#or not because technically im late by 2 days

[gomzdrawfr]

🐉

[be-good-to-bugs]

hey what if i like, didn't have a headache right now. that idea sounds cool we should do that idea.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation. 

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been. 

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs. 

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it. 

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely. 

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.” 

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them. 

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?” 

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty. 

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours. 

Then you ask: 

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches. 

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state. 

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?” 

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette. 

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you turned eighteen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?” 

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?” 

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?” 

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya. 

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills. 

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

 “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die. 

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?” 

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it. 

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall. 

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven. 

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him. 

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?” 

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar. 

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?” 

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking… 

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand. 

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.” 

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay. 

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you. 

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous. 

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

[reidmania]

use somebody 2 | spencer reid

part one here

summary; spencer dreaded the day he would see you with anything other than a frown on your face, when that day comes, spencer would do anything to bring your sweet smile back.

warnings; some mean police man being sexist and mean to fem reader, protective spencer, fluff, a little angst but like barley any, will there be a love confession??? read and find out!

an; idk im dying. thank u. mgg hand mention

Spencer wasn’t the biggest fan of the jet before you joined the bau. He didn’t have any particular issue with it, there was nothing he could really fault or use as an explanation as to why he wasn’t a big fan of it but it was just boring, he would read and then reread books, then try and sleep.

Then you joined the team and suddenly the jet was one of his favourite places, because you would sit next to him. You would ramble about a new show you were watching or a flower you had seen on the side of the road, and lately you would tell him about your dog. He would get to listen to you talk and get to watch you smile and flap your arms around as you got increasingly more excited as your ramble went on.

On the way home if you were feeling too tired to excitedly ramble about something random you would just sit next to him and let him ramble, the same excited smile on your face nonetheless as you paid the at most attention to whatever it was he was talking about, listening intently and asking questions almost as if you just wanted to keep him talking.

He didn’t mind.

Your plans to watch the documentary he recommended at your house were quickly ruined by the notice that you had a case that would take over the span of your weekend.You had apologised profusely to Spencer as if he didn’t technically cancel on you just as much as you did him. He didn’t mind, he got to spend time with you either way.

In a sort of twisted way, he preferred working a case with you. At least this way you were around him rather than spending your weekends around anyone else. He wondered if that was creepy and controlling and if he said it aloud it would probably end in him over explaining how he just hated the idea of anything happening to you, or you meeting someone else.

You were too kind, for anyone. Especially him.

Thats why he was immensely annoyed when the Police Sheriff of the station they were at in Louisiana, decided to nit-pick every little thing you did. He wondered if the Sheriff was just insanely insecure or if maybe it was a gender issue.

He settled on the latter when the comments ended up going towards Emily, and JJ as well. Just a little bit more towards you, maybe because regardless you continue smiling at him or muttering out soft apologies for whatever minor thing you had done that the policeman had an issue with.

There were many times Spencer wanted to speak up, or shove the old mans faced into a wall — but then you’d smile sweetly at Spencer and he remembered you were a grown woman, you were perfectly capable of taking care and defending yourself. Regardless of this information, Spencer stayed a little closer to you throughout the day.

“Alright, giggle guts, whatcha got for me?” Penelope said over the phone after she had heard your mumble out a cheery hello once it went through. Spencer smiled fondly at the nickname, mostly because he saw your smile widen and a string of laughter leaving your lips, the sound melodic in his ears.

The sound of your laughter only made a small laugh puff out Spencer’s lips because it was so sweet and so beautiful that it was contagious and he couldn’t help it.

“Well, you gorgeous amazing girl. I need you to look up this guy’s medical history, please” the manner was added so sweetly and softly on the end. The compliments left your lips effortlessly, the sound of your voice and the evident smile in it made Spencer’s heart happy.

Penelope said something over the phone but it was inaudible over the sound of Sheriff standing in the corner of the room scoffing. Your eyes flickered upwards towards the sound, eyebrows pinching together in slightly confusion. Everyone’s expression mirroring your own.

Spencer felt dread fill his stomach and over every goosebump on his skin, dread to fear whatever spiteful unnecessary criticism the man would have to offer. The criticism absolutely no one asked for.

“Whats the issue?” Hotch spoke up, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down the sheriff. Was it in a protective manner? Nobody was sure really, the elder’s expression remaining unreadable.

The sheriff kicked off the wall to stand a little stranger, looking at hotch than back to you. “Unprofessional. This is why this is a man’s job. Sensitive squishy women who think life is all sunshine and rainbow are not fit for a job like this.”

Everyone went silent, your lips parted before closing, unsure of how to reply to something so unnecessarily mean. Spencer’s expression hardened. The room fell into an awkward tension, nobody moving or saying anything.

You pushed out a laugh, “Damn okay.. Tell me what you really think” You muttered under your breath, a joke.

Spencer would’ve laughed at your comment, your way to bring light to a room that had been made so dark but he could see the hurt in your eyes and he felt his heart strings pull against his chest, he wanted to reach out and grab your hand, reassure you that you were perfect for this job.

He was pissed. Actually. There wasn’t a lot that could make Spencer mad — this however was one of the few things that did. He shuffled uncomfortably, finding it difficult to hold his tongue. He could tell Emily and JJ was uncomfortable by the comment made.

Hotch opened his mouth to talk but Spencer had beat him to it. “You’re probably, what 65?” He said, his tone of voice curt and blunt it made your heart turn in Spencer’s direction.

The police officer furrowed his eyebrows, yet nodded anyways. Spencer hummed in response, sitting up a little bit straighter as he leant forward to rest his forearms against the conference table the team had been gathered around.

“Right, so by assumption and well — biology. You are actually probably the least reliable person in this room right now, despite age or gender. Your pace is significantly slower than anyone on your team, and i don’t think I even need to compare you to our team because I don’t wish to further embarrass you or hurt your fragile masculinity much more.” Spencer started.

Your head had fully turned towards his now, eyebrows quipped and eyes widened in shock because you weren’t expecting Spencer of all people to come to your defence. Not because you didn’t think he cared but because the boy could hardly defend himself, you just hadn’t expected him to defend you.

“And actually — we use psychology, which women are actually significantly more successful in because of their ability of understanding, gender plays little to no role in our field of work. Its also ironic since I know you heard Derek on the phone to Garcia, you had no issue with what he had said — so I’m very sure that whatever issue you have, is purely because your masculinity feels threatened by girls who are doing a job you couldn’t fathom. Either get your mind out of the 1800’s or get away from our team.”

“Spence” His head turned towards your voice, taking in your wide eyes and parted lips in shock. He had honestly lost himself in the midsts of his ramble, unable to help it because someone had made you upset. The sweetest, kindest, gentlest person was made to feel bad by a way too old male who was clearly unable to adjust to the way the world was evolving.

“Sorry” Spencer apologised for his ramble. The door slammed shut as the policeman left the room, and Spencer felt a strange sense of pride when he looked back up at you to see a gentle smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you pulled your eyes away from him back to the phone.

“Sorry about that pen.. Those medical records?”

Your smiled returned throughout the rest of the day, Hotch had gone out of his way to talk to the Sheriff and although nobody else had any idea what the conversation between the two included, it was clearly enough to make the Sheriff stay far far away from you and the rest of the team whenever possible.

Although your smile returned, Spencer could almost instantly notice the drastic difference. Maybe it was actually minor because no one else noticed, or maybe he just spent too much time admiring your pretty smile. Either way, he knew he didn’t like it.

“Spence” You said the nickname, a hint of curiosity lacing your tone. his head lifted towards yours with furrowed eyebrows and a small nod of acknowledgement. He repeated your name back to you in the same sort of curious tone.

He watched as you sat up a little bit straighter, meeting his eyes, offering him a smile before you head dipped down again and a gentle breath left your lips. “Do you think I’m unprofessional?” You asked, voice small and gentle and Spencer felt his heart ache so tensely it caused physical pain in his chest.

“No” He answered immediately. The rest of the team were out looking over the crime scenes while he opted for staying back with you while you looked for any connecting links between files. “I think you are very professional. You’re kind but that doesn’t make you unprofessional.” He added, quick to reassure any doubt that weighed down on your pretty mind.

You hummed gently, “But-“ He didn’t let you finish or come up with any sort of argument, he wouldn’t have it. He refused to let man who was balding make you feel any less about yourself.

“But nothing.” He said, his voice stern and final yet so gentle. “He was mean and sexist, if anyone is unprofessional it’s him. You are amazing at what you do, you are smart and kind and everyone who meets you loves you. You’re safe, for everyone. Victims especially. Not everyone has that about them” He said.

It was true, when working cases victims gravitated towards you and your comfort and kindness, if there was someone to trust it was you. Kids and witnesses were always more inclined to talk to you than anyone else on the team because there was something so sweet and welcoming and safe about you.

“You do” You said, tilting your head a little as you looked up at Spencer. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion as to what you meant, but his heart skipped a beat anyways.

“You have that something safe about you.” You said, noticing the confusion that covered his features. His heart warmed and ached all at once. Spencer was glad, so so so glad that you found him safe, that he was able to make you feel that way — Honestly he was happy he had any effect on you whatsoever.

“You think so?” He asked, voice a little quieter as he held your gaze. He was scared that if he spoke any louder he may break the fragile moment. You nodded, a small smile on your face, a real smile.

“Mhm, I think thats why I got so comfortable with you so quickly. You’re so.. safe, and smart i think i trust anything you say so please don’t lie to me because that would end really badly for me, and probably give me trust issues and then i will never trust anyone again — and well thats just not good” You rambled out dramatically. Spencer’s smile widened for a series of reasons.

“I would never lie to you.” He said gently, voice carrying a hint of something more, honesty and truth and so much longing it was almost embarrassing, he hoped you missed the way his voice went up an octave.

“Okay good.” You smiled.

Your gaze lingered on Spencer’s for a moment before you turned your head away. He felt like the room had gotten too warm, he had to refrain from the urge to loosen his tie and rub the sweat away from his forehead.

“Did you like the book?” You asked, fingertips grazing over the folder of the case file you were supposed to be reading. Spencer’s eyes followed the movement of your hand before returning to the side of your face.

He nodded, mind going back to the words highlighted in blue and suddenly the room really was too warm, he could feel his palms growing disgustingly sweaty. “I loved it, actually.” Much less because of the context of the story and moreso because you had gifted it to him.

You shook your head as you lifted it to look at him, a smile playing on your lips. He was glad that was back, the sweet genuine smile on your face that could probably drown out any bad day.

“Im gonna be honest, I hate annotating books. I think pages should be left undrawn on, and crisp and beautiful but you like annotating books so i figured.. Um.. That it was a good way to tell you how I felt” You mumbled out, and Spencer was both insanely fond of you going out of your way to do something you disliked for him, and also immensely confused by what you meant.

“How you felt?” He furrowed his eyebrows and he watched as your face went through series of expressions before your eyes widened and your lips parted.

“Oh!” You huffed out, realising he had not understood what you were trying to do and you were now giving yourself away massively. “Oh thats— Really embarrassing actually.” You said as you smiled anyways, bringing your hands up to press against your flush cheeks to try and sooth the warmth.

His eyebrows pinched together as he sat up a little straighter, “No- What? What do you mean?” He asked, he found it sweet what you had highlighted and he didn’t see at all how that was embarrassing, or something he should be making a big deal out of.

You huffed out a laugh, “You’re smart Spencer, and a profiler. Im sure you can figure it out.” You said sweetly before pushing your chair out from the table, standing up. He wanted to reach out but he was stuck trying to figure out what the heck you meant.

