#one of the ones last night was particularly bad because i thought i had woken myself up but i hadnt so i dream walked into the bathroom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkeraurora · 1 year ago

Text

Admissions - Chapter 14

I wouldn't call this one NSFW, but some may not find it to be SFW exactly. You decide.

Word Count: 5204

MASTERLIST

The ever-present whir of the heaters kept the silent Brit company. Simon sat on a weight bench in the gym, alone with nothing but his thoughts in the twilight’s quiet stillness. Sunrise wasn’t for another few hours and only a small handful of people around base would be awake at this hour. Perimeter wall guards mostly.

He’d woken up quite early, even by military standards, and slipped out of bed once he detangled himself from the warm clutches of his little one, leaving Sereza to continue sleeping. While he’d slept fine last night, his mind wouldn’t fucking shut up about what might potentially happen later today.

Last night he’d told Sereza he’d found his bandana.

Consequently, his anxieties and insecurities were all in overdrive. Even if she had agreed – or rather, offered – to allow him to blindfold her so he felt more at ease, Simon still felt off. Considering what he would be doing to her – or might end up doing, since he wasn’t particularly confident that he’d be able to actually go through with it – it would terrify him if the roles were reversed and he was the one unable to see. What if he scared her? What if she was secretly feeling apprehensive about being blindfolded but was forcing herself to go through with it because of him? God that would kill him.

And also…

Even if she wasn’t able to see him, she would still be able to feel his skin.

What if it repulsed her? His physique was impressive, he knew. Fucking ought to be after the innumerable hours he spent in the gym burning through nightmare-fueled adrenaline rushes. But his body was covered in evidence of things best left forgotten. And he fucking hated it. Every fucking time he saw a glimpse of his skin or his reflection the urge to carve those reminders out himself was overpowering.

The worst ones were under his shirt. So far Sereza hadn’t seen or touched them, but she would when Simon made love to her; or feel them if she were blindfolded. How would she react?

But on the flip side… if Ghost didn’t take her…

What if she grew tired of waiting for him to be ready? He was pushing himself already as it was, and though he’d done more with her than he had with anyone else in what felt like an eternity... what if it wasn’t enough? She had been nothing but patient, understanding, and helpful. Always ensuring he felt safe and in control, but what if she decided he was too much trouble? Simon could certainly see that being a possibility. He was well aware he wasn’t an easy partner to have, not by any means. Or what if she grew tired of waiting on him and she moved on with someone else? Someone less complicated? All because he took too long to fuck her?

Ghost immediately felt horrible for thinking of his girlfriend that way. Complete shit. The one good thing that had happened in his rotten fucking life and this is what he was thinking about her? Bloody hell he was an arse.

Perhaps he should just force himself. Maybe once it was over his mind would decide it wasn’t so bad. An involuntary shiver made him wince. Simon was not at all sure he could do that. Plus, if he didn’t already feel like shit for thinking of Sereza the way he had, he definitely would if her first time ended up being a disaster or something he rushed through. Damn him and his issues.

Oh shit.

That’s right… it would be her first time with a man. Ghost would hurt her when…

Fucking shit; another thing for his mind to obsess over.

Trying to redirect his thoughts – force that mental-emotional pendulum to swing the opposite way for a fucking change – he thought back over the past several months. It had been maybe four months now since he first met Sereza and Simon ate better, was learning to trust touch again, slept peacefully almost all of the time, and felt less anxious… well, generally.

Looking back, Ghost was truly amazed at just how much she had already helped heal him.

No one, aside from his mother, had ever meant as much to him as she did. The rest of the 141 was important to him also, of course, but that was different. They were his family but Sereza… Simon simply couldn’t conceive of a future that didn’t include her in it.

But, his thoughts circling back around, would he lose his chance at that future once she saw all of him?

Ghost paused, blinked then sighed irritably upon realizing he’d long since lost count of his reps. Dammit, he’d have to start over. Veiny forearms flexed as he readjusted his grip on the kettlebell and began again. What a troublesome little one he had. Not even in the room and still she was distracting him. Such a naughty girl, Love. What am I going to do with you?

“Taken to haunting the gym mi amor?”

Ah, speaking of naughty… His beauty was out of bed. Her sleepy voice echoed across the cavernous space, coming from the doors behind him. He could tell by the sound she hadn’t been awake very long. The sleepiness made her voice sound so unbearably precious he couldn’t help smiling under the mask, despite her being the current source of much of his consternation. His free hand rolled the balaclava up to the bridge of his nose as he angled his head backward in her direction in a silent request for a kiss. “Bloody hell your lips are sweet, Love,” he complimented, picking up her hand from his shoulder to kiss her wrist. He looked up into deep hazel eyes, waves of honey tumbled around their faces and obscured the light. An image he tucked away to cherish when they had to be apart. Even from upside-down like this, she was the cutest thing.

Sereza grinned at his words. “Want another taste?” she offered, cocking her head to the side and sliding her palms over Simon’s pecs down toward his sternum. An affirmative groan rumbled through her ghost’s chest. His little one leaned down again and offered her lips.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked once they finally parted, coming around to sit near the opposite end of the bench from him so he’d have space to continue his set.

The half-masked Lieutenant poked her side, a place he’d recently found out was ticklish. “Quit that worrying, Gorgeous,” he reassured her, “I slept fine, just woke up is all.”

She was not at all convinced her ghost was telling her the full story, but let it go for now. Ghost seemed to be handling whatever bothered him well enough so she’d leave him to it, not wanting to nag or hassle him. There would be time to check in with him later if need be. “Mind if I sit and watch you?”

“Don’t mind at all, Sweetheart.”

The windows lightened from pitch black to sapphire to pale blue as dawn came to the Arctic sky. Simon and Sereza chatted about this and that. Simple small talk and making each other laugh with dumb jokes, just enjoying each other’s presence.

“Hey Si, a fish swims into a wall – what does he say?”

“Hm?” he paused, dangling from the grips he was training on.

“Dam.”

The Brit laughed hard at that one. “Not bad,” he chuckled. He’d have to remember it for the next mission with Soap. “Not bad at all, Love.”

XXXXX

Ghost’s shot cracked the stillness of the tundra. Perfect bullseye.

He fired his final shot, splitting the frozen silence and sending birds fluttering. Once more hitting the target dead-center with surgical precision. His little one sat just behind him and kept watch on their surroundings. It was time for Simon to qualify again, which meant a visit to the range outside the protective walls of the base. Which meant polar bears, so Sereza was on guard duty. That left Ghost free to focus on what he needed to.

While he trusted her – she had been out here for years whereas it hadn’t even been six months yet for the lieutenant – he still preferred to finish quickly and take over the role of Polar Bear Guard himself. He knew it might sound chauvinistic and insufferably alpha male-ish of him, but dammit he couldn’t help it. The urge to protect the woman he loved at any and all costs was ferocious.

Naturally Ghost qualified without issue. Not that he had any doubts – as arrogant as that might sound, but his little love being there this time did provide a hint of nervous jitters.

The range cleared not long after, leaving only the petite female and her towering ghost alone with the snow. Simon decided to take the opportunity to see how well his girlfriend could shoot. He had only his M4 with him, which should be fine, and he doubted with her small form she could use a shotgun or some such without risking injury to her shoulder. Sereza was tiny, but she wasn’t some fragile female. However, as the surgeon on base, neither she nor anyone else could risk her being injured.

But to his bewilderment, as soon as the Brit suggested a bit of shooting practice, she began to argue with him.

“I really don’t need to Si,” she refused, waving as stood and made ready to head back to the base. Why did it sound like she was trying to hurry off? “Let’s get back, I’m freezing anyway.”

Ghost knew that wasn’t true. The way she dressed and layered for the cold was impeccable; there was no way she was freezing. Chilly possibly, but not freezing. “You telling me stories, Little one? I think you forgot that I watched you do your layers this morning,” the Brit chuckled from behind his mask, “Come on now. Two shots left in this mag and they’re both yours.”

Sereza shuffled on her feet. “Nooo I’m pretty positive they’re yours actually.”

“Saved ‘em for you because you’re just so damned cute.” Simon took hold of her wrist.

“I-I don’t want to…” she continued protesting, trying to back away further, but the iron grip around her wrist gently pulled her back toward the firing line.

“One shot then,” he attempted to compromise. “Show me what you got, Love.” Ghost held the rifle out for her to take.

“NO!” Sereza shouted, pushing roughly away from him.

Ghost’s strength could, of course, have held her in place but he immediately let go of her wrist at her vehement refusal. She continued taking tiny steps backward from him, hands shaking, eyes wide, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her behavior stunned him. “Sereza…?” he whispered in concern. She had always been the calm one but right now she looked positively panic-stricken.

Frosty clouds of her breath puffed out rapidly, fearful eyes fixed upon the snow, seeing someplace far from where they both stood as she fought back tears. “I-I don’t, I don’t…” she whimpered incoherently, shaking from head to toe.

Simon hurriedly set the rifle down behind him, out of her line of sight. He held his hands out to her, showing the weapon was gone. “It’s alright Love, it’s gone, and you don’t have to shoot.”

Ghost slowly stepped closer to his love until she blinked, as if only just realizing he was in front of her, then lunged into his chest and clung to him. Strong arms picked her up, smoothing down honeyed curls while he shushed her, sitting them both down on a nearby log and guiding her tiny form into his lap.

As much as he hated to see her cry, seeing her this scared was worse.

What the hell had set her off? Was it the gun? Sure a lot of people were afraid of guns, but it didn’t seem that the cause of her behavior was as simple as that. Everything had appeared perfectly fine and she was acting normally up until the moment he tried to get her to shoot. There was something else she was afraid of. Not the weapon itself.

Ghost slipped her beanie off and kissed her forehead. Once her breathing calmed, he pulled back to see her face.

Instead of the fear from earlier, Sereza now looked self-conscious. Embarrassed. Shoulders slumped, she turned away from him and hid her face in the soft fleece of his jacket. “I-I’m sorry,” his little one dolefully apologized while refusing to meet Simon’s eyes.

His gloved thumb wiped icy tear streaks from her pink cheeks. “Nothing to be sorry for, Love. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Uh… I-n-…”

Simon waited as she uncharacteristically fumbled with her words, never taking his hands from her. It was odd seeing her like this, and it spoke to how scared she’d been since normally Sereza was quite articulate, but whatever had spooked his little one had evidently rattled her enough that she wasn’t able to get her thoughts in order.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, adjusting her so he could see her face better. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Look at me, Sereza.” Uncertain hazel eyes jumped to his at the command and Ghost ran his hands over her arms consolingly. “That’s my girl. Can you listen to me? You are here, with me, and I will not let anything harm you. You know that, right?” He smiled at her small nod. “Good. Please Love, try to tell me what happened. Was it the gun?”

She shook her head.

Ghost inwardly puzzled over her nonverbal response. Looked like he’d have to fish for answers.

“Me holding the gun?”

“No.” A single small word but a step in the right direction. Ghost found the stronger reaction encouraging; maybe they were getting somewhere.

“Is a rifle too much for you?”

