#how to reduce PMS

[theluckygirlblog]

Why Your PMS Symptoms Vary Each Month—And How to Gain Control

If you find yourself feeling overly emotional or experiencing increased physical discomfort before your period, you’re not alone. Premenstrual syndrome (PMS) affects millions of women, but what’s puzzling is how symptoms can fluctuate from month to month. One cycle might bring intense mood swings and body aches, while another feels surprisingly manageable. So why does this happen? And more…

[fortune-maiden]

I've always liked this line of dialogue from SQX, because it does feel like at the end of the day, no matter how much SQX says he can't stand PM, he does still have a decent grasp of his character.

And on the other side of this, these words are just especially pointed towards Pei Xiu, who does have a good relationship with his boss/ancestor, and also going off his backstory, Pei Ming may well have been the first person in his life to acknowledge him and his talents.

So the whole thing just feels extra sad.

[hina-has-no-life]

I'm actually debating if I should post my Theory on Mori or not.

Cause I think it's a good theory but my mental health can't take any hate just because I analyze and theorize about Mori.

[umangharyana]

Waaree सोलर ऑफर: 2kW सिस्टम से मात्र ₹600 में शुरू करें बिजली की बचत

अगर आप अपने घर की छत पर सोलर सिस्टम लगाने का सपना देख रहे हैं, लेकिन पैसों की कमी आपको रोक रही है, तो अब चिंता की कोई बात नहीं। केंद्र सरकार की “पीएम सूर्यघर योजना” के तहत आप मात्र ₹600/महीने की किस्त पर Waaree का 2kW सोलर सिस्टम अपने घर पर लगवा सकते हैं। यह योजना आपके लिए बिजली के बढ़ते बिलों से छुटकारा दिलाने का बेहतरीन मौका है। खास बात यह है कि सिर्फ 4 साल में यह सोलर सिस्टम आपका हो जाएगा, और…

[mayax81]

Do u think he used a cheek swab, his stem cells, the Traditional Method™, or some combination of the three? Any cells would do, after all.

[frid4y]

the big brick frat house that you always pass on your walks to class, seemingly silent during the day time. mainly because your class is at 8 am sharp. but the loud party music and sound of drunk college kids buzzing in your ear after 10 pm every night never goes unnoticed.

you've been inside a few times, always during a party, and while you were on the verge of blackout drunk. your memory is very faint on the boys in the frat, only knowing of the most notorious, satoru gojo. he's the apparently typical whore, the rumors of him fucking everything in sight swirling around. you never took the time to listen, it wasn't any of your business.

until you met him at one of his parties. you got a vibe from him, and it didn't scream slut. although his attempt of it was painfully obvious. the subtle attempts to talk about how rich he was, how he's always partying with girls, how everyone is dying to hang out with him, how "experienced" he was..if this was his way of attracting women, they must all be fucking idiots. and you mayy be one of 'em.

it wasn't until you were in his obnoxiously large bedroom, straddling his muscular thighs in an intense make out session that you realized.. "he's anything but a whore, he's a little virgin..” what made it obvious? his nervousness when you entered his bedroom, his inability to figure out where on your body to keep his hands, and the wet patch forming at the front of his jeans. he came in his pants, just from kissing you.

"o-okay.. i may have exaggerated.. but i can figure it out! i'm a fast learner! just s-show me what to do.." he stammers out, the space between his brows creasing as he stares up at your expression. you giggle at his flustered reaction, i mean.. it was obvious to anyone who paid enough attention past the facade.

"it's okay... for now, just sit there and look pretty. k?" you say, your fingers at the hem of his shirt, lifting it off his upper body. he obediently nods while watching his t-shirt quickly be thrown somewhere in his room. fuck, you were gonna have fun with him.

and that you did. his loud incoherent moans and whimpers about how good your pussy feels. satoru lays under you, his eyes glazed over as he stares into yours as you ride him. he keeps his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his length, seeing how it was a struggle to get his thick cock inside you. it's always the virgins, isn't it?

“n-nghh, so good..fuck I cantt—be gentle..” satoru whines, his toes curling at the newfound pleasure he’s experiencing. his fingers dig into your skin as he babbles on, his mind foggy and only focused on the feeling of you wrapped around him. his white lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

his delirious words of encouragement trail into soft moans as his grip slips from your hips to your thighs, using his big hands to guide you along his dick again. his abs flex as he feels your cunt clenching around him, causing his lips to part in pure desire and arousal.

satoru’s moans get louder at every roll and bounce of your hips. his brain is genuinely fried, reduced to base instinct. he whimpers as you slow your movements, feeling every inch of his cock while it throbs inside you. “shit.. j-just like t-that. i’m gonna c-cum baby—don’t stop..” his voice gets higher as his eyes get low and glossy.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck—” is the last thing you hear before you feel his cum fill you, his cock twitching inside you and his hips bucking up to chase the feeling. such weak pullout game. satoru lies there, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high.

“i think i love you-“

[gyubakeries]

𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘃𝘀. 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 | k.mg [TEASER]

a/n: finally! this collab has been cooking since the start of this year, and after six long months, i'm ready to share the teaser for my fic! that's showbiz, baby! is a collab close to my heart, because i've made some amazing friends through it. i'll forever be grateful for tara and kae for the opportunity to join this collab. without any further ado, here's a short sneak peek into loserboy vs. hatergirl!

shout-out to bennie ( @miniseokminnies ) for this cute banner!! bennie ilysm for making it even better than i envisioned <33 major credits for the title and most of the brainstorming that went into this fic goes to rie ( @okiedokrie-main ) ! without rie, this fic would be non-existent.

and lastly, thank you to all the lovely writers who are a part of this collab for welcoming me into the writer community! i love you all, and i know your fics are gonna be BANGERS!

p.s. don't question why the fic isn't formatted in lowercase please ..... i got too lazy to edit it </3

word count (for the teaser): 352 contents (for the teaser): corporate!au , IT specialist!reader , f!reader , social media intern! mingyu , light swearing , clumsy!mingyu

FULL FIC SET TO RELEASE ON - 30/6/25 @ 7 PM PST

check out the masterlist for that's showbiz, baby! -- here! please support all the wonderful writers participating!

summary: When Kim Mingyu, the new addition to the Social Media department of Sebong Corp., shows up at your office, requesting you to feature in one of the 'promotional tiktoks' he's been assigned to film, you tell yourself that it'll be your last interaction with the puppy-faced, hyper-energetic intern. A few months, twenty tiktoks, and a diabetes-inducing amount of sugar, you can't quite remember exactly why you had wanted to stay away from him in the first place.

You like your job, you really do. Sure, you hadn’t envisioned yourself working in the IT department of Sebong Corp, one of South Korea's most popular media companies, but you were satisfied, somewhat, with the way you had put your computer science degree to use.

However, there were a few moments that really made you question your job, life, and entire existence.

One of those moments being this:

It’s 9:05 A.M., and you’re not even close to reaching the office. You just got off the subway and you’re booking it down the street to reach work before your department head launched off into another lecture on how ‘today’s youth is late to everything in life.’

Behind all the cafes, shops, and people on the crowded streets of the commercial hub of the city, the tall, glimmering glass building of Sebong Corp. comes into view. An eager tourist might stop to take a few pictures of the sight, but all you can focus on is entering said building in time for your meeting.

You swiftly avoid bumping into most pedestrians taking a lazy stroll down the street, and only when the doors of the building are in front of you, you let your guard down and reduce your sprint to a brisk walk.

Big mistake.

After you swipe your ID card at the main entrance, thereby triggering the large glass doors to open, you stop in the office lobby to catch your breath. You’re just about to wave at Sunjae, the new receptionist, when all of a sudden, you hear someone curse loudly behind you, get abruptly pushed forward, and feel a strange wetness on your back. It smells a lot like coffee.

You’re not one for cursing in the workplace. Xu Minghao from HR is slightly terrifying when you see him deal with interns who forget to lower their voice while speaking in language inappropriate for work, and you like to remain in his good books. Now, however, you feel every drop of that restraint leave you as you shout loudly, for even Minghao’s ancestors to hear, “What the fuck?”

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

[julianbashir]

A major hospital in New York City, NYU Langone, cancelled several appointments for transgender children following the executive order threatening to withhold federal funding to hospitals that provide gender-affirming treatments. [wayback machine backup link]

Not only is this a gross violation of LGBT rights, the New York Attorney general has stated that this move would be a violation of state law. (letter published by the attorney general) [EDITED 4:14 PM EST]

There are many ways you can take action.