“Im going to go get coffee.. Do you want some?” You asked, obviously relishing in his current confusion and obliviousness in order to get yourself out of this all too embarrassing situation if it ended in some sort of rejection you were buying yourself time.

“Um- What? No, No thank you” He answered confused, obviously his mind fixated on what you meant, on what he was missing and trying to figure it out.

You let out a laugh, “You’re sweet.” Before you left the room to get yourself coffee. Spencer’s cheeks warmed instantly at your compliment and if you had stayed longer he might’ve built the courage to argue how insanely ironic it was coming from you.

Instead, he sat confused. His mind going over the two lines highlighted in blue in the book you had gifted him, trying to understand how they referenced how you felt. He made you smile, that was good, he understood that.

But you always smiled. It didn’t take a lot to make you smile so how was that the big confession? Was there some context he was missing. Then he remembered the part of the story the line came from, a love confession. The context of the sentences used.

And suddenly he realised despite his iq, and being a literal genius, he was the biggest idiot on earth.

[chastiefoul]

valentines gone wrong ft. childe, scara, and neuvilette

a/n: yes. you read that right valentines work on september!! this is just something random i wanna write one day when i'm lying down and ofc i can't wait until february next year (also how is it alr almost 2 months since i posted something???) tags: just fluff, light-read, and everything in-between, modern au (?) just don't think too much abt it hehe - summary: it's valentines and of course you have plans to give sweets to your lover. however because one thing and another, you had to entrust it to someone else in hope it will be handed safely to them. what happened when it didn't?

childe

you went home excited, anticipating his reaction to your handmade sweets, however what greets you at the door was a sulky childe, who avoided eye contact as if his life depended on it as he limits himself to a a sentence everytime you ask him something.

“something happened today, babe?” you asked him worriedly, the chocolate was the back of your mind seeing the state of your boyfriend in. “oh something definitely should have happened,” he quipped, his lower mouth sticking out slightly. “that sounds like a dig at me, did i forgot something?” you asked as you follow his gaze to what he thought must be the most interesting flower vase ever. he shrugged, refusing to give you more.

frustrated by his rejection to tell you what’s wrong, you held his face with both of your palm, turning his face to yours. although the move met no resistance, childe still refused to look at you in the eyes and only now his childish grumbles turned into such a sad expression.

“baby? please tell me what i did,” you were gentle with it, rubbing your thumb below his eyes. “...late.”

“what?”

“chocolate. where’s mine? i saw you gave your friends one so i don’t think im crazy to expect one too, especially as your boyfriend.” he pouted and you swore it looked so adorable and so out-of-character of him that you wanted to kiss him—wait.

“huh? but i did give you one!” you claimed, confusion rose inside you. “huh? but i didn’t get it...” childe’s face matched your expression. “well technically i gave it to scara to give it to you.. did he not... give it to you?”

“i wouldn’t be this insufferable if i got one, you know that, but no he didn’t say anything—and also really babe? scara? the guy who hates and made fun of me every chance he got?” he crossed his arm, raising an eyebrow, as he questioned your questionable decision-making. “hey give me a break, i was in a rush there thinking i couldn’t give you the chocolate in time. and he made me say please three times before he said he would consider doing it-oh i see how i was wrong there.” your line of ramble humbled you, the silence was loud.

“maybe he just put it in your bag or something?” you offered. “you really think he’s someone who’d do that?” he asked. “in desperate times i’d give even scara the benefit of the doubt,” you stated, opening childe’s bag. and there it was, put nicely at the very top, your chocolate for your lover.

you smiled, for all the shit-talk scara gave everyone on a daily basis you knew you could count on him. “see? i knew he’s actually a big softie for stuff like this.”

childe practically runs to your side. “my chocolate? aw babe so you really didn’t forget me!” he peppered kisses all over your face, then clasping the sweet to his chest like it’s a new-born baby. “of course i’d never. but maybe next year i’ll just give it directly to you.”

“yeah? please do, today’s event just wasn’t great for my heart.”

neuvilette

“welcome home, dear.” you greeted him cheerily as he just arrived home. it was quite late, and you had entrust the chocolate you were supposed to give to him at a reasonable hour so he could enjoy it instead of giving it to him at home.

he kissed your temple in return, a smile you’re still head over heels for on his lips. but it doesnt quite reach his eyes. 

“what’s wrong?” you asked carefully. “nothing is wrong,” he replied, somehow looking nervous. “yet it’s strange for you to be looking so fidgety. tell me?”

“well,” he paused a little, stroking your hair as he pondered the best way to approach the sentence he’s about to say. “i saw you today giving chocolates to navia and wriothesley.. i couldn’t talk to you because i was in a rush to deal with an urgent case,” he said, not looking at you on the eyes. “oh, did that bother you? it’s just they’re such good friends of mine and it’s only friendship cookies-“

“no, dear of course not. i know you’re a loving person who always appreciate those around you, it’s just..”

“just?”

neuvilette looked like he didn’t hear the rest of the words after that you did make some for the white-haired male. a smile bloomed on his face as he shook his head. “no problem i will ask them about it tomorrow. i’m just delighted you kept me in your thoughts.” a gentle expression was loyal on his features. “well of course neuvillete, you hardly ever leave my thoughts, don’t you know?” he chuckled. “i’m familiar with that you see, considering you never leave mine as well.”

the next sentence was almost audible as he spoke. “do i not get one..?” he asked ever so softly sounding a little sad, his calloused hand ran across your arm, tracing along your vein as it touched your fingers and you're sure there's something wrong in your head because all you could think about that second was how adorable the usual charismatic man was being. yet you held your smile.

“of course you do! did it not reach you? i asked the guard in front of your door because i afraid i’d bother you at work hours. sorry neuvilette, i promised i made some for you, and i was so proud of it too...”

scara

“no i’m not.” he said, with the worst frown you’ve seen on him for a while and that’s saying a lot.

“you’re definitely sulking,” you said. “shut up,” he grumbled. “hey i was supposed to be one who’s doing the sulking. we’re nearing the end of the day and you haven’t even mentioned about the chocolate i gave you today!” you retorted out of frustration but most of all confusion because you had no idea what made your lover fall into such a bad mood.

“what.”

“what?”

“say that again,” scara said, “that i gave you chocolate?” you asked. “no you didn’t, you liar!” he complained, his frown deepened if that’s even possible. “wait what? i swear i asked childe to give it to you earlier today! i was ambushed by customers today at the shop so i was scared i couldn’t give it to you on time so i asked him. did it not get to you?” you explained.

“i came home empty-handed didn’t i? also really, that dense fool?” his displeasure was obvious upon the new information you couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “don’t look so disgusted, he’s not that bad.”

“sure, although you know what’s bad? that i don’t have my chocolates right now.” he crossed his arm, fuming almost looking like a child who got their toys taken. “alright enough of your pouting. we’ll interogate him later. for now, i seem to have leftover ingredients, i’ll make you a new one.” you approached him, combing through the back of his hair as you planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. he replied by pulling you closer as he nuzzled into your neck. “it better be good,” he mumbled.

at the end you didn’t even make it to 5 minutes before scara followed you to the kitchen, insisting that he made it together too because he was ‘watching over you so you don’t mess up’ but personally i think he just felt bad because you need to make a new one and wanted to help you any way he can. that’s something he’d never admit even if there’s a gun pointing at his head, though.

[kittykattropicanna]

it's 2 am and i should sleep but i just read your prison penpal!ghost now it's rotting my brain!!!! ><

reader would so try to send him gifts if they're allowed. special holidays aren't miserable for him anymore as he would be accompanied by reader's sweet little presents!!!

Sleeps for the weak baby, sleep when you’re dead ;)

Of course you're going to look after your man, he does so much for you, the least you can do is send him some money to treat himself!!! maybe a gift or two you dirty girl :3

I know I promised to upload this last night after work but I was sleepy. IM SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME

TW: edging, Si fucks himself with your dirty panties, smut, masterbation (Reader and Simon) its just fucking disgusting and dirty, but also kinda sweet <3

PrisonPenPal!Simon masterlist

Regular masterlist

Absolutely, holy shit. After your first phone call, you’re his, he makes that so unbelievably clear through his next letters. :)))

Telling you how much he craves you, how you’re the only thing on his mind, describing in intimate detail how his gonna touch you, kiss you, fuck you :((((

His so fucking desperate for you, to the point he actually gets enraged knowing he can’t touch you. Just the thought of you being on the other side of the wall makes his skin crawl, you’re right there, only thick cement dividing him from you :(( 

Its even worse knowing that he can’t do anything about it >:(

Si’s a problem solver, he prides himself on being able to weasel his way out of practically any situation without a problem, if that’s  reducing his sentence down to basically nothing or getting away with his little late night phone calls with you. He always finds a way to make it work, but for the first time ever, he can’t fix this, his stuck here. No exceptions, no sweet talking to get what he wants, no amount of calculated manipulation could get him out of this situation, and it makes him go absolutely mad. 

At this point he has a year left of his sentence, his so fucking close to being let back into society, so close to finally being with you :(((

Letting his emotions (and dick) cloud his judgment, driving him to think about making stupid decisions such as an attempted jail break would be absolutely the worst idea of his entire life.

Ohhhhh, but its so tempting :(

But it would just put more time between you and him, as much as he wanted you now, he knew it was only going to rip him away from you again in the long run :/

And that’s if his even successful, one night with you would mean the world to him, but it wasn't worth being thrown back in jail, only separating the two of you for longer :(

He just needed to sit tight, let the days roll on and try not to think about your soft moans through the shitty speaker of the prison phone. :(((

He absolutely asked you to be official after speaking to you for the first time. It drives him crazy knowing when guys try and hit on you at the bar, you smile brightly and tell them that you're his, his to keep. 

One of the guards asked him what’s the first thing his going to do when he gets out, with a dopey smile he chuckles a little

“See ma’ missus mate” his so fucking cute, his actually so obsessed with you, so proud that you’re his ;))))

Of course the other inmates wouldn’t know, and technically he most definitely shouldn’t of told a guard, news spreads, but he couldn’t help it, it slipped out, and you know what, he was fucking proud of it :)))

You 100% would send him money and gifts, Si makes a little money, about £35 a week either cleaning, laundry duties, basic maintenance, basically anything the job program can offer him. 

The only issue being when he first signed up, he made sure that all his money was payed into Price’s bank account. He didn’t want to risk using it, the whole reason he started the work program was because he wanted to try and set himself up once he got out, at least have some type of savings waiting for him on the other side. Every now and then he regrets it, but he knows its for the best :/

Learning that Si was so strict with his money that he didn’t treat himself to anything didn’t sit well with you….and its not like you’re struggling financially, you work a good job and your daddy is always willing to send money if you ever needed it!!!!

A hundred odd pounds a month isn’t going to leave any sort of dint in your bank account, so of course your going to send Si some money to treat himself!!! You’re such a sweet, sweet girl :(((, his sweet, sweet girl. 

You start sending the maximum amount each month which comes out to about £150, its the least you can do!! His your boyfriend! he might be a felon, a little perverted and rough around the edges, but to you, his perfect :)))

His so grateful as well :(( treating himself to snacks :((( chocolate bars, skittles and gummy’s, buying himself a book or two, replacing his flat, stained pillow and ratted blankets, getting himself some actually nice soap and a new toothbrush, buying clothes that actually fit him!! 

