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ponderingmoonlight · 2 months

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Megumi losing his will to carry on until (y/n) shows up

Pairing: Megumi x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: Megumi can't take it anymore. All the death, the grief, the misery he caused. He'll never forgive himself for losing you...But are you really dead?

Warnings: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS! but more in a really decent way, like I actually think if you have no idea of the manga you don't get that these are spoilers lol, HEAVY angst but also comfort, poor Megumi is at his lowest so TW if that offends you

I know I promised you a Sukuna fic it technically is and I will serve, but this basically wrote itself so I hope you like this as well hehe

Take a deep breath in and out, calm your tingling nerves, allow your feet to walk at normal pace. You waited so long for this moment, recovered from your endless injuries Sukuna conflicted on your body and soul. It took Shoko forever to stitch you up again, to make you look like a human being again. But there you go, walking on your very own legs, to finally see the true love of your life again.

When was the last time you spoke to him? Oh, you remember it exactly.

“I’m scared. Scared of what will happen, scared about the things we’ll lost…”

“Hey, you’ll never lose me, okay? I will always stay by your side.”

Little did both of you know he’ll break that promise a few weeks later and that he won’t return to your side for over a year. How hard you fought, how desperately you tried to stand a chance against Sukuna – only to get thrown out of life yourself.

“Are you sure you can handle this, that you are fit enough?”, Yuji questioned with his hand resting on your shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to-“

“This might be the only chance to get him back, right?”

Yuji smiled at you with that pained expression on his face you saw countless times these last months.

“Yuta and I think it might work. After all, everyone knows how much you mean to him.”

You clench your hands into fists. There is no doubt in the fact that Megumi Fushiguro is still in there, that he is still the boy you know and adore with all your heart. Even if it means you’ll get attacked again, even if it might end your life, you’ll have to try.

-Megumi-

Megumi’s body doesn’t move an inch, lifeless eyes staring into nothing but darkness. What time is it? He couldn’t care less. No, time doesn’t make any sense right now. Not when he lost everyone he loved. His family, his friends, his self-control. You.

His heart stings immediately. Oh, your gorgeous face hunts him down like nothing else. The way you talked, the way you laughed. The way you looked at him with widened eyes when your lifeless body fell to the ground, the way your blood pooled around his brown shoes.

Why? Why didn’t you listen to him when he told you earlier to stay away from Sukuna? Why did you decide to show up anyway, without Yuji or Yuta by your side? There was absolutely nothing he could do to save you.

Just like his sister.

Just like Gojo-sensei.

Just like everyone else.

It seems unreal to him. Unreal that he’s the one still alive, that all these people lost their lives through his very own hands. Oh, he’ll never forget the way you cared for his sister, your dumb inside jokes with Gojo. He’ll never forget the way you held his hand that one night, how your soft smile outshone the heavy moonlight.

“Don’t worry Megumi, everything will turn out alright eventually!”

Oh, how wrong you were. How awful these words make his guts turn, how desperately he wants to close his eyes forever.

No, you didn’t deserve your fate. Everyone didn’t deserve their fates. But he? He deserves nothing but death.

Nothing but emptiness.

Nothing but darkness.

“Megumi.”

Is he hallucinating again? Is your voice hunting him down like it always does? It sounds so clear, near to reach. As if he could open his eyes, stretch out his hands and-

“Megumi.”

Again.

His skin suddenly starts to feel warm, as if someone touches his arm. Impossible, no one should be here, it’s just him in this prison that never ends-

“Hey, I’m here. It’s me, (y/n).”

“(y/n)?”

That name. That gorgeous name he adores to the moon and back, that last name that saved him from giving up until you died in front of his eyes.

“Hey, it’s been a while.”

“You’re dead.”

That voice sounds so unknown, so far away that you flinch for a second. Is this really Megumi and not just a cheap copy of him? You swallow hard, desperately try to contain your emotions. Oh, how much you longed for this moment, to finally hold the love of your life again. But on the other hand, you can’t take the sight in front of you. Him laying curled up on the cold floor, face showing absolutely no emotion.

You shake your head. No, you have to be strong right now. If not for yourself, then for him.

“Open your eyes, silly. I’m right here”, you reply.

Gently, you cup his cheek with your hand the way he always secretly adored. This just has to work, you need to get him back.

He hesitates for a moment, breath stuck in his throat. Is this really you or just his own sorrow reminding him of the things he’s done? But what…

He opens his eyes.

His gaze finds yours.

Time stands still.

“I missed you, cutie patootie.”

Reality hits him with full force. This might be a cruel trick, a hallucination. But that nickname was always a little secret between both of you, how you called him in private. No one except you knows about it. No one except you looks at him with so much love gleaming in their eyes. No one except…

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

“I know you think I’m dead but…I made it, Megumi. I never gave up hope to see you again.”

You can’t hold back the waterfall of tears that now streams down your cheeks, eyes holding onto his gorgeous face for dear life, afraid to lose him all over again.

“(y/n).”

And for the first time since you know him, his eyes get watery to the point where they overflow with tears, the salty stream getting caught in your hands.

“(y/n)”, he whimpers again.

“Don’t feel sorry for what happened. It wasn’t you but him. I don’t blame you”, you blurt out immediately.

“(y/n)!”

Faster than you’re able to comprehend what’s happening, he wraps his longing arms around you, presses you so close that your lungs refuse their service for a second.

“I thought you’re dead. I thought…I killed you.”

The sheer agony in his voice forms a painful lump in your throat. Oh poor Megumi…He doesn’t deserve to feel this way, doesn’t deserve to hold all these horrible memories. How much you’d wish you could simply take his pain away, could make him forget what happened.

But all you’re able to do is holding him tightly.

“You would never harm a single hair on my body-“

“But I did!”, he screams.

“I hurt you! I almost killed you! Just like Gojo-sensei, just like Tsumiki!”

His voice breaks, a dry whimper escapes his lips.

“I…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hurt another soul. I don’t wanna li-“

“Stop right there.”

Desperately, you force him to look into your reddened eyes.

“This wasn’t you, Megumi. Did you hear me? No one ever thought it was you. We loved you, we missed you, we want you back. When Shoko stitched me up, all I was able to think about was you. Fuck that shitty jujutsu world we’re living in, fuck all the curses and monsters and humans. Think about us, Megumi. Think about what you told me back then, that you’ll always stay by my side. Because that’s were I need you, this is why I love you more than anything else. In my eyes, you’ll never be anything apart from Megumi Fushiguro!”

Without thinking twice, you press your despairing lips against his, taste the salty tears of him and you that mixed on each other’s faces. His arms wrap themselves around your back and waist, hold you into place while you get lost against the lips you know so well but yet not at all. Megumi just needs to come back to you, needs to find his willpower again.

“I need you”, you mutter against his mouth.

“I love you.”

The agony radiating from his voice becomes almost unbearable, lets you hold onto his neck even tighter. No, Megumi didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to see his loved ones die right before his eyes. He didn’t deserve all the things he’s been through. But this right here, this is just right.

This is a reason to hold on, right?

“Promise me you won’t give up”, you urge.

“Promise me you’ll give yourself the chance to heal, that you’ll stand with me and Yuji and the others. Just promise that you’ll come back.”

“I swore to myself not to be a burden to this world anymore, that I’m done with my pathetic life, that I deserve to die. But you’re alive, you’re lying in my arms…And now I’m too selfish to do that.”

Again, he caresses your lips with his in the gentlest way while his arms hold you in place.

“If I’m not able to look at myself in the mirror, I’m able to look at you.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva@kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

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ollieolliewrld · 3 months

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HSR Men in Relationships (SFW)

1.5k words

Argenti ♡This man worships you. ♡He searches for beauty and to now have the very definition of that in his arm, he cannot believe it ♡Ever since you two met he questions if this is reality as you are too good to be true ♡Argenti does his best to make time for you while getting his knightly duties done

♡You will constantly have fresh flowers ♡He believes that you deserve to have constant beauty surrounding you ♡Wherever he goes he brings something back for you ♡His phone is filled with pictures of you ♡You are his model and he will start a photoshoot anywhere ♡If the light is right he will immediately pull you his phone to capture the moment ♡Whether you are posing or he catches you off guard every picture is perfect

Blade ♡He is not a man of many words but when he does speak it is to show you his care ♡When he first saw you he was entranced ♡It was only for a moment but he could remember every detail ♡After that, he would sneak away from the other Stellaron Hunters to be around you casually ♡He would never start the initial conversation so you were the one to say ‘Hello’ ♡Blade finds comfort in your presence ♡All of the pain he feels can be dulled by having your head on his shoulder ♡He’s the kind of man who would see you struggling to open a jar and without saying a word take the jar and open it for you ♡He makes sure you are taken care of ♡Nothing is going to happen to you while he’s around

Dan Heng ♡Dan loves that you are as interested in learning as he is ♡Every time he finds something new to add to his database you are the first to know ♡Your eyes lighting up when he shares information with you makes his heart skip a beat ♡Early mornings when he makes you tea ♡Then lays with you just talking ♡He can relax with you ♡Conversations between you two let him be himself ♡With you, he doesn't have to worry ♡You can handle yourself and he appreciates that ♡He is there to support you always but has a lot on his plate ♡Time with you is sacred and he wants to know you inside and out ♡You are his partner, his equal, you are treasured and he makes sure that you know this

Dr. Ratio ♡Veritas Ratio is a picky man ♡He knows exactly what he wants and refuses to settle ♡Never did he think that he would find someone that met his standards ♡When you walked in he had met his match ♡At first, he’s very skeptical as you are just too good to be true ♡With time he settles in and enjoys your company ♡You don’t need to match his intellect ♡That’s not what he’s looking for ♡He has grown cold to normal emotion and is drawn in by your humanity ♡Your care for yourself and others around you that’s what he loves ♡Ratio enjoys doing your hobbies with you ♡He may already know everything about it ♡But he wants to know what it means to you ♡You are his final lesson and he will spend his life learning you