“I-I…” Her voice came out in a pitifully small quiver that tore at his heart.

“You can tell me Little one, it’s okay.”

“I… can’t shoot.”

Well yeah - Ghost gathered that much by the way she reacted but it didn’t answer his question. It was clear to him that something had happened to his love just a moment ago, but what? And why? He could almost swear it looked like a flashback, but she never…

That was when it hit him.

It was a flashback. Something had happened that left her with her own scars. Not that he’d believed her life had been all sunshine and rainbows up until now. The lieutenant knew perfectly well very few had such privilege. But he now understood the reason why Sereza could handle him and his laundry list of issues so well. Because she had survived her own personal hell.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she continued, “When I try-” She had to pause when her voice cracked. Ghost wrapped her in his arms as if he was shielding his love from whatever distressed her. “My father… when I was very little… he’d shoot at me. Sometimes he’d sneak up behind me or he’d make me stand still and shoot the ground around me. Just centimeters from hitting me. One time he did graze me,” Sereza paused as she sniffled, “I don’t think he’d intended to; he was just very drunk. He’d laugh as he did it. It was fun for him.”

The lieutenant was beyond enraged. “Where?” his deep baritone rumbled. Sereza gestured at her left shin, about halfway between her knee and ankle. “Your mother didn’t stop him?”

“…my mother was worse,” she faintly admitted. Quietly as though something bad would happen if she spoke any louder.

Sereza's body beginning to tremble again told Simon just how much worse.

He wanted, with everything in him, to know what had been done to his little one so he could arrange a bit of… retribution. But that would have to wait. Now was not the time. Plus he supposed his girlfriend might not want that, and what she wanted was ultimately what mattered most to him.

Still though… it’d make him feel a bit better.

But his vengeance-plotting would have to wait. Right now his little one needed him. Ghost pressed her close, cradling her head to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Sereza. I should have listened the first time you said you didn’t want to. I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t recognize what was happening until I pushed too far, and I’m sorry for that as well. I just hadn’t seen that happen when you’ve been at the ranges with us before.”

Small hands squeezed his arm wrapped around the front of her, trying to convey her appreciation as well as forgiveness. “Not your fault, and you can’t notice things you haven’t seen,” she reassured, wringing her gloved hands in her lap. "I should have told you sooner."

Simon lifted the petite body, moving her until she straddled his lap so he could see her properly. “Why do you seem embarrassed about it?” A finger hooked under her chin. “It’s just one skill out of many. You have a lot of other valuable skills.”

She chuckled half-heartedly. “Someone in the military that can’t shoot?” she replied emotionlessly.

“I see where you’re coming from, but you aren’t actually in the military though Love,” Ghost tried to reason, “You’re contracted, and for very different work. It’s quite normal to be afraid of guns. That’s a healthy fear. I think… that you being the surgeon here, putting us back together again after a mission, is a far more important skill.”

Sereza bit her lip and looked away from her ghost again. “A lot of the others don't make that distinction and wouldn’t approve of me being here if they found out I can’t shoot. Not that I care about what they think – I don’t. They don’t know the reason why and don’t need to. But the whole thing frustrates me to no end.”

It angered the Brit to learn that others found fault in his girlfriend. Whether they knew the reason behind her lack of firearms skills or not was irrelevant. Sereza was a person – a human being with feelings and inherent value – whose job was to take care of them after injuries. How that made her somehow less in their opinion Ghost would never understand. And didn’t care to try to understand either.

XXXXX

The pair walked side by side back toward the gates, trudging slowly through the snow, while Sereza told Ghost more about her mental stumbling block. “It doesn’t make any sense,” his little love ranted, airing her frustration. “I’m around guns - big guys with guns at that," she gestured at her massive ghost beside her, "all the freaking time. I’ve gone to the ranges with the guys and watched them shoot… so, so many times. Never a problem. I hold them, I carry them, I’ve helped clean the damn things – also not a problem. It starts right as I aim.”

The skull hummed as he pondered over her words. That was peculiar. It would make sense if the sound of gunshots triggered her, but it was only once she took aim. Was she even able to get off a shot? Probably not, he decided. But she was perfectly capable and comfortable with every other aspect except for firing the weapon herself.

Ghost knew better than most how bizarre the brain could behave when triggered, but what many people didn’t seem to understand was that triggers were never random – not really. Whatever it was, it made sense somehow in the mind of that person. Maybe, for Sereza, when she was aiming and ready to fire, perhaps her mind put her in her father’s place and she was the one shooting at the terrified child.

His heart ached for her.

"Si… will you teach me?”

“To shoot?” His little one looked up at him with hesitant eyes.

He was willing, of course, but he also didn’t want Sereza to feel that level of fear again. Back to that manly-man urge to protect his woman… thing. Besides, there were other ways he could teach her to defend herself that didn’t involve firearms. “You were so afraid Love-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking,” Sereza interrupted. “I spent years learning to come to terms with all the shit that happened when I was growing up, and this is the last thing. I want to be able to move past this too, but I… I don’t think I can do this one on my own.”

The towering skull thought it over as he held his love’s hand while she struggled through some particularly deep snow. “You're sure about this? I mean, I will, of course – and your brother could also help you,” he questioned.

“He… doesn’t know,” she confessed, finally breaking free with a huff. “My brother’s mom actually cared about being a parent and she escaped with him one night while our dad was passed out. A few years later our dad moved on and started a new relationship. That's when I came along. My brother carries a lot of guilt because I didn’t have a safe or happy childhood while he was the one who did – which I’m very glad of, by the way. That makes me happy. But he blames himself for not knowing about me or finding me sooner.” The skull silently listened, holding her hand warmly within his. “I tell him all the time that it wasn’t his fault, but like any big brother, he doesn’t listen.” Simon chuckled along with her, being an older brother himself.

Sereza hooked her arm through his elbow. “Would you? Please?”

He stopped walking and pulled his mask up. The main road back to base was just ahead so they couldn’t be seen where they currently stood. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Simon lifted her up and kissed her as deeply as he possibly could. “Didn’t need to ask, Love. I’d have helped you anyway.”

Simon sat his little one back on her feet, steadying her by the arm when she swayed. Knowing his kiss had left his love weak in the knees he gave him a satisfied grin.

XXXXX

The lieutenant had a short late afternoon meeting with Price.

And couldn’t concentrate for shit.

He put on a convincing performance though and it didn’t seem Price was aware that his lieutenant wasn’t as laser-focused as he would normally be. Simon was much the same during dinner too. One leg bounced incessantly beneath the table, and he kept forcing his shoulders back down from under his ears.

His distraction didn’t go unnoticed that time however and both Soap and Gaz found it immensely entertaining to tease him about it. They had convinced themselves that Sereza had sent him a text – of a spicy nature that included, perhaps, a spicy picture – thus concluding that the reason their lieutenant wasn’t his normal gruff self was all the blood leaving his brain. Occupied elsewhere, about three feet lower.

The idea had them snickering and cackling like poorly behaved school children. The sergeants both stubbornly kept with their concocted story despite Ghost’s insistence that their story was hopelessly wrong. “Maybe we should lay off, eh Gaz? LT’s got a busy night ahead of him, aye? Don’t wanna tire the ol’ boy out before he can satisfy his lady.” Soap was enjoying himself far too much in Simon's opinion.

He wearily shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his masked nose, grumbling under his breath at Soap’s teasing. Fucking hell, you two. Honestly. Was this how parents with small children felt? Because if so Ghost could understand why they looked tired so much of the time.

It had been a long fucking day and it was nearing the end.

Which was what had him feeling antsy. Last night Ghost had asked Sereza if she would be busy tonight… and told her he’d found his bandana. Now it was getting close to time to use said bandana.

So, yeah…

Antsy was a fucking colossal understatement.

XXXXX

Back in his quarters after dinner, Simon anxiously paced around the small space. An internal debate raged in his head about whether or not he was ready for this. Thus far the negative side was winning out, as per usual.

Bloody hell, I can’t do this! I CANNOT fucking do this!!

Yes you can. With her, you know you can. You need to.

Back and forth, back and forth. Mentally and literally. With all the walking and his thundering heartbeat, the lieutenant felt like he’d just come off the longest ruck march of his life.

Ghost was so jittery when Sereza walked in a bit later that she half-expected to see him start climbing the walls.

“Si?” Her Brit turned to look down at her, her touch relaxing him somewhat as she threaded her fingers through his. “You look like you’re about to crawl right out of your skin mi amor.”

…my skin…

“What has my love so stressed? Wouldn’t have anything to do with you not being able to sleep last night, would it?” she asked rhetorically.

The Brit sighed as he realized she’d seen right through his fib in the gym this morning and found a sudden, singular interest in their entwined hands. Admiring just how much his love was dwarfed by the size of him. Finally he answered her with only an affirming grunt, nerves having made him slightly tongue-tied.

Sereza rubbed her thumbs over the back of his hands as she squeezed them. “Can you tell me now what had you so anxious last night mi amor?”

Her love audibly swallowed. Did she have to be so damn observant all the damn time? She was giving him the opportunity to open up, and he appreciated all of her efforts, but fucking hell that was hard when it came to… this.

Feelings and whatnot.

She kissed along the printed knuckles on his skeleton gloves. “You know that it’s okay to tell me, if you choose to, yeah? It stays between us, and I will still love you and be with you regardless of what it is,” she encouraged.

Well she had certainly proven that to be true. All the emotional baggage he’d heaped on those slender shoulders, yet she was still here, as unshakable as any mountain, willing to put up with him for some unfathomable reason.

Ghost felt like an arse – again – for making her worry like this.

Fucking hell.

It was time to come clean with her.

Scooping up his little one bridal style, Simon climbed into bed and snuggled into her neck. Giving her a few ticklish kisses. The chaotic storm of thoughts in his mind calmed while he breathed the scent of her. Sereza’s nails traced across his neck and upper back while she left small kisses over his hair.

“… I’m scared Love,” her ghost whispered. “Scared I’ll remember… shit I don’t want to. I’m worried... about what you’ll see. But I'm much more scared-," He paused as his voice cracked. Ghost pressed against her tighter, seeking reassurance. “I'm fucking terrified... that- that I’ll hurt you. And it’s going to hurt you anyway. I want you so goddamn much but... I can’t… I can’t fucking stand knowing that I’ll cause you pain.”

Always such a worrier, mi amor. His worrying over her wellbeing she could address quickly enough, but the lingering trauma from his assault would take time. Sereza hugged around his dirty blond head. “Simon, Love – I swear, you have the sweetest heart,” she affectionately whispered before kissing his forehead. “Can I tell you a couple of things, my love?”

Her ghost grunted a reply, flustered at being called sweet like that.

“I absolutely adore your touch. It feels indescribably good to me, did you know that? Whether we’re just relaxing or… doing something else. Even before we were together, you’d touch me in subtle ways or pat the top of my head while you told me how short I am,” they both chuckled at the memory and cuddled each other tighter. “Everyone else who did that I wanted to punch in the face-”

“You couldn’t reach their face Love,” he interjected mischievously.

