#and ultimately that makes the situation so much worse for them)
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— found family | inner demons prologue
pairings: leah williamson x teen reader
summary: reader discovers that family isn't always blood
This is a sort of prologue to inner demons, some background of readers' life in the early years when she transferred to the club.
Also, this is rewrite as I wasn't happy with the original that I posted.
There's always been tell-tail signs that you should've recognised, all throughout the past several years and yet you will still so obviously blind to it all.
It wasn't easy to come to terms with things, but the realisation of it all didn't sit right at all, and in turn you weren't exactly sure how to cope with it all.
It was clear as day for everyone else around to see, your mother was a complete narcissist, she was manipulative and gaslighting. It was something that she had been doing your whole entire life, always making you out to be the bad day in every situation and acting like she was the victim.
How were you so obliviously blind to see that?
You guess your niave self choice to always refuse to believe it, it was the easiest option to just do that.
Looking back to the last several years, your childhood was full of moments like it, but of course you had always thought that your upbringing was completely terrible, it could have been a worse situation.
Growing up, it was only ever the 2 of you, you and your mum. Your parents split up when you were little, the seperation was messy and ever since that day, you'd always been to blame for the reason that it never worked out.
You had always wondered how exactly could it be your fault? You were 3 years old when your dad walked out, so how could it be like that?
"You were always to much to handle, Y/N. He couldn't cope," Your mum would make the excuse, all of them long nights when you would have your tiny arms wrapped around her and sob your little heart out when you asked where he was.
"I'm here, you've got me. You've only ever got me," Her words were imbeded in your head from the day that you'd decided to try and have an open conversation about the possibility of finding your dad, "Why go and find him? Haven't I been good enough. I'm the one that's looked after you for all of these years, and yet this is the thanks that I get in return!?"
It was always something like that, a way to guilt trip you and you always ended up feeling for it.
Her manipulation was completely toxic, of course you didn't realise it until later on in life.
Eventually, you just choice to accept that for the reason that you had such an estranged relationship with your dad.
"Aren't you happy for me? I made it, mum!" You exclaim, you were so happy enough to share the news with her, but you were left so dumbfounded by her response which left you feeling shame and judgement for even wanting to tell her.
The harsh statement of this current conversation with the older women is leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and make you question every single thing in life.
"Yes, you have made it Y/N, but you know, you only have me to thank for that now, don't you?" Your mum once again found a wa to make it about herself, regardless of the situation.
It was always and only ever about herself, no matter what type of news you wanted to share with her. Why was so selfish to not care about you?
"I'm sure that you can find some way to thank me though," You listen to your mum continue to talk and you resist the urge to scoff, "After all of these years and the amount of money I have spent on football boots for you, you'd be nowhere if it wasn't for me and I think you owe me now, don't you?"
Her words stun you and there's a lot of emotions that are building up inside of you. Ultimately you feel confused, how can she manage to twist this to make it all about herself, but of course shes' quick enough to make an excuse to end the call when she grows bored of talking to you.
You should know better, every single phone call has the same pattern to end the same way and you always leave with a pang of guilt for making a life for yourself.
It turns out that this phone call was no different either.
You are so excited to spill the news of making it into the senior squad of the national team, however the excitement soon fades and now you're replaced by mixed feelings of confusion, anger and upset instead. You fight to hold back the tears during the initial phone call but now its' over, you feel on the verge of a breakdown.
You feel like your news is a big deal, you've only been a part of the arsenal women's first team for shy of a year but it feels like such a massive achievement to be selected to represent your country and straightaway, the first person you thought-- you wanted to call was your mum. You thought she was going to be so pleased for you, so excited about it but you can't be further away from the truth.
The conversation happened a week ago, yet you still couldn't let it escape your mind.
Ever since the phone call, you had tried to distance yourself from her but even that hurt to do. The women was the only blood related family member that you had, it had only ever been the two of you, sticking together through thick and thin.
"You seem quiet tonight," Your guardian and fellow team member, Leah, perches on the arm of the sofa as she looks at you in concern, "I'm about to start cookin' tea soon. How do you feel about chicken nuggets and smiley faces?" She wonders.
"That sounds good to me," You shrug your shoulders and glumly stare staight ahead at the wall in front of you, the TV is playing but you barely even pay attention to whatever it is that's playing.
Its' been a long day with training ahead of a crucial game in the season, but all you can think about right now is the conversation you had with your mum a week ago previously on a constant loop in your head.
You still can't help but think about the conversation; The bitterness, the manipulation, every single time you thought about it, it made you think of every single time that something else happened like this throughout the years.
Maybe your childhood wasn't as great as you really thought it was?
"Okay," Leah nods and smiles in agreement but she doesn't move away just yet, "Is there anything that you want to talk about at all, bubs?" You know she's only asking for a bit more insight on your current mood, after returning from her own rehab session to find you shut away in your bedroom, the entire shift in mood was concerning to her.
The usual car rides over the past week had been quiet instead of the raised music level and sarcastic comments that the blonde was used to, replaced instead by the quiet, dull mood with you slumped against the car door and staring out of the window.
Leah definitely knew there was something wrong with you.
"Nope, I'm fine," You stand firm on your reply, shaking your head and keeping your eyes glued on the TV screen, choosing to look anywhere other than at the blonde, who would be able to see right through you in seconds.
"Are you sure?" Leah questions, furrowing her eyebrows in concern as she could see the tears welling up in your eyes, "Bubs, what's the matter? You look like you're gonna cry," She notes, worriedly.
"I... I'm fine," You mumble, fighting to keep the tears at bay until you can escape to your bedroom and allow yourself to be vulnerable when you're alone.
You always feel complete shame to show any sort of vulnerability in front of anyone, let alone the blonde defender who has taken you under her wing ever since you joined during the transfer window of 2022.
Crying only shows signs of weakness, you refuse to be seen as weak.
"Okay," Leah exhales a sigh and taps your knee gently, deciding to drop the subject when she realises you aren't be open and talk about things, "Its' okay if you don't want to talk about it, but just remember that I'm always here to listen, alright? Anytime that you want to talk, I'm here,"
Unforuntately, you are too stubborn to not give in and blurt everything out there and then to her. You feel like you still need time to wrap your head around the idea and see things for how they really are now.
"Uh huh. Thanks," You murmer in repsonse, getting up from the sofa and shuffling away to the confined space where you can be alone.
Leah exhales another sigh and shakes her head, heading into the kitchen to make a head start on dinner but she can't help but still be worried about you. Of course the women knew better than to try and get you to talk if you didn't want to though.
The blonde has always been around to witness moments like this and the backlash of it, you hadn't told her outright what was going on but she already had an idea what it was about.
All of your upset stems down to the one person causing you to be like this and she hated it every time you were left upset when you spoke to her.
Every single time you and your mum spoke, you would always become quiet and be in a general bad mood, often resulting in lashing out at people around you as a coping mechanism.
You know that all the arsenal girls have their own opinions on your mother, but they would never voice them out loud to you, because you wouldn't agree with it, but you knew it. They know it wouldn't be fair on you as the youngest member in the squad, even after the countless times they had seen the girl upset by her own mums actions.
You were so grateful for every single of the girls on the team, Leah especially, she'd always been there for you since day one.
Ever since you moved in with Leah, there's been several nights where she would be the one to comfort you and pick up the pieces, waking up in the middle of the night to hear your heartbroken sobs and feel her own heart shatter every single time, wanting nothing more than to take away any sort of pain that you were experiencing.
It was heartbreaking for all of the team to witness and always sought out to comfort you, they knew no matter what they said, it still wouldn't stop you contacting our mum.
Ultimately, it was your own decision to make soon enough when you turn 18 and until then they would be there to pick up the broken pieces when your mum let you down.
It happened time and time again, unfortunately.
You have lashed out way too many times as a result of that.
None of the girls ever took it to heart of course, they were old and wise enough to realise that none of your anger was directly aimed towards them and there was much bigger issues to be dealt with.
They have always vowed to support you, regardless of what happens in the long-run.
"I... I should've realised sooner," You think to yourself as you lay crumpled up in your bed that following night, its' almost 4 am in the morning, but you were still wide awake with your thoughts spiraling.
You can't help but think about things, replaying every single conversation with your mum that you have had, the numerous times that you've started to talk to her and she's cut you off with her own problems.
Why was it always like this? It wasn't fair.
The first mistake was ignoring her gaslighting this whole time.
The second being that you believed her manipulation for years, always twisting things to make it seem like she was the victim in the different situations - first when you were a child and even now as your nearly an adult.
Why had it taken you so long to finally realise it after all of these years? Why couldn't you have just realised it sooner?
Without much realisation to the current moment, your sobbing aloud with a tight clutch of your pillow. The pent up anger is replaced by sadness and loss, your grieving the loss of a women who you have always seeked the approval off and now you realise you can never have it.
The phone call was the last chance, the reality of it all coming to light.
Every time you have now learned to understand that youwhen speak to her, it's nothing but a vicious cycle of emotional abuse, something you were so oblivious to believe.
As much as you didn't want to believe it, it's true. Its' clear as day of what it is but yet, you still find it hard to believe it.
It's your mum, your flesh and blood, so could she be like that?
The sound of your sobs were what woke Leah up, she's quick to pad out of her bedroom and push open your bedroom door to find you crumpled up in your bed, "Bubs?" The women stands in the doorway of your bedroom, her heart cracks to see you looking so distraught and vulnerable.
Without any hesistance, the blonde is quick move to be beside you on your bed and envelope you in a warm hug, "Its' okay, its' okay. I'm here now," She's quick to comfort you, she wouldn't ever stop doing that as long as you need her, "Let it all out, I'm right here," She adds.
Leah keeps you in her arms, gently rocking you as she runs her slender fingers through your messy bedhead, "Just let it all out, alright? I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," She reassures you.
As always, she's patient enough to wait for you to calm down before she gives you chance to speak, she won't ever push you to talk if you don't want too.
"L... Le," You cry aloud, clutching onto her tightly. Your breath becomes more shaky as sobs wrack your body, trying to find the words but nothing wants to come out of your mouth right now.
"I'm here, it's okay," Leah repeats in a calming voice, continuing to try and comfort you in the best way that she knows, but she already knows it's going to be a long night ahead of them, or day rather.
An emotional night that will leave you drained tomorrow for sure.
A vicious cycle on a loop, once more.
"Ready to tell me what's going on inside that head of yours now, hm?" The blonde quietly asks with caution, already having a feeling that she knows the answer to that question.
There's a brief pause of silence in the room and the blonde thinks that you wouldn't talk, but regardless of that, she still continues to comfort you and reassure you that she's here and not leaving at all.
To Leahs' surprise though, you do start open up this time though and the words spill out of your mouth without you even thinking about it.
"I... It's my mum," You mumble quietly, making the mistake to speak aloud than think it like you thought you have done, "I... I should've realised. I should have done,"
Leah furrows her eyebrows on confusion, "What should you have realised, bubs?" she questions about what you mean.
Snapping your head in the blondes' direction, you bite your bottom lip and debate whether to be open with your thoughts that you have been trying to buried.
"I should have realised about my mum, she's so... she's so toxic," You admit as you try to fight more tears from spilling, "Why does everything I tell her-- Why does it always get turned back around so its' about her?"
There it is. You've blurted it all out in the open, your feelings were laid out now and there's no more hiding how you feel.
Leah smiles sadly and continues to hold you in her arms, "I... I'm sorry bubs," she speaks honestly.
"So many people, so many people have told me-- They've warned me, you've warned me about her, but I... I never wanted to listen, did I?" You confess, the tears spilling again and you don't care a less if you look like a blubbering mess right now, but you still can't stop the emotions pouring out right now, "And now... now I finally realise how its' always been. Why is she like this, Le?" You question.
"I can't say I know the answer to that one, bubs. I wish I knew," Leah replies, exhaling a sigh as she can't fathem herself how your mother can be like to her you, her own child.
The blonde feels so much for you, your still so young and she always wished that she can make the situation better for you.
"Listen, I know its' hard but you've got us. All of us girls here at arsenal, we're all here for you and you're so loved by all of us," Leah continues to tell you gently, running her slending fingers through your hair.
"I... I just want her to love me, and she just... she doesn't even care about my feelings!" You state, roughly trying to wipe at your tear stained cheeks to the point where you made them red and angry, "Why does she always throw everything back in my face? Everything that I have ever done, she makes it about herself. Always!" You cry.
"I know, I know it hurts... I know that it does," You keep your head buried in the blondes' chest as you hiccup from the sudden breakdown in the middle of the night, "And I'm sorry that you have to go through this. I'm so sorry, because it's not fair on you, bubs," She adds, trying to comfort you in the best way that she can for you.
The whole wave of emotions leave you feeling entirely exhausted in the end, you are trying to fight to keep your eyes open as you lie slumped up against the blonde.
"Come on you, lets' get you back into bed, yeah? I mean you're almost falling asleep on me here, bubs," Leah notes your exhaustion and is concerned for your lack of sleep, trying to get you to crack a smile even as it feels impossible right now, before she gently moves you to lie back in bed.
"M' not tired," You mumble, trying to protest against the idea of sleep.
"I don't think thats' true now, is it?" Leah chuckles, tucking you into bed, "I'm so sorry that you have to deal with this now, bubs, but you know that you have a family here with us. We may not be blood, but we really do love you so much," Before you know it, your eyes are fluttering shut but you don't miss hearing the blondes' words before she presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.
You really had found your family here at arsenal.
© scribblesofagoonerr
#arsenal x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#woso imagine#woso fanfics#arsenal wfc x reader#arsenal women x reader#scribblesofagoonerr#woso x reader
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ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.
(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone
It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation.
The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been.
The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.
“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.
Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.
He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.
When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.
Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs.
You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.
You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.
His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.
He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.
He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.
He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.
He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.
He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it.
But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely.
Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.
“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”
He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.
“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”
You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.”
Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them.
“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”
I love you.
He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.
You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.
“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”
He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.
“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”
Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.
He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?”
He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.
He does.
“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”
Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.
“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.
Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.
“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”
Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.
He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.
You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty.
“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”
Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.
“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”
You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.
He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours.
Then you ask:
“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”
Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches.
Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.
He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.
“Yes.”
“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.
Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.
You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.
You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”
He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.
“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.
“Yes.”
Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”
He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state.
He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.
You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.
“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?”
Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”
You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.
As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.
“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”
“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”
Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.
Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.
“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”
“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.
“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.
Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”
His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.
“You did,” you confirm.
Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.
“Truth,” he murmurs.
You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”
“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette.
He voices his first lie, “No.”
You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.
He refrains, if only barely.
You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.
“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”
“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”
“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”
Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”
If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.
The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”
Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh.
“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”
He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”
The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.
He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.
“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”
For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.
He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.
Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.
But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”
Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.
“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”
Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?
Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.
Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?
He knows his next question.
“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”
He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.
You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”
“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.
“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”
He halts.
His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.
Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.
So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”
You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”
He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?”
You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”
“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”
“We were never even dating, Daz-”
“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”
“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.
“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”
“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”
Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.
“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?”
Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.
He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.
“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”
He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.
“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”
He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.
“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”
His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?”
Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”
Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”
Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”
“He was,” you confirm.
Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty.
He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.
“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.
He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.
Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya.
Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.
After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills.
For better or for worse, you’re not most people.
In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”
Dazai snorts.
“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”
“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”
“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”
Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-
No. Dazai refuses to believe it.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”
“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”
Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”
“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”
Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”
You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die.
“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”
“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”
You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”
“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.
“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”
Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.
He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.
He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.
After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.
“Are you happy?” you ask quietly
Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.
“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?”
He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”
You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.
So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.
But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?
“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.
There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.
He forces it out anyway.
“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.
A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…
Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.
Your lashes flutter before you speak.
You lie for the first time that night.
“Yes.”
Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”
“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”
Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him.
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”
“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”
“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”
“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.
There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”
Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.
“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”
Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.
So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.
No.
“Yes.”
“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.
You don’t.
The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.
God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.
His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.
There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it.
All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.
He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.
He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.
Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall.
His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”
Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.
Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven.
You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.
His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”
He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.
Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him.
“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?”
You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.
“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”
“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar.
“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?”
“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.
He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.
He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.
He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking…
Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.
It was a very lonely four years without you.
“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”
You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.
“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.
This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.
“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.
You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”
His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand.
12:35
He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.
You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”
He doesn’t waste any time on that.
His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.
Then, he ruins the moment.
“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”
Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”
“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”
“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.
Dazai gags.
“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.”
“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”
You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.
“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”
“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.
“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.
Dazai squints at you hard.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”
“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”
“How-”
“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”
Okay.
Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”
It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”
Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.
“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.
He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.
The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”
Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.
It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.
No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.
His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.
But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.
But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.
He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”
He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you.
Unfair, he thinks mournfully.
“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”
“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”
“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.
“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.
Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.
“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous.
You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-
And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”
A trick.
Dazai knows it.
You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.
He knows it.
He falls for it anyway.
Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.
“Yeah?” he says, voice rough.
Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.
“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.
He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.
He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.
His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.
“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.