Gepard ♡Very much a golden retriever ♡Gepard is just happy to have you around ♡No matter what you’re doing his heart swells when he looks over and sees you ♡He has worked his whole life and you are the missing piece ♡Goes out of his way to make sure everything is done for you ♡He’s an early riser because of his duties and regardless of how early he wakes up Gepard makes sure to have your coffee/tea ready with a small note ♡When he’s stationed away from you he writes you letters ♡He never wants to be away from you but knows that he needs to keep you safe ♡Likes to keep a picture of you in his wallet ♡No matter how cold it gets you keep him warm ♡You are his endgame and even though he’s very comfortable with and around you he never stops putting effort in ♡The two of you work as a team making sure the other stays happy

Jing Yuan ♡Jing Yuan is a relaxed man ♡Enjoys to take you to work with him ♡As long as nothing dangerous is going on he sees no problem with having you on his arm ♡At times he will send Yanqing your way to keep him occupied ♡Takes you to see the most beautiful parts of the Luofu ♡He wants to share everything with you, being together for everything ♡Surprisingly a very good cook ♡At least once a week he makes sure to clear time to cook a beautiful dinner for the two of you ♡Making sure you are taken care of includes making sure you are eating well ♡Seeing you smiling and eating the food he has prepared for you makes him fall for you more and more ♡A protective lover as he has seen all that can go wrong and happen ♡Above all else, he will keep you safe

Luocha ♡This man is very smooth ♡You thought he was a bit of a player at first ♡He only has eyes for you though and you saw this ♡As he is constantly on the move he hopes to bring you with him ♡He has you as a lover and partner ♡Luocha takes great care in listening to your thoughts and ideas ♡You see things slightly differently than him and he uses that to build new ideas ♡Big on slow dancing with you whether it be in the kitchen or under the moonlight he enjoys holding you close and moving in sync ♡He likes to leave small notes around when you aren’t looking ♡No matter how many you find you always get a certain look on your face as you read them that makes Luocha a happy man

Welt ♡Welt enjoys a more relaxed relationship ♡He wants to spend time with you doing things like taking walks or holding you while he works ♡Most of his time is spent working and making sure all things on the ♡Express are going smoothly so when he is with you he wants to take some time to get his mind off of that ♡There have been times when the two of you had something planned and it was interrupted by work ♡But he always makes it up to you and you know that it is not his fault ♡You sometimes take it upon yourself to try to help with the work ♡While he appreciates the thought he would much rather have your head on his shoulder or on his lap while he does what needs to be done ♡Welt goes the extra mile to show you that he cares ♡He never forgets an anniversary or birthday and makes sure that those days are for you and him with no interruptions ♡Solo time for you two is rare but when the moment comes Welt has it all elaborately planned

Luka ♡Luka is ecstatic to have a lover ♡He is so focused on fighting that he almost forgot about a relationship ♡You showing up to one of his fights one day changed that ♡Seeing you in the crowd ignited the spark inside of him and he knew he had to win so he could talk to you after ♡He is not cocky but he's sure of himself ♡Conversation between you two flows effortlessly and your energy levels match up ♡He spends a lot of time training so he likes to have you there whether you are also active or just there for him ♡He considers you his lucky charm, as long as you are there he can’t lose ♡It makes him feel so loved that you are there after every fight to clean him up and give him affection ♡The care you show him is returned to you as Luka makes sure he is there for you no matter what keeping you happy

Sampo ♡Sampo did not have faith that you would stay ♡With his line of work, he couldn’t imagine anyone would actually want to stay by his side and love him ♡But he loves you and he wasn’t going anywhere ♡He likes to bring you gifts (most of which are stolen) ♡He has never been in a relationship before and is unsure of how to approach it ♡But he is a good lover and makes sure your needs are met ♡Sampo makes sure he spends time with you, that you feel loved and safe, and that no matter what happens he doesn’t go to jail ♡Before you jail just meant being behind bars and dealing with the guards ♡Now it means being away from his light and that is not an option ♡He still lives life on the edge but he does so having his love standing with him every step of the way

Author's Note: There are a few characters I left out (Adventurine, Gallagher, etc) if you would like a post with any other characters just send me an ask and I will get right on it! Also, if anyone would like a post with the women of HSR I would love to write that as well! <3<3

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neuvistar · 11 months

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YOUR REFLECTION.

— featuring ┊blade x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings┊mirror sex, a lil use of she her pronouns, edging, blade being a mean tease, blade referred to as “ren”, vaginal sex, dirty talk, slight degradation?? he’s a lil rough but it’s ok cuz it’s bladie, overall suggestive themes | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊oh my days the ask my sweet anon asked me is gone now bc i deleted the first post!!!!!! mannnn.. this is a repost i hope it’s visible now, but to the anon that requested blade this is for uuuu! <3

BLADE had you bent over the sink, one hand holding your face against the bathroom mirror with your cheek smushing against the glass while the other held your wrists behind your back, ramming himself into your pretty pussy. your legs struggled to hold you up, shaking as you could feel your leg shake just by the feeling of his deep thrusts. you lost count of.. no. you didn’t even cum yet, not even once. blade wouldn’t let you, always pulling away before you could even spill your juices on him, you were getting even more desperate the more he edged you, the more he made you wait. blade pinched your nipple from behind, engulfing your tits with his hand as he pulled away right as you were about to reach your orgasm once more.

“ren please! just.. just let me cum! ‘s too much, i can’t take it anymore!” he bit your shoulder, digging his teeth into your flesh. “i’ve done this countless times to you, i think you can handle it by now, sweetheart. it’s simple, isn’t it? show me, show me you deserve it. show me just how much you deserve to cum on my cock.” he pushed you against the mirror even more, a loud moan igniting in your throat as your perky tits pressed against the coldness of the glass. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as how good it felt, crying out his name.

“r-ren!” a whine left your lustful lips, licking it at the thought of how deep he was inside your walls, hearing the squelching of your cunt. you clenched around his cock, grinding your ass against his pelvis to make you cum quicker since you just know that blade was gonna refuse, and keep teasing you until he’s got you wrapped around his finger, begging him for more, begging him to keep fucking your pussy.

you felt so full. the fact he was already balls deep inside you, pushing you to your limits as you nearly reached your high, before feeling his cock slide out of your drenched pussy, making you gasp. “w-wh—“ your face was squished against the mirror as he held you in place, you couldn’t help but feel so full with his cock buried deep inside your cunt, brushing against areas you never knew could be possible. blade raises his freehand, grabbing a handful of your hair tugging at it roughly. “look.” “look where?.. ah!” you felt a stinging pain on your ass as he let the sound of his palm against your skin fill the bathroom you were both in, a smirk crept up his face.

“reflection. look at your reflection, sweetheart. watch me fuck you.” you almost came from his words alone, the tips of your fingers white from how tightly you were holding onto the sink under you. “ren.. ren! m’ gonna cum..!” blade thrusts forward into you as you felt yourself reaching your high, gluing your eyes shut. a low chuckled rumbled in his chest as he pulled away before you can even cum on his cock, a whine leaving your lips. “ren please.. please! i want to cum now!” the tone of your voice had a hint of desperation in it, annoyance even. you were slowly but surely getting irritated, you just wanted to cum.. he’s always pushing you on the edge!

“mm.. does my pretty girl want to cum on my cock? does she deserve it? you think this slutty pussy deserves it, hm?” you stare at your reflection, his eyes lock with yours. another smirk crept up his face once he saw that the your eyes were filled with tears and desperation, there was just.. something erotic about seeing that, how pretty you looked with tears streaming down your face. a dark chuckle erupts from his chest, kissing your cheek. “you’re such a slut for my cock and it shows, sweetheart. are you not ashamed? such a slut you are, hm? my slut.” “j-just stop teasin’ me all the time! please.. just let me cum!” he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling you back towards his chest. “sometimes things don’t come for free, angel. earn it. show me you deserve it, show me just how slutty you can get for my cock, and maybe i’ll let you cum. cmon one more, pretty.”

ugh.. he’s such a tease.

IM SORRY NONNIE HERES A REPOST </3 it works now!

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა #blade <33 #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you

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askdiscordwhooves · 4 months

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This update was drawn by me, @jitterbugjive

I want to address one thing that I KNOW some people are going to complain about because they've already complained about if it would happen, and that’s The Doctor and Derpy getting together in the end. I understand the concerns. This is in no way meant to say ‘your abusers will eventually change for the better if you just say the right things to them’. This isn’t that kind of story. These are special circumstances that DO NOT EXIST in real life where the abuser was under MAGICAL mind control. That’s not who he actually is and when he’s himself he’s not remotely an abuser. He is safe from having a relapse, the curse is gone and over with because the core Discord was killed while the fragment left over in their universe has been reformed.

Real abusers are not under any kind of puppetry or mind control when they do what they do, and no not even getting drunk counts as this because when someone is an abusive drunk they’re still choosing to get drunk when they are well aware of what they do when under the influence. If The Doctor did any of this abuse on his own terms, I wouldn’t have let them get back together. I’m an abuse survivor, I know better than that. When you try to compare completely fantasy scenarios that can’t happen in real life to.. Well, real life, you’re kind of reaching at straws at that point. Besides, this relationship wasn’t automatically better just because he returned to normal. Both of them suffered damage and trauma and both needed to navigate around it to be able to trust one another again. If there’s any kind of comparison to make, it’d be more like a loved one suffering a psychotic episode and doing horrible things they’d never do in their right mind. And some people are able to understand and forgive, while others are not. The pain of having a psychotic episode and saying and doing things that hurt people is really hard to overcome, it’s hard to trust yourself and it can be hard to make amends. But a psychotic episode does not dictate who a person is. It just doesn’t. And that’s the closest thing to reality this story is. I tried to handle this as best I could, because in my line of work recovery is the most important thing and I understand that someone coming out of a bad episode needs support and compassion (Unless they’re a terrible person in general) and there have been extreme cases where perfectly good people end up going as far as murder- even murdering their own children, but their loved ones are able to reason that they were sick and they are going to suffer great pain upon realizing what they’d done, and they are going to seek help. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who did terrible things in a psychotic state, and that’s within your right, but it doesn’t mean people who can forgive are any less valid. Listen, if a husband can be capable of not blaming his wife for killing their kids in a psychotic state (a very real event that happened rather recently, simply google “wife psychosis news killed children husband forgives” and you’ll find it), it's perfectly reasonable that someone can forgive someone who was under magical mind control.