“Oh shut up,” Sereza huffed, making Ghost chuckle. “…I loved when it was you though, always made my day and left me wanting more. I was happy simply being with you. And I still am.”

Simon was touched. All tingly and warm inside knowing that he made his little one happy, both now and back then without actually trying.

“Please don’t torment yourself mi amor. Talk to me when something’s bothering you, okay? You aren’t alone anymore Si, and you don’t have to deal with everything on your own either. We’re here to help each other, yeah? Just like earlier today.” Sereza cupped his face and guided it up to hers, kissing the scar cutting through his eyebrow. “I love you Si. No matter what your mind tells you, please don’t think you have to force yourself into doing anything physical for me to love you or stay with you. If any memories come up I'll be right there with you and we'll get through it together. But just so everything is clear going forward, I will never be put off by your touch. It’s alright for you to touch me when you want to.” Another tender kiss to a scar along his temple.

Ghost closed his eyes as he basked in the gentle care Sereza was giving him. The feeling of her fingers combing over the shorter hair on the side of his head made him feel slightly drowsy.

“Always,” another kiss, by his ear…

“Anytime,” under his eye...

“And I will love it.” His love ended with a lengthy kiss to a deep scar across his cheek. “You won’t scare me Si, and I know you would never, ever intentionally hurt me. When you feel like it, you have standing permission, does that help?”

Yeah.

Yeah it did actually.

Rules, regulations, and permissions spoke to his military side; something that gave the soldier in him parameters to operate within. That familiarity brought with it comfort and security. Simon’s spirit felt so much lighter now and he was kicking himself for not talking to Sereza sooner.

Right then, Ghost’s mental lightbulb clicked on.

He understood now that when he was happiest… when he felt the strongest and safest… was when he was like this with Sereza. Facing what troubled him with the support of his other half. Not when he internalized or withdrew into isolation to fight his inner wars and mental demons alone in some twisted protective display – whether that was protecting others or himself.

The haunting voice of his father, with his vicious threats and cruel insults, quieted. For the first time, Simon could admit to needing the presence and love of another person and felt no weakness or shame in doing so.

The woman holding him in her arms was the source of his peace.

He didn’t just need her – he also needed her.

Mind and soul, he needed her.

Simon made up his mind.

No more overthinking and obsessing. Tonight, he would take her.

21 notes · View notes

monkee-mobile · 1 year ago

Note

Re: that last ask well now I wanna hear about Peter!! (Please 🥺)

Ah yes, peter, sweet sweet boy.

peter is so special and sweet and I do have many thoughts about him.

peter loves cuddles. this is probably not surprising, but he indeed loves to snuggle up and nuzzle into someone’s neck and hold their hands. lucky for him he has this group of super touchy-feely guys to give him all the snuggles he wants. He just loves his friends so much.

Peter and mike end up getting really close. I think that after The Devil and Peter Tork, pete starts getting some really bad nightmares, about hell, but also ones that feature things like the other monkees forgetting about him or not knowing he’s there or even ones where they’re not real and this gets him real deep (poor thing). I feel like as a kid he had a hard time holding onto friends (this is a little bit personal, apologies), and was picked on a lot for being “different” and “soft” and it gets to him (like in the wild monkees when the girl calls him a sissy and he gets particularly upset) and the idea that this group of people who love him and care for him aren’t really real can be a lot.

He often starts screaming or crying in his sleep and Mike starts to wake up and go over to his bed to stay with him and calm him down. Davy also sometimes wakes up (micky is a VERY deep sleeper, but he has woken up before and come over to help but he konked out pretty quickly) Usually it’s just peter and Mike and Mike trying to calm peter down, just holding him close and rubbing his back and hair and letting peter know he’s there and that he’s real. Mike doesn’t feel really good at talking, especially not at two in the morning, so that is usually the most he can do, and it does help peter, who loves pressure and soft snuggles. Mike also sometimes sings to him, quietly as to not wake up the others, and they do talk a bit, mike trying to get peter to tell him what the dreams were about but they’re sometimes too confusing or too much for peter, and peter can’t always talk at all afterwards, so if mike talks to him it tends to be soothing things in a soft voice or asking peter if he wants to be sung to.

despite mike’s help, pete has a very hard time getting enough sleep and sleeping through the night so sometimes mike has him take a lot of shorter naps during the day (usually downstairs with the rest of the group) but peter has a hard time going to bed at night, afraid of what nightmares he’s going to have, so he starts having some terrible panic attacks about going to bed. Mike starts just sleeping in peter’s bed every night (eventually they all just sleep in the same bed because what the hell, they’re snuggly, but not at first). But peter has a lot of trouble with bedtime for a while, and micky one night comes up with an idea that this is NOT ‘bedtime’! No no no! this is PILLOW time, and pillow time is special and different! and tells him all these stories about it and it makes peter laugh and gets him to be able to go to sleep for a while, safe with Mike, though he still tends to wake up from nightmares.

this is another self-projection thing, but during this time when peter is having terrible nightmares he starts having problems with bedwetting. He can’t help it, but it freaks him out even more. It starts almost right away and Mike also starts helping him through it, late at night getting poor, crying peter into the bathroom and putting on a shower for him. Mike brings his guitar in and plays some things sitting against the bathroom door so that peter knows he’s there. then i guess they fall asleep in mike’s bed and mike deals with the sheets in the morning and they just don’t tell the other guys because peter’s embarrassed about it. peter does NOT get scolded about it at all, that’s a must for me, just because i’ve had problems with that due to nightmares and waking up to someone yelling at you for being disgusting is not a helpful thing. So peter is definitely assured he’s not disgusting and it’s not his fault and he is treated like a person about it. I also think mike knows how to deal with it, assumedly having taken care of younger siblings (see when he talks about his family in Monkee Mother) so he is prepared to help peter out and doesn’t really sweat it. Yeah, that’s just a personal segment of this all.

okay so to me tv show-peter is autistic. real life peter tork was diagnosed with autism later in his life, but peter the character shows a lot of autistic traits in my opinion so that’s gonna factor into a lot of these next ideas.

he probably needs help with a lot of things, stuff like cutting his nails or remembering to brush his teeth (micky also has trouble with both of those and mike has a system now where they all brush their teeth at the same time and is usually good at figuring out when he needs to throw a nail clipper at micky as he’s been scratched multiple times during werewolf impressions and similar) but peter gets the help he needs because the boys all help him out!

(another little self-projecting thing) peter has trouble not spilling glasses of water so he has to be reminded a lot to use two hands when holding a glass. (this will forever be my struggle lol)

he’s also prone to meltdowns if he gets overstimulated. (it’s the sixties so autism is not really understood so i think peter is definitely not diagnosed and he doesn’t really know what these meltdowns are) Sometimes grocery stores are a lot for him and the other boys have to frantically figure out how to calm him down. if it happens at the grocery store usually one of them will go with peter to go sit in the car (a lot of times it’s mike, because grocery stores are also very overstimulating for him. dont tell mike, but he’s also autistic haha. but sometimes it’s not mike because putting davy and micky alone to do the shopping together is not always the best idea). Micky is not always the best at calming peter down because he sometimes can make it more overstimulating, but he figured out a good way to calm peter and get his brain thinking about other things by pointing to something and saying “peter what color is that car/sign/whatever” or, if there’s nothing all that interesting around asking peter what different animals say.

peter also gets bedtime stories read to him a lot. either that or they sing to him. sometimes mike will have peter and davy snuggled up on either side of him while micky sits and the end of the bed and sings and they often all do harmonies together. sometimes mike’ll figure out a new song right before bed and they all work it out together, running to get a guitar while micky drums out a beat on the bedframe saying “we’re really gonna make it big with this one guys!” and it’s so exciting. wholesome little rock band activities.

(this is not a headcanon and this post is already so long so i’m leaving random stuff out for maybe another time but i just have to put it into the world because when the monkees are little little cuties i go absolutely insane. you know in monkee mother when micky starts spoonfeeding pudding or something to peter, is that not the cutest fucking thing in the world?!???! micky is so older brother) okay, now back to our regularly scheduled programming of *shuffles cards* the rest of the random peter headcanons!

peter’s nickname is ‘peterbabe’ (said as all one word) sometimes elongated to ‘peterbaby’ and micky jokes that they should change his full name to ‘peterbabe tork’ because they just say it so darn often.

this is pretty obvious but peter loves flowers! hes a flower boy! he even grows daffodils! :) He brings flowers into the pad (micky is allergic to a lot of them unfortunately so he’s prone to sneezing fits) and he likes putting flowers in everyone’s hair (micky’s hair is particularly fun to put flowers in so peter tries extra hard to find ones he won’t sneeze over) as well as his own hair and he puts them along the windowsills too, which has made for some good photography.

I guess since this is so long i’ll finish it off with a little thought since it’s indeed christmas: in the christmas episode they all rag on peter about getting “bad” gifts and to me the only gift that’s not really working is the coat for davy cause it’s just too big. It was mikes fault for opening snow skis in july, and the chemistry set is actually a very thoughtful gift for science-loving micky, micky just had to go and DRINK whatever concoction he had made which is basically lab safety no no #1 and that is not peter’s fault. the writers pulled those “bad” gifts out of their asses. anyway.

AH! and a bonus because i forgot to include it in the davy post here’s a davy headcanon I hold dear that was from the monkees headcanon instagram account but is so wholesome that i need to bring it to everyone’s attention: davy falls asleep on the couch and often needs to be carried to bed. thank you.

And yes, davy’s “diagnosis” in 33 1/3 being “regression” on top of him literally dancing around dressed as a toddler in a baby’s bedroom can 100% support my idea that davy is baby real.

AND WITH THAT, thank you so much for the ask! these asks give me an excuse to just dump out my thoughts and I hope other people enjoy them despite how long and disorganized they are. sorry about that lol.

#the monkees #peter tork #mike nesmith #davy jones #micky dolenz #monkees headcanons #sorry that this goes on for a while and gets a little heavy handed with the nightmares stuff #peter is a pretty important character to me and he deserves all of the love and all of the snuggles #and davy and peter are definitely both mike’s little ones and he loves them both so much because he’s their mama #okay i’ll shut up the monkees are all wittle babies just know that #monkees found family is very special and wonderful #also also! merry christmas everyone who celebrates! i did stuff on saturday so i feel like the holiday’s already over for me lol

14 notes · View notes

treatian · 7 months ago

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Domestic Battles

Chapter 3: His Own Ring

It had been a lovely night. Which was shocking, because any night that someone woke up flinging their partner from their arms as they ran to the window for air after a particularly tormenting nightmare would probably not earn the adjective “lovely” the morning after. But it had been. In the grand scheme of things, his nightmare had been a hiccup. He wanted to remember last night for their wedding, for the candles and honest words they’d exchanged, for the ring that he’d put on her finger, and the celebration they’d engaged in afterward. He wanted to remember last night’s little mishap, not for the bad parts but for the good parts. For the vows he’d finally felt free to speak, the way she’d held him in the night until he’d slipped back into a dreamless sleep, for the words she’d finally whispered to him when he’d woken, found her awake, and rolled them over to...