Contact Dr. Robert Grossman, the CEO of NYU Langone Health, and demand that they resume care for trans youth.

Call the following number: +1 (212) 263-3269, with the provided script under the 'read more'. Call from 9 AM - 5 PM EST on weekdays. Ask for the CEO's office, and leave a message.

You can email robert.grossman@nyulangone.org. You can also send an email using the linked website template.

If you are in the area, there is a demonstration at 6:30 PM at St. Vartan Park at 1st Ave & E 35th St. This demonstration is being endorsed by 16 organizatons, including the New York City Democratic Socialists of America, ACT UP, PFLAG NYC, and more.

[Updated as of February 3rd, 2025, 4:14 PM EST]

Hello, my name is [Name], and I'm a concerned [patient/parent/trans person/ally/New Yorker]. I'm calling about NYU Langone's reported cancellation of gender-affirming care appointments for trans patients under 19.

This preemptive policy change, in response to an executive order that is not settled law, is harmful and cruel.

I urge you to reverse this policy immediately and reinstate care for trans adolescents.

This decision directly contradicts your hospital's mission to provide exceptional care and your oath to do no harm.

It is very likely illegal under Article 1, Section 11 of the New York Constitution as amended in 2024 by the equal rights amendment.

The American Medical Association and the American Academy of Pediatrics consider this essential care. Gender-affirming care is proven to be life-saving. A 2022 peer-reviewed study published by the AMA found that it reduces depression by 60% and suicidality by 73% among trans youth.

Canceling these appointments puts the mental and physical health of trans youth at serious risk.

As someone who [is trans/cares for a trans person/wants New york to remain a safe place for trans people], I want to emphasize how vital this care is. I urge you to act now to protect trans youth. I hope to see NYU Langone lead with integrity by reinstating these appointments immediately.

Thank you.

[outofrealms]

Isekai’d as the Demon King’s Therapist

Synopsis: Y/N is summoned to a fantasy world… not as a hero, but as the Demon King’s personal therapist. Turns out, the Demon King has major burnout and trust issues from all the hero invasions.

Introduction

A lavish, dark throne room that looks like it belongs in an edgy heavy metal music video. Black marble everywhere, skull chandeliers, fire pits lining the walls. The Demon King Zarvath sits on a massive obsidian throne, looking bored and annoyed.

Y/N (calmly): “So… you’re feeling burned out?”

Demon King Zarvath (raises an eyebrow): “Obviously. Do you know how exhausting it is to manage an entire army, conquer kingdoms, and keep up with centuries of family expectations?”

Y/N casually pulls out a clipboard.

Y/N: “Right. Classic work-life imbalance. Let’s start by identifying your stress triggers. What is the most frustrating part of your job?”

Zarvath (leans forward, eyes glowing red): “Heroes.”

His voice echoes menacingly, shaking the room.

Zarvath: “Every week, some idiot with a sword barge in, shouting about destiny and justice. Do you know how many times I’ve been stabbed in the chest this month? Four. FOUR TIMES.”

Y/N: (nods sympathetically): “Sounds rough. Have you ever considered setting boundaries?”

Zarvath: “Boundaries?”

Y/N: “Yeah, like… telling the heroes they need to schedule appointments. Maybe setting up a sign at the castle gate: ‘No walk-ins after 5 PM.’”

Zarvath strokes his chin, intrigued.

Zarvath: “Huh. That’s… not a terrible idea.”

He snaps his fingers, summoning an imp.

Zarvath: “Implement this. Make the sign ominous but professional.”

Y/N: “Good start! Now, let’s talk about self-care. What do you do to unwind?”

Zarvath: “Unwind?”

He looks confused, as if the word is foreign to him.

Y/N: “Yeah, hobbies. Interests. Anything that makes you happy.”

Zarvath: “I… crush rebellions?”

Y/N: “Mm, okay. Let’s find something a bit less… violent. Have you ever tried painting?”

Zarvath (suspicious): “Painting?”

Y/N: “Yeah. It’s surprisingly therapeutic. Plus, you can paint your enemies being defeated. Very cathartic.”

Zarvath: “...Interesting.”

He leans back on his throne, imagining it.

Zarvath: “Fine. I will paint. But if this doesn’t reduce my stress levels, I’ll burn your village to the ground.”

Y/N (unfazed): “Deal. Let’s meet again in a week to check on your progress. Try journaling, too.”

The imp returns with a fresh scroll.

Imp: “Master, the ominous-but-professional sign is ready.”

Zarvath: “Good. What does it say?”

Imp (reading): “‘BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. HEROES WHO IGNORE THIS WILL BE SMITED WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.’”

Y/N: “Perfect. You’re already setting healthier boundaries.”

[ladyfocalors]

A Potion to Cure Bad Habits

summary: With exams approaching, you make the mistake of admitting you pull all-nighters to study, a habit that earns Vil’s immediate disapproval. He takes it upon himself to "fix" your terrible lifestyle choices, enforcing strict bedtimes, balanced meals, and daily skincare. At first, you’re annoyed, but you can't be mad at your boyfriend for long when you notice that he just cares for you.

pairing: vil schoenheit x gn!reader

warnings: lack of self-care.

word count: 1.3k

first time writing for vil. i learned a lot, and by lot i mean i should put vil into situations and write more for him.

Exams were a time of great suffering. Or, that was your excuse. You could handle a few sleepless nights in exchange for passing grades.

Unfortunately, you made a mistake of telling the Vil Schoenheit this information.

"… and I have to stay up late to study too." your words spilled from your mouth, unaware that you shouldn't have said that.

"You stay up all night to study?" His tone was somewhere between disbelief and disapproval.

You blinked up at him from your spot on the couch, where you’d made yourself comfortable among textbooks and scribbled notes. He had found you like this—hunched over, hair slightly dishevelled, dark circles just beginning to bloom beneath your eyes.

"I mean, not every night," you said, suddenly very interested in the corner of your notes. "Just when I really need to cram."

Vil narrowed his eyes. "And how often is that?"

You hesitated.

"That's what I thought," he said sharply. His gloved fingers tapped against his crossed arms. "And here I was, wondering why you’ve looked so exhausted lately. You’ve been running yourself ragged for the sake of what? A few extra hours of last-minute studying?"

"Uh, that extra time will make me pass exams?"

His gave you a sharp look.

"No. It impairs cognitive function, weakens your immune system, and, most egregiously, accelerates premature ageing. And you—" his gaze flickered over you, assessing your skin, the faint sluggishness in your movements, "—are already showing signs of it."

"Okay, rude." You pouted.

"Rudeness would be allowing you to continue these heinous habits without intervention. Honestly, what kind of partner would I be if I stood idle while you run yourself into the ground? I will not allow my partner to reduce themselves to an insomniac wreck just for a few test scores."

"Vil–"

"You will follow a strict sleep schedule. No more late night studying."

"But–"

"You will eat properly. No skipping meals, no instant food."

"I–"

"And you will begin a proper skincare routine. Have you even been applying moisturizer?"

You pressed your lips together.

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply through his nose, and exhales. "That answers that."

"Bed. Now."

You groaned as Vil stood in your doorway, holding a tray. Grim, the traitorous and lazy little creature that he was, was already curled up on your pillow, purring contentedly at not having to be forced to study.

"But it’s only–" You checked the clock. "10 PM?"

"Exactly." Vil stepped inside. "I brought chamomile tea. It will help you sleep."

You gave him a look. "You’re bribing me to go to bed?"

"No, I am doing what's best for you," he replied.

You sighed but climbed into bed, watching as Vil set the tray on your night stand with care. You were quick to drink the tea. He then pulled out a small bottle of cream, and you immediately groaned.

"More skincare?"

"Yes," he said, already uncapping it. "Your under-eye area is suffering, potato."

You rolled your eyes but let him dab the cream beneath your eyes, his touch featherlight.

"I already did my skincare. This is ridiculous," you muttered.

"This is necessary," Vil countered. "Now, close your eyes."

With a huff, you obeyed. You felt the bed dip slightly as Vil smoothed the covers over you, his presence wrapped around you like silk.

"You’re being weirdly nice to me right now," you murmured.

"I always take care of what’s mine." His voice was softer now, before pressing his lips on your forehead.

You smiled softly at his words before remembering that you were supposed to pretend that you were upset at him for his unnecessary interference.

The next morning came by quickly and you realized just how serious Vil was. Your usual routine of rolling out of bed ten minutes before class, running a comb through your hair, and grabbing whatever breakfast you can get your hands on and swallowing it—all went down the drain.