His muscles have grown so much since being locked up :3 there’s nothing else to do besides lift weights, work and sit around :((((

“Sweetheart, I want ya’ to know, the second I get out of here, imma treat you real nice, give ya’ everything I can, look after ya’, protect ya’”

and

“The minute I get ya’ home, its all about you, yeah? Imma lay ya’ down and eat ya’ like a starved man, overstimulate that little cunt till ya’ beggin’ me to stop, fuck ya’ so deep and hard that you’ll forget ya’ fuckin’ name, whatever ya’ want darlin’ its all yours, been lookin’ after me so well….. imma show ya’ how much I appreciate it, as ya’ can probably tell, i’m more a man of action, poetry an’t ma style baby ;)”

Definitely learns origami from other inmates, makes little paper swans and hearts for you, the paper always being a little stained from his dirty fingers, obvious crease marks showing his folded it the wrong way and had to reattempt :))))

God he knows how to treat a women :33333

But what I really want to get into are the gifts you send him…..;)

As I established in my last fics about you sending things to Si, you absolutely send him innocent gifts. 

Photos, one of your favourite gold necklaces, an oversized tee that smells like your perfume…. Cute little personal things so he can have a piece of you, nothing crazy :3

I feel like you were reading a spicy romance book. It mentioned the main character stealing his lovers used panties out of her dirty laundry basket, very quickly and idea clicked in your brain :((((

You wanted it to be a surprise for him :(((( you didn’t mention it to him in your letters, only telling him your working on a little something that’s crafted just for him ;))

Waking up in the morning you make sure to fuck yourself with your fingers :(( 

Covering your panties with your juices, making sure their absolutely soaked in your cum :((

Rubbing your thighs together while you’re at work, soaking through your panties with your arousal :((( thinking about Si eating your pussy just like he promised while in important meetings, loosing focus…. your boss pulling you aside and asking if you’re okay :(( 

Scrambling to find an answer to explain your distracted behaviour and flushed cheeks >:(

He ends up sending you home because you’re distracting everyone with your aloofness :(( putting the rest of your team behind because you're a selfish girl with a dirty mind >:( can’t even focus in your workplace because Si’s dirty words have taken over every aspect of your thoughts >:(

At the end of the day your panties are ruined with your slick, soaked  all the way through and smelling of your orgasm just like you planned ;))

And when Si received your thong obviously used??? :000000 he let out a low grunt....

Just the idea that you did this for him, fully confirming in his mind that you wanted him, craved him just as much as he craved you made something animalistic set off in his mind….

Because he received your package in the middle of the day, he couldn’t hide and tend to himself like normal >:((((((

He needed you now, he needed to fuck his cock NOW, not wait till his cell mates were asleep, his heavy balls ached and he knew if he didn’t relieve himself soon, his blue balls would become unbearable >:(((( aching and hurting with each step, uncomfortable and frustrated :(

Purposely being a dick and coursing havoc with his inmates so he can be locked up for his disruptive and disrespectful behaviour ;)))))

A shit eating grin when his in handcuffs being walked to his cell, knowing your panties are tucked into his boxers ;))))) his won yet again ;)

Like I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again, he ALWAYS gets what he wants :)))

The second his cell locks his ripping his hard, leaky cock out and wrapping your used panties around himself :((((

Pumping his fat dick, the friction of the fabric making it that much more satisfying :((((

Closing his eyes and imagining you walking around all day, turned on and flustered for him >:((((( the idea of you restricting yourself from fucking other men because you're his, knowing all you want is to be filled with dick, have the feeling of a real cock fucking you, not your cold, rubber dildo >:(

His precum mixing with your juices only turns him on more, knowing that this is the closest he’ll get to fucking your cunt for now :(( 

As his big hands slowly pump his dick, wanting to savour the moment, he lets out animalistic grunts, slowly speeding up and then slowing his pace, he edges himself almost whimpering when he refrains from his release yet again :(((

Something about holding back satisfies him, his training himself for you, getting ready for when he fucks you for the first time, wanting to hold out long enough that he can rip orgasm after orgasm out of you, forming a white rim of your cum around the base of his cock :(((

Grunted whispers of your name falling from his lips as he tries to hold back yet again, legs twitching and face getting hot as uncontrollable ropes of cum finally release from his vainy cock :(((

His never cum that much in his life, your panties damp with his semen, dick so sensitive that even the feeling of the fabric from his boxes makes him flinch >:(((

You’re such a good girl, always knowing how to please him, feels like you know him inside and out already ;)

You just wait until he gets his hands on you sweet girl ;))) 

Y'all are so fucking obsessed with each other I CAN'T

PrisonPenPal!Simon is open for requests so feel free to send them throughhhhh, add to the AU, ask me expand on certain topics, whatever floats your boat >:)

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[sukirichi]

SUKI SUKI? @! ÷ 2? I THINK YOU HAVE CLOSED THE REQS BUT IT OCCURRED TO ME TO ME MAGICALLY HELP. LISTEN !!!! husband bonten but the first time they met with y/n, like THE FIRST INTERACTION OF EVERYONE AND IN WHAT SITUATION DID THEY HAVE AN INSTANT CRUSH TO EACH OTHER AND EVERYTHING THAT CONTAINS?×)÷,×!",!)0273*?× ¡÷ 2 I PRAY YOU TO WRITE IT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT IS IN 10 YEARS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYINH

BONTEN MEN MEETING THEIR WIVES FOR THE FIRST TIME !! (PART ONE)

☁️ mikey, haitani ran, haitani rindou

☁️ unedited. mild angst on mikey's part. ran is technically not a first meeting, but yeah! suggestive on ran's part. fluff. cursing. mikey is lowkey a stalker. (only putting the three of them first because it was getting too long 😭)

♡ — MIKEY

It’s just another day, another mission. There’s nothing new for Mikey. And even if there was, there’s hardly anything he looks forward to now. Whether it’s a mission accomplished or mission failed, he hardly notices. His executives will take care of it, anyway. So he walks aimlessly in the streets he calls his, unafraid of the night’s darkness and the dangers it might bring – quite frankly, because he is the danger that lurks. What is there to be afraid of when he’s the worst imaginable nightmare around?

So lost in his own thoughts, it takes him a second to register the collision of his body with someone else. “I’m sorry!” a sweet voice cuts through the night air. You sound adorable and apologetic enough Mikey’s eyes light up for just a brief moment. Dark, lifeless eyes come to life as he glances at you – bowing in apology while clutching your satchel to your chest. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

At any other day, Sanzu would’ve handled this for him. At any other day, Mikey would’ve let it slide and moved on because he just doesn’t care. You’re a civilian, anyway, and you knew better. No one bumps into him like this by accident. Curious, he tilts his gaze to you. There’s only one good conclusion of your unabashed expression that of guilt and genuine embarrassment – you must not have any idea who he is and treated him like you would anyone else.

He’s not the fearsome Manjiro Sano to you.

He’s just a stranger you inconvenienced, and for some reason, that soothes him. He’s not a killer in your eyes. He’s not a person who’s continuously done the wrong thing for the past few years. He’s just... him.

“It’s okay,” he replies after a moment, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s late, though. You shouldn’t be out around this time of night. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, I know,” you scrunch up your nose, “Gangs are running rampant and all. But this is the only time I can take a high-paying shift, and what’s the point of safety if I can’t pay my bills, right?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He hasn’t worried about bills in a long time – Kokonoi has that covered. Instead, he nods, finding it hard to look away from you. “Stay safe, then. And if you need help, then...” Then, what? The gangs would help? Bonten would keep you safe? No, that was ridiculous. Bonten was the one thing everyone wanted to be protected from.

It hits him, then, that he is the monster that makes everyone feel unsafe. And for once in his life since he’d established Bonten, Mikey feels sick.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your worries.

— It doesn’t take much to find out everything about you – where you work, where you live, when your shifts happen, and even silly details like what your favourite flavour or cup ramen is. He tells himself he’s doing this for your safety, and in a way, he is. You weren’t kidding when you said you take graveyard shifts because it pays the best, so upon finding out you come home really late, and go to work just as, Mikey takes it upon himself to watch from afar. Never approaching, never striking a conversation – because he doesn’t know what to say, and how could he explain he knows your routine by now – but always watching. Guarding. Protecting. He must look ominous gazing upon you from buildings afar, but he’s content with it. He thinks he can do this for as long as he likes, simply watching you from afar.

— But then he realizes he wants more.

— And he doesn’t know what ‘more’ means exactly. More time with you? You don’t even know who he is. More conversations? He’d probably stumble over his words, or make the worst jokes. Fuck. He hasn’t joked in a while. Would you even find him funny? He thinks about all day long, all night long, until you’re the only one running into his mind and he’s been so mentally checked out of his own meetings that his executives have – politely – asked him to just take a while for himself.

— So he does, and because he was never good at controlling his urges, he goes to you. He dresses a little nicer than usual; a newly ironed shirt, a good pair of jeans, and even asked Rindou to fix his hair up for him. “Going on a date?” he’d teased, but even Mikey doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s not a date, but he’d be damned if he let another day go by that you didn’t know his name.

— He introduced himself, rather awkwardly, and pretends like he didn’t come to your work on purpose. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, and it couldn’t be a bigger lie. But you just smile up at him like you’re happy to see him, like you’ve been hoping to meet again, and for a moment, Mikey lets himself believe that it could be true. Maybe he deserves that smile. Maybe someone actually wants to see him. He lingers on that delusion long enough that he’s matched his routine with yours – walking you back home, letting you talk about how much you hate your boss, and hate your sleazy customers even more. It’s not easy being a waitress, especially when you’re forced to wear tight-fitting clothes with the intention of attracting customers. And it gets to him. The darkness and rage he’s been letting quietly simmer beneath his veins as to not scare you off finally resurfaces.

— He hates it all – hates how you’re in such an unfortunate situation, and there’s only so little he could do. Until he realizes he’s the Manjiro Sano. After sending in Sanzu to deal with your boss, who may or may not have been gently blackmailed into treating you better and giving you higher pay or else, Mikey notices the weight being lifted off your shoulder. You’ve started smiling more and even invite him to your place one time to celebrate your ‘fortunes.’

“Are you sure?” he asks rather warily, “I mean, it’s late at night.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you reassure him, and lead him inside your home. He almost feels bad for you for being so unaware. You don’t have the slightest idea you’re bringing a killer in the safety of your home, but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it when you turn on the lights. He’s greeted by your homey apartment, a little cluttered, a little messy, and it’s a little small for you that he can’t imagine would be comfortable – but it’s yours, and you’re proud of it. Pulling out a mat, you tell him to make himself at home while you prepare some celebratory snacks. They’re nothing fancy – mostly chips, cheap wine, and a few hardened candies.

It’s probably the worst timing to realize he’s falling in love.

First of all, there’s nothing romantic about watching you lean against the counter, humming to yourself as you pop open the wine. Second of all, you don’t look enticing or seductive. Not in your mismatched pyjamas and even more hilariously mismatched socks. But you are enticing – from the way your throat vibrates at your humming, to your quick, swift movements preparing the snacks. You look so at home, so content, that he can’t help but want that for himself. Want you for himself. He wants you at his place and to decorate it as you wish. He wants you to liven it up and scatter knick-knacks all over his room. He wants your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. He wants you – wants all of you – from your crumpled shirt, to your aching shoulders after a long day at work, wants to kiss it all better for you.

He wants you.

And when the Bonten Head wants something, he will get it.

— If someone told him that a few years from now that his silly musings at three in the morning would finally come true, he’d have scoffed at them. But this is his reality is now, and how he’ll spend the rest of his life.

You’re standing next to him in his bathroom, brushing your teeth while simultaneously humming to yourself. He’s heard the melody enough to have memorized it. And when he’s having a hard day, he sings it to himself, although it never sounds as good like when you do it. The tune is comforting, a reminder you’re in his life now, that everything’s worked out. You married him, and he couldn’t be a happier man.