He must have told her he loved her. He didn’t remember saying the words, and she’d told him before that he often did it in his sleep, but he assumed he'd said them because he’d heard her issue her traditional response as he gathered her back into his chest like normal. But then she’d gone on, muttered, “It’s not often I get to watch you sleep.”

“That’s because watching you sleep is one of my favorite pastimes,” he’d answered honestly enough, only for her to respond with another truth he wasn’t sure his heart had been ready for.

“Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep without you. Maybe I feel like sleeping without you by my side, without your hand on my back, is unfair. I don’t know how to be by myself anymore, and I don’t want to. I need your hands on my back, you beside me to truly rest.”

He’d smiled, thinking about how something that started so timidly and experimentally might have become something she clung to. Gods, did she think it was a natural instinct for him to be tender that way? That she hadn’t trained him to do that even if she didn’t know it?

“Did I ever tell you why I do that?” he questioned as she rested beside him.

“No. I thought you did it because you like to…it seems natural-”

“It is now,” he corrected, trying not to laugh because that was precisely what she thought it was-natural. “But it wasn’t always. It’s never been something I’ve shared with anyone other than you….”

He knew the instant that he said those words, she’d like this story. And he knew it not just because she immediately propped herself up on her elbow and glanced down at him, expecting an answer. He knew it because he knew that the ghosts of his past partners often haunted her, that she longed to be unique to him, and in this one seemingly innocuous way, she was.

“I don’t understand-”

“My Beautiful Belle…” he’d murmured, pushing her hair behind her ear. “What do you dream about at night?”

She shook her head, staring at him as though she hadn’t expected that question to come out of his mouth. She probably hadn’t. “I don’t dream,” she finally answered.

He laughed as he held onto the hand that rested on his chest. To know someone better than they knew themselves…

“You do. You just might not know it. My Beautiful Belle, when you first came back to me, when I woke up after our first night together…I’ll never forget your face. You were asleep, clearly, deeply asleep, but your hand, this hand…” he brought the one that he held now to his mouth and kissed it. “It was balled into a fist so tight your knuckles were white. Every muscle in your back was tight and tense, ready to run or fight, unresting. And this face…” he let go of her hand to let his own touch her face as if it would help him summon back the memory after one of the best nights of his life-furrowed brow, wrinkled nose, worry lines, and a frown... “You were so uneasy, so clearly upset by whatever the images in your head were.

“And it was so tempting to use magic to banish it. But with one hand in yours, the other on your back, and when I kissed you, just here…” he guided her down to him so he could kiss that same spot just between her eyebrows, only to find…

A smile like he’d seen every morning they’d been together since that first one bloomed instantly over her face.

“That was the smile you gave me that first morning,” he confessed. “And I was amazed to find that what you needed wasn’t magic-”

“Just you,” she finished. “I don’t remember that,” she admitted almost sadly.

“No, of course, you don’t-you could sleep through anything,” even some of her nightmares…which he’d counted as lucky considering his behavior that night.

“Well…do I still make that face?” she questioned.

“Not often,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It vanished after a week or so, and I can’t remember the last time I did see it.”

“Because you make me feel safe, you’ve always made me feel safe,” she’d declared. “But…you still rub my back…”

“It’s a habit now,” he’d admitted. “A wonderful habit I can’t stop, not even if I wanted to. I’m addicted to you.”

It had ended with another bout of lovemaking, one even he hadn’t expected. She’d kissed him deeply as she climbed over top of him, readying him with only a couple of gentle tugs, before fitting them together and moving for them. It was slow and lazy; the bed hardly made a noise as they worked their mouths over the other and breathed in the scent of mingled sweat and tears. And when they’d both found their unison pleasure as lovers who shared magical True Love always did, they’d both smiled.

“You chase my nightmares away and guard my dreams,” she whispered to him.

“It’s an honor. And for all you give me, it’s an even trade,” he’d responded before pulling her back down against his chest, stroking her back just as automatically as ever so she’d drift off once more.

Which was where he found her when he woke the following day from their lovely night. If last night could be every night for the rest of their lives…what a happy marriage this would be.

“You’re sleeping on my side,” she spoke with a playful tone. He’d already known she was coming to, but as long as she’d been content to let him hold her, he was content to let her tell him when she wanted to be awake.

“I think we’ve long since abandoned the conventional tradition of ‘sides,’” he teased in return. “I don’t think we’ve ever slept together without being entwined like this.”

“Do you mind?” she asked with a genuine curiosity that entertained him.

“I’ll mind on the day that you stop.”

She chuckled as she pulled herself up and kissed him before sliding down his side so he could continue to hold her in the way that she was accustomed to. He didn’t mind. Any way he could have her he was happy to do it. Though, if he was honest, naked as she was now tended to be his preference.

“I love you,” he muttered as she settled in, showing no signs of getting up or wanting to leave. Hopefully, that was a trend that would last for many days.

“And I love you too…”

He couldn’t remember the last time Mr. Gold had closed the shop and taken a vacation, but it was long overdue. And if there ever was an excuse good enough to hole up somewhere and not care a bit for going to work, then it most certainly was his wedding. Hell, if he couldn’t take a day off for a honeymoon, what could he take a day off for in the future?

“I suppose eventually we’ll need to talk about what comes next,” Belle muttered beside him, showing off her mind-reading skills.

“Eventually, but not now,” he begged.

“When?”

“Belle, right now, for all I care, we could stay up here until the earth falls apart.”

“Are you running away, Rumpelstiltskin?” she questioned with humor in her tone, as if expecting him to respond in humor when he honestly couldn’t be any more serious than he was now.

“I wouldn’t call it running away from the world so much as running toward you.”

Though, now that he thought of it, that didn’t mean they had to be together in bed all day. For the majority of however long this trip lasted, yes, he wanted to be here in this bed with her, preferably equally as naked as she was, but he was also aware that there were other needs he’d have to see to for her. Needs for her, indulgences for him.

“I could make you breakfast,” he suggested timidly, secretly fearful she’d want just that when all he wanted was to be as they were.

“Please don’t move,” she requested. “I’m perfectly happy right here.”

He didn’t think she’d ever said more beautiful words.

“Then we won’t move until you want us to.”

She responded by turning her head and pressing a kiss to his chest before she adjusted to be impossibly closer to him. He loved when she did that, when she pushed into him as if she wasn’t close enough, as if she wanted to be inside his skin.

“You’re smiling so bright you outshine the sun,” he commented. He might not have actually been able to see her face, but that was part of knowing her as well as he did. He knew she was absolutely beaming.

“You make me the happiest person in the world,” she commented. “When we woke up yesterday, I didn’t think we’d be here, in this place, as we are now, married! I can’t contain my joy.”

“No regrets, then?”

“I regret nothing in our life,” she confirmed without hesitation. “It brought us here. This is where we were always meant to be, to wake up in each other’s arms. I’m happy we finally made it.”

“I’m happy we finally had the time to make it. You are a more perfect woman than I could ever have conjured in three hundred years, my beautiful wife.”

Fuck…he even liked saying the word, especially now that it was official. It was going to be his new favorite nickname for her, the one that left Beautiful Belle and Sweetheart in the dust.

“I like that you call me that,” she responded, again, as if she could read his mind.

“I like that I can call you that,” he admitted. “It didn’t mean much the first time, but now…I never thought I’d be a married man again, I never thought I’d want to be, until I met you. But you make me happy. Everything that’s happened and I can still be happy as long as I have you. That astounds me.”

She let out a small huff of laughter as she peeled herself from his side and turned to look down at him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and he moved to let his own do the same-

Only for her to intercept his hand and slowly turn it over in examination.

“Maybe there is something I regret…” she muttered sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a ring. But…you didn’t exactly give me a lot of time…”

“I know,” he muttered, kissing her head. He was utterly flattered that it bothered her, but he had expected that she wouldn’t have one for him, given how quickly they’d thrown things together. And given his line of work, it was something he figured they’d be able to remedy easily if it mattered to her. “But it’s nothing to fret about. A ring is an easy thing to acquire once we decide to rejoin the rest of Storybrooke again.”

“But that doesn’t make it memorable or special! It would have been better if I’d had one for you last night.”

“Belle, anytime the two of us are together is special,” he insisted. “Whether it’s gold or fleet and we’re alone on top of a mountain or surrounded by dwarves at Granny’s, it’ll be special so long as you’re there, and I know it came from you.”

She nodded as her attention turned to her ring. She admired it for the first time in the light of day, and he felt an immense sensation of pride sweep through him as he joined her in staring at it. He’d always known it would be perfect on her, but right now, the first morning of their married life, with the sun glinting off of the facets like that and throwing rainbows on the ceiling and wall when it hit just right…fuck, he had to admit he’d done a great job!

“Any ring?” Belle asked, drawing his gaze back to her. There, he found her eyes on him, brows raised as if questioning his honesty.

“Any ring,” he promised.

A smile lit across her face as she pushed away from him and rolled onto her belly…before grabbing his hand once more…

“I never thought I’d want to be married,” she admitted before gently tugging on the ring he wore on that hand, his right hand, and pulling it free. “You know what I went through before you came along; you know what marriage would have been like for me, but this…this is different. Our marriage is different. I’m happy to be your wife, and I promise that we’ll make each other happy…together.”

And then she reached out to take his opposite hand, the one that he’d been running up and down her back, his left hand, and moved that same ring up and over the knuckle on his fourth finger.

And just like that, he had a wedding ring of his own, literally. But it was just as perfect and special as she was, as perfect and special as their marriage would be. He’d ensure it was nothing like what his first marriage had been, or what hers would have been.

“You’ll never have to worry about someone taking advantage of you like that again,” he promised, moving his left hand over her cheek. “You have my word.”

“And you’ll never have to worry about being alone or unloved again, not as long as I’m around,” she promised as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “You are going to be loved for the rest of our lives.”

“For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to believe that.”

“You do?” she questioned with excitement as her eyes shot open.

It was a surprise to her. But if he was completely honest, it was a complete surprise to him that such a confession had crossed his lips, too, but…now that he thought about it…

“I do,” he breathed.

And before she could say anything more, he reached forward to pull her lips to his own.

#rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #rumple #belle #mr. gold #dark one #ouat #fanfic #ouat fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

ysbrydthespoop · 2 years ago

Text

Gorillaz with Tattoos Headcanons/Concepts.

A while after Noodle went missing. She had S.M.R tattooed on her wrist. It stands for Stuart Murdoc Russel and she specifically chose an area where she could see it every day. She did it herself with a needle and inc and looking at it helped her get through really bad times.

After the events of plastic beach, she hid that tattoo with a bandage for several years. Between 2D getting swallowed by the whale and Russel getting harpooned, she thought they were both dead, and that tattoo just became too painful to look at. She thought about getting it removed all together but she's glad she never did.

Murdoc is by far the most likely to get a regrettable tattoo. There's been so many times he's woken up after a wild drink and drug fuled bednder with something horrendous on his body and no memory of how it got there. 2D has had quite a few smacks to the head over the years for laughing at those tattoos.