Instead, Vil arrived early, entering Ramshackle carrying quite a few things.

"Up," he commanded, tugging your blankets away before you could protest.

"Vil, it's…" you groaned, curling into yourself while Grim tried to curl up into your warmth. You squinted to look at the time. "… 6 a.m."

"You need to follow a proper routine, and that starts now," he said, unbothered. "You’ll thank me when your skin isn’t dull and exhausted from your previous atrocities. Now, wash your face."

Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, you let him guide you through an elaborate morning routine that, according to Vil, would save your skin from the horrors of your lack of care.

By the time you were seated at Ramshackle’s rickety dining table, Vil had placed a meticulously prepared breakfast in front of you, one that Grim eyed warily, no doubt wondering where the usual grub went.

"Huh?" you muttered, poking at the beautifully plated meal.

"It’s balanced and nutritious. You will eat it."

Grim sniffed at your plate. "What kind of punishment is this? Where's my tuna?"

"Proper nutrition, Grim. Something you could also stand to learn." Vil shot him a pointed look.

Grim huffed but wisely said nothing.

You sighed, picking up your fork. The food, as expected, was amazing. Vil did not do things halfway. And you’d admit the thought that he was putting in so much effort just for you made your food taste all the more better. He had woken up early, prepared this for you and came all the way to Ramshackle. Your irritation wavered at the thought.

"You don't have to go this far for me." Your voice was softer now, no longer filled with the initial defiance.

"I do. Because you refuse to take care of yourself properly." Vil lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed by your attempt to downplay the situation.

"I do take care of myself." You sighed.

Vil shook his head at your words. "You may not think much of it now, but if you continue this self-destructive behaviour, it will catch up to you. Not just in appearance but in health, energy, and focus. And that is unacceptable."

You poked at your food. "It’s just exams."

"It’s a pattern," Vil corrected smoothly. "One that, left unchecked, will follow beyond exams and into other aspects of your life. A pattern that I intend to correct."

"Do you really think I’m that bad?" You frowned.

"I think you are exhausted. And I think you are too stubborn to admit when you need help." His voice softened, eyes sharp yet kind. "You push yourself too hard, potato."

You swallowed thickly, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. You decided to focus on eating your food.

At first, you resisted. It was frustrating, having someone dictate your daily habits like you were a wayward child.

But then… you started feeling better.

You weren’t constantly fatigued. Your skin wasn’t dry or dull. You could actually focus on class instead of struggling to keep your eyes open.

Vil had been right. And you'd had to admit that being fussed by him had its perks.

Which led you here. Various thoughts swirled in your head that had nothing to do with the open textbook in front of you and had more to do about Vil, who sat across from you. You stared at him, lips pursed.

"Vil, don’t you think I deserve a kiss for following everything you say?"

Vil didn't look up from his book. "Your reward is not looking like a walking corpse tomorrow."

You huffed. "That’s not very boyfriend-like of you."

He sighed, setting his book down. "If I gave you a kiss every time you did something correct, you’d expect praise for basic self-care."

"And?" You leaned in.

Vil rolled his eyes, but a hint of amusement softened his features. He reached forward, cupping your chin.

"Fine." His voice was smooth, warm. "Since you’ve somewhat behaved."

Before you could gloat, he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering for only a moment before pulling away.

"Happy?" he murmured.

You grinned. "Very."

© ladyfocalors

[fawnsuga]

Andrew Blaze's Reddit Account & Its Contents

The user u/PioneersProductions was active in the subreddit r/PioneersProductions between October 21 and October 29, 2013. At some point during this period, the subreddit was set to private, which restricts the visibility of comments to third-party tools. Consequently, we are unable to ascertain the specific context of many comments, though some can be reasonably inferred.

10/21/2013, 7:42:05 PM

Nothing can replace BlogTV... YouTube's the easiest fix, but they have it set where you have to stream from your computer now. My internet isn't fast enough to stream. =(

Andrew's initial comment expresses regret over the acquisition and subsequent shutdown of the live streaming service BlogTV, suggesting that she was an active user of the platform.

10/24/2013, 1:06:41 AM

Sweet, wow dude, I can't even remember the majority of these pics. That's insane. Especially the ones from before 2011.

This comment appears to be a response to someone sharing old photographs, possibly of Blaze herself, although this cannot be confirmed.

10/24/2013, 1:12:26 AM

Alligator/Horse Head was created using Paint.NET and Windows Movie Maker. Alligator/Horse Head 2 was made with Photoshop and iMovie. I had two different versions of it: one that was used in the trailer and the one used in the final cut. That Horse Head was difficult to crop out (even with Photoshop) due to the hair on its head. The Alligator was comparatively easy because it was solid wood. Additionally, I posted a video of myself sitting on the floor in my parents' bedroom against a wall, asking for script ideas, intending to feature those whose ideas I used. Ultimately, I did not utilize any of the suggestions. Given that I only had Movie Maker, my options were limited. I would love to recut that video, but it is impossible since the Horse Head has been reduced to ashes. I also lack a clean photograph of it. I wrote Alligator/Horse Head 2 during my senior year of high school in November and did not finalize the script until the following summer. I had numerous drafts for it. James was originally intended to appear physically in the video, but time constraints prevented this, as he had to relocate.

In this comment, Blaze elaborates on the process of creating the videos Mr. Horse Head Meets Mr. Wooden Alligator 1 and 2. These videos represent a crossover between Blaze's character and one created by YouTuber makemebad35.

10/24/2013, 1:16:24 AM

I also dislike how I edited the two videos. The first one was excessively brief, while the second one was constrained by Damian's preference for a shorter duration. Nowadays, I would likely have produced a 10- to 15-minute video; however, 8 minutes seemed adequate for him. He managed to complete his portions in just 5 hours. The only inconsistency in continuity is that he wears the same black shirt at the end, where he calls me to request the Alligator back, which was meant to occur days later. It is implausible that the Alligator could have shipped from Maryland to Pennsylvania and arrived at my doorstep within the same day. I have since become a more meticulous editor compared to two to three years ago. I prefer to extend shots, making them more "film-like" (slower-paced). However, we were concerned that viewers would not watch a 10-minute video in its entirety. I would recut the entire video, but my footage was never stored; I did not acquire a terabyte drive until last year, leaving only a few videos saved on a flash drive.

Four minutes after her previous comment, Andrew provides additional insights regarding the aforementioned videos. The individual named Damian referenced in the comment is makemebad35.

10/24/2013, 1:19:03 AM

I could discuss the Alligator/Horse Head videos indefinitely, which is why I have refrained from revisiting the second one. They were foundational to my YouTube career and led to Horse Head Lives, which will soon connect to my Halloween franchise. ;D

Three minutes later, Blaze concludes her comments on the subject by mentioning the video Mr. Horse Head Lives. I am uncertain what the Halloween franchise refers to, but my best guess is that it pertains to the Finale Series, the initial videos in which Ember appears.

10/29/2013, 9:16:14 PM

You... just... wow....

This remark represents Blaze's final comment on Reddit. The specific context of her expression of shock or surprise remains unclear.

for @strvy-bvllet

[weemssapphic]

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Larissa Weems x reader

Words: ~2.8k | ao3 link in title

"All of your thoughts quieted at once, your eyes fluttering shut as you allowed yourself to fall, and allowed Larissa to catch you."

Just a little New Year's Eve oneshot to pour my melancholy into. Hurt/comfort and Larissa fluff. Maybe a new year's kiss ;) and so much yearning.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Rarely were Nevermore’s haunting halls as still and deserted as on New Year’s Eve. With a majority of the students and staff still away on Christmas holiday, celebrating with family and friends, the usual raucous din of the school was reduced to an almost eerie silence, in which one could hear a pin drop against the worn stone floors. 

The period between Christmas and the new year seemed to be an entire year in and of itself, the days stretched and distorted, every feeling amplified, filling out the empty space in your small teacher’s quarters until they felt fit to burst. The subtle cheer of Christmas was quickly replaced by a kind of all-encompassing melancholy that seemed to seep into your bones and between your joints, the weight of your loneliness magnified by the knowledge that another year had slipped by without your notice, and the pressure that the coming year should somehow be different, simply by virtue of being new.

You hadn’t been home for the holidays in two years, choosing the solitude of Nevermore’s familiarity over the feeling of being a stranger within your own family. You were one of the few who stayed behind at Nevermore - and the others who stayed were mostly those whose families lived in Vermont anyway, so while they were great company for an afternoon coffee or a quick passing chat, they spent the actual holidays outside of the bounds of the school, leaving you in solitude.