If you are in a physically abusive relationship, you need to get out of it. The likelihood of this person changing for the better is extremely low, and you can’t cling to the idea of the rare few people who manage to work through these kind of things. Those are very special circumstances and in my opinion if there’s a relapse into violence after making genuine efforts to change, that should be the end of it once and for all. It shouldn’t be happening to begin with, it should not be tolerated. You matter, you deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. Never let anyone tell you or make you feel otherwise. Please take care of yourselves, and DO NOT use this story as a basis for how to manage your own relationships, no matter how much you might think you see yourselves in it. This is fiction, and the scenarios in this story do not happen in real life. If you can’t discern reality from fiction, that is all on you, not me.

#discord whooves #doctor whooves #my little pony #derpy hooves #dinky #sparkler #warden #aurora #pierce #neosurgeon #carrot top #jack harkness #disclaimer

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thatsmybook · 1 month

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Just rewatching the documentary and just before 4 mins in, Lisa is explaining to Omar her thought process for what will be the main dilemma/ crux of the show, and it made me realise what exactly Simon was saying when he broke up with Wille at the end of Episode 5. He was saying: I've seen what the monarchy does to you and how it hurts you, I've experienced it myself, so I have additional empathy for how that must feel for you. Also, I, too, am being hurt by it (see all of season 3 when he's not smiling with Wille). I thought I could try it out for your sake to see if I could handle it because you're worth it.

But after spending the birthday day with Prince Wilhelm and the Royal Court, he sees that it will continue to hurt both of them, and there will be no respite, things will only get worse. He has seen Wille get worse right in front of him on that day. It is poisoning Wille, and he is becoming someone he doesn't recognise. Simon decides that he does not want that to happen to either of them. The only thing he can do is leave the system so it can stop hurting him. Unfortunately, because Wille is entwined with Prince Wilhelm, it means he has to leave Wille too.

To me, by staying with Wille, Simon is condoning bad behaviour or the status quo by just going along with everything the Royal Court says while they both slowly deteriorate. So though he leaves Wille to save himself, he is also saving Wille because he is showing Wille that this is not alright, boundaries have to be put in place somewhere and Wille needs to start setting some boundaries for himself too. If Wille thought that Simon would stick around to support him and occasionally be someone he could lash out to, then he may not have felt the need to save himself from the monarchy. Because Simon is around to hold him up.

So for King Wilhelm truthers, Simon is required to know his place as an aid to the King, whilst suppressing his own pain and never putting pressure on the King by asking for help with his own issues. There is never a time when they would be equal in their relationship, even in private, because everything about Simon's values, ambitions, and passions would have to be deleted. King Wilhelm's needs would come first. This is what class does. It sets up hierarchies of certain humans' needs being more important than others and even that certain humans are superior/supreme to others. Therefore, to function, it needs lackeys who know their place to serve those on top. Hillerska, as an institution, is a mirror of Simon's relationship as a partner for the next king. Hillerska being closed is the equivalent of Lisa abolishing the monarchy. (By the way, there's a real-life incident of the 16 year old Prince of Denmark having to be removed from his elite school when issues of sexual abuse and other scandals came to light. This happened in 2022).

On a side note, this made me think about the Duke's role as consort and imagine that that would be Simon's role to model himself on. If we want Wille to remain as a Crown Prince and have his boyfriend, do we want Simon to become as bland and ineffective as the Duke is, where all of his focus is solely on the Queen's needs. Smoothing over any rough patches with innane conversation and totally neglecting and not 'seeing' his child. Simon deserves to be himself, as does Wille.

#young royals #young royals spoilers #wilmon #simon eriksson #prince wilhelm #lisa ambjörn #young royals forever #yr s3 spoilers #know your boundaries #love yourself enough to walk away #don't put up with mental abuse for love

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fyorina · 12 days

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ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground.

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him.

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you.

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger.

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation.

You pull the trigger.

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused.

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself.

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time.

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do.

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying.

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to.

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives.

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck.

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags.

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy.

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up.

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him.

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him.

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open.

He should know better.

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left.

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor.

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here.

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him.

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time.

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye.

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything.

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed.

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?”

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me.

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down.

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake.

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?”

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart.

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind.

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light.

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious.

Dazai thinks he might rather die.

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing.

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door.

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then.

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai angst #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Note

Congrats on passing 5k followers, you really deserve every one of them!! I'd love to see a little blurb about reader finding out former bf/husband Graves didn't actually die. Whether she was 141, shadows or just a civilian doesn't really matter too much to me, whatever strikes you with the most ideas haha! Thank you! 😁

—Sleeping On The Porch

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [As it turns out, your husband never really died. It's safe to say you're not overjoyed.] ❞

You stare at him from the entrance of the door, eye twitching at the bouquet of flowers as the night air settles in.

Phillip’s face is tight with tension.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he chuffs a fake laugh through his accent. “Surprise.”

Your lips don’t utter a peep.

The man is worse for wear—his face patched with bandages and his clothes showing the bulk of wrappings underneath. He’d been gone for months; gone from you, your home, your bed. You had thought he had died.

Seeing him here now didn’t have the same effect you thought it would. Your eyes spark with pure rage.

“Hey, now,” Phillip tries to move forward but stops himself when your face contorts into a snarl, blinking quickly and holding up his free hand—your wedding band still wrapped around his finger. No word or calls…does he think you’re just going to forgive him for this? “Don't…don’t be like that, now, Doll. I’m home! How about you let me in and we can talk it all out over some dinner, alright? I’ll do all the cooking, you don’t even worry about it.”

Your body is utterly stone, and his silver tongue won’t work on you this time.

Without a kiss or a word to him, you slam the door right in his face. Locking it deftly, you wash your hands of it and turn on your heel as the pounding on the wood starts up, the delicate calls of your name before the handle is tried and found immobile.

“Sweetheart?!” His voice is muffled as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom—because it was your bedroom now, and it would be until that man knew how to grovel properly. He’s lucky he’s sleeping on the porch and not the street. “I…It’s cold out here, y’know!” A pause before the man hears the echo of a shutting door from far inside. The shadow of his boots shifts. “...I brought you flowers…”

In the early morning, you sneak down, still in pajamas, and your feet bare to the hardwood below you. Padding over, you quietly unlock the door with the intent to peek out to see if your husband is still there.

Peeling the door back just a smidge, you blink at the absence of anyone. For a moment you wonder if it was just a dream, but then you step outside and spot the sleeping figure on the porch swing.

On his back, Phillip rests, your flowers atop his chest like a child as the bend of his elbow covers the man’s eyes to allow him a longer sleep. You bink, sighing long and low as your head shakes.

Walking over, you look down at him as his chest slowly rises and falls—the slight shiver from the early morning chill. You don’t feel back about this; about making sleep outside like a dog. By your accounts it was the least he deserved and, in fact, a very merciful fate.

Looking at his broken body, you shift your gaze away before the pain in your chest comes back. Damn him.

But it’s only when you look back that you notice that his arm has shifted farther up his head—resting now on his hairline as he looks up at you softly.

“M’sorry,” he breathes, face open and lips being bitten for a moment before he looks away from you. Your hands wrap your waist.

There will be no warmth from you—not now.

“You’re going to have to do more than just say that, Phillip Graves.” His blue eyes are heavy with guilt, but he nods nonetheless.

There was a long road to go.

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inbloomwriting · 10 months

Text

If I had you II Jamie Tartt

Plot: Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. Reader thinks it's the easiest thing in the world. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Swearing, mentions of food and alcohol. Notes: This is inspired by the song "a daydream away". It's 5.2k words of pure friends-to-lovers sweetness. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. It’s a chore to love him, the real him not the overly confident golden boy he portrays on the pitch. Just look at his track record, that just proves his point. Sure his mom loves him, he never questioned that, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for her. He’s convinced he’s made her cry more than once with yet another stupid decision. Then there’s his father who loves nothing more than to belittle him and lay out all his flaws for him and the world to see. And if even your own dad doesn’t love you, how can you expect others to.

So maybe that’s the reason he doesn’t let anyone close enough to even begin to love him. Sooner or later they’ll figure out how much of an effort it takes and that he, of all people, truly isn’t worth it.

And maybe, perhaps, that’s also the reason he doesn’t allow himself to explore the feelings he harbors for his best friend. He tried to deny them to himself for so long. Tried to pass it off as pure, unfiltered friendship. That’s bullshit though. He knows the feelings are there and there is no use in denying them. That doesn’t mean he can ever allow himself to act on them though. He’d just fuck it all up, the way he usually does with everything he touches.

The shiny hardwood floor feels cold and smooth as he sits leaning against the kitchen counter, legs stretched out before him. A smile is permanently etched onto his face as (Y/N) talks about something that happened at her work today. He should listen, it’s probably a fun story judging by the way her giggles make her stop talking every few seconds. He should listen but he is so enamored with her that he can not pay attention to anything else. In a perfect world, in a world where loving him was easy, he’d lean over and kiss her. He'd kiss her silly and she’d kiss him back and life would be sweet and it would make sense. In that perfect world, she would love him back the same way he loves her and it would be easy and he’d deserve her.

But that is not the world he’s living in. That is not his reality. Just a beautiful daydream he allows himself to escape to every once in a while. Loving her in a daydream is safe. It’s secret and quiet and there is no hurt there and no rejection.

“Why are you grinning like that, huh Tartt?”

She asks before taking a sip from the beer bottle clasped tightly in her hands. It’s an unusually hot summer’s day. One that makes it impossible to do anything but sit on the floor in as little clothing as possible and drink one cold drink after the other. Even if that means getting a little tipsy on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Nothing. Just happy to have you here. Missed you.”

“We didn’t see each other for a week and you already missed me?”