The runner up for most regrettable tattoos is 2D. He doesn't really think his tatoos through. Proof of this is the zombie portait where Paula's name used to be.

After a particularly wild night out. Murdoc and 2D woke up with a very limited memory of the night before and eachothers names tattoo on their arms. Neither of them told the other their tattoos existed and they wouldn't find out until months later when they slipped up and forgot to cover it. They act like it never happened but they still never removed or covered them.

Murdoc made Noodle swear she would never get tattoos and this was one of the few things he and russel ever agreed on. When they saw the one on her wrist, they were not happy, even though she was in her early twenties at this point they don't have to know she did it when she was sixteen. But they did soften when they realised who those enitials belonged to. When they realised it was for them, Russel said, "I suppose that one's not so bad. But no more." Murdoc simply said he'd "allow it." But also told her "But this is the first and last one." As if he still had any say in the matter.

Neither were happy with 2D when he started encouraging her to get many, many more.

Noodle would have to be with a partner for at least ten years before she even considerd getting a matching tattoo with them. But 2D on the other hand, that's her big brother and one of her best friends. That's different. There is no force in any conceivable reality or universe that could break their bond. Now that they're both adults, getting a matching tattoos is just another bonding activity for them. They do it just for fun and they've spent countless hours together designing tatoos for eachother. They even have anniversary tattoos to commemorate how long they've been doing this. They started when she was twenty three and soon, they'll be coming up to ten years.

Noodle isn't really keen on the idea of commiting massive tattoos and prefers to have a load of little ones. This has prompted 2D to give her the nickname, doodlebug.

She has several that symbolise her band mates. She has a melodica, a microphone and a zombie for 2D a trumpet, a drumset and a Japanese to English dictionary for Russel and a diamond, a devil mask and a raven for Murdoc.

By getting a diamond, she and Murdoc now have a pair of matching tattoos without even knowing it. They both have a diamond because that's what Murdoc has always called her. The phrases "Isn't she a diamond?" and "She's a diamond, our Noodle." repeat over in Noodle's memories. In countless interviews and introductions, dating all the way back to when she was ten years old.

Russel has the names of every friend he lost when he was young tattooed on his arm.

The boys all have at least one tattoo commemorating Noodle. Murdoc has his diamond, 2D has her name in Japanese and and Russel has a portrait of her on his shoulder.

After they got tatoos for Noodle, 2D and Murdoc also decided to get some tattoos done to honor Russel as well. They didn't innted on getting tattoos for eachother but they did and with the ones they got for Noodle as well, it didn't seem right leaving out Russel. Things didn't seem complete. 2D has his name and a couple of symbols representing him, including one he did some reserch to find that sybolised protection, because Russel has always had his back. Murdoc has one quote, "For the bastard who keeps breaking my nose and stopping me from doing things I'll regret."

When Noodle was a kid, there were times when none of the boys were in good headspaces, and she worried about all of them. So quite a few times, she made them pinky promise they'd be okay. Now, all three of them have Noodle's name tattooed on the very finger they wrapped around hers when they made their promises. 2D got his first. Like Noodle's tattoo, his was also a DIY done with a needle and ink. It was done when he was imprisoned in his underwater room on Plastic Beach. Those were the worst of times for him and having that tatoo was his way of reminding himself to always keep his promise. But he had not been as careful as Noodle had been and got an infection almost immediately. Which he then tried to hide from Murdoc, worried he'd be mad at him. When Murdoc saw it, he scolded 2D for being an idiot but later in a copycat/why didn't I think of that?/ reckless drunk moment, he did the exact same thing and also gave himself an infection.

Russel wouldn't get his until a few years later when he'd see these tatoos for himself. He got his partialy because he also had a "why didn't I think of that?" moment but also because he felt like the odd one one out being the only one without that tattoo. He also felt it was fitting for them all to have it. There are two things in this world that bring the three of them together. Music and Noodle. But Noodle was the one who kept them all going. Built them up to who they are today. And if they agree on nothing else, they'll always agree that they all love her. His tattoo, though, is professionally done. He wasn't having any of that stick and poke, risk an infection crap.

#gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz #2d gorillaz #noodle guitarist from gorillaz #russel gorillaz

16 notes · View notes

osarina · 10 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 TO SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're with him. you're actually with him. everything all of the other dazais have got to experience, he now can too. in his exhilaration, he almost forgets about the threats lurking on the horizon. until you slap him in the face with it, that is. {wordcount: 18k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART THREEEEEEE i had a particularly terrible day today guys hahahh literally everything that could go wrong went wrong </3 i'm very tired, but i hope you guys enjoy this installment. for all of u who read badlands, we have a very anticipated parallel scene in this one. + i added a little surprise pov at the end heheh

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. + we have a bit more of unhinged thought processes on dazai's end which becomes particularly apparent during one of these scenes. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

You wake up from what might be the best sleep of your life to the sun peeking through the blinds of an unfamiliar bedroom.

It takes a few moments for you to regain your bearings, yawning and stretching as you sit up in the bed, trying to figure out where you are. It’s fancy, fancier than anything you’ve ever come across before. The dark sheets are soft and silky against your skin, you swear that this must be what clouds feel like. The room itself is a bit odd—large but empty, there’s a dresser on the far wall and a nightstand next to the bed, but there are no trinkets or knick knacks that usually litter a person’s bedroom. It’s almost reminiscent of a hotel room, you think.

Your gaze drifts over to the side, where a vast window looks over the city. You can hardly see the view through the blinds, but you can tell you’re high enough that only clouds can be seen below, no sign of the bustling city that you know rests beneath you. Your hazy mind starts to remember what happened last night: the club, the convenience store, your apartment, the leak. Dazai.

Dazai.

Your face immediately feels hot, hand coming up to curl your fingers around your mouth as you realize whose room you’re in. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously even though you know he’s not in here with you. You wonder what time it is, you reach around for your phone to check but you must’ve dropped it somewhere in your exhaustion last night—hopefully somewhere in his apartment (can this even be considered an apartment? it’s huge!) Maybe he’s waiting for you out in the main room of his penthouse, you hope he is. You also hope that he got some sleep last night, you remember that he insisted for you to take the bed but you still feel bad that you usurped his room from him.

… Although it’s not much of a room. Big and fancy with a view that costs more than your life, yeah, but nothing that makes it his. Like a husk. A house, not a home. The bed doesn’t even smell like him—well, you can’t say you know for sure what he smells like besides the cologne he sported in your past few meetings with him, but you know it doesn’t smell like him because it doesn’t smell like anything. Only the faint smell of old detergent meets your nose, not a single other sign that someone has been living here.

You push the covers off of you and swing your feet over the side of the bed, stretching again as you kick your feet out with another yawn. You think this might be the first time in months that you haven’t woken up with an aching back or sore neck and you can’t help but cast a longing look back at Dazai’s bed, wishing you could steal it and drag it back to your apartment to replace your ruined bed.

You don’t bother changing as you drag your way out of his bedroom; you’re decent enough in a burgundy camisole and matching pair of shorts. Yes, you’d chosen your nicer pajamas because yes, you’d still been hoping maybe something would happen between the two of you. You hadn’t realized how hard the exhaustion was going to hit until too late.

Maybe something can still happen, you giggle a bit to yourself as you open the door to his apartment and then stop yourself immediately, horrified at yourself. You wonder when you became like this. You swear you don’t usually go around desperate for sex like this, you feel like a bit embarrassed, honestly, that your train of thought keeps leading this way but you blame Dazai because he’s plain cruel for flirting with you as intimately as he does without even sparing you a kiss. It’s like he’s trying to drive you crazy. You’re becoming even more convinced that the man set some sort of spell over you.

“Gooooood morning!” you sing, your voice still tinged with sleep as you exit the bedroom and catch sight of the object of your desires lounging back on the dark couch in the main room of his penthouse—penthouse, insanity—typing away at his phone with a frown. He’s dressed in the same outfit he was in last night, which is also the same outfit that he wore last week, and every other week before that—you wonder if he just didn’t change or if he has a dozen pairs of the same outfit.

Dazai doesn’t respond, gaze cutting upward, a bit too wide to be casual. The expression on his face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between shock and an emotion you can’t quite place, but it’s softer, you think, maybe a bit sadder too. You brush it off, wondering if he forgot you were here, which would be embarrassing but also a bit ridiculous. So, you think that maybe you just look like a mess after waking up. You should have brushed your hair before coming out of the room, you don’t even know if you brought a brush with you last night. You can’t remember.

You plop yourself down onto the couch next to him. Laying the side of your head against the cushions and curling up a bit, you position your body to face him as you say, “Your… apartment is so nice.” There’s a longing lilt to your voice as you speak. “If you’re not careful, I might never leave.”

It’s a joke, of course, you don’t want to intrude, but you think your life would be one hundred times easier if you were living in a place like this rather than your small, shitty apartment. Plus, you get a view and you’re not talking about the city. Dazai looks gorgeous beneath the mid-morning light, you think. Well, he’s been gorgeous every time you’ve seen him but you think especially so now, with the way his smooth skin glows and his dark eyes look almost gold beneath the sun rays, but you notice the dark bag beneath his visible eye and guiltily, you wonder if he got any sleep last night. He’d long abandoned his phone, attention on you, and you feel warm beneath his gaze.

“I don’t think I’d mind that all too much,” he murmurs, eye curved up as smiles softly.

You’re flustered, instantly, and your face feels hot as you avert your gaze to the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes focus on a familiar item sitting on it and you light up, reaching out for it. “My phone! You found it!”

You pull it toward you and unlock it, frowning when you realize that you must’ve left it open on your landlord’s contact information last night, trying to figure out what you should message him. You sigh as your tip your head back against the couch, realizing that you’re going to have to deal with all of this today. Fighting with your landlord about the leak, ordering a new mattress and a new laptop—god, you don’t even think you can afford that right now, you’re going to have to place a deposit down for your seat at school soon and then figure out tuition.

“You dropped it outside the room,” Dazai notes, drawing your attention back to him as he nods at the phone. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in years,” you sigh wistfully, letting your head fall to the side to look at him. “You have to tell me where you got your mattress. This is the first time I haven’t woken up with a shitty back in forever… especially considering I need a new one because my ceiling decided to drop gallons of water on my bed.”

“Gin-chan would know,” Dazai says, and you can’t help but notice how his gaze seems to track down a bit to your lips as you speak. You try not to smile a bit. You think you fail. You do shift a bit closer. Subtly. You think he notices if the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips says anything about it. His words hardly register until he says, “I have to leave in a bit for a meeting, she’ll come make sure you’re okay and see if you need anything.”

Irrationally, your heart drops with the illogical fear that maybe you’re reading into things because who is Gin-chan and why does she know what type of mattress Dazai has? Maybe it’s not irrational, because that’s odd, isn’t it? Who would know what type of mattress someone has besides like… a wife? But wouldn’t he have mentioned a wife or a girlfriend in the past few weeks? Of course, he would have… right? You didn’t notice a ring, but you don’t want to be obvious and look down to check now. There’s no way he’s the type to cheat anyway, so you assume you’re just missing something—unless they’re not on good terms with each other but haven’t divorced? But… Your thoughts begin to spiral, rapidly and terribly, because you are not a homewrecker, you swear, but you don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone more than Dazai Osamu.