The only other person who didn’t seem to leave the school during those days was Larissa. Larissa, who was tight-lipped as ever about her familial situation; Larissa, who seemed ever cheerful in passing, wishing a ‘Happy Christmas’ and offering a bright smile, then shutting herself in her office for long periods of time, never giving anyone a glimpse behind the curtain, behind the carefully curated public persona she’d crafted for herself. Never letting you in enough to know her. Larissa, who seemed warm and personal - close, even - and yet the closer you got, the more you realized how far away she really was. Indeed, you’d been working for her for several years now - you even considered yourself a professional confidant of Larissa’s - yet you knew next to nothing about her personal life.

Enigmatic Larissa.

You knew she was empathetic. You knew she was kind and caring. That she was fiercely protective of her staff and endlessly supportive of her students. You knew she took pride in her position as principal of Nevermore, the position that cemented her in outcast history and within the community of Jericho. You knew that she was devastatingly beautiful - and that that beauty shone through most of all in the way she raised an eyebrow when listening intently, in the crow’s feet that deepened when she laughed, in the way an invisible string seemed to pull her shoulders back, making her stand tall and proud.

You also knew you liked her. Very much.

Thinking about Larissa amplified your loneliness during those somber days that caused one year to bleed into the next. Your ‘crush’, if you could call it that, was usually easy enough to ignore, but something about knowing that it was only your ghost and Larissa’s wandering Nevermore’s barren halls, sweeping past each other yet never making contact, made the yearning unbearable.

Around 10 pm, your little bedroom had reached a new level of stifling - and so, with a bottle of champagne in hand, you slipped out of your quarters and padded through the dark halls, feeling your way along the cool stone of the walls until you reached a door to a narrow, winding staircase that took you straight up to the roof. From there, you could see over half of Jericho, the glittering orange lights of dozens of small houses filled with holiday cheer, the residents and their loved ones celebrating the turn of a new year.

The cold nipped at your nose and seeped through the sleeves of your coat, and you carefully popped open the champagne and took a long swig, crawling onto a flat part of the roof and drawing your knees up to your chest for warmth as you stared vacantly at the dense forest stretching out beyond Nevermore.

“Aren’t you cold up here?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, fumbling with the bottle in your hand and spilling a bit of champagne down your chin mid-sip - you’d been so lost in thought that you hadn’t heard the tell-tale click of Larissa’s kitten heels as she made her way over to where you were sitting.

Larissa stood before you, a long, cream colored woolen coat pulled tight around her waist, her makeup pristine and a bit of silvery hair peeking out from beneath the pastel scarf protecting her curls from the wind. One gloved hand clutched the collar of her coat while her other hand was wrapped around the neck of a full bottle of champagne. Perfectly plucked eyebrows raised over twinkling sapphire eyes that tracked the trail of champagne dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. A blush darkened your cheeks and you hastily wiped your face with your sleeve.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” Larissa said gently, the corners of her lips curling up into an amused smile. You waved your hand in front of your face. 

“Not at all…” You hesitated. Then, “Would you like to sit?”

It was Larissa’s turn to hesitate. Her gaze darted between you and the empty space beside you. With a terse nod she perched herself beside you, looking far too regal and polished to be dirtying her coat on the slated roof.

“How did you find me up here?”

Larissa remained silent, and the silence seemed to stretch onward into eternity - so much so that you began to wonder if she’d gone deaf and hadn’t heard you at all. Or if she was being purposely obtuse. You startled again when she finally spoke, having already resigned yourself to not getting a response.

“I stopped by your quarters but you didn’t answer the door - I wondered where you’d gone off to.”

Her answer surprised you - you didn’t think she’d be thinking about you, let alone that she’d go looking for you.

“You went looking for me?”

“You left the door to the staircase ajar, darling.”

You blushed again - it was something you did quite often in Larissa’s presence. Her words seemed to have that effect on you - and her gratuitous use of pet names was no help in that regard. “Sorry… I guess my head isn’t all there today…” Her proximity seemed to rob you of your last brain cell, you thought - you kept that thought to yourself.

Larissa nodded as if in understanding, and your eyes dropped to the bottle in her hand, still corked. Larissa’s gaze followed your own, and it was her turn to blush.

“I thought we could toast to the new year,” she conceded, fingers picking at the bottle’s label, which was already curling at the edges. She noticed this and tried, in vain, to smooth them down.

With a grin, you held out your own bottle - already open, and already half empty. Larissa looked amused, one eyebrow shooting up her forehead, and you thought she might turn down the offer in lieu of a proper glass - you were pleasantly surprised when she set down her own bottle, accepting yours and bringing it to her lips. Your mouth went dry as you watched her throat bob and you had to look away to calm your racing heart when she licked a stray drop of champagne off of her upper lip.

There was a faint print of red lipstick on the rim of the bottle and, when Larissa handed it back to you and you took your next sip, you secretly made sure to align your own lips perfectly with the mark.

Another period of silence settled over the both of you like the thick layer of snow that blanketed Nevermore’s grounds. It felt heavy but not entirely uncomfortable - Larissa’s presence felt warm and safe, penetrating your bones and taking away some of the gloom that you’d been dragging around with you. You passed the bottle back and forth until it was nearly empty, the minutes ticking by, hitting 11:00, then 11:15, 11:30… 

You handed Larissa the bottle, your fingers stiff as you uncurled them from around the bottleneck - it seemed that even Larissa’s presence couldn’t keep the chill out entirely, and you squished your hands between your thighs in a fruitless attempt to warm them. Larissa caught the action, briefly frozen in place as an internal debate seemed to unfurl within her - and then placed the now empty bottle at her feet, wordlessly tugging off her gloves and holding them towards you.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I promise I’m not that cold,” you insisted, and Larissa tutted and nudged the gloves towards you once again.

“Take them. Please.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the gloves over your hands - they were just a size too big, but the heat they’d retained from Larissa’s own hands did help, caressing your icy palms. “Thank you…” You offered Larissa a grateful smile, and her own lips stretched wide, deepening her smile lines and crow's feet and bringing a radiant light to her eyes. “Larissa?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to sit here with me, you know. I won’t jump or anything.”

Larissa’s smile fell the tiniest bit, her forehead creased. “That’s… that’s not why I’m here. If you’d like me to leave, however-”

“No!” Your reply came so fast that Larissa seemed to start, her shoulders stiffening. Her eyes widened as she looked at you, but she remained rooted to the spot. “I’m… happy to have you here. I just mean… you’re probably cold, and I’m probably not the best company. I don’t get why you’re wasting your time up here with me, freezing your gorgeous ass off… Why haven’t you gone home to your family like everyone else?”

The words came out of your mouth before you realized how insensitive they might be, and Larissa’s silence was indicative of the pain they may have inflicted on her. She wrung her hands in her lap, her gaze falling to her own knees - you’d never seen her appear so unsure of herself, and you’d never regretted opening your mouth more than in that moment.

“Fuck…” You rubbed your face with the palms of Larissa’s gloves, the material soft and cool against your skin. The fragile peace that had enveloped you was crumbling before your eyes. “I’m sorry, we don’t even know each other like that… Can we please forget I said anything?”

“Nevermore is my home,” Larissa admitted in a hushed, wistful tone. “I’m not particularly close with my family, to be quite honest.”

You frowned - perhaps Larissa was just as lonely as you were. The thought made your stomach clench. “Neither am I,” you replied with a chuckle. The sound, though bitter, drew a chuckle out of Larissa as well.

“You don’t leave Nevermore during the holidays, either,” Larissa said. It was a statement of fact - of course she’d noticed your presence in the school over the past few Christmasses. You shook your head. 

“Nah,” you confirmed. “It’s a bit lonely, I guess, but being surrounded by people who don’t understand you is even lonelier, you know?”

Larissa let out a breath. “Oh, I know…”

“So we’ve both been spending our holidays alone in our quarters, then?”

A blonde eyebrow raised, a silver-haired head tilted. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

You stretched out, your muscles tight from sitting in the same position for what felt like ages, your limbs freezing. Tugging your phone out of your pocket, you tapped the screen with your thumb to check the time.

11:59

“It’s almost midnight.” You tilted your phone towards Larissa, who leaned over you to get a better look at the screen. Her perfume filled your nostrils - white florals, musk - heavy and clean. It felt like coming home, cozy and familiar. It made you dizzy. 

