Love Letters from Hell

Another plotless drabble series featuring Punk!Dazai. (This will be similar to my Chuuya series where its a bunch of drabbles (or longer) that go in order along the same timeline but don’t really have an actual ‘plot)’. It’s technically an AU because there are no abilities or ADA in this world, but its a regular world with normal people problems. 

(this is kenzi over at @bungou-stray-dogs-indulgences ‘s fault. her thirst is real)

Pairing: Punk!Dazai x F!Reader
Warnings: Language - Sexual Situations - Adult Situations

Flesh oozed and slopped onto the floor in thick crimson splatters. The gnashing of teeth followed by periled screams of the damned rang between the alleyways as the victims took their last look at the living world before the beat of their heart was silenced by the undead swarming them. Feral and ravenous their eyes bore no similarities to that of their former lives as humans walking the earth beneath the glowing sun. Their skin hung in grey splotches falling off like chips of paint with highlighted bone sticking out from their unhinged jaw.

Whoever did the make-up for this movie was your new idol, you decided, as you quickly thumbed through the movie’s IMBD page on your phone. Eyes frantically switching from your laptop to the phone in your hand you felt the sudden rush of summer air blow through the cracked window. Heat skated through the t-shirt hanging off your shoulders and the tiny black fan perched on your desk barely reached your toes at the foot of the bed. Even with your hair tugged high above your head you could still feel the dry temperature creeping up the back of your neck. The screaming from the laptop died out as the scene switched to an eerily empty park.

“You dumb fuck you’re about to die.” You whisper harshly to the actors on screen.

Most horror movies had become unbearably predictable, but the make-up had continued to evolve to astounding detail. No longer were people dependent on CGI to make a freshly skewered head look instant-stomach-heaving good, no this was an art that required hours upon hours of work. The blood, the gore, ah it was beautiful in your eyes. A goal worth fighting for, worth the long nights and exhaustion.  With this wave of enthusiasm and appreciate came the following cliff dive into blood-curdling annoyance. Harsh words banged around in your head as you paused the movie and rolled off your bed with your arms stretched to the ceiling. Unconditional love from parents to children was bullshit, apparently.

Rolling a sweaty palm across your forehead you padded towards the window and stuck your headphones in your ears. Summer skies were always the most beautiful despite the less than astounding neighborhood. But it was affordable and safe-ish, but nothing a metal bat couldn’t handle. Unless you were ambushed, then you were fucked nine ways to Sunday. With a quick swipe of your hand you managed to reach the apple sitting on the bedside table—a reminder to yourself to eat, from yourself—but you’d forgotten, again.

Soft music pumped through your ears and settled your mood as you plopped down on the roof and leaned your back against the side of the house. The only good thing about living in the garbage part of the city was being able to see the towering skyline of Yokohama. Bright, luminous, and absolutely breathtaking, and though silly it made life a bit more bearable because it gave you something to look at rather than look for. Tokyo’s skyline was nothing to scoff at, but Yokohama felt less suffocating. It sufficed for now. Apple in hand you munched lightly and let your eyes flit the other direction towards the nearly endless horizon. Over the shanty like houses with mismatched shutters and overgrown lawns a sprinkle of light fluttered through the darkness.

Slowly all the thoughts racing through your head began to disappear, back to the tiny box where you tried to store everything that made your heart sink. After the bars closed and the drunken inhabitants wobbled their way into their houses the street became utterly silent. Stars twinkled above the navy blue canvas like a coat of scattered glitter. All was peaceful and that apple was damn near perfect in flavor. Nearly all of your anxiety had been drained by the stillness of this perfect night—until a squeal so familiar and loud nearly made your jaw crack in half.

His bike roared and shook the trees as he zipped down the road. You’d heard him three times in the last week, and it was always at some ungodly hour. This generally happened while you were lying in bed attempting to sleep and there his happy ass would come, loud as all hell with that damn motorcycle of his, cruising down the road with his music blaring. By the time you managed to gain enough energy to hop out of bed he’d be gone, evaporated into the night like some cryptic teleporting jack-ass from hell. You’d found his bike once outside of some dive bar at the end of the road and left a nice little message about waking up the neighbors at four am. Since then he’d oh so generously made his loud appearance home before four am. His pettiness—however annoying—was impressive.

As if he sensed your narrowed eyes and snarl the owner of said bike rolled his palms over his handles, thus sparking an even louder sound to emit from his black motorcycle, as he drove past your house. Something snapped in your chest like a string on a harp plucked too hard. Your wrist nearly snapped as well from the momentum you’d exerted flinging that partially eaten apple at his forehead. Before you could even rationalize your entire existence up to that point you scurried through the window as a yelp flew from his mouth.

Hiding under your covers from monsters was childish, but it had always seemed to work before, right?


