

"Where? To work?" He sat down next to her.

She nodded. A few stray tears slipped out.

"I thought about that." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she'd found in her pocket.

"I'll miss you." She admitted. "I can't imagine not having you around the hospital anymore."

"I'm not leaving." He squeezed her close. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She bit down on her bottom lip and kept her eyes averted.

"So, you taking off was to collect your winnings?"

"That and to decide what to do with it." He explained. "I went ahead while in New York and had my brother, Hugh, help me set up trust funds for my nieces and nephews."

Her head jerked up at that. "You gave it to your family?"

"Some of it." He relaxed back against the sofa cushion, pulling her with him. "I plan on keeping some for myself."

He felt a glimmer of hope that his plans for his own share wouldn't go to waste when she remained tucked against his side.

"The rest," he continued, "I'm still debating on."

"Oh." She felt foolish for her behavior.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look up at him.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"For what?" He asked.

"My coming over here, forcing you to tell me what was going on, and--"

"You didn't force me." He reminded her.

"Still." She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "You should have been able to keep this private."

"I tell you everything as it is." Tobias squeezed her in another side hug. "I was planning on telling you when I was done making decisions."

He watched her fight back a smile.

"I should let you get back to thinking." She got back to her feet. "And I should probably get back to the hospital before Ethan realizes I left."

"He's already missing one brilliant mind on his team." Tobias teased. "He can't have his two smartest doctors missing in action."

Chris burst out laughing.

"I'll see you later." She said on her way out.

"Chris, wait." He followed her out. "Let's have dinner Sunday night."

"Okay." Her smile made his heart flip. "But you're paying, Dr. Moneybags."

He laughed, shaking his head in mock resignation. "I knew you'd only want me for my money."

She waved goodbye, still smiling that particular smile that made him want to admit his feelings for her.

Perhaps dinner would be the perfect time to do that very thing.

*************

Sunday morning, Chris received a phone call from her parents.

Dr.'s Lorna and Jamie Valentine were currently in Yemen working with their Doctors Without Borders team. The married surgeons had been working for as long as Chris could remember to offer healthcare for those in need. She had traveled with them often growing up, only spending time for school in Inverness and Edinburgh with the rest of the Valentine's. When the pair wasn't working with their team, they were traveling to different universities to teach their vast knowledge of medicine.

"How are things going?" Chris asked.

"Even better than expected!" Lorna told her. "We received a donation, one specifically requested for our team to use."

Chris stilled. "You did?"

"Someone who wished to remain anonymous gave us close to ten million." Jamie explained.

"I wonder who it could have been." Lorna added. "I've been wracking my brain to think of some millionaire we've met in the past."

Chris had a feeling she knew who they had met. Though it had been a horrific time in all their lives, they had met a certain doctor when she'd been dying from the attack on Senator Farrugia.

And since he had just won the lottery, that certain doctor had to be the donor.

Her parents continued to tell her how the money would be used for the clinic they'd started. They didn't notice how quiet their daughter was during their excited plans. Once they made sure she was doing well, they ended the call.

Chris couldn't help but be touched that Tobias had thought of her parents' work to give money towards.

"Of course," she mumbled to herself, "it could be someone else they know who secretly has that kind of money to donate."

She knew that was farfetched.

"It was Tobias." She later told her reflection as she got ready to meet him for dinner.

It makes me love him even more, she thought to herself.

She stilled as the realization struck.

No. No. NO! Her mind screamed. Did you learn nothing with Ethan?!

She slumped down and softly hit her head on the bathroom counter, hoping it would knock some sense into her.

"Welp." She muttered once she sat back up. "No stopping it now."

She was and had been, for longer than she wanted to admit, in love with Tobias Carrick.

****************

"Damn." Tobias stood up to pull out a chair for her. "Someone went all out for dinner."

Chris did her best not to be flustered over that compliment. Since she realized what she felt for him, she decided to dress specifically for him.

The off the shoulders, little black dress hugged her curves while showing off her long legs.

"This old thing?" She smiled at him. "I keep this for any normal night out."

"Then why haven't I had the pleasure to see you in it before?" He asked, enjoying the sight she made in it.

"I didn't want to spoil you." She teased.

He snorted, pulling his own chair closer to her side of the table once she was seated.

"Too late." He told her.

She sighed in playful resignation.

"I knew I should have left this hanging in the closet."

"That is not a dress that should be hanging in a closet." Tobias remarked.

"Then where should it be?" She asked.

Chris waited to see if he'd take her flirty bait and run with it. She soon saw that she wasn't going to be disappointed.

He slowly smiled at her, eyes lingering upon her cleavage. "If it's not on you, then it should be on some lucky man's floor."

That was just the opening she'd been hoping for.

"Some lucky man, hmm?" She pretended to ponder that.

Picking up her menu, she cut her eyes at him and waited for him to take a sip of his drink.

"You seem pretty lucky to me." She remarked.

Tobias coughed, choking on his whiskey sour.

Her smile grew over his reaction.

Once he was able to breathe, he studied her face to see just what she meant by that.

She met his eyes, winking at him.

"Of course," she continued, "I would like to enjoy dinner before this dress hits your floor."

"Chris?" He couldn't believe she was actually flirting with him. "Before you continue teasing me like this, you should know that I want more from you."

"More." She repeated. "As in?"

"As in us being together." He explained. "As a couple."

"So if I were to introduce you to someone as the man I'm in love with?" Chris prodded.

Tobias took her hand in his.

"Then I would say it's about damn time since I've been in love with you for a while now."

She squeezed his hand. Her eyes were shining with an emotion he'd hoped to one day see directed at himself. "Good thing I know how to introduce you from now on."

He lifted her hand to press a lingering kiss upon her knuckles.

Tearing his eyes from her, he attempted to study the menu.

"Now that that's settled," he couldn't contain his smile, "what's the fastest thing we can order on this menu so we can get out of here?"

Chris began to laugh as she tossed her menu down.

"Glasses of water?" She offered.

"I have that at home." Tobias reminded her.

"I do like your water." She stood up, pulling him along with her.

"Only the best in town." He added, while paying for his drink.

"I'm willing to see if that's true." Chris tugged him close.

Tobias leaned down the short distance to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

When he lifted his head, he found her smiling at him in a way that told him this was just the beginning of all he wanted.

After all, he struck the jackpot when he won Chris.

[lilaccrxsh]

In The Locker Room - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Pilot!F!Reader (18+)

Description: After a mission, you and Rooster have different feelings towards how it went, leading to other feelings coming to light.

Content warnings: fingering, face-sitting, swearing, enemies to lovers vibes (arguing then stuff), references to 'failed' missions (death), technically public sex (in the locker room)

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: The Top Gun brain rot is so real so naturally I produced this. Blame @unmistakablyunknown :) This is so not an original idea I just needed to write my own before I burst.

+ + +

The sound of the locker room door slamming against the wall, then swinging immediately shut with a great amount of force, reverberated through the room. You quickly pulled your clean tank top over your head. Whoever had just entered did not sound like they were in a good mood. 

"Y/N!" 

Oh. He was using your name, your actual name, not your call sign. For a moment you considered calling him by his first name, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Whatever had angered him was about to become your problem too. You were going to reply professionally.

"Rooster." 

You crossed your arms over your chest. A defensive act as you braced yourself for whatever fight Bradley was about to pick with you. 

He rushed round the corner, having to push against the wall as he slid to a stop. You had never seen him so annoyed. 

"Y/N." Now he had found you, he didn't even attempt to get closer. Rooster stood on the opposite side of the room, glaring at you. 

"What do you want?"

"For you to stop being so fucking reckless."

His remark stunned you. This is what riled him up? Today's successful mission. 

"What are you talking about, Rooster? The mission was a success. All the planes are still intact and everyone's alive."

"But you might not be, Y/N!" 

Rooster stepped towards you now, simultaneously thumping the metal of the locker door closest to him. The noise echoed. You resisted the urge to flinch. 

Instead, you found yourself narrowing your eyes. What gave Rooster the right to talk to you in this way? You were barely even friends, let alone anything else. Since day one of the recall to Top Gun, the two of you had rubbed along, snarky remarks being thrown around the classroom like children. Rooster was the person who altered your call sign. You were 'Butterfly', but Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw decided that was one too many syllables - opting otherwise for 'Flutter'. You'd be lying if you said it didn't piss you off. 

"Why the fuck do you even care, Rooster? I thought you'd be happy if I did something stupid and got kicked out, or worse." 

"And you'd think that because?" Rooster took another step towards you. 

"You're a dickhead! And it makes you even more of a dickhead if you can't see that!"

"That's what you think of me?" With every sentence, the anger seemed to dissipate from the man in front of you. Rooster had also taken another step closer. 

"You've given me no other choice." 

"Well you haven't given me a choice." Rooster roughly pointed a finger to his own chest. "Today you flew like it was your last day. That's too reckless, Y/N."

"Isn't that what we're meant to do, Rooster? Fly each mission as if it could be our last. What do you want me to do, huh? Fail?"

"No." There was now no space between you two. You were forced to look up at him. You slowed your breathing, consciously refraining from breathing deeply. If you did so, your bodies would have been touching.

"I want you to come home."

That was the calmest Rooster had spoken to you since entering the room - in fact, it may have been the softest thing he had ever said to you. 

Why was he saying this? You searched his eyes to find no reason for you to believe he was being insincere. His gaze was hard and steadfast. The only piece of doubt you could find was a flicker of something odd. There was a hint of nervousness. 

"You want, me," You paused, "to come home?"

"Always, Y/N. You scared me half to fucking death today." 

Your mouth opened as if you were to reply but you couldn't find any words. How could you and Rooster go from arguing, to him alluding to something as crazy as this. This conversation was more ridiculous than any of the stunts you had pulled today. 

What made everything worse, was that Rooster's gaze kept flickering from your eyes, to your lips. When he did it a second time, you bit down hard on your bottom lip. It was almost impossible now to control your breathing. You let your chest heave naturally, feeling the front of Rooster's flying suit through the thin material of your tank top. 

It suddenly became clear why you could become so easily pissed off whenever you two were together. Rooster was already under your skin in another way. 

"Y/N…"

"Don't." You reached up to lace your fingers into his brown hair. It was surprisingly soft to the touch. Your forearm rested on his shoulder. He was so close. It wouldn’t take much for you to seal the deal. 

It was Rooster who leant down to you. You rose onto your toes to match the force he was putting into the kiss. It was hungry, messy, but intense. Something had broken inside of you, the dam you had unknowingly put up to hide your feelings had come crashing down. 

You grasped the back of his neck, pulling him as close to you as you could. There was nowhere else to go apart from fall backwards against the cold metal of the locker behind you. Strong hips were on yours, causing you to press into Rooster further. The kiss was broken so fervent kisses could be peppered down the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart.” Rooster spoke in punctured frames as he continued to attack your neck. There was going to be evidence of your escapade tomorrow. 