“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening.
He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.
His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.
He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.
“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”
“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”
And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.
Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you.
He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s.
It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.
He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.
“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.
You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”
The rest of our lives.
Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”
“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”
Of course, you know.
He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.
“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.
Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.
“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”
The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-
“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”
Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.
(I love you, he means)
“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.
(I love you too)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu smut#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd smut#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x you
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Alright, I’ve been holding this inside for years but I’m finally gonna say it.
Misako haters are actually fucking annoying at this point.
They always were to me, but now, they’re just OBJECTIVELY an annoyance. And they need to STOP.
They take literally ANY chance to slander her, even when it’s completely unwarranted. Like, I’d just look at a picture of her on Pinterest, and there’d be multiple comments going "the world’s worst mother". Or I’d see content about Koko and there’d always be comments comparing her and Misako and going like "Koko way better fuck Misako".
I’d even see a fucking meme and people would slander Misako. Like they couldn’t resist.
And that’s not even mentioning his people constantly make her seem way worse than she actually is. Im not gonna quote everything, but basically they act like she never does good things for Lloyd. That she doesn’t care about him at all! And it’s just- so WILDY out of character!! And it’s the same vice versa! I saw a funny Ninjago video the other day with a "your mom" joke and someone in the comments was like "jokes on you, Lloyd would never call Misako mom". I’m just?????? Yes he DOES????? ALL THE TIME???
People just act like their relationship is nonexistent! Like they don’t care about each other, or that Misako doesn’t care about Lloyd! Which is OBVIOUSLY not true!
People claim that she disappears every other season but the only seasons she was absent in are 12 and 13. Also, she has a job. She goes on expeditions. Obviously she’s not there 100% of the time. And she and Lloyd clearly spend time together off screen.
People don’t even acknowledge the reason why she left in the first place. They act like she dropped him off at a boarding school and dipped to take a vaycay. She was literally trying to stop her husband and son from having to fight to the death. You ever think about that? You ever think about how SHE felt in the situation? With her husband being consumed by evil and later being banished, and learning that he and their son would have to fight each other? She was HORRIFIED and GRIEVING! Ultimately she did it to save her family. It doesn’t make leaving Lloyd right but it’s understandable.
But apparently not to almost all of the fandom.
Most of y’all, completely ignore that, and everything else that came after season 2.
Misako constantly being worried about Lloyd in Tournament of Elements and Possession.
Both of them spending Day of the Departed together.
Her getting/building the Destiny’s Shadow as a birthday gift for Lloyd.
How she supported, fought beside, and risked her life for Lloyd in Hunted.
How she wanted to stay and fight with him during MoTO but only went inside because Lloyd urged her to protect the civilians.
Not to mention just their general interactions. THEY’RE ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE EACH OTHER!!! Do you know how many times they hug?!
And this dialogue here:
"Aren’t you going to kiss your mother goodbye?"
"Mooom, we've-we've talked about this-"
WHAT MORE PROOF DO YOU NEED?!
Lloyd and Misako have a good, healthy and loving relationship. Misako has long since made up for her mistake and they’ve moved on.
Yet THE FANDOM REFUSES TO!!!
EVERYONE, TO THIS DAY, STILL TREATS HER LIKE THE FUCKING DEVIL!!!
I CAN’T EVEN COUNT THE NUMBER OF TIMES PEOPLE HAVE HAD OVERDRAMATIC TANTRUMS FROM HER JUST EXISTING.
IT MAKES ME SO UNREASONABLY ANGRY.
AND THE FACT THAT I’VE SOMEHOW BEEN SEEING EVEN MORE MISAKO HATE DURING AND AFTER MOTHERS DAY IS ACTUALLY APPALLING.
NOT EVEN FUCKING ENDEAVOR FROM MHA GETS THIS MUCH HATE AND HE’S DONE MUCH WORSE TO HIS FAMILY.
IT. HAS. BEEN. OVER. 16. SEASONS. AND. A. MOVIE.
GET. OVER. IT.
*deep breath*
Look, she’s not perfect. Obviously. She fucked up. But who in this series hasn’t? She came back, and she’s made sure to be a better mother to Lloyd. He forgave her, and they have a good relationship now. They’re close.
She wouldn’t be as hated if the writers didn’t do her dirty. Her introduction wasn’t handled the best, and having her and Lloyd have a more in depth discussion would’ve made the reunion and forgiveness feel less rushed and forced. That love triangle with Wu and Garmadon certainly didn’t do her any favors either. 😑
Regardless, her character’s gotten better over the seasons. Again, she and Lloyd and close and have a good relationship.
But hardly anyone acknowledges that, almost everyone in the fandom hyper fixates on that one mistake from years ago. They don’t pay attention to anything else. Like how she’s a better mother, or how she’s just a generally good person.
You aren’t supposed to judge characters or irl people solely on their past mistakes. Especially when they’ve already made up for them. Thats why the "Misako’s a horrible mother" statement is always bullshit to me.
Seriously, Misako’s been a part of Lloyd’s life longer than she’s been absent from it at this point.
The amount of passionate, unforgiving hate she gets is so undeserved and over the top. Too many people are projecting their own issues onto her. Or just being plain hateful. It’s not fair to define her entire character on a single mistake that she’s long made up for.
And it’s definitely not fair to people that actually like Misako. Often times on the few positive posts about her, there’d be Misako haters in the notes or reblogs complaining about her or insulting her, or just stating they hate her but love the content. And that is completely uncool and rude. It’s so unnecessary. You don’t do that, that’s so shitty. The again Misako haters have a habit of spouting unnecessary hate. Like it’s a terminal condition they have.
So, please, for the love of god, COOL IT. Stop and think, try to ACTUALLY look at her character without the veil of blind hatred.
If you still dislike or hate her, fine! But if you’re gonna detest her, at least hate her as she is and don’t make her worse than she actually is to justify hating her more.
And PLEASE stop bashing her at every turn, it’s annoying, upsetting, unwarranted, unnecessary, and just not good.
Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
#ninjago#ninjago misako#misako garmadon#rant post#I may revive backlash for this#I don’t care#I’m so fucking done with this fandom#the hate is actually so ridiculous#y’all can live without constantly putting down a misunderstood character#Misako Defender For Life
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byan gets into a lot of trouble at school and, while yes, most of the time it is their own fault, there are plenty of times where they get in shit for retaliating and protecting themself against those who intentionally harass & try to hurt them. even in these situations though, byan tends to take the brunt of any punishment because they don't bother trying to explain that they were simply defending themself. used to not being listened to or believed, to having the blame fall on them because they're the one known for their attitude & outbursts, they no longer see any point in wasting their breath fighting to explain what really happened - they'd rather just be given whatever punishment lies in store for them so they can get out of the principal's office and on with their day.
similarly, they won't speak out when they're being targeted & bullied. it's a waste of time & effort, and they see 'tattling' on some other student who's making their life miserable as a pathetic, weak thing to do, an admission of defeat - even when the other's actions are literally causing them harm. they'd rather take care of it themself. violently. ...something which has led to their expulsion from at least two different schools.
#they've broken at LEAST one kid's nose for mocking their struggle with reading#no one said their retaliation isn't often excessive#even if it is sometimes justified. SOMETIMES.#anyway u know me I'm in bed curled up trying to sleep & being attacked with thoughts that I have to write down so I don't lose them#byan is used to having their problems ignored or made out to be less than they really are#bc that's how it's been for most of their life#as a younger kid they definitely TRIED to speak out when they're wrongfully accused but#by 17 their rep has only gotten worse so they're believed less and less so what's the fuckin point in fighting it you know?#even if they get kicked from this school there's always another they'll get sent to. and another after that one too.#(also they hate to admit when someone is affecting them so when someone makes it their mission to make their life hell#they'd rather just get revenge & literally fight it out. the problem there though? they don't always come out on top.#and ultimately that makes the situation so much worse for them)#ahdjgjsg these thoughts are kinda scattered forgive me it's sleep time#━━ ˟ ⊰ ��� HEADCANON ⋮ DANGER IN THE FABRIC OF THIS THING I MADE.
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Since you're starting JJK, can you do the sleeping with a yandere ask for Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Nanami, Gojo and characters of your choice?
I’ll be going on a vacation during my holidays so expect little to no updates from me then. Those sleeping habits that are what I imagine those characters to be like, by the way.
Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship, toxic relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, delusion, clinginess, abduction
Sleeping with a Yandere
Itadori Yuji
🩷Yuji is a walking cuddle bear already if you two aren't sleeping in the same bed because he just can't get enough of his sweetheart. An abduction is never something that Yuji sees himself doing nor do you really so with the so unexpected abduction your relationship falls apart and it breaks Yuji's heart. Maybe some part of his brain can understand why you're as upset as you are right now but considering that he only resorts to an abduction in extreme situations, another part of him is just as stubborn to believe that he has done only something to be able to protect you. It isn't like he plans to imprison you forever after all. His delusions have even made him hope that you'd want to share a bed with him yet he resigns himself to your rejection and prepares a futon for you in another room.
🩷One of the most obvious problems with Yuji isn't even something that is his own fault. Sukuna has to make some comments from time to time to try to annoy and anger the boy which might happen whilst both of you try to sleep as well. He always slaps the mouth of Sukuna that suddenly appears and apologizes to you slightly embarrassed about the inconvenience. Otherwise Yuji sleeps well, really well. Maybe sometimes a bit too well as you can't help but wonder how you can get him to wake up when you awake in the middle of the night and feel the urgent need to go to the bathroom. It always takes you a minute or two of shaking, light slapping and whispering his name until he wakes up and lets you out of his arms because his grip is too strong for you to free yourself alone. He snores slightly but that isn't the worst, you'd much rather make a fuss about the fact that he tends to drool on you in his sleep.
Fushiguro Megumi
💙As Megumi's darling you'd do the both of you a favor by being a reassuring individual since the Jujutsu Sorcerer tends to be very easily paranoid. He's had a case of being stressed around people before yet now with your addition to his life, this all becomes just multiple times worse. Ultimately it is this paranoia that drives him to the act of an abduction and similar to Yuji, he partially knows why it would scare you. Yet he has never had problems with justifying questionable actions with his love for you in mind so this won't be any different in this scenario. Why don't you understand that this was all done for your safety?? A strong negative response from your side leads to avoidance as he gives you time, gives himself partially time too to calm himself. Both of you sleep in different rooms during that time, although you know that he still keeps an eye on you.
💙He doesn't want to show a very strong response when both of you start sharing a bed, it isn't his style. He would be lying though if he would say that he isn't looking forward to it. It's one of the highlights of his entire day where he has to exhaust himself with the antics of his fellow Jujutsu Sorcerers and pressure from the Zenin clan so spending the hours of the night with your warmth close to his body always reminds him that there's still something good left for him, a person who makes all the drama durable. I see him as someone who needs hours to fall asleep simply because there's so much going on in his mind and often it happens that Megumi goes through interactions you had with people that day and start overthinking certain gestures and words you exchanged with them. He isn't someone with a deep sleep either and worst of all is that he tends to wake up a lot at night, his gaze always searching for you every time that happens and if he doesn't see you, he tends to freak out a bit.
Zenin Maki
💚If her darling is acting like a crybaby after their abduction, there might be signs of very mild annoyance from Maki's side but otherwise she is very patient. She fully understand why you're upset and mad at her, she's aware of what she has done. The aspect of protection dulls potential guilt though as she will always value your safety and life over your own feelings if there is no other way around it. She's so tough and strict but oddly fair at the same time because her cold facade doesn't mean that she just doesn't care at all. She's willing to give you some space and time for yourself as she's sure that you need it and as long as you don't try to escape or are seriously rude, she won't force you into anything. You get your own room with your own bed to sleep in and won't hear much from her for the next few days, although you know that she's still checking on you.
💚She is looking forward to it but don't expect her to openly admit that. She isn't one to ask you first about this and if you're the one to suggest it first, she will never spot teasing you subtly about it for the rest of your life. She does her best though to suppress the smug grin that wants to appear on her face during the first few nights. She isn't actively cuddling you but you definitely have a problem at hand when she decides to swing an arm around your waist because subconsciously she tightens her grip once she falls asleep and since she has a very superior strength to the average human, you won't get up anytime soon unless you wake her up. She normally is able to sleep quite well but when she's stressed she experiences troubles falling asleep or tends to wake up multiple times at night. Normally she acts all tough and rarely talks to you about her own worries but if you ever witness her having an erratic sleep at night, you always know that there's something that is stressing her out.
Ryomen Sukuna
🗾His darling is screwed no matter how you might look at it, especially if they're only a human. Because this man has made it very apparent that he doesn't care for anyone or anything and even you won't be an exception for this. Sukuna has always been a man who takes what he wants and that applies for you just as much. You're an object of his affection and greedy desire, by all means he sees you as his valued possession more than he sees you as a person with feelings and rights. So you can't expect any sympathy from him after your abduction and you'd do your best to not get on his nerves because he can hurt you and he will do so if he feels like it. Sukuna only does what he wants and the only thing you can really do is take it silently in hopes of not angering him but he'd find it cute if you would always show a little bit of fear around him.
🗾I'm not even sure if he needs any sleep anymore since his times as a human are long over although he has kept his memories from that time so he still remembers that humans need sleep. Although what you need doesn't have to mean by a long shot that he'll just give it to you freely. In fact I totally see him terrorizing your sleep sometimes for the shallow reason of his own sadistic amusement. Other times he only allows you to fall asleep if you let him join you in bed and he'll keep you otherwise awake nights on end until you're too tired to care anymore. You're incredibly dumb for letting him so close to you in your most vulnerable state and the times that he has considered abusing that vulnerability are numerous. Honestly, he's being the ultimate creep by just watching you sleep the entire time, hands roaming over your body to feel what is his but if he's feeling rather relaxed and mellow, he sometimes just buries his face in your neck, closes his eyes and enjoys your scent, your warmth, your heartbeat.
Gojo Satoru
🩵Best of luck with Gojo after an abduction, better say goodbye to your privacy and personal boundaries because Gojo? He just doesn't give a single fuck about any of those. No, somehow he grows even more overbearing after you're permanently stuck in the probably biggest house that you've ever been in. Partially just because he feels like he has now his dream of living a peaceful and domestic life with his sweet lover without any stress from higher-ups or anyone objecting to this relationship. Now he can just love you and keep you for himself. It's a very strange and questionable way of fulfilling his dream but he is at a point in his life where he has given up to feel guilty and doesn't care anymore. He's always been the strongest to satisfy his own clan and the higher-ups of the sorcerer world so he deserves someone for himself. Someone for him and him only.
🩵He's a clingy monster and you should already know this as he has barely kept his hands to himself during the entire time since you've known him and that has only grown worse the stronger his obsession got. There is no question, you are going to sleep with him in one bed from the moment you are imprisoned in your new home with him. He isn't even listening to your protests and complains and you'd better not provoke him unless you want to see him dropping his light-hearted facade. Seeing him asleep disturbs you but not because of his clingy behavior and tight hug he always gives you nor his surprisingly deep sleep but because he looks so terribly vulnerable. White hair covering his eyes, soft breaths escaping his lips and no teasing expression adorning his face. It's even worse when he initially wakes up and blue and sleepy eyes stare at you as he whispers, no, pleads you to never leave him. It breaks your heart a little.
Geto Suguru
🗻Suguru has broken your trust severely when you realize what he has been doing all along, abusing your trust and ignorance to his own advantage until you made him your most trusted person and told him all of your thoughts. Now you're here, imprisoned and surrounded by jujutsu sorcerers who share his views. You're a lesser being in here for being a non-sorcerer and you know that secretly most of the people here look down on you but only show some level of respect because you're Geto's precious love or whatever he's feeling for you. No one tells you what's really going on but you are smart enough to understand that those people possess very special powers and that something is always watching you even when you're all by yourself. So you never misbehave, aware what would happen otherwise.
🗻He isn't over the fact that he's fallen in love with what he hates the most even after an abduction so you are sleeping elsewhere. A tiny room with a futon as if to rub your lesser position in your face but truth be told, he's doing this mainly because he secretly wants your warmth next to him at night. He's just trying to reject his desires as he doesn't want to fall too deeply into his infatuation but it's already too late to turn back and perhaps you're more surprised than anyone when one day he tells you you'll share a bed with him from now on. You even vocalize your confusion but shut up when he throws you a sharp glare, silencing you as he himself doesn't want to answer your question. Vocalizing his needs would only make it harder to brush off as something less after all. Geto doesn't want to show too much affection but subconsciously he always fails as his half-awake form always pulls you closer to his body, always desires to feel your warm body safely held against his own as his long hair tickles your neck and face.
Nanami Kento
💛Here we have a man who is trying to be his most respectful to you after an abduction that he has been planning for a longer time now after a triggering accident, most likely something regarding his very protective feelings. He isn't scolding you for being scared and even lets you insult him all you want with a frightening calm expression on his face, only really stopping you if you try to escape, hurt him or yourself in which case you see his face flashing in anger and slight frustration as you realize how scary he can be if he chooses to be. He gives you space as much as he can but even then his presence is felt throughout your entire new life as you realize that Nanami apparently enjoys taking care of you to the point where he's being controlling with it. There's a certain schedule to your life now, one that he has prepared specifically for you.