Morning came with an abundant declaration that nearly burned your eyes straight out of your sockets. The hellish assault of sunlight had woken you from your post – panic haze and caused a very rough start way too early in the morning. As you trudged towards your small kitchen with bedhead to the nines and your pajama shorts hanging around your hips a flash of a green apple slamming a possibly dangerous biker in the face projected in the back of your mind. Groaning you held your cup of coffee with both hands and laid your head on the kitchen counter. He deserved it, but what if that apple caused him to crash? Oh god what if he rolled off his bike and flew into a telephone pole? How would you explain that to your fellow cellmate? Does it make you a better criminal to kill someone with fruit?

At least you’d get sleep in jail.

Refusing to let the bitter morning go to waste you slid on your shoes and walked towards the front door with your coffee in hand. Overgrown tendrils of grass had risen their way up throughout the lawn. Curling and looping around the metal fencing and tickling your ankles as you stomped down the concrete steps. The cracked pathway was barely visible beneath the dirt and apparently ever-fruitful lawn, and unfortunately at some point you would have to cut it. Milk white clouds no thicker than a string floated carelessly across the sky. A vivid blue with tinges of tangerine igniting the world, and for a moment everything was calm again. The breeze rolled through your hair and picked up the strays dancing against the nape of your neck and brushed the scent of flowers beneath your nose.

“Morning, neighbor~.”

A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes popped open and immediately shifted to the left. There, strung along the top of the metal gate as if he owned the entire world, was that asshole.  At least this meant you didn’t commit a felony murder. It took a moment for your eyes to fixate on the tall, thin man before you and the fact that he had an apple in his hand. Smirking he took a bite and let the metal of his lip piercings clink against the skin of it. Beneath the soft cotton t-shirt jet black ink poked out up to his collar bone and littered both his arms. Intricate patterns and beautifully etched designs paralleled each other. He raised his free hand up to his chin, perching it within his palm while the other dangled over the top of the fence.

“Why the hell is your bike so loud?” You snapped while bringing the coffee cup to your lips.

His smirk broadened; your stomach folded in on itself. He took another bite of the apple before tossing it up in his hand. At first he made no noise as he straightened his posture and lifted his left hand to the back of his neck. Dramatically his mouth opened and let out a yawn. His shirt lifted off his stomach; you suddenly found the grass beneath your feet mind-numbingly interesting.  Though groggy and still miffed about your wake-up call from the brightest light known to man there was no denying this dude was unaware of his good looks. The way he tilted his head as he looked at you, chocolate brown locks swaying over his eyes and how he made it a clear habit to nibble on the right stud in his lip. He was baiting you.  

“Some people like to sleep at night y’know.”

Did your voice just crack? Probably, you weren’t on top of your game this early.

“Says the girl screaming ‘not that door you dumbass’ at three in the morning.”

An unwelcomed combination of a laugh-snort-hmph escaped your lips at his comically high imitation of your voice. This man had a talent of getting his way and getting away with everything. But not today, hopefully. Straightening your back and crossing your arms over your chest you stared back at him and hoped you looked somewhat pissed. His brow arched and lips broke into a wide smile. The apple in his hand had been tossed over the fence in the street where birds picked at it before flying elsewhere.

“Are you going to keep revving that god damn thing so loud? It rattles my whole damn house.”

“Ah, my apologies miss but,” he cooed while running his tattooed fingers through his hair, “but if we’re being fair you hit me with an apple so that makes us even.  “

His tone had changed, like he was egging you on to continue this little tiff. The way he stood with a prominent dominance and sweet smile that probably dropped a hundred panties made it evident he was not going to let you win so easily. His eyes glimmered in a haze of honey – brown with a tint of darkness pooling behind them.  This was a man who rarely lost at anything and more likely than not had never been told no by anyone. However, he seemed to have underestimated your willpower against his blatant charms. For this moment your panties remained on your own bedroom floor.  It was early, you were pissed, and the sun was too damn bright.

Oh no, today was not the day fucker.

“Once. You’ve woken me up at least three times in the week. So I can either throw three more apples or,” you tapped your finger against your lips, “or you could mow my lawn as an apology. If we’re being fair.”

“Is that a euphemism? You could have just asked me to come watch a movie~” He teased as his tongue darted out to his bottom lip. “Come a little closer to me, it’s hard to hear that sweet voice of yours from so far away.”

You were on the verge of a sensory overload, but this was a game you were playing to win. He was still on the edge of success but his eyes were nowhere except your hips as they swayed his direction. Inch by inch the contours of his face became prominent, chiseled, perfect. He put up a thick mask but he couldn’t hide everything.

The slight thinning of his eyes as they grew a bit hazy; how his fingers curled around the fence while the rest of his body stiffened. He seemed to tower over you. Two lions, one goal. Never losing his gaze you ran the tips of your fingers up his chest to his chin and gripped it. A flash of light cut across his eyes. Amusement perked his brow higher and that smirk returned halfway up the side of his face.