His hand came to a stop on your hip, resting on the elastic of your sweatpants. 

“May I?”

You could only nod. It became impossible to breathe as cool air was exposed to the hot skin of your waist, hips and even further below. Rooster had removed not only your sweatpants, but your panties too. Without breaking eye contact with you, he cautiously moved his whole hand directly between your legs. You jumped when the pads of his fingertips graced your clit. 

Contact was brief as his final destination was further down. He stopped, waiting for a sign from you that he could continue.  Rooster’s eyes lit up as he felt you tense uncontrollably around his one finger. To tease you further, he wasted no time in adding a second, letting out a short, lust-induced laugh when you tightened once again. 

When Rooster curled the two fingers inside of you, your spine arched, the back of your head became the only part of you touching the cool metal of the lockers. You could look up at him, his eyes wide and taking all of you in. Rooster was still holding all your weight, your legs wrapped around his waist. A strong left arm was wrapped around yours, keeping you suspended between the lockers and his body. 

"You're fucking tight, Y/N." 

You whimpered at his filthy remark. His voice was low and husky. Your muscles clenched around his fingers, sending a mind numbing amount of pleasure through your core. It was as if your body knew what to do, your hips rolling by themselves in a coordinated dance. 

"Go on. Ride my fingers, baby girl."

"St-" You went to let out a desperate plea for Rooster to stop talking. You weren't going to last much longer if he continued to speak to you in this way. 

"'Stop'?" You could practically hear him smirking. "Now why would I do that?" 

For a moment you thought he had. Pressure left your core, and you wanted to scream when you saw him bring his soaked fingers up to his mouth. 

"You taste good, Y/N. So why should I stop there?"

In one swift movement, your places were changed. Rooster was below you now, head rested comfortably where his right hand had been moments before. He now held you up by your ass, his palms kneading into your skin. Tufts of his hair traced the inside of your thighs. You could feel his breath warm on your core. 

You looked down at him, eye-lids fluttering as it became impossible to hold them open. The flat of his tongue moved up your slit, until he was able to neatly suck the small bump of your clit. A strangled cry fell out of you as you squirmed. Hands were on your ass, keeping you held perfectly to his face. You weren't going anywhere - not until Rooster had made you cum right there in the locker room. 

“Bradley…” His name fell from your lips as if it was made for you to say it. This time it was Rooster who made an animalistic noise from between your legs. 

“You’re gonna cum for me, Y/N. My sweet Butterfly…”

That was it. With those final words spoken you became undone right there. Right in the open in the communal locker room. You practically rode Rooster’s face as your orgasm racked your frame. He held you firm however, keeping you angled perfectly so he could help you ride through the high. Rooster only stopped when he was satisfied. You had collapsed onto him, your weight completely on his shoulders. He continued to clean you up with his mouth, finishing with a final kiss to your clit. You were too spent to react. 

Rooster bundled you into his arms. He sat back onto the tiled floor, holding you in his lap. He seemed hesitant to kiss you again, after his previous excursions. You didn’t mind, initiating this kiss yourself. You were all over him, in every way possible. 

“God, we should have done that sooner.” 

“You just needed to stop being a dick.” You smirked. 

This made Bradley laugh. “I can’t promise anything, sweetheart.” 

Masterlist

[sickficideas]

no promises || kunizai sickfic

ao3! 7.4k, mild nsfw/emeto themes - please refer to this link for warnings/tags! request for @potatopersonal on ao3!!

"Is Atsushi -"

"We've got it under control, Dazai. I need you to take this, you're the only one in any real danger here and you know that," Yosano tells him in that scolding mother voice of hers that often reminds him that she's the older one.

She's holding a cup of activated charcoal, something that he's dreadfully familiar with. He's taken it against his will and of his own accord on many occasions through his time with the Port Mafia, and he thinks even once or twice at the Armed Detective Agency, but this time he's not the culprit of his own demise.

He realizes that Yosano isn't going to give in and that she's really asking him to take it right here, right now - so he does like she's asked of him and somehow manages to down the entire cup without a pause.

It always makes him vomit. Every single time, without fail. The texture is so awful, and on top of that, he thinks his body has developed some sort of gag reflex specifically for this substance because he's taken it so many times against his will.

He and Atsushi were both poisoned downstairs at the cafe just about a half hour ago, he thinks. They only noticed because Atsushi started to feel incredibly unwell. Dazai doesn't know if he didn't get hit as hard because he's been poisoned before, or if Atsushi had much more of the poison than he did - either way, he's much more concerned about him.

This has happened before, this exact scenario, back when Dazai was a Port Mafia Executive. He and Akutagawa were both poisoned in the same way, their drinks being spiked. Dazai's health back then was much worse and it took him a lot longer to recover, but Akutagawa was unconscious for two weeks. Dazai thought he would never wake up. He remembers Gin asking him if he was going to die. He can still remember tears in her eyes that he'd never seen before or since then.

He can't believe he's let this happen twice. Why was he so careless?

"Yosano, he's - is he unconscious?" Dazai hardly manages to choke out before he feels the charcoal push its way back up his esophagus. Yosano's well prepared, of course, with a bedpan under his chin just seconds before a gag forces everything to splatter into the pan. He sucks in a breath and groans.

"He's conscious, and I need you to stay with me, too," Yosano says. Dazai can feel himself getting seriously lightheaded, and obviously it's bad enough for Yosano to notice, too. "I need you to take more of it, I'm sorry."

Dazai doesn't know if he can stay conscious. He can see the black creeping into his peripheral and he knows that's a sign that he's losing the battle. He lets Yosano do what she needs to do and he helps her as much as he can in his half-conscious state. He's really trying to fight it. Yosano forces more of the active charcoal down his throat and it bubbles back up in no time at all. Dazai's not even sure where the vomit ended up this time.

“Put me out of my misery,” he chokes out.

“I can’t do that, Dazai, I’m a licensed physician,” she reminds him for the hundredth time. Mori sure didn’t have a problem trying to help him die, but he didn’t care much about the law. He starts wondering if Mori even had a license at all, but his brain starts to fog up, and his eyes unfocus.

He can hear her saying his name. She sounds desperate, but his body is starting to go numb, and he can't respond. He can't fight it anymore.

At least, if he dies, it won't be painful.

But Atsushi -

…

Kunikida hasn't been this stressed in a long time. He's very aware that his presence stresses Yosano out so he's kept himself out of the infirmary and he's been sitting on a stray chair across from the couch. He's trying to stay calm, but he's deeply concerned for Dazai. Yosano reported that he started seizing, which is a bad sign.

Atsushi is sitting on the couch across from Kunikida, his expression looking just as solemn. He's still hooked up to an IV at Yosano's request with how dehydrated he is. He's only just now started to improve after hours of dealing with a raging fever and vomiting - Yosano thinks that his ability is slowly starting to mend his body and allowing the symptoms to subside, with the help of her own ability. She told him to stay out of the infirmary because she had a feeling the smell of the antiseptic was making him feel worse, with his heightened senses.

Dazai doesn't have anything to help him out. No ability to heal himself, and no possibility of Yosano interfering, so they're not even sure if he should be improving at this point.

"Kunikida?" Atsushi starts. His voice sounds hoarse. He coughs a few times to clear his throat.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry. He's always fine," Kunikida tells him, already knowing what he's going to say. He straightens up. "I want you to go home as soon as Kyoka gets here. You need to rest and I know you won't be doing that here."

"But I don't want to go," Atsushi murmurs. His voice sounds wobbly. He's been crying on and off for hours, Kunikida wouldn't be surprised if he started again now, but he's trying to keep him in good spirits.

"I get it, Atsushi. Trust me," he sighs. He pushes his glasses up to the top of his head and rubs at his eyes. "But you need to look after yourself too."

"Will you tell me if something happens?" Atsushi asks quietly.

"Of course I will."

Thankfully, it's not long until Kyoka is back from the medical supply errand she was asked to run for Yosano. She's incredibly worried about Atsushi, it's obvious even for someone who rarely shows strong emotion. He cries into her shoulder for a while, and she lets him. He's so drained, mentally and physically, that no one tries to cheer him up. Kunikida almost hopes that the tears will tire him out and help him sleep.

They all wish Atsushi well before the two of them leave, and not long after, Yosano makes an appearance back in the office, gathering concerned looks from everyone inside. Fukuzawa has appeared, too.

"He's not improving the way I'd like him to," Yosano says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm keeping a close eye on him, but if he needs supplemental care I'll have to send him to a hospital."

Kunikida wastes no time in slipping inside the infirmary to see him as Yosano addresses the rest of the staff. He's at the one closest to the door. Kunikida's heart drops when he sees him.

Dazai's frame looks incredibly small and fragile in the cot like this. It's so rare to see him in such a state. Kunikida would have thought this is the kind of thing Dazai would never ever fall victim to, but he supposes every human lets their guard down. Even superhumans like Dazai.

Kunikida isn't sure if he's unconscious or not, but either way, he's in pain. Kunikida can see it in the way his face is all twisted up, the sweat collecting at his hairline. He wants to do something.

He sits down on the cot right beside his and sighs.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Kunikida sighs.

An hour or so passes, and Kunikida spends his time completely still at Dazai's bedside, trying to stay out of Yosano's way. Ranpo comes back from a job with the Yokohama police and quickly assures them that the attack on Dazai and Atsushi was an angry client of theirs. Ranpo knows who it is, and he's already on the case - and before long, he leaves to catch him, with Kenji in tow to apprehend him by physical means.

Kunikida was starting to worry it had something to do with Dazai's past at the Port Mafia. That would open a whole new can of worms. This is easy, something they can handle with no issue.

"One of my friends up in Tokyo is a poison specialist. I'll take the sample there and he'll help me create an antidote for him without using any abilities, that way it’ll work on him…" Yosano murmurs. Kunikida heard her mention she already tried ability-based antidotes she’s acquired, just in case there were somehow enough degrees of separation for it to work, but with no luck.

Yosano tells him this with a briefcase in hand and her lab coat, something she doesn't wear as often nowadays, letting him know that she's leaving now.

Yosano gives him a list of ranges for his vital signs to look out for, and any symptoms that could appear that would require a hospital visit.

"Shouldn't you stay with him instead?" Kunikida asks nervously, looking up at her. He's not sure about this. Dazai doesn't seem to be doing well at all, for the only doctor on their staff to leave him. God, his stomach is starting to hurt from the stress. “What if he has another seizure?”

"I trust you. If you think he needs to go to the hospital at any point, do that. Don't ask me first," Yosano says. "I know you'll do what's best for him. He hasn’t seized in at least an hour, so I think that’s over with for now.”