💛This even includes your bedtime as you have to be at a certain hour in bed and get enough sleep and have to get up at a certain time in the morning. Nanami isn't forcing you to share a bed with him though as he graciously prepares another room for you to stay and sleep in. So it's a decision based on consens after your abduction to sleep with him and he's another case of showing his emotions in a very controlled way whilst being deep down just relieved that the worst phrase of the abduction seems to be over now. His sleeping schedule is just as meticulous though so both of you go to the bed at the same time and stand up in the morning at the same time. Nanami is also another candidate who needs a bit longer until he falls asleep because he's also thinking a lot when he lies in bed and only silence surrounds him. He has always an arm wrapped around you but the grip isn't too tight for you to not be able to free yourself if you should ever feel the need to visit the toilet. He is a bit more of a sensitive sleeper though so try to be quiet if you don't want to wake him up.
#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#yandere itadori#yandere itadori yuji#yandere megumi#yandere fushiguro megumi#yandere maki#yandere zenin maki#yandere sukuna#yandere ryomen sukuna#yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru#yandere geto#yandere geto suguru#yandere nanami#yandere nanami kento
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Why do autistic people like stuffies/plushies so much?🧸❤️
Support: Taking a stuffie/plushie with us when we go out in public (especially to potentially scary places like doctor’s offices or places with lots of sensory input like grocery stores and public transport) can help us feel safer. Basically, in any situation that could make us feel anxious, a stuffie/plushie can make us feel less anxious and more comfortable.
2. Collections: Autistic people often like to collect objects. A lot of us also love organizing, cataloging/categorizing our collection. (For example, I have an excel spreadsheet for my personal Jellycat collection and another one for Jellycats in general that has over 1700 Jellycats cataloged and organized in detail) Lining up our stuffies/plushies, for example lining them up neatly on shelves or reorganizing our shelves can bring us joy as well.
3. Sensory Joy/Stimming: Stuffies/plushies can bring us what’s called “sensory joy” as opposed to “sensory pain” caused by stimuli that feel overwhelming or painful to us. A lot of autistic people love soft things, whether it’s a soft blanket, a soft sweater or a soft and cuddly stuffie/plushie! We can stim with them in many ways, for example by petting them or brushing their fur. The way we stim with our stuffies/plushies can vary from person to person. Please don’t stop us from stimming with them. We are just trying to soothe ourselves and not harming anyone.
4. Social comfort/ A friend to talk to: Autistic people are often extremely lonely and fail to connect with people. A stuffie/plushie can be a real friend for us. We give them names, we create entire personalities for them, we ascribe them specific character traits. All of these things bring us comfort and joy and talking to and caring for our stuffie/plushie friends can ultimately help us feel less lonely. In a world where autistic people face rejection on a daily basis, it is a great comfort that they will never reject us and will always be there to listen to us no matter what.
5. Our inner child: A lot of autistic people have an inner child/ a child-like personality and stuffies/plushies appeal to them because of that. (and to anyone who has ever tried to steer an autistic person towards “more age-appropriate interests and behaviors”, you actually make things worse for us not better, please don’t do that)
Finally, this should go without saying, but if you see any of the above-mentioned behaviors especially in public, please be respectful. These things are part of what helps us cope with everyday life and may prevent sensory overload, shutdowns or meltdowns.
Note: This specifically refers to autistic adults who love stuffies/plushies, not autistic children!
In autistic children loving stuffies/plushies is seen as “normal” and “unproblematic” in most cases. In fact, autistic children that don’t like stuffies/plushies or don’t show an interest in them like their neurotypical peers are often perceived as odd.
Let me know in the comments or tags how your stuffies/plushies/whatever your preferred term for them is help you, and why you like them so much!
-Victor
#stuffed animals#stuffies#stuffed animal#jellycat#jellycats#jellycatlondon#jellycatstuffies#jellycatplush#actually autistic#autism#autistic#autistic experiences#autism spectrum#actually autism#asd#autistic community#plush#plushies#plushblr#plushie#plushcore#plushiecore#stuffiecore#plush toy#plush toys#soft toy#soft toys#allplush#toycore#kidcore
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DEMO TBA (EDITING)
Genres: superhero, dark, fame
CW: violence, explicit language and themes, dark themes, immoral behavior and situations
After a villain almost decimated the world as you know it, you and four other people were chosen by the hands of fate to gain powerful abilities and become a member of Legion, humanity's only hope.
Because of that, you became celebrities in your own right. Red carpets, photoshoots, commercials for energy drinks and more. After a while it felt like the villain would never return and you'd be stuck being a celebrity for powers you don't even use.
Until the villain does return.
And you win.
Unfortunately, you paid the ultimate price: you died and became a martyr.
Or so...everyone thought.
Six years later, you wake up in the same spot you were in with no memory of the last near decade of your life. While only a night has gone by for you, for everyone else? A lifetime.
Everyone has moved on with their lives. The friends you considered family barely speak to each other, all of them haunted by everything that came after the fight. You have no recollection of anything…except something inside you knows your reappearance was no ordinary coincidence.
Especially when you begin to hear a voice in your head, commanding you, telling you to destroy everything in your path….
Stolen Resurrection is 18+ gritty IF that's a mixture of fame and super heroism. You are a member of the elite Legion, believed to be dead for half a decade until you wake up to a changed world six years later.
Customize your MC from personality, appearance, gender identity and their persona. Do they embrace the celebrity life or reject it? Do they love their position as someone forced to sacrifice their life for the good of the world or do they resent it?
Curate whether your MC will move on or stay stuck in the past. Choose how to approach every situation and every person from your past and present life.
Navigate a world in which you are famed for being a chosen one and choose how you approach that.
Wake up six years after people believing you dead. Deal with the aftermath of grief and loss you left in your wake.
Romance ROs with different personalities and different feelings/thoughts towards your 'resurrection' and everything else.
Character-driven narrative with an emphasis on the choices you make and the relationships you build.
Prepare and train for a villain who may or may not be using you as their puppet.
Die. And then come back to life.
THE EX FIANCÉ // THE SELLOUT: CATH HARRISON [M/F][RO]
Your ex and old Legion member, Cath has become the most prominent and beloved figure in New America. Once kind, charismatic, and a charmer, Cath is now the stoic poster child for the company that made Legion. So much so, that your old friends call them a sellout.
Cal was proposing to you when everything went to hell all those years ago. When you return, you find them remarried. Cath has moved on...or have they?
THE OLD FRIEND // THE STRANGER: REA SANTOS [F][RO]
Once your closest friend and fellow Legion member, Rea has grown cold over the years, haunted by that fateful night. Even though she still has love for the team, she does her best to rebel as much as possible as revenge for the attack that took a life she can never get back.
While she understands your disappearance and subsequent reappearance is not your fault, she can't help but blame you for not being around. Rea is a stranger to you now and whatever friendship you two had is successfully dead.
THE FORMER FAN // THE PRO: JAMES SATO [M][RO]
James, bright and wide-eyed, was once your biggest fan, gloating that he was going to apply to NAG Labs because of you. He also had a childish admiration for you that you found endearing at best and a nuisance at worse. Now, years later, James is somehow as old as you, has long moved on past his fan phase, and is the new head of the division that created you.
Oddly enough, it feels weird without James Sato not following you around like a lost puppy. Have the roles reversed?
THE EX FLAME // THE HERMIT: NICO/NAOMI CARTER [M/F][RO]
Once the sunshine and comedic relief of the team, N has disappeared, becoming a shell of their former self. They do nothing else but stay in the bar, drinking their sorrows away. They are considered hostile and want nothing to do with the team or the Company since your death.
N may have had feelings for you in the past, but you're not too sure. It's not as if you could ever pursue that years ago. Now? Well, it seems like it's all too late.
OTHER CHARACTERS
??? -- your hear them in your head. Is this the person who has trapped you all this time?
Ray Trent (m) -- your old teammate and close friend. No one speaks of Ray, and you wonder where's he gone and what he's been through that makes him such a sore topic for everyone.
Logan Kane (m) -- the new head of NAG and currently running for president of New America. The son of the now dead head that you were once close to. Logan doesn't trust you. Your reappearance has set him on edge.
Hello, if you'd like to know what happened and why this blog was deleted before. You can check here! Reblogs and everything else is appreciated! Thank you :)
#interactive fiction wip#interactive fiction#interactive novel#if wip#interactive wip#cog wip#choice of games#cog#cog if
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re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕
there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?
i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3
Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.
This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture.
Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online.
But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds.
<trying to figure out how to put a read more link here>
I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me.
Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others.
Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things.
I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run.
On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.
I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!
#ask#ai#tumblr#thank you#sigh#the whole you’ve already been assaulted so you may as well stay and be assaulted more isn’t the great argument you think it is
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bit out of nowhere but LO Hades reminds me so much to Bojack Horseman idk how to explain it
Oh we've talked about this extensively in the ULO chat circles n such, especially when it comes to the most climactic scene in the show, the second interview:
youtube
The entire tone of the show showcases a very bitter reality with a lot of celebrities and people in power. There are some messed up things that happen throughout the course of the show, but they always feel like they're being used for comedy or brushed under the rug with comedy, because the show is, after all, a comedy. But I feel like that was the point, because it's not until the final season that everything that happened throughout finally catches up to Bojack, and suddenly... it's not funny anymore. There's no punchline. It really reflects just how much people in power don't see their abuse or wrongdoings as "big deals", sometimes they even see it as "just some funny thing that happened", all while the onlookers and victims of their behavior and abuse either become so acquainted with it they don't even see it as abuse anymore until they finally break away from it (Diana, Todd, Princess Caroline, etc.) OR they fight to be heard while the media tries to snuff them out. So then when the consequences finally catch up to them, there are no laughs to be heard, as much as the perpetrator in question may try their best to pass it off as "not a big deal" or believe they shouldn't be held accountable because "it happened a long time ago".
Anyone who sees Biscuits Braxby as the villain here is missing the overall point - Bojack has been responsible for literally ruining people's lives on several occasions, and has never been held accountable.
And yeah, I see a lot of that in LO as well, but the issue is the framing of the story isn't making it clear if it's actually going to have its "Come to Jesus" moment with Hades and Persephone, or if it's just gonna keep celebrating them as the heroes.
There were no consequences for Hades pulling out Alex's eye. They played the resolution out for comedy.
There were no consequences for Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant. They played the scenario out for comedy literally by the end of the very same episode and then well into the next one.
There were no consequences for Persephone cornering Tori at his job. The entire thing was played up for comedy.
There were no consequences for Persephone raiding Leuce's home. She was rewarded with sex from Hades and it was, you guessed it, played up for comedy.
Just like with Bojack Horseman, we don't see Hades or Persephone treat these situations as seriously as they ought to. They ultimately don't care how other people feel or how they may be affected by their own actions, they only care about themselves. Just like with Bojack, we see Hades enter sexual relationships with women who are in a much weaker position than him, women who stand to lose far more than he would if the relationship went south.
(I need you all to realize that Hades is literally blackmailing her. He is trying to pay her off with a management position or some kind of severance and framing it in such a way to manipulate her into thinking it's 'better' for her that she take the deal, all for the sake of getting her out of the picture because he's with Persephone now. This is blackmail. And the narrative wants us to root for Hades here.)
Shit, I would argue Bojack is still a better character than Hades and Persephone because we 1.) see how the consequences of his actions do affect him on a deeper level (through his anxiety and self-hatred which he spends a long time wallowing in, making his situation worse, rather than seeking help for) and 2.) he actually does eventually start to seek help, but unfortunately there's only so much one person can do to fix themselves when their actions still haven't been brought to justice and their mindset hasn't truly changed; which is what we see in the final part of the show when, despite Bojack's attempts to be a better person, the Sarah-Lynn case catches up to him, and in his final moments up on that stage with Biscuits Braxby, we see his true nature come out - he thinks being an addict should absolve him from what he's done to others.
Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Except replace "addict" with "traumatized" as many of Persephone and Hades' actions are swept under the rug with "they went through trauma so it's fine". Despite the fact that other characters who have also been through trauma aren't given that same grace (Thanatos, Demeter, Minthe, etc.)
You could also go a step further and call out how the fans themselves will defend their actions as "but they're gods!!! gods were terrible all the time in the myths!" but isn't it funny how myth accuracy only ever comes up when it comes to defending Hades and Persephone? Meanwhile you'll never see anyone bring it up when it comes to Apollo SA'ing Persephone, or Hades having an emotional affair with Persephone, or any of the other number of things that Rachel rewrote for her 'retelling'. It's not funny haha, it's funny yikes.
I can only imagine how the fans feel seeing Hades and Persephone called out must be similar to how first-time viewers like myself felt seeing Bojack be put on the cross by Biscuits Braxby - "you're being an asshole, he's working on himself!" "leave him alone!!!" "the media is making a monster out of him!" "he's really not THAT bad!"
But he is. They are. And unlike Bojack Horseman, I unfortunately can no longer have the good faith in believing Hades and Persephone will have their comeuppance, or the people they've hurt will get their retribution. I have no hope that Persephone will see that she's the Sarah-Lynn of the relationship, a girl who was groomed into an abuser at the hands of an abuser, who had no chance of doing better because the person she fell for pulled her down to his level. I don't have any faith in Rachel whatsoever that she'll manage to end this story with any message besides "it's fine for Persephone and Hades to be who they are, because they're rich and powerful and really horny for each other!"
And Hades doesn't think he has any power over women.
#lore olympus critical#anti lore olympus#lo critical#ask me anything#ama#anon ama#anon ask me anything
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There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.
Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.
Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.
No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.
Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.
But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.
Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.
That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.
Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.
And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.
Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?
But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.
Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.
Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.
Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.
Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!
As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.
It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.
Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.
Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.
I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–
Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.
Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.
For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.
It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.
#i was actually working on a follow-up from my previous fic#but then i was overtaken by demons (sm) again so. sorry.#wanted to write a quick one about early stage sv possession. bone apple teeth!#shadowvanilla#vanilla milkshake#pureshadow#shadow milk cookie#pure vanilla cookie#the biscuit library
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Tohru Honda: a Subversion of Shoujo’s Nice Girl Trope
Fruits Basket absolutely nails subverting your expectations of character tropes in anime.
Momiji is introduced as the cute childish boy but boom we are slapped with the fact that he a mother who hated him so much she had her memories wiped of him. Shigure right off the bat looks like the typical perverted uncle of anime when in reality he is one the most manipulative characters in the series. Ayame is the flamboyant, boisterous one whose bravado hides his regret and desire to repent for his past neglect of his younger brother. Which ultimately brings me to the protagonist of Furuba itself, Tohru Honda.
I'll make it no secret that I have a huge soft spot for Fruits Basket as a series. It was the first manga I read, I watched the 2001 series and I was right on the hype train when I saw it was getting a remake that would follow the manga storyline. But I did my best to be as objective as possible in this essay of sorts saying why I believe Tohru is a great example of subverting the "Nice Girl Protagonist" of Shoujo. Tohru is the protagonist of Fruits Basket and when it comes to those who don't like her, it seems she can be hit or miss due to the assumption that she is perfect.
The general consensus of those who do not like her or find her bland compared to the rest of the cast is that Tohru is a perfect and bland protagonist with no issues of her own. That all she does is wave her healing wand of warm smiles and makes everything better for those around her.
However, that opinion couldn't be more misguided. In reality, Tohru is just as emotionally broken as the Sohmas and they mend her heart just as much as she mends theirs. As such, I hope to show those who find her bland or otherwise boring that there is more substance to Tohru's character than they believe.
At first glance, Tohru does seems like your typical Shoujo protagonist. She's nice, almost to a fault. She would rather talk her way out of a situation instead of throwing hands, she doesn't get mad in situations other typically would, and she has a hard time asking for help. Oh and with a dash of anime originality, she's an orphan. However even as early as episode 1, you can see hints that Tohru is not going to be the usual nice girl protagonist with her desire to work and be as independent as possible. The mangaka does a great job throughout the series showing with hints and broad examples that Tohru is just as complex as the colorful cast around her.
Ironically enough though, when hints of Tohru's trauma are sprinkled throughout the series it is seen as annoying even when the Furuba takes time to give insight into why she does the things she does.
She mentions her mother constantly in anecdotes of whimsical stories or snippets of wisdom her mother imparted her with.
Compared to the death of parents to other anime protagonists, Tohru's situation is a bit more unique. Tohru's father may have died when she was young but the same cannot be said for her mother, Kyoko, who died fairly recently. When the series begins, Kyoko has only been dead for a few months and it is more than apparent as early as episode 1 that Tohru is desperate to keep any semblance of her mother's existence alive. Kyoko died before Tohru's first year of high school even ended and worse, was told in the middle of class. Tohru has had barely any time to heal from this loss and it is evident in how she talks to her mother's photo.
