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[learnmoreitsoutions]

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[maheshts497]

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[chibinasuu]

My Valentine | Killer x Reader

Summary: You got a mysterious note asking you to be their Valentine Tags: sfw, fluff, confession, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!reader in mind, reader wears lipstick (as many kid pirates do, of course)

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

Your face burned in embarrassment at Kid’s boisterous laughter. 

“Well, if I had a lover,” Wire interjected, “I sure wouldn’t need a whole day dedicated to proving how much I love them. I’ll simply show them every single day.”

Wire’s unexpectedly sweet words prompted Kid to fake-gag, while you groaned frustratedly, “The point is not to prove your love! It’s a day to celebrate love.” 

“Hmm,” Kid brought a finger to his chin, pretending like he was deep in thought, “Nah, I don’t get it.”

“You’re impossible,” You sighed, “We’re pirates, our days are full of violence and fights. Is it so bad to want some romance once in a while?”

“Ugh, when did you become such a sap?”

You gritted your teeth, “Well, you’ve always been an asshole, so I’m not surprised that you don’t understand!”

You flipped Kid off and stalked towards your cabin. 

Your face immediately found your pillow, your screams of frustration muffled in the soft fabric. Of course, your emotionally-stunted Captain wouldn’t understand. It was stupid of you to even talk about Valentine’s Day to Kid, of all people.

Warmth rose to your cheeks as the image of a certain blond unwittingly floated to the forefront of your mind. 

Now, he would understand. 

You knew that he would listen to all of your blabbering, no matter the topic, even if it was something as “ridiculous” as a Day of Love tradition from your home island.

Despite his covered face, you would know that he was hanging on to your every word from the way he would offer soft hums and small nods as you talked. 

You would know that he was listening attentively from the way he would ask questions, encouraging you to tell him more about whatever it was that you were chattering about.

Without intending to, a deep sleep eventually claimed you, bringing dreams filled with manes of luscious yellow hair and fleeting stripes of blue and white.

The sun had nearly completed its descent when you finally woke up from your unplanned nap.

You were groggily stretching your arms above your head when your gaze fell on a small note on the floor of your cabin, which appeared to have been slid from underneath your door. 

You padded over and picked the paper up curiously. A gasp left your lips when you saw what was written on it in slanted handwriting. 

Will you be my Valentine? 

Kitchen. 7 pm. Wear something nice.

You couldn’t deny that your heart started to beat a little faster at the invitation, but the rational part of your brain told your heart that something was weird about this.

As far as you knew, only two other people on this ship knew that today was Valentine’s Day, and by process of elimination, you came to the conclusion that this must be your idiot Captain messing with you. 

Who else would it be from?

The brief giddiness you felt was completely overtaken by a raging annoyance. Your fist clenched so tightly that it creased the little note, and you stormed out of your room to confront the redhead.  

“Kid!” You yelled as you burst into the kitchen, “I swear whatever cruel joke you’re playing here–“

You stopped in your tracks. 

It wasn’t your Captain waiting for you in the kitchen.

“Killer?”

The Massacre Soldier – clad in an apron – had his hands frozen midway through putting a lasagna-filled baking dish into the oven. 

“Hi.” He said awkwardly, “It’s, uh, not 7 pm yet.”

You could only stare at him as the gears in your head turned rapidly, “The note… it was you?”

Killer tried not to sound dejected when he replied, “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No! I thought– Well, um,” You continued to babble incoherently, taken aback that the person you had hoped for, but certainly not expected, was the one who wrote the note all along. 

Killer closed the oven door, fumbling a bit as he took off his mitts and quickly set the timer. He reached for something on the far side of the dining table – something that escaped your notice due to your surprise at this whole situation. 

“For you.”

Your breath hitched as he handed you a simple box tied with a red ribbon. 

“Dinner’s not ready yet, but these are, so…”

You felt Killer’s eyes following your every move through his mask, observing your reaction silently. 

You open the box to reveal a row of chocolate truffles, evenly dusted with dark cocoa powder. The shapes were a little bit lumpy, telling you that the sweet treats were likely handmade by Killer himself. 

A surge of joy overflowed through you, filling your body with a delicious warmth. How did he know that chocolates were such a fundamental part of Valentine’s Day in your hometown? You couldn’t believe this was happening.

And maybe you shouldn’t believe it.

Your brain cruelly shattered the euphoria that you were feeling. 

Right. Killer couldn’t have known about Valentine’s Day. Did Kid or Wire tell him? 

Was this some kind of sick prank that the three of them were playing on you? 

Or did he overhear your conversation and felt sorry that you didn’t have someone to spend this day with?

You couldn’t bear any of those thoughts being true, but you couldn’t really think up another explanation for this. Someone like Killer couldn’t possibly want to do anything remotely romantic for someone like you… right?

“Kil, I… I really appreciate this,” you finally said, “But I swear if you’re just doing this out of pity, or, or for a joke, then–”

“Pity? A joke?” Killer spitted out, “Where did that come from? What in the four goddamn blues are you talking about?”

He sounded legitimately confused, which in turn, made you confused.

With your face buried in your hands, you finally told him about your earlier conversation with Kid and Wire. When you were done explaining, Killer simply laughed out loud at your misguided suspicions, “You got it completely wrong.”

“Well, how did you know about Valentine’s Day, then?” You grumbled defensively, “Kid didn’t, so obviously the holiday is not celebrated on Kutsukku Island.”

Killer scratched the back of his neck bashfully. 

“I, uh, accidentally got a peek at your calendar a while ago.” He admitted, “I was looking for you, and your door was open, but you weren’t in your room.”

Your face burned, remembering that you had circled today’s date and wrote ‘Valentine’s Day’ in bold letters, with a bunch of little hearts drawn around it in red ink, “Oh.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Killer shrugged before continuing, “Obviously, I got curious. So, on the next island we docked at, I went to the library and did a little research.”

A smile crept up your face at the image of your hunk of a Commander, hunched over in the library with a book.

“Did you know Valentine’s Day is not only celebrated on your home island? Quite a lot of places in the Four Blues and the Grand Line celebrate it too.” 

You cocked your head, partly out of interest at the fact he just told you, partly out of amusement that he really took the time to read up on the holiday, just because of some little hearts on your calendar. And partly out of surprise too – you had never seen the Massacre Soldier act as nervous as he did now.

His hand started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he droned on and on, “The holiday’s known by different names, of course, and there are a lot of different traditions involved, but the consensus seems to be that it’s the perfect day to celebrate love with your partners.”

He took a shaky breath, and hesitantly, in a voice so soft you thought you were imagining it, he said, “And that it’s also a perfect day to… confess your feelings.”

It took more than a few seconds for his words to sink in. 

Your eyes widened like saucers when they finally did.

“…You have feelings for me?” You sputtered incredulously, “Why?”

Killer chuckled at the dumbstruck expression on your face, “Why would I not?” 

You gulped as his hand reached out to brush his fingers upon your hair, grazing your ear in the process, “You’re smart, funny, beautiful, brave. You never take shit from anyone. You take care of me and the crew a lot. I love talking and spending time with you. You’re the most wonderful person I know.”

His hands gripped your shoulders, as if begging you to see yourself the way he saw you.

“How could I not fall for you?”

You couldn’t see his face, but the sincerity in his voice alone was enough to choke you up.

You were speechless, so you just stood there with your mouth slightly gaping, staring in disbelief at the man you have had feelings for forever admitting that those feelings were mutual. 

As your stunned silence went on, Killer’s hands slackened from their hold on your shoulders, and he took a step back, mistakenly taking your reaction as rejection.

In a surge of panic, and with a boldness that came out of nowhere, you grabbed his metal-clad face and pulled him back towards you, planting a kiss right where his lips would be. 

You pulled away just as quickly, letting out an embarrassed chuckle when you saw that your lipstick had left a little kiss mark on his helmet. Your hand flew to the spot, but Killer caught it before your fingers could wipe the stain off.

“Killer, I–“

“If you want to kiss me,” His voice somehow sounded lower than it was a minute ago, “You better do it properly.”

And with that, he brought your hands to the sides of his head, guiding them in lifting the helmet off.

Your heartbeat quickened to a million beats per minute as Killer’s face was slowly revealed to you. 

First his goatee, then his purple-stained lips, his pointed nose. 

Killer shook his blond mane and set the helmet aside before finally meeting your gaze.

“Kil…” You reached out as if in a trance and gently caressed his cheek, gasping at the sight of his strikingly blue eyes, “You’re so beautiful.”

It admittedly made you giddy that you had now become one of the only few select people that Killer chose to show his face to.

Hell, if the world knew what he looked like underneath that mask, you were sure that a gaggle of women and men would chase him down to the ends of the Grand Line.

Killer grabbed your waist and stepped closer to you, leaving a mere inch between your chests. Both of your hearts were thumping so loudly that it was a miracle that the other couldn’t hear it.

He leaned in ever so slowly… then stopped, leaving it up to you to close the gap. 

You tentatively brushed your lips against his, and it felt like sparks had burst all over your chest, leaving tingles everywhere. You pressed your lips to his once more, a little bit firmer this time.

Killer couldn’t hold back any longer and tugged your body flush with his. His hand traveled to the back of your head, pulling you into a deeper kiss.

Your knees felt like jelly, and you would’ve been sprawled on the floor if it wasn’t for Killer’s steady arms holding you up. 

You could taste a hint of chocolate on his tongue – he must’ve spent so much time taste-testing to make the perfect batch of chocolates for you.

Both of you couldn’t get enough of each other now that you had gotten a taste, but of course, you were only humans, so you finally parted to properly get some air into your lungs.

Killer touched his forehead to yours and grinned, still slightly out of breath, “So, does this mean you’re my Valentine?”

“Yes, you big oaf.” You laughed, circling your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace, “This year and the next, and for as long as you want me.”

The kitchen of the Victoria Punk never felt as warm as it was now, with you finally wrapped around Killer’s arms. A delicious aroma wafted from the oven, a reminder that a lovely meal for two was still waiting for you – and that your night had barely started. 