Kunikida bites his lip. He hopes she's right.

…

It’s almost eight o’clock in the evening now, and Dazai has been unconscious since the first time he had a seizure.

He’s stable. His vital signs haven’t changed, he hasn’t had any seizures, and Kunikida has checked in with Yosano a few times. She expects him to wake up soon. Kunikida started working himself up, horrified that Dazai has slipped into some sort of coma, but Yosano doesn’t seem to think that’s a possibility.

“Kenji caught the culprit. He’s been placed in a holding cell until they can prove his guilt,” Ranpo says as he hands Kunikida the report. He’s stopped by to hand it off to Kunikida. Kenji has already gone home.

“They didn’t take your word for it?” Kunikida asks, half joking as he thumbs through the pages. Ranpo doesn’t do a very good job at filling these out, so Kunikida usually has to fix most of it for him.

“The guy’s a cop, of course. So they’re protecting him,” Ranpo grumbles, mildly annoyed. “Sounds like he was after Dazai specifically. Couldn’t give me a solid reason, but I know he’s been a client before. He knows something about Dazai’s…previous job. I’m sure.”

Kunikida bites his lip. As long as the guy is behind bars.

“How is he?” Ranpo asks. “Stable?”

“Yeah. Yosano isn’t too worried about him getting worse too quickly,” Kunikida mumbles, “but he’s not getting better.”

“Be careful with him. You know how he gets around Yosano when he’s not in his right mind,” Ranpo warns, and that’s the last thing he says to him before he waves him off and leaves the Agency.

Kunikida finds himself standing at that front door, staring at the report cover, thinking about what Ranpo said. It’s only happened once - Yosano was trying to treat Dazai after he collapsed from a high fever, but he wouldn’t let Yosano touch him. It was the most hysteric that Kunikida has ever seen him. They weren’t sure what was going on, but obviously, Yosano specifically reminded him of someone from his past.

He's pulled out of his thoughts for a moment when he hears something fall.

He tosses the report on his desk and almost sprints over to where the sound came from, certain Dazai is the source of it. He turns into the infirmary and Dazai is crumpled on the floor, turned into himself, arms shaking and breath hitching. The fluid stand is on the floor beside him.

"Dazai, what the hell?" Kunikida starts, carefully kneeling down beside him. He reaches out to touch his cheek. His skin hot to the touch. Kunikida knew he was running a fever, but this seems much worse than before. He curses under his breath.

"Where is…where…" Dazai murmurs. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he tries to force himself off the floor. His arms are hardly support his weight. He’s shivering, Kunikida thinks, but he’s not sure if it’s from the fever, or from fear. His eyes meet Kunikida’s once he’s at level with him, but his expression doesn’t change.

"You shouldn't have gotten up, what are you doing?" Kunikida chides nervously. Dazai can't answer, and he pulls himself out of Kunikida’s way fast enough to vomit on the tile floor instead of his vest.

Kunikida curses to himself. It's just a splatter of bile and activated charcoal, it looks like, but he doesn't know if it's good that he's still throwing up like this. Dazai’s breath hitches and he gags again, this time, only spitting up saliva.

Kunikida reaches forward to touch him, to offer him a comforting hand or something, but the second he does, Dazai whips his head around with eyes wider than he's ever seen them.

He looks scared. Why on earth would he be scared? He didn’t look like this a minute ago, but Kunikida quickly recognizes this as the look from the time Ranpo referenced earlier.

Dazai scrambles to get away from him, he rips the IV that was somehow still attached out of his arm and somehow manages to stand himself up, but one wrong move has him crumpled on the floor again, right after his head made contact with the metal framing of the cot he was using for support. Kunikida is trying to keep his cool. He's only seen Dazai like this once before, he doesn't know what to do. Does he need to call an ambulance? Should he call Yosano?

"Dazai," Kunikida says, biting his lip to keep his cool. He stands up to get on the other side of him. He needs to get him back in bed, but the moment he touches his arm, Dazai flinches so hard that Kunikida is almost worried he'll hurt himself. He's sure he hears him whimper. God, his heart aches. 

"Don't," Dazai mumbles. He's shaking, and his voice shakes with him as he turns his head away. Kunikida doesn't know what's gotten into him. He wonders if his fever has gotten so high that he's hallucinating.

"Dazai, it's Kunikida," he tells him quietly, tightening his grip on his arm. He needs him back to reality.

Miraculously, Dazai stops trying to get away.

Kunikida doesn't waste any time. He scoops him up into his arms and carries him back to the cot he was in earlier. He tries to lay him down, but Dazai's gripping onto his shirt, refusing to let go.

Kunikida takes his head and tucks it under his chin. He lets out a shaky breath. If Dazai wasn’t so out of it, he’d give him a talking-to about how much he scared him.

"Where…" he murmurs into Kunikida’s chest, still holding on.

"You're in the infirmary," Kunikida tells him. He almost wonders how Ranpo could have guessed this would happen, but of course it did. "At the Armed Detective Agency."

He feels him relax in his hold, just enough to let Kunikida worry a little less.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says quietly, holding him a little closer. He can’t imagine waking up in a hospital cot by himself like that, in the dark infirmary. No wonder he was so freaked out, especially with that fever - Kunikida has concerns that Dazai’s fear just now was more deeply rooted in something else entirely, something that Kunikida will likely never be able to get him to admit.

Kunikida holds him like that for a while and Dazai starts to breathe normally. He’s not shaking as much, but he feels him shiver every now and then, and after long enough, Dazai barely manages to pull out of Kunikida’s hold to gag, and bring up more activated charcoal onto the bed sheets. He coughs a few times, but nothing else comes up.

Kunikida sighs. Of course, he can’t help it. Thankfully there’s plenty of other cots in here, so Kunikida decides he’ll move him to the next one. “Can I pick you up again?” Kunikida asks.

Dazai’s frame melts back into Kunikida’s hold to tell him yes with a whimper, and Kunikida scoops him up to lay him down on the other cot. This is probably better anyway, fresh cool sheets ought to do him some good.

Kunikida takes a comforter from a different cot to lay over Dazai, and he’s realized too late that his arm is still bleeding from where he pulled out the IV - not much, but enough to leave marks. He rummages through the supply drawers beside the cot to grab some gauze and wrap to wrap it up, at least, and as he carefully pulls it around Dazai’s arm, he sees his head tilt in his direction.

"Is Atsushi okay?" he asks, almost sounding out of breath at the effort it took him to say it. Kunikida is beyond relieved to hear him speaking coherently.

"He's fine, Dazai. He's home with Kyoka and she'll let us know if anything goes wrong," Kunikida assures as he closes the wrap. "Worry about yourself, for once."

Dazai doesn't seem like he's going to take that into consideration even remotely. Atsushi at least listened to reason.

Kunikida needs to place another IV for fluids. He’s been vomiting so much that there’s simply not another option - he highly doubts he can get him to drink any water. The problem is that Dazai hates needles, at least when anyone else is using them on him in this kind of setting. Kunikida has seen him refuse fluids at hospitals before because of it. Kunikida isn’t sure if it’s just a general dislike or if it stems from trauma, since Dazai is whiney about most things, but he’s afraid of making things worse right now.

“I have to put another IV in,” Kunikida tells him, a hand wrapped around his wrist where he just wrapped up his arm.

“No,” Dazai whines, childishly turning his head away.

“I have to, Dazai. You’re still throwing up, you’re dehydrated,” Kunikida tells him. “And I know you won’t be able to keep water down.”

Dazai doesn’t turn his head back, but he makes no effort in trying to pull his arm away, either. He thinks he realizes he can’t avoid it.

“Is it okay if I take some of your bandages off?” Kunikida asks.

“Use the top of my hand,” Dazai murmurs, his head still turned away from Kunikida.

Kunikida stands up to gather what he needs - he’s done this enough times to know how to on his own, thankfully. While he’s up he decides to wet a cloth for Dazai’s forehead, hoping that will help distract him.

He brushes Dazai’s hair out of his face, and his dark eyes peer up at him with emotions that Kunikida can’t quite read. His hairline is damp from sweat. He lays his hand over his forehead again and frowns before he lays the washcloth over his burning forehead, and he shivers, but relaxes just a bit once he gets used to the feeling.

He pulls up a chair on the other side of the cot and turns on the lamp to get started. “Can you make a fist for me?”

Dazai obliges. His head turns up and his eyes are glued to the ceiling, looking for something else to focus on. Kunikida takes note of how his breaths quicken, just a bit. Kunikida needs to distract him.

"You seem familiar with this situation. Am I correct?" Kunikida asks. Kunikida was at the cafe with them when it happened. Dazai shouted for someone to get Yosano as soon as Atsushi said he felt nauseous because it was far too soon after he complained of the taste of the tea. Dazai had his fingers down the poor kid’s throat to get him to vomit before Kunikida could even piece together what was happening. He’s been wondering if this happened to him before.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles after taking in a sharp breath.

"So this has happened to you before," Kunikida says.

"Mhm," Dazai nods. At first, Kunikida thinks he's just going to drop it, because even though Kunikida knows about Dazai's past now, he's still not any more open to sharing the details. "Almost…this exact scenario. With me, and…my subordinate."

"Yeah? Someone spiked your drinks?" Kunikida asks, making sure he has good placement before he uses the needle.

"Mhm," Dazai mumbles. "My subordinate was…he was unconscious for two…three? Two weeks, I think."

Kunikida wasn't aware he had any direct subordinates, but he supposes it makes sense, given Dazai's rank as an executive. It's so strange how he's never mentioned anything even remotely alluding to their existence. He uses that brief moment to stick Dazai, and he flinches, but manages to keep his arm still enough to not pull anything out. “Good. Good job, that part’s over.”

“I hate those things,” Dazai murmurs feverishly. His breaths have gotten a bit faster now, and Kunikida makes a mental note to remind himself he still has to get him hooked up to the monitoring machines again.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida says gently as he starts to dress Dazai’s hand. He wants to comfort him, somehow, but he thinks the best thing to do for someone like Dazai is a distraction. "How long ago did it happen? Long time ago?”

Somehow, turning the conversation back around to the previous topic has worked a bit. Dazai focuses back on that. "Yeah, must've been…sixteen, I think."

"You had subordinates at sixteen?" Kunikida huffs, looking up at him for a brief moment. "How old were they?"

"He was…fourteen, I think," he breathes out. Kunikida bites his lip. He knew that the mafia recruited a lot of their members very young, after all, Kyoka stands to show that.

"You recruited him?" Kunikida says. It’s hard to imagine. Kunikida almost wonders if he’s joking, but he doesn’t have the energy for that right now. "A fourteen-year-old."

"I did," Dazai admits.