Yes, in Japanese culture, it may be typical to have photos of departed family members, making a shrine for them and leaving offerings from time to time. But Tohru takes this to a completely different level, showcasing how deep her trauma runs.
When she is digging frantically to take out her mother's photo after the landslide destroyed her tent, she cries "She can't breathe in there. She's in pain." And that's just episode one.
Nobody completely over the death of their parent would speak like this, referring to a photo as a living person. She lost her mother and she didn't even get a chance to say goodbye, even feeling guilt to an extent about the situation. Tohru didn't wake up to tell her mother that she would see her later. There is no way that simply getting up to tell her mother goodbye would have changed the outcome of her fate, but Tohru still feels that way. That it didn't matter if she had tests or work or the next day, the one she should have put first was her mother.
Anyone who has or is currently experiencing the grief of losing a loved one has likely done the same. Wondering if, if the situation was anything other than illness or old age, there was something they could have done. Things they should have said or could have said differently. What more could they have done to help and the feeling is all consuming. Even if it is unprompted, they somehow will manage to insert their lost family or friend into a conversation that didn't include them or may randomly begin talking about them. A lot of the time, these people don't even realize that they're doing it which is shown in season 2 with Tohru when Hiro asks her why she talks about her mother so much.
She is too positive.
Tohru's positivity is one of the most easily seen aspects of her character. Where others might see the glass half-empty, Tohru sees it as half-full. Her positivity is even noted upon by characters within the show, Saki (Hanajima) mentioning that she doesn't believe she could personally smile like that so soon after the death of a loved one.
Tohru doesn't like thinking about her problems. She doesn't like expressing her sadness. She doesn't want to worry those around her when they likely have their own problems to worry about. Saki predicts that this ability Tohru has to act this way is because she would scold herself if she ever showed a hint of sadness. And Saki was right because we see Tohru later on doing exactly that, crying but forcing herself to try and smile and scolding herself for not keeping it together.
Rather than let Yuki comfort her when she is in tears, she smiles and completely changes the topic even though tears are coming down her face.Tohru tells Kyo that she needs a minute to get herself together because breaking down in tears in front of him wasn't what she planned. She was supposed to smile when she saw him again.
Tohru would rather pretend everything is fine even when she is seconds away from falling apart because toxic positivity is something she struggles with.
No one can be that positive all the time, not even Tohru.
Tohru has a hard time asking others for help.
Yes, Tohru is kind-hearted by nature but she genuinely does believe that she could burden those she troubles for help. Considering how her maternal side of the family wanted nothing to do with her and her paternal side of the family talks poorly about her, it isn't difficult to see where that frame of thinking came to be. When her mother died, her paternal side of the family didn't argue over who wanted to take Tohru in, they argued over who should take Tohru in and that is an important distinction. Even more so the fact, they had these arguments in front of her. When it was finally settled that she should live with her grandfather and that was uprooted due to upcoming renovations, it makes sense that she would rather be homeless in a tent than bother her friends who don't have the space to provide for an additional person even if that.
In Tohru's mind, it was shown very clearly by her family that she is a burden. She's an extra mouth to feed and an unwanted mouth at that, as her family never holds back in disparaging Kyoko even if Tohru is present.
As such, when Tohru is in a situation where she has no other choice than to accept their help, she believes she should be extremely grateful. They're taking their time to help her when they easily could have done otherwise, so why should she want more? Why should she complain? If she has any desires, she pushes it down because of that belief because she feels awful and that she shouldn't want for more when people are already going out of their way to help an extra mouth to feed. Because of this mentality cultivated by the bulk of her paternal relatives mistreatment, she will seldom voice her wants.
She never gets angry or upset.
To say Tohru never gets angry or close to physical in her reactions is far from the truth. Tohru gets angry when the issue impacts those that she cares about.
Tohru can tolerate being mistreated but she will always draw the line at the abuse being directed to someone else. When she first meets Akito and she sees Yuki's clear discomfort and fear, she pushes Akito away from him immediately. When she witnesses Momiji being punched by Akito, she immediately steps in and places herself in front of Momiji to physically shield him. When Rin tells her not to meddle with the curse and involve herself, Tohru, without cruelty, shoots back that she will absolutely meddle and involve herself because she refuses to lose the people she cares about to someone who has clearly been abusing them emotionally and physically for years. Tohru's tolerance for mistreatment has a limit, she is just unfortunately not included in that limit. So when we finally see her get angry in a scenario that includes herselfー when Kyo tries to run away because he feels he doesn't deserve her love, it's incredible.
There is so much more to Tohru than meets the eye. Tohu's reaction to Yuki getting a cold isn't just Tohru overreacting for the sake of being a nice girl, it's because her father died from a cold he brushed off and that cold turned into a fatal illness. For Tohru, colds aren't something that can just be brushed away because what if it turns into something worse.
Tohru would rather wear clothes until they practically fall apart than buy new clothes because she knows that she can't just spend her money haphazardly. But when it came to Valentine's Day and wanting to express her gratitude for those who cared about her, she had no problem dropping an entire check to purchase the ingredients to make enough chocolate for everyone.
She disregards herself and the efforts she puts forward. When she feels she has failed in helping Arisa, she specifically says "everyone around me has always helped me and when it is my turn to do the same, I can't." These aren't problems she overcomes herself by simply "smiling through the pain" as some who discredit her argue. Tohru is repeatedly loved and helped by those around her who care for her and opens herself up to receive that love and help over time. She is taught by her grandfather and Sohmas that is okay for her to be selfish and ask for things.
Her friends teach her that she helps them so much and that in reality they feel like they are never there to help her when she needs it.Her friends get upset that the same amount of money she would spend on them, she wouldn't spend on herself.
She is told that the way she villainized Katsuya after his death because doesn't make her dirty or a bad person because she was a child that was scared to lose her mother. That her fear and desperation to make her mother acknowledge her was understandable. That mimicking her father in her attempt to draw her mother's attention probably helped more than she realized.
Tohru is not just a "Nice Shoujo Girl" Protagonist, she is a girl with trauma who would rather focus on the issues someone else has than look to her own.
Like I said before, this isn't me trying to get Tohrus haters to like her. People are entitled to like and dislike whichever characters they please, but it is a complete disservice to Natsuki Takaya's writing to say Tohru is bland and has no struggles of her own. Tohru has many problems and struggles she has to deal with throughout the series and seeing those issues she overcomes being brushed aside as her being perfect and having no problems is a complete oversight. As such, I just simply wanted to peel back Tohru's layers and showcase that just as characters such as Momiji, Shigure and Ayame are more than the tropes they are introduced as, Tohru is as well.
[i wrote this on reddit too]
#fruits basket#furuba#fruits basket 2019#tohru honda#kyoru#kyo sohma#yuki sohma#momiji sohma#shigure sohma#ayame sohma#saki hanajima#arisa uotani#kyoko honda#katsuya honda#akito sohma#fruba#fruba 2019#shoujo#character discussion#animanga thoughts
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Helloooo, I hope you don’t mind that I just hop in here to send some Sunday prompt ideas cause why not (hehe)
A hurt/comfort idea with Sunday and injured s/o, what if s/o escaped a life-threatening situation without his knowledge and returned to him, only for Sunday to realize that theyre bleeding out heavily. Luckily he managed to get assistance before things took a turn for the worse, scolding them for being so reckless and for not telling him, he was just so worried :( (bonus if its a path destruction follower s/o)
Second idea, what if s/o’s running a delirious, high fever, all shits and giggling while Sunday is sitting at their bedside, feeding them necessary food and medicine while patting their hot forehead with a cool cloth, reassuring them that he loves them and that they’ll be fine soon
man i just rlly love me some hurt/comfort prompts 😞☺️
Honey darling don't worry it's what I do LOVE THESE IDEAS OMG
The first one I'd imagine that after you barely escaped death your mind's all over the place but even then one thought outshines the others. You don't know if you're gonna die or not. The unbearable pain along with the trail of blood staining your fingers do convince you to the first option but either way, you'd want to atleast see him one last time. You're practically limping, trying to stay awake just a little bit longer and once you finally meet him your body completely gives up just in time.
You weren't met with the cold floor as you expected. But instead, a terrified man who shouts your name begging you to stay awake. It appears that he had caught you in his arms just as he always did. Though you wonder if it's gonna be his last.
Fortunately Sunday got you help as soon as possible. You were ofcourse unconcious but atleast not forever. Atleast that's what he hoped. Gosh all he felt was rage but to who? Was it to the person or thing that caused this? Was it to you who gave little to no thought wether you'd get out of this battle alive or not? Or was it to him who'd wish he had the time to protect you? Even though theres no way he could've have predicted this, he was still angry at himself.
What kind of fool falls for the same mistake twice. All he could do is cover his face in the blanket that you slept in out of shame. That is until a hand gently stroked his hair. Oh you thought he was gonna start crying? Nah hes straight up scolding you like- actually raising his voice. Although you feel guilty of making him worry like this, you can't help but smile at how much he cares for you enough to get mad about it.
Halfway through his scolding you find how his words seemed to come out more hoarse until it ultimately stops. Hes crying. Ah now you really feel bad. You can't really do much in your current state other than cupping his face making him look at you in the eye. Your thumb brush away the tears that escape the corners of his eye as you blurt out an apology. One that he refuses to accept at the moment but deep down, he loves you too much to be petty. As of now you'll just have to comfort him until you both succumb to the exhaustion.
Second one is just you waking up looking absolutely terrible but you insist that everything is fine. Right as you're about to get ready for work Sunday immediately pulled you back down to the bed as he presses his cold fingers to your forehead. Yup, it's a fever alrighty. A really bad one in fact. And so he decides to take a day off to tend to you and despite your complains he absolutely insist on taking care of you.
But ofcourse you decide to use this opportunity to your advantage. Right as he brings you something to eat you're whining to him about how you don't have the appetite to eat. Theres no way he'll buy into this. Holy shit he did. He's actually and willingly spoon feeding you slowly and patiently and even made sure to stop for a break if you can't take anymore so you don't vomit all over the place.
But incase you do, he's at your side holding your hair and patting your back till you're all done. He gently cleans you up and brings you a fresh comfy set of clothes that are just right for you. And once you're finished he'll hold you close and whisper sweet affirmations to calm you down. Even if you apologize for burdening him he'll deny it all with a gentle smile. Different from his charming public persona one. Even if he has to get up to do the same thing in the middle of the night he'll never blame you. It's not something in your control afterall. Please do the same if he ends up getting sick from you.
Wow. Thats a lotta words. But as always SMASH THE SUBSCRIBE BUTTON. LIKE, COMMENT, SHARE AND MAKE SURE TO HIT THE BELL SO YOULL GET NOTIFIED ON MY NEWEST VIDEO. THIS IS SUNDAYS WING PIERCING, SIGNING OFF. *insert 2017 yt outro of my username with cool effects as playing with fire by blackpink plays in the background*
Im so sorry for that
#Sometimes my inner wolf (the cringe side) comes out#ai rants#hsr sunday#sunday hsr#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader
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im listening to mag again and damn do the archival crew HATE jon. listen i get it supposedly your lives would be normal if he hadn't brought you here... but he didn't? (minus og archive crew, jon requesting them and all) if anything he was just kinda there when you made decisions, bro wasn't EVEN THERE when melanie got hired like??? like how r u gonna wish him pain rn, he's ltrly sopping wet and on the verge of dying💀
like another anon I got a month or so ago, this is one of my sleeper agent trigger phrases, so this might be another marina monologue moment.
as I'm also in the middle of a (for my standards) incredibly slow relisten, I've been thinking about this topic, too, but I've been coming at it from a slightly different angle than I normally do. in tim's case, we don't get an actual look at the circumstances under which he transferred to the archives, it is theoretically possible that jon laid it on a bit thick in asking him to come with him to the department and tim wouldn't have even thought of it otherwise, but with melanie we have several scenes of her hiring and onboarding where jon is not present and she continually rebuffs people who tell her she's making a mistake, so the text very clearly sets up that her blaming jon for being trapped there doesn't make sense. and, even with tim having been requested by jon, he still had to make the ultimate decision to switch departments himself, so, yknow, what gives?
most people, I think, and myself in the past, have come at this question from a very jon-centric pov because he's the main character and it's a jon-centric show, but I think putting it down to "they lash out at him because he happens to be there and stops defending himself after a while" misses something, as does "they lash out at him because elias sets everyone up to think they have an adversarial relationship to jon." more than that, I think it's about the rejection of agency.
tma is a show that's very much About agency and choices, so it's important to keep track of where characters suddenly balk and try to offload their choices onto other agents. martin, despite being very proactive and efficient when he sets his mind to it, has a consistent habit of thinking of himself as fundamentally unimportant and unable to affect real change. jon, someone who is usually culpability_acceptor_4000, really tries to convince himself that the web made him pull statements out of strangers. and melanie and tim, on realizing that they've gotten themselves stuck in the archives, have similar reactions of trying to retroactively make those decisions jon's.
they hate being stuck there and they can't bear the idea that it might be their fault, and they don't know how to reconcile the choices they did make with the greater forces outside of their control that shape their lives. tim swings right from seeing jon as fully responsible to seeing everything as the result of cosmically inevitable bad luck, and this hits him so hard that it leads directly to his suicide. post-bullet melanie gets a better handle on it; accepting that she chose to fall further into the slaughter opens her up to accepting that she made other choices, like joining the archives, as well as accepting future choices, like quitting the archives.
and yes, in the moments where tim and melanie are most vulnerable and just starting to realize how deeply screwed they are, jon (at least from their pov) does something to make it worse. when jon tells tim that jane presntiss wasn't his fault, tim says "well you sure made me feel worse afterwards! and then everyone had to pay attention to how you were feeling to get you to stop stalking us!" when melanie goes in for a second assassination attempt on elias, elias makes jon talk her down instead of doing it himself, presumably to try and get the slaughter mark done with. neither of these are the inciting incidents for tim and melanie's situations, but they stand out. and because jon is culpability_acceptor_4000, a man who feels like the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders and is even right some of the time, the accusations stick. tim and melanie don't want anything to be their fault, jon thinks everything is his fault, and it's a bit of a vicious self-fulfilling cycle.
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Chrollo Lucilfer Yandere Analysis.
Yan Chrollo x F Reader.
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, not SFW (both non-con and dub-con), the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectfully, forced tattooing, Chrollo having a god complex but that's nothing new lol, Stockholm Syndrome, stalking, parallels to religion (mainly Judeo-Christianity), implied body transformation (using Chrollo’s book), masturbation, manipulation, and violence/gore.
Word Count: 13k.
credits to @ddarker-dreams for the yandere MBTI and like everything she writes for this creepy greaseball (check her out if you haven’t already!!) <33333
another thanks to @depravitycentral for the inspiration! check them out too!!!! their general profile and nsfw profile for mr. chrollo specifically BUT everything they write is pretty good! <33333
one last thanks to @phasmophobia-territory for the ultimate yandere types list and @blughxreader for the yandere personality meme. both have inspired the unique qualities part of this analysis, so please be sure to check them out! <333
also, for quotes i tried to do something like genshin impact/honkai: star rail voicelines so i apologize if they aren’t good (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)
*~*~*~*
I look forward to living life with you from here on out. However, just know that there will be many different roads we will walk together on. Their lengths will depend on you, for better or for worse. As time goes on, however, I know that they will all end eventually.
→ Introduction.
The very definition of an empty shell, Chrollo has had his humanity stripped of him from a very young age. The only people who have ever made him feel something are all members of the Troupe or are buried underground, burning in hell or soaring above the clouds as angels, either one a much better existence than the life they all spent in Meteor City. So, when he sees you, someone who has been able to make him feel something without interacting with him at all, without the use of Nen, without even brushing your shoulder against him while running to your train in a hurry, he does not know what to do.
He feels like he is back to being a small child, roaming the streets and looking through dumpsters for anything of value trying to ignore the pain of the cuts and infections all over his body. You bring up a feeling he has not felt in years; fear. Despite this situation being far, far different from those times, his brain thinks otherwise. It sends him a fight or flight response every time he sees you, as much as he hides it, much like he hides himself among the crowds and crowds of people as he follows you home. You have resurrected a beast thought to be long dead, something innate, animal, almost carnal, without even lifting a finger.
Is this who he is, he wonders? He finally feels something, for once, a sense of belonging and identity and… humanity.
It fills him with a sense of euphoria, while you view it with dread every time his Zetsu slips for just a moment. You always look over your shoulder during those times and start walking faster, but definitely not enough to deter him, and it will never be enough.
→ Darling Character Analysis.
Creative.
Chrollo has a deep curiosity about the world and appreciates a darling who shares this thirst for knowledge and intellectual growth. The form of expression doesn't matter to him, whether it's through writing, music, or eloquent speech. What truly matters to Chrollo is that his darling can communicate uniquely and authentically.