You wished it would never end.

a/n: i almost didn't finish this on time askdjksjdk i kept procrastinating because i didn’t quite know how i wanted to write killer, but i hope i did him justice! hope you enjoyed this little valentine treat, and i hope you're all having a great valentine's day, whether you're spending it with your partner, your friends, your family, or by yourself. have some chocolate and flowers from me 🍫💐

[obvithe-bestsoph]

sleepy boyfriend.

masterlist requests word count: 803

a/n: this is straight up just fluff. kinda sappy but also cute. also we're not going to judge the slightly cringy song choice for this one, are we? no, no we are not. 😌 sorry for missing an upload yesterday, i was really busy! you guys get two fics tomorrow instead to make up for it. genre: fluff. summary: you come home after a long day to a sleepy surprise, and spend a peaceful night getting ready for bed with pau. warnings: they kiss? nothing graphic at all though.

You’ve had a long day. Having to arrive early to work at 8 AM, working late until 9 PM, you could hardly keep your eyes open as you finally dragged yourself through the front door. You dump your stuff in the entryway and grab a piece of fruit, eating it quickly as you make your way through the apartment, greeting the dogs and closing all the curtains before finally heading to your bedroom. 

You open your door and almost jump halfway out of your skin when you find your boyfriend lying asleep on your bed, not expecting him to be there. There’s a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table, and he’s got on dress pants and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. Clearly, he was going to try and surprise you, but the pobricito (poor guy) had fallen asleep. 

He’s lying on top of the covers, but he’s hugging one of your pillows like he’ll die without it. He has his face buried in it, so he can get that familiar scent of your hair products and perfume. You smile and snap a quick picture on your phone, before gently sitting down next to him and stroking your hand over his soft cheeks until he begins to stir.

Pau’s vision is bleary for a moment before he awakens fully, realising that his girlfriend is now home and sitting right next to him. His expression almost instantly perks up to look like an excited puppy. “Hola, meu amor (my love).” he croaks. “I was waiting for you. I was gonna take you out for dinner, but I guess I fell asleep.” his cheeks turn a little pink. “It’s alright, I’m kinda tired for going out anyway.” You smile, kissing his cheek, before standing up and starting to get changed from your work clothes into one of his hoodies and some pyjama shorts. 

“How was your day?” he asks softly, sitting up against the headboard and watching as you move around the bedroom, going about your nighttime routine. 

“Kinda awful, I haven’t had a minute to sit down since I left this morning, and I’ve had no time to myself either. So, yeah, busy,” you sigh. He smiles sympathetically as he follows you into the ensuite, sitting down on the closed toilet seat while you brush your teeth and do your skin care. For the most part, he simply watches curiously and quietly.

Of course, you still include your little domestic traditions of getting ready for bed together. When you put on your moisturiser, you turn around to him and rub it gently over his face too, just like how, out of habit, he leans up for a kiss when you put your lip mask on. 

He then lets you brush his hair, practically falling dozing off again at the soothing motion of the brush against his scalp. When you finish, he opens his eyes slowly, looking up at your face with a sleepy smile. 

“Ets tan bonica, ho saps (you’re so beautiful, you know that)?” he murmurs, making you blush a little. He stands and steals a quick kiss as he walks back out into the bedroom, starting to undress from his nice outfit.

You and Pau don’t live together just yet, but you may as well do, as you’re basically half moved into his dorm at La Masia, and he’s basically half moved in here. He manages to find one of his hoodies that you’ve stolen from him at some point or another, and some of his sweatpants he also discovers in your wardrobe. “I think there’s more of my clothes in here than yours, tu petit lladre (you little thief)!” he calls, laughing. 

“Calla (shut up), they’re more comfortable than mine!” you laugh back, leaving the bathroom to appear in the doorway of the closet. He just shakes his head as he walks over to you, grinning as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts your feet off the ground, his lips on yours as you giggle in surprise. He carries you like that all the way to the bed, before dropping you ungracefully in the middle of the mattress, falling on top of you, laughing himself. 

He stares into your eyes for a moment before kissing you softly again, still able to taste the lip product on your skin. After the long kiss, he pulls away and grins that sweet grin of his, before slipping you both under the covers and sliding you closer, until your head is tucked under his chin, and your face is buried in his chest. 

“Bona nit, la meva bella dona (good night, my gorgeous woman).” he whispers into your hair.

“Good night, meu nen bonic (my beautiful boy). T'estimo (i love you).” you whisper back. “Jo també t'estimo (i love you too).”

[mountainsandmayhem]

Aisle Amore

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Summary: You truly never know who you might meet in the grocery store. CW: no smut, all fluff. Flirting, mention of divorce, talks of food, more adorable flirting. Word Count: 3.4k AN: I've gone soft!! I couldn't stop thinking about how the couple in Wonderful Tonight and Netflix & Chill met and even though no one asked, this is exactly how they met. I worked in a grocery store for almost 15 years and I can tell you right now that I would to SPRINTING to the pasta aisle. Special thank you to @mermaidgirl30 for beta reading and both her and @littlevenicebitch69 for helping me come up with a title. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

To you, there’s nothing worse than asking for help. You’ve been fiercely independent your entire life, and these snapped ligaments have been testing you. Your friends say they don’t mind helping, but YOU mind them helping. The pain in your ankle has finally subsided enough that you can put a little weight on it and only use one crutch.

Freedom! 

You shut your laptop at 6 pm, change into something that isn’t pyjama pants and begrudgingly put on a bra. The first stop on your newly found freedom tour is the grocery store. Thirteen year old you would be appalled at how excited you are over this. You jot down all the ingredients you’ll need to make homemade pasta, marinara sauce and meatballs. 

Living in downtown DC has lots of perks, one of them being you can walk to the grocery store that’s just around the block. After gingerly testing your ankles a few times you decide you can walk there. Your dad’s voice echoes through your head, “This family doesn’t cry, take care of yourself, don’t depend on anyone but you”. 

The walk there is easy, it feels good to be out in the summer evening sun, soaking in the vitamin D that you’ve been missing out on the last few weeks. You grab one of those small baskets with wheels and head into the store. It might be dramatic, but it’s been almost three weeks since you’ve been out on your own and you feel that same hyped elation you had at 16 when you got your license and your parents allowed you to go out on your own the first time. Except at 16 you picked up your friends and went to the record store, you were much cooler in your youth. 

“Stick to the list,” you say to yourself, realizing you’re slowly becoming just like your mother. That’s fucking depressing. 

The first items are olive oil and flour, you crutch along, the sounds of metal clicking and the rubber bottom squeaking following you as you move along the shiny white tile floor. A song you vaguely remember hearing during your childhood plays overhead, Eric Clapton singing about a woman looking lovely. The bakery must have fresh bread, and the delicious scent of it makes your mouth water. 

Focus! 

As you turn down the pasta aisle, you brush past a man in a suit who’s looking at the canned pasta sauces, poor sap, and stop about ten feet away from him. The small bag of flour you need is on an easily accessible shelf but of course, there’s only one left and it’s all the way at the back. 

Marcus holds up a jar of canned marinara, silently humming along to Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. He swears he hears his grandmother on his mother’s side rolling in her grave. She wasn’t Italian, but owned a restaurant and was definitely looking down at him ashamed that he was BUYING something she taught him to make.

Sorry grams, he thinks, just as someone hobbles past him, vanilla wafting behind her, temporarily replacing the scent of the fresh bread he’s also going to pick up. His grandmother might come back just to slap him for this dinner tonight. Granted, he did just return from seeing his ex and her new boyfriend so maybe she’d take pity on him. Bake him those gooey chocolate chip cookies he loved so much. 

As he turns to head toward the pasta he sees a woman who quite frankly takes his breath away. She’s so beautiful that he almost can’t take her all in at once. Her bare legs are toned and tanned, wrapped in long black biker shorts, paired with a plain grey t-shirt and unzipped black hoodie. One high top converse laced up on one foot, the other in an uncomfortable looking boot. Her hair is in a low messy bun with almost too perfectly placed pieces along her neck and face. She seems to invade every ounce of him, until all he can see is her and all he can smell is warm vanilla. His mouth goes dry, and his heartbeat fills his ears. 

This next bit happens so quickly that he doesn’t have time to even think about it. But you would later describe it as not one of your finest moments, and he would describe it as the moment that changed his life. 

He watches as you reach above your head, raising up on the tippy toe of your good foot. As you lean forward, your hollow aluminum crutch slips out from underneath you and falls to the ground. An echoing tinny bang startles you and you stumble, putting too much pressure on your broken foot. The sweetest sounding “Ouch! Motherfucker,” leaves your pouty pink lips as Marcus rushes to catch you. 

“Whoa,” he says as he reaches out to steady you, one hand wrapping around your hip, the other cupping your elbow, helping you off your injured leg. “Are you ok?” 

Your cheeks flush as you look up at him. “Sorry, thank you.” 

Your bright blue eyes wash over him, and something tugs behind his heart. Eric Clapton singing "Oh my darling, you are wonderful tonight" as he stands there temporarily stunned, unsure of where he is or what is name is. It's just you.

It doesn’t make any sense, you could be married for all he knows, but something about you draws him in. He didn’t think he’d feel this way again for a very long time, but he needs to find a way to keep talking to you. 

“Let me get that for you,” he says, his hand moving from your elbow, reaching up and easily plucking the flour off the shelf. 

“Thanks, I could have gotten it.” You say and he fights to stop from laughing. He can tell that you’re not someone who asks for help. No, you’re independent and strong willed. And fuck if that doesn’t just make that tug behind his heart pull that much harder. 

“I know you can, you just scared me.” He looks down at you softly as you stare up at him. 

He’s suddenly very aware that he still has one hand on your hip. Your shirt had ridden up as you wobbled, and the skin of your hip is soft and warm against his palm. He finds himself wondering if the rest of you is just as comforting. Just as an inviting. The light scent of your vanilla perfume fills the small space between the two of you. 

“Look,” he says, finding it inside himself to peel his hand off you now that you’re steady, placing your flour in your basket and bending to grab your crutch. “My grandma is already cursing me from heaven for buying canned sauce and boxed pasta. Can you please let me help you?” 

You open your mouth and then close it, almost like you’re trying to come up with a reason to not let him, so he quickly adds, “For my sake.” 