Dazai’s smile sharpens a bit, dark eye flashing playfully, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He leans his head in a bit more, so close that you swear you can count every single individual eyelash, so close that your breath catches when the tip of his nose brushes yours. “Gin-chan is my secretary, I brought her off the streets when she was a child. She’s a sweet girl, I’m sure you’ll get along.”

Oh, you’re so cruel, Dazai Osamu.

You hate that you instantly feel relieved.

You hate even more that he definitely notices.

He leans in a bit closer, your breath hitches, but just when you swear his lips are about to brush yours for the first time, he pulls back to sit up straight again. His cheeks are dusted red, welcome evidence that you’re not the only one who was flustered by his proximity.

You clear your throat in a desperate attempt to regain some sense of control over yourself and then try to change the subject. “What type of meeting do you have?” you ask curiously, and then immediately amend the question, realizing this is your chance to question him about his job again, “What do you even do?”

Dazai hesitates, just like he did the last time you asked this question. You think he might try to avoid the question again but instead he says, “I took over my… father’s company a few years ago. I’ve been running it since.”

Your eyebrows shoot up a bit, impressed, although you notice how he seems a bit bitter at the mention of his father. “Really?” you ask, surprised. He can’t be much older than you. What was he eighteen, nineteen when he took over? “What type of company?”

“It’s a… sort of conglomerate. We have stakes in a bunch of different industries,” he tells you, dark hair falling in his eyes as he rests his head back against the couch. His eyes don’t leave you once, almost as if he’s drinking in the sight of you, you can’t control the way your heart races beneath his gaze. He reaches out, fingers brushing your skin in a way that makes goosebumps rise, and you can hardly breathe as he fixes the strap of your camisole, you hadn’t even realized it had slipped off your shoulder.

His fingers linger for a moment before he drops his hand back to his lap; you long for his touch again instantly.

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you say quietly, and suddenly Dazai looks a lot older and much more tired, gaze flickering down to his lap.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

You’re not sure what to say for a moment, so instead, you decide to reach out and grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and squeezing gently. He doesn’t hold your hand back at first, staring at where your hands are connected with a conflicted, unreadable expression, but you don’t let it bother you, holding his hand just a bit tighter before saying: “Well, I’m sure you’re doing a good job.”

He lets out a puff of air, sighing, and then finally, his fingers tighten around yours.

A bit too tight, but you don’t mind.

He doesn’t look like he believes you, and you think that’s a bit sad but you’re not sure what else to say, or even if there’s anything else to say. Dazai’s gaze flickers back up to meet yours and you think that you might not be breathing again. You’re hyper aware of his touch, the way his fingers curl around yours, thumb absently rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand. He’s close—you hadn’t realized just how close the two of you had gotten as you spoke. You’re leaning forward and he’s leaning in, both of your heads resting against the back of the couch.

You could kiss him, the thought rings through your head again. Your throat feels tight, the silence between you is comfortable but tense, as if he can sense the thoughts ricocheting through your head and is battling with his own. He shifts forward a bit more, gaze dropping down to your lips, and you brace yourself, tilting your face up a bit and then-

“Sir?”

You draw back right away, embarrassed, eyes cutting across the room where a girl with long dark hair stands, cheeks flushed and gray eyes averted up to the ceiling. She’s young, no older than seventeen or eighteen, and dressed in a sleek black suit. Is this Gin?

“Gin-chan.” Dazai confirms your suspicions as he greets the girl easily. “Is something the matter?”

“Chuuya-san is in your office,” Gin says, careful to keep her voice formal despite the way her face is on fire. “The executives have been waiting in the conference room on the thirty-eighth floor for twenty minutes. He says if you don’t come out, he’ll come in here and drag you out.”

Dazai sighs dramatically, eyes sliding shut. “Chuuya always has the worst timing,” he complains, rising to his feet. “Gin-chan, tend to my lovely guest while I’m gone, would you?”

Gin finally turns her gaze on Dazai, a bit surprised. “You don’t want me coming with you, sir?”

Dazai waves her off. “I’m giving you a more important job. I’ll make the slug take meeting notes. He’ll love that,” he says with an easy smile before looking down at you. “I’ll be back later tonight… wait for me?”

You stare up at him, breathless. You have to force yourself to nod. “Yeah,” you finally agree, voice wavering. “I’ll wait for you.”

The smile he gives you is brilliant, eye shining in a way that puts the night sky to shame.

You think you could stare at it forever.

His fingers burn.

Dazai can hardly pay attention to the meeting taking place around him as he stares down at his hand, the ghost of your touch still warming his skin. He feels giddy, his chest light and heart erratic in his chest. You’re upstairs. You’re in his room. You were in his bed this morning. You told him good morning. You came out and joined him on the couch while you were still in your night clothes. You almost kissed him. You almost kissed him. He almost kissed you. He would have, had Gin not showed up.

God, it was like something out of one of his dreams, one of the vague memories that haunt him when he’s at his lowest. When he’d wake up with wet cheeks and a tight chest, throat thick with aching desire and longing for a life that he never thought he’d have.

But he has it.

He has it.

He has you.

“Where is Gin-chan?” Kouyou’s voice tears Dazai from his thoughts. Dazai turns his gaze onto the woman, careful to keep his expression void of any of the emotions coursing through his body. “She is supposed to be attached at your hip, no?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side. “Gin-chan is busy with more important matters,” Dazai says dismissively.

Kouyou lets out a noise caught between a puff of amusement and shock, covering the lower half of her face with her fan as she watches Dazai with calculating eyes. Dazai wonders if she knows that you’re here, if Chuuya had mentioned anything to her already and this is just a test to see his reaction to her prodding.

“More important matters than the first meeting with all five of your executives in the same place in two years?” Kouyou presses, fanning her fan lightly as she tilts her head to the side.

“Yes,” is all Dazai says in response, not leaving any more room for conversation on the topic. He sees Chuuya roll his eyes from the corner of his vision, knowing just what Gin is up to.

“What is this meeting about anyway?” Ace suddenly speaks up, looking irate from where he’s sitting at the round table, leg folded over his knee as he looks around the room disdainfully. “This is disturbing my casinos, I had integral meetings with shareholders this morning that I had to reschedule.”

“If your casinos are so easily disrupted, perhaps they’re not quite as valuable as you keep making them out to be.” Piano Man gives Ace a demure smile as he speaks, veiling the venom dripping from his words—the most recently promoted of the five executives has no mercy when it comes to taking digs at the self proclaimed Jewel King.

Ace’s head snaps in Piano Man’s direction, lips turning down and eyes icy. Dazai wonders curiously if the man would snap something back with Chuuya sitting right next to him—that would be the end of that, Chuuya has always been viciously protective over his Flags. Dazai never liked Ace, knowing that the man is loyal only to himself, but he’s brought in masses of money and information to the Port Mafia. He considers whether or not he should step in, but decides to just watch idly, unsure of if he’s entertained or bored, folding his hands on the table and letting his head fall to the side lazily.

He wants to go back upstairs. Back to you. He’s tired of this already, every day it’s been something new the past few weeks—issues with the military police, issues with low ring organizations that seem to think they can play with the big leagues, issues internally. He wonders what you and Gin might be talking about, and then bitterly, he thinks it should be him sitting up there talking to you.

“This is about the Russians?” Verlaine drawls, looking severely unimpressed with the tension at the round table as he looks between Kouyou, Chuuya and Dazai. “I’ve heard from some of my birds that Nabakov’s men were spotted in the Sakae and Kanagawa wards. Interesting, no?”

Sakae and Kanagawa?

Dazai suddenly is a lot more attentive to the conversation at hand, if only because your apartment is around those wards. He was already reluctant thinking of letting you go back there, knowing that it’s not the best area in the city, but now? The thought makes his stomach churn, blunt nails digging into the wood of the round tables.

It’s not an option.

It’s not.

Kouyou raises a parchment between two fingers to show off to the rest of the executives before passing it over to Dazai, who stares at it distastefully for a moment before plucking it from her hand. He scans the words rapidly, lips twisting down into a deep frown the more he reads.

“What is it?” Chuuya asks impatiently, fingers thrumming on the table as Dazai reads.

“A missive from the Pale Flame,” Kouyou tells him, voice smooth and curious, eyes not leaving Dazai once as she waits for his reaction to it. “Nabokov wishes to personally apologize for not coming to the meeting himself two months ago. He claims that he’s coming to Tokyo to handle an issue regarding one of his major narcotics suppliers in three weeks and wants to host us under the guise of a business event to make amends and prove his dedication to our continuing alliance.”

The war in the mainland is over, the realization hits him hard, like he’s been doused in freezing water and struck with a train all at once. His vision begins to tunnel, just a bit, but enough for him to know he has to pull himself back together before it gets worse, but it’s hard because the implications of that-

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “Since when does Nabokov care for apologies and amends? The man’s pride goes beyond the heights of the moon.”

“War must be going that badly,” Ace scoffs, amused. “I suppose we chose right in declining their pleas for support.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Piano Man says flippantly, side-eyeing Ace blatantly.

Ace’s expression twists, but as soon as it does, it smooths out again, and a slow smirk is curling at the edges of his lips. He parts his lips to dole out a side comment and Dazai chooses to tune out the petty arguments, focusing on his own dilemma.

It can’t be a coincidence. Right when he finally starts accepting you into his life, the three way war plaguing the Russian underworld comes to an end and the threat that Dostoevsky poses to you becomes all the more present. Fate, the word haunts him, curses him, he wants to spit in its face but every passing day reminds him that the gods must be laughing down at him.

Doubt begins to riddle his chest, festering and spreading—should he send you away? Pretend that the past few weeks never happened and send you off to one of your friend’s apartments? But what if someone already saw him with you? If the wrong person saw, and he sent you away, he’d be signing your death sentence himself.

“What do you think?” Kouyou addresses him, drawing Dazai from his spiraling thoughts.

“The war between Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and Nabokov ended,” Dazai says, staring down at the table as his mind races. “The missive is a declaration of war.”

“Why would Nabokov declare war on us?” Ace asks doubtfully, leaning back in his chair. “For not giving him support?”

“Nabokov is a puppet.” Dazai’s tongue slides against the back of his teeth, trying to piece together what the best course of action to take would be. He’d been sure that the territory wars in Russia would last at least another two to three months. He’s sure that Dostoevsky is behind the missive, he doubts that Tolstoy would make a move into Yokohama, he’d prefer to move west, but he needs confirmation. But if it is Dostoevsky… Why has this timeline sped up so much? Dostoevsky isn’t supposed to officially make a move in Yokohama until after the Guild. The thought is cold and unnerving, he doesn’t like it. He’s been basing all of his plans around his knowledge of the other universes, so why is everything changing suddenly? He turns his attention to Ace and Verlaine, “Find out if Tolstoy or Dostoevsky came out on top.”