Larissa leant back again, her face now inches away from your own. “It’s almost midnight,” she echoed with a small smile, and you thought you saw her gaze flick briefly to your lips. Perhaps you were finally going crazy. In the distance, explosions sounded and the sky above Jericho lit up with fireworks, pulling your attention away from Larissa. You glanced back down at your phone.

00:00

You nodded at the screen, a wry grin spreading across your face, before shoving your phone back into your pocket. “Another year without a new year’s kiss,” you said with a self-deprecating snort. “There’s always next year, I guess…”

Larissa was quiet, staring at you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Larissa?” you whispered, her name dying in your throat. You weren’t sure you’d spoken at all, the ringing in your ears drowning out even the fireworks in the background.

You felt her cold palms against your cheeks before you’d even registered that she was leaning towards you, her hot breath ghosting over your face a millisecond before velvet lips sealed the distance between the two of you.

All of your thoughts quieted at once, your eyes fluttering shut as you allowed yourself to fall, and allowed Larissa to catch you. It was a safe landing, soft and warm, cushioned by pillowy, inviting lips and strong, gentle hands. Your heart soared and your own hands shot out, seeking Larissa’s waist, grounding yourself against her.

“Happy New Year,” you breathed against Larissa’s lips, opening your eyes and going slightly cross-eyed as you tried to meet her gaze. You felt her lips stretch into a smile, felt more than heard her whisper, “Happy New Year, my dear.” You smiled into the kiss and closed your eyes again - your teeth clashed against hers, and she breathed out a laugh against your mouth as one of her hands slid to the nape of your neck, fingers curling into your hair, and the other hand trailed down until it met the collar of your coat, where it tugged you closer.

Larissa’s waist felt heavenly beneath your palms, as if they were made to rest there, and her nails scratching gently at your scalp sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. Her tongue flicked at your bottom lip, accompanied by a breathy sigh, and you parted your lips and allowed her to lick into your mouth - she tasted of champagne and lipstick, and she was both languorous and playful in her explorations of your mouth.

When she pulled away to catch her breath, she rested her forehead against your own, her lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Was that alright?” she whispered, her breath caressing your face and causing you to shudder visibly. 

“Yes. God, yes.” Through your veins flowed a sense of inebriation that was completely independent of how much you’d drunk, that had everything to do with how intoxicating Larissa’s lips felt against yours - and, moreover, how euphoric Larissa’s affection made you feel.

Larissa’s state of mind seemed to match yours - her smile bordered on giddy, and she seemed reluctant to separate from you.

“I think you mentioned wanting to toast to the new year?” you mumbled with a smile, nodding to the full bottle of champagne Larissa had brought with her that stood forgotten at her feet. Larissa reached for it, tearing off the foil and wire and holding out the bottle as she popped the cork - champagne spewed out over Nevermore’s roof, foamy, bubbly liquid running down the bottleneck and all over Larissa’s hands and wetting her coat. Her eyes widened, met your own equally shocked gaze - then the two of you started to laugh. 

Larissa raised the bottle to her mouth and ran her tongue along its side, licking up the spilled champagne, then offered you the bottle. She looked at you fondly and the pale moonlight illuminated her face from the side, and you noticed just how badly her lipstick had smudged in the process of kissing you. 

“You have something…” You swiped your thumb across her chin to remove the excess of lipstick, giggling when you realized that it had stained her skin.

“So do you,” she teased, mirroring your action, tracing her thumb along the outline of your lips.

“You’re beautiful, Larissa,” you whispered, coaxing a radiant blush to her cheeks that was visible even in the dark of night. She ducked her head to hide it, scooting closer and resting her cheek on your shoulder. You might like to sit like that forever, you thought to yourself as you wound your arm around Larissa’s waist and held her close, feeling her torso move with every breath. Maybe New Year’s Eve wasn’t so bad after all - with the right company.

[3thel4ngel]

♰ gore me through the heart ♰

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: in which post-prison spencer hasn't been able to settle since coming home to you, and now everything's falling apart as you try to confront him

words: 1.4k

a/n: a tad rushed and certainly not my fav, but we move

------

It had been 31 days since Spencer had been released. 31 days since his name was cleared and he was sent back home to you. 

It was difficult, extremely difficult, for you while he was gone, and you knew it wouldn’t clear up immediately. You had been a wreck whilst in the comfort and safety of your own home, you could barely even fathom how messed up Spencer would be. Yet still, you never once expected things to have changed just this much.

In the 31 days he’d been home, he hadn’t settled once.

The very first day he had stepped into the apartment, he could only shift awkwardly at the door, only sitting down when guided to. He stiffened every time you attempted to engage in your typical intimacy, and by the time the pair of you had retreated to your bed, he could not help but flail and shift the whole night through.

But you understood this.

He’d been gone for a while, in terrifying conditions. How could he come home and immediately settle? You were willing to move through this, to support him, and help him settle back in.

But now, nearly a month had passed, and nothing had changed. He still tensed each time you tried to give him a hug or kiss goodbye. He still spent the whole night adjusting and wriggling, to the point it became common for you to wake without him. And worst of all, he still collapsed and quietened every time you tried to broach the subject.

You were moving nowhere, to the point you started to fear the issue was bigger than just his time imprisoned, and now it was taking a toll on you.

Your internal voice had become a great deal more paranoid than ever before. Each evening when he was late home from work, or when he left before you awoke, or even when he had been whisked away for an out-of-state case, you couldn’t help but convince yourself it was an attempt to avoid you.

You knew it was a self-centred way of thinking. Spencer holds a very important job in a very dangerous world. Of course, he’s busy.

But critical thinking like that is difficult when so anxious.

With a month of his freedom almost passed, you’ve reached your breaking point. Your outward demeanour had begun expressing your distress, to the point that your co-workers and friends alike had noticed. All the typical people in your life had recognised your pain and done their best to express their support, yet your atypical profiler boyfriend hadn’t said a word. You couldn’t stand it.

As you sat on the couch, balled up into yourself, you watched the hours tick by. You barely paid any attention to the shitty late night tv slop that you’d reduced to a background hum, as you waited for Spencer to come home.

Just after 11 PM, you heard the door swing open, the metal handle making a clunk sound as it smacked into the wall. You look up, waiting for Spencer to acknowledge you, but he’s already busied himself haphazardly throwing off his shoes and coat. It’s only when you softly clear your throat that he is alerted to your presence.

“Oh.. you’re still up?” It comes out as more of a question, and his tone is indiscernible with his facial expression giving away equally as little.

“Just wanted to wait for you, been missin’ you, Spence” At that, his face contorts, not to resentment or disgust like you’d feared, but rather something along the lines of shame.

He mutters incoherently under his breath before heading into the bedroom without another word to you.

You stay sat, attempting to calm yourself and your breathing before you can get too overwhelmed, but soon you hear the shower running as Spencer cleans himself of his day, and with the running water muffling the sound, you allow yourself to cry. 

Once finished wallowing, you forced yourself off the couch and into the bedroom, sitting down against the headboard just in time to hear the water turn off. 

Spencer enters the room, towel in hand, and drags his eyes over your slumped form, before sitting at the foot of the bed and beginning to towel dry his messy hair. 

You watch him briefly, silently. Only a few months prior, this would have been a sweet, domestic moment, but now, in the context of your situation, it was painful and unsettling. You mull your options over mentally, you could stay silent and allow yourself to stay within the confines of your previous pattern, or you could attempt to make some sort of breakthrough, speak up and get an answer, any answer.

“Spencer?” You couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t sit through another night of silence, nor another lonely morning. You couldn’t just wait for him to heal by himself and come round. You weren’t even sure he ever would, at least not without any sort of push.

He didn’t say a word, instead, he simply twisted his neck to stare directly at you. His face was straight, but the space beneath his eyes was dug out and tinted lilac.

His stony gaze against your own was unnerving, but thinking of your countless lone nights and fits of tears, you persevered through.

“I just think maybe.. we should talk? We’ve not really had the chance since, y’know…” Your words trail off as he sighs. He turns his body slowly to face you fully and stares expectantly.

“I mean, obviously, you’ve been busy, and I totally get that, but I just,” You look up to ensure he’s still listening, and he is, but you can tell just by looking at him he’s preparing a defence. He’s getting ready to fight on this, the opposite of what you want.

“Listen, I’m not trying to upset you, I know this has gotta be hard, but I really think we should talk about it. I’m just trying to help.”