You laugh through your nose, shaking your head and taking your crutch from this incredibly handsome stranger. 

Please don’t be married. Or a total creep. 

“Smooth,” you say teasingly. 

He tugs at his white button up shirt collar. “Is it hot in here?" He fakes a dramatic cough, "I swear - she’s watching me.” 

You look up at the white painted ceiling of the grocery store. “OK, grandma. Chill. I’ll let him help me.” 

When you look back at him he’s smiling from ear to ear, and if you thought he was handsome before; well, fuck, there’s not even a word to describe how unbelievably charming he looks right now. 

He looks down at your basket before saying, “Do you have a big list?” 

“Umm,” you say holding out the special lined paper you have to make grocery lists. “I have a few things, ya.” 

His thick fingers brush lightly against yours as he takes the list. You can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing a wedding ring, score, his nails are trimmed short and his cuticles are nicely manicured. You assume he must have some sort of fancy office job, like a lawyer or an accountant. He seems to radiate stability and you didn't realize you could be so aroused by fingers.

“Are you making pasta? And sauce?” He asks as his brown doe eyes scan your list. 

“I am,” you say proudly. You might not be a world famous chef, but you take pride in your cooking abilities. 

He smiles back at you again. “Stay here,” he says softly, “I’m gonna grab a cart.” 

As he turns to walk away, taking your basket and his sauce with him, you notice the way his grey suit jacket clings to his broad shoulders. Accountant by day, muscle model by night? Muscle model? Great, he’s broken your brain. 

It doesn’t take long before you hear the distinct rumbling of the plastic wheels of a shopping cart heading your way. Just as your handsome stranger comes back into the aisle “At Last” by Etta James starts to play. 

“I’m Marcus, by the way,” he says, grabbing a box of pasta on the shelf and sitting it next to his sauce in the top part of the cart. 

You say your name and notice the tiniest glint in his eye as the sound of it wraps around him. “Well then, we’d better get going on this list.” 

He moves slowly, allowing you to set the walking pace. He’s taken your list and the entire thing feels almost too domestic, like you can envision yourself doing this every weekend with him for the rest of your lives. Maybe there would even be a kid in that little part where he puts his boxed pasta and canned sauce. 

“Alright, so we covered names and who grew up where. So, what do you do for a living?” You ask, snatching a bottle of olive oil off the shelf. 

“I - uh - I work in law enforcement,” he says. 

You look at him, then his tie, then back at him. With a hint of amusement in your voice you say, “Pretty fancy dress code. What are you? Like FBI or something.” 

“Yes, actually. And now that you know that, I miiiight have to kill you.” 

You laugh, “Sure know how to put a girl at ease, Agent Pike.” 

The way you say agent, all teasing and flirty, goes straight to his cock. He’s been called Agent Pike thousands of times over his career but it’s never sent a shiver down his body like that before. 

He runs a hand over his patchy scruff. “I’m kidding. About the killing part, not the FBI part.” 

“Thanks for clarifying,” you laugh.

Whitney Houston’s voice floats across the store, singing about dancing with someone who loves her. 

Neither of you is particularly paying attention to your list or what aisle you’re in. You snake up and down each aisle, both of you occasionally grabbing something you need. 

“What about you?” He asks. Something about the way he asks a question seems different. It’s like when Marcus asks something he’s genuinely asking, not just trying to force conversation. With every answer you give his eyes focus on yours, he nods and seems curious and excited to hear what you have to say. 

The bar is truly in hell if I’m turned on by a man who’s just treating me like a human. 

“I run a small online store for my, umm, for my designs.” This part is always awkward, men change how they treat you once they find out what you do for a living. You avoid his eyes, he’s so goddamn handsome and you’re already disappointed that he’ll soon give you an ick with how he’ll respond to your career, how all men respond. 

“Your designs? Are you an artist?” His eyes light up and he stands a little taller when he asks, he must love art. He’s going to be thrilled to find out your best friend owns a gallery, and probably even more thrilled when he learns you hurt your ankle falling off a step ladder she had you posing on as she painted you, and yes, you were completely nude. 

“No,” you laugh. “I design clothing. Sort of.” You continue avoiding his eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek as you grab some dried oregano and place it in the basket. 

“Hey,” he says softly, stopping by the spices, “You don’t have to tell me something you don’t want me to know.” 

“It’s not that. It’s just,” you stop, glancing up at his warm chocolate brown eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows, and you have the sudden urge to sink your teeth into his neck. “Men just usually treat me differently once they know.” 

He narrows his eyes at you and his lips curl into a tight lipped and curious smile. “That’s clickbait. Now you have to tell me.” 

“Or you’ll kill me?” You laugh. 

“Yes, FBI remember,” he says sarcastically. 

You take a deep breath through your nose before you begin. “Ok, I design and sell lingerie.” You try to sound as casual as possible, smiling sweetly at him before you start walking again. 

Marcus doesn’t follow along so you look over your shoulder at him. Is he blushing? 

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “I don’t see how that would make someone treat you differently.” 

“Then why are you blushing, Pike?” You flutter your lashes at him as he catches up to you in the aisle. 

The pink of his cheeks deepened, “I’m not blushing. Pretty sure I got a sunburn when I grabbed the cart.” 

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard that being indoors during sunset is a very dangerous UV time.” You joke. 

He laughs, “You’d be shocked how many people don’t believe it.” 

You both laugh as you head towards the produce department for your tomatoes and onions. Elvis’s ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ comes over the speakers, and even though other people are shopping, it feels like it’s being targeted at just the two of you. You pluck a few tomatoes from the shelf and he opens the little plastic bag for you to place them in. 

He takes a breath to start speaking and you brace yourself for the inevitable. All men do it. They all either ask what your company is called so they can look up your Instagram later or they’re bold and flat out ask you to model some of your designs for them. 

“Where’d you learn to make pasta?” He asks, his voice quivering at the closeness of your body to his. 

“Umm, I sort of did an Eat, Pray, Love thing recently.” You say quietly, smiling up at him. It’s the tiniest movement, but you swear his eyes flick to your lips as your hand brushes against his while you reach into the bag. Your heart is pounding behind your ribs, it’s almost unfair how handsome he looks under these fluorescent lights. 

“Oh? Like you went to Italy?” His voice is low and nervous as he watches you picking up tomatoes, squeezing them gently and smelling them. Carefully choosing the best ones. 

“Yes. Without spilling my whole life story, I got married young and then divorced a few years ago. I just kind of needed a hard reset on myself.” You drop two more tomatoes in the bag and then side step, or more more like side hobble, to the onions. 

“Huh,” he says, “I can honestly say that I know exactly what you mean by that.” 

You both smile at each other, you swear you can see his pulse flutter in his neck before he says, “Unfortunately, I think we have everything on your list,” he finishes off his sentence by saying your name and it sends an explosion of butterflies in your lower belly. You don’t know if you’ve ever met someone who makes you feel like you have somehow known them for your whole life but is also brand new. 

“Sorry. You probably have places to be and I’m -“ Your voice trails off when he slowly steps even further into your space. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says softly, his fingertips brushing against yours causing a buzzing up your arm. Just then ‘I knew I loved you’ by Savage Garden rains down from the speakers. Marcus laughs gently and continues, “Is it just me or has the music been interesting in here tonight?” 

You move your pointer finger just a hair so it brushes against his, “ya, sounds like the crab from The Little Mermaid is in charge.”

A laugh from his stomach passes his lips, it’s joyous and melodic and even though you’ve just met him, you want to make him laugh like that for the rest of your life. He’s smiling so big that you can see all his straight white teeth. His head tips forward slightly and the skin around his eyes crinkles. You’re both so close, he smells like mint and a new book and everything around you seems to fall away, blurring around the edges. It’s overwhelming. Dizzying even. He’s the one. You can’t explain it, but you were meant to be in this grocery, with this annoying boot and crutch. 

“That’s not quite the comparison I would have used, but yes.” His eyes dance around yours, still laced with amusement and happiness. “Is he a crab or lobster?” 

“I think he’s a crab,” you say, pulling your hand back from his to stop yourself from leaping off that cliff and into his arms.

“I think he’s a lobster,” he counters, stepping back but never breaking the connection of his eyes with yours. 

As you head towards the checkout you glance towards the shopping cart nervously, remembering that you walked here. 

Both of you pay for your groceries in a comfortable silence and he scolds you teasingly for trying to grab your bags. “Grandma is still watching.” 

The two of you head for the exit. “Did you park somewhere?” 

“No. I can take them from here,” you’re not going to let this man drive you somewhere or walk you home. That’s ridiculous. You are strong and you’ve already impeded his life enough. 

He lifts his eyebrow suspiciously and turns just a touch so you can’t reach your bags. “You walked here, didn’t you?” 

“It’s really fine, Marcus. It’s not far. Thank you for your help. You didn’t need to do that.” 

“I have an apartment that way,” he says, nodding his head in the same direction you need to go.

“Oh that’s very forward of you, but I know better than to go to a secondary location with a stranger.” And he does it again, that beautiful, happy laugh. “I’m in the same direction.” 

You walk down the quiet street. People always say they wouldn’t want to live downtown because it’s too noisy, but truthfully, after the work crowd disperses for the evening and the dinner rush parts, it’s quite peaceful. 

“How sure are you that he’s a lobster? Willing to make a bet?” 

He looks over at you cautiously. “Alright. I’ll play along. I’m 100% sure he’s a lobster. What’s the bet?” 

“Wow. Marcus Pike, does the FBI know you’re such a risk taker?” 

He says your last name and follows it with, “Quit stalling, what’s the bet.” 

“Ok ok. Once I’m off all the painkillers. If he’s a crab, I make you REAL pasta. If he’s a lobster, you take me out for real pasta.” 

You both stop at the same time in front of the same building, “This is me. So is it a bet?”

Marcus pulls a key fob out of his pocket, “This is also me. And yes, we have a bet.” 

You cross the lobby together, you select your floors and exchange phone numbers on the way up and then he finally gives you your bags. 

“Thank you,” you say, smiling at him sweetly as the elevator approaches your floor. “I appreciate you using your grandma to help me.” 