He misses her the minute she leaves. It’s like his heart isn’t complete if she isn’t there but he can’t really say that can he? Friends don’t tell friends things like that. And a friend is all she is. His best one but still. Telling her any of this could jeopardize their friendship and Jamie doesn’t think he could handle life without her. Not when a week already felt like torture.

“Well yeah, I’m proper shit at cooking. I need you to feed me.”

“Oh, is that so? Thought Mr. Bigshot footballer could get free food at any restaurant he fancies.”

She’s teasing but never mean and never hurtful. That’s something he cherishes so much about their friendship. His feelings, his fears — all of it is safe with her. There is no hurt or pain or fear. Just her and her friendship and warmth. And a pair of open arms ready to catch him whenever he stumbles and falls.

“True. But some fancy place in Mayfair will laugh at me if I ask them to make me dino nuggets, won’t they?”

Her laughter, he decides then, is his favorite sound in the world. It makes everything feel alright even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. He needs to keep his feelings locked up in that beautiful daydream because he can never lose this melody her laughter creates. And anyway, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he ever really had her.

— It’s not like she’d say yes anyway.

“You’re probably right about that,” she says and leans her head against his shoulder. And though it’s muggy and hot and he’s sure he can feel their skin stick together, he doesn’t shake her off. She’s part of his heart already, might as well melt into one completely. “You want me to make you some nuggets?”

“Nah,” Jamie replies and places a soft kiss on the top of her head. Friends kiss friends on the head all the time, everyone knows that. Right? "That's okay. Already had a Kebab with Roy earlier.”

“You guys are becoming friends then? Should I be worried I’m gonna lose my best friend status?”

Jamie lets out some mix between a chuckle and a scoff. As if anyone in all the world could ever replace her. What a ridiculous thought.

“Well he doesn’t make me nuggets, does he? No alphabet soup either. So no. Not yet.”

The little shake of her fist she does in victory makes him grin even bigger. He must look like a damn fool.

“I should probably get going sometime soon, I need to finish up some work and do laundry and do all that boring adult stuff that’s waiting for me at home.”

There are lots of things he should be doing instead of sitting on his kitchen floor on a Tuesday afternoon getting half drunk on cheap beer and half on his overwhelming love for her. He’s sure there are a bunch of texts and emails waiting for him to sort through. Keeley might be popping a blood vessel soon if he doesn’t answer her about that brand requesting to work with him on some ad campaign. And he will get back to her — soon.

Right now it doesn’t matter. Right now all that matters is him and (Y/N) and their little corner of safety and — home.

“But I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, me neither. Just want to sit here with you and — “

“ — hang out?”

“Mh. Hang out.”

That was not what he wanted to say but none of the words ghosting through his head are meant to be spoken out loud. They are his to feel and think and keep hidden and quiet.

“Good, we can hang out a little longer I think.”

And he’ll take what he can get. All the precious minutes she grants him he cherishes.

Right now could last forever and he wouldn’t mind at all.

Not as long as he’s with her.

Some early 00s pop song is blasting from the speakers of the bar. Everyone’s in good spirits and drinks are flowing freely.

(Y/N) is leaning against the bar talking to Colin, laughing about something he said, radiating joy and happiness.

She loves his friends, his boys, his family. Jamie loves that she loves them so dearly, so fiercely as if they are her own family. At this point, they might as well be. She remembers all their birthdays, drops by unannounced with cookies for everybody, cheers them on louder than anybody else. Hell, she even gets Roy to smile and that’s quite something. She’s as much a part of the AFC Richmond family as she is a part of his life.

“Jamie-Jam-Jam what are you sulking over here for,” her voice cuts through the crowd and the music as she slides into the booth next to him. She looks gorgeous in the hazy neon lights. Then again, she always looks gorgeous.

“Not sulking. Just — thinking.”

“About what?”

You. He’d say if he was honest and not such a coward. You and how much I adore you and how hard it is not to tell you any of this and fuck up our friendship.

“Was considering getting me nipples pierced. I’d have to take them out though and I imagine that would be quite annoying.”

“Probably,” she agrees and nods her head before adding “It would look sick though.”

“Right? I reckon it would.”

She laughs at that and once again it shakes his entire world. Like little earthquakes inside his heart.

Her voice is quieter after her laughter subsides, soft and gentle, and with the loud music it feels like her words are only meant for him. “I like this,” she says almost wistfully.

“The song? Who’s that, Rihanna?”

“Not the song, silly boy. This — “ she gestures around the room towards all their friends, dancing and laughing and having the time of their lives. And then she motions to the two of them, secluded and safe inside their own little bubble. “escaping our busy lives for a moment.”

“Lot of journalists would disagree with you there, love. That my life was busy.”

“They don’t know you like I know you.”

There’s a sincerity in her eyes, a warmth, something he can’t quite explain. It’s familiar and foreign all at once.

“No one knows me like you do. You had pity on Jamie Tartt, messy little prick from math class. They just know Jamie Tartt, the footballer from Richmond.Still a prick but now with better hair.”

Before he knows what’s happening, her hands take hold of his face and gently rest against his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. Really look at her.

“I never had pity on you, Jamie. I thought you were funny and exciting and infinitely cool. That’s why I wanted to be your friend. And I was right! About the funny part, not the cool part.”

“Obviously.”

“But I never took pity on you. I don’t think you realize how highly I think of you. Now let me get a sip of that drink.”

He’s still in some sort of haze brought on by her words when a groan coming from her shakes him from his thoughts. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust as she places his glass back on the table. “Ew, what the fuck is that?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. Barkeeper said she’d mix me a Jamie Tartt and I was like fuck yeah, a drink named after me.”

“It’s disgusting. Did you shag and dump her at some point? Like, is she mad at you for some reason?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman before in my life … so yeah maybe.”

Shaking her head with a smirk on her face she grabs a hold of his hand and pulls him out of the booth and towards the bar on the other side of the place, the one with the older male bartender with the impressive beard.

“You ever had a thing with him?” she asks as she leans against the counter, trying to get the man’s attention.

“Nah, I’d remember that facial hair.”

From then on the night tastes like tequila and beer and it feels like a warm hug. She doesn’t join in on all his drinks, stops herself after a beer and a shot, but she does join him in all the other shenanigans. Like when they make up ridiculous backstories for strangers and have a laugh about some corporate douchebag trying desperately to get with some woman who clearly has no interest in him.

“Henry from accounting.”

“Nah, that’s Charlie from HR.”

“Well, either way, Maisie from South Shields is not interested.”

He could stay here forever, laugh the night away. Drunk on happiness, on love — and also on quite a lot of booze.

“Come on, Jamie-Jam, “ she says and hands him his jacket. She’s all gentle hands and gentle eyes. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“We’re going home?”

“I think it’s time. Think someone had a little too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

He is but also not. He’s sorry for being a burden — again. He’s not sorry for letting himself enjoy a night of unadulterated happiness with the people that mean the most to him.

“No need to apologize, Jamie. I’m glad you had fun. Now come on, silly boy. I’m tired.”

And when they step out of the place and into the night, all sweaty and hair a mess, he thinks that of all the things his eyes have ever seen, the best by far is her. Then and always.

London passes by in a blur as (Y/N) drives them towards his house. All the bougie buildings and the iron fences and the trees in the parks, it’s all one kaleidoscope of color, a smudge of light and shadows.

It’s not like he can really focus on that though. Partly because all he can think of is her and partly because he’s absolutely wasted. Mostly her though. Definitely mostly her.

“Did you have a good time?” his voice slices through the comfortable silence.

“I always have a good time when I’m with you, silly boy. Did you?”

He rests his cheek against the smooth leather of her car seats and regards her with an infinite sense of wonder and adoration. In any other situation, this position would be deeply uncomfortable but he’s numb to anything but the beating of his heart and the strings that pull him towards his best friend.

“Obviously. Had my best girl with me. “

“Keeley?”

His eyebrows raise in confusion. “Keeley? No you numpty, you!”

“Me?”

“Why would you think I was talking about Keeley?”

He wishes he could see the look on her face. This is not a car conversation.

“Uh, she’s the only real adult relationship you ever had and you had a poster of her on your wall. Makes one think things. In fact, I believe that poster is still up.”

Jamie can’t help but scoff at her words. Not in a dismissive way necessarily but this whole conversation seems so silly to him. Yeah, he loved Keeley in a way and yeah she’s still one of his best friends but never has she come close to (Y/N). Keeley hardly ever got to see the real Jamie, the one that didn’t hide behind this larger-than-life footballer persona. (Y/N) met him before that persona even existed.

“Stop thinking things then. You’re my best girl, always.”

He still can’t see her face since she is looking at the road in front of them, but he can see the smile pulling the corner of her lips upwards, and for the moment that’s good enough for him.

Her car comes to a stop in front of Jamie's house but while he drags himself out of his seat, she stays put.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Dropping you off?”

“Are you not coming inside then?”

“Do you want me to come inside? We spent pretty much all week with each other, I thought you might be sick of me by now.”

A ridiculous thought if he’s ever heard one. He could never get sick of her. They could be glued to each other for the rest of eternity and he wouldn’t mind one bit.

Even in his drunk state of mind though, he realizes that’s not something he can tell her. That crosses out of friend territory. So he just chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Do I want you to come in? What a dumb question is that? Of course, I do. I have a bag of those disgusting spicy crisps waiting for you in my kitchen.”

“In that case —”

10 minutes later they’re sitting on his couch, her legs across his lap, munching away at those god-awful crisps as some overly dramatic American home renovation show flickers across the TV screen.

In moments like these, love lives here. In these walls and on this couch. And it’s terrifying because thinking about love also makes him think of the possibility of losing it. But every once in a while, Jamie lets himself feel a tiny bit of it. Just enough to keep him going.

“Hey Jamie,” she speaks up, her face only illuminated by the light coming from the TV. She’s wearing his shirt and he wills himself not to focus too hard on that because that will cause images to ghosts through his mind that he can’t allow himself to ever think about. Images that cross every line ever drawn when it comes to friendships.

“Yes, love?”

“You’re my best boy too. Not sure I ever told you.”