In a concerning manner, Chrollo imitates his darling’s behaviors to an extreme degree, devouring everything they do with an insatiable appetite. It doesn't matter how his darling presents their interests to him, whether it's straightforward or not. For instance, if his darling mentions their love for playing the violin after spending days alone with only Chrollo for company, the next day a brand new violin will mysteriously appear on the table beside their side of the bed. Chrollo will secretly learn to play the violin himself, the one he purchased as well as the one he gifted to his darling, practicing when they are not paying attention or are fast asleep.
As a result, his darling may find themselves obligated to reciprocate this behavior by learning Chrollo's favorite musical pieces.
He will experience immense joy, perhaps so much that he will hold them down on the bed and shower their face with kisses while they squirm and kick. Even when they eventually stop, he will continue, disregarding their pleas for him to stop.
As always, his strength is overpowering, leaving you with no action to do other than to say no.
At least there is some form of care after it is all over and done with, although it always somehow involves blending with whatever activity preceded it. For instance, if it was playing the violin, he would play you with both your favorite pieces on the gramophone he put near the bathtub while giving you a massage and preparing a relaxing bath for both of you.
It is painful, more so than the usual ache between your legs, because he pays attention to your desires and exploits them, even when he appears to be gentle. The pain lingers, no matter how hard you try to disconnect from everything happening around you.
He gives you everything you want, and it hurts because you always know why.
Bold.
A darling who never hides their intentions and just goes for it would spark some sort of admiration in Chrollo, especially if they use their boldness on him as a manipulation tactic.
He finds it entertaining most of all, but also there is a small part of him that is grateful for it because it makes his darling seem more human to him and not just something to own.
Boldness is quite a human trait, one that he so adores, especially with those he holds close like fellow members of the Troupe. It is also quite a trait that can easily be manipulated.
If you attempt to flirt to lower his guard, he will flirt back twice as hard.
When everything is over and done with, he will admit he knows exactly what you are doing as he kisses you again, you not kissing him back this time, as good as your acting was, much to your horror.
Resourceful.
Chrollo sees himself above the rest of man, a God in his way, so a darling who is quite similar to him he would adore.
That is not to say he could not fall for someone the complete opposite of him, someone who is impulsive and wears their heart on their sleeve and everything else he does not and cannot do, but the probability is low compared to a darling that plans everything and keeps their cards close, much as he does.
That makes escape attempts though, quite common, considering how resourceful his darling can be, like using a file to saw the metal in one of his safes or the iron on their leg keeping them in his penthouse. But he loves it, it is one of his favorite things about them.
It is endless entertainment to him, a sort of fight against himself, albeit he is much, much stronger when it comes to wits most likely. You can think on your feet as much as you want, but so will he.
He will mirror their actions until the end.
Independent.
Much like his beloved's cleverness, he derives amusement from their self-reliance. He takes pleasure in dismantling their barriers bit by bit until they have no choice but to rely on him completely.
Indeed, Chrollo views his beloved as simultaneously superior and inferior to him.
There is no equality between them, only a shifting power dynamic that his beloved will soon discover. They will never be certain if his actions, like retrieving their favorite snack from the top shelf of the pantry, are expressions of love or gestures of mockery.
At times, it may be both. At times, it may be neither.
His thoughts remain inscrutable, and he revels in it.
Cunning.
Chrollo loves it when your eyebrows furrow, when you’re deep in focus, especially when you are trying to come up with an escape plan and not noticing him right behind you, because of that expression on your face.
It’s unholy, the way he worships you with sacrifices both living and not. He wants to ruin you, yet keep you as you are. So, after a long time of pondering, he concludes. He will remake your shape, not enough to completely alter it, but just enough for your walls to tumble down and let him in. That is why while he will let you try and try again to escape, he will still attempt to get into your head. He is like a poison, a parasite, imprisoning you in your fears, insecurities, and plans that are doomed to fail sooner or later. It is what he wants to be, but he also wants to be more.
More and more he will be, and more and more he will take from you. It is only natural to want more than what is given, correct?
It is how Chrollo and the other Troupe members survived so long in Meteor City. They take and take, not caring who they hurt because it is human instinct to want and seize. He will argue as such whenever you try to guilt him because you will soon know that he holds no shame in whatever he does. He is selfish, and he wants to stay that way. He wants you to do the same, so he loves it when you fight him or try to run away because he knows it is only nature. Nature will run its course regardless of who wants it to not. Nature does not care, so why should he? Why should you?
But he also wants you to not be as selfish as him, despite him knowing that it most likely will not be unless you are broken down enough. But that is fine, Chrollo tells himself because that time will eventually arise.
Mature.
Maturity is an elusive quality that characterizes Chrollo, yet eludes him as well. It ebbs and flows like a breeze, carrying seeds to unknown destinations, beyond the perception of onlookers. Unfortunately, you, the observer, are an unwilling participant in the multitude of games he plays and the various disguises he dons. Occasionally, Chrollo can act impulsively, adopting yet another facade acquired from others in the interludes of his life. However, there are moments when he patiently waits for the opportune time to strike, akin to a cunning serpent. But this outcome relies on your level of vigilance or innocence. Perhaps, one day, you'll find it best to surrender to his will. Chrollo eagerly anticipates that day.
Hardworking.
Chrollo feels a mix of jealousy and a desire for control when he sees someone truly dedicated to their pursuits. He wants to replicate their passion and adopt a similar persona. At the same time, he is intrigued by their determination and ambition, as he wants to understand every aspect of their character. This admiration creates a thrilling challenge for him, as he seeks to imitate their drive while also appreciating it. He wants to both admire and exploit this trait to engage in a game of cat and mouse until they submit. Perhaps it would be good to do just that, to prevent yourself from getting hurt again.
Observant.
Chrollo finds great pleasure in the thrill of the hunt, especially when his keen-eyed darling begins to notice subtle indications of being watched. These signs, carefully planted by Chrollo himself, make his darling increasingly cautious. For Chrollo, taking risks brings great rewards. Although these signs are intentional, they still hold, don't they? A lingering footstep behind them. A faint smile on a stranger's face, an unfamiliar figure lurking in an alley near his companion's residence. These signals confirm that they are being stalked, and Chrollo is entertained by the fact that their sharp instincts assure them that this is no mere coincidence or misunderstanding.
Logical.
Chrollo's beloved should possess some semblance of logic, even if it deviates from conventional understanding. The key lies in their thought process, rather than adherence to reason. This cognitive approach, be it driven by emotions or rationality, captivates Chrollo. They meticulously evaluate facts, evidence, and outcomes, exercising caution in moments of perceived advantage, as well as during bouts of insecurity and danger, where they must think quickly on their feet. This mental calculus can either serve them well or inadvertently lead to their downfall. They carefully weigh the pros and cons, thus fueling Chrollo's insatiable desire for the fun of the chase, which hinges upon ultimately catching his beloved in the act.
A Leader.
If you hold a position of leadership, whether at work or among friends, this situation will be even more perplexing and distressing for you. In an instant, you were no longer in charge, forcibly removed from your familiar surroundings and confined. Your authority, influence, and status, which held great significance, have been stripped away. You may experience a profound sense of helplessness and powerlessness as if all your hard work has been unjustly taken from you. Chrollo, as your captor, will seek to exert even more control over you if you possess the characteristic of leadership. He finds it ironic that you are now compelled to follow him, forever robbed of the opportunity to lead while you remain in captivity.
Confident Outside, Insecure Inside.
Chrollo takes great pleasure in this particular attribute, as a mere few words, be they soothing or otherwise, have the power to manipulate you effortlessly.
You find yourself compelled to dance and sing, controlled by invisible strings or some intangible force, as there seems to be no other recourse in this predicament. After enduring prolonged isolation, you will unquestioningly revere Chrollo's words, no matter how distorted they may be, treating them as a testament to be praised. And Chrollo eagerly anticipates the arrival of that day.
It instills fear in you, as both of you are aware that such a day will inevitably arrive.
With a few choice words, Chrollo can elicit tears or smiles from you, a feat that few others have managed to accomplish.
You despise it, while Chrollo utterly loves it.
Intelligent.
Intelligence encompasses a wide range of abilities, making it possible for Chrollo to be drawn to various types. However, what truly captivates him is a darling who possesses either linguistic or interpersonal intelligence, or even better, both. He desires someone who can effortlessly decipher people's intentions, using words that ignite a fire within him, even if those words are aimed at him or others.
The type or types of intelligence his darling possesses greatly influences their relationship. How he presents himself in public, whether as a kind gentleman or someone who keeps his distance, depends on their emotional intelligence and intuition. Additionally, Chrollo finds it incredibly appealing when his darling shares a specific interest that is completely new to him. This not only allows him to learn something new but also adds another mask to his ever-expanding collection.
Someone who is emotionally intelligent, like his beloved, would pose a challenge for him to manipulate. They possess the ability to understand him better than most, making it all the more satisfying for Chrollo when they succumb to his desires. After all, as Chrollo often says, the greater the risk, the greater the reward.
→ Yandere MBTI: CAMS. (Cruel, Aware, Manipulative, Strict)
Chrollo possesses great skill in dismantling individuals but lacks the necessary expertise to reconstruct them according to his vision. Unfortunately, you have become an unwilling participant in his experiments. Share with him your deepest anguish and vulnerabilities. Chrollo also portrays himself as a universal remedy, claiming that he holds the power to alleviate all your suffering and resolve your troubles, provided you heed his advice.
However, he waits until he has captured you, and your defenses have crumbled. In that moment of vulnerability, when you are cut off from the world, consumed by sorrow, unable to eat or speak, he reveals himself as a deity. He extends his hand to you, leading you along a path he meticulously constructed. This path is filled with suffering, a never-ending cycle of waiting for both of you. But at the end of this dark tunnel lies Chrollo's ultimate desire: your affection.
What is your ultimate pain, what is your ultimate wish? I can provide anything and everything for you, beloved if you do not stray away from the light.
If you happen to encounter him in public before he abducts you, it is because he willingly allows you to do so, aiming to create a favorable impression that will prevent you from suspecting his true intentions. However, if you do find yourself growing suspicious, it is not without justification. Nevertheless, he will persist in attempting to dispel your doubts by showering you with more gifts and displaying gentlemanly behavior such as pulling out your chair and kissing your hand or inner wrist. Yet, everything appears excessively flawless, to the extent of inducing nausea. Everything is so… flawless all of the time, but only when you are around him and him alone. Ironically, despite Chrollo's desire to dissuade your wariness towards him, his tender and kind gestures only evoke fear.
Chrollo effortlessly switches between portraying himself as a divine figure and a malevolent force, adapting to the circumstances at hand. On one hand, he displays an uncanny perfection, never making a mistake and seemingly possessing an understanding of your thoughts and emotions even before you do. On the other hand, he reveals his true nature as pure evil by casually initiating a bet to see who can consume the most alcohol, leaving you as an unwilling participant in this game of his. As soon as you become intoxicated, he unveils himself as the embodiment of wickedness, groaning as your clothes rip off and you cry his mouth is on yours and he keeps murmuring things into your ear that are so much more terrifying than sweet and-
Panaceas are eternal, refusing to fade away, regardless of your preferences. And so is this situation with me, my dearest.
Chrollo often repeats the phrase that he would sacrifice his life for you. However, there is doubt as to whether he truly means it. His actions, whether they be subtle or overt, inflict daily harm upon you, both mentally and physically. He disguises his hurtful behavior as casual conversation, a serious one, and everything in between. Chrollo's self-centered nature raises the question of why he would make such a claim.
You remain unaware of his true intentions, as Chrollo holds the knowledge of what is genuine and what is fabricated close to his chest. He perpetuates this ambiguity, ensuring that you will never uncover the truth. Once again, Chrollo finds himself in a position of guilt, but the specific charges remain unknown. As an impartial judge, you can't discern between deceit and honesty when you have never been taught the difference. Chrollo, determined to maintain this state of uncertainty, ensures that the truth remains elusive, no matter what lengths he has to go to to make sure it stays that way.
Chrollo possesses the ability to assume various roles. He can portray himself as a reliable partner rather than a deceitful captor, a compassionate individual rather than a mass murderer, a savior rather than someone in need of rescue... The possibilities are endless. This charade is not merely a game to him, but a necessity to maintain his façade. Even if he desired to, he could never remove these disguises, as he is oblivious to his true identity, because who is he without his lies? Nothing? It is a sorrowful predicament for both me and him, you will think someday, one that may prompt you to ponder whether it is Stockholm Syndrome or your inherent empathy for others.
At some point, you will allow him to take what he desires, whether it be when he reaches a breaking point and loses control, or when you become desperate for any form of human interaction.
Whenever you are in need, call out my name. I will be there to provide whatever cure you desire for the ailment at hand.
→ Unique Qualities.
Yandere Type:
Possessive.
Chrollo in one word would be selfish, and he himself would not deny that it suits him quite well.
Whatever he touches turns to gold in the most metaphorical sense. Whenever he sees something he wants, he will take it. Everything Chrollo takes either has rhyme and reason to it or none at all. He turns them into gold as a sign of who owns them. Even if you have fallen or will eventually fall prey to this touch. The golden touch immobilizes you so you never ever leave him.
Like King Midas, he is selfish, and he takes pride in it. He is never humble in anything he does. That much is certain. He holds you in his arms at night like he knows your weight in gold, that he could never lose you as he lost himself all those years ago. His kisses are gentle when he wants them to be, or they can be as aggressive as he wants them to be. You’ll come to learn that it does not matter what you want, what matters is what Chrollo wants. Does not having a say in your hell hurt? Or does not having a choice help you justify to yourself that you must escape this?
Monitoring. (Watches From Afar / Direct Contact)
Really, it is Shalnark that does most of the work here, but it is still worth mentioning, especially since what Chrollo cannot get through traditional stalking alone, he asks a very teasing Shalnark to get for him. Though, if Shalnark fails, Feitan is put to the task, much to Feitan’s quite less than subtle annoyance, not that he would ever voice it. Through this trio, the work is separated into three strategies.
Chrollo’s way of finding information is as classic as it comes. Either he is observing you go about your usual day, to that coffee shop you visit before going to work, to the library you frequent on the weekends, to a park you like walking in to see the birds and to get a change of scenery while you read, or he is inside your home, looking through drawers, sampling some leftovers even from your fridge, and making a literal list of things to buy you either later or in the present moment and things to take with him when he inevitably steals you away. Shalnark’s way comes through the internet, through placing cameras in your home and showing Chrollo the footage day in and day out, and perhaps even making an online friend of you if you are that social with other people. To him, it’s all child’s play, especially with finding family members and friends of yours for later, to perhaps ask them questions under the guise of a fellow friend of yours even. But the information that neither Shalnark nor Chrollo can get from stalking alone relies on Feitan, which is where all the finding people you know and love trickle down and puddle at the bottom of this sort of vial of differing plans. This is a last resort, sort of, because there are better things that Feitan can be doing, really, but he is nothing less than loyal to Chrollo and the other Spiders, so he’ll find people who may know the answers his boss was looking for.
He does not blame Chrollo, because if the information was something even Shalnark could not find, it is something so secretive that it could metaphorically be so beneath the waves that it is on the bottom of the ocean floor.
Feitan takes on the role of the more experienced diver because he wants to make Chrollo happy.
Thankfully for most of those you know, only a maximum of perhaps five people are flicked off before you are brought to whatever penthouse Chrollo has bought for the next month or so. The rest can continue with their lives as it was, not that Feitan cares or Shalnark cares or Chrollo cares, except for poor, poor you.
Removing Nuisances. (Murder Likelihood: 8/10)
Similarly to gathering information about you, dealing with rivals follows a similar sort of hierarchy. Chrollo follows them, albeit with far less care and perhaps even stealing a few things along the way, if the rivals are rich enough, though that is quite rare to happen. Instead, he would try to threaten them through anonymous emails or letters, perhaps even with a photo of them sleeping thrown into the mix. But if that does not work, Shalnark is up next, digging up past searches and buyings that the rival perhaps regrets or wants to remain hidden. It could be anything, really, and soon this information will start to spread like a flame until the rival’s reputation is utterly ruined. If the rival is still stubborn about wanting to be romantically involved with you, Feitan is last, burying a corpse underground that looks far from the human it once was by the end of it all, and Feitan, unsurprisingly, likes this sort of business rather than simply lying in wait for a friend of yours to unfortunately cross his path.
Perhaps even Chrollo will join Feitan in this session or sessions. It sometimes happens, when Chrollo is too pent up or feeling especially angry, although he hides it well with a smile that is a bit too wide, at this rival in particular. By the end of it, when both he and Feitan look like they took a bath in blood with their clothes on, Chrollo laughs, and Feitan snickers. He feels good, both of them do. Maybe this is why Chrollo is so taken with you, Feitan wonders. The power and control that comes with you… it’s utterly addicting, isn’t it?