He covers his heart with his hand. “I would never!” 

As the elevator comes to a halt he glances up at you sheepishly and your heart almost breaks open right then and there at how devastatingly handsome and heart meltingly adorable he is all at the same time. 

You smile like a damn fool the moment you’re out of that elevator. Of all the ways you thought your night was going to go, it did not involve a very charming stranger making you all nervous and delusional. 

The second you get inside your apartment you fight the urge to prove yourself right and cash in on our dinner, but you already miss him, so you text him. 

Tag list:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut  @sullyrocky44 

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

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[f1lncer5]

「 Long Distance? — D.S.^^‧₊ ˚ 」

. oneshot!! (this one is low key long asf sorry 😭)

_______________________________________________

11:09 PM

.

Angel always despised when David was on call for a job across town. Even if it was an hour or two away, they always felt so deprived of their man’s love. They’d try their hardest to not call him or text him during the days he had to work, but they just couldn’t help it. Angel sighed, sinking deeper into the couch cushions as the sounds of the television droned on in the background. Their mind wasn’t on the YouTuber playing their all time favorite game, not really. It was truly just white noise, something to fill the empty space where David should have been talking.

David has promised to call once the job was done. They knew he wouldn’t break that promise, but it didn’t stop the gnawing anxiety from creeping into Angel’s mind. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt and there was no way they could find out because Milo and Ash were probably trying to save themselves and —

Minecraft soundtrack ringtone

Oh!

Angel fumbled to grab the phone next to them, nearly dropping the device in their rush to answer. Once they saw ‘Big bad wolf’ on their screen, they cheesed like an idiot.

“Angel,” came David’s deep, familiar voice, and just like that, their body relaxed. The tension in their shoulders melted away at the sound of him.

“Took you long enough,” they complained, leaning down to lay on their back as they held the phone up to their ear, though there was no real annoyance in their tone.

David huffed out a quiet laugh. “Job ran a little longer than expected. You doing alright?”

Angel sighed dramatically. “No. I’m suffering. I don’t have anything to keep me incredibly warm.” Their tone was all jokes, but they had real tears in their eyes as they spoke.

Another chuckle, this time accompanied by the faint yet familiar sound of Asher and Milo bickering in the background. “Sounds like you’re real heart broken about it.” He teased

A shaky breath slipped past their lips before they could stop it, and the tears that they held so stubbornly weld up faster than they could blink them away. Angel clenched their jaw, willing themselves to get it together, but it was no use. They sniffled accidentally, wiping their nose out of annoyance. They hated crying, even when he wasn’t there to comfort them.

David paused. The teasing edge in his tone disappeared instantly as he took a breath in. “Angel?” His tone was softer now and laced with much concern.

Angel swallowed hard and tried to play it off, but the lump in their throat wouldn’t let them. “I—“ their voice cracked, forcing them to let out a frustrated groan. Why were they such a pathetic sap?

“Baby,” david murmured.

Angel cut him off. “I’m fine. I just...” They paused, not hearing a response from him. It seemed as if they made him emotional too. Jeez, this was stupid. Angel clutched the phone in their fingers, letting another tear slip down their cheek as they stared at the ceiling while continuing to speak. “I hate when you’re gone this long.” Their voice was barely above a whisper. “I know it’s dumb. And I know you’re fine, but—“ they sucked in a breath. “I just miss you. So much.”

David was quiet for a moment. He swallowed hard and sighed. “I know..I know it’s hard for you. And it’s not dumb.”

Angel let out a small, broken laugh. “Kinda feels stupid.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly.

“You don’t think it’s annoying..?”

David sighed, the kind he only did when he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “Angel, no.” His voice was a little rougher now, but with something more than frustration. It made his lover’s stomach flip. “You know how many times I’ve checked my phone just hoping you’d text me first?”

Angel blinked. “You..wanted me to?”

“Of course I did,” he admitted. He then explained how he didn’t text Angel because he assumed they were probably just trying to keep themselves busy instead of violently missing him.

Angel curled into the couch, pulling the blanket that was knitted by David’s grandfather over their legs. They were a little cold. As the call went on, they talked about nothing and everything at the same time. How the job went, how the food was over there, and what Angel had been doing to pass the last few days. Angel’s voice was a little groggy, and David seemed to notice it. “You sound tired.” He pointed out.

Angel let out a small, tired hum of agreement. “Don’t wanna hang up.” After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, Angel spoke again. “Can you—can you talk to me until I fall asleep?..”

David’s answer was almost immediate. “Of course.”

A wave of relief washed over them and they let their eyes slip shut, snuggling a little into the blankets that surrounded them. David kept talking, voice low and steady, rambling about his day—how the job went in full detail. The shifty food that their clients had made for them, although he was greatful it whatever. David suddenly paused as he heard Angel’s breathing steady and rhythmic. He sighed, a smirk appearing on his lips. He listened to Angel snore before he spoke softly.

“I love you, Angel.” He murmured.

(I need him so bad it’s not even funny)

[missmarveledsblog]

A KIND OF SEX EDUCATION ( PART THREE) ( PLATONIC Cas , winchesters x reader)

SUMMARY : Cas finds onlyfans , all it not what it seems though

warning : its just pure crack and fun

Turns out even as traumatising as the last time of cas curiosities didn’t actually have too bad of out come and as much as she had hated to admit dean was right about them dating . although never in the bunker was it peaceful for too long . turns out bobby was her dad and she learned new thing about her parents no child should ever learn …ever. 

Something else was different too every night at 8 pm cas would disappear off into his room even when on hunt he would head off some where always at 8pm , of course they were curious  but after last few ordeal with the angel well the curiosity was just not enough to investigate . well until ..

“ i am in love and i think it time i brought her here” he said  completely out of the blue . 

“ you have a girlfriend good job buddy … don’t show her your internet history though” dean snorted only for y/n to slap him in back of the head. 

“ she’s real right?” sam asked needing clarifications after poor guy fell for an A.i bot . 

“ she’s very real we talk every night at 8pm . 

“ that’s great cas maybe we can go for a double date sometime “ y/n beamed more for the fact it probably the most normal interaction she had with the angel in what felt forever . 

“ i shall ask her although she said friends cost extra” he said heading off to his room as they all shared a look. 

“ who the hell is spending 500 dollars a night on …” bobby called. 

“ you go in i’m not going in , i’m always the one here for this shit” she argued as three stood out his door. 

“ oh for fuck sake  i’m moving out” she whined. 

......

“ you’re nicer though he listens to you and better than him he’ll break his heart” sam reasoned . 

“ why aren’t you in the equations” she scoffed. 

“ i don’t want to deal with it to be honest” sam huffed. 

“ how about we all go talk to him i mean plus lets see what she like she could be nice gal for all we know” dean grinned. 

“ do you like having a girlfriend” she glared . 

“ point taken you should take this one” he smiled pushing her into the room. 

“ another tip from my angel any requests” the voice called as y/n was ready to burst into tears thinking maybe wifi in the bunker was over rated.

“ hey cas i need to erm talk to you it’s urgent” . 

“ why are you're eyes covered if its urgent” she could already picture his tilted head and confused face but she was afraid just incase his little saint was out awaiting . “ i got to go my love i will come back tomorrow” he called as silence filled the room god this was going to like shooting bambi’s mother. 

“ he’s dressed sweetheart” was all dean voice said echoing down the  hall. 

“ oh thank fuck , hey buddy can we talk” she asked softly and wishing she was well anywhere else. 

“ of course it is urgent” he nodded. 

“ jesus how do i go about this?” she sighed rubbing her temples. 

“ are you pregnant? I noticed the little weight but i didn’t want to mention it” he looked down at her stomach. 

“ getting less hard , no i’m not pregnant may need to go on a diet though… nevermind cas whats your loves name?” she shook her head staying on point albeit less confident then before .

“Angel lady six nine” he beamed proudly . 

“ oh you poor sap it’s sixty nine  not the the point cas have you talk with her like in person or …” . 

“ on only fans gabriel sent me the link said it was a website for meeting exciting women and now i met my love and she makes me so happy … and it make my hands want to do the thing i see ” he smiled . 

“ well i’m glad, good chatting buddy” she backed out the room definitely not the one to be dealing with this . 

So now here sam was while dean was telling y/n she wasn’t fat.  He could do it rip the bandaid off but provide some sort of comfort maybe bring him somewhere to meet real woman that wouldn’t send them to the poor house. 

“ hey cas can we talk” he smiled awkwardly seeing the angel eyes locked on screen .

“ of course it seems as everyone wants to do that tonight” he place it down as sam caught a glimpse of the page he was on . 

“ your love isn’t well actually love” he cut to the point . 

“ why not she tells me all the time” his head tilted like a confused puppy. 

“ that’s cause you give her five hundred dollars a night i mean she call you king of the world for that sort of money” . 

“ she shows me her things like…” he began to explain. 

“ i don’t need to know that .. but she not really in love with you buddy just the money you give her?” sam asked watching his reaction seeing the cogs turn in the mans head. 

“  i don’t get it” he finally said. 

“ ok… goodnight” sam huffed walking out as dean stormed  . 

“ hello dean” cas smiled. 

“ ok buddy you're dating a prostitute electronically needs to stop or we can’t buy pie so stop wasting the money online great talk buddy” he shut the door as the other two watched him walk off in victory . 

“ nothing wrong with earning money like that woman power ,  just not ours cas” y/n winced at her boyfriends way with words following after. 

They sat worried as cas never showed up for breakfast  , y/n even checked to see his room empty to which sam said to give him space. 

“ jesus your right that was like shooting bambi” sam called heading in the same direction. 

......

“ but what if we made him run away” she pouted. 

“ he’s literally older than all of us and an angel” dean shrugged. 

“ but he’s a baby in a trench coat you say it all time” she pointed out . 

“ the kitchen is through here , would you like a drink” the voice called out. 

“ oh water is fine” a female voice replied as the two appeared making them not only drop their jaws but whatever was in their face as the woman followed behind. 

“ is that…” she whispered. 

“ the hook..OWW” Dean yelled as y/n kicked him . 

“This my love  angel , angel these are my friends who think your a hooker”  cas said as sam choked on his drink.