He doesn’t answer, not in words at least. But he squeezes her legs as they rest on him, and he hopes she knows. Oh god if only she knew.

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. (Y/N) knows he thinks so because he let it slip once or twice when he was drunk and his words were all jumbled and his mind was all hazy.

And every damn time it breaks her fucking heart. Because loving Jamie Tartt is the easiest thing she ever did. It comes as natural as breathing. It feels like a nice ray of summer sun on her skin, sizzling and exciting and warm.

Loving Jamie is a gift.

Now if only there was a way she could make him realize that. But every time he lets himself be even a little vulnerable he is so quick to cover the cracks with stupid jokes or misplaced arrogance before a real conversation can happen.

She needs him to realize it though. To understand that loving him isn’t difficult. Because how can you tell someone you love them and make them understand just how much they mean to you when they deem themself unlovable?

Turning her head to the side she looks at his sleeping face. Somewhere between Fixer Upper and House Hunters, he fell asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts. He’s snoring something awful but she still thinks he’s adorable. Jamie has a mischievous, lovable quality to him that just makes you open your heart to him whether you want to or not. Yeah, sure, he’s let people down, he’s done shitty things, but he’s trying. He’s learned and he’s changed and the price for being young and stupid and cocky should not be a life spent questioning if you deserve other people’s love.

Jamie Tartt is not hard to love. But loving him and not being able to tell him because he doesn’t love you in quite the same way, that’s just fucking cruel.

The air is loaded with static. Everyone is on the edge of their seat. (Y/N) is huddled in between Rebecca and Keeley, holding their hands and nervously biting at her lip. Emotions are running high as Richmond is playing Manchester. Correction — they’re not only playing them, they are kicking their asses.

It’s 2-0 for Richmond and they’re already 1 minute into the 3 minutes of additional time. If Manchester doesn’t get a miracle, Richmond wins. The thought of that makes a fluttery feeling spread in (Y/N)’s stomach. If this is how she feels, she can only imagine what Jamie must feel like.

1:30

2 minutes

2:30

3 minutes.

“Blow the whistle. Come on. Blow the fucking whistle.”

And as if he heard her pleading, the referee blows the whistle giving Richmond their win.

Laughter and cheers and songs fill the air as every Richmond fan is on their feet celebrating a win they so desperately wanted and that the team fought so hard for.

The win Jamie fought so hard for.

She tries to find him across the pitch but there are too many people, hugging and celebrating, too much noise. She just hopes he knows how proud she is.

And she hopes that somewhere out there his dad is watching. Sees him win, with the team he doesn’t approve of. Watches him succeed and be the man he never was and never will be.

She hopes somewhere deep in the inky black pit that is his heart, he finds a glimmer of pride for his only son, even if it comes entirely belated.

Jamie has won quite a few matches by now and it’s always a great feeling but some wins stand out. This is one of them.

His heart is filled with gratitude and pride, and his entire system is flooded with adrenaline and utter euphoria. He’s positively buzzing as the team gathers in the hallway leading toward the locker room. Some of them have been whisked away to give short post-match interviews — as if there is much to say other than how fucking awesome it feels to win — while the others are waiting for them to come back so they can all meet up at the locker room for some after match briefing.

“Superstar, you did it!”

Her voice carries through the hallway above the rest of all the noise. Like a siren calling out to him, she can’t hear anything but her, it all shifts into the background.

She weaves through the crowd like a fucking goddess in blue. He always thought she looked good in the Richmond colors and seeing her with his name on her back never fails to make his heart shutter with delight. But there’s something about today that makes this even more special.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline of winning. Of making his mom proud and proving his dad wrong. Of proving himself wrong. Maybe it’s seeing her in his kit, with his name and his number smiling that radiant smile of hers. Maybe it’s a combination of all these things. But something makes his brain short-circuit for a moment. Just a fleeting moment but long enough to make him push through the crowd until he’s standing in front of her, matching smiles on their faces. Just long enough for him to softly place one hand on her waist and pull her closer, so unbelievably close. Just long enough to cradle her face in his other hand, gentle and careful, like the most precious thing in the world. Long enough for him to place his lips on hers in a kiss so sweet, so long in the making, it feels surreal. It feels like he’s still stuck in his saccharine daydream.

And then reality snaps back and he pulls away, opening his eyes to a smiling (Y/N) staring back up at him through curious eyes.

“Silly boy, what was that?”

She doesn’t sound upset, in fact, his delusions might even make him think she sounds delighted.

“I — “

“Jamie, locker room. Let’s go, boy!”

Ted’s voice calls out to him all full of glee and jubilation. The guy sounds even more chipper than usual and that says a whole lot.

Pulling away from her feels like having a bubble suddenly popped. Every what-if that has been clouded by post-win euphoria suddenly bears their ugly head again. Sometimes Jamie wishes his thoughts weren’t so fucking loud all the time.

“Go, your coach is asking for you. I’ll see you at the after-party. We’ll talk then, yeah?”

Only they don’t because, for some inexplicable reason, Jamie avoids her like the plague.

Everyone is gathered at the bar for celebratory drinks, it’s a private function, just the team and family and associates. Spirits are high, everyone’s excited. And all things considered this night should be magical. Only it’s not, because once again Jamie refuses to let himself be loved.

Rejection tastes bitter. It’s sharp and metallic. Rejection also tastes quite a lot like tequila.

The salt, the lime, the liquor — it’s supposed to make her feel better. It’s supposed to mend the cracks in her heart, if only for a night.

It doesn’t do any of that, it only makes her fucking sad.

How foolish of her to believe that he’d feel the same, that he’d finally pick up on the hints she’s been dropping for over a decade and reciprocate the feelings. Maybe they never stood a chance anyway. Maybe —

No, actually fuck that.

He can’t do this, it’s unfair. You don’t kiss someone, not like that at least, and then ignore them for the rest of the night. Especially not when that person is your best fucking friend.

Bumping against people left and right, she makes her way across the room to stand next to a smiling Jamie deep in conversation with a pretty girl, who (Y/N) is quite sure is the sister of one of his teammates.

“I need to talk to you.” It’s not a request. Not this time. This conversation has been a long time coming. It’s time, she thinks, to finally be brave. One can only swallow down their feelings and emotions for so long, until they come bubbling to the surface like a fucking volcano rolling over Pompeii. She just hopes that once the dust settles there will be hope instead of death and destruction.

“Uh, kind of in the middle of something here.”

She can’t stand this part of him. This fake, unbothered cool guy who has no empathy for her or anyone other than himself. She hates it mostly because this is not the real Jamie, just some cardboard cutout version of him.

“Too bad, that'll have to wait.”

She doesn’t give him another second to resist or shake her off, just grabs onto his arm and pulls him through the crowd and towards the exit.

The nightly London air feels cold against her skin, making her shiver as goosebumps appear on her arms.

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

“What the fuck is going on with me?”

He can’t be serious.

“Yeah. I had something going there. She was well fit too.”

The urge to smack him across his stupidly handsome face is seriously fighting her desire to kiss him again right about now.

“Good for her but you owe me a conversation.”

“(Y/N), I — “

The way he rolls his eyes so dismissively, so suave and cool, it’s like a dagger straight to the heart.

“No, you know what — fuck you, Jamie. I know you have a hard time letting people in completely, and I get that that’s something you have to work through on your own time but the way you're treating me right now is really shit. You can’t kiss me like that and then run. I’ve been waiting for that fucking kiss for over a decade.”

“What?”

He looks at her with the signature Jamie Tartt look of confusion and innocence. Like a damn puppy or something. And if she wasn’t so annoyed, so hurt, maybe she’d find it endearing.

“I’m in love with you, Jamie. I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you. I’ve been in love with you since I was sat next to you in class and you asked me if Pythagoras was that French guy. I’ve loved you when you were just a chaotic teenager. I’ve loved you when you won your first game and when you lost. I’ve loved you when you signed your first contract and when you made a complete fool of yourself on that ridiculous tv show. And I love you now. So to think you finally picked up on it and reciprocate my feelings was — I was so happy, Jamie. Only for you to completely ignore me for the rest of the night. I don’t deserve that. Not from you of all people. “

“Will you let me talk?”

“No, I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, go on.”

“I love you, Jamie and I know you think I shouldn’t and that you don’t deserve it, but guess what? I don’t care. I love you anyway and I am not asking for permission to love you. That’s not how it works. And I don’t love you despite your flaws, I love them too. Even your stupid 2003 looking haircut and your ridiculous clothes that make you look like a male Bratz doll sometimes. Sorry people in your life made you feel like you had to earn it just because they couldn’t see how phenomenal you are. Just you, Jamie Tartt, messy little prick.”

Silence wraps around them like a thick blanket as a moment passes, then two. Jamie raises his eyebrows in question.

“Can I?”

“Yes, you can!”

“Jesus, alright. Stop yelling at me.”

“Well, I’m upset!”

“And I’m sorry about that. I never meant to upset you. Ever. I just — do you remember that one birthday, I think I turned 12, when me dad showed up and he was just being his usual asshole self and he made me play against him and then yelled at me in front of all the guests when he won? “

She sure does. Even at 12, she wanted to put her tiny little fist straight between Mr. Tartt’s eyebrows. “Yes.”

“You sat with me when I went to my room to escape. Refused to leave my side. Called my dad a wanker and you made me laugh. Then you got me a piece of cake and we ate it on my bed while watching Spongebob.” A smile plays on his lips as he reminisces about that day.

“I was 12 and I didn’t know a lot but I knew that night that I was in love with you and I immediately promised myself I wasn’t gonna do anything about it. Losing you is the scariest thing I can think about and my track record with people is pretty shit, honestly. So yeah I didn’t want to even risk fucking up with you. Rather have you as a friend than not have you at all.”

“So why did you kiss me earlier after all?”

“For one, you looked so fit in blue, with my name on your back. I was full of adrenaline and just so fucking happy. I uh — I think my mind was telling me that it’s finally time to be brave for once.”