“Something wrong, Manjiro?” you ask after rinsing your mouth, turning to him with a hand on your hips. Stern, yet unbelievably gentle. Cupping his cheeks with your hands, he melts. “Tell me. How can I make it better?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, and it’s the truth. The moment is all too perfect. You’re here with him, you’re safe, and you’ve loved him after everything he’s done. “Just wanna hold you.”

You break him to it. Lunging into his arms, you giggle and bury yourself around his neck, knowing full well he’ll catch you. Mikey laughs, too, but it’s quieter, more reserved, the sound nearly muted because your skin is pressing against his so hard that it becomes hard to fathom there was ever a time he felt he wasn’t worth of love. And maybe he still isn’t. He still has Bonten, he still has horrible urges, he still gets the demanding itch to kill and hurt – but you’re there, in his arms, and he feels the darkness slowly simmer into tamed shadows.

♡ — HAITANI RAN

Ran is not subtle with his feelings. He believes in the beauty and art of flirting, of holding one’s gazes for just a second longer than what was considered polite, the fleeting, yet burning touches one could pass off as innocent. He’s had enough experience in his life to have mastered it. He’s handsome, he’s irresistible, and he knows it. Beauty and charm is a weapon he wasn’t ashamed of wielding, especially not around his current flavour of the month – or more like months, now. He’s played this game of tic tac toe with you, this push and pull, for so long that he feels he’ll lose his mind.

Like everyone else in Bonten, he usually gets what he wants. But you’re different. You’re attracted to him – that much he knows – but you’re the one responsible for all of Bonten’s uniform and suits that your attraction borders just on the edge of professionalism. But he knows. Oh, he knows. You aren’t so subtle yourself.

Each time he comes around for a fitting, your lips twitch as if you’re fighting back a smile. He also doesn’t fail to notice how you’re gesturing around to your staff in the shop to give you two ‘privacy.’ Bonten executive or not, Ran isn’t foolish – he knows he’s the only one receiving this special treatment. Knows you don’t touch your other clients like this – with a perfectly manicured nail grazing down his arm, your eyes lidded with lust, your blood-red lips caught between your teeth.

It makes Ran yearn.

He wants those same claws to run down scratches behind his back. He wants to take those lips into his mouth, instead, to have you ruin his suits by staining it with your lipstick on his collar, his neck, his tie, his pants. It’d give him more of a reason to come back, anyway. But you just had to be so professional that he always leaves the shop with his pants feeling tighter than ever, his lungs constricted because it becomes hard to breathe around you, yet feeling so addicted to the high of having you so close, yet so far away.

“You should come back for another fitting,” you call out to him just as he swings the door open. He freezes. He’s always the one scheduling a fitting. Unable to help it, he shuts the door and locks it, smirking to himself when he hears the vague hitching of your breath behind the counter.

“And why is that?”

“Oh, you know,” you manage to tease, but ah. He can see right through you. Even with your nonchalant facade, he can tell he’s getting under your veins with every step he takes to close the distance between you. Damn the counter. Damn any customers who might be waiting outside. For now, there’s only him and you, and he thinks he may damn well truly ruin his pants when you look up at him with eyes blown wide with want. With need.

He wishes you could just let go and give in.

“I, in fact, don’t know. But do care to enlighten me,” leaning down, he rests his arms against the counter, glad to finally be at your eye level. You’re prettier in this angle, which baffles him, because you’re already so pretty enough it hurts. And he can’t help but wonder if you’d look a hundred times better in... different angles. An angle under him, perhaps, where you’re helpless and forced to clutch his biceps while you hold on for dear life. Because Ran guarantees once he gets his hands on you, he’s never letting go.

“I just think,” with narrowed eyes, he feels your heated gaze travel from his face that’s inches away from yours down to his chest, and to the bulge constricted around his pants. You let out a breathy sound at the sight of it, his body responding by growing even harder. “Your pants are too tight for you now. Perhaps we should make you a better one?”

“I have other ways in mind in which we could resolve this problem. Preferably one that doesn’t consist of measuring tapes,” he raises his brow, watches as you slowly unfold and unravel right at his palms. It’s almost satisfying. Almost. He’s wanted you for so long that frustration is more what he feels right now, and impatience. “Although I’m not entirely against using ropes.”

♡ — HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou doesn’t concern himself with civilians. He has better things to do, and after a long day, he’s more than ready to just plop himself into bed and wake up only when the world is ending. Or, he could just let it end, too. He couldn’t care any less. Unfortunately for him, though, the universe has different plans for him that night. He just wanted to get a damned drink, for fuck’s sake, until he hears screaming and the shuffling of feet as soon as he steps out of the convenience store.

“Stop him!” someone squeals, the cry helpless and desperate. From where he stood, wine bottle on one hand, he could see the figure of a man running with what seemed like a bag clutched to his chest. “Someone help, please!”

Rindou sighs. There’s nothing more that he hates more than petty crimes that are more inconveniences than impactful. Before he could register what he’s doing, Rindou’s arm extended out in front of himself, and within the blink of an eye, the thief whizzing past him had been caught by the collar. The thief struggles against his hold, whining and thrashing with curses thrown his way.

“Let me fucking go, you oaf!”

“I don’t think so,” Rindou tips his head to the side just as a figure appeared behind the thief. You stand there, wheezing to catch your breath with your hands on your knees. At the sight of him effortlessly restraining the thief, you break out into a relieved sigh and snatch back your bag, holding it more possessively. And oh, aren’t you just pretty? With your skin layered with a sheen of sweat from all that running, cheeks damp with tears, your frown now replaced with a grateful smile – Rindou feels like you’re the thief. “Whoa. Careful with that smile, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrow, and he nearly groans. It should be a crime for someone to look so adorably confused. “What?”

“Okay, that’s enough, they got their bag back, now let me go!”

Right. He still had a lame excuse of a criminal on his hand. With a roll of his eyes, Rindou throws the man against to the ground until he’s coughing out blood from when he hit the pavement. He hears you gasp, and it makes him wince. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. You’re probably afraid of him now.

“Run along,” he warns the petty thief, and he didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the man disappears, Rindou turns to you, a lazy smile making its way into his face. “You know, I usually hate being troubled, but this might be the first time I don’t mind as much.”

Your jaw drops. You look around frantically in your bag for a moment, and just when he thinks you can’t get anymore interesting, you pull out a wad of cash and shove it to him. Rindou cocks a brow. “And what is that for, sweetheart?”

“To-to thank you for saving me! And it’s also an apology because I troubled you...”

Rindou fights the urge to scoff. “I feel like I should be offended,” he says in a sing-song manner, only because you don’t take the teasing well, and the sight of you stumbling over your words is already making his night. He wants to reassure you it’s no trouble at all, that he’ll easily catch all your thieves for you, or that you can steal his heart and never give it back to him. But he doesn’t, because he’s just met you, and maybe, just maybe, he’s curious how this will go.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Say, if you really want to thank me, why don’t we share this?” he lifts his wine bottle, and you eye it for a moment before nodding eagerly. His heart drops. He lowers the bottle, his voice growing darker – yet make no mistake. Behind his scowl and hardened eyes, his heart is beating a mile a minute, and his skin is burning impossibly hot. “Don’t you think you say yes a little too easily?”

“Uhm, but you saved me. You helped me, and this is how you want to be thanked.”

Rindou thinks his brain might short-circuit. You are definitely trouble.

“I could be more dangerous than him, you know,” he leans toward you menacingly to prove a point, but you don’t cower. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your bag tighter. But you don’t move away, and neither can he. Now that he’s closer, he can smell your strawberry scented perfume and he shuts his eyes, greedily inhaling the scent. Shit. He hasn’t even drunk anything, and he already feels intoxicated. Taking a step back for his own sanity, Rindou levels you a warning glare. “You really should be more careful, sweet. Perhaps it’ll lower the chances of you running into trouble.”

“Oh,” you look dejected, though he could just be imagining it. “Yeah, okay, uh... I’ll be more careful. Thank you again...?”

“Rindou.”

“Rindou,” you repeat, and he realizes his name sounds sweeter when you say. With a scrunch of your nose, you eye the wine in his hands again. “Will I see you again? I really want to thank you for your help.”

With such a sweet offer, how can he resist? He’d be stupid to say no – even if you were trouble, it’s fine. He wasn’t notorious for being a troublemaker for no reason anyway.

[whityoungplushie]

hello fellow aliens. I AM HERE TO DISCUSS SOMETHING ONCE AGAIN!! this time, instead of discussing xandvid. IM GOING TO TALK ABOUT CHARWHIT!!

(once again this could be spoilers for the new drdt episode, aka chapter 2 episode 12)

in the newest episode, i noticed something, that every single time charles would talk, whit would finish his sentence, this goes both ways. (whit saying something and charles finishes the sentence.) its also kind of weird that whit knows charles doesnt have a alibi, but this could just be a coincidence, we will never really know. BUT WHAT WE DO KNOW IS THAT CHARLES AND WHIT HAVE GOTTEN WAYYYY MORE CLOSER THAN AT THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME. WE CAN ALSO TELL THAT CHARLES IS TRYING TO BE MORE KIND TOWARDS WHIT. like for example, in chapter 2 episode 2, whit says "Oh, right. I did say he was my "friend" during that trial, didn't I. To be honest... That was a total lie! I only said that to make everyone believe my case! But I guess he took it to heart, or thinks he owes me, or something, because he's been weirdly nice as of late." blah blah blah whit goes on to say hes changed his mind, and that they are friends.

and yes, i know. THIS COULD ALL MEAN NOTHING. but JUST THE FACT THAT CHARLES BECOME KINDER TOWARDS WHIT EVER SINCE THE TRIAL IS JUST. JUST SO SWEET I GUESS YOUD SAY??

so technically, what im trying to say is charwhit, no matter if you ship them romantically or platonically. THEY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER!!! in my opinion that is, and it's okay if you dont ship then at all, because at the end of the day everones opinions should be respected!

once again, thank you for reading all this. whats your opinion on the new episode?? id like to know! any theorys you guys want me to address?(if any of this information is wrong or something spelt wrong, please tell me so i can correct it! THANK YOU!!!)

[yourlegacysnotyourstosee]

Late ahh dnp 2024 predictions:

- Valentines Day Heartthrob episode (they love this game so much) with another twist of some kind is the first dapg video of 2024

❌ first video back on the gaming channel is “will you press the button?”

- WDAPTEO 2023 comes out on very last day of January

❌ technically I predicted wdapteo but it wasn’t put out on January 31st

- Playing the next chapter of poppy playtime during spooky week

❌ they played it in February

- Sims episode of Spooky Week following Daliens emo ass

- Bob and Eliza die of old age, Dil befriends the Grim Reaper when he comes to collect their souls

- Dan and Phil Crafts revival video is taken down no more than 24 hours after it’s posted

✅❌1/2 points. Dnpcrafts video did not get deleted, but it was posted

- Dan makes it his mission to do the worst spon breaks ever/sabotage Phil, whose actually trying (like NordVPN)

✅ counting this as a successful prediction after Dans NordVPN fanfiction moment

- Heart Eyes Howell mention

- Phil wears an Extremely Expensive Shirt and everyone freaks out when those blogs that find people’s clothes post the price

- More crazy conspiracies about a wedding/child/pet/honeymoon

✅ these Phagenda theories are getting out of hand guys…

- Phil goes to the ER at least once

✅Good Lord I didn’t think it would be that bad…

- Dab and Evan make a science baby because Phil wants to know how it works

- They both get Hotter

✅BLONDE PHIL IS DOING THINGS TO ME IM SORRY

- They finally rid the Howlters of Drago, only for the game to crash and the progress to be lost. They view it as a sign that Drago cannot be removed from the household or terrible things will happen

- Alluding to a popular Phanfic that they Shouldn’t Know About

✅ok I know they’ve referenced some before now but the visceral reaction I had to Phil saying “lets not mention any sunburn or hamsters.” Made me qualify it here

- They continue to talk about cursed Lore and make fun of old conspiracy theories that get gradually more niche

✅ yeah that’s happening

- One of Daliens high school friends is abducted while they’re hanging out at the Howlter residence

- DITL of Dan and Phil at Pride

❌wishful thinking tbh

- Some kind of house tour that shows little to none of the actual house

❌dnpcrafts came close…

- Less frequent posting on the gaming channel

[descendantsramblings]

Im glad you enjoy all the Morgie male fans (idk why we're so many😭 bro is a boy magnet)

And im just dropping a small idea for a part 2 of "In Another Life" where maybe the reader now back in the future meets morgie again who is now like- 22 or 21 years old instead of grown up like the others due to his family having a long life span or a slow growth, maybe his serpentine/snake(?) genes and we get the fluffy ending we deserve

(the requester of the prompt is mean for wanting a sad ending thats why i wanna fix it /hj)

I like the concept of Morgie not aging "properly" due to his magic (and also fell in love with Morgie and his German Prince Boyfriend) so Thank you second anon, I'm absolutely giddy that someone wants a second part to something I made

I Would Be Yours

Find part one here.