“We don’t think your a hooker” y/n smiled weakly . 

“ actually we do  onlyfans means one thing … not that i would know i’ve never seen it before” dean corrected himself as his girlfriend glared. 

“ you know people do other things on onlyfans not only sexwork right “ angel crossed her arms. 

“ come on angel sixty nine” dean scoffed. 

“ six point nine my birthday is the 9th of june” she answered.

“ look we don’t slut shame but you make his hands wanna move” sam pointed out . 

“ to teach him to draw” she gasped .

 “ five hundred dollars to paint really cas” bobby walked in. 

“ he doesn’t pay me a dollar” angel pointed out . 

“ where our money going then” y/n brow furrow. 

“ wait that’s real money i though it was pretend money” jack walked in with his tablet showing them the gambling site he was on . 

“Wait so she's not a hooker” dean asked confused. . 

“ sorry angel” the called in unison .

" we're getting rid of the wifi i can't be dealing with this shit" y/n called heading out the room .

@pizzagirlxnsfwx hope you enjoy part three :)

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Cia's Wonderful Day Out, part 2

Part 1

Ciaran swung his coat on, reattached his watch, and opened his umbrella as he stepped into the brisk autumn. Even with his coverings and face paint, the setting sun stung his skin. He set a brisk pace down the street, unwilling to waste any more of his day.

Mr Na would not be happy that he missed his shift, of course, but he would understand. Someone, likely Jill, would have recorded down that episode, or at least written down the recipe. What he needed now was a good, strong drink and some blood to wash it down.

So he went to The Bar. There were many bars in Luxatia— for the city of light needed its shadows —but only one would scratch that itch. Home turf of the vampires and Fae. The Bar. It was just what he needed to unwind after a long week.

Unfortunately for Ciaran, this was just not his day. In fact, it was not his day, week, or year. That honour belonged to a young man who had just finished his foolproof illusory spell and made a great deal of money off it. 

Right at the center of the bar, chattering excitedly, was his nemesis. Or the person who would have been his nemesis if he had one. Shorter than him by several heads, bouncing up and down on her seat, beaming like a miniature sun, was Hash. Sitting in his spot, as usual. 

“Get out of my seat,” he growled. “I've had a bad day and you're about to make it worse.”

Hash looked at him with wide, sad eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “Ya alright, darlin'? What happened?” Hopping off her seat, she gestured for the bartender to come over.

“One shot of spirit mead, Anise,” Ciaran told him. “The strongest you've got. And please, just go away, Hash. I'm not in the mood for your antics right now.”

“Alrigh',” she said dubiously. “I'll go get Davie, shall I? He'll cheer ya right up. See you ‘round, Cia.”

“Stop calling me Cia,” he replied, but she was already gone. 

“Damned shifters,” he grumbled to nobody in particular. “Sit in your seat, piss all over your bathroom, set fire to your apartment. What's next: gonna find that bitch fucking my wife? Not that I have one anymore. And that's thanks to her too.”

Anise slid over a drink. “You should cut Hash a break. I don't know what happened ‘tween you, but he's a good sort.”

“He's a fucking bitch, is what he is. Everyone acts like he's such a fucking sweetheart, but-” Ciaran shook his head and down a drink. “There's fewer people than there usually are. Exorcists combed the place again?”

Anise's mandibles twitched. They rubbed their lower arms together. “You could say that, yeah. But it was more one really, really drunk exorcist.”

“Oh god. What did they do?”

“She. And she managed to get shitfaced, pick a fight, and give some poor sap the worst beating of his life.” Shaking their head, they held up the bottle of mead. “Some more, Ciaran? It does the soul good. You looked like hell walking into this place.”

“You only say it does the soul good because that's the most expensive stuff on the menu,” he replied, handing over his empty cup nonetheless. “And yes, I felt like hell. Idiot exorcists decided to pin the blame for some bank robbery on me.”

Tagging: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr,

@possiblyeldritch @tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn,

@ramwritblr @vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west,

@differentnighttale @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms,

@abiteofhoney @drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3, @bookwormclover, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @aalinaaaaaa

@the-letterbox-archives, @gioiaalbanoart (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[ooffmlsorry]

Law comforting you when you're teary from PMS

A/N: another self-indulgent one, folks...and not one of the ones I'm supposed to be writing. You could read this as pretty early on in knowing Law, hence why he's referred to as "Captain Law" several times.

T/w: period talk and mention of cramps/blood, reader has a vagina

During your last bloody run-in with the Marines, you handled things perfectly fine. Actually, and you wouldn't say this to anyone but your reflection, you did stellar. Covering the Heart Pirates' backs with your sniper rifle, ordering your flying fire cat Moremi to evacuate as many of the injured as possible, and calling out threats as you saw them. You kept a cool head despite your and Moremi's injuries, the danger, and the constant pumping of adrenaline in your veins. The crew was impressed, as a new addition you had a lot to prove...especially to Captain Law.

And then there was the drop off. After things settled a little, after you were cocooned within the metal safety of the Polar Tang, your body betrayed you.

Waking up in the middle of the night to a familiar ache in your abdomen, you shoved Morimi's warm, purring mass off of you to shuffle to the bathroom, and sure enough, even in the dim light the bathroom could see the dark stain of blood on your underwear.

Of course.

Horrible timing as usual.

You thought you had another week, which would've been enough time catch up on organizing your reports, cataloging your discoveries properly, and helping Captain Law care for the injured, but you didn't...clearly.

You took care of it and stumbled back to bed, so exhausted you could barely keep your eyes open.

You woke up to your energy completely sapped; your brain and body blanketed with an inescapable shroud of fog. Despite your crewmates waking up around you and getting their day started, your body wasn't moving. Or rather, the part of your brain that could list everything you wanted to do today, everything you expected yourself to do today, was a tiny whisper compared to the heaviness of your eyelids and limbs.

"I'm just so tired," you said into Miremo's fur, curling into her further. She was like your own personal heating pad.

It was infuriating. Just days ago you were bandaging wounds cheerfully, despite your grim situation and collecting stories from the islanders. And now...it felt like there was nothing in the world that could make you move.

Much later than everyone else you eventually made your way to kitchen to eat something before your cramps got worse again. Your breakfast, which forced a pitiful laugh out of you, were the quickest snacks you could grab and a glass of milk. The thought of eating in the kitchen crossed your mind and was quickly swallowed by the haze floating around your skull. You didn't realize the thought had occurred until you were already in bed with Moremi again. Was your brain really that far gone?

Now couldn't be a worse time, except maybe during the battle, but still! There was still so much left to do and you were in bed! Doing nothing except eating breakfast! Even your own slow, lazy chewing was getting on your nerves. The sounds of the crew going on with their duties outside the door only made everything worse.

Weak. You're so weak.

Tears started to sting your nose and eyes.

"Great," you sniffles. "So I'm just going to sit here and cry."

Not that you had much against crying, but there was still so much more to do. So much you could be helping your new crew with. So much you could be doing to safeguard all the new tales and knowledge you had gathered.

Moremi twitched as tears sizzled and steamed on her fur. She shifted on top of you to nuzzle your arm with her nose but otherwise didn't move much.

Just then, the door opened, and none other than your captain Trafalgar Law entered. His eyes found you immediately, a scowl formed on his lips.

"Y/N-ya, you're still in bed. Your injuries weren't that severe. Did something happen?"

Exactly. He's right. Get up.

"No," you wipe your tears away. "Just being lazy, I'll get up, captain." Moremi growls a little at being shoved off. You know she's more upset that you're getting up when you shouldn't than at being moved.

Law stops you. "If you're ill please stay in bed. I'll tell the others to keep away from you."

You almost wish that was the case. Your cramps weren't even that bad, you were just exhausted....exhausted like everyone else probably was.

"No, I'm not. I'm just exhausted."

The last thing you expected was for Law to sit down on your bed next to Moremi and grab your face. His hand was gentle but cold and smelled like some kind of medical cleanser. He lifted your chin to observe you, looking for something.

"Open your mouth."

You do so almost without thought.

He continued to examine you. "I don't have lazy crewmembers," he said.

Even with your captain's words, you didn't feel the urge to get up, which only made you despair further.

Tears started to sting your eyes again. With Law squeezing your face a little, they rolled down your cheeks immediately. "I know...I'm sorry, captain."

Law's eyes widened in shock and he let go as if burned. "Y/N-ya." Law sits awkwardly, clearly at a lost for words. "I...I didn't mean to scare you, if that's what it is."

The tears take you over completely. "No, I'm just so tired." You sobbed. "And there's so much to do, but I can't. I can't even think straight. I stand up and my body hurts and I can't fight it anymore. I don't have it in me. I'm just so, so tired. I'm sorry I can't do anything." You sobbed into your hands, covering your face and cried.

A long silence followed, so long you thought Law had left, and then, the weight of his hand on your shoulder pulled your face from your hands.

"You did well in our fight, you need to rest." He spoke matter-of-factly but tenderly. You had never heard him speak so carefully to anyone.

"But you're--"

"We're different people," he said. "If you tried to help now, you'd accomplish nothing. I think we both know that."

Your eyes already felt heavy. At some point you had started to lean as if falling over. You began to doze in front of Law but you saw no judgment in his eyes, just a softness that released the knot of restless guilt in your stomach.

"I told you, I don't have lazy crewmembers. That includes you." Law slowly guided you into laying down and pulled the covers around you with surprising kindness.

"I'll have Ikkaku bring you something real to eat when you wake up. Just rest until you feel better. We can handle ourselves."

You didn't realize Law lingered watching you sleep soundly for a moment before turning the lights off in the cabin with a small smile.

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[maheshts497]

Join the Best SAP PM Online Training with Placement Assistance and launch your career in SAP Plant Maintenance. This course is plan for both beginners and professionals who want to get practical knowledge in SAP PM (Plant Maintenance) and secure job opportunities in the SAP domain. The training covers core topics such as equipment management, maintenance planning, work order execution, and integration with other SAP modules. You will receive live instructor-led sessions, system access for arms-on practice, real-time project experience, and expert guidance throughout the course.