Hearing him say it, it’s something she never expected but always hoped for. She’s played this scene out so many times in her dreams and yet she doesn’t know what to say or do now that it is actually happening.

“So what now?”

“Well, if you let me, I was gonna kiss you. Because if you think that other kiss was great, this next one is going to change your life.”

As those words fall from his lips, (Y/N) can’t get close to him quick enough. Pulling him towards her by the front of his shirt. Closer and closer until there is no room left between them and he gently nuzzles his nose against hers.

“Jamie Tartt?”

“Hmm?”

“Change my life!”

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thought so. And maybe a part of him still does and always will. But kissing (Y/N), his best girl, the fucking love of his life, it feels quite easy to let himself be loved.

Feels as easy as breathing. And for once in his life, the reality is so much sweeter than the daydream.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt imagines #jamie tartt oneshot #ted lasso tv show fanfiction #I dont know what else to tag this as my friends ....#inbloomwriting

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pix3lplays · 11 months

Note

May I request HSR boys reacting to their S/O. Who's usually smiling and calm. Like nearly never gets angry or cries, just a sweet person in general, kind to everyone kind of thing.

Just one day they break down in front of them because some people pushed them pass their limit and now they're crying. How do you think they would react seeing their usual cheerful S/O crying because of someone? Oh and if you don't mind could you include Blade? :>

Thank you and I hope you're doing well :D

I am doing well, thank you! And thank you for the request!

-Honkai Star Rail Men with a lover who’s usually calm and smiling but suddenly breaks down-

Dan Heng: is quiet when he sees you break down in front of him. It hurts him, so much, to see you so upset, especially to this extent. He’s not good at handling this sort of stuff. He just…awkwardly and wordlessly holds out his arms and let’s you collapse into his arms and cry. He pats your back, tells you everything will be okay, asks if you wanna talk about it or something. If you do, he’s there to listen and offer advice. If not then fine, he’ll distract you. Maybe you can just browse the archives for a while to take your mind off of it.

Gepard Landau: is heartbroken to see you so upset. He takes you with him on patrol the next day to help get your mind off of it, even if that’s strictly against regulations. He’s willing to break a few rules for you. He’s glued to your side, pointing out the different sights of the city, hoping to distract you from the pain. He’s there if you want to talk about it, or if you just need distractions. Honestly he’s really good at cheering you up.

Jing Yuan: surprises you by getting genuinely upset. He’s so…irritated that someone would hurt such a sweet and gentle and kind person. But he doesn’t let his righteous anger get the best of him. Most of the time. Instead he’ll take you into the gardens and you can feed the birds or play a few games to take your mind off it. He lets you know that they’re not worth the time of day, but he’s mostly telling himself that. They’re lucky he’s not a few years younger, otherwise he would’ve hunted them down and given them a few choice words.

Welt Yang: places his hand gently on your shoulder, and guides you to a seat aboard the Astral Express. He pulls out his sketchbook and listens to you rant while he doodles. He occasionally asks a question, or offers some advice when appropriate. It’s a good system for the two of you. He draws something peaceful and serene, like a field of flowers, and gives it to you once you’re done. Then the two of you will share some tea together, and suddenly you’re feeling much better. He’s not done though. He also treats you to a fancy dinner as well.

Sampo Koski: definitely isn’t the best choice for advice in these kinds of matters. It breaks his heart to see you so upset and sobbing. He listens to you, nodding along with what you’re saying, and once your done he pipes up with his brilliant revenge plots to get them framed for a crime or something like that. And once you say absolutely NOT, he considers for a second doing it anyways. A person like you doesn’t deserve to be treated so coldly, and there should be a price to pay. But he lets it go for you. Instead he finds ways to use his antics to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.

Blade: You regret breaking down in front of him. He immediately wants names, addresses if you have them. You beg him to not do anything crazy, but oh is he Mad to see you upset. It takes him longer to calm down then it does you. By the end of the discussion, you’re basically holding him back, begging him not to hurt anyone, which he eventually will agree to, for your sake. But what you don’t know can’t hurt you. Maybe he gets some revenge for you. He just…hates to see you cry. More than anything. You’re the one thing he has to protect, and he would do anything to keep you happy and healthy, even if that means hurting other people.

thank you for reading~

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yourheart-inmyhands · 8 months

Note

Hiya! I'm happy that You enjoyed my idea! And I realy liked how you wrote it! Especialy the Furina part :D

I'm not sure if you are okay with writing this, but if you are: Which of the Genshin characters would handled their lovers death the worst?

- 🐶 anon

oooo this one was really good! i couldn't pick just one so i did five little short ones! I hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including lots of talk about death, delusional behavior, childish temper tantrums, making puppets of reader, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Furina would throw an absolute fit, upset at the idea of you dying on her, of you leaving her. She has to be pulled away from your corpse by Neuvillette because she’s screaming as she shakes it in a panicked manner. She’s desperate for you to wake up, screaming and crying as she tries to convince herself that you aren’t really dead. That you haven’t left her. She has to take a leave of absence from the court for a while, grief is a difficult thing and she doesn’t handle it well.

Yandere!Raiden would be enraged. You promised to spend eternity with her, and now you were trying to back out of it? She won’t let you. She does everything in her power to bring you back, from creating a puppet of you to trapping your soul in the Plane of Euthymia. Nothing is right though, the puppet doesn’t feel the way you used to, it doesn’t behave like it should. Your soul isn’t any better, it can only replay strong memories from when you were alive, leaving Raiden feeling like she’s talking to a movie. She destroys the puppet and hides your soul away in a far corner of the Plane, though she feels equally as awful afterwards.

Yandere!Wanderer is distraught when he loses you, he had lost so many before and yet, this one hurt the most. He sits on the outskirts of Sumeru City for a while, remaining stock still on a bench as he just feels. While he seems composed on the outside, on the inside he’s in pure agony. He doesn’t want to think or feel or move or do anything at all because everything just reminds him of you. It takes months for him to move from the bench, sitting there day in and day out despite the weather, and when he does move it’s only to sit in front of your grave. There he sits for another month, just staring at the name that once belonged to his loved one, now passed. The lover who left him, just like everyone else did.

Yandere!Xiao blames himself for your death, whether it's an accident, intentional, or simply of something you couldn’t stop like aging or sickness, Xiao will think it’s his fault. It’s always his fault, everything was because he wasn’t strong enough to protect you. The next year is spent with Xiao hardly being seen by anyone, not even food could lure him out. He spends all his time fighting, killing anything and everything in sight that deserves it as he tries to let the burn of his karmic debt distract from the ache in his heart. He refuses to visit your grave, making Zhongli bury you and not even attending your funeral. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he can’t bring himself to attend. He thinks he’s the reason you’re dead and he didn’t think you’d want him in attendance. He spends the rest of his life span thinking you died hating him, blaming him.

Yandere!Diluc is unsure of how to feel when you pass. He’d felt the pain of losing his father, and while he’s not dead, Diluc had lost his brother for many years in a way. But your death was different, it didn’t make him so upset he was driven to violence like his father, but rather made him want to simply lay there and cry. He spent a week straight just in bed after your funeral, hands idly tracing over the side of the bed you once slept on. He keeps everything exactly how you left it, never touching a thing incase one day, somehow, you came back to him. He wanted you to know that he loved you so much that he left everything just how you liked it.

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spacebarbarianweird · 2 months

Text

Tiny Dhampir

Synopsis: Astarion is spending time with Alethaine.

Tags: comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, tooth-rotting fluff

Alethaine's age: 3.5 years old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion meditates.

In his memory he stands in front of his tent. It's dark, and difficult to say if it’s night or day. It's always midnight in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

He has to tell her. He can’t continue like that.

Tiriel doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

Astarion clasps his hands. She will break up with him, and she will force him to leave the camp. And she will be right to do so.

He hears a loud laughter. Tiriel walks into the camp and waves to him. She is so beautiful in her Drow armor that Astarion can’t take his eyes from the half-elven warrior.

Astarion desires to touch Tiriel, to hold her hand, to taste her blood, to feel her warmth.

He doesn’t have a right to do either of that.

“Tiriel!” he finally approaches her. “Tiriel, can we talk?”

She’s just taken her armor off. “Yes, what is it?”

Tiriel is so close he can feel her heartbeat. Shame burns him; he is preparing himself as if this were the last conversation between the two of them.

Come what may, Astarion decides.

He confesses. His lies, his ill intentions, his betrayal.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Silence.

Astarion waits for the verdict. It's difficult to decipher Tiriel’s facial expression. Is she sad? Is she disappointed? Will she dump him and go to the wizard’s tent?

Of course, what did he expect? Tiriel opened up to him and he used her body for his own sake.

“Astarion…” Tiriel says. “I am not stupid. I knew what you were trying to do.”

Astarion stares at her in disbelief. What the hells… He expected any response but not that.

“Are you not angry?”

“Why would I be?” Tiriel stands up and smiles. “Astarion, love, if it makes you feel better, I forgive you, but there is nothing to apologize for. You were trying to survive. And you didn’t know any better.”

“And what does it… mean… for us?”

“It means I love you and want to be with you. It means I want to cuddle with you at night and hold your hand by day. It means I want to help you with your master and I know you can protect me in the fight. If you don’t want to have sex, it’s ok, we can be together without it.”

Astarion is so shocked he can’t say anything coherent. He expected tears, curses, and violence. Instead, there is so much softness he is drowning in it.

Tiriel approaches him, Astarion pulls back, his mind rushes, and he clenches his fists but instead of pain, there is just a gentle hug.

Tiriel holds him in her strong arms, pressing her face against his chest.

Astarion hesitates and puts his arms on her back. He might imagine this but he thinks she is smiling.

That night, she brought her few things to his tent. It was weird to share the bedroll with someone else and not have sex. He remembers listening to her quiet breath, to her heartbeat, and then waking up to her playing with his curls.

Tiriel. His love. His wife. His savior. His partner. His friend. His thiramin.

The mother of his child.

Astarion slowly returns to reality. He finds himself in a comfortable bed, not a bedroll, and with a soft pillow under his head.

Home.

He is at home.