Morgie le Fay x Fitzherbert! Reader

Pronouns used: he/him/his

Summary: Who would have thought that the lips that lived in his mind for the last three years would show up in front of him on a rainy Tuesday afternoon?

Warnings: Technically an age gap but its fine because the supernatural element makes it okay (Twilight/tvd/dbda rules around here), Morgie is short for Morgan the way Mal is short for Maleficent propaganda

Word Count:2.3K

(Peder gif because your girl is running out of Morgie ones)

    He wasn’t wrong, the lips of Morgie le Fay had haunted him for the last three and a half years. His dreams were littered with the laughter of the boy he was blessed to hear in the hideout next to him. Or his half lidded adoring eyes that he looked for in the face of every boy who gave him an ounce of attention since he returned. And they did, (Y/n) had grown into his looks in the time between sixteen and nineteen, now at almost twenty he’d gone through his fair share of suitors. None of them felt right though, they couldn’t radiate the feeling of home he was looking for. He’d felt it once before, back when his life was all swords and shields and study hall. But now, as his life has fallen into exam papers, late night red bulls, and coffee shop shifts he’s fallen for the mundane. If the feeling of home was meant to find him, it would come to him in his sense of calm, nothing about the way he used to run around wild was him anymore. He’d grown, if you asked his parents he’d grown beyond his years. He felt like it was simply a side effect of time travel, not that he let himself harp on that much. It would do him no good.  

   Sea Salted Caramel lattes and lavender honey matchas had become his escape from class. There was something in the way the espresso machines buzzed and  the smell of dark roast that came to be relaxing to him. He loved the regulars who babbled to him about their days, the excitable kids who told him too much while their parent ordered. Everything about Briar Roast had become a safe space to him, free of calculus exams and the plaguing what ifs. There was no place to wonder what would’ve happened if he just stayed in the past when he was busy, he liked that. There was no need to dwell, he knew that. And if it wasn’t raining so hard, maybe he wouldn’t be. 

   Storms always brought slow business, no one would be in this part of town other than busied employees who sat in their office jobs or cleaned up around retail stores. Ready to get to their dinner plans or their waiting couches, minds far away from the idea of getting coffee. Tuesdays already brought slow business after nine a.m. and the rain meant the day would bring none. Which he was fine with, poured over a textbook for his “Introductory Law” class that was splayed out on the counter. Exams wouldn’t study for themselves, he should be thankful for the quiet time. And if he could just focus, he would be. The boy sighs, closing the book and grabbing an espresso cup from under the countertop. He just needed some caffeine, it would focus him back in. It always did. He places the tiny cup under the machine, pressing a few buttons as the bell above the door rings out. 

    “Welcome to Briar Roast, I’ll be right with you!” The footsteps of whoever came in are soft, shoes barely dragging the tile floors instead of thumping against them. “Right, take your time. Do you have wifi here? I have a work thing to do.” The voice is almost familiar, a ring similar to one that lived somewhere lodged in the back of the Prince’s mind. “Yeah, it’s not password protected, should come right up as ‘Briar Roast Guest’. What can I get for you?” He’s yet to look at the man, eyes focused down on his screen as he starts a new order. “Oh uh, a Rose macchiato with almond milk if you have it.Oat milk is fine otherwise, I just can’t really do dairy. They’ve got you in here alone, huh?” “Yeah, it’s a Tuesday evening though, and you’re the first person to walk in here in the last hour and a half so, I’ll live. Just in case though, can I get a name for the order?” He looks up as he says it, eyes locking with a pair of hazel ones that make his breath catch in his throat. There’s a moment, with locked eyes that neither of them can get a word out, fondness in the baristas while shock sits in the man’s. 

   “Mein Sonnenschein,” it’s whispered on a sigh, his hands gripping the counter beneath him as if the prince would tumble over. “Excuse me?” He has the ghost of a memory on his tongue as he hears the name. Something he’d looked for everywhere when he’d first heard it four decades prior. It took him forever to find the definition, luckily the Isle had nothing but time and few people went to the library, giving him plenty of time to find it. “My Sunshine” it was German. He never thought he’d hear the term of endearment again, let alone from a college kid who bared a striking resemblance to the first person he’d ever heard it from. He watches as the boy’s face twists into one of shocked panic, staggering back from the counter ever so slightly. “Sorry, you just, you look like a guy I knew moons ago. He, well I mean, there’s no way he’d look like you do now. Probably would be old enough to be your father nowadays. And I am,” he looks down, letting out a pathetic laugh, “I am rambling like a madman. Can I get a name for that macchiato?” “Morgan,” the slightly stiff man’s shoulders relax. His own name sounded almost wrong on his lips for the first time in twenty years. “Morgie” almost slipped through them, the only people who still called him that were Hook and his three kids, why would he introduce himself in such a way? His name elicits a quirked brow and a hum from the barista. The boy going to move his own espresso off of the machine and start the man’s drink. 

    The moment, whatever it was, had clearly ended. He saw that, forcing himself away from the counter and over to a booth in the corner. Morgie’s laptop makes its way out of his bag, setting it up on the table in front of him to start a dreadfully boring spreadsheet. Not that he can focus on it, his mind is running through the conversation they’d had moments before. “You look like someone I knew moons ago.” How long is moons to this boy? Perhaps, no, that's silly. There was no way that he could be the prince from his past. But he did say that Morie couldn’t be the man they knew. Something about how he’d be old enough to be his dad. Maybe he did age slowly like he did. What if it was the mysterious hero from his youth? 

    Glass makes a sweet and gentle clank against the wooden table beside his laptop, dragging the man’s focus up to the boy. He’s smiling softly, “Order up.” It’s soft, nearly flirty as he turns away, headed back to the counter. Morgie watches with soft, needy eyes, taking in his every movement. The boy is leaning over the counter, reading something and sipping slowly from his little espresso cup. “Hey,” his voice startles himself, eyes widening over how loud the sound is. It catches the boy’s attention all the same, his eyes flickering up from the textbook before him and over to Morgie. “Is everything okay? Do you need something?” He laughs, shaking his head as if to shake off the question as a whole. “No, I’m fine I just,” Morgie runs a hand through his hair with a nervous laugh, “I was wondering if you wanted to come join me? I mean it’s not like you’re busy and you’re obviously studying or something. Wouldn’t a table be better for that?” 

    A soft smile flickers over his face, hands softly grasping his book and the little mug beside him. It’s a wordless transition from the counter to the seat in front of him, a gentle nod of thanks being the only thing the boy does before he turns back to his work. It’s dreadfully not enough. Morgie fiddles with his fingers, looking at the boy, “So uh, you from this part of Auradon?” He laughs, thumbing over thick pages, “No, I’m actually from Corona. What about you? You don’t seem to have the right accent to be from here.” Corona, that explained why he knew German, they all spoke German there. Morgie chooses his next words extremely carefully. If this boy knew he had spent time on the Isle he was sure he’d go running for the hills. “Oh, I am but I just moved back, spent a while, away. What are you doing out here then?” He laughs, cutting him eyes from his text book, “You’re the inquisitive type, aren’t you? I’m enrolled in Auradon Academy, my parents wanted me to be well educated before I take the throne.” Morgie nods, leaning forward to look at the words in the book in front of him. “So you’re studying law before you become King? I respect it.” 

    “Actually,” he laughs, shaking his head, “Oh this sounds awful. Actually I started studying law because of someone I knew once. He, uh, he was sent to the Isle and I don’t think he deserved to be there. Not that I got to know him well but I knew well enough. That boy was sunshine on Earth, he was playful and nervous and giddy. And I have thought about nothing but him since we met, there’s no way a guy like that deserved to be caged away in a barrier, you know?” “He was sent to the Isle? It’s been thirty-three years since anyone was sent there. I should know, I was there. What, what was his name? Maybe I knew him.” The barista looks up to him, a look of panic on his face, “Yeah uh, Morgie le Fay, Morgana’s son. I didn’t get to know him well, really I only knew him for a couple days so maybe you know him better than I do. You look a lot like him if I’m honest.” 

    When he looks up at him, Morgan’s face is pale, mouth gapped and eyes bulging as if he saw a ghost. “What,” he swallows, blinking rapidly as he stares at the prince, “What did you say your name was?”  “(Y/n) and if I remember right, I don’t think you ever asked.” Morgan shakes his head, reaching a hand out to touch (Y/n)’s face. It startles him and yet, he doesn’t pull away. “How did you stay so young? It’s been four decades, you’ve aged slower than I have. I didn’t think anyone aged slower than us except maybe Maleficent. What are you?” 

   “I thought it was you,”  his hand comes to cover the one on his cheek, a smile pressing across his lips, “I have thought about you every single day.” “How have you stayed so young?” The question is repeated, more urgent this time as he stares. He’s searching the boy’s face, nearly desperate for answers. As if he could read them off of his face. (Y/n) looks around before standing up, walking over to the door and flipping the open sign around. “Come to the break room with me?” His better instinct says not to follow the boy. For all he knows, that’s a vampire who’s planning to feed on him and there was no way that Morgie would be able to fend that off. His magic had grown so weak in the past three decades, he could get himself hurt. Yet, he finds himself nodding, rising up from his seat and abandoning his work. (Y/n) grabs for his hand and he lets the boy take it, dragging him back behind the counter and into the break room. The door slams behind them, the prince’s back pushing against it. 

   “This is, god this is crazy. It’s crazy and I need you to listen to me and believe me despite how crazy it is. We never were meant to meet. I was born a little under two decades ago. I, well not me but my friend who wasn't really my friend at the time, had this magic pocket watch. Her tutor built it and it could take you back in time to help you get what you want most in life. She accidentally brought me along when she used it and I never meant to meet you. While I was going to Auradon Prep I’d hide in that old hideout in the black lagoon. I didn’t ever really think about who used it before me. But you did and I did meet you. It was so wonderful and I was some big idiot who kissed you. God, you have plagued my thoughts ever since we met, I mean seriously I have been thinking about kissing you since you walked in. There hasn’t been a single kiss that felt like yours since, which is unfair.” Morgie laughs, stepping closer to him, “You’re rambling.” “Sorry.” 