"Still alive?" Kunikida asks.

"Mhm. You've met him," Dazai says turning his head back towards him. Kunikida reaches forward with his free hand to readjust the washcloth on his head, as it’s started to slip.

Well, now Kunikida's intrigued. He keeps eye contact. "Who? That redhead?"

Dazai scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Hell no."

"Then who?"

"C'mon, guess,” Dazai says, Apparently, he’s gathered enough energy to mess him with. Kunikida will take it, it’s a good sign.

"I have no clue, Dazai. Tell me," Kunikida huffs, exasperated. He turns his attention back to dressing the IV catheter on Dazai’s hand, which he’s almost finished with. "I don't even know that many Port Mafia dogs by name. Akutagawa is the only one I can think of."

Dazai tilts his head to the side with a cheeky grin. The washcloth starts to slide down his face.

"You're kidding,” Kunikida blinks, reaching back up to fix it. “Stop moving so much.”

"Not kidding."

"You've known him the whole time?" Kunikida exclaims. He feels like he should be angry, but somehow it makes sense. Dazai always seemed a little too eager to brush off any mention of the so-called Hellhound of the Port Mafia. Kunikida thinks he even recalls Dazai slipping up and mentioning a detail about him that none of the rest of them knew, but that memory was lost to him until now.

"I couldn't tell you I knew him. That'd give me away," Dazai shrugs, this time, seemingly making an effort to keep his head still.

"Your information would've been helpful, though," Kunikida grumbles, attaching the line to Dazai’s hand to get the fluids going.

"You knew everything you needed to know. He's a Port Mafia attack dog and he'll kill anything he sees," Dazai says incredibly casually.

"And you've known him since he was fourteen, huh?" Kunikida asks, sitting back in the chair as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Dazai's expression changes, but it's an emotion that Kunikida doesn't quite recognize. "Mhm."

Kunikida can't really fathom any of this. A sixteen-year-old Dazai with a fourteen-year-old Akutagawa is just something his brain can't even picture - both of them younger than even Atsushi is now. Dazai having any connection to someone as cold-blooded as Akutagawa doesn't make any sense to him.

When he looks over at Dazai again, his eyes are lost. He's somewhere else. Kunikida doesn't know what life was like for him in the Port Mafia, but it can't have been good. He was already a major alcoholic by the time he joined the Detective Agency, and Kunikida still remembers the shiver that ran up his spine when he saw how thin he was under his clothes. He still doesn't eat meals regularly out of habit, it's something that Kunikida almost has to force on him, but he’s gotten much better about it.

Whatever happened to him damaged him much more than anything Kunikida could ever hope to fix on his own.

"Are you okay?" Kunikida asks him.

Dazai lifts his head with wide eyes like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Huh? Oh, yeah."

“Let me get your temperature,” Kunikida says, taking the thermometer from the drawer out of the case. He sticks it under Dazai’s tongue for a few seconds and it ends up reading 102.3. That’s not horrible, but it isn’t good, either.

He looks back in Dazai’s direction to find that look in his eyes again, but this time, some of the color has started to drain from his face, and he notices him swallow thickly.

"You look nauseous," Kunikida comments.

"Uh-huh," Dazai mumbles. He burps into a closed fist and groans. "Need the pan."

Kunikida feels awful for him. Yosano couldn't give him a thing for his nausea because vomiting would actually help his specific situation according to what Yosano gathered, so he's probably been feeling horribly nauseous this entire time. Kunikida doesn’t see a bedpan in the drawer so he takes the trash bin and holds it under Dazai’s chin as he tries to sit himself up with a whine.

He spits into it, saliva getting caught on the sides as he huffs out breaths. He lays a hand over his stomach and groans. “Ugh…”

"Empty?" Kunikida asks. He can’t imagine he has much left in his stomach.

"No," Dazai breathes out, to Kunikida’s surprise, "won't come up."

Kunikida sighs. Of course. "Want me to help you?"

"Please," Dazai whines. He burps, and it sounds wet, but all that drips from his lips is saliva. "I suck at doing it myself, I… hrruk -"

A gag that brings up nothing, and Kunikida realizes he really will need help.

He's done this before. He's probably a pro at preventing overdoses because of Dazai, but this here isn't a life-or-death situation, at least.

He doesn't bother with gloves because he knows he'll wash his hands regardless, and he slips a hand past Dazai's saliva-coated lips, his other hand on the back of Dazai's neck to make sure he doesn't jolt back when his hand gets back far enough.

His mouth is warm, the insides of his cheeks are so soft. He’s trying to ignore the thought, but Dazai looks hot like this. His eyes red and tired, lips wet and almost swollen, cheeks flushed. Kunikida feels something he shouldn't in that moment, and he gets far enough back without realizing, and hot vomit spills over his hand without much warning.

It's not much. It's water and charcoal and bits of whatever is left in his stomach from lunch dripping down Kunikida’s hand and into the bin. Dazai whines and spits the bits left in his mouth into the bin. He breathes heavily over it and Kunikida haphazardly covers his hand in a layer of paper towels to avoid dripping Dazai’s stomach contents onto the floor on his way over to the sink, but he stays for a moment to make sure Dazai’s okay.

“Hurts,” Dazai groans. He burps over the bin, but of course, nothing comes up. He lays back but he holds onto the bin.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kunikida sighs. He wishes he could do more to help him. “Will you be okay by yourself for a second?”

“Uh-huh,” Dazai murmurs, leaning back and pressing his hand against his stomach.

Kunikida remembers there’s a splatter of puke on the floor and on the cot Dazai was previously resting on that he needs to clean, but right now, he’s not keen on leaving Dazai out of his sight for too long. He washes his hands a bit longer than he needs to, and looks over his shoulder to check on Dazai one too many times - he hears him burp and gag a few times, but once Kunikida is on the way back to him, he’s laid back all the way, eyes screwed shut and breaths heavy.

Kunikida places the bin back on the floor as he sits in the chair again. He looks over the fluid stand and Dazai’s hand to make sure everything is still properly attached before he leans forward to flip over the washcloth on his warm forehead. “I’ll check with Yosano to see if there’s anything I can give you for that fever.”

“I just want my stomach to stop hurting,” Dazai whines, but he really sounds like he’s in pain.

“I know, Dazai,” Kunikida sighs, Yosano already told him that will have to wait until he gets an antidote. “Maybe we -”

“Can you…can you check on Atsushi for me?” Dazai asks, forcing his eyes open to look over at Kunikida. Kunikida finds it a bit out of nowhere. “Please.”

“I can do that,” Kunikida says. He hasn’t heard from Kyoka. Junichiro texted Kunikida a while ago to let him know he and Naomi would check in with the two of them occasionally to make sure they were doing okay, but that was all. He pulls out his phone and dials Kyoka’s number.

“Hello?” she answers nervously.

“Don’t worry. I’m just calling to make sure everything’s okay,” Kunikida says. He lowers his phone and puts it on speaker for Dazai to hear. “How’s Atsushi doing?”

“Kunikida? Is that you?” It’s Junichiro’s voice. He hears some shuffling, and suddenly Junichiro’s voice is much clearer. “Kyoka had to knock him out a little bit ago. He couldn’t sleep ‘cause he was so anxious. He was making himself sick.”

Kunikida’s shoulders sink. “Anxious about what?”

“He’s worried about Dazai,” Junichiro says a little more quietly, and Kunikida watches Dazai tense up in his peripheral. “We kept telling him he’d be okay. And you said you’d call if something went wrong, but…we had to use the last resort.”

Kunikida bites his lip as Dazai turns his head away.

“But I think it was good for him. He’s been sleeping well since then, maybe we should’ve knocked him out sooner,” Junichiro half-jokes. “Is Dazai doing okay? We’re worried too.”

“He’s doing fine,” Kunikida tells them. He doesn’t want to lie and say he’s better, but telling them how he’s really feeling will only worry them more. “Nobody needs to worry. We have everything under control and they’ll both be good as new once Yosano gets ahold of that antidote.”

They exchange a few more words before Junichiro tells him they should get to sleep too, and Kunikida realizes he’s probably in the same boat as Atsushi - he won’t be able to sleep in favor of worrying about Dazai, but he can’t sleep even if he wanted to. He has to make sure he stays stable until Yosano gets back.

Once he hangs up, Kunikida reaches to lay a hand over Dazai’s arm, but the way he’s breathing - so calmly - tells Kunikida that he’s fallen asleep. Kunikida almost has to wonder if he was getting himself that worked up over Atsushi in his fevered brain.

Kunikida gets him hooked back up to all of the necessary monitors while Dazai drifts off into a deeper sleep, and he changes the washcloth on his forehead, too. He looks so much more relaxed. His eyes aren’t screwed shut so tightly. He looks like he might actually get some good rest.

Kunikida presses a kiss up to his forehead before he changes the washcloth, and he sits back in the chair beside Dazai’s cot as he cracks open the report and gets back to work.

…

The rest of the night went by more smoothly than Kunikida could have asked for. He’s usually not a fan of pulling all-nighters like that, but he got caught up on the work he missed through yesterday’s situation. And even better, Dazai slept through the night.

“I have to pee,” Dazai mumbles as soon as he wakes up. The staff have started to file back into the building, Kunikida can hear it from across the hall, and the light has started to spill through the windows back into the infirmary.

Kunikida sits beside him on the cot to help him up, making sure Dazai doesn’t have any room to do another sprint across the infirmary like last night. He’s looking better, but he’s downright exhausted, shown in the dark circles under his eyes. It’s still obvious he doesn’t feel good.

“You won’t carry me?” Dazai pouts.

“Do you need me to? Or do you want me to carry you?” Kunikida huffs as he snakes an arm around his waist to help him up on his feet. His legs are still a bit wobbly, but he gets his footing, and uses the fluid stand pole for support.

“Want, need? What’s the difference?” Dazai complains with a dramatic sigh. He can tell he’s feeling better with how absurd he’s acting, but his fever is still there, Kunikida can feel it on his skin. “I want you. It’s that kinda sexier than saying I need you?”

Kunikida keeps a hand on his back as he leads him over to the restroom. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hehe. Love you too,” Dazai jokes.

Kunikida makes sure he doesn’t need help going to the bathroom before he closes the door, and he busies himself with changing the sweat-dampened sheets on Dazai’s cot while he waits.

He’s surprised to see Atsushi standing in the doorway, looking horrified to see the cot empty.

“Relax, he’s just in the bathroom,” Kunikida says, dropping what he’s doing to meet Atsushi at the entrance, but the deep concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “What are you doing here, Atsushi?”

"Is he still not doing well?" Atsushi murmurs nervously.