“Yes my sweet?”

The day he dropped that teasing tone would be the day he died.

“Mow my front lawn or the next thing I throw is a rock and it’s not going to hit your face. My sweet.”

Calmly you reinstate your point by knocking your knee lightly against his groin through the fence before twisting your hips and walking back towards the house.

“My name is Dazai. Dazai Osamu, my sweet!” he called back with a laugh as the door to your house shut loudly.

The air of victory surrounded you for the next few hours until a very deafeningly loud sound woke you from your afternoon nap. Bat in hand you kicked your front door open only to be greeted by a very sweaty, shirtless Dazai Osamu mowing your lawn. He glanced up at you as he pushed the old pile of rust across your lawn and gave you a sultry wink.

His pettiness was next level, and it made you too damn weak for anything good to come out of it. 

Originally posted by lovefortelevision

Prompt: “When will you realise that I love you?”

Character: Barney Stinson x Reader (character suggested by anon)

If there was one thing you knew about Barney Stinson, it was how much he lied to women, lied about his feelings, lied just for one goal; sex. So far, it was something you’d not given in to. He’d continued to pursue you, respectfully and always making you blush with compliments, but you knew why he did it. He wanted you to be another conquest, so, you kept your guard up and refused.

He smiled at you as you sat beside Lily and Robin, a smile that made your heart speed up and made butterflies swarm, “God, Barney’s really into you,” Robin scoffed with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, “We all know that he only wants one thing and one thing only.”

Lily pursed her lips, “I wouldn’t be so sure…” She mumbled but before you had a chance to question her, Ted, Marshall and Barney had walked back over.

All through dinner you had to put up with his compliments and flirtations. You loved them, of course you did, but it was the fact that he was making you feel  things that you never wanted to feel for him, it was the fact that this was all just a big game to him… but it was a lot more than a game.

“I- I’m going out for some air,” you said and rather abruptly stood and walked out of the bar. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t take the things he made you feel. You couldn’t take it.

“Everything all right?”

You refused to turn around, staring straight ahead, “Not now, Barney.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, “Is it Ted? He’s told that story three times-”

“It’s not Ted, Barney!” You snapped as you spun around, “It’s you!”

“Me? What have I done?”

“The flirting, the compliments? Barney, I’m not some person you can win over, sleep with and then throw in the trash! And I hate the way you make me feel but I know this is all just a huge game to you-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he said, holding his hands up, “You think this is a game?”

You frowned at him, “What else would it be?”

“(y/n)… All of this… The compliments, the flirting… It’s not a game. It’s genuine.” You scoffed at that but he continued, “When will you realise that I love you?”

Everything stopped at that moment. You stared at him, wide eyed and mouth ajar, “W-What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, “That’s why I’ve been doing all of this… I thought you knew.”

You shook your head, “Love… You love me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Do we have to keep saying it? You know how hard it is for me to admit these things. I’m not like Marshall or Lily, I can’t just say these things, I-”

You cut him off, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit jacket, and pulled him down to your lips; something you’d wanted to do since the first time you saw that stupid grin.

I hate when you do this.
I could pour my heart out to you and tell you that you swarm my dreams when I’m sleeping and it’s no better when I’m awake.
Or that you fucking live in everything around me. And you’d avoid it like it’s the plague. You always have.

And it’s frustrating. You’re entirely frustrating. You’re predictable and unpredictable at the same time. A walking fucking contradiction.
And I love it.
—  Nicole Torres // excerpt
Central Pennsylvania Gothic

Its early morning. You rise by some unforeseen force. There is a disturbance. You feel it in the water. You feel it in the earth. You smell it in the air. You face east toward the great circular structure erected for the worship of the gods. They are not your gods but you must keep this secret deep in your heart for the others will sense you are a non believer and cast you out. But you resist, oh yes you try so very hard to resist.

They are coming. The people in the wagons and tucks with horns and fried food to feed their gluttonous souls. Their paint their bodies and faces like the heathen savages of old. They camp outside the iron center of worship and begin their dark rituals. Music is played. They drink and drink and drink until they sway drunkly to music only they can hear.

And then the gates of this neo-coliseum open. And you realize nothing has changed in the hearts of men for many a long age. They swarm in like flies on a sun rotted corpse. The corpse is your faith in humanity.

Then it begins.

The people raise a frenzied cry that can be heard from every mountaintop in the surrounding valley. They open their mouths, they throw back their heads, they cry out in ecstasy: WE ARE…

And you must answer the call. It is in the very marrow of your bones though you have tried in vain to carve it out.

WE ARE…they cry.

You fight it valiantly. But the words, like a caged, savage mountain lion, must break free.

WE ARE…they cry.

…PENN STATE. You say.

It is over. There is no God. Only college football.