    Morgie shakes his head, grabbing his cheek, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I find it kind of endearing. Especially since you’re rambling about me.” His thumb rubs over the boy’s cheek, eyes flickering between his lips and his eyes. He leans up towards his lips and the man moves back, eliciting a whine from the boy. “Morgie, please.” “I can’t, do you know how much older than you I am?” “No older than you were last time,” he’s nearly whimpering as he says it, eyes set on the boy’s face, “And it’s not like you look it. You’re physically what, twenty-two? Mein Sonnenschein, please.” He knows he shouldn’t, everything in Morgie’s brain screams at him to let go of the boy. But (Y/n) isn’t the only one who’s been thinking about their kiss for years. So he leans in, feeling that same gentle spark he’d felt all those years ago. It’s soft, gentle, adoring. Warm as the sun, their lips were built for each other. And for the first time in years, they feel at home.

[iknowyuu]

hey !! just read study study mwah and saw that u wanted to write a part 2 🤭🤭i think u should omggggg

study, study, mwah - part two

kdrama! sieun x extrovert! affectionate! reader

// reader is feeling conflicted about the way sieun treats their relationship (what is their relationship, anyway?) here is part one!

tags: very light feelings of low self worth, kissing obv, reader kinda being rejected (not really, it's just sieun being kinda dense lol), neck kisses, sitting on someone's lap, mentions of kidnapping (as a passing joke)

note: hope you enjoy!! updates have been slow lately because i'm not as obsessed as i was before LOL, BUT DW, I STILL LOVE HIM VERY MUCH <3 anyway i barely edited this i hope theres no mistakes again sjsjsjs

♡

you listened to the soft scribbles of the boy who 's lap your head laid in, the background noise doing nothing to calm the churning in your stomach.

you sighed, scrolling through your phone, then quickly shutting it down and laying it onto your chest. you sighed again, a little heavier than before. noticing he didn't even flinch once again, you changed your tactics, instead shifting to stare at his stomach instead of up at the ceiling. you raised your hand to brush away the bangs that grew to cover his eyes. "im bored, sieun." you mumbled.

"you should finish your homework then." he swiftly replied. he didn't need to see your face to know you were pouting.

after the... exciting visit you had with sieun a few weeks ago, he slowly began to open up even more, and show parts of him you hadn't seen before, including his (slightly) more talkative as well as sarcastic side. it was almost like a reward for doing so well on the exams that happened a few weeks ago- you'd gotten an A!

you'd like to contribute your higher-than-expected grade to his kisses.

the thing is, ever since that day, you hadn't had anything like it with him, or anyone. only the occasional hugs at the door, but you hadn't kissed him since then.

"but.." you trailed off, not really having a valid excuse. "..do you really enjoy studying alllll the time?" you mumbled.

he shrugged, not bothering to give you a response, simply continuing his work. you frowned, sitting up to move out of his lap. sieun ceased his writing, waiting as you sat up from his lap before resuming his work, not giving you the attention you wanted in order to finish the problem he was on.

you crossed your arms. you knew you were being kind-of annoying, but you'd been waiting for him almost two weeks. he had been intensely studying for another exam (technically a practice), and you felt neglected. then again, did you really have any right to feel this way? none of you had made.. 'what you had' official. you just wished you could kiss him without him feeling uninterested again.

as one last attempt you caressed his cheek, gently turning his face toward yours and placing a soft but quick peck onto his lips. relishing in the way he looked at you while up close, you hoped he would kiss you this time, but he just blinked at you before turning back to his work.

you felt disheartened at his reaction, to say the least. you felt it was selfish to be behaving the way you are, and suddenly you were swept with guilt and slight embarrassment at the way you'd been acting; obviously he didn't want you the way you wanted him.

going back to your seat next to him on the floor, you went back to your work and began finishing you what you needed to do. it didn't take long before you finished your work, standing up and packing your things, you announced your departure. "i'm gonna go.. since i'm finished." you told him, not noticing how he glanced up at you.

"okay," he got up to see you out, even though the door was just a few feet from where you were sitting. you made your way to the door and put your shoes on after taking off your slippers, unlocking the door. as you were walking back, you barely glanced at him, "bye," you walked off.

he blinked in slight shock at your attitude, no hug? no 'love you'? he wasn't particularly bothered by it, just.. it felt like something was missing. he tried not to think about it too much, remembering the work he had for himself at the table. however, no matter how long he wanted to shake it, he felt as if something was off. like the world he felt in suddenly felt... off. wrong.

-

a day, two, then three days passed without you stopping by his house. he noticed you'd stopped texting him altogether, and started avoiding him in school and cram, choosing to switch seats with another student.

he tried reaching out to you, but, no response of course. he also tried to wait by the snack station you usually visited with your other friends, but he noticed you weren't there either.

meanwhile, you hid behind your friend in the line. "get off me, [name]! why're you even avoiding him anyway?" your friend tried to shake you off, but you remained attached to their shoulder. "pleaseplease, just for today! i don't want him to see me!"

"you've said that for the past three days! ah, i'm starting to get annoyed at you laching onto me- it makes my shoulders sore and i can't sleep at night!" they whined. "i'm sorry! it's just.. he doesn't feel the same way as me, and i don't wanna embarrass myself more than i already have! i want to put a distance between us."

your friend rolled their eyes. "clearly he feels some type of way towards you, he's literally waiting for you! i've never even seen him in the cafeteria without suhoo and bumseok before!"

you heave a heavy sigh before detaching from them, "and clearly you only want to fuel my delusions," you turn around, "i'm leaving to hide somewhere else."

they shake their head, watching you leave out the back of the cafeteria. "so annoying..." they jokingly stated as you walked off.

your friend made it to the end of the end of the line by themselves and buys their snacks, going to sit at their usual table before remembering the boy that was standing there, waiting for you.

trying to avoid him, they quickly moved past and made their way to the table before stopping in their tracks. “god..” turning around they walk back towards sieun, tapping his shoulder. “uhm.. sieun?” he turns around. “umm.. so, [name]’s been avoiding you. they think you don’t feel the same way about them.” he stared for a second before responding with a simple “oh,”.

he begins to walk away before your oh-so-loyal-and-faithful friend catches his shoulder, “yahhh, wait. im not dumb, i can tell you like them too. i have a plan.”

-

after another long day of school and cram school, you receive a text from your friend, wanting to hang out. you were really close to saying no, but they begged and promised you matcha tea and gimbap. you weren’t the biggest fan of matcha tea so you wondered why, but you accepted anyway.

“[name],” your friend grabbed your shoulder as you were waiting outside the cram building, and you jumped, quickly turning around. “you scared me!!” you pushed your friend and they laughed at your discontent, pulling out a cloth from the plastic bag in their hands. "listen, i know it's weird, but i promise the payoff will be amazing and you'll thank me." they stood behind you, getting ready to tie the blindfold over your eyes. "wha- what?" you stepped away in surprise. "what are you talking about?"

they moved closer, "PLEASE [NAME], don't you trust me?"

you blinked at them and slowly nodded. "...okay." you stood in front of them and closed your eyes. "really? that was fast," your friend tied it around your eyes, mumbling something about how fast you'd get kidnapped before tying the final knot and taking your hand. "let's go."

leading you through the streets at a fast pace, not abiding to the way you screamed "SLOW DOWN OH MY GOD," multiple times. you were led for about seven minutes, before reaching two sets of staircases, and for some reason, they seemed... familiar in a way.

reaching your destination, your friend stopped abruptly, and you heard some faint knocking before a door was opened. "all yours." your friend said, placing the bag they'd been carrying in your hands.

"wait, what?" you looked towards the direction of your friend's voice, suddenly concerned. "you're leaving? where are we?" your heart began to beat faster- was it a mistake to trust them? you've known them for several years now, they wouldn't do anything completely irrational.. right? you tried to calm yourself with those thoughts before you felt your blindfold being removed. you didn't get a response before the cloth fell from your eyes, and the person pulled back from you.

well, you shouldn't be surprised.

there stood sieun, and you remembered the flights of stairs you climbed, and as you looked around, your friend was nowhere to be found.

"you can come in." he looked at you, his eyes flickering to your lips for half a second before meeting your stare again.

you sigh heavily and barely look at him before moving past and into the apartment, sieun closing the door behind you. you take off your shoes and step into the house slippers that have been unworn for the past three days, pulling off your bag and you taking tiny steps towards the couch and table, feeling awkward. you don't know if he knows how you feel; not just about him, but this whole situation. you've avoided him for days and for anyone of you to expect things to just go back to normal would be completely and utterly irrationa-

"sorry." you feel his arms wrap around you from behind, and his warm breath at the back of your neck. "i didn't know if you wanted to..." he trailed off, hoping you understood what he wanted to say. in that moment, all your embarrassment and regret melted away.

you loosened his grip around your waist, turning around to meet him, taking pleasure in the way he retightened his hold on you. he looked into your eyes as you hesitantly cupped his cheeks, his eyes glossed over as you maintained eye contact. "if you're really sorry.." you took a deep breath to calm your nerves before opening your mouth to speak again. "you should be my boyfriend." you spoke at a low volume, almost as if you didn't want him to hear your suggestion.

moments passed as he didn't say anything, and you were about to remove your hold on his face and step away, but you saw the way the corner of his lips perked up, and he blinked before nodding once, letting out a quiet but affirmative "mm,".

you smiled at him and your chest felt fuzzy with affection and warmth. deciding to take another leap of faith, you opened your mouth once more, barely able to articulate your words to busy smiling at his response. "can i.. can i kiss you?"

the tiny smile on his lips remained as he nodded once more, and you could barely contain yourself as you leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. the lips you'd yearned for ever since you first made contact with them.

his lips felt complete with yours, and finally, everything in the world seemed right again.

the two of you stood there for a minute, and as much as you didn't want to, you broke apart from him, squishing his cheeks in your hands before walking towards the couch, gently pulling him along with you.

the two of you sat on the floor, partially leaning on the couch behind you for comfortability. limbs not yet entangled, his hand remained on your shoulder as you pulled him impossibly closer to you, wrapping your arm around his waist and tugged. he didn't hesitate to closer, and you filled in the gap to the point where your chests were almost touching.

you took in the atmosphere, it feels like your life stops when he kisses you. in that moment, you felt like there was no school, no world, only you and sieun. kissing him felt like heaven, and you were so sure you've never wanted anything more in your life.

your eyes remain closed when he stops, pulling away from you. he dips his head down, not taking any chances to rest before beginning his attack on your neck. you lightly whined at the contact, your volume dropping when he stopped. "did i hurt you?"

"no," you quickly shake your head, already wanting him back on your neck, "i don't think you could ever hurt me,"

he hid his face in your neck, resuming his previous actions, nipping and biting at your neck. you brought your hand to his head, the pleasure of his actions making you shiver.

the two of you stayed there for a while, and as time went by, you ended up being the one in sieun's lap instead of the other way around. you felt bad for interrupting his studies (even though that's what got you into this mess in the first place..), your chests facing each other, sieun with his front facing the table, and you with your arms laying on the couch, his back leaning against the couch as well. you insisted he do what he needed while you sat there, keeping him close to your heart, every now and then leaning back to get a look at his face, sometimes calling him cute just to see the way his ears lit up when you went back.

"im sorry for ignoring you for so long," you heard the way his scribbles haulted this time, listening to your words. it was only three days, but it felt like a week. "i think my friend already told you, but... i was embarrassed at the way i acted... i... like... no, i really like you, sieun."

he sighed with contentment and responded, "it's okay.." he waited for a bit, trying to gather the courage to finish, "i like you too." the way his short response gradually decreased in volume with each word he spoke calmed your nerves and you smiled, pulling back to watch him again, leaning forward and placing your lips on his.

♡

post story note: AHHH YEAH. ty again to anon for asking for this it got me out of my writers block for a bit :D

-

taglist: @brxght-world @karyuliee @kkaesslovr @qtaisuu send an ask to be added!