"He's improved," Kunikida assures him with a hand on his shoulder, "You look much better. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Atsushi tells him. Kunikida won't take his word for it, he's not usually very honest about this kind of thing. He looks better than he did yesterday, but he can tell just by looking at him that he's nauseous with anxiety, just like Junichiro described last night. He takes note of the way he's breathing through his mouth instead of his nose to avoid the antiseptic smell.

"Don't worry about him so much. He's survived worse, hasn't he?" Kunikida reminds him with a chiding sigh, regardless of the fact that he's just as concerned. He can't pass those feelings on to Atsushi, especially knowing they had to knock him out last night to get him to sleep.

"I guess so," Atsushi murmurs.

"Who told you to come in today? You should still be resting," Kunikida tells him. He knows Atsushi came of his own accord. He’s here much earlier than detectives usually need to be - he probably snuck out.

"Um…well, no one, I just…I just wanted to make sure he wasn't…" Atsushi mumbles.

"I'll call you if something's the matter. Go back home, no one needs you sitting around here with how you’re feeling," he sighs, landing a hand on Atsushi’s back and walking outside of the infirmary with him.

Atsushi doesn't seem to be paying attention entirely, and Kunikida almost starts to scold him for not listening before he realizes that he's lost a lot of color in his face, enough to make him think he's about to throw up. Atsushi is much more aware of it than Kunikida, obviously and he bolts for the trash bin right inside of the infirmary to retch and gag once or twice before vomit spills past his lips. He’s shaking, breathing hard and clearly anxious, but thankfully, he seems to have only needed to vomit once. Even so, he coughs and forces a burp or two just to make sure.

He crouches down in front of the bin and leans his head against it, still visibly shaking. He's not in nearly as rough shape as he was yesterday regarding this. Atsushi doesn't seem to mind other people throwing up at all, but if it's himself, he almost makes himself even more sick with anxiety. Yesterday he was too out of it to really take in what was happening, but now he's fully lucid.

"I guess - this whole thing is a, uh…a good way to get - get over this," Atsushi stammers between shaky breaths, of course, still trying to keep a positive attitude. Kunikida can hear his breathing patterns start to get erratic with panic, and he hears him attempt to swallow back a gag.

"I'll be right back. Stay here,” he tells him after patting his back and heading back for the Agency Office, where Junichiro has since appeared with his sister.

"Tanizaki, can you take Atsushi home?" Kunikida asks. Normally he wouldn't bother a detective with a task like this, but he'd rather Atsushi be with someone familiar while he's feeling so anxious.

"Did he show up? With how he’s feeling?" Tanizaki asks, concern already washing over his face as he gets up from his desk. Kunikida assumes he and Naomi went home after Atsushi fell asleep. "He's still sick?"

"I think part of it might be nerves now. I don't need him hanging around and worrying about Dazai," Kunikida says, and Junichiro follows him back out into the hallway.

Atsushi is sitting against the doorframe with his knees pulled up tight against his chest and his head on his knees, mumbling something to himself.

"Hey, Atsushi, let's get you downstairs, yeah? You should go home and take days off when you can get them," Junichiro tells him gently as he crouches beside him. Atsushi seems to have given up on his image entirely as he leans into Junichiro. The latter's brow twists with concern and he brings him into a hug, and Kunikida quickly realizes that Atsushi’s crying. "I know. You'll both be okay soon. I'll see if Yosano can get you something to settle your stomach when she gets back, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles into Junichiro's shoulder.

"Good. I know you hate it, but you're doing a good job," Junichiro tells him in a gentle voice that Kunikida doesn't think he'd be able to pull off. He ruffles his hair fondly. "You know how seasick I get, right? You're handling this way better than I do."

"I am…?" Atsushi murmurs, lifting his head just a bit.

"For sure."

Junichiro is much better at this than Kunikida is in general.

Kunikida waves both of them off as Junichiro leads him back to the elevator, continuing to talk to him gently, and Kunikida shakes off his concern for Atsushi as he notices his shoulders relax before they disappear behind the elevator doors.

Kunikida walks back into the infirmary and stops in the doorway to find Dazai peeking out of the bathroom like he’s checking if the coast is clear.

"What'd you do to that kid to make him worry so much, huh?" Kunikida sighs.

"Beats me," Dazai half-chuckles, clutching onto the IV pole as he walks out of the bathroom, looking less wobbly than before, but Kunikida still meets him to walk him back to his cot. Kunikida can see the hint of concern in his eyes, but Dazai doesn’t show it for long. "He went home?"

"He did," says.

"Hope he won’t be that upset when I finally end it all,” Dazai says, singing the words at the end.

“Well, he will, and so will everyone else, so go ahead and cancel your plans now,” Kunikida grumbles when they make it to the cot. He’s bewildered by Dazai’s audacity to say things like that sometimes, but he thinks he’s so disconnected from the reality of it that he just doesn’t understand. “You’re still dizzy.”

He observes that when he lowers him back down to the cot and Dazai’s head bobs a bit, just before he lays him back down. He’s not so pale anymore, thankfully.

“‘S not a big deal,” Dazai says. His head sinks back into the pillow, and he’s relaxed, Kunikida thinks. He’s not as tense as usual.

"Yosano should be back soon," Kunikida tells him. “She texted me earlier.”

"Mm," Dazai hums as his eyes start to fall shut again.

Kunikida lays a hand over Dazai's cheek. He's still warm, but he thinks his fever has gone down a bit. He’s hoping he’ll get the clear to get Dazai to eat something once Yosano is back. Kunikida probably needs to grab breakfast for himself, too.

"What'd I do to you?" Dazai suddenly asks with a dry, one-note laugh, just as soon as Kunikida takes his hand back.

Kunikida feels his ears get hot. "What do you mean?"

"You're more worried than Atsushi is," Dazai tells him with a little chuckle, thoroughly amused. "And you know how hard it is to kill me."

"I'm not worried," Kunikida scoffs. “Just making sure you don’t die. Do you know how annoying that paperwork would be? I have to pick up enough of your slack as it is.”

“Sure, Kunikida, whatever you say,” Dazai giggles to himself, “You love me. You took such good care of me and you’re so worried about me you can barely stand it.”

“Fine,” Kunikida grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. His face is red beyond belief, he’s sure.

“Say it back!” Dazai whines.

“You didn’t say you love me!” Kunikida shouts back at him with a groan. “How do you think this works, you idiot?!”

“But I do,” Dazai claims. His eyes soften, but there’s still a hint of that cheeky grin left on his lips. “I love you, Kunikida.”

He almost sounds sincere. “Fine. Fine, I love you too.”

Dazai looks incredibly accomplished, meanwhile, Kunikida wishes he could duck his head underwater. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Go back to sleep. You’re so annoying,” Kunikida grumbles, “you’re sure not acting like you were poisoned yesterday.”

“Aw, that’s mean, Kunikida. I still don’t feel good,” Dazai whines, and even though he’s just using it as leverage, Kunikida feels guilty, because it’s obvious he doesn’t feel good. “Will you lay with me?”

“Not a chance, Dazai. I’m not risking falling asleep and Yosano walking in,” Kunikida grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he slides his glass up on top of his head. His lack of sleep is starting to catch up with him.

“Aww, please? You’re tired. And I need comfort. It’s a win-win,” Dazai explains, but Kunikida shakes his head at him.

“I can comfort you from here,” Kunikida tells him. He takes his hand and squeezes it a little tighter than normal. He’s so thankful Dazai’s doing better. He’s not sure what he would have done if he took a turn for the worse. “I’ll lay with you tonight when we go home.”

“Your place?” Dazai asks.

“Pretty sure yours is a mess,” Kunikida confirms. He reaches forward to brush his fingers through Dazai’s soft curls, still damp with sweat at the roots. Dazai lets his eyes fall shut. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Mmm…no promises,” Dazai says quietly, and Kunikida squeezes his hand one more time as a reminder. Dazai may not be able to make that promise, but Kunikida will be there with him every time. He leans forward to press a kiss on his warm, flushed cheek.

And of course, despite his efforts to avoid getting caught, he hears Yosano’s voice, already giggling.

“Kunikida?”

[alexiswritingstuff]

A Man And His Personal Guard. 2/2

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x Male reader.

Summary: After finally arriving at the house, both you and Gustavo continue to try and get used to each other as the night progresses. And all is well until you make another one of your comments, this time causing Mr. Fring to try block you out, thinking that you couldn’t possibly mean anything that you say.

Until he gets hurt.

Warnings! mentions of an injury and blood.

Also be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such.

A/N: omg I really such a writing summaries. Anyway, I finally got the time to finalises the part, and here it is! My first time writing a Male reader. 

I hope I made good references to the readers gender enough in this, and actually if anyone has any tips on how to do it better please let me know. I don’t know why it seems so difficult to me.

Enjoy reading! 

More Gustavo fics.

@marksassybanana​

previous part.

There has been many times in your life where it was threatened.

You had been through gun fights and fist fights, you have followed, sneaked up on, a multitude of dangerous people, and watched horrendous things play out in front of your eyes.

But somehow as you walked through the dimly lit rooms of none other than Gustavo Frings own home, with him about two steps in front of you at all times, it was the most tense you had ever felt.

Every movement your body made felt ridged as if you had to force yourself to do it. Your head spun in a way that closely resembled an owl to take in the new surroundings, though you were quick to face Mr. Fring when he stopped walking. 

It was then that you fully managed to process what you were seeing. 

“Whoa.”

You were stood in one of the doorways, practically gapping at the living room where everything looked like it had been neatly placed and organised. 

The look of the house from the outside was unknown to you, but with a singular glance at amount of space, and the interior, it was easy to tell that the owner was definitely not having financial problems.

Then again, it is owned by Gustavo Fring. What else did you expect?

There was some classical piece quietly humming through the room. Where it was coming from you couldn’t tell, but the attempt to find it fell short of when a voice broke through the song, “This is where, I believe, you will be spending most of your time.”

Your free hand found sanctuary underneath the material of the apron still worn, the warmness of your skin continuing to emanate within the pocket of your trousers. Your head nodded in acknowledgement. “I don’t think I will be complaining.”

“This place is... really nice.”

Mr. Fring mimicked your gesture, “Thank you,” A short smile then pressed at his lips as though it was filled with a sense of pride, “I picked out everything myself.” And it was.

The previous feeling that could even be described as fear was fading. Making way for something new that had you eager to continue the conversation, and this time not just because you needed to break the silence.

“Well, you have a good eye.” you expressed while your gaze continued it’s journey throughout the room. “And apparently a good taste too.”

To your right, there were about two rows of kitchen islands. The closest one was mostly empty, only a few items of decor placed along the surface, while the other looked more like it was owned by a chef. 

And behind that, between fuller counters, was the oven. A few pots already sat on the stove waiting to be heated.