At his own place, his and Tiriel’s, in a distant town far from Sword Coast called Daggerlake.

Astarion feels someone is staring

“Good morning, princess,” he mutters, looking at the ceiling.

A three-year-old girl with long silver hair stands on the ceiling as if she was a bat. Her hair is messy, it looks like she’s tried to braid it herself but couldn’t handle a brush. Her black dress makes her look even smaller than she is.

Alethaine doesn’t reply and keeps staring at her dad.

“How long have you been there?” Astarion elbows up. “Is anything wrong?”

Alethaine’s ears twitch and her lower lip quivers. She looks like she is about to cry.

“Princess, use your words,” Astarion lies back on the bed and reaches his hands up. Alethaine immediately falls in his arms.

'When will mum return?’ she finally asks. “She's been away for too long!”

Astarion places Alethaine beside him and his daughter immediately nestles in the crook of his right hand. She is so small, so delicate - like a kitten or a porcelain doll, much smaller than the human children in their town.

“She will be home soon. Maybe in a few days. Depends on how stupid her new companions are,” Astarion says and then he hears a fast heartbeat.

Meanwhile, Aletaine barely breathes and her pale skin is rather cold; she has a natural heartbeat which Astarion adores listening to.

Alive.

Technically, half-alive - Alethaine is a dhampir, after all, but she grows up, she eats, and her heart beats. And what bewilders Astarion is that Alethaine loves being held by him.

“Tell me, princess, were you standing on the ceiling because you’d forgotten when your mum was coming back or did something scare you?” Astarion takes Alethaine’s tiny hand in his and caresses her perfectly pale fingers.

The lower lip quivers again.

Alethaine bursts in tears.

Astarion would always freak out when she started crying but with time he got used to the fact that Alethaine cries because she can. Sometimes it’s genuine crying because of a bruised knee, an unfortunate fall from the ceiling, a dead character in a story, or a nightmare.

But most of the time Alethaine’s cries are her way of communicating she’s been lonely.

Astarion sits up and places Alethaine on his lap.

He manages to decipher a complaint that he’s been sleeping for too long. And also how did he dare not to wake up because she was intensely staring?

“Princess, you are a big girl, look at you, you are almost four! You can spend some time on your own!”

“I am three!”

“You will be four in two months”

“I am three!” Alethaine insists. She immediately stops crying and now she looks a bit angry. “I am three!”

“All right, all right. Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“How about you tell me what you want?” Astarion kisses the crown of her head.

The girl sniffs. The other thing that bewilders Astarion is how much she trusts him. She comes to him when she is scared, when she is hurt, when she just wants to play or read. He was sure she would always prefer Tiriel to him - with the warmth of her mortal body. But no! Alethaine’s tiny world consists of two people - her mother and father – and it fits in one wooden house in the underground part of Daggerlake.

Alethaine trusts her father. Alethaine trusts Astarion with her tiny half-dead heart, that he loves her, that he protects her, and that he will never hurt her.

Astarion hopes he will never disappoint her.

The dhampir then jumps to the floor and walks over to the stack of books. She picks up the third one from the bottom, causing the stack to collapse, and hands the heavy volume to Astarion.

It's a book on the geography of the Lands of Intrigue, a faraway southern region – with maps, pictures, and text in different languages.

“This. I want to read.”

“You want me to read to you or you want to read with me?” he specifies.

“Read to me,” she says. “Please,” she quickly adds.

“How can I say ‘no’ to such a well-behaved young lady?”

At first, Alethaine is deeply concentrated on the text studying the detailed pictures of dragons and monsters but with every page, she gets more restless.

She bares her fangs as if trying to yawn and Astarion notices something is off with her teeth.

“Alethaine, open your mouth,” Astarion asks

Alethaine immediately squeezes her lips and shakes her head.

“Alethaine.”

“No.”

“Alethaine, I will just take a look.”

Alethaine gives up and obliges. She has a full set of baby teeth but her upper fangs are long and pointy. They grew very early when Tiriel was still breastfeeding her and Astarion suspects those fangs cause a lot of discomfort to his daughter.

The inner part of her lower lips bleeds pierced with the fangs. The upper gums are also irritated as if Alethaine rubbed them.

“Does it hurt?”

Alethaine nods.

“Why didn't you say that?”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion would sigh if he could breathe. “Let’s go to see the healer.”

It takes an eternity for Alethaine to put on her clothes. She is constantly distracted - either with a spider crawling on the ceiling, with her dolls, or with the book about the Lands of Intrigue. Astarion suspects she does it on purpose.

The most difficult part is to make Alethaine wear warm boots. The dhampir refuses to acknowledge it’s winter and even though snow doesn't fall underground it is cold outside.

Alethaine wants her black shoes - period. And it doesn’t matter that they are intended for summer and that they are already too small for her feet.

“Alethaine, put on your boots,” Astarion repeats for the fourth time.

“No!” Alethaine cries again “I want this!”

“Then we are not going to the healer.”

“Fine! I don't want to!”

“Then your teeth will keep hurting. And you won’t be able to eat sweets. There will be a lot of cakes and candies at Solstice and you won’t be able to taste any of them.”

Alethaine tries to cry once again, but Astarion pretends he is busy studying a spider crawling on the wall. The dhampir realizes she’s lost this round and puts on the winter boots. Then, she stares at her father.

“Is anything wrong, princess?” Astarion gives out a laugh. Alethaine is so stubbornly adorable.

“Daddy”

“Hm?”

“I can’t lace them.”

Astarion kneels in front of her. “And what do we say when we want something?”

“Please”

“Good girl”

Astarion quickly laces her boots. The rest of the winter clothes are put on without a fight and they finally go outside.

As they walk to the healer's hut, Alethaine rubs her gums, and Astarion catches the scent of droplets of blood. Her blood is different—half-dead. It has a bitter odor, similar to the smell of wormwood. Astarion suspects that the reason dhampirs are immune to vampirism is because vampires get poisoned by tasting the blood of their children.

…The healer, an old halfling woman smokes her pipe outside the hut. Noticing astarion and Alethaine she puts the pipe aside.

“What do you want, creatures of the night? I don’t have blood in storage!”

“Oh I am sorry, I can't hear what you from down there, Kelma”

“Careful Astarion, I am the only healer in this wretched town! Hello, Alethaine, I can see that Dhampirs still feel the cold?”

“Hello,” Alethaine says and smiles, showing her fangs.

The healer invites them inside. Kelma is also the only midwife in the town and it was she who welcomed Alethaine into the world almost four years ago. Astarion remembers that day in every detail. His own fear, the smell of blood, Tiriel’s cries, the newborn’s squeal.

“Where is Tiriel? I thought it was you who made money by dealing with contracts.”

“Tiriel couldn’t say “no” to the prospect of working as a bodyguard in a wyvern-hunting party.”

Astarion sits on the bench and places Alethaine in his lap.

“So what happened?” the halfling asks.

“My teeth hurt,” Alethaine complains. “And my lip bleeds!”

“Open your mouth,” Kelma says and Astarion sees her concern, as she carefully touches the tips of Alethaine’s fangs.

“Is anything wrong?”

“The fangs are too big and scratch her lip. And there is simply not enough space for them.”

“But is it normal?”

“Astarion, you are the only vampire I know and this is the only dhampir I know! I don’t know if it’s normal. All right, Alethaine, I am going to do something, it will hurt for a bit but you will feel better.”

Alethaine glances at her father. Now she looks absolutely helpless.

“Kelma isn’t going to do anything bad,” he assures his daughter.

Alethaine isn’t persuaded.

Kelma takes out a small bottle with liquid and opens it. It probably doesn’t stink that much for the healer but sharpened vampiric senses are immediately averse to it. Alethaine winces.

The halfling touches Alethaine’s gums and rubs the ointment on the delicate skin. The second the healer puts her finger away, the little Dhampir bursts into tears again. Now it’s tears of betrayal because she didn’t expect the medicine to cause an unpleasant sensation.

“Alethaine” Kelma coo. “You are such a big strong girl, don’t cry.”

“It burns!”

“I know,” Kelma chuckles. “Astarion, don’t let her eat for a couple of hours. And now take your tiny copy, I have work to do”

“What did you say?”

“I said take your tiny copy of a daughter and … oh damn, Astarion, I forgot you can’t see yourself in the mirror. She is your copy. And I am not talking about fangs.”

Astarion shakes his head in disbelief.

His copy? Sure, he knows Alethaine has the same silver hair color and skin tone but the rest?

Does he really see himself in her?

“Daad,” Alethaine pulls his arm when they leave the healer’s hut. “Can we go to the surface? I think it’s already night!”

“Yes, why not?”

As they go to the uppertown Alethaine constantly talks. She speaks about everything she sees, and asks dozens of questions including “Why is Kelma so short if she is an adult”, “Why can’t vampires be in the sun”, and “Why does she have fangs and other children in the town don’t”. It doesn’t seem like she pays attention to the answers but Astarion has an uncanny feeling that everything he says is being engraved in her memory for life. And he should choose words carefully.

“Are you sure mum will come back by the Solstice?”

“I am.”

“Will I be an adventurer when I grow up?”

“If you want.”

It's a chilly night and the prickly stars shine in the night sky. There are barely any people outside—most of the townsfolk are halflings and humans deprived of dark vision. As for dwarves, they prefer the company of each other.

Alethaine’s skin looks almost white in the moonlight.

First, they make a snowman—Alethaine insists on adding pointy ears to its head Then, the dhampir tilts her head up and freezes as if seeing stars for the first time.

Maybe she does. She just hasn’t paid attention before.

“Look”, Astarion points at a constellation. “This is the Circle of Swords - seven bright stars forming a circle. The Goddess Mystra has her divine castle in the center of it. And below it—the Ice Snake.”

Astarion wasn’t into astronomy of any sort but once he and Tiriel hit the night road for twenty-four years after leaving Baldur’s Gate and their former companions behind, he found a lot of comfort in observing the stars. Tiriel taught him all that—how to use stars to navigate in darkness. However, she has always preferred her people’s constellation names: Faeraula instead of the Ice Snake and the Circle of Coins instead of Mystra’s Circle.