[jmagnabo92]

PM - 276 - 12/1/23 - Cauldron

@prongsfoot-microfic

When Harry wants a solid gold cauldron, Sirius teases him and James about how they are so alike.

AO3

***

“Can I get a solid gold cauldron?” Harry asks, as he pulls on Sirius and James’ hands. 

It’s his trip to get everything for his first year of schooling and he’s gotten his penchant for gold from his father. 

“No, you’ll be made fun of,” Sirius states.  “And we wouldn’t want that.”

“How do you know?  Maybe they’ll like it,” Harry offers.

Sirius grins and looks at James.  “Do you want to tell him?”

James flushes in embarrassment.  At eleven, he had snuck a solid gold cauldron out of his dad’s lab and brought it to school – he’d been the joke of the classroom when he brought it out thinking it would be the greatest thing ever and everyone thought he was a silly show-off.  Only the fact that he grew to be a great potions-maker and star seeker had gotten him less teased about it. 

“Not really, but…” James focuses on their son.  “… I may have made the same mistake and I don’t want you to go through the same thing, so… don’t do it, Harry.”

Harry pouts.  “Fine.”

To cheer him up, Sirius says, “Why don’t you go look at some of the quidditch things while your dad and I get your things?”

“Okay, Pads!  But I wanna be there for the wand.”

“Of course.  Just use your mirror if you need us, okay?”

“Always.”

With that, he runs off and Sirius can’t help giving James a look.  “He’s so your kid – solid gold cauldron."

James swats at him.  “Couldn’t you just say no without bringing that up?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

Sirius grins.  “Because you daring to show up with that cauldron made me realize that you’ve got the gumption to be a lot of fun and want to be your best friend even more than I already was.”

James gives him a soft look.  “Merlin, you’re such a sap.”

“And that’s why you married me,” Sirius says, giving him a kiss.  “Now, come on, we’ve got shopping to do.”

James nods.  “Let’s go.”

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

Hi how are you? Ask game time!

16, 47, 65 & 93?

:)

Hi anon!! I’m doing wonderfully rn! God bless the end of finals and the upcoming summer break. How are you? (Should you feel comfortable enough to reply, of course! I don’t bite :3) Thank you for giving me a chance to ramble :3 um. 16 got long so it’s at the bottom 🥰

47: how well-decorated is your bedroom?

That depends! If you mean well decorated as in how much decoration, yes, lots! Well as in nice/aesthetic um? I like it, but I know my maximalist style can be a Lot for some people LMAO. I have posters and D&D art everywhere, a rainbow carpet, Christmas lights strung through my bookshelf, knick knacks everywhere, etc.

65: do you have a Signature Outfit™?

Oh yes absolutely. Or at least a signature formula: graphic t-shirt under matching button up, jeans or shorts, maybe a cap or beanie. Here’s my favorite button up and jeans just for sillies :3

93: favorite game?

In an every context possible way (board game vs video game vs ttrpg), D&D, hands fucking down. But in terms of video games, I adore the Mass Effect series. No other video game series has made me cry quite so much. Baldur’s Gate 3 is a close second, though I am still in Act 3.

16: is there anyone you're not biologically related to that you consider "family"?

ABSOLUTELY. In fact, why don’t I tag those of them that exist here as an excuse to be a huge fucking sap about it and so you all can go follow them. (Uh. This gets long, so adding a read more thing. I get sappy after 10 pm oopsies)

While I am no longer in the fandom that brought us all together (nor are most of them), I do have to thank that fandom for being what put us all in one place. One beta reading comment left on a fic inspired me to finally pick up D&D again after years of failed campaigns—and we’ve been going strong near a year and a half now. This D&D group is fucking everything to me. These people have been with my through the lowest points of my life and I owe everything to them. Not only are they all talented in art, writing, poetry, and the many things they do, but they are all absolutely incredible people and the best friends I ever could have asked for. One little comment genuinely changed my life.

@daughterofdrearburh is one of the coolest people in the world. She’s smart as a whip, hilarious as fuck, and one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever met. If you get the chance, you should bug her about her novel (I am the number one Starblossom fan) and about her horse, Ginger, who she has made incredible strides with. I admire her a lot. Also about her homebrew/framkensteined together TTRPG she’s running, because it’s a fucking blast!!

@ninthhousesteel was actually the first of the gang that I was mutuals with!! She’s also incredibly funny (probably the most hilarious person I know, seriously they pop out of fucking nowhere with one liners that’ll leave you in stitches). She’s so fucking smart and doing incredible things in engineering (I may not understand it, but I know they’re going to do great things), as well as being a great artist and wonderful writer. Also? Incredible taste in music, frankly. Another thing to bug them about!

@haaawaiianshirt is like. I don’t even know where to start. The best personality ever. She’s funny, outgoing, unbelievably sweet, with just the right amount of bite! She’s like summertime personified, just warm and the best to be around. You can’t help but smile. Add onto that the most delicious art style and an incredible talent for so many different crafts (ask her about crochet beast!!). They’re going to be famous one day for being behind the set design of all your favorite theme parks and theme park rides.

@candle-lion is so COOL. I genuinely look up to her so so so much. Again with the super funny (literally can’t breathe with this group, you will be in stitches). One of the most talented writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, an incredible DM, master at roleplay and making characters you can’t help but fall in love with, as a player or a DM. I admire everything she does in teaching—she is exactly the kind of teacher that our world is in desperate need of. She’s going to change lives, I just know it.

@lavenderlevetan where Emmie is summertime, Eve is autumn. She’s so unbelievably chill, a breath of fresh air to be around, a warm mug of tea of a person, if you catch my drift. She’s so sweet and so smart and sooo wonderful to hang out with, with possibly the most lovely laugh ever. Her writing is immaculate, and god I just LOVE the way she builds characters. You can’t help but be sucked into their inner workings. And yet another incredible artist!!

@suwunnysideup the master storyteller. I have never met someone with such a skill for weaving together stories and characters in such a beautiful web that you can’t help but be starstruck. Seriously, the world building is insane and so in depth, you can see how much they really care. They’re a fucking riot and my best fucking friend. Once again, another insanely talented artist, I need to shake their art like a chew toy. Ask them about carpe diem :3

And last but not least, while not an active PC in our main campaign, the group would not be complete without @avocadosockz . Our resident meme maker, comedian, character arc instigator, beloved guest star NPC, and best audience in the world—while also joining our side campaign as the funniest possible character choice in the world (ask her about Sadie!). Another amazingly supportive person who I appreciate with all of my heart, I love bouncing evil ideas off of her in DMs to enact upon the rest of the party. Excited for our next little scheme >:3

That’s the D&D group covered but I’m not done, if you would believe it. I will take every single chance to be a complete sap about my friends.

More people I met through fandom! I haven’t talked to them as much in recent months, which I’m terribly guilty about, they are all incredible people. @lionydoorin is a wonderful artist and a super sweet person, someone you can always rely on. They’re going to med school and I know they’re going to be fucking amazing in their field. @idyllghost is another rad artist and one of my first really good friends here in Tumblr! He’s so sweet, so funny, and so good at poetry and writing too. An artistic genius in so many ways.

@whiteredrose13 is possibly my oldest internet friend. I think we’re going on?? 5+ years now? Which isn’t much compared to some of y’all, but it’s a lot to me. Rose is one of the kindest, most supportive people in the entire world. She’s so unbelievably patient, listening to me ramble on and on about my D&D campaign and my unfinished writings. Speaking of, because I’m literally surrounded by talent, they are yet another insanely wonderful artist AND writer, with an incredible world and the most lovable OCs ever. Gabe and Ana and their entire family will always live rent free in my brain 🫶

And a special shout-out to the one irl friend who has stuck by me through everything 🫶 Elaina is so kind, so funny, so fucking smart, the best taste in music, one of my favorite people to talk for hours with. I wish we hung out more :,) (Side note, Em I’m realizing the two of you are like two sides of the same coin and would get along so we’ll probably)

If I forgot anyone, know that you are loved in equal measure, I am simply sleepy and functioning on post finals brain fry 🫶

[classicsubliminalbo]

Psychology 1: A Proposition

Originally published Sep 18, 2017 This series is a non-canon CYOA

What is it that you're studying again?

English (2)

Programming (0)

Psychology (5)

Undeclared (1)

Your family tried pushing you toward something more practical, a reliable degree in a STEM field, but looking around at the miserable pre-meds in creative writing classes you are certain that you made the right choice moving forward with something that you're actually passionate about. You hope to one day make a difference in the field of mental health, whether it's a big picture research that redefines the field, or simply helping people with their problems. Unfortunately you discover that these freshman level psychology classes are a total drag. Intro courses are always so broad that it's easy to lose interest, and you find yourself understimulated and struggling to stay awake in class. It isn't all that bad: life after class is a blast. There's always something going on at Carpenter State, and you find a quick friend in Kelly Gardner, a young biostats major who's taking Psychology 101 as an elective.

Kelly's been here as long as you but in her short time on campus she's gotten to know just about everyone. She walks you through the basics of Carpenter State's social hierarchy; who to know, where to be on a Friday night. One morning before class she extends you an invitation to a party on campus and you eagerly accept, hoping to find that much needed stimulation that your classes have sapped away.

The party is being held at a frat house just off of campus. You arrive with Kelly at 9:00 PM and she leads you to the front door where a blonde young man in khaki shorts and a powder blue polo that is one-size-too-small stops you. Polo Guy admires Kelly as she walks by him, but he holds you back, "Invitations only," he says. For a second you think about turning back around and going back to your dorm. You'd rather spend your Friday night playing Destiny than stepping over drunk coeds anyway. But before you leave, Kelly doubles back to your rescue and says, "They're with me, Brayden."

Kelly leads you into the house. It doesn't take long before you realize anyone who matters is at this party. You try to keep up with the conversation as Kelly introduces you to all of the important faces. Ana Marino, the new president of Alpha Delta Theta. Rex Savage, Carpenter State's star quarterback. Samantha Baldwin, a designated driver. She gives you the rundown on all of their stories. Beta Phi Alpha's rivalry with Alpha Delta Theta, the recent sanctions placed on Carptenter State's football program. She tells you who to trust and who to avoid. It's all overwhelming, and for the most part you choose to just stick to Kelly. But when Rex comes back around, Kelly gets caught up in a conversation with the quarterback that loses your attention pretty quickly. You focus on the beer in your hand, and the next time you look up, she's gone. You find yourself all alone at a college party that you were barely even welcome to, and you start to panic. You push through the crowded dining room asking around for Kelly. Most people just ignore you and continue on with their beer pong and make out sessions.