“Honey, I, I love you, I do. But this, this isn’t ‘help’. I don’t need an intervention when I get home. I need sleep.” He makes it clearer than ever that your words fell on deaf ears. He attempts to place a comforting hand on your knee, but his grip is awkward and rigid, and within moments of it landing, he removes it.

He stands and moves around the room uncomfortably, trying to busy himself, hoping that by the time he’s turned once again, you’ll have miraculously fallen asleep. But he knows it doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that, and feeling your eyes still trained on his back, he spins.

“Do you know what it was like for me in there? Do you know what I went through?!”

“No, I don’t, Spencer.” Your response is flat, though you can’t help but grimace at the hint of smugness laced in his questions. Frustration or upset, you could understand, but you can’t bear the way he chooses to dispel his trauma to shut you down.

“Do you know why, though? ‘Cause you won’t tell me anything! You won’t speak to me, you won’t even be near me!” At that, he visibly deflates, any rebuttal dying on his tongue as he subverts his eyes.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but-”

“But no, you’re not Spence! You’ve not tried once, you’ve been back a month, and you barely even say good morning! I have tried. I have tried to wait for you, but what’s the point? You are fucked up, I understand that, you have every right to be. But you aren’t even trying to heal. You’re just taking it out on me, Spencer. You are hurting me.”

He stares directly at you, his eyes communicating a depressing mix of guilt and sorrow, but soon the vulnerability hardens, and he goes back into hiding, back into the hollowed shell of the man he was before Mexico.

Spencer turns and mumbles into the hushed room,

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Maybe.”

With that, he leaves the room still half-undressed.

The next morning comes, and you awake at the sound of his alarm still set in the bedroom. You rise and trudge towards the living room only to find it already evacuated. The spare duvet is still crumpled on the couch, but Spencer's shoes, coat, and keys are gone.

You lay in the confines of the messed duvet as your heart prays he’ll return after the work day, yet nothing in your head is hoping he’ll come back, at least not today, not until he’s prepared to deal with what’s happened.

[sheyfu]

"𝐦𝐢 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐚, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞"

》 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (all characters featured are aged up!!)

》 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍?

》 𝖼𝗐: 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 (𝖾𝗋𝗆); 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖽-𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎; 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗆; 𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗎; 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌; 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌; 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂-𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗒𝖺 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝖺; 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 :(; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽; 𝗌𝖺𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗈𝖼 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗍𝗏; 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽; 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 (𝗌𝖺𝖽) 😓😓

》 𝗐𝖼: 1064 (longest piece of dookie i've written)

you were currently with itoshi sae attending, in his words, “a stupid clout chasing event for influencers to leech on footballers”, listening to shidou ryusei ramble about how he and otoya eita randomly bumped into beyoncé in the shibuya train station, when you suddenly felt the need to go to the lavatory. just when he was getting to the good part. silently excusing yourself, you let go of sae’s hand as you made a beeline towards the venue’s bathroom. 

meanwhile outside, while shidou was telling the group about how beyoncé called him a sweetheart after getting his shirt signed, a young woman approaches the football stars’ table and sits down beside sae, interrupting whatever the loudmouth was going to say next. the whole group looks at her with question marks above their heads as she makes herself comfortable beside the prodigy. 

excuse me but, who are you? isagi yoichi was the first to speak up, eyeing the woman with a raised eyebrow. “oh! my bad! forgot to introduce myself, whoopsies!” she said with a laugh so annoying, sae almost physically winced. “i’m kento mirai! but you can call me mai for short!! i’m currently modeling for abibas!! oh also! i’ve worked with sae before, you could say we have a lot of chemistry together, right sae darling?” her high-pitched voice rings in sae’s ears as he tries not to roll his eyes at the woman. 

it’s not a lie though. but it’s not exactly true. yes, they’ve worked together for the brand but the chemistry she was talking about was simply a tale—they had no chemistry at all. everyday at the scene, she was always either beside sae or looking for sae, and even forcing herself into his personal space. it had gotten so bad to the point that sae was very tempted to call the project manager and drop it. but of course, his manager talked his ear off saying if he did decide to call mister PM, he’d reduce the player’s consumption of his beloved ichibo steak to only once a month—what a jerk. 

anyways. 

his trance is cut off by the thing beside him, talking her ear off. my head hurts. sae grimaces as he looks around the venue to look for you, spotting you by the bar ordering some drinks from him and you. perfect. just at the right time, mi amor. 

he stands up but just as he was about to go to you, a harsh grip on his wrist is enough to tear his eyes away from you. he looks down to his captor’s hand with a raised eyebrow. “what do you want, woman?” he jerks his arm away from her yet she doesn’t let go. he looks again at your direction and he sees that you’re gone. he panics. yet for some reason, he can’t get away from this woman’s grip. “saeeee.” she whines. “don’t leave yet! I’m not yet done talking to you!”

now. sae isn’t a fan of hurting women—he’s a fan of women! they’re really amazing, yeah. but at this moment, he suddenly wants to abandon all his feminism and push her off a cliff. tch. 

“hey man, d’ya think we should ya know, ask her to leave?” sae hears chigiri hyoma’s worried voice whisper to oliver aiku. please do. sae inwardly pleads to the gods above as he side eyes the pair. “nah, ‘s getting ‘ntresting.” aiku slurs, clearly under the influence. damn fuckin' traitor. sae feels a harsh tug on his arm, almost dragging him down to the couch. what a strong woman. she whines again. fine. if you want to do it the hard way, then i’ll give you hell. sae thinks.

“let me go, please.” he cringes at his use of words. “i have a wife to look for and if you don’t let go of me now i’ll have to call the security.” he says, hoping for her to get the hint. 

she does.

but just not in the way sae hoped.

“your wife? oh! that y/n l/n? oh please! i don’t even know what you see in her! i mean, she’s nothing but a lowlife! clearly using you for money! i’d be so much better for you, my sae.” erm. okay. what the hell. sae’s hella conflicted now. he doesn’t know if he wants to take the risk and run away from her or beat the living shit out of her. 

he feels her body hug him from the back and before sae knew it, he pushed her away and let out everything he wanted to say to her.

“listen here, woman. my wife is the kindest and purest soul there is on earth. she brings heaven to me and lights up whatever emo shit is inside me. everything she says and everything does makes me all giddy and shit. and unlike you, her and i actually have chemistry. so i suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before i call security to feed you to the tigers or something. also, she's the only one who can make me giggle and kick my feet up in the air. fuck you.”

okay, maybe that was too much. but at least he defended your honor. common sae w. he thinks as he turns around to search for you, only to find you in front of him with the dopey smile he’s loved for eternity. he hears the cheers and snickers of the table, and even someone saying “oooh he popped off” (probably bachira meguru), yet the only thing he really cares about is you. 

“so, my dear husband.” you say with a smirk on your face. “i light up the emo shit inside you”, huh? how romantic.” sae flushes and grabs his drink from your hand, chugging it and putting the glass on the table. 

shut up. it's cuz you took too long in the washroom. did 'ya take a shit or somethin'? he says as he drags you to the exit of the venue. you hurriedly chug your drink and say your goodbyes to the rambunctious group of boys. 

and as you enter the car, sae’s next words surprise you,

“i won’t lie though, i kinda ate that shit up a while ago. maybe we should attend more of these events. what d’ya say, mi vida?” 

what a goofball of a husband you have. 

HELLOOOO i hope this was enjoyable for everyone ahu ahu 😓😓 unfortunately this is NOT a banger and my experiment of adding my goof into a piece failed erm 😓😓 still, thank you for reading!! hopefully, i'll post more bangers once i get out of my silly sad mood ahu ahu 😓😓 as always, reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated!!

[ode2rin]

SAY YES TO ME ~ ❀ ·˚

content/warnings. 1.7k+ wc | husband!reo x gn!reader | characters are aged up to late twenties | just lovesick reo asking you to be his valentine's date :> | pure fluff | minimal proofread

𓆩♡𓆪 in which: your husband, reo, just knows exactly how to make you say yes.

For the first time in his life, Reo had never been happier to be the CEO of his company. 

He couldn't recall feeling as alive even when he first inherited the position. While he appreciated the benefits and authority, nothing compared to the freedom of controlling his own time.

As soon as the clock struck 12 pm, Reo sprang to his feet, driven by a sense of purpose akin to a man on a mission. His determined strides echoed against the perfectly marbled tiles of his office floor as he made his way to the elevator. It was five hours earlier than his usual clock-out time, but today was an exception.