The whole journey of being told that you would be going to this house, and then actually doing it, had your mind in such a frenzy that the thought of what the house itself would be like hadn’t even crossed your brain.

“Huh,” you blurted out after a moment, eyes still scanning over the different cooking equipment placed delicately within the cupboards and on the counter tops. “Who knew the owner of a restaurant would be a cook himself.”

It took a moment for there to be any response or reaction as the music began to seep back through your ears. And then you heard a laugh. 

Well, it was more of a huff of air, but it had your eyebrows raising nonetheless.

Mr. Frings eyes were already on yours by the time you looked in his direction. That smile from earlier was subtly curled on his lips, his gaze narrow, though not in suspicion.

“You already knew.”

Maybe it was the drastic difference of seriousness you had compared to him, or the opposite personalities clashing, that had Gustavo uncertain of your skill set. I mean, practically since you first started he had been testing your senses. Even if he got given a full reference of your abilities.

However, now, it seemed like he was finally starting to believe them. “How?”

There was almost a feeling of amusement residing in your chest upon looking at his expression. Mild wonder over a deduction he could’ve easily concluded himself.

You lightly shrugged your shoulders despite how smart you wanted to look in that moment and let your eyes flow back to set up, adjusting your grip on the clothes you still so desperately wanted to change into, “Well, I doubt a person would own a kitchen like that if they could only make a bowl of cereal.”

The comment had Mr. Fring doing the same huffed laugh as before and it had a grin begging to take over your face. Your posture even straightened, a sense of pride of your own flooding your system though you soon shook your head. “Actually, uh… It was earlier. Back at the restaurant.”

You could feel his sharp eyes on you once again. His stance was more relaxed, his hands now held in front of his body instead of behind. “The only times you left your office was to check around the building… and also to correct the people in charge of cooking the food.”

“The way you told them, the solutions you gave, anything, showed some form of culinary experience that wasn’t just from getting the brief for a job or lessons from school.” You met his gaze, an urge to take in a deep breath filling your lungs within an instant. “It’s from a lot of practice.”

The expression on Gustavo’s face remained regardless of how long you had spoken for. He really had taken you for granted.

“Very good.” he insisted through a much lighter voice and it had you just blinking for a moment. 

This entire day he had this look across his features. It was one that would dissipate whenever talking to customers, like it usually did, but the second they were gone, it resided. And the way he acted afterwards further emphasised it.

But now here he was, his gaze light and his lips curling. It had yourself mimic the same expression as you lightly bowed your head at his compliment. “You know, your face looks better like that. More handsome.”

As if someone just flicked some form of switch, and by the time you had blinked, that stoic expression he was known for in the business took over his features. It was almost startling, especially the way the muscles beneath his brows tensed. “Why do you have to say things like that?”

You blinked at him for a moment, struggling to adjust to the change of tone. “Like what?” Your eyebrows even furrowed, though you knew exactly what he meant.

“Like… that. Nonsense.”

“You think I’m lying?”

Gustavo’s body was now faced towards yours, the lines decorating his skin setting deeper. “What I think is that you need to understand the words that come out of your mouth.”

“But I do?” you pointed out, your arms crossing over your chest in a way that had the man in front of you almost scoffing.

“Sir,” Your head tilted lightly, eyebrows still furrowed in both disbelief and confusion, “Everything that I do has to have been done with a purpose, I mean-- I have to be thoughtful, in more way than one, about the way I do things so that no one and nothing gets comprised.”

“Why would the way I speak be any different?”

The music that had been long forgotten reached your ears once again as a silence layered between the walls. The two of you were stood facing each other, eyes glued on the opposite face as if trying to decipher a code.

And then Mr. Fring shook his head, breaking the eye contact by turning to the side as he began to move towards the kitchen previously being talked about. You couldn’t understand what was going on despite the fact that you could do so easily at any other moment. It was almost frustrating. 

If you were making him uncomfortable he would have shut you up ages ago, the same with if it made him angry, or upset.

So what the hell was it?

“Mr. Fring--”

“The bathroom is down the hall.”

Your foot stilled before it had properly lifted off of the ground. “What?”

“The bathroom.” He repeated, stopping himself in front of the fridge that was quite tall in comparison to his height. “You’ve been carrying around that set of clothes since you left restaurant, so, Mr. L/n…”

He gripped the handle, turning his head in you direction to meet your stunned gaze with a certain blankness to his expression. “If you would like to get changed, it is back down the hall we came through previously.”

“Just take a left instead of a right this time.”

And that was it. His attention went right back to the fridge as he now opened it, disappearing behind the silver door.

The pile of clothes was held between both of your hands. You were stood there like an innocent little animal, frozen in place, and only blinking like every five seconds as if something would happen if you made the wrong move.

“All right,” you began after a moment, clearing your throat before forcing yourself to start moving towards the hallway you first walked through, “Thank you, Sir.”

~

It was unclear how long you had been in the bathroom by the time you had actually began to rid yourself of the LPH uniform.

You had paced, practically recreated those angsty scenes in movies where they just stare at themselves in a mirror, all the while trying to adjust to the bright light above that bounced off of every surface.

These moments never usually bothered you, but that was because they never happened. Whenever someone made it clear that they weren’t keen on the way you acted, you backed off immediately and switched the approach had towards that person.

You had no idea what was going on with Mr. Fring and the worst thing was that you couldn’t just ask.

Asking him could elevate the situation, make it worse. That could then lead to losing a job and being on the bad side of Gustavo Fring. Something no one wants.

By now a headache was slowly forming from the furrow in your brow. Your fingers grasped the material of the trousers and, a little dramatically, yanked up the pant leg until it consumed your skin.

What the hell were you going to do?

It was replaying in your head. The way his face changed, how fast it switched, and his tone.

No. It wasn’t discomfort. Or anger. Like his question earlier, it was disbelief. 

But whether it was disbelief over the words being directed at him, or your audacity to say such things in the first place, was still amidst the unknown.

The tips of your fingers slightly stung due to your previous harshness, but nevertheless your trousers were on and zipped up.

A sigh passed through your lips as you grabbed the next item clothing. A plain black hoodie. You made sure that it was upside down, turning it the proper way so that you would get opening instead of a face full of fabric.

You lifted it over your head, the exhaustion from the previous day clear in the way that your muscles moved and tensed--

There was a muffled clatter from somewhere in the house.

However, that noise alone wasn’t the thing that set off your internal alert system. It was what came afterwards. A hiss.

“Mr. Fring?”

The hoodie was only half on your body in a way that meant your face was being engulfed by fabric. You couldn’t see. And trying to locate something during a moment of stress wasn’t exactly easy to do regardless of how much you trained.

So, within the next few seconds you found yourself stumbling through the bathroom, one hand held out to make sure that you wouldn’t end up with a comically large bump somewhere, while the other desperately clawed at your hoodie to bring it lower.

“Mr. Fring?” Your bare torso was layered with a coolness and when you managed to get into the hallway, and without really thinking about it, you began to jog, managing push your head far enough that it was brought to the face hole of the hoodie. 

“Sir? Is everything all right?”

By the time you ended up in the doorway to the living room your head was finally through the neck hole. Your eyes flickered around in a panic, your hands pulling the fabric down until your torso was completely covered.

There, stood in front of the farthest kitchen aisle, was Mr. Fring. He had taken a step back from what you could now see was a chopping board. 

Your eyebrows furrowed the moment you saw that his hand was clutched on the opposite wrist, though he was merely blinking at you.

You immediately beckoned forward, the situation piecing together, and it wasn’t until you were stood beside your boss that you could see what had properly happened. “Oh, shit.”

There was a diagonal slash across the pad of one of his fingers. The dark red substance wasn’t exactly oozing out, but it was creating a trail that wrapped around the digit before dropping on the floor below despite Mr. Fring trying to catch it.

“It’s not severe, Y/n, no… need to worry.” he had tried to insist, clearly unsure of how it happened himself, but you found yourself scanning through the kitchen anyway for some paper towels. At least something.

“Ah.” You moved behind Mr. Fring, carefully avoiding the knife as the only thing on your feet were socks. 

After pulling at the kitchen roll, about three pieces disconnected from the rest and you reprised your previous position, folding the paper towels until it had enough layers.

You gently held onto his wrist, trying ignore the way he pulled his none injured hand away when there was mildly contact, and placed the centre of the kitchen roll on the wound. Mr. Fring sucked in a breath.

“Okay, just hold that there for me.” you told him and he complied after a moment, taking over the role of holding the paper that was slowly turning red while you took a step back to remove the knife from the floor so that no one would end up stepping on it.

“I imagine this has happened before?” You placed the knife beside the chopping board, your eyes scanning over a half cut vegetable that sat on top, a singular blood droplet absorbing into it.

“I don’t tend to make mistakes like this.”

The first thing you noticed when your eyes went back to Mr. Fring was the expression on his face. His brows were creased, the lines on either side of his mouth deeper than they ever have been. He was staring down at the injury with resentment.

“I don’t think anyone does.”

You took the wounded hand in yours again which in turn caused Gustavo to immediately turn his head your direction.

Peeling back the soaked towel was mildly jarring to watch, and do, but you moved the hand so that it was in a direct beam of light. An attempt to gage how severe the injury was.

When the blood began to pool around the skin again, you returned the paper towel, smoothing it over as lightly as you could before bringing his other hand back to continue the pressure.

“Alright, well, good news.” you began as you leaned back, checking your own hands to see if the blood got onto your skin, “Based off of where you cut it, you will not be needing to see a doctor.”

“At least you weren’t cutting the meat yet.” you added on in an attempt to lighten the mood. But Gustavo only hummed in response. He was just looking at you as if analysing every aspect of your face.

You cleared your throat, averting your gaze from his as you subconsciously rubbed the tips of your fingers together. “You, uh-- You should move to the other sink.” Your back faced him when you walked round the edge of the kitchen aisle. 

“And why is that?” Mr. Fring questioned, finally finding his voice that held a thicker accent due to his confusion.

“Less... chance of blood stains, stops the possibility of contamination… nicer soap.” you listed off, not even bothering to turn back round as heat rose within your body.

“Just… keep pressure on your finger, I’m going to get some supplies.” You waved a hand in his direction, getting closer to the hallway while hearing Mr. Fring move to the other sink like you asked. “If it is plasters you are looking for, they will be in the cabinet above the--”

“I know.”

~

The next time you appeared in the living room a small box was held in your hands. The plasters within were definitely a lot bigger than the wound itself, so when you got closer to the kitchen your eyes immediately looked for a pair of scissors.

“I believe the bleeding has stopped now.” Mr. Fring informed as you rounded the first kitchen aisle, and that in response halted your previous mission.

The feeling of wanting to get something under control, wanting nothing more than a situation to be over and done with, made it easy to start rushing to the finish line. 