Finally you find someone in the corner. Another young woman, one who Kelly didn't introduce you to. She stands there with a Solo cup and a "I'm so over this party" expression. You approach her and ask if she's seen Kelly.

"Nope," the girl says as she takes a disinterested sip from her cup. "She's probably upstairs like the dozen or so other girls at this party," she replies. 

You frown. That does sound like Kelly. You thank her for her time, but before you leave she asks, "You're a psychology major, right? I thought I recognized you!"

Her name is Madison Wells, a member of the Alpha Delta Theta sorority and a serious hater of parties.

The two of you talk. She tells you about her upbringing in Romero and you share your own stories back, finding that you really enjoy talking to Madison. She laughs when you want her to, she compliments you when you fish for one. When you tell her that you're studying psychology because you just want to help people she says, "That's so sweet," and the way she places her hand on your shoulder gives you a feeling that something more could happen tonight. Naturally, you start to panic. Should you make a move? What if you're reading this situation all wrong?

"So, Psychology Major," she says. "Have you ever learned anything about hypnosis?"

"That's more of a practical therapy thing," you reply. "I'm just learning the big picture right now."

She frowns. "Well, I think it sounds...really sexy."

"Y-yeah?"

"Oh yeah..." a small moan slips passed her voice. "I saw a stage hypnotist last year and...well, I had a good time is all I'm saying."

You didn't expect the conversation to go in this direction, but now that Madison is basically telling you her fetish, you're pretty certain this is genuine flirting. "I could try," the words come out of your mouth before you even know them. "I mean, I definitely know a thing or two. If you want to...try it out..."

Madison's smile is enchanting. "Not here, but I'll tell you what," she says, slipping her hand into your back pocket and pulling out your phone. You're too smitten to even react as she starts to type on your phone. "I'll give you my number, and you can hit me up when you want to play...but only if you promise to hypnotize me."

It isn't until Madison disappears that you realize what you've done: promised a beautiful girl that you'll hypnotize her, even though you don't have the first clue how. Something about Madison's presence made you want to please her. And you still do. As you leave the party, you find your mind racing for ways you can learn to hypnotize people, and how to learn it quickly.

Do you...

Option A: Ask your professor for help

Option B: Use Google

Option C: Tell Madison the truth

[nolesserhuman]

what a match, I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet. [part 1]

PM Dazai + reader "you'll never remember, your head is far too blurry" // Dazai doesn't know how to take allergy meds. ~3.k words warnings: misuse of medication, dazai-typical suicide references. ao3.

Dazai is beginning to suspect that something might actually be wrong this time.

Admittedly, he always wakes up feeling bad— for whatever reason, he manages to convince himself that he definitely won’t be hungover this time— so when there’s a sharp pressure behind his eyes before he even opens them, he vows for the third time this week to swear off alcohol. It’s only Tuesday.

When he rolls over to bury his face back into his pillow, a loud groan works its way out of Dazai’s throat, one that echoes off the walls of his shipping container as if he’s surrounded by constant misery. 

Every muscle in his body aches. When he inhales, his chest is sticky; trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, his limbs feel like they’re filled with sand. Too heavy. Whatever he’d done yesterday couldn’t have tired him out this badly— it’s probably just his shell of a body protesting the idea of work. The rest of him doesn’t want to work either.

Dazai mashes his face against the thin pillow and hopes he suffocates. But he can’t do that quite yet; there’s a meeting with Mori today, and if he skips that, the doctor won’t even let his death be peaceful.

A cough rudely interrupts his thoughts. His chest tightens, and Dazai tries to stifle it, but that only makes it worse; he can feel his lung spasm behind his ribs and, as a hacking fit finally bursts out of him, Dazai tumbles out of bed and to the floor, determined not to cough up phlegm in the one place he’s able to sleep.

He hits the steel floor with too hard of a thud for someone so clinically underweight. The chill seeps through Dazai’s thin clothing and cotton gauze and saps the remnants of heat from his frail body. Dazai lays there for who knows how long, staring blankly up at the ceiling in a daze. His breath rattles in his chest with every shaky exhale.

From somewhere in the dark, his phone chimes. Dazai groans again, hands fumbling across the cold metal, through the ratty fabric of his blanket. His fingers finally close around the damned thing. When he flips it open, the harsh light from the screen angers whatever ache is rattling around in his skull. 

It’s just a message from you. Dazai flips his phone closed and tosses it back into the dark.

He coughs again, wet and sticky. Laying on his back like this feels like he’s drowning in whatever gunk had filled his chest overnight. It’s not as painless as a death as he’d hope for. Another twinge of pain in his chest and Dazai’s body reacts on its own. He finds himself propped up on his elbows as he coughs violently, gasping for air between each wheeze. He spits up a wad of phlegm and makes a face at the disgusting taste that lingers on the back of his tongue.

The coughs eventually quiet down. Dazai lays there panting for a moment, trying to catch his breath. His phone chimes again somewhere— probably another message from you, urging him to crawl out of his tin grave just a little bit faster. He spits once more and hauls his heavy body to its feet.

Getting dressed is a pain. Dazai’s usual brand of gauze bandages is now irritating his sensitive skin as he drags his shirt over his shoulders. His delicate fingers fumble with his belt and tie even though he can normally fasten them blind. He has to stop every few moments to catch his breath again.

He can ignore that. He’s got a meeting to get to.

When he pushes open the door of the shipping container he calls a home, it screeches, in the same way he does when touched without permission. The route to headquarters is, of course, memorized— they all are, actually, whether by foot or car or in potential flood. Dazai doesn’t even have to think about it as he walks. Which is good, because Dazai isn’t thinking much at all right now.

Today is too bright. Dazai grimaces as the sun reignites the ache behind his eyes, his vision blurring in the washed-out daylight of Yokohama. The heat goes unnoticed and does nothing for Dazai’s wet cough.

While he may deny the concept of sickness— sometimes his body just doesn’t work right, what else would you expect from a broken toy?— Dazai has spent enough time in Mori’s care to know that this is a punishable offense. He’s whining about a headache, really? Coughing while the boss has something important to say? Can’t have that. Dazai isn’t too sure how Mori would punish this string of personal failures, but even thinking about it feels like ice water dripping down his spine. Or maybe that’s the fever.

For the first time in months, Dazai’s path diverges from the map in his head.

His body turns to the right. Glass doors whoosh open, a soft bell chimes overhead, the teenager behind the counter offers a hesitant greeting. Dazai ignores all of it, blinking against the harsh fluorescence of the convenience store.

The lights buzz at the same frequency as whatever’s vibrating in his skull.

Allergy medication is lined up in a row on the back shelves. Beneath that, cold medicine. Dazai isn’t entirely sure of the difference.

The main thing Dazai does know is that he’s not actually allowed to have pills. He can take them, when they’re given by Mori, and only under strict supervision. But he’s not allowed to have them himself. Bit of an absurd rule, honestly— if he was determined enough for a way out of everything, he could always just step into traffic.

Dazai doesn’t like pain or suffering, and right now he’s definitely suffering. Another cough hitches in his chest and almost has him hacking up gunk all over the shelves— but drawing attention in public is a nightmare scenario for his paranoia, so Dazai finds him gritting his teeth to swallow back whatever slime is crawling its way up his throat.

It sits heavy in his stomach and makes him nauseous.

Every bottle on the shelves looks the same to him, so Dazai just snatches one and shoves it into a coat pocket. The pills rattle against the plastic with every step. He doesn’t break stride as he passes the baffled employee at the counter.

Once he’s back outside and around a corner, Dazai pulls the bottle from his pocket and examines the label. He’d snatched them on a calculated impulse, driven by the grossness in his chest— but if he’s caught with them, he’ll be in just as much trouble as if he’d simply shown up sick, if not more.

Not that he’s sick.

The office building is within sight now, so Dazai only has a moment to make a decision. Can’t be caught with contraband if you’ve swallowed it all.

After a brief battle with the child safety lid he’s able to dump a small mound of the pills into the palm of his hand. He stares at them for a brief moment before tossing his head back and swallowing them dry.

Immediately his lungs catch; he coughs and gags, some of the half-swallowed pills coming right back up his sore throat and almost out his mouth. He gags again at the bitter taste of the dissolving capsules— burnt plastic settling and numbing his tongue— but forces himself to finish swallowing. They’ve gotta be gone before he reaches the office.

Winded and wheezing, he stops to lean against the corner of the office building. Even though he’s wearing a coat and standing in direct sunlight, he shudders, a chill settled into his empty bones. If he can just give the meds a moment to kick in—

Obviously the universe has other plans. From his pocket, his phone rings and startles him out of his daze; when he glances at the caller ID, it’s just you again. Dazai sends the call to voicemail.

Thankfully, nobody ever pays attention when Dazai arrives at the office; he’s able to scramble into the elevator without having to greet anyone in his croaky voice. He brings the sleeve of his oversized coat up to cover his mouth, not entirely sure if he’s stifling a cough or a wave of nausea. When the elevator lurches, so does his stomach; Dazai stumbles against the glass with a soft whine. Usually the sight of the world growing smaller would set off his vertigo, but at the moment he’s having trouble even keeping his eyes open, so whatever’s on the other side of his eyelids doesn’t quite matter.

The elevator dings to signal he’s reached the top floor. The doors slide open and, once he’s stepped out into the hallway, Dazai has to take a moment to wheeze. He coughs into his sleeve again, gross and wet, weighed down by the flood in his ribs. It’s just a corporate hallway, but standing here ill has anxiety prickling up his spine; anyone could walk by at any moment, there’s nowhere for him to hide, and he’ll be reported for being a broken toy. How long will it take for the pills to kick in—?

“Dazai?”