Because today was Valentine’s Day— and he had better plans than sitting around skimming through papers that hardly made any sense anymore because his mind was already consumed with thoughts of you, as if he didn’t spend most of his time doing exactly that anyway.

Before finally leaving his office floor, Reo made a beeline for his secretary’s desk to ensure the finishing touches were being made according to his instructions.

“Everything must be ready before we arrive,” he declared to his secretary, his tone more of a command than a request. This was serious business, after all. In fact, none of the investor deals he signed earlier this day would measure up to the importance of this one task at hand.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied cautiously.

Satisfied, he stepped into the elevator. His eagerness to see you was so evident— anyone can tell. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying one bit to do so. From the way he pressed the lobby button twice, checked his watch incessantly for the past few hours, and tapped his wingtip against the elevator floor as if its speed could hasten his journey home— everyone can tell that his very own company building was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, he supposed anyone with someone precious waiting for them at home would understand his seemingly pathetic behavior.

Pathetic, lovesick, whipped— you’ve reduced him to every synonym for such. 

Not that it concerns him; what's more concerning is that he's not bothered by any perception tied to it. If he hadn't outgrown that teenage angst and was still chasing bits to fuel his ego, then it would have been a different story. He would have been hypersensitive to what bystanders thought of him. Now, older and wiser, he couldn’t care less about what they meant to prying eyes or big tabloids. None of their opinions were yours, so none of them mattered.

The journey back home was tenfold more insufferable than the time spent in the elevator. He kept his eye on his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror, and if he squinted enough, he could see the beads of nervous sweat forming at the poor man’s temple. He sighed to himself, seemingly reprimanding his own improper behavior. Hell, what was happening to him? He wasn't even an impatient man to begin with. All because of Valentine’s Day—all because he couldn’t wait to see you.

He got it real bad, as his longtime best friend would like to say. One he couldn't find it in himself to deny. It was true, anyway.

He didn't know when or where it started, but one random night four years ago, he woke up in a cold sweat, and the realization that he was hell deep in love with you gnawed on his center to his throat. So in love it set his heart on fire, all while being in love with the one person who lit the match.

Rumors were true— love never aligned with logic, intricate planning, none of what he excelled at as a businessman. And so, he abandoned logic and acted exactly as his heart had been urging him to. 

The very moment the sun peeked over the horizon that fateful day, he was on his feet, his jet waiting to fly him to wherever the finest diamond engagement rings reside.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be standing at the entrance of your shared home, his grin widening with each approaching step he hears. You’re bustling around the house just to welcome him home—so, no, he couldn’t have it any other way. The mere thought of doing things differently made his heart leap into his throat, while a hollow feeling settled in his chest.

“Love! Welcome home!” you greet him, your lively voice warming Reo’s heart as it makes its way to him.

Even before you could throw your arms around his shoulders and kiss him senselessly to welcome him home, you're met with a bundle of red roses he had taken from his back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” you blushed, resembling the vibrant flowers he bought on the way home.

“Nothing is ever a bother when it comes to you,” he mused, big amethyst eyes sparkling back at you.

Ever the sweet talker, you looked at your husband who was now peering over you and the roses you’re cradling.

“Okay, Mr. Charming. To what occasion do I owe this?” you play pretend, your voice tinged with playful curiosity.

Instead of an immediate response, you felt his hands traveling to the small of your back, pulling you close against his embrace. His lips grazed your cheek, before whispering in your ear, “Be my Valentine?”

Here he goes again, you thought. “I’ve been married to you for the last four years, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out to him, keeping your smile to yourself.

That’s not a yes. Huffing, Reo pulled back from your hug to look you in the eye, “Your point being? There are no rules in marriage that say I can no longer ask you on Valentine’s day– if I remember correctly,” and he even had the pettiness to mock your tone.

“Wow, my husband is a bit sassy today, isn’t he?” 

My husband, he repeats in his mind, and just like that, all sassiness and pettiness came flying straight out of the window. “I love being your husband,” he blurted out, totally unrelated to your previous banter.

“Oh, really, now?” you teased, feigning the warmth it sent to your chest.

He does, truly and definitely. A man like him is widely known for what he has– for the possessions under his name and for the power it holds. Yet here he was, wrapped around your arms, and suddenly, being your husband has been the best he has been called and known for.

There was no weight, no expectations, and no pressure tied to it— just love dripping in every letter. There’s no one he would rather be.

“Yeah, am I doing a great job?” smiling at you, he asks, “I’m not losing the charms, am I?”

“Trust me, you’re very much good at it,” you fondly brushed the strands of hair covering his eyes, “and you’re not losing the charms,” you quoted.

“Really? So if I were to ask again, would you say yes?”

“With or without your ‘charms’, you know exactly how to make me say yes.”

Reo let out a hearty laugh at your remark. “You’re right,” his fingers reached out to your left ring finger, where his oath of forever lay glimmering.

God— he really did that. He put a ring on it. It was his name next to yours, his rings on your hand, his bed you share, and his forever you spend with. Four years and more to come, but Reo was certain he would never get over it.

Before his rationality left him and wrecked his own plans, Reo caressed your back, his hands moving dangerously low down your hip and giving it a squeeze, “Still wanna hear it from you though,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “So, what do you say in letting this poor man take you on a date as his valentine?”

You drew closer to his hold, your arms finding their place around his neck, hands occupied with the flowers now resting on his back, “I say,” you pressed your lips as if trying to think, “I’d like some kiss and maybe hear a please first—”

You couldn’t even finish teasing him because in a heartbeat, Reo closed the distance, seizing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss drowning out the sound of words with an intensity that left no room for second guessing his invitation. Nothing about Mikage Reo was silent and subtle– not even when he kissed you. It had to be breathless, deep, urgent, and parting your lips in surrender.

His hands found their way, trailing with purpose along your spine, while his other traced the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch. Teasing fingers then tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate for more.

He pulled back first, leaving you light-headed. He flashed you one smirk, lips almost melting into yours.

“Please?”

Fuck. You didn’t need to be asked thrice. You nodded your head aimlessly, earning a chuckle from him. “Go then, pack some clothes. Our jet is waiting for us.”

“Jet? Did you mean car?” Where the hell was he taking you to use a jet for?

Seemingly reading the question on your face, he answered, “I know what I said, love. We’re going to Paris.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, squirming from his hold completely, “We could just dine somewhere close, Reo.”

Now, who told you he only had dinner in mind? Who did you take him for? You shouldn’t be surprised anymore— there’s nothing in this world that would come close to the satisfaction he got from spending lavishly on you. It was a reminder that he could and most certainly would give you everything you wanted. “You don’t like Paris?”

You tried to reason, heavy on the try so it seemed because you soon realized it was a mistake clarifying your point, “I mean, I do but—”

“I think I heard enough, love,” a sheepish smile formed on his lips, “I’ll wait for you here, alright?”

You rolled your eyes at him before retreating to your shared bedroom to prepare for freaking Paris. Of course, you're going. There’s really no winning against him, you’ve known that ever since. He longed to prove to you that he always had the irresistible charm of making you say yes.

Not that you'd ever thought of saying no. The ring weighing your finger down could attest to that.

note. been seeing people saying their partners no longer ask them valentines bec they're tgt alr... reo would never do that btw do better

another note (pls tolerate me). i'm pretty sure i'm fighting for my life when this gets posted (it's qd!!) so here's me wishing all of you a happy hearts day 🩷

[aviiarie]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ SUBSTITUTE BIG BROTHER. platonic pm!dazai & reader !

synopsis. dazai is reduced to his lowest form: babysitter for chuuya's sibling. contents. PLATONIC. chuuya's younger sibling!reader. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. fluff. 1.9k words. notes. dazai gets some fluff, as a treat. and as an apology for the amount of pain i am putting him through with the next thing in my drafts. ALSO this is an old, completed draft and was my first time writing dazai so apologies for any mischaracterization.

“You’re kidding me.” Dazai said dryly, staring at the kid before him. They met his gaze with a fiery glare, daring him to continue.

“Do you have something to say?” they snapped. Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Go on, spit it out.”

“I’m only wondering how that yappy little dog’s precious sibling managed to escape their kennel,” Dazai hummed, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards as they began to protest. They sounded just as furious as their brother; the resemblance amused him immensely. “Aren’t you supposed to be… anywhere but here?”

The question was out of courtesy more than anything; Dazai knew the answer very well. Chuuya was tight-lipped about almost every aspect of his life that wasn’t intertwined with the Port Mafia, but his sibling was one detail that Dazai had managed to squeeze out. It wasn’t voluntary, mind you. It was more that Chuuya was explaining his life before the Mafia to Kouyou during one of their evenings drinking tea together, and Dazai had started eavesdropping at the right moment.