He has his suspicions, but he needs it confirmed before he makes any more plans. He has to be careful now, excruciatingly so. He can’t risk anything now that you’re with him and the threat of Dostoevsky has become exceedingly more imminent. However cautious and meticulous he’s been the past seven years, he needs to up it tenfold. He needs Dostoevsky six feet under. He needs Christie six feet under.

And most importantly, he needs to keep you safe, locked in the ivory tower, ignorant to the looming threats until Dazai has properly handled them.

But to do that, he needs to convince you to stay.

How is he supposed to do that without setting off alarm bells?

“What of the business event that we’ve been invited to?” Piano Man asks, white hair falling into his face as he tilts his head to the side. “Do we attend or tell him to shove it?”

“How eloquent,” Ace digs, but goes silent when Dazai gives him a icy look, no longer in the mood for their petty back and forth.

“We attend,” Dazai answers, exhaling as he turns his attention to the side, looking out the bulletproof window giving a vast view of the city’s busiest ports. “If it’s under the guise of a business event, there will be plenty of legitimate corporations there to use as shields should things go wrong, but the Russians aren’t stupid enough for that regardless. They won’t spill blood on foreign land in view of people who live in the light, it’s the fastest way for them to get the Special Division or the Hunting Dogs sicced on them. This will be the easiest way to gather information… and to try to take out the mastermind.”

Chuuya does not look happy with Dazai’s declaration, likely already tallying all of the things that could go wrong. It’ll be the easiest way to get to Dostoevsky, yes, but it’ll also be the easiest way for them to get to Dazai. Dazai is not stupid and he knows he has to be especially vigilant now, but no progress will be made unless some gambles are made—Fyodor Dostoevsky is slimy and slippery in every universe, for Dazai to get his hands on the man, he’s going to have to take a few risks. Dazai just has to ensure said risks are minimal, because every risk he takes is a risk to you too.

God, he feels sick, his head hurts so badly that he thinks he might die. If he was any other version of himself, he could drag himself to you and bury himself in your arms, a surefire way of making the pain disappear. But he’s not any other version of himself—he’s him, and he’s so bitter, because even when he has you, he doesn’t really have you, not in the way that he wants.

“Meeting dismissed,” Dazai says coldly, hardly sparing his executives another look. He’s ready to go back upstairs and be with you, even if he’s not ready to put that mask back on yet, terrified of scaring you away. “Get me the information I asked for.”

There’s a few spattered agreements and farewells. Verlaine, Ace and Piano Man all file out of the conference room. Kouyou and Chuuya stay behind. Dazai’s eyes slide shut, waiting for whatever the two have to say.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chuuya finally says, voice gruff and Dazai doesn’t have to look at him to know that his fingers are probably digging into his palms in frustration. “Things are about to get bad. Don’t let some girl distract you from what’s important.”

Dazai looks up at Chuuya now, slowly, gaze glacial. If Chuuya were anyone else, he would’ve backed down or apologized, but Chuuya is Chuuya, so he only raises his chin, jaw tightening when he realizes that he pissed off Dazai with that comment.

You are what’s important, is what Dazai wants to say in your defense. He’s done all of this for you—you and Odasaku, but he bites the words back, resorting instead to turning his gaze to Kouyou, dismissing Chuuya without a word. Chuuya scoffs loudly and then he spins on his heel with a swish of his coat and storms out of the meeting room.

Dazai tilts his head to the side, daring Kouyou to mention it. The woman only raises her eyebrows, a knowing expression painted on her face, as always.

“One of my girls got their hands on a Russian suspected of being a member of the House of the Dead,” Kouyou says, fanning her face gently. “We’ve been unsuccessful so far in getting him to reveal any information. It could be useful in figuring out whether Tolstoy or Dostoevsky came out on top.”

Dazai exhales, because of course he can’t go right back to you, when has life ever been so easy for him? He pushes himself to his feet, body on automatic as he makes his way out of the meeting room and toward the elevator.

It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll be back to you soon.

He just has to make this fast, and Dazai is never as efficient as he is when he has you as motivation.

Dazai is careful to make sure that no blood stains his face or hands as he leans back against the wall of the elevator. Getting the information out of the rat hadn’t taken too long once he got there, but the following conversation with Kouyou took an eternity. He watches the floors tick upward from the twenty-second floor all the way up to the forty-sixth, back to his penthouse where you’re hopefully still waiting. An irrational fear claws at his chest, that you slipped away and left the building, descending back down into the city that’s quickly threatening to become an imminent warzone. He knows it’s illogical, Gin would have told him if you left so you must still be up there, but a part of him can’t bring himself to believe it.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Your face blends with another version of yourself as he lets his eyes slide shut. The image of his apartment shifting into an unfamiliar hotel room. The atmosphere is much more somber in the hotel room, Dazai feels anxiety swelling in his throat and hope bubbling in his chest no matter how hard he tries to push it away as those very same words ring through his head. In a desperate attempt to sideline the emotions he can’t seem to control, he leans in to press his lips against yours. His own breath catches as the memory floods through him—he can feel the pads of his fingers burning as he pushes you back against the bed, his heart racing as his body hovers above yours, his mind foggy and dizzy as he kisses you so deeply that he think he might die from lack of air to his lungs. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his body slides on top of yours, hips slotting between your thighs and then-

Ding.

His eyes snap back open as he’s forced back to reality, the sharp trill of the elevator drawing him from the maze of the pages just as the doors slide open. He’s hardly able to settle down, sweaty palms wiping at his black jacket and tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth as he steps out of the elevator and into his penthouse, praying he doesn’t look half as frazzled as he feels.

It’s so bright, he thinks to himself, unused to having so much sunlight in his penthouse, usually keeping the windows blacked out just as he does in his office, but he figured you’d find that a bit odd so he made sure to fix it before you woke up in the morning. His gaze drags across the room, and he hates that his pulse spikes when he doesn’t immediately spot you, but it’s only a momentary spike when he realizes that you’re laying on the couch with Gin, some unfamiliar show playing in the background as you waves your arms around, talking rapidly.

He doesn’t move for a moment, standing there, admiring you—the way your skin glows beneath the sun, the way you smile widely, eyes glittering as you speak. You’re so animated. So alive. Dazai just can’t get used to it. He wonders if this is what his life would be like every day, if you stayed around. Waking up to you in the morning, relaxing with you under the early sun before he goes off to deal with his work, coming home to you waiting for him on the couch. Realistically, he knows it’s not that simple—you have your own goals and dreams and Dazai swore that in this life, he’d make sure you’d achieve them, so you can’t just sit around his penthouse all day until he comes back… but maybe it’s a practical enough to hope for the next few weeks until Dostoevsky is handled.

But first, he has to make sure you stay here and not try to go off with one of your friends, which will be a trial in itself. He’s not sure how to go about it yet, so he just needs to have faith that it’s not something you bring up right away.

Gin catches sight of him first, rising to her feet instantly, hands locked behind her back. “Sir,” she greets, nodding her head down a bit in respect.

You perk up at her words, leaning up to finally catch sight of him, peeking your head over the back of the couch and then raising your hand to wave at him. “Welcome back,” you say with a grin. “How was the meeting?”

Gin bids you a quiet goodbye before making her way out of Dazai’s place back into the office, leaving Dazai alone with you.

“Agonizing,” he answers truthfully, voice a low drawl as the corner of his lips instinctively curls up at the sight of you. He doesn’t come any closer, leaning back against the wall as you prop yourself up on the back of the sofa to look at him, resting your cheek on your folded arms.

A smile spreads across your face at his words, amused, and he wonders distantly if you would be even half as amused if you knew what the meeting was about or what he had to do afterward. The thought nearly makes his own smile falter, throat spasming. No matter how easily you might’ve accepted him and his past in the other universes, he knows that it won’t be the same in this one because it’s not his past. Not for the first time, he’s viciously jealous of all of his other selves—not only because of their relationship with you, but because they hadn’t needed to go to the depths of hell that he has had to in the name of keeping you and Odasaku safe.

It’s so hard. Lonely. The other Dazais always liked to insist that they were alone but they weren’t—not really. They always had so many people surrounding them even if they refused to accept it, meanwhile he-

He has nothing. Even now when you’re here, he knows that he’ll never be able to have you as intimately as the other Dazais did. He’ll never be able to open up to you like they did, rely on you like they did. He can’t because of the risk it would bring to the fragile stability of this world. He can’t because if you knew the truth, it would drive you away.

He’s so tired.

He’s not sure what you must see on his face, but your expression falls a bit as you look at him. You push yourself to your feet and he can’t help but notice that you’d changed out of your pajamas into a pair of leggings and a burgundy sweater. He also notices, a bit more dreadfully, that the duffle you’d brought last night is sitting outside his bedroom door, packed.

“I messaged one of my friends,” you say, voice a bit awkward, a jolt of panic shoots through him, realizing that you are bringing this up right away and he hasn’t had time to figure out how to go about convincing you to stay. “She said I could stay with her until my apartment is fixed, so I won’t be bothering you much longer. Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Dazai hardly refrains from sighing and letting his eyes slide shut in frustration.

He really can’t get a break.

“I…” he trails off, unsure of what to say. He could tell you that it’s not a bother, but he doubts you would believe that, and how is he supposed to insist without coming across as shady? He has to try though. “It’s not a bother. You can stay here as long as you want.”

It won’t be enough, and he knows it from the way you immediately shake your head, sitting back on your heels to look at him head on. “I appreciate it, but I don’t want to intrude.”

His mind races as he tries to figure out what to say but it’s hard to think with dark talons pulling at his brain, images of you flashing before his eyes—limp in his arms as he tries to shake you awake (futile, your skin was already cold when he got back from work), unmoving on the floor of your apartment as he stands at the door (he’d only stepped outside for a moment), the fear in your eyes as you topple back over the side of the roof (he can’t get to you in time. he never can.)

“It’s no intrusion… Truthfully, it gets a bit lonely here on my own,” Dazai finally admits, his voice sounds faraway to his own ears as he struggles to ground himself from the foreign memories, he hopes it doesn’t come across that way to you. He can see your face shift a bit at his words, brows furrowing and lips turning downward—not pity, thankfully because he hates pity, but more so understanding. Hooked, he realizes and then deals what will hopefully be the final blow: “I really wouldn’t mind the company.”

Your lips part to say something but no words leave them. You stare at him for a moment, looking between your duffle and your phone and then back to him. He waits, breathless, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you say no, if you insist on leaving. He can’t let you leave, not until the threats have been dealt with, he refuses to sign your execution warrant—he can live with you hating him, even if the thought makes him sick, he can’t live in a world without you.

Finally, you give him a smile.

“I mean, it would definitely be easier getting my work done here than in her cramped apartment, it’s hardly big enough for her and her boyfriend, much less me on top of that,” you say with a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “If you’re sure…”

Dazai has to physically restrain himself from letting out a sigh of relief.

“I’m sure,” he murmurs.

You light up and then look back at the television. “Well, I found a few movies I want to watch, if you’re up for it?” you ask with a hesitant smile.