[amongsnot]

template by @/le__lex on twitter!

anyways i want to reread some of my favorite nu fics, so i figured i would do it while simultaneously recommending them at the same time :)

[DISCLAIMER] some of these fics are locked to guests! please keep that in mind when clicking a link :)

The Neutron-Turner Family Memory Book by TheBlossomingFox (teen | oneshot ) : this fic is adorable! it’s an aged up jt fic where the author explores their dynamic as parents. it’s adorable and funny and one of the best slice of life fics i’ve read :)

2. Another Day in the Future by JesterJazz (gen | oneshot ) : this fic is definitely one of the funniest fics i’ve read in this fandom. following jimmy and timmy when they accidentally time travel to the future, landing in the house of their future married selves. it's jimmytimmy focused, but it highlights their friendship and fun bickering really well.

3. twin fantasy by nousernamesorry (teen | 4/? ) : jimmy receives a message telling him that he's needed in space, and he quickly leaves. only, he doesn't come back, and timmy has to learn to heal. i'm going to be completely and fully honest when i say that this is the fic that got me into writing for the nicktoons team. op has a writing style that is incredibly heartwrenching, and the small amount of fluff before the latter chapters completely breaks me everytime i read it.

4. more than cartoons; battle of the bands by anonymous (gen | oneshot) : spongebob squarepants is putting together a band for the annual school contest! with his makeshift team of muscians, he has to beat the syndicate before they win the tournament! this fic is SO fun! it's definitely my favorite of the author's oneshots, and it's amusing and charming and just aljewfwabkfd

5. only have a moment before it's all over (a burning desire that cries again) by whisper_into_my_heart (teen | 14/50 ) : i have to be completely honest, i was REALLY late to the party with this fic!! mpreg (and preg in general) really is not my jam, but i instantly fell in love with op's oc hannah, and the dynamic between the girl andher parents. im not exactly caught up with the story (no spoilers please :3) but i am SO excited to finish the next few chapters and then for the rest of the story to be completed!!

6. We're Perfect Punting Height by CrystalMarbles (teen | drabble ) : this fic is a drabble, but i think it's pretty funny!! it's about the gang having a conversation with each other discussing the syndicates less than evil traits. like plankton's height, or crocker's obsession with finding fairies. definitely a good short funny read!

7. Rewinding the clock by Pastacurls (not rated | 7/? ) : (grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you) SECOND PERSON!! I LOVE SECOND PERSON. anyways there's barely any three word fics in this fandom that i could find. i know this is hypocritical of me but im going to say it anyways. this fic is my JAM though. amnesiac timmy after his eighteenth birthday, stumbling through the remains of his life as he loses his fairies and his friends. i could talk about this for hours.

8. new phone who dis by rbt_lvr ( teen | 9/? ) : the old fandom is rottmnt. unapologetically. they're technically nicktoons so it counts in my book. plus, this is genuinely my favorite fic that ive read like uh ever. it's a silly chat fic where all of the turtles are gaslighting each other into thinking that they are normal people. donnie makes a mom joke that never fails to make me laugh. leonardo's raised by the gay hippo and worm. they treat lou jitsu like taylor swift fans treat taylor swift. it's absolutely insane. 10/10.

9. lead single by nousernamesorry (teen | 2/2 ) : if nousernamesorry has 100 fans im one of them. if they have 10 fans im one of them. if they have no fans im dead. i love all of their works and every single one makes me swoon. lead single is KIND of cheating with this prompt because most of the setting takes place on a beach. and it's also kind of during the summer. but it's about jimmy and timmy spending their birthday's apart, and the setting makes me wild. like the vending machine intro and the beach ending to the first chapter. like all of that screams summer to me idc idc.

10. The Art of Cooking and Cleaning by AbsoluteFooling (gen | 1/1 ) : GUYS IM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS FIC WITH YOU!! i love this fic so muchh oh my god. i had the priviledge of reading it before it was put on ao3 and oh my goddddd. makes me insane. it has spongebob and timmy dynamic (which we need MORE of) and its just. its just glorious i cant explain it in words. its about timmy questioning his self worth, and spongebob helps him. and its OUGH cant even put it into words. please go read it. if theres a fic i want you to read on this list its this one.

11. Are you Satisfied with an Average Life? by Anonymous (not rated | 3/? ) : i was really surprised by the lack of fics with lyrics as their titles... guess ill have to write more in order to continue doing my part. OKAY but this fic is REALLY GOOD. i absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE anything that relates to timmy's amnesia. this fic focuses on the main nicktoons as they help timmy recollect his memory, and timmy immediately hits sbsp in the head with a baseball bat and it is GREAT and the writing style is GREAT and i do think this is a necessary read. i really hope the author updates, but it has been a while, so i'll treasure the chapter's we have!!

12. Bad at Flirting by ShippingMyWorld (teen | 1/1 ) : because im cool and unique and whatever the kids are talking about with that demure stuff the other ship is tigerghost. which i KNOW is cheating considering i wrote a tigerghost fic, but i main jimmytimmy and its important to me that you know that. this fic is a fluffy, silly little fic where danny and manny talk about manny's love for cheap and cheesy pick-up lines (established relationship). shippingmyworld ALSO has a really cool tumblr account AND a bunch of other cool ao3 tigerghost fics so this is my absolutely desperate plea for you to go check them out.

13. but he's got a gun in his hands, and a burden in his heart. by Anonymous (teen | 1/1 ) : hi yes its me hello. totally anonymous user here. why havent you guys yelled at me to make my fic titles shorter omfg that's like an entire essay within itself. it's REALLY hard for me to choose one of my fics, because they all hold a special place in my heart for a different reason, but specifically the ending of this fic makes me break everytime. i won't spoil it but i love the metaphors. anyways this fic is BASICALLY just a bunch of timmy and (sort of) danny whump. check it out if you're interested :D

14. Of Memory Loss and Manipulation by EepyTheSleepy and @c0dydoesntknow (teen | 4/? ) : hello YES this fic is really great and it definiely falls right in line with my other interests. as soon as somebody says timmy amnesia fic i am GONE. the plotline in this fic is great, and the characterization is even BETTER. like you guys need to go support these two because they are amazing people and even amazinger authors!! their story is about the evil nu gang gaslighting timmy into thinking that the og nu gang is evil, which is GREAT because timmy just ends up being really confused the whole time

15. When rain falls, love blooms by 23ster (gen | 1/1 ) : kissing in the rain is SO romantic guys when is some girly gonna come and do it with me? this is a friend to lovers fic by the all time BEST person ever 23ster, and it perfectly conveys the idiots that are our favorite characters jimmy and timmy. from the trope of there is only one bed, to the all best ROOMMATES, and then the romantic yearning love confession(slash argument) in the rain. this fic ruins you, but its so so so great i swear.

16. So... Zinnias? by suluswife (gen | 1/4 ) : guys idk what kind of fics you want from me for this one i gotta be honest,, i love nala and all that he does (and i know the second chapters in production!! it also writes ninjago fics please for the life of me go check them out) and this fic just. IT JUST FITS THE PROMPT!! i read this at 3am!! it has the conversation at midnight and that writing that just FLOWS you know?? it's a platonic jt fic (im trying really hard to find nicktoon fics in general, i pinkie promise) with a soulmate au! jimmy and timmy are both idiots in this, but they have a conversation on the roof while staring at the stars so its a great fic by all standards.

17. best two out of three by dhe20 (gen | 1/1 ) : theyre so funny in this fic i love them so much.. if youve looked at my reblogs you know that i love it when they say just the stupidest shit ever, and this fic DEFINITELY fits the bill. it's so funny it kills me every time! plus the way the author writes converys the battle scene well, and im so happy that this fic has a number in the title so that i could convey my love for it here!

[liminalmemories21]

Seven Sentence Sunday (x 2)

thanks for the tag - @carlos-in-glasses, @heartstringsduet, @carlos-tk, @nancys-braids, @strandnreyes

@paperstorm, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @lemonlyman-dotcom,

@freneticfloetry, and @vineofroses

I was felled by a cold earlier this week (well - technically since Mother's Day, but somehow it got worse this week? which seems wildly unfair on a long weekend). So, the start of two different things that barely exist.

Six sentences from a Buck/Tommy story provisionally titled - How Much for that Doggie in the Window with @cecilyv

There’s a dog on his doorstep.  In fairness, there’s also a boyfriend attached to the leash of said dog. But the boyfriend he was expecting, the dog? Not so much. He leans on the door jamb and crosses his arms.  "Evan, why do you have the dog from Air Bud with you?" 

Ten sentences from what may or may not end up being one of the most self-indulgent things I ever write - an interlude in Knave-verse that is currently more or less just an excuse for me to write about why I love Paris. No prizes for guessing Eric Farrington's alter ego.

The view of the Jardin du Luxembourg is spectacular. This quiche Lorraine is maybe the best he’s ever had. One of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen in real life just slid into the unoccupied third seat at their table. He takes another bite of his quiche and contemplates these facts while TK engages in a staring contest with the man.  He's not sure who wins, but the match seems to come to some kind of conclusion because the beautiful man stretches a hand across the table to him.  "Eric Farrington.  I am sorry to have interrupted your lunch." TK makes a soft choking noise, and Carlos glances at him, but TK just shakes his head and steals a bite of Carlos's quiche.  There a faint edge to TK that Carlos classifies as belonging to art thief TK, and not to college student TK or museum TK.  Carlos pushes his quiche in TK's direction, and takes his plate of croque monsieur in trade.

open tag because it's late, and I can't breath without coughing and thinking takes energy.

[pixlostinatos]

SO WHAT IS BEASTLIFE'S "FRIDAY LEAGUE"?

howdy all! as one of the very small number of people qualified to summarize the first two seasons of friday league, im here to give the frileague counterpart of @mcybree's satleague summary! that said, my memory retention abilities leave much to be desired, so please bear with me.

Beastlife is a fan-hosted life series by unidingo. It is currently on its fourth season, but there are two leagues that run simultaneously; this summary covers Friday League only, which is on its third season.

SEASON 1

as you may have guessed, friday league did not begin at the same time as saturday league. when satleague season 2 was first proposed, the idea of running a second league for people who couldnt make it to the saturday sessions was floated -- and what ended up happening was that we decided to run it two hours later in the day, and a significantly smaller group of people signed up.

as such, friday league couldnt run the double life gimmick of the paired satleague season -- instead, the five (kiiwiibird, vizquiche, unidingo, ekerlense, and jackofowltrades) ran a standard third life ruleset in a snowy and mountainous world.

vizquiche (hereafter referred to as "buiche", short for "beast quiche") went yellow almost immediately because they went mining without creating any sort of weapon and a zombie attacked them. naturally, it is mocked relentlessly

despite the mockery, eker and jack also lost their first lives very quickly -- jack to a zombie in a hole, eker lost his bc she and kiki went to a fucking pillager outpost within the first 10 minutes of the session

dingo fucked off to the caves. i genuinely have no idea what was going on over there but dingo and jack were both just kinda doing their own thing while the other three were Loring It Up

eker and buiche decided to stick together as the first two yellows. they chased kiwi around as he panicked and ran because he tried to apologize to eker for the pillager thing and asked what eker would want in order to forgive him. eker said all it wanted was its life back. eventually buiche and eker lost kikis trail as he fled back to his home in the mountains

eker went red before the break bc he got trapped under ice and drowned. buiche laughed and said it knew better than to do that.

either dingo or kiwi has died once by now? i think it was dingo

immediately after the break ended buiche decided to explore a little pool in the cave it and eker had decided to hide in when they logged out. as you may expect, it promptly got trapped under ice and drowned.

jack gets shot by a skeleton. the official life count is now 1 green, 1 yellow, 3 reds.

eker convinces buiche to go caving with them! surely nothing bad will happen

a creeper explodes in buiches face. oops bye buiche

eker builds a little mausoleum over buiches bed near the house the two had been building. with deemgos/gods permission, eker is allowed to do a little seance so buiches ghost can tell them where it put their sheep

jack dies. to another skeleton.

session 1 ends with one person on each life color yay!

kiwi builds a sacrificial altar for eker to kill him on because theyre gay and also he doesnt wanna be the only green anymore

eker kills him

dingo dies twice??? i genuinely have no idea what happened over there dingo pls elaborate

kiwi and eker have this long fun talk. eker kills kiwi again

eker is chasing kiwi down to kill him a third time

a skeleton shoots kiwi off the cliff

eker jumps after kiwi

the skeleton shoots eker as he is also falling

they die hand in unlovable goddamn hand

alexa play no children by the mountain goats. eker is the winner and has not been present in frileague since.

this was not canonized until late season 3 of saturday league, however, "friday league kiwi" is also a member of the system that kiiwii and peregriine (and duckiie) are part of, known as fiinch. fiinch also appears in the current season of beastlife!