Adam and Eve. (Absolute Isolation) (Kidnapping Likelihood: 10/10)
Before he takes you away, Chrollo makes sure that whatever he cannot replace he takes with him. This includes memorabilia, photos, family heirlooms if you have any, and even annotated novels you have on your bookshelf with notes sticking out of them like sore thumbs. He manages to take it all away easily, just like he does with you. Chrollo, despite how selfish he is, still wants in some capacity to make you happy. In your “adapting stage”, you may be able to hide away from him in the bathroom and lock the door, but at least you will have the choice to continue whatever hobbies you had before that Chrollo allows you to do while you are self-isolating.
He sees this small reason for you not to hate him entirely as a win. A triumph followed by many others to come.
Collector’s Habit. (Comfortable Imprisonment / Chains + Cages)
Chrollo’s penthouse is lined with things both of significance to him and you. Almost all of it is stuff that he has stolen, however, not that he cares. The paintings lined up in the dining room, the many pretty dresses put in your closet and you are forced to wear, the jewelry that he clasps onto your neck and fingers and wrists like chains, all of them are stolen in some capacity or another.
The things that he had stolen from your home all look like they belong there, almost. Your favorite pink beret placed next to a porcelain plate of macaroons and fruit a note telling you to get ready for a date later in the evening, an old photo of you placed in a frame that ought to be at least three hours worth of your salary, your most cherished books all lined up next to Chrollo’s own, all the covers and sizes somewhat similar to one another that it almost drives you mad. It brings Chrollo comfort, while it brings you ire.
Possibly, you’ll read one of his Dostoevsky pieces when you think he is gone, or you’ll try on one of his many fur coats when it gets too chilly or when you are curious. But curiosity always finds a way to kill the cat, because when you think you are not going to be caught, Chrollo finds a way to sneak up behind you and simply observe, smirking, even when you see him.
Attention-Seeking.
Chrollo has always been one to utterly enjoy being in the limelight. He loves acting parts, playing parts as classy as a Prince Charming to a part as scheming as a villain that has locked the princess in a tower. You get both, the unlucky person you are. He gives you roses and proclaims poems and confessions of absolute love and undying loyalty, but you then remember that he is the one that trapped you here, to begin with.
This life that was forced upon you is a fairytale very close to cracking and falling apart, but never does.
You are forced to be a helpless maiden waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue her, but unfortunately for you, that knight is also the very evildoer in this story. So, you try to be your own knight, your own prince, but it will never be as close or as real as an actual hero. So, your attempts fail, regardless of how long they were in the making. You are not strong enough, not fast enough, and you simply cannot write your own ending in this whimsical tale if Chrollo is always aware of them.
But you come up with a plan that takes weeks upon weeks and months upon months for it to bear fruit.
You'll comply with his desires and make your getaway when he least anticipates it. Thus, you're compelled to dance with Chrollo, flawlessly and without objection, to safeguard your plan. However, with each movement, it feels as though nails are penetrating your foot, for you're uncertain if Chrollo is aware of your actions, and it fills you with immense fear.
But it is too late to back out of this, so you keep on doing this waltz.
Eliminating Rivals.
The basement, as always, is filled with dust and dirt with insects both alive and dead scattered on the floor next to Feitan’s equipment. Chrollo does not mind it, though, despite him still wearing the suit he wore when he was following you to the train station, the route you usually took to get back from your best friend’s house to your place. He does not like her, but he decides to let her still do whatever with her life as she pleases, unlike the person currently zip-tied to one of the rusty chairs with broken legs. As long as she does not try to seek to be more than friends with you, she’ll be safe from harm. Even though Chrollo’s gut is telling him that she will try, that she will kiss you, say “I love you” to you and maybe go on top of you in bed and-
He tries not to think about it, he is already behind schedule enough as it is, though he could just make Feitan do the work by himself. He tries not to think about it because he has to start preparing his penthouse for your arrival soon to come. He has already purchased some new comforter sets for the bedroom, along with some of the skincare products he knows you use in the bathroom. He’s busy, too busy to involve himself with something other than torturing this man and getting back on track. He focuses on the scene ahead, trying not to think about that friend of yours or the barista who always looks at you for a tad bit too long. If he let his emotions and not logic control him, he would have murdered half this town already and left love notes on their headstones.
He looks at the man, covered in his own blood, his own vomit, his own feces from being confined there for days before Chrollo arrived, deathly thin from starvation and dehydration. From what Feitan told him, Feitan gouged out one eye one day and the other eye the next day, leaving him blind and weeping, his vocal cords far-reaching past their limit, crying out gibberish like some sort of animal, something not too conscious enough of its surroundings to be anything considered even near human.
“Fei, do you hear that?”
“...I do.”
Sexual Drive: 5/10.
Chrollo knows most of what there is to know about sex, but not for his own pleasure. He uses this knowledge mainly in intelligence gathering, when Shalnark, Feitan, and even Pakunoda are not able to get the information the Troupe needs for their next heist. He holds sex with little to no emotional value because of this, since his love for the other Troupe members is high above what little admiration he could possibly hold for those people that he subtly interrogates while fucking them as gently or as hard as they want him to, whispering in their ear when they are feeling their most euphoric, asking them what dons are trading with each other and with what, asking them how the president of this company makes so much when the value of their imports and exports don’t exactly match up, asking them how exactly many secret passageways this mansion has… it’s endless, really, how much information he can get out of them. The human body is so vulnerable, especially when pain mixes with pleasure or pleasure mixes with pain or pain is alone or please is alone. Chrollo is grateful for it.
But when it comes to sex with you, Chrollo then finally sees the emotional side of this spectrum. Your bodies bond and become one, melting into one another as you both moan out each other’s name, lovingly yours and lovingly his.
This development does not surprise him because he does want an emotional bond with you in some sense of the word, he wants you to worship him just as much as he does with you.
Let us go, shall we? Before you could answer, his hand grabs your wrist, his grip making it impossible for someone like you to break away. We… have plenty to talk about and do, correct?
Violence Towards Darling: 3/10.
Don’t take this as a sign that he will not use violence on you at all. Believing that Chrollo's violent tendencies towards you are limited to slapping or ignoring you is a naive assumption. You soon realize that attempting to strike him is futile due to his lightning-fast reflexes. Fighting back against Chrollo will not resolve anything. Instead, you come to understand that he wants you to be like a pet, constantly performing tricks and obediently following his commands.
You wonder if he would also display you like a trophy. Uncertain, you contemplate whether or not you want to find out. Eventually, a few nights later, you dream of a life without Chrollo's constant control, where he does not touch you possessively and parade you around expensive events. You recognize that you are nothing more than his lapdog, his pet, his trophy.
However, Chrollo claims to see something more in you. Is he being genuine in his belief? Do you really desire to uncover the truth?
Violence Towards Others: 8/10.
In his search for you, he maintains his usual calm demeanor, though his eyes reveal his inner turmoil. Anger fills his vision, overshadowing any light. Surely, you couldn't have gone too far. He frantically scans the penthouse until he finds you on the balcony... in the company of someone else.
“Feeling intrusive, are we?”
He pays no mind to the identity of this person, although it's likely they are a former lover or at the very least, a love interest. Your declarations of love and reciprocated kisses leave no room for doubt. How they managed to reach this height is irrelevant to him.
Without uttering a single word, he opens his book, channeling an unseen force from his hands to your ill-fated companion, causing them to plummet to the ground amidst screams from both of you.
After a few moments of tears, mumbled apologies, and the utterance of their name, he informs you that a serious discussion will take place later. With that, you silently follow him back inside. He will contact Shizuku to handle the cleanup of the body in due time.
Vanilla / Kinky
Favorite Kinks:
Begging.
Both inside and outside the bedroom, Chrollo likes having you beg, from you begging him to let you orgasm to you begging him to get you that new book in that series you were quite interested in before you got stolen away. It’s a power dynamic no doubt, it makes him feel wanted by you, needed by you, loved by you. That’s all he wants, really, your love and devotion and for you to promise to be his sun and moon and stars, for you to say he is bigger and more important to me than the sky, for you to hold him, for him to hold you.
No matter how much time passes, how many different places you both stay in and leave, how many countries you visit for leisure or for Chrollo's next big scheme, he refuses to break this unhealthy pattern, even for your sake. He enjoys this routine, so why would he alter it? He will occasionally tease you for being rather selfish, even as you both grow older and wiser and your hairs both white and your skin wrinkly. He will even say it to you when your corpse is resting peacefully in its coffin, as he sheds tears for the first time in many years.
Every time please, Chrollo, please, I… comes out of your mouth, it sounds like to him, the most beautiful martial vow.
He locks each and every one into the deepest crevices of his heart like unwilling prisoners, despite how small and cold and dead his said heart is, at least to you. They don’t want to stay, but they have to because I want them there in remembrance. Just like you. Poetic, is it not?
Voyeurism.
The screen in front of him showed you coming out of the shower, your body dripping with soapy water with a towel on your body that barely covered anything and a smaller towel covering your hair that was put up in a clip. Shalnark placing cameras all around your place made things much easier to know things about you that he could not find out through traditional stalking alone. He is grateful for him.
Slowly, as he smiled, one of his hands went into his pants, then his boxers as he caressed the half-hard thing beneath them both. He kept groaning as it got harder and harder, his breathing getting faster and faster. He is not sure how much time had gone by, but he knows that there was now liquid, slow and warm, running down his legs and is all over his hand, and as always, you were none the wiser.
Oral. (Receiving)
Your knees are on the floor, having been there so long it hurts. Your neck is curved backward and your mouth is in pain from his large manhood in there like an unwanted intruder, as you desperately gag and choke and cry. The only reason you have not successfully gotten away is because one of his hands is grabbing the back of your head and pulling you every time you pull, hopelessly still trying to fight.
Your hands are tied behind your back with silk to not damage the skin of your wrists, while you desperately try to claw your way out of them.
You’re in the clothing that he wants you to wear, as usual, though calling it clothing would be an overstatement as it hardly covers anything. A black thong with a short skirt, along with a low-cut bralette. As always, you have no say in the matter, and even though you are unable to utter a word, he showers you with affectionate words, as fake as they seem.
Favorite Parts:
Your Thighs.
It is more of a comfort thing than anything else, really. The way that it is one of the softest parts of you, one of the meatiest parts of you, and, most of all, the easiest parts of you to grab and hold and kiss and press hickeys into and fuck.
It’s only natural for a thief to want to keep their prized possessions close to them, is it not, my darling?
While Chrollo still places you all of his mementos and diamonds and paintings among the many, many other things he has hidden away in his current penthouse, seeing you as better than all of those things combined, he still sees you, in some ways, as something to be sanctioned, whether it be for your own safety or just his pure, unadulterated selfishness, or perhaps both.
So, he holds onto your thighs at all times pretty much, squeezing the flesh for either attention or just because he needs some security that you are still there with him, no matter how close you physically are to him.
He will occasionally rest his head on your lap, reciting his book aloud while you are obliged to listen. He never dozes off because he is too cautious for that, although he yearns for it. His desire to lie down and have you run your fingers through his hair as he gradually drifts to sleep almost surpasses all his other needs. It may sound like a fantasy for him, no pun intended.
However, it would be a nightmare for you, whether he falls asleep or not. But as always, Chrollo hardly cares. If you dare to object, your longer skirts, shorts, and one pair of sweatpants will vanish for approximately a month, only to be replaced by outrageously short clothes that barely qualify as attire.
They’re soft, just like your lips, your voice, just everything else about you, you, you. It’s the parts that most perfectly describe you, he’ll say, forcing you to tolerate all his touches because his hand is not going anywhere, just like the rest of me, sweetling.
Just stay still and let me see how plush you are just for me, alright?
If he ignores all the goosebumps and the shivers, he can assume that this is what heaven feels like. It must be, right, dearest?
Your Collarbone.
Despite everything else about him, Chrollo can be a sort of traditionalist when he wants to be. This applies quite rarely though, only really affecting the relationship he has with you, both inside and outside of the bedroom.
He likes how the bones stick out, the crevices just so perfect for him to slide the tip of his fingers across, just so perfect for him to kiss and bite, just so perfect to hang necklaces from so they are on a sort of diagonal and reflect the light, making them shine and making them highlight the hickeys that have been pressed into them, right below them, and right above them…
He forces you to wear all kinds of accessories and low-cut shirts that he can find, not caring how much money it would cost, just to see some diamond-encrusted choker on your neck. He says in the calmest voice he can muster that it is no big deal, darling, just trust me and I got this for you and you alone, now why don’t you be a sweetheart and put it on? You might think that a choker and a collar are essentially the same, as they both tightly grip the neck like a suffocating hold. However, Chrollo pays no mind to this, as owners don't concern themselves with their pets realizing they're wearing such a sign of possession.
Your Feet.
Chrollo appreciates art in his own unique way, specifically when it comes to sculpting and realism. He finds your feet to be truly exquisite, along with the rest of you. Despite your attempts to ignore it or cover them up, he has a clear fondness for your feet. Your toes are round, your heels are perfectly shaped, and your soles fit perfectly in his hands when he places heeled shoes on them. In secret, he also enjoys the scent of your feet, although he would never admit it. He would rather die than confess.
Your feet are cute and can become sweaty and sticky, making them easy to hold onto, just like your thighs.
Those traits really remind him after you orgasm, with you of course begging repeatedly for it a few moments before he lets you.
It's a hidden pleasure for him, even if you were to discover it, he would keep it to himself. You won't be able to get any information from him. If you do happen to find out, don't be surprised when a substantial portion of your jewelry drawer is filled with anklets.
His Fingers.
Chrollo admires his hands more than most other parts of his body. He trims his fingernails every two weeks, putting hand cream every time he steps out of the bath, never skipping this routine of his. The reason he admires his hands so much is that despite all the bloodshed and other dirty acts he does with them, they remain on the outside clean. It boosts his ego, in a way.
There are just so many uses for them, he loves flipping the pages of his favorite novels with them, he loves cutting food for both you and himself with them, he loves squeezing your thigh as either a warning or a sign of love… there are just endless possibilities, at least from his perspective.
But his new favorite thing is to fuck your clit with them, and yours alone.
Is it a privilege, then, that only yours can bring him such joy? Whether you believe it to be so or not, it holds no significance, for Chrollo finds pleasure in this, and only his satisfaction matters, given that he is the one who has taken you captive.
Please, Chrollo, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, I can’t take this anymore I-
His movements are flawlessly executed, almost unfairly so. They are deliberate yet unhurried, demanding your submission. However, he will only grant you this pleasure if you plead for it. The act of begging will consume several minutes, perhaps even a minimum of two, leaving you in a state of desperation. Meanwhile, he will revel in your discomfort, relishing the power he holds over you. This perverse satisfaction is what he adores the most.
As you wish.
Inevitably, you will find yourself succumbing to your desires, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure he provides. Despite your stubbornness, your willpower will eventually crumble under the weight of his expertise.
He derives immense pleasure from knowing that he alone possesses the ability to bring you such ecstasy. This knowledge fuels his ego, heightening his sense of self-importance.
His Words.
Chrollo has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but he also derives great pleasure from imparting knowledge and amusingly embarrassing others. And when it comes to you, he takes it to another level.
He constantly showers you with compliments, comparing you to famous heroines like Juliet and Ophelia from classic literature. He insists that you possess the same beauty as any damsel in distress from those timeless tales. To prove his point, he even offers to acquire paintings of these fictional princesses and damsels for you to admire and compare yourself to.
Wanting a break from his constant attention, you agree to his proposal. Besides, you get the bonus of owning some exquisite artwork. What could go wrong, right?
Well, it turns out to be a colossal mistake.
Upon waking up, you find yourself surrounded by what feels like an entire museum filled with paintings of fictional damsels, duchesses, princesses, and queens. The overwhelming presence of these artworks threatens to suffocate you. And to make matters worse, Chrollo insists on meticulously going through each painting one by one, forcing you to endure this ordeal that could very well last for days.
Your legs resemble hers, your lips resemble hers, your feet resemble hers... every aspect of your physique and the muse's physique that he remarks upon, leaves you feeling incredibly exposed, more so than ever before.
The duration of this process is absolutely exasperating. It leaves you feeling as defenseless as a lamb anticipating its fate in the hands of a butcher.
His Knowledge.
Chrollo truly treasures his knowledge, viewing it as divine nectar from the heavens, if indeed it exists. This belief is so strong that he occasionally overestimates it, taking every opportunity to display it in a way that impresses you more than anything else he does, both inside and outside of the bedroom. Whether intentionally or not, he will state the obvious, like pointing out that the creature you're observing in the rose garden during your “date” is not a slug, but a snail.
It frustrates you, but you acknowledge that it could be worse–he could forbid you from venturing outdoors altogether.
Surely, that counts for something, doesn't it?
…Doesn’t it?
Fantasies. (Consent / Non-Con) (Coercion / Brute Force)
If one were to make a comparison, they would compare you to a piece of art so beautiful, that it is instinct to witness, praise, and worship until their bodies all turn to mere dust, in which they will be swept away by those alive who do not want your refinement to be stained by those who have passed on. For what is a beauty without a beholder? Chrollo will gladly take up that role, as he is the only one worthy of seeing such a piece. You, leaning on the pillows, legs crossed, hair put up in a neat bun, wearing makeup that he has said he likes on you before, looking up at him like he has come to bless you with a mere glimpse of the divine power he holds, wearing the black lingerie he chose for you to wear this evening, made of lace with patterns of roses scattered about.