But like a lot of other things, there were specific steps to take. And ones you couldn’t miss especially if someone was injured.

A deep breath filtered in and out of your lungs as you swivelled in Mr. Frings direction and took back your place by his side after placing down the box on the counter.

You reached for the blue tap, the metal freezing beneath your finger tips, and twisted until water spilled into the sink bowl below. You barely escaped having a drenched sleeve when you pulled back.

“This might hurt.” Without really thinking, you found yourself placing a hand on the warm wrist of Gustavo’s. You could feel the way the limb tensed and the hesitance that took a moment to defeat when you began directing it towards the stream of water.

“I know… how to use a tap, Y/n.” Mr. Fring pointed out, his arm slightly jolting when the running tap met the injury, but he didn’t pull away.

“Wash it out.” was all you said, because for one you needed to move, and two it seemed that Mr. Fring was a guy that liked having control of situations. Which was probably why the Lalo thing is digging into his mind.

I mean, you were the kind of guy to feel at ease when in control of things so it was easy to understand where he was coming from... But that was usually because if you weren’t in control of your situations a lot of stuff was about to go wrong.

You swiped a pair of scissors from where they usually sat in the kitchen and set them down, switching to holding the box back in your hands. You flicked open the smallest flap and pulled out one of the sterile adhesives that, now being in front of your eyes, confirmed your suspicion.

After placing the box back down the scissors were in your grasp once again, and you readied them once the adhesive was in the correct positioning between your fingers.

“What are you doing?” You heard to your left, the water thumping louder into the sink when he targeted another part of the wound, and after the slightest glance in his direction, you began cutting. “Dry your finger.”

Soon enough, the tap had been turned off. And after a little more of what felt like arts and crafts, you now had a strip of the sterile adhesive. 

There may had been a little more of the pad than the sticky part, but there was enough to make it do its job.

The music flooded back to their ears when Gustavo was now the one to move back to your side, lightly dabbing the towel around his wound that had in fact stopped bleeding.

You could hear your heart thumping in your ears, almost in time with the song, as you began to peel back the paper covering on the plaster.

With as gentle of a touch as you could, you placed one of your hands beneath his injured one and brought it closer, steadying it. You began to ease the adhesive lightly and accurately onto the surrounding skin of the finger.

Your attention being fully on the application of the plaster made yourself blind to the fact that Gustavo wasn’t exactly worried about his wound anymore. Or even thinking about it at this point.

In fact, his eyes weren’t even directed to his finger at all. He was looking at you. At what he could see of the side of your face.

The way your eyebrows were furrowed, this time not in confusion or disbelief, but in genuine concern. 

Or the way your eyes were narrowed so that you could get everything done precisely without incident. And the way your tongue slightly poked through the corner of your mouth in attempt to aim your full brain power onto applying the small plaster.

So much care for in injury that wasn’t costing a life. Or even really hurt that much if Gustavo was honest with himself.

“There.” you breathed out in a way that snapped the guy back into reality and he straightened himself up when you smoothed over the plaster one last time, finally completing the process that definitely took longer than it would with anyone else.

You took a slight step back, failing to hide the pleased feeling from showing on your face as you admired your hard work. “Good as new.”

And then your eyes landed on Gustavo, the look still present. “You did a good job, Mr. Fring.”

“I wish I had a lollipop or something to reward you.” you added on, even fakely looking around and patting your pockets as if trying to locate an item to give him.

And though Gustavo could feel a laugh wanting to rumble through his throat, or the urge to do some form of gesture in amusement. He was still. Expression almost blank while he finally lowered his hand to his side.

“Uh… Sir?”

You had stopped everything that you were doing to help him.

You had slid into the living room on your socks dishevelled and scrambling to get the last piece of clothing properly on your body, and then immediately attended to his little injury like it was the only thing you cared about. Like he was the only thing you cared about.

Gustavo Fring had encountered many men in his life, each with either very similar personalities or very different ones. Most would not even dare to show compassion in the face of others, especially if those people were other dudes. 

But here you were, doing jobs the nicest way that you could in a business like this. Helping out people enough that Mike had been adamant about you being chosen for the job. 

Because he knew that you would care. 

Care for Gustavo in a way that no other man had... Well, not since--

Gustavo’s chin raised after a moment, life flooding back to his eyes that were still set on your own, though it had your eyebrows furrowing once again if they weren’t before. “Mr. Fring?”

“Please.” he said without a second to waste and despite both your disbelief and his own, Gustavo reached for one of your hands, and ended up holding it between both of his, careful to avoid letting his injured finger touch anything.

Your puzzled expression remained as you slowly looked from the joined hands back up to those brown eyes. And despite the many things across your face that asked Gustavo for answer. He just smiled. 

A real, genuine smile.

“Call me Gus.”

[hmmidnight-hunt]

Day 3 — Graves

“I hate you”

Kinktober day 3: Boot worship | Hate s3x — GN!Reader

NSFW, MDNI — TW: Mentions of murder, unhealthy relationship, depiction of violence

The König one is still going crazy we can’t believe it omg -Hunter

You were in deep shit. Utterly and purely. You hadn’t been able to escape the Vaqueros warehouse when the Shadow Company turned its back on your team.

You had managed to get halfway out, leaving a wake of bodies in your path but inevitably, you ended up being caught. And now, you are, like previously stated, in trouble bigger than you.

You’re trapped in a place that was once your safe haven and is now your possible death sentence.

You’ve been thrown in a room after being separated from any weapons you had and stripped of your tactical gear.

No windows, no opening, no possible escape.

You pace from left to right, racking your brain for a solution to your situation. You’re good, one of the best in your rank but this, escaping with your bare hands from a warehouse full of heavily armed and angry opponents. It’s above your capacity.

"I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours, darlin’, " You hear Graves say as he enters the room.

You glance his way, freezing in your tracks and shooting him a glare. If looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

You could snap his neck, you should snap his neck. But killing him will only add to your seemingly never-ending list of problems, so you refrain.

"I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what to do with you. My shadows, they say we should eliminate you, clean and easy, just like you did out there with their teammates." He continues, walking towards you, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"And why don’t you just do that? Let’s be fucking over with this already," you utter through gritted teeth, your voice filled with venom, your legs shaking from the tension in the air.

But you know why. God, you still can feel why deep inside. Literally.

Graves strides towards you, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Without thinking, you take a step backwards, finding yourself pressed against the wall behind you.

His hands frame your face, and he towers over you, letting his knuckles graze your hair as he looks down.

"Stay with me," he says, nearly purring, looking down into your eyes. "Switch sides."

You scoff, but there isn’t a single trace of amusement in your laugh. Only rage.

"Fuck you, Graves," you answer coldly.

But your eyes betray you and drift to his lips.

Lips you that you know, oh too well.

He catches your gaze, a smug smile appearing on his face.

His stupidly fuckable face, you think.

Both of you keep your silence, but you can feel the heat rising, the cramped space filling up with the passion of what you two used to share.

Your mind floods with the memories of the stolen moments.

None of you make the first move and yet somehow, your lips collide. It’s raw, untamed. Teeth clashing together and each seeking dominance in the kiss.

In a flash of lucidity, you push him away, and his hand which was softy grazing your hair, grabs a fistful of it and keeps you right where he wants you to be. Where he needs you to be.

"Is this how you're gonna be now? I don't remember you being so rough." You mock, your eyes never leaving his. "I remember an obedient slut, fucking himself stupid at my feet, his tongue deep inside of me. Didn't know you had it in you to be this mean," you tease again, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Your hands reach his cheek, you touch him softly, and you can see anger simmering in his eyes.

"How many times have I had to clean your cum off my boots already?" you add, a fake innocent tone clinging to your voice.

His jaw tenses and you can see his irises darken. He turns you, slamming your chest against the wall.

“You should learn to shut your damn mouth. I'm not in the mood for any of your fucking games,” he snaps back, his lips near the shell of your ear.

You feel his hand tugging on your waist, your belt unbuckling in a matter of seconds and you push back on him, grinding your ass on his erection as he undresses you.

Your pants roll down your thighs and you feel his palm roughly hitting your ass, a stinging pain lingering on your cheek.

You feel his cock teasing your entrance and without a warning, he slams inside of you. Your back arches, and you moan loudly, before muffling the sounds with your hands.

He continues to thrust, pounding relentlessly, and his hand grabs your wrist, now holding both your arms behind your back, preventing you from blocking the moans and whimpers from parting your lips.

“Be a good whore and scream for me, let my shadows know who you belong to now.” You try to hold it in, but your moans grow louder, their echoes rippling across the room and probably in the whole base.

His teeth sink into your neck, leaving behind a trail of love bites. Marking you as his.

Your grip is like a vice, squeezing his length as if you were made for this and this only, making his member twitch inside of you.

You can feel the familiar heat building between your legs, a delightful tension builds in your stomach, and your walls tighten around his cock.

"Go ahead baby, come on, come for me," he purrs in your ear, but his tone is mocking you more than anything.

Tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks as you come undone, legs quivering under your weight. One of his hands leaves your arms to hold on your waist, keeping you steady.

“I hate you,” you manage to say between breathy moans, still trembling from the intensity of your climax.

[randonauticrap]

A Letter to Myself ~ Chapter 1

Series Description: A 1st person POV Isekai Ikemen Prince adventure told by me, your narrator. Not all true stories are believable, and not all true stories are real. I have changed my name and the names of anyone who inspired these characters.

Chapter Description: Liliana goes to sleep after another disappointing experience with love, and wakes up inside a very strange dream.

Chapter Title: Dream Truths

Triggers: Negative self talk; vague mention of fatphobia

There are few things in this world I love more than singing, sleeping, and daydreaming. They’re the three things that can always reset my anxious mind, and push out all forms of mental clutter, if only long enough for me to focus on the task at hand. That particular evening, the task at hand was wishing that my situationship (who, after I admitted I had feelings for earlier that day, told me he didn’t actually feel that way about me, and saw me only as a friend) had instead been one of the dashing princes in my favorite otome game. I think everyone could agree that they would never. But the quiet of the night threatened to envelop me nonetheless; this wasn’t the first time I’ve been fooled by pretty words and flirtatious kindness. It wasn’t even the second or third, and I’ve begun to wonder who the real problem is. Am I simply misinterpreting this behavior? Was my perception truly that terrible? I didn’t think so, since I could usually nail down just about anyone I met: what their struggles were, why they acted the way they did, and so on and so forth. In fact, it was one of the things I was known for in my friend circles - being a mind reader. 