Dazai gives you a soft, matching smile. “I’d love to.”

Oh, god, how did you end up like this?

You can hardly breathe properly, legs tossed over Dazai’s lap, head resting on his shoulder, his arm curled around you. The movie is still playing in the background but you’re hardly following the plot anymore, too focused on the feeling of Dazai’s thumb rubbing idle circles over your hip. You don’t even know if he’s aware he’s doing it, but it has your entire attention—your heart is racing, you’re sure he must be able to feel it, he’s just being courteous in not mentioning it, and your body feels hot. Every now and then, his thumb dips a bit lower and you swear he must know what he’s doing but he’s barely sparing you a glance, engrossed with the movie playing on the disgustingly large television mounted on his wall.

The movie that you had been excited to watch but now can’t even recall what the plot is.

And it’s so odd. You don’t like cuddling. Or, you thought you didn’t like cuddling. Whenever your past partners tried to cuddle up next to you to watch a movie, or at night before bed, you’d grimace and try to subtly shift away, but now? You’re leaning into him, you find comfort in the arm draped around you and the fingers drawing absent patterns on your hip, you find warmth in the way your body is tucked against his.

It’s absurd, you think, why is he so different from everyone else?

Your friends think you’re crazy. When you texted one of them to ask for a place to stay until your apartment is fixed, and then abruptly said nevermind because Dazai offered to let you stay at his, you were hit with five calls in a row and a spam of texts ranging from: “wym ur staying with that random guy you met at a bar two months ago???” to “girl ur crazy, this is stranger danger 101. you were literally just complaining about how you know NOTHING about this man. i am NOT coming to ur funeral.”

The last one is a lie, Kei would come to your funeral and she’d cry like a baby while stuttering through the eulogy, but it’s no issue because there won’t be a funeral. Regardless, you still shut your phone off because the vibrations were getting irritating, but now, you kind of wished you still had your phone to peek at because you can’t focus on the movie and you need something to distract you from Dazai’s touch otherwise you’re bound to make a complete fool out of yourself.

You spare a look up at him—just a quick glimpse, but it proves to be a fatal mistake.

He’s already looking at you.

There’s a fond expression on his face, a warm look in his eye. When he realizes you’ve caught him, his lips tilt upward and he says, “You haven’t been watching the movie.”

A soft accusation. Teasing. It leaves you a bit flustered. You want to look away but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Guilty,” you manage to get out, giving him a sheepish smile.

“I thought you wanted to watch it.” His voice is so soft and light that it makes goosebumps rise to your skin. He keeps his tone low so as to not disturb the atmosphere between the two of you, and it only serves to further the yearning you feel for him, eyes darting down to his lips as he speaks. His gaze sharpens a bit, pupil dilating when he notices where your eyes had tracked down to. Your mouth dries.

“I did,” you whisper, leaving the implication in the air that something far more interesting has caught your attention, breath catching as your eyes lift back to his, wishing that you could know what he’s thinking. You can see his mind racing, as if he’s fighting with himself about something and then-

And then he kisses you.

He leans in just enough to brush his lips against yours, brief and hesitant, as if he’s just testing the waters. And it’s electrifying, you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything quite like it. Every other kiss you’ve had pales in comparison to the faintest brush of his lips to yours. His eye searches your face as soon as he pulls back, as if to make sure you’re okay with this; you can see the hint of something edging on desperation as his gaze flits back and forth between your eyes. He wants to know you’re okay with this, needs to know.

You don’t waste a second as you lean forward, hand coming up to cup the side of his neck as you press your lips against his. You don’t have the same hesitancy that he does, heart thudding in your chest as your fingers intertwine with the curls at the nape of his neck, your body flush to his. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—it feels familiar somehow, almost comforting. You can feel the rough material of his bandages brushing your cheek but you only press closer. He tastes like fine whiskey and faintly of iron, a strange combination but you can’t get enough of it.

He’s still hesitant, you can feel it in the slow way he kisses you. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap, as if he’s itching to reach out and touch you but doesn’t know if he should. Your hand slides up from his neck to the back of his head to pull him impossibly closer, tongue darting out to drag against his bottom lip, and that seems to be all of the push he needs.

His hand comes to rest on your waist, fingers biting a bit too deeply into your skin but you don’t mind. One swift motion and he’s laying you back against the cushions, body sliding on top of yours, his other hand shifting upward, large palm cupping your cheeks as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, you let out a soft, pleased sigh into his mouth when you feel his tongue tracing your inner lip.

You think you could kiss him forever, you realize, heat pooling in your stomach and a fluttery feeling spreading through your chest. The hand on your waist slides down a bit to your thigh and your breath hitches when he parts them just enough for him to slot his hips between them, and god, you want him.

You think your heart might fly out of your chest, and you don’t know why you’re so nervous. You have casual sex all the time to relieve stress but nothing about this feels casual, it feels so intimate; you let out a shaky breath as Dazai’s lips drag from yours to kiss the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the spot behind your ear that always makes you shudder (god, how does he know your body so well already? it’s unfair, you might die), tongue tracing the underside of your jaw lightly, he kisses down your neck, teeth ghosting your pulse point and one of your legs instinctively hooks around his waist, dragging his body closer until you can feel him pressed up against you and-

A screech comes from the television.

You jolt, he jolts, both of you startled, having forgotten that the movie was even playing in the background, too lost in the feeling of one another. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to reorient yourself, leg slipping from his waist to rest back down on the couch.

The moment is ruined, naturally, all too hyper aware of the scene playing in the background and embarrassed by how quickly that had escalated. Dazai’s cheeks are dusted red as he shifts off of you back into a sitting position, and his lips are wet and swollen, and so very tempting.

You want to kiss him again, so you do.

You sit up and cup his cheek to tilt his face in your direction, pressing your lips to his in a short and sweet kiss. You smile against his lips before pulling back and tucking yourself back into his side, gaze focusing back on the movie.

He lets out a puff of air that sounds distinctly close to a laugh before he wraps his arm back around you, warm and comforting, casual, as if it’s something he’s done a thousand times before, and you think Kei can suck it, because you’re starting to think that the ‘random stranger at the bar’ might become the best decision of your life.

A few days later, you’re stretching on a yoga mat looking out down upon the vast city below, Akutagawa Gin is sat pretty on a barstool next to where you’re stretching, one leg crossed over her knee, rapidly tapping at her phone as she finishes up some emails for Dazai, who’s god knows where dealing with whatever business Dazai Osamu deals with.

“It’s a bit weird that they’re taking so long to fix my apartment, isn’t it?” you ask absently, grimacing as you shift into a pose that pulls at all of the wrong muscles. “Usually it doesn’t take more than a day or two.”

You still don’t really know what Dazai’s company is, you were only able to find vague scraps online about the Mori Corporation: a massive, affluent conglomerate that formed seven years ago. Apparently, it has a hand in just about every industry from technology to shipping, so you suppose it makes sense that Dazai is hardly ever around, but you’re finding yourself increasingly bored. There’s only so much time you can spend in the same apartment, no matter how big or fancy it may be. The days have been incredibly repetitive with Dazai leaving for his work meetings, you relaxing and getting some of your work done, talking to Gin, and then Dazai coming back late at night.

“You’re probably not the only apartment that had a leak,” Gin says, astute as always. “Your landlord might just be getting to the others first, and if they’re half as bad as yours was, it’ll probably take a bit.”

You scowl. “It would be just like him to leave me for last,” you say, half to yourself as you sit back on your heels, looking over at Gin. “I swear this man has had something out for me since I moved in. Did I tell you about the time he took three weeks to get back to me about a work order I put in for my sink? Three weeks. I had to wash all of my dishes at my neighbor’s place. How embarrassing is that?”

Gin looks amused, gray eyes lifting from her phone to look down at you from where she’s sitting. “Multiple times, in fact.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you again,” you say matter-of-factly before launching into a tirade that you can recite word for word in your sleep from how often you’ve vented about it to people over the past two years. In your defense, it was absolutely ridiculous, it never should’ve taken that long, but you digress.

You like Gin, you decide as she listens intently to the same rant she’s heard at least three times over the past week, nodding along and adding supportive commentary when necessary. Well, you decided you liked her the first time you met her, but you’re just reaffirming it now. For as formal and professional she is, she always gets a certain gleam in her eye when she talks to you, and you can actually see her for the eighteen year old she is, rather than just as the secretary of the boss of one of the biggest corporations in Japan.

You think she likes you too, you muse as you finish off your rant and go back to laying like a starfish on the yoga mat, not in the mood to do any more stretching. She always lights up a bit whenever Dazai tells her to spend the day with you instead of following him around. You’re not sure why he does it, you figure he’s probably making things harder on himself by not having her around, but you’re not going to complain because you think you’d go crazy with no one to talk to.

But even if she does like you, she’s still not very forward with information about Dazai and the Mori Corporation. She tends to change the topic whenever you bring it up, or sometimes she just gives you that look, the one that tells you that she isn’t going to say anything about it. You think it’s a bit weird that they’re so secretive about it, but you suppose she just doesn’t want to speak on behalf of Dazai when you ask about him, and the whole secrecy about the business probably has to do with trade secrets or something

Although you don’t really think you’re asking questions that could even scarcely tap into trade secrets, but you think that maybe they’re just paranoid. Probably for good reason if the business is half as influential and lucrative as the few things you’ve found online claim it is, but still, knowing that doesn’t make you any less curious.

“Hey, Gin-chan.” You decide to get an early start on today’s attempt to whittle information out of the girl. When she looks at you questioningly, you turn your head to the side to look at her. “Is Dazai okay?”

Gin looks a bit startled by your question, but you only wait for an answer. You think he must be having trouble with something regarding his business because every day he comes back to his place later and more stressed, you can see it in his face when he walks in, the dullness in his eye and the way he can hardly cover it up before you catch sight of him. You don’t know why he’s so intent on hiding the exhaustion from you but you wish he wouldn’t.

“Why do you ask?” Gin questions carefully, as if she doesn’t know how to answer the question which pretty much confirms that something is wrong.

“I figure he must be having trouble with something in his company,” you say absently, watching Gin blink in surprise, another confirmation that you might be onto something. “He comes back to the penthouse later every day, and more tired. And even when he’s here, he spends most of the time on his phone unless he turns it off. You’ve been on your phone more often the past two days too, so I figure it’s connected.”

Gin hesitates and then she says, “We are… having difficulty with a rival company,” she finally says, and you sit up to look up at her again, leaning back on your hands. “They are trying to push us out of some key industries in Tokyo and Yokohama. Their… CEO is hosting an event in two weeks that we’re supposed to be attending, along with many of our subsidiaries. We’ve been trying to prepare for it while dealing with some other internal issues. He’s probably just… drained.”

This time, you hesitate, a lump forming in your throat as her words register because how fucked up is it that he’s so drained from work and then has to come back to his penthouse and entertain you? Guilt swells in your chest, you don’t even know where he’s been sleeping because he’s been so dead set on you taking the bed that he won’t even hear your arguments on it.

“Should I… go stay with my friend then?