This is his welcome home gift, from both himself and you. He may have requested that you could partake in this, but since you are doing it without any complaint but instead loving doing the task at hand, he could consider him soon becoming one with your body for the evening to be an award from you for all the work he has done for the Troupe these past few days.
If such a prize is laid before him, ripe for the taking, why wouldn’t he? So, without so much as uttering another word, he starts to undress as you watch, a mix of genuine joy and interest laid out on your face. He hasn’t even touched you yet, and with this simple act, you are bound to him with the invisible thread of lust.
When his boxers are all the way down, he approaches, and you don’t blink, wanting to take it all in. Shall the fun start? When your lips meet, all reservations that you once had dissolve, as few as they are now.
(But don’t think Chrollo respects your boundaries completely when it comes to sex; if you deny him enough, over the course of months and months, he will break his composure and show you where you belong; underneath him.)
→ Strengths.
Realities. (Your Own, His Avow) (Patient / Impatient)
The being that is above you in this bed is unlike any human you have ever met before. His looks and personality are all artificially crafted, like some automaton made to resemble actual living things, but do not stray far from their roots, what they were made for, and what they were made of. I’m real, you think, I’m real. Chrollo is not.
He’s aware of everything you do. Every step you take. Every word you say.
He is aware. He possesses knowledge of all things, much like the god he feigns to be. His understanding of emotions is as keen as his logical reasoning, resulting in a situation of dread that pertains solely to you.
It instills fear within you because he holds the key to all knowledge, while you remain in not-so-blissful ignorance.
→ Weaknesses.
Lotus Eater. (Dreamy Idleness)
Chrollo, despite his attempts to appear superior to others, is not without his flaws. If those around him stroke his ego, he becomes overly confident. Yet, if one were to try the opposite approach, it would have the same effect as boosting his ego. He is cursed with arrogance, always believing he is superior to others, even some members of the Troupe. Perhaps you can use this knowledge to your advantage. Faking affection could lower his guard and further inflate his narcissism. It is a strategic move, preferable to engaging in a physical fight that you cannot possibly win.
Therefore, when you believe you have the opportunity to escape when his guard seems lowered enough that he won't immediately pursue you, you run. At that moment, his facade will crack, his eyes will grow emptier, and the hollow husk chasing after you will not resemble the Chrollo you once knew.
→ Daily Life.
Welcome. (Day One)
Chrollo remains a mystery begging to be left unsolved.
He rises at his usual hour each morning, and it's a rarity to witness him actually sleeping. His breakfast consistently consists of sausage and eggs, seasoned solely with salt and pepper, as he avoids other spices. He purchases fresh bread from whichever local bakery happens to be closest for the week or a few days ahead. Occasionally, if you're fortunate, he may bring back something sweet while out and about, such as a chocolate-filled croissant or a cherry jam-filled danish. However, trust, whether in platonic or romantic relationships, is something that must be earned.
Interestingly, it appears that regardless of the circumstances, Chrollo seems to possess a certain level of trust that you won't make any foolish choices. On your initial day in this penthouse, he simply greeted you, patiently waiting until the effects of the drugs wore off, allowing you to cry on the bed until your tears ran dry. He comforted you, softly shushing you and gently caressing your cheeks with his thumb.
Yet, he never becomes too intimate.
Was that his motive? Is that why he opted to masquerade as a compassionate gentleman rather than a captor? Instead of asserting his authority, he chose to console you, demonstrating that such solace could be snatched away in an instant. You were oblivious to his true intentions. On that initial day, you wept more than any other day, the taste of mint on Chrollo's breath and the aroma of coffee still etched in your memory. He would inflict further harm, and for the sake of your sanity, you believe it is preferable for him to remain an enigma, shielding you from the repulsive monster lurking beneath his attractive facade.
What Could Be. (And What Is)
Strangely enough, there are still parts of your life after Chrollo has captured you that would still sort of count as normal enough that you could turn the other way and ignore all other cosmic horrors that are happening in the general vicinity. You could still decide what you want to eat and drink that day, what to watch, what to read, what time to wake up and what time to go to bed, what to write in your diary (that not-so-strangely has its lock missing now), listen to the morning birds or to the music that Chrollo allows you to listen to (which is most of it, shockingly)... the list really is endless, really, aside from a few things that you forget sometimes, much to future you’s horror.
But sometimes you forget on purpose, to divulge in the fantasy Chrollo has carefully crafted for both of you, either to fool him or your walls really are as broken down as he wants them to be.
He finds it nice when you ask him questions about whatever place he has rented for the two of you for the time being, the location at hand most likely being related to the Troupe’s plans to steal whatever is of value. He likes to show off, and to listen to him talk for hours requires the patience of a saint.
→ Punishments. (No Punishments / Tortuous Punishments)
Welcome Again. (Failed Departure)
The penthouse looked to be the same after you ran out the entrance door that you lockpicked. The fireplace was still lit. There was still a smell of peppermint in the air along with some scent of coffee, lattes maybe. Everything looks the same, just as it always has. It nearly scares you more, how calm and warm this place is, than the hand that has a grip on your wrist so tight that you feel like he will dislocate it in the very least.
But he does not look angry, but that smile is not good at all either.
He does not say anything as he closes the door behind him, turning the lock on the door so it will remain that way. He does not say anything as he continues to drag you, albeit a bit more tight in his grip now that you are within his grasp once again. Whatever you say goes in one ear and out the other, and you know better than to struggle and scream, because you do not want this day to result in yet another bloodbath, and it would be useless anyway, even if someone came to rescue you. That is why, like the sort of pet you were trained to be, you bite your tongue and obey. He seems to not be angry now, but who knows what awaits you once you are in the bedroom, where most talks and actions are the consequences of your supposed crimes. You can’t really breathe, but that is alright. Chrollo will help you every step of the way after all, as the dutiful owner he has come to be.
Perhaps a pet is all you will be.
He wants you to look up at him like some god, some deity that you worship with all your being. But you can’t, not yet, and Chrollo knows that. Perhaps some methods unknown to you but known to him can help, can’t it?
He hopes so for your sake, but what do you hope for, wish for? You don’t know, and maybe never will.
Venus Fly Trap. (Temptations of a Liar)
Chrollo is well aware of the diverse array of predatory flowers, each manifesting in its own unique way. Perhaps you too possess such characteristics, with your alluring fragrance and honeyed speech, deceiving him into a false sense of security before stripping it all away. However, there is one crucial detail you seem to have overlooked. What transpires when a venus fly trap ensnares a prey that surpasses its own size and devours its own kind and others, rather than the typical fly it ensnares?
Undoubtedly, they suffer. Yet it appears that this lesson has eluded you thus far, hasn't it?
You have displayed kindness, sweetness, and a willingness to comply, within certain limits. Undoubtedly, you possess some degree of skill, though not enough to deceive him, the enigmatic masked orchestrator of this theatrical production.
Therefore, it is without much remorse that he renders you motionless with delicate silk and persuasive words that possess the potential to sting, should you ever dare to push him too far.
However, deep down you are aware of the truth, just as he is aware too. If he doesn't take a firm stance, what other undesirable situations will you find yourself in? With a single hand, he flips open the book, while using the other to shush you.
“A shame,” He says, turning the pages. “A crying shame, really. The sky is so lovely tonight… Who knows when we will get this scenery again, hmm?”
You don’t know what he will do to you.
…Does he?
→ Quotes.
Hello.
Greetings. It is truly an honor to meet you face to face like this at long last, [First]. There is no need to introduce yourself to me as I already know who you are. That, and… hmm. That, and I think you are not all there right now. Please, I recommend relaxing and listening to what I have to say. But just to make sure, try to speak to me… as expected.
Chat: Ballet.
All dancers must put themselves fully into whatever moves they do. I suppose that can be the same thing for you and me.
Chat: Athenaeum.
Libraries and archives are some of the places I enjoy going to the most. Maybe if you continue behaving, I’ll take you to one nearby.
Chat: Reimbursement.
Quid pro quo, darling; I assume you know the best ways to compensate me for the broken locks?
When It Rains.
The rain is perfect for a day of staying inside. Though, hehe… you’ll be indoors no matter what, right? Good thing you have me as company today. …What do you mean? I leave sometimes, mainly to get you things might I add. I suggest being more grateful if you don’t want that koala plush to disappear.
After It Rains.
Sigh… the smell of morning dew and the sounds of birds chirping… simply marvelous. Let’s go dance on the balcony, but be sure not to get your new shoes wet and slip. I would hate to have to bring Machi again.
When Thunder Strikes.
Aw, are you going to cling to me so cutely whenever there is a storm? I wouldn’t mind that, I’ll even give you more blankets to hide in if you wish. …Wait, dearest, come back… sigh… of course she hid under the bed again.
When It Snows.
So cold out there, isn’t it? If you ask nicely, I’ll give you back your socks and slippers. Go on.
When the Sun Is Out.
Let’s go on a walk tonight when it’s not so hot out. The sunset’s beauty will only be second to your own.
Good Morning.
Good morning, love, I made coffee. Feel free to use one of the creamers I got you, and there is oat milk near them somewhere in the fridge… Hm? I have never really been a fan of sweet drinks, so black coffee tastes good to someone like me.
Good Afternoon.
Sure, you can cook lunch. But allow me to cut the ingredients and heat sources. We know how you used them last time.
Good Evening.
It’s so quiet you can only hear the crickets chirping. It’s quite a romantic atmosphere, isn't it?
Good Night.
Ah ah ah. No bed for you yet. Give me a goodnight kiss first. No, you can’t sleep on the couch either. Or the floor. If you keep refusing, I’m going to ask you more questions than yesterday. …That’s better.
About Chrollo: Tattoos.
There is something comforting about them, I think. No matter what the person does to reject it, it will stay. The permanence of such an act should also be what you should be. Now, bite me again and you will sooner than later find yourself in a tattoo parlor. Am I understood?
About Chrollo: Lies.
Don’t say that, my love. I’m not lying to you, I’m just picking what parts of the truth to show and hide. There is no harm in that, I think.
About Us: Home.
This place is much more human with you in it. Do with that as you wish.
About Us: Cull.
Life and death have a sort of agreement. A contract if you will. The more lives taken by your hands, the more your own life is put at risk. Quite poetic. Like everything else in life, there must be balance.
About Us: Matrimony.
Being bound by just a few words… The very idea is beautiful in my opinion. If you want, we can get married. It is not like anyone else is going to put that pretty ring finger of yours to good use, anyway.
About Us: Panoply.
Anything you want you shall receive. Just say the word. Unless it is already here, which is a possibility.
About You: Humanity.
The human psyche is truly fascinating, don’t you agree? All it takes is a few words or a few actions and it all comes crumbling down. Like you.
About You: Epiphany.
Not a man, not ten men, not a hundred men can ever provide me with the same joy you give me. You’re special, you know? You make me feel… alive.
Something to Share.
“Be glad as children, as birds in the sky.” A quote from Fyodor Dostoevsky. But… birds are constantly migrating to better places, so really, are they grateful and glad for the gift of life?
Interesting Things.
I see you are doing experiments with pH again. Just be sure to not use all of the vinegar, please. And no, vinegar cannot melt a door, for the final time.
About Nobunaga.
He thinks more with his heart than his head. But he means well for the Troupe. Or himself when he makes someone call to order takeout for him.
About Feitan.
I learned a lot of torture methods from him. He truly is the best at what he does. As for social skills… not so much. But everyone has their ups and downs, and that is Fei’s.
About Machi.
One of the most loyal people I have ever met. Also one of the most in tune with their wants and needs. If she thinks of something to say, she’ll say it without a doubt. She is very transparent when it comes to that kind of thing.
About Hisoka.
Hisoka… he is very… out there, isn’t he? But he is valuable to me, so I give him free rein to do whatever he wishes.
About Phinks.
One of the physically strongest. Though also one of the only ones to ever get a laugh out of me. Shizuku once asked him why he did not have any eyebrows, and the way he stopped talking and stared at the ceiling caused us all to snicker. Feitan did earn a blow to the head by the end of it because Phinks does not hit women… He is much more gentlemanly than he appears.
About Shalnark.
When it comes to computers and such, Shalnark is the person to do it. He was the one to convince me to get a newer phone model and taught me how it worked. He kept chuckling as he did, and every question I had asked earned a wide smile in response but no actual answer. He says I am an… “old man at heart…?”
About Franklin.
He is not the most talkative one out there, but if ever comes to games to decide matters, he is the one for the job. Once, Uvogin betted fifty thousand Jenny if he ever beat me in chess. Franklin managed to almost win in the end, but he gave up at the last moment. He said he couldn’t bear to do that to me.
About Shizuku.
At long last, she at least remembers my name. She is quite charming in her own way… I see why Franklin took on a sort of caretaker role for her.
About Pakunoda.
Paku… Paku is one of the sweetest people I know. Whenever I didn’t feel well, she was the first one to come and help me feel better. She even fed me her rations, regardless of the tough times we were put through. I should ask her to make me soup again, I have missed the taste of it…
About Bonolenov.
When he trusts you enough, he has quite a humorous and proud side. He is very proud of his culture, and as someone who did not have one as a child, I find it very admirable.
About Uvogin.
I swear he could drink enough beer to kill a whale and still not be satisfied. The same goes for fights. Any challenge goes, whether that is an eating or video game contest.
About Kortopi.
His copying ability is quite useful, and Nobunaga wanted to give him a haircut using his sword. He declined of course, much to Nobunaga’s disappointment. …Hm? A copy of you? No, you are priceless, and nothing can ever compare, even a version of you that does everything I ask. There is a charm to your disobedience. That, and Kortopi cannot make living copies.
More About Chrollo: I.
Come. I got you some books for us to read together. But before you touch them, I must tell you that you can only read them while on my lap. Isn’t that such a great deal, dearest?
More About Chrollo: II.
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven…” Yes, I can see the parallels between this line and myself. Is that why you decided to show me this? …Oh, you just wanted an excuse to call me Lucifer again. Do what you wish, I suppose. But please put that book back on the shelf where it came from when you are done. You know I hate it when you mess up the categories. …Hm? Don’t do that, or I won’t get you any more mochi. …You know my threats aren’t empty, my dear.
More About Chrollo: III.
…Do you need something from me, dearest? No? …Why am I asking? So you just happen to be pressing your chest against my arm for no apparent reason? …I see. Well, if you want my attention so badly, who am I to refuse?
More About Chrollo: IV.
Yes, that note is from me. That gift is also from me. Open it, please. …You should try wearing that set next time. Your thighs will stand out better. You were the one that was asking last night, not me. Ah, you are feeling rather adventurous these past few weeks, aren’t you? …Looking for something? Is this it? You know, I’m disappointed in you, to put it frankly. I thought you were coming around. You know what happens now, don’t you?
More About Chrollo: V.
Time has certainly sped by, hasn’t it? Let me give you a word of advice. No matter what happens, always remember those who have gotten you to where you are now. As a result, your situation can prove to be much less isolating that way. …Yes, that includes me. For when you are alone, my dear, your mind always finds a way to eat you whole.
Chrollo’s Hobbies.
Leading an orchestra and executing a grand theft operation share fundamental principles. It is imperative to maintain a commanding presence, ensuring that others adhere to your lead. Collaboration becomes the pivotal factor in achieving triumph during such endeavors.
Chrollo’s Troubles.
I find it perplexing how some individuals effortlessly navigate life with a serene demeanor, rooted in their unwavering sense of self. Maybe it stems from a twinge of envy, or perhaps there's another elusive element at play. But being envious is part of being human, is it not?
Favorite Food: Black Squid Ink Carbonara.
It is briny, and salty, like the sea. Quite refreshing as well, especially paired with homemade pasta. Only the best quality is allowed. …I am not being too picky. Do you know how many children in Meteor City have grown up never eating from a fast food place, much less a local restaurant? I simply am greedy because I can now. I couldn’t before, and that is why I do so as an adult.
Favorite Food: Opulence.
As an adult, my current ability to indulge in greed is a newfound privilege that I couldn't have experienced previously. Hence, I find it impossible to resist the temptation of adding an extra serving of truffle or caviar to my plate.
Least Favorite Food: Canned Cabbage.
One of the very few foods I refused to eat unless absolutely necessary was canned cabbage. It was slimy and always came in watery vinegar with mostly moldy parts… I was desperate, but not desperate enough to eat that. Machi, Nobunaga, and Phinks all agreed. Feitan didn’t, much to everyone’s annoyance.
Least Favorite Food: Waste.
Paku, Machi, and Feitan had a sort of pact that they forced on the rest of us to never throw away things that were still edible. According to Shalnark and Uvogin, moldy food is still edible. Phinks and I disagreed but… we got outvoted.