Alethaine listens to him bewildered by the night starry sky. Suddenly her ears twitch and she turns her head away, to the road leading to the town gates.

And then Astarion catches a familiar scent.

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine cries out.

Astarion doesn’t need to strain his eyes to see Tiriel in the distance. She probably neither sees nor hears them. But both astarion and Alethaine can already distinguish her winter armor, the hood covering her red hair, and a two-handed ax on her back.

“Mum!” Alethaine cries once again and now it’s enough for Tiriel to hear her.

Alethaine sprints and rushes to her mother. Tiriel kneels, opens her arms and Alethaine jumps in her hands.

Astarion walks toward them as Tiriel smooches Alethaine’s face.

“I suppose I am not the only one in this family who needs to be kissed” Astarion smiles at Tiriel. The warrior stands up holding Alethaine in her arms and kisses him too. First his cheek, then his forehead, and then his lips.

Astarion answers her with the same tenderness. Gods, she is warm even now after spending hours in the freezing winter.

“Dealt quickly with the wyvern?”

“The party couldn’t agree on the strategy and the wyvern burnt them to crisps. I took their loot and left. And the wyvern is flying… somewhere.”

“Oh so you didn’t challenge the wyvern, did you?”

“Hmm, I wanted to fight it alone but then I remembered I have this” she kisses Alethaine’s forehead, “and this,” she kisses astarion once again. “I am a mother and a wife, why take the risk? Besides, there are plenty of monsters I can kill later!”

Astarion takes her bag and the weapon, and all three return to their home under the surface. Alethaine demands to tell her everything about Tiriel’s small adventures and Astarion feels it’s very difficult not to use “bad words” to explain how stupid those companions were.

Astarion grabs Tiriel’s hand tighter, enjoying her warmth.

Their small family looks normal.

Astarion was stripped away from his normality centuries ago. Dead men don’t have homes. They don’t have wives and daughters.

But he does.

A gentle ear rub returns him to reality.

“What happened to her teeth?” Tiriel whispers as they go inside their house. Alethaine naps in her mother’s arms.

“The healer said the fangs grew too early.”

It’s already sunrise on the surface when Tiriel collapses on their bed and asks Astarion not to wake her up even if the wyvern returns and demands a fair duel.

“Come here” Tiriel opens up a thick blanket inviting Astarion. She wraps herself around him like she does since that day they started sharing the tent and immediately drifts to sleep. Astarion tugs her close and relaxes, stealing her body heat.

When she is so close he sometimes thinks his body is warm, too.

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secondratefiction · 4 months

Text

Keep You Safe - Commander Cody x Medic!Reader

Life Day Fic Exchange 2023 @cloneficgiftexchange

Written for @loving-the-cambridges

“Alright… unfortunately it does look like it’s broken…” You sighed, setting the trooper’s arm back down gently, “I’ll brace it and give you something for the pain and swelling until we get you back to the ship. 1 to 10, how bad is it hurting?”

“It’s feeling much better now that you’re taking care of me, mesh’la.” The trooper smiled up at you loopily and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Careful Shiny…” The voice behind you made you smirk and you turned to smile at Boil as he stared the trooper you were working on down.

“He’s fine.” You said, motioning the older trooper to come help hold the other’s arm while you splinted and wrapped it up, “It’s probably the shock and adrenaline talking anyway.”

“Even so…” Boil rolled his eyes but was still as gentle as possible holding his brother’s limb while you worked, looking pointedly back at him, “You show the medics more respect. Especially the nat-borns.”

“Careful Boil,” You laughed softly as you finished up the wrapping, helping the trooper put his arm in a sling before giving him an injection, “You’re starting to sound like your commander.”

You could see Boil’s lip twitch as he tried to maintain a professionally neutral expression, “Thank you ma’am.”

Declaring the newer trooper done for the time being, you quickly shooed him off with instructions to find one of the transports back to the starcruiser, once he was out of your tent set up, you turned back to Boil expectantly, “Alright, so what can I do for you?”

“The Commander is back ma’am, he asked for you.”

“Maker karking damn it…” You spun around quickly to grab your bag, “Maybe lead with that next time.”

You had literally watched the man bust his knuckles open, dislocate a wrist, and just keep throwing punches. If Cody was requesting a medic there was no way this was going to go well.

-*-*-*-

Your relationship with Cody was complex to say the least. Honestly, he’d barely paid you any mind in the very beginning… another nat-born medic that had been brought in because there was too much work for the clone medics to keep up with. But after a few weeks of you seeming to always be there every time he turned around, the Marshal Commander couldn’t help but notice the way you treated his brothers. Like actual people and that they were deserving of your real effort, care, and attention.

And there was also the fact that you had to be the single most persistent nat-born he’d ever had to work with… Usually, Cody avoided the medics when and wherever he could, leaving the time and supplies open for other troopers he considered more in need than himself.

You however were stubbornly opposed to his inexplicable need to ‘just walk it off’, going so far as to literally chase him down once when Waxer had ‘accidentally’ mentioned to you that he’d taken a rather hard kick to the ribs during the previous skirmish.

Granted, his ribs had been bruised, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

You weren’t hearing any of it though, and Cody had had to sit there petulantly while you’d tended to him.

That had been where the ice had started to crack, and eventually after much persistence and pursuit on your part, Cody had started coming to you, and exclusively you, whenever he was more than just a little bumped and bruised. And, you at least liked to think that, a sort of friendship had sparked up between the two of you….

What little free time he had, he was more than content to spend with you if the situation allowed, you’d sat in on more than a few meal time meetings with him, and you were always his first consult when it came to the best solutions for setting up the field medical stations.

The only other person you’d seen him be that casual and informal with was the General in their down time, so you’d like to think that meant you were in some kind of favor.

Which is what leads you here now, busting into the command tent with a barely contained panic, “I’m here! What happened?”

Cody was leaning against the large table in the middle with different maps and other planning materials strewn across it. One arm was hanging limply at his side, the other one holding it close against him to seemingly keep it from moving or getting jostled around.

“I can’t-” Cody grunted, trying to roll his shoulder again, “I can’t get it back in…”

“All right, stop - Stop moving it,” You shook your head crossing to him and quickly putting your hand on the uninjured arm, “Let me look.”

You started gently removing his armor to get a better look at the damage underneath. The hiss through your teeth was involuntary as soon as you got the spaulding off, just from the jut of his shoulder you could tell the joint was fully dislocated.

“Ok… good news is we can fix it…” You said looking up at him.

“The bad news is, it’s gonna hurt like hell.” He finished and you nodded sheepishly, “Alright… Let’s get it over with…”

The process wasn’t complicated, making Cody lay back across the table with his shoulder at the edge and hold your bag while you pushed the arm back out straight to get the bone to drop back into the joint. The loud crack made you wince, and completely justified the long, low string of curses Cody let out as he reflexively dropped your bag.

“Easy… Easy,” You helped him set up, making sure he moved somewhat gingerly until you could get a look at the rest of him, “Just relax a minute.”

“I’m alright,” Cody shook his head, trying to wave you off as he got back on his feet, “I need to get back out there.”

“Cody!” You snapped, grabbing him by the elbow of his good arm.

Whatever scolding you were about to give the commander was cut off by a loud explosion that rocked the ground beneath your feet. Cody moved quickly to grab you by the forearm, half dragging you out of the tent to see what was going on.

The second explosion went off far too close to the right of you and Cody barely had time to pull you into him before the two of you were sent flying through a cloud of dust and debris.

You registered something sharp hitting you in the back before everything faded away…

-*-*-*-

“C’mon cyare, you have to wake up for me…”

You groan lowly, trying to turn your head away from the incessant tapping on your cheek, blinking slowly as things around you came back into focus. The first thing to register was the ringing in your ears, followed quickly by the pain in your head and back.

“There you go kar’ta, easy.” Cody helped you sit up as gently as he could, shifting around behind you so you could sit propped up against him, “I tried to cover you, but you still took a hard hit to the head. Don’t try to move too fast just yet.”

You gave a weak laugh and leaned your head back against his shoulder, “Well, it’s nice to know you’ve been paying attention, even if you don’t actually listen to anything I tell you.”

You could feel the chuckle vibrate through his chest even if the trooper behind you was trying to hide it, “I always listen to you, mesh’la.”

To say you were a little stunned by his free use of endearments would be an understatement; other troopers, especially the new and shiny ones, through them around like water - a sweet, if a little awkward attempt to flirt with one of the first if not only females they’d had close contact with in their lives - but not Cody. He almost exclusively addressed you as ‘ma’am’ or your surname.

Either way it was still your turn to chuckle, turning your head to look up at him over your shoulder, “Yeah? You got a funny way of showing it, Kote.”

Another odd occurrence: Cody smiled, again laughing under his breath, as he looked away from you. If you didn’t know any better, and there was more light wherever the two of you were temporarily hidden, you would have sworn he was blushing.

“Just because I don’t always have the luxury of following your orders, doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.”

Another explosion and the sound of blaster fire cut through whatever clandestine moment the two of you were having, Cody’s head immediately snapping back to the small cave entrance you assumed you’d fallen through, “We need to move.”

You nodded, pushing yourself back up to your feet, still a little unsteady, but there was no spinning feeling or nausea, so you could power through it.

“You stay right beside me, cyar’ika,” Cody said drawing his own blaster as he chanced peeking out of the cave, “Right on my hip, I’ll get you back behind the line.”

You nodded, as he slipped his helmet back on, “Right behind you Commander.”

Reaching back for your hand, Cody pulled you up beside him as close as he could get you, and just as you thought he was about to step out into the fray he stopped and turned back to you. Squeezing your hand, you could just tell Cody was staring down at you intently behind his helmet

“Stay with me, ner kar’ta,” Your eyes fell shut on their own accord as Cody leaned in to press the forehead of his helmet against yours, “I will keep you safe.”

In that moment, you had never believed anything more.

#star wars #clone wars #commander cody #commander cody x reader #commander cody x medic!reader #reader insert #LDE23 #clone fic gift exchange

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