Not Mori’s voice, but Dazai freezes anyways. He hadn’t wanted to see you either— but anything is better than interacting with Mori. He wipes his mouth and turns to face you.

Your hand latches onto the collar of his dress shirt and you begin to drag him along behind you. “Took you long enough!” You huff and give a particularly hard yank, one that has Dazai stumbling. “Ignoring my calls— you’re lucky I got him to wait a few more minutes—”

Late? Was Dazai late? That doesn’t sound right in his head; he always knows what time it is. Before he can catch his voice or momentum, you’ve dragged him through the intimidating doors at the end of the hall and come to a stop in front of Mori’s desk. When your hand disentangles from his shirt, Dazai is vaguely bemused at the loss of warmth.

“We’re here, boss.”

Mori glances up from the paperwork strewn across his desk. His facial expression is carefully neutral— but even that’s enough to quietly activate Dazai’s fight or flight, and he can feel his pulse pick up under the doctor’s scrutiny. It flutters uncomfortably in the spot just beneath his ribs, even though Dazai’s pretty sure that’s not where his heart is supposed to be. He’s sure it’ll escape its cage someday.

“Kind of you to finally join us, Dazai,” Mori leans back in his chair to examine you both. He stares at the two of you in the same way you’ve seen him eye his autopsy tools. “I expect there will be no further interruptions to the schedule?”

Dazai’s traitor of a voice sticks in his throat. Unwilling to give himself away that easily— although he’s sure he’s blatantly labeled, like a game of Operation— he just keeps his eyes on the ground and shakes his head. Thankfully Mori has more important things to do beyond staring at his toy until it combusts.

“I’ll need the two of you to—”

Usually Dazai pays strict attention to the mission briefings. Especially if he’s paired with you or Chuuya, because he knows neither of you are as worried as he is about being dissected. Sure, he’ll mouth off— he’ll argue— he’ll poke holes in Mori’s thoughts until the man seems ready to flay him alive. But today, even his typical smarmy behavior is too much effort for his fuzzy head. Every word out of Mori’s mouth sounds like it’s drifting through water to reach Dazai’s ears. All his effort goes towards acting normal— a tall order, for a thing like Dazai. Breathe in, breathe out, on a regular rhythm, not fast enough to draw attention; when a cough sticks in his throat again, his breathing gets shallow instead, and he’s not sure how long he can fake it.

His attention wanders. Looking at Mori is always difficult, so Dazai busies himself with examining his polished shoes, the softness of your hair, the clouds drifting by outside the window—

Papers shuffle. Your hand tugs at Dazai’s coat sleeve. He slowly drifts back into the moment; the meeting is over. He hadn’t heard a damned word.

The walk down the hallway feels off. You’d made this same trek with Dazai just last week, and he’d been energetic, playful, doing his best to drive you up the walls. Today, though, he’s padding along quietly behind you. That’s more suspicious than anything else you’ve ever seen him do.

“—so, your opinion?” Any easy question to start with, although you’re willing to push his buttons if it means gauging how he feels.

Dazai knows he can’t ignore you outright, but he also knows you’re not stupid enough to overlook the rasp to his voice. He just hums in response as if he’s thinking of an answer. The sound comes out smoothly enough that it startles him— maybe the meds have actually kicked in. Makes him wonder why his head is still fuzzy around the edges, though.

“It’s an easy mission,” Dazai tests his voice carefully, “even someone like you should be able to figure it out.”

“I know it’s easy,��� you shoulder open a glass door, finally leading the both of you back outside into the sunlight. Dazai blinks rapidly as he tries to adjust. “That’s why I’m asking your opinion— where should we start?”

Damn. Dazai’s head had been so floaty, he’d paid no attention to the briefing. He’d been hoping you would accidentally give him a hint, but you’re just watching his face intently, so he has to keep it neutral.

It didn't work— apparently he’d taken just a second too long to think, because you’re reaching out, your hand working its way under his bangs to feel at his forehead. Dazai leans into the touch without thinking about it.

“You’re hot.”

“I know.” A smile twitches across his tired face and you scoff.

“Are you sure you’re okay enough for recon?”

There’s the hint he’d been hoping for. Dazai pulls himself back from your touch and sniffles. “I can walk,” he says defiantly.

Not the question you asked.

Before you can suggest that he— God forbid— take the day off, Dazai escapes your grasp entirely. He wobbles on his feet and preemptively shoots a glare in your direction, daring you to say anything. His unbandaged eye is glassy.

Dazai is a flight risk. Mori is expecting you both to work on this mission together, even though it really is simple. It’s better not to push your temporary partner too hard right now.

Recon and surveillance are always easy, especially when you’re paired with Dazai. Normally he’s lightyears ahead of you, locations memorized in an instant. Today, he’s quiet— too quiet, and you have to keep glancing over your shoulder to make sure he hasn’t vanished into the crowd.

Dazai is hyper aware of your eyes on him the entire walk. Being watched always makes his skin crawl, even when he knows you couldn’t catch him if he was determined to get away, but he’s too tired to be mean at the moment so he doesn’t say anything.

You’ve never really been the one leading surveillance missions, but Dazai is clearly lost in his own world. When you stop to make note of a fire escape, he stumbles into you and flinches back like it burns; when you ask him about one building’s rooftop, he doesn’t even make a comment about jumping.

Wandering behind you, Dazai’s head still feels like it’s somewhere far off from the rest of his body. Is medication supposed to make you feel like this? He’d felt fine for all of ten minutes after taking the pills, but they must be wearing off, because his chest feels tight again, and more vague pain is beginning to pulse in his bones. The world is starting to twist at the edge of his vision— it’s all Dazai can do to keep his gaze focused on your back as he pushes forward.

Maybe he should take a few more.

It would be a major risk to pull the pills out in front of you— well, behind your back, but you could turn around at any moment. Dazai’s delicate fingers deftly untwist the cap in his coat pocket. The stupid gel capsules tumble free like escaped marbles. He makes a face as they shift around in his pocket, but when your head is turned, he pops another handful into his mouth.

Eugh, the burnt plastic taste on the back of his tongue—

“Maybe we should get a taller view,” your voice almost sounds like it’s underwater. Dazai shakes his head to drain his ears, and that sets the world spinning around him.

“What, you don’t wanna?” Hands in your jacket pockets, you nudge Dazai with your shoulder, and he sways on his feet. “If you’ve already perfected our strategies, you should tell me— I’m gonna start slackin’ off.”

Slacking off. That sounds really nice right about now. Absently, one of Dazais hands comes up to press against the ache in his sternum, massaging with the sharpness of his knuckles. Dazai never does anything softly.

He can feel his heart cracking against his ribs. An uncomfortable feeling that he figures he deserves.

“—Dazai?”

He blinks, big doe eyes slowly tracking over to you, silhouetted against the Yokohama sun. A concerned frown crosses your face. He still hasn’t responded to you, and the look in his eyes is hazy. “Hey, let’s go take a break somewhere. I’m tired.”

It’s easier to lie about your own condition than it is to get Osamu Dazai to be honest about himself.

Dazai nods blankly, meaning he can at least hear your voice. You nudge him forward again; his steps are shaky and, combined with his big brown eyes and dusting of freckles, he looks exactly like a lost baby deer. 

You know that, deep down, Dazai must be some form of anxious. Anyone can tell that he’s feeling unwell just by looking at him, and he hates being forced into such a vulnerable position. Gently, you push and prod until you’ve managed to get him into an alleyway, nice and dark, a place to rest out of view. The Port Mafia knows the backstreets better than anyone in this city.

Every step for Dazai feels like wading through quicksand— or at least the way he’d imagined quicksand would feel, when he was thinking about ways to die. His muscles burn in protest. His eyelids feel gritty as they slide closed; knowing he can’t fall asleep here, he slouches his lanky body against you.

“Let’s go back,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You hum quietly in agreement. Dazai is never this open to touch, and you don’t want to scare him away in such a rare moment where he openly relies on you. It seems the same thoughts cross his hazy mind all at once.

Dazai shoves you away with an impulse that surprises you both.

“What the hell—?!” You’re able to catch yourself without much effort. Your obstinate boss isn’t quite as lucky.

Dazai tumbles into a nearby brick wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him. That doesn’t stop his lungs from constricting as he gasps for air, face twisted in the panic that accompanies an inability to breathe.

His vision darkens at the edges. The impact had also knocked the fucking pill bottle out of his pocket. You’re staring at the label. You’ve seen it. He’s not supposed to have pills. You’ve seen it. His chest heaves.

“Dazai, hey, you need to breathe—”

When your hands come up, Dazai flinches back again. His head slams against the brick. The sting barely registers— even as your hand cups the back of his head, even as you wince at the thin coating of blood on your fingers, all Dazai can see are the brightly-colored pills scattered across the sidewalk. Adrenaline floods his frail body until his limbs go cold. His traitorous body decides that now is the time to expel his lungs.

The coughing fit has him doubled over, hacking so hard that he gags, spitting up more gunk and saliva.

When you inevitably reach out to him again, Dazai wrestles his way out of your grasp, pointedly pressing his face against the rough brick in a desperate bid to avoid your scrutiny. He doesn’t have to look— he can feel your eyes on him through the shield of Mori’s coat. It prickles along his feverish skin and reduces him to feeling positively miniscule. Heat crawls up his neck as nausea begins to bubble in his stomach.

Dazai is exhausted all at once. Usually he can ignore his body’s limits, but that’s not an option now; you know that he’s taken medication, so he needs to get out of here, spin a lie to Mori before you have the chance to tell the truth. He shoves himself away from the wall as if the burst of strength will get him back to the familiar glass doors.

It doesn’t help at all. Dazai tilts forward, eyes sliding closed as the concrete rushes up to meet him.

I've been working on this thing for about two months and finally decided that splitting it into chapters would work better than making it as long as it was getting, so! part two up. eventually lmao. thank you for reading!

[eldritchaccident]

@closingwaters replied to your post “[pm] You are such a sap and I very much appreciate...”:

[pm] Ha! Quite the poet, aren't ya? You're so delightful. Come over for tea, won't you?

​[pm] Ah, glad you now know it.

Of course Cuddlefish. I'll let you know when I have a free second. I've been so damn busy over here lately.