Receiving a Gift: I.
Indulging in scrumptious meals truly possesses the power to alleviate all worries. So, how can I express my gratitude?
Receiving a Gift: II.
Oh? Thank you, dearest. …For your own good, you better not have put salt instead of sugar this time.
Receiving a Gift: III.
Ah... considering you seem to have a moment to spare, would you be interested in sitting down and enjoying a shared reading session? The choice of material is entirely up to you, of course.
Chrollo’s Birthday.
You are such a prize, you know? You’re in an outfit worth its weight in gold, actually, now that I think about it, diamonds. Autumn has set in, the weather gets colder, and the food gets warmer. Perfect time for spending quality time with someone, wouldn’t you say so? Please, allow me to do this with you, [First]. I have never really cared for this day if I am being honest, but… now that you are here, I feel like new opportunities are around every corner.
Birthday.
Happy birthday, [First]. Within reason, I would like to treat you to whatever your heart desires. Food, art, wine; anything, just tell me, alright? I will see to it. …Heh. I’m afraid a fall from this penthouse will not be enough to kill me. …No, I am not going to put it to the test, since I am certain about it. Please think of something else. The world is your oyster, dearest. But… remember that I can always close it before you can get to the pearl.
Feelings About You: Ethereal.
This feeling… I haven’t felt something like this since… Hmm? Am I? Quite the observation.
Feelings About You: Euphonious.
…I miss your voice, you know. I always like it when you get caught up in a topic that interests you, no matter what it is. …But last time I took the gag off and took you out, you behaved quite terribly… Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take the gag off, and I’ll get you something related to your interests, and then we can talk about it. Does that sound good to you?
Feelings About You: Eternity.
We shall be together forever, bonded at the hip if we must be. I promise you. Do not worry about the details. It does not matter if you like it or not, because I will take care of whatever obstacles get in our way. Whether that obstacle is you or any… outsiders.
Feelings About You: Elision.
Do know that I do mean it when I say that I do want to make you happy. Yes, our relationship is less than ideal, but in the end, just know my feelings for you are indeed sincere. …I’m not exactly willing to take criticism, but I could try, perhaps. If you like to do so, I am willing to compromise, though.
→ Conclusion.
You never hear Chrollo in his movements, but you do in his actions when he wants you to.
He puts far more effort into the little things, the details than outright saying his feelings for you, or just telling you his threats. That mysterious gift that appeared on your bed while you were away at work, that just so happens to contain some of your favorite sweets?
The bouquet on your kitchen table that was placed while you were asleep? The box of dozens if not at least a hundred pictures of you by your mailbox when you tried to file a police report?
Chrollo is patient to a fault. You will never know what is happening, at its fullest, until it is far too late.
You can put as much blame on yourself as you want, and hate yourself as much as you want, for not realizing how dangerous this entire situation is. But this position under Chrollo’s thumb is so much more horrifying than you could ever imagine, so do not blame yourself for not noticing everything at once.
That is not to say Chrollo won’t try to degrade you into thinking this is all your fault.
Your walls will be as good as broken and crumbled down sooner than you think.
#aya analyses#yandere hxh#yandere chrollo#yandere chrollo x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere hunter x hunter x reader#yandere hxh x reader#yandere hunter x hunter#yandere chrollo lucilfer#chrollo x reader#hxh x reader#yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader#hxh smut#hunter x hunter x reader
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Its 7am atm but my brain won’t shut up about this idea I have
Just thinking about their reactions to reader struggling with clothes - too tight or too loose
Not proofread, apologies for the errors
Tags: xgn!reader, suggestive tones(18+ mdni), I suppose this is also like pervy!cod members in some sense xD, mentioned of injury, possessive, musk kink(?), markings, tattoo
John Price
Everyone was given a new pair of military gears and outfits today, you had placed and wrote down the size you wanted previously
And yet still somehow they messed it up and your pants came in smaller than your regular size
You decided to try it on anyways because you can’t do much
That was a mistake
You pulled the pants, trying and skipping around as it gets caught around your ass, you gave another few more try before ultimately giving up, realizing that you might tore the fabric in the process
And so you push it back down, only to realize it wont budge
Great
You lay down on the floor, hands splayed on the floor as you let out a loud defeated sigh
“You alright there?” Price came by as he heard your voice, halting as he sees you on the floor
“I give up” you say as you craned your neck to look at him and pointed your pants
“Cant fit and cant remove it” you said before frowning and gestured your pants
He laughs slightly before kneeling before you
“Let me help”
He said as he gives those pants a tug, and it doesnt budge
He grumbles slightly as he lower down the zipper slightly, thank god you had a black tight pants on(like those swimmer type idk the type wheeze but just know you’re not in undies)
He tries again but it didnt move, so he held your knees up slightly, “close your legs” he said before shifting slightly
With a harder grip, he yanks the pants and this time it finally moved, but you also moved along side with it due to his strength, slapping his knee-thigh area with your ass
You blush slightly as you propped yourself up with your elbow, but Price didn’t say anything as he gives another tug
He continues doing that and each time your skin would come in contact with him, making a small slap sound every time, you can’t help but felt like you’re in quite a suggestive situation, and the grunts and curses he lets out only made things worse
Bit by bit he managed to pull it out until your knees, where you wiggle the rest of it out without much struggle
There were a few red marks on your thighs by the time the pants was removed, he traced one of it with his thumb and whispered
“Does it hurt?”
It took you a second to register his question before you shake your head, he gives a nod as his fingers lingered for awhile, before clearing his throat as he leaves, you missed the warmth of his fingers
“I’ll get you a new pair” “okay”
You slapped your cheeks after he left to hopefully set your mind straight, get a grip, he’s your captain ffs! you thought to yourself
Little did you know, Price was fighting his own struggles as he watch your thighs jiggle with every tug, and your skin was so soft and the way you stared up at him with those eyes of yours made him go crazy inside
He knows he shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but man oh man
How would it feel like having them littered with bite marks and hickies? How would it feel like if he were to use those squishy thigh to slide his hard-
He prayed you didn’t catch on his thoughts when he stood up, an bulge forming in his pants
Kyle Gaz Garrick
You queued up at a clothing shop, excited to try on one of those compression shirt that you’ve been wanting to get since you seen them online, and it just so happened that this specific black one is on sale
But you know how it is with items that are on sale, they often come in sizes that are either too big or too small
In your case, too small
You tried it on regardless, wedging it through your head with a few grunts
Eventually you got it on, and you looked good, the shirt clearly hugging onto your figure and showing off your features
But you can barely breathe
“Sweetheart ye done?” Your boyfriend Kyle asked as he knocks your door gently
You adjusted yourself better and held your breath as you open the door and grin
His eyes widen as he takes in your form, hands already on you as he praises and smirk back at you
“Holy damn- look at you, my sexy thing~”
He gave you a lil turn until he realized your breath were strained, and you were using your neck muscles more, not to mention each breath you took was shorter and more frequent
He instantly pulled the shirt around your chest a little, then frowning as he stared back at you with nothing but concerns in his eyes
“Hey its too tight isnt it?” He whispered softly as he rest his warm hands on your waist
“Yeah but, I look good though”
“Nuh uh, that doesn’t matter if you can’t breathe baby”
“But its on sale!”
“We can go other outlet to check it”
“Thats so much trouble though”
“Its not I promise, lets get these out okay?”
He gave a kiss on your head as he slowly raised em up, until it was around your chest
“Jesus…” he mutters in a whisper as he takes a look at you through the mirror, the shirt did looked hella good on you, but seeing your skin exposed like this? Mmm that’s a better view
You watched as he slowly kneel down and trace his lips around your hips, you squirmed slightly as you nudge his head
“K-kyle, we cant-“
“Shh”
He shushed before kissing on your skin, nibbling it as he left them everywhere, then giving a hard suck just above your V line all of the sudden as you let out a choked sob
He lets go and lick his lips as he looks up at you with a devilish grin
“I’ll wait outside, yeah?”
He whispered when he stood up and left the changing room, you contemplated if you seriously needed that compression shirt as you look at the mark he left you, god does he knows just how to rile you up
Simon Ghost Riley
You hissed out with a suppressed groan as you lay against the couch with a bandage over your abdomen, without painkillers the dull aching pain was getting to you
You had a stab wound at the very last moment during the mission and Ghost had to settled it hastily with the med kit, bringing you to a safe house nearby
You didnt even realize you had goosebumps all over your arm as you shiver slightly, your shirt was torn in the process and some of it were used as a makeshift tourniquet to cut off the blood supply, now only having a pillow covering your chest
“Here”
You heard a gruff voice behind you as something was tossed over your head, you quickly picked it up and realize it was one of his spare t shirt
You complied and wore it, realizing it was HUGE, the hem of the shirt extended until your thighs and the sleeves were covering until your forearm
You let out a hum of amusement as you whispered back a small “thanks” as you slide back to the couch
It smelled like him, and its warm and rather cozy, and that gave you a some comfort
You closed your eyes as you pulled up the shirt slightly so that the neckline was covering your nose, inhaling it and breathing slowly until eventually you dozed off
It will take a few hours before help can arrive anyways
Ghost had been watching from the side, and seeing how his clothe draped over your form has definitely awaken something in him
He slowly, and quietly kneel down beside you, careful not to stir you awake as he observes and look at you closely
God, he’d never realize how good you looked in something that was his
He wonders how you would look like with nothing but his big t shirt
It felt like he was marking you in some ways, showing off(albeit theres no one else) to everyone that you’re his(even though you’re not……yet)
What really made him clenched his jaw was how you were inhaling his smell, did you liked his scent that much? Mmm if only…
If only he could take you and cover you in his musk, rubbing it off on yours, letting everyone knows just who claimed you
John Soap MacTavish
You were training with him today to improve your hand-to-hand combat skills
One thing about Soap is that he will never go easy on you
So he would flip you, get you into a headlock, knocked you over with every chance he get
“Come on, yer need to faster rookie”
You huff and glare back at him as you take your stance, muscles already aching as you tug your pants
You regretted wearing this one
For some reason, you couldn’t find any regular pants you wear and so you dug out this old pants, but it was much bigger and it was falling every few seconds
You would’ve worn a belt, you should’ve worn a belt but you were rushing and didn’t thought about it
As you get distracted, Soap lunged on you as you barely avoided his fist, but he was fast as he gave a kick on your feet, tumbling you down for probably the 20th time on this session as you yelped
He grin and lets out a victorious laugh as he looked down on you, then stops as he notice just a small part of your undies revealing, along with a tattoo that was around your back, oh
You were on the ground, with your face towards the floor and ass towards him as you groan, panting out a few breaths as you try to lift yourself up slowly
“Giving up already?” He tuts as he comes closer and squat down, taking a better look at your backside with half-lidded eyes
He never knew you had tattoo, and it’s one of those tramp stamp nonetheless, which was really hot in his opinion. You had a small symmetrical wings with some thorns beside it as a design
But what really caught his attention was the hem of your undies, black, nothing crazy but still, it clearly distracts him enough that he didnt realize you were watching him stare at you
“Enjoying the view, Sarge?”
You wiggle your ass as he snapped out of his trance and cleared his throat, looking away with a blush.
“Ah-sorry, didnt mean to stare”
“You can stare”
He looked back at you with a frown as you flash him a grin, arching your back slightly as you wiggle your ass again
“Yer gonna be the death of me” he said with a laugh as he slaps your ass slightly, making you yelp as you giggled and tries to sit up, only to be yanked by your leg as he spins you around
Your legs were now beside his waist as he pulls you close, grinding on you as you blush
“Lets get on with a few private lessons…yeah?”
a/n: im updating Gaz's color with pink instead of yellow bcuz my friend mentioned it was hard to see if someone uses light mode tumblr :]
#gomzwrites#cod mw22#cod mwii#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod imagines#mw2 x reader#cod fanfic#mw2 fanfic#cod smut#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#captain john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#smut#call of duty smut#cod x reader smut
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Andor is honestly one of the only pieces of more mainstream Star Wars media (so none of the little comics and very very few of the novels) I've seen since the Prequels that REALLY encapsulates the themes of non-attachment and everything that means in the way George Lucas truly intended. The only other thing I've seen that is its equal is the Obi-Wan Kenobi show.
And this makes me want to discuss Timm Karlo.
Yeah, Timm, the character everybody remembers most from Andor right?
That's what I thought.
This is Timm. He was Bix's boyfriend in the first three episodes of Andor. He seems to be pretty normal but he gets jealous when Cassian shows up because Cassian and Bix used to date and he can tell the two of them are cooking up some kind of secret together that he's not involved in. He decides to cover up his jealousy with fear for Bix's safety because Cassian is clearly in some kind of trouble and eventually ends up ratting Cassian out to PreMor security behind Bix's back. This results in PreMor invading Ferrix and getting Bix captured and beaten. Timm himself is murdered when he tries to help Bix.
All we ever get to see of Timm is that he's an insecure little asshole whose actions nearly get Cassian and Bix killed. He's an antagonist in this story.
But Bix loved him. He seems like a fairly average dude before this and presumably treats Bix fairly well outside of this particular incident. He's not a villain, he's just... a dude who lets fear of losing the woman he loves consume him to the point of making a REALLY stupid choice and it costs him everything. But that choice turns him INTO a villain for Cassian. Cassian will now always remember Timm as the man who betrayed him and wanted him dead. Cassian will always remember Timm by the selfishness of his final choice. That's the legacy Timm leaves behind in the end. Bix mourns him, but even Bix recognizes that Timm fucked up and nearly cost herself and Cassian their lives.
And if any of that sounds kind-of familiar, it's because it should. It's Anakin. Timm makes the Anakin choice. He wasn't a villain by default. He wasn't a villain his entire life. He was a normal dude who made one really awful choice out of fear and it ended up being the choice that defined him. He had the capacity for both good and bad in him and he chose to act on the bad and it was the last choice he ever made.
And this choice is what really screws up Ferrix, it calls down PreMor security on them which is what causes the massive screw-up when they try to capture Cassian and Luthen and that gains the attention of the ISB agent in charge of Ferrix as well as Dedra Meero who ultimately brings an entire battalion of stormtroopers and officers to occupy Ferrix. Ferrix gets far far worse as a result of Timm's one choice made out of insecurity in his relationship.
But it also ultimately leads to Ferrix realizing that enough is enough and they rise up and riot and throw the Empire out of their home. It helps push Maarva into joining a rebellion at the end of her life and making that recording that inspires the people to fight back. Maarva says that the Empire has been creeping in like a disease while they slept. And if Timm hadn't made the choice that took their situation from tolerable to intolerable, maybe Maarva and the people of Ferrix never would've bothered to fight back. If Cassian had been able to just silently slip out of town with no one being the wiser, Ferrix would've just kept going on as it had been.
None of this means Timm gets to claim credit for Ferrix and Maarva's own choices, obviously, but much like Anakin, the selfish choices he makes lead to unintended good things happening down the line, too. Anakin's selfishness leads to his relationship with Padme which ultimately creates Luke and Leia who, together, are the ones that manage to bring down the Empire for good. Anakin doesn't get any credit for how Luke and Leia turned out obviously, or the things they do that cause the Empire to fall, but they wouldn't have existed without Anakin's selfishness.
Timm's choice makes Ferrix worse, it calls down the Empire, but it also leads to the push that ultimately pushes Ferrix into rebellion.
Timm makes Anakin's choice. He's the villain of Cassian's story, but he is not WHOLLY a villain because Andor tells us that no one is ever JUST a villain or JUST a hero. People will always be people and that means they all have the capacity for both selfishness and selflessness within them. Timm loses himself to his fear for just long enough to destroy everything he cared about. Maarva chooses to stand up rather than run. Bix chooses to persevere in the face of impossible odds. Luthen gives up his morals to try to create a future for the rest of the galaxy. Mon Mothma sells her family for democracy. Cassian has to give up his dream of a normal happy life and settle for taking control of his own life.
And this is what makes Andor one of the best pieces of Star Wars media I've seen in a LONG time. It doesn't have any Jedi in it, it doesn't have any Mandalorian super soldiers, it doesn't have any Sith or Inquisitors or witches. It's just a group of people from different walks of life all having to figure out what matters most to them in the end. Some of them make the selfish choice and some of them rise above and make the selfless choice. It takes all of the themes that we've gotten from Star Wars via the Jedi and Sith conflicts and applies them to the little people, too. It's not JUST the Jedi and Sith who have to abide by those thematic narrative rules. Everybody else does, too, actually. Timm would never have become a Sith because of his choices, Dedra Meero and Syril Karn are never going to be Sith, but they can still become villains in someone else's story everything they claimed to care about can come crashing down as the result of one selfish choice.
THAT'S Star Wars. THAT'S what it's all about. THAT'S why Andor feels like Star Wars should to me without a single Force user showing up while something like the Ahsoka show feels like the opposite of a Star Wars story despite all of its fan service and nostalgia bait. Andor gets it. Andor took the time to understand the core of Star Wars even when telling a Star Wars story in a very different way.
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