When he casually dropped their name during a conversation a week later, Chuuya has gone still for only a moment, before shoving him against the nearest wall and holding a knife to his throat.

“How the fuck do you know about them?” Chuuya had hissed.

Dazai wheezed, for once caught off guard. He’d been expecting Chuuya to react emotionally, but the idea that he would resort to murder within seconds had somehow slipped his mind. “Perhaps Chuuya shouldn’t leave the door open if he doesn’t want his conversations being overheard. I’m sure Ane-san would agree, it was her conversation too.”

Chuuya turned white. His grip loosened, and Dazai slipped away from his grasp. “Shit.”

“Mhm!” Dazai said in a singsong voice, readjusting his collar. “So, tell me about them. How old are they?”

“I’m not talking to you about them, you bastard.” Chuuya tucked his knife away, shoving past Dazai with far more force than was necessary.

“Oh, come on,” Dazai whined childishly, but there was a dark glint in his eyes. “Would you prefer to talk to Boss about them?”

Chuuya’s face turned the prettiest shade of red. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Of course, Chuuya wouldn’t keep such a key detail of his life hidden away for no reason.” Dazai interrupted. “And maybe I could find it in myself to omit said detail when the Boss questions me about where he’s been disappearing to, for a price, of course—”

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” Chuuya scoffed. “Fine. I’ll owe you a favour, and in exchange you do not breathe a word of their existence to anyone. They don’t exist to you, got it?”

Even when trying to appear confident, there was still a note of anxiety in his tone. The mere mention of his sibling was enough to rattle him, it seemed. Dazai paused for a moment, letting Chuuya stew in his restlessness.

“Well? Do we have a deal, asshole?”

He agreed. He wouldn’t tell a soul about [Name], and Chuuya would postpone smothering him in his sleep until he had reasonable cause. Their little secret, Dazai called it—as if anything could stay secret from the Boss for long.

One of the prerequisites for making sure the Port Mafia never knew of their existence, was ensuring that they took careful steps to prevent contact with members of said Port Mafia. An easy way for that to be guaranteed was to avoid any and all places associated with the Mafia, to minimise the chances of bumping into any unsavoury types that might consider their relation to Chuuya to be a weakness to exploit.

All this to say: the last place they should be was right in the middle of Port Mafia territory.

Dazai sighed. “Chuuya will be mad that you’re here, you know.”

“Who even are you?” they asked, in lieu of an answer.

“I’m hurt!” he gasped, grasping at the front of his shirt like a Victorian woman clutching her pearls. “Is Chuuya so cruel that he never mentions his own partner?”

“Are you Dazai?” they asked, wrinkling their nose at him. “Chuuya won’t shut up about you. He thinks you’re really annoying.”

“Oh, the feeling is mutual.” He laughed. “What else does he say about me? Does he tell you about how I can shoot a gun better than he ever will? How one touch from me renders his ability useless? How I’ve beat him in every round of arcade games we have ever played together?”

“He actually said you were big-headed, but I think I could have gathered that myself.” They said dryly.

“Tch. Such a mean dog, spreading lies about me.” Dazai complained, but his mind was elsewhere. He eyed the rumpled state of their clothes and dark circles around their eyes. If they were desperate enough to ignore their brother’s warning to keep away while he was working, the matter must be urgent, and Dazai knew Chuuya would bite his head off if he left them alone in such a dangerous place.

“Why don’t we wait for your brother somewhere nicer than here?” Dazai suggested. “I know a place that isn’t too far, that we both frequent.”

“Am I being kidnapped?” They asked warily.

“Why would I want to kidnap someone as unpleasant as you?” Dazai scrunched his nose up at the thought. “Besides, I’m supposed to be helping keep your existence on the downlow. That becomes difficult if everyone in the Port Mafia catches wind of a strange young person asking for Chuuya.”

“They won’t,” they said, but their voice was doubtful.

Dazai turned, tucking his hands in his pockets and walking back the way he’d come. “Come on. It’s not a long walk.”

The lights and sounds of the arcade were a dull comfort on Dazai’s senses. A chime of the bell above the door greeted them both when they entered, the cashier looked up and gave them a nod.

“Have you been here before?” Dazai asked, and they shook their head. “Excellent! As your benevolent guide, I will be happy to show you around.”

“I thought we were waiting for my brother?” They squint at him suspiciously.

“Of course, but we might as well have fun while we're at it.” Dazai steered them over to the corner to the best machine in the arcade, the game that him and Chuuya had a running bet on who could beat.

It was a basic side-scrolling hack-and-slash game, with only four controls and very simple graphics. What made it stand out was not the game itself, but how infamously hard it was. The first few levels were easy, but once the game deemed the player had an adequate understanding of the controls and how the game worked, it would increase in difficulty until the player was left in an aggravatingly high-speed bullet hell that took an inhuman amount of dexterity to defeat.

There were 100 levels in total. Dazai—who had his initials permanently at the top of the high score board—had only manged to get past level 96.

“This is the best test of skill that this arcade offers.” Dazai slid a token into the machine and he was met with a title screen he had seen many times before. The tinny music came out of the speakers, cheerfully announcing the name of the game. The player character appeared—a little red and black silhouette of a person—as well as the first enemy.

“It's deceptively simple—”

Jump. Punch. Slide. Dodge.

It was a pattern, muscle memory that had settled into his fingers. His movements were precise and measured and not a second off the mark.

“—But it gets difficult.”

Jump. Dodge. Punch. Slide.

He was close. So close.

“If you just—”

Dodge. Punch. Slide. Dodge.

Level 97 appeared across the screen—the highest he’d ever gotten before.

“—Keep going...”

Dodge. Dodge. Slide. Punch—

Game over.

“...Ugh.”

Dazai slumped in his seat, miserably entering his initials into the high score again. Chuuya would be cursing his name if he knew that he had managed to once again overtake him, but he could hardly savour the thought when he wasn't there to witness it.

With a sigh, Dazai glanced over to [Name] beside him. They were watching the screen, but their foot was tapping against the ground in an uneven rhythm, and they were picking at the edges of their nails without even seeming to realize it.

The anxiousness had set in again, it seemed. Dazai cleared his throat. “Do you want to try?”

“...Alright.”

Somewhere between the first and twelfth round of games, he’d sent a short message to the contact in his phone labelled ‘Slug’.

come to the arcade. i have a surprise :P

And when that message was left on read, Dazai decided to clarify further with a second.

the surprise is [name] by the way.

By the time their thirteenth round finished and [Name] left to use the restroom, the doors were slamming open and a familiar person with red hair and wild eyes burst in. He scanned the room, locating Dazai’s bandaged self easily heading straight for him.

“Where are they?” he hissed, turning back and forth like they would appear beside him when he wasn’t looking.

“Who? I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about?” Dazai asked innocently, as if he had done anything innocent in a long time.

“Don’t mess around! Where the fuck is—”

“Chuuya.” A voice dripping with relief cut right through Chuuya’s rising yell. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“[Name]!” Chuuya spun around, the tension melting from his stance as he saw them. “Where were you? I got home and you weren’t there.”

“I was looking for you.” They glanced over to Dazai, and lowered their voice. The rest of their exchange was muffled under the sounds of beeping and chimes from the arcade machine. Throughout it, Dazai stood frozen watching the pair.t

“We’re leaving,” Chuuya said, after what felt like hours of whispering. “…Thank you for looking out for them today.”

“You thank me like I did it out of the goodness of my heart,” Dazai said with a laugh. “That’s one more favour Chuuya owes me now.”

“Bastard. See if I ever thank you for anything again.” Chuuya growled, turning on his heel and pulling his sibling along with him.

Dazai watched the pair leave, his eyes lingering on their retreating forms. It was unsettling how easily they molded to fit the other’s company; the way Chuuya unconsciously matched his steps to theirs, the way the tension melted from their shoulders the moment they laid eyes on him. Even the tone of Chuuya’s voice softened when he addressed them, which was a sight that Dazai didn’t think he was capable of.

Was this family? Did Dazai act this way long ago when he had a relatives of his own? He could hardly fathom reaching such a closeness with anyone, let alone a family. Was he even capable of such a thing, being the broken, shell of a being he was?

Dazai shook his head, ridding himself of the trivial thoughts clouding his mind. When he left, he left alone.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.