But for some reason, when love was involved, my radar was off; or broken; or just flat out missing altogether. It was something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember; to be loved the way I love, but fate seemed to stand against me in that regard. What if I just wasn't meant to have my own love story? My heart clenched at the thought that plagued me over and over. It was no mystery that my body type was not one that was so popularly celebrated in many circles, and I'd experienced my fair share of backlash over it through the years. And while, thankfully, many women in this day and age were standing up and speaking out about it, I still received far too many judgmental eyes on me when I dared to eat in public; didn't matter if it was 4pm and it was the first thing I'd eaten since I woke up at 7am. 

So it should come as no surprise that the little voice in my head - that damn goblin - often added "overweight" to the list of qualities that left men… wanting, in regards to myself. But the laundry list was miles long by now, and not even the newest Whirlpool could scrub it clean. Besides, who could afford that much laundry detergent? Certainly not me. Not in this economy. 

Usually, I could stir up some comforting scenario with the handsome first prince and lull myself to sleep in his imaginary arms, but the trick wasn't working tonight. God, of course it wasn't. I had to be up in around 4 hours to go to rehearsal, and sleep had been evading me almost as much as men did. "Is sleep a man?" I pondered aloud to my quiet bedroom. "Would make a hell of a lot of sense." I grumbled under my breath as I reached for the Melatonin gummies on my nightstand. I popped two in my mouth and chewed begrudgingly until the almost-fruit tang flavor was gone from my mouth, then let my head fall unceremoniously back onto my pillow with a dull thud. 

Now my neck hurts. Of course it does.

I tossed and turned for awhile longer, praying the Melatonin would do its work, and at last, I felt the gentle tug of sleep calling the deep recesses of my brain. Thank God, now I can go see Jin. It was the last coherent thought I had before diving under, my subconscious brain taking over, my desires in tow. 

…

…..

…….

Birds. 

I was hearing birds. Is this a dream? Those birds don't sound like the birds outside my window normally do. Those sound like… what the hell is that? A weed wacker? It isn't Friday. Is it? This has to be a dream, there's no way I missed two days; I've slept for long periods of time, but never 48 hours straight, long. That's like, coma long. God, I hope I haven't peed the bed. 

I cracked one eye open slowly, noting the lack of crust around it. Thank God, I'm finally re-hydrated. I'd been dehydrated for pretty much my entire life, through no one's fault but my own, and I'd always wanted to be one of those girls who could tote around a cute water bottle the size of a milk jug and drink it all in one day. But alas, God had other plans when he made me. Maybe he was distracted, I don't know. But I had been trying to take better care of myself lately, so I guess it finally paid off! Hopefully this means no more headaches, and-

I opened my other eye to stare up at my ceiling. I wonder what ti- wait. "M'kaaaay, maybe I do have eye crust." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes with my index fingers. Cause that's not my ceiling. Have I gone blind? Oh God, am I blind?

I opened my eyes again and flicked my gaze around the room quickly. Okay, not blind. A relieved sigh petered out of my lungs, but it only lasted a second before I cast my eyes around the room again, in earnest this time. This is not my room. My head swiveled left; right; left again. Okay, so I'm dreaming. Damn it, I probably still have eye crust. I shook my head in disappointment as I sat up in bed. The room I was in was small; tiny, even in comparison to mine, which was saying something. There was a single painting on the wall perpendicular to my right, hung precariously on the dusty beige wall. It looked like a lush green forest with a river running through the center. Pretty. 

My eyes continued their journey right and landed on a small, rustic looking side table with an oil lamp on it, along with a well-worn book. On impulse, I picked up the book and stroked its spine while I read the words on the cover. "Liliana's Adventures" Funny. That's my name. Could my brain really not come up with anything better than this for a title? Jeez, and I call myself a writer. A sound between a scoff and a laugh escaped my lips as I set the book back down on the side table and turned my head to the left. 

There was a small table with two rickety wooden chairs and what looked like a sewing project neatly folded on the tabletop. Okay, is my brain trying to tell me to pick up a new hobby or something, or did I watch too much Lord of the Rings last night? I noticed that there was a simple mirror on the wall across from me that reflected the bland beige wall above my head, the door to the tiny room, and a single window, notched in the downward slope of the ceiling to my left. I didn't understand. Why did my subconscious bring me here of all places? And where even is here? I mean, it has to be a dream. I just "woke up" and the inside of my mouth doesn't even feel gross, and there's no way that's real. 

I pulled myself out of the small, stiff bed and padded over to the window, my feet bare on the chilly wooden panels. The most beautiful garden I had ever seen in my life sprawled out before my eyes way down below. Bursts of yellow, white, pink, and red lined a maze of pathways through the middle, and showcased the gorgeous flowers in bloom. Most of them looked like roses. Wow… now I understand the weed wacker. 

I could get lost tracing each walkway with my eyes, and apparently I did, because I didn't hear the angry footsteps stomping up to the door of my room until it burst open and an irate woman screeched through it. "Leisel, quit your dawdling, we are due in the kitchen in five minutes!" The door slammed shut just as suddenly as it had opened and I jumped hard, nearly knocking my head on the sloped ceiling in the process.  "Who the hell is Leisel?"

~

Tags for the Lovelies: @aquagirl1978 @rhodolitesroseforclavis @ikehoe @queengiuliettafirstlady @maries-gallery @nightghoul381 @judejazza @xbalayage @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @alvieeru @aria-chikage @tele86

[nubreed73]

LOL look who is in a hell of her own making again.

I watched The Guest while we were on holiday in South Korea and it was a REVELATION. I could not believe that the drama we watched because "it looks like a fun gothic horror thing and Kim Jaewook plays a hot priest" was capable of bodying me like MCTNA did the first time (and every time since)

But rewatching to incept @judiwench and @moodybluestocking has cemented it deepdeepdeep in my DNA.

I am SO VERY SCREWED.

For this man, who is so terrible at people and so haunted and so hot and so every lifelong Catholic kink I have ever had in a long boi body. Trying his best at all times.

Choi Yoon, who is so in love with a boatload of disregulated impulses in the body of a PTSD-addled, cute-aggression-inspiring, chaos gremlin of a man.

THEM. I AM FERAL OVER THEM.

For Gilyoung: precious, beautiful, brave, strong, steadfast and vulnerable Gilyoung who loves her stupid boys so much and who is their rock and who deserves THE WORLD. When she cries it's like being stabbed very slowly and painfully.

THEM. THE FOUND FAMILY/QUEER PLATONIC (ISH) OT3 OF MY DREAMS.

I love them alllllllll.

BUT THAT ONE THERE? THAT ONE? YEAH. He is a massive, massive liferuining problem for me.

Yoon Hwapyung. GOD. That beautiful, eviscerating, self-blaming, trauma magnet, brat of a man. He makes my entire chest ache and makes me want to a) protect him, b) whump him to the East Sea and back.

And boy does he get whumped (as do they all, bless this galaxy brain show)

I cannot comprehend just how Kim Dongwook manages to hold two polar opposite characters in his face at THE SAME TIME?! Those tears while (redacted) is (redacted) are my doom.

I just. I can't. The SEVENTEEN MINUTE sequence culminating in (redacted) in episode sixteen is just the most exquisitely beautiful things I have ever seen and words will never do it justice.

And then. THEN. Well, if you've seen it you know and if you haven't I will not spoil too much but. UGH. Incredible. So many tears. SO SO MANY. SO SO MANY.

Anyway I love them so so much and already have multiple fics and vids in the works and no I have not forgotten about MCTNA but The Guest has lodged itself in there next to my lovely Joseon himbos and isn't going away anytime soon.

[thunderclaw100]

(All three belong to @messinwitheddie)

The first pic is Kii taking a moment of hesitation and probably second thoughts about joining forces with Soxx and Hitz. She’s concerned about what her own subjects will think of her now that she has no choice but to work with both of her enemies.

Second pic is about Hitz trying to persuade Kii into getting one of his paks installed into her back, but she put up a very long fight before she finally caved in and let him do it. Soxx is just there for moral support. He does not want to argue with Kii. That woman has a snakes tongue. Her insults stings!🤣

“Kii, my dear. This will benefit you SO much more than just that small, out of date device on your chest. With my paks, your intelligence will grow quicker than the average rate.” Hitz told her on a charming tone. The female tallest is starting to regret coming here in the fist place. Kii refused to meet with them last time but after a threat from Hits, saying he’ll have her dragged out of her hive with all of her subjects watching. His and Soxx’s troops are at her door right now. Safety reasons to make sure it’s not an ambush on the both of them while they are in one of her empty rooms. Kii’s antenna twitched at another attempt to get her to agree with their demands. It’s humiliating and she hate herself for it.

“You want to put one of those contraptions on me? No. I saw the way those paks turn irkens into mindless slaves to it. And the smeets….” She shutter.

“The smeet factory was a success! You were there when we presented them to you.” Sox siad.

“THE SMEETERY WAS MY VISION! YOU DESTROYED MINE AND REBUILT IT IN YOUR HIVE! KEEP THAT USELESS SCRAP METAL AWAY FROM ME. I WON’T BE MANIPULATED BY YOU TWO!”

Kii snapped at the two men. The mention of her smeetry. The one thing she invested in as an alternative to her hives population problem and to make sure that no other female drone have to go through the

“Why can’t you find some other hive you can harass?” She spat. Glaring right at the red-eyed tallest. Sox said nothing but Hitz smirked.

“What other hive? Did we not take care of them all?”

“Curse you both….” Kii almost forgot what they’ve done to the others. Most of the damage was Soxx’s fault but Hitz played his part in it as well.

“Remember what we’ve told you. With the combination of my control brains, Hitz’s paks, and your smeetery. We can make a one hive nation with the most powerful technology and triple the army numbers that can outmatch all other forces.” Soxx said. Hovering up to her. He hoped his more softer tone will get to her. Kii looked irritated right now.

“I don’t trust either of you. And I do not believe my drones will come to terms with your method.”

“Then make them understand. You’re their tallest. They should listen to you and following your orders without question. This is what we’re aiming for.”

Soxx told her. This is all coming down on Kii too fast. “Isn’t an alliance enough for you already? She said.

“Yes but it is incomplete if you do not comply. There will be new additions to the pak’s function that I’m working on and Soxx agree with me that you should also wear one. Unless….you want things to return to the way they were between us?” Hitz grin as soon as he saw the change in expression on Tallest Kii’s face.

“That will not be necessary. Give me time to think this over. Until then you can see yourselves out.”

With that being said. Tallest Kii exit the room with a puff of anger and irritation. Soxx leans towards Hitz. “Do you think we should’ve told her the whole truth of our plan? About the control brains and what we are going to do with our bodies after it’s finished?”

“Patience, Soxx. She’ll come around soon. Tallest Kii can be reasoned with. After so many centuries pressing her to make alliance with our hives. She’s bound to give in. Now let us be off. Hitz lead the way out the door. Soxx trailed behind him.