Season 2

technically friday league's season 2 used the same last life styled gimmick as saturday league season 3, sans the boogeyman mechanic out of respect for the significantly smaller crew. kiwi and eker are not present this season; instead sonic sonicmike4077 mike, phia phiala, and tom tomscryingcorner joined in the fun, leaving us with a group of 6, briefly.

friday league's secondary gimmick for the season was that everyone was dumped on a deserted, desert island with only a stack of steak, some bamboo, a cherry sapling, and a single grass block apiece. a shipwreck is available to loot for.....wood and not much else, honestly.

dingo once again sets off to do their own thing. they get set up pretty handily with sheep and a mob farm

sonic and tom go exploring for more resources! turns out, deemgo forgot to set the world border. oops

this is quickly rectified, and sonic and tom are not allowed to keep their illicit gains. the lives they lose when the world border is set up ARE returned, however, since its not their fault the border wasnt there in the first place.

phia goes red within the first hour

everyone except phia (red) and dingo (knows what theyre doing) all band together to create the warren, a little communal mine/storage/house area named for the many rabbit heads buiche plastered above the door. the building was also intentionally built to be as ugly as they could get it with their limited resources.

jack and buiche spend most of their time mining for the first few sessions

tom starts working on a big birdhouse-styled building to live in

echidna of satleague fame possesses jack once or twice because of irl scheduling conflicts

everyone all stops what theyre doing to fish when it rains

genuinely its all just a very chill time. kinda hard for alliances to have issues with each other when theres not enough people for multiple alliances tbh

sonic, who only was granted two lives by the last life gatcha, loses his first life

phia has to quit frileague due to scheduling conflicts, sadly -- but even though she was the first out, we dont count her as the first permadeath of the season. dw its fine shes back for skyfall

buiche loses their second life, bringing it down to red as well

it abandons the warren, assuming itself to no longer be welcome now that shes dangerous. he starts work on another new house and a very ineffective mob farm. they call it "blood isle". when sonic drops by, buiche tells her that hes always welcome at blood isle and that as reds, they ought to stick together. sonic gives buiche some fireworks and agrees to return later.

sonic dies to a creeper.

buiche builds a little grave for sonic, as eker did for it in s1, putting a sign up telling him to "Rest in Violence".

a funeral party is held at the spawn campfire+cactus ring. a second memorial for sonic is built, telling her to rest in piece

sonics ghost tells quiche that he wants it to win. a creeper almost immediately blows up right in front of it. it survives but sonic scolds it for almost dying the same way she did right after she had placed his faith in it.

dingo steals a diamond sword and a very good bow enchantment book that buiche fished up from their front room chest.

buiche goes looking for its stolen items, and perhaps to steal from dingo itself, but cant find anything.

tom is still working on his house, and jack has started building a defensible cobble tower. chill times at the warren.

dingo and buiche fish together for a bit

sonics ghost is getting bored with everything staying so calm on the server despite buiche being a red name, so he starts urging them to kill. it pushes back a little, but without much convincing it gears up

reluctant to go after its day one ally alin jack, and fearful of dingos overall preparedness, it decides to go after tom

it kills him, she immediately turns around and, a red name now herself, kills buiche despite its pleas to talk about this. its awful and hilarious and awesome all at the same time. @dykevotions pls attach the clip im begging you

jack (yellow) and tom (red) decide to go on a bit of a hog hunt, as dingo is still on dark green

between the two of them, they actually manage to get dingo down to yellow before dingo kills tom, and jack brings dingo doown to red with him before he, too, falls, leaving dingo the winner of the season.

jack unfortunately has to leave future seasons due to scheduling conflicts, but we wish him the best!

buiche, about a week or two after the end of the friday league season, goes and possesses space since space cant make it to the first half of the satleague session. its a nightmare but buiche mentions it in frileague s3 a fair few times so i feel its important to bring up

finally this brings us to season 3, which is the current season!

im not going to summarize it here, in part because it is still ongoing, and partially because there's more people so there is a lot more going on to keep track of. i know kiwi, tom, and fishie have been releasing videos of this season, and vizquiche has plans to as well, so you have a few possible povs to choose from! happy beasting!

[intothecometverse]

in honor of february ending, here's what i manifested this month!

🐬 this one time i was practicing a bit later than usual and i was like FUCK ION WANNA EAT DINNER AND THEN GO TO ORCHESTRA REHEARSAL WITHIN HALF AN HOUR THAT'S NOT ENOUGH TIME and then i got an email for the rehearsal schedule and i got at least half an hour more than usual until i had to come. funny enough i was thinking to myself like plz don't make me come until later plz plz plz plz plz plz and then i got the email for the rehearsal schedule so yippe

🐬 going on to that i had to fucking take a shit and ended up arriving to the rehearsal room ON THE DOT (which is late for orchestra standards 💔) but luckily there were still ppl waiting outside while the conductor was dealing with the basses and cellos only (which was the reason why ppl who weren't basses and cellows didn't have to come until half an hour later) so i wasn't late woo! and on my walk there (i was speed walking lol) i was affirming to myself i'm not gonna be late im not gonna be late there are still gon' be ppl waiting outside then boom that happened??? like im god hello??

🐬 having dinner + getting to go on a mini walk with my goth sp (i asked them and they said yes)

🐬 also manifesting conversations with my goth sp just by thinking about experiencing it seconds beforehand

🐬 oh ja and i also manifested being released early from orchestra rehearsals thru just thinking abt it seconds before too 😭😭

🐬 manifested seeing another sp during my regular day activities (their dorm room is around the corner from mine so we see each other a lot xD) like whenever i think abt them boom they pop up 😭. manifesting interactions next 𓆩♡𓆪

🐬 (me personally i think this was my most putting-my-foot-down manifesting moment) i overate one time and felt like throwing up, like i was feeling ALL the symptoms i usually do before i throw up so i was like "I'm not gonna throw up im not gonna throw up, remember who's in control. I AM in control, nothing else! the 3d will conform, because i said so, IT'S GOING TO CONFORM, NOW" and then i felt fine, just like that :D

🐬 not needing to get out of bed and take a piss one night when i was rly tired (affirmed "i don't need to piss" until i fell asleep 😭)

🐬 my room being opened one night when i got locked out at like 1/2 am

🐬 my grade in jazz history being raised from a D to a B- (and hopefully an A by the end of the quarter)

🐬 also i have all As in all my other classes

🐬 getting to have a fun hangout before February ended lol

🐬 having friends my age who live in dorms near me xD

🐬 my eczema getting healed without special ointment or anything

🐬 birf control (technically manifested it way back in December bc that was when i got a confirmed appointment but wtv. i got the implant this month so xD)

🐬 clearer skin

🐬 i have super long hair and the ends didn't dry out (technically this is like a continuous manifestation but i just wanted to mention it. basically I've been affirming "the ends of my hair is immune to split ends and drying out as it gets longer" and it worked!)

🐬 being better at trumpet :D (i told my trumpet teacher how much i practiced during one lesson, and continued to play during our lesson even when i surpassed my usual amount of time playing during an average day and he said I've gotten stronger due to playing for so long yet still sounding relatively fresh. and recently I've kept playing for longer amounts of time during the day and I've still been fine so yippe

what i'm looking for manifesting-wise in march:

🦞 shifting lmao

🦞 being successful in my job

🦞 being successful in all areas of life actually

🦞 getting to hang out with both sps + them getting along as friends so we could be a whole trio :3

🦞 my sps texting me first along with me texting them first (like yk how they say it should be like a 50/50 thing with who starts the convos and shit)

🦞 supernatural shit like powers, wings, horns, and like those king sombra kinda smoky eyes

🦞 WORLD. PEACE.

hope this inspired you, and remember, anything is possible, and u are loved!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[josephtrohman]

As the president of the joe trohman nation, do you have any favorite joe era?

in short, the answer is yes! BUT with some caveats/technically i have THREE answers to this question even. i mean there is an answer i give for what is my singular favourite but i am a deeply annoying person, so... AND im also gonna put pics from the eras for fun bc any excuse to look at my fav joe pics. sorry anon if you didnt expect this level of answer but i am the president after all (put under the cut cuz. yeah)

so. first things first. if i had to narrow it down to just ONE era of joe as my favourite, it would be infinity on high era for sure. especially pre-beard, but with beard is great too.

some of my fav pre-beard joe looks ^ (HIM IN THE THNKS FR TH MMRS MV ESPECIALLY MY GAWDDDD THATS MY HUSBAND ON OUR WEDDING DAY FR. ok sorry)

BUT OBVIOUSLY. BEARDED IOH ERA ^ IS SO SO FUCKING FINEEEEE AS WELL god. (and the look he had at the 2007 vmas my gawddd you know the one). middle picture makes me crazy especially, red plaid and bi colours hat iykyk, n it’s currently my pfp on twt ;3

infinity on high era has been my fav for soooo sooo long, and it was definitely a crisis moment for me when i turned 23 and was like 😀 oh im older than joe was in this era. great. but even despite that i think it still will continue to be my fav era prob forever <3 (and of course unfortunately my feelings get a little bit complex about this era because of what we know from joe's book, knowing what he was struggling with. but i dont wanna get into that lmao...but at the same time i had to acknowledge the elephant in the room)

ok. so. like i said if i had to give one answer, the above would be mine <3 BUT heres some other thoughts i have.

my CURRENT fav joe era is 2009 post-haircut bearded joe (as maybe evidenced by my pfp). MY GAWD. MY GAWD. as a 24-almost-25-year-old, I DESERVE A 24-ALMOST-25-YEAR-OLD JOE.

not to mention how much they were putting fake blood/injuries on this man in bnd pt 2 tour!!! crazy!!!!!!!

okay and then my third answer is not just in terms of looks (although my god.....my god) but i would be remiss to not mention CURRENT ERA JOE AS FAV. because he's out here being sexy as hell, playing music with his friends, having fun, looking hot, being dilfy, so on and so forth... (this includes tourdust/2ourdust but since i saw joe in person at ayf it rewired something in my brain cuz he’s soooo fucking hot in person, so 2 ayf pics, and then also the first one the pic before download that Also rewired my brain 😵‍💫). also since they’re really new still here’s middle pic source and right pic source

OKAY AND THEN ONE HONOURABLE MENTION, late 2015 joe is so so special to me bc 2 of my fav pics joe of alllll time (prob both in my top 5 at least) come from then<3 here r the pics

was that a needlessly long winded answer to ur relatively simple question? yes for sure but i hope u enjoyed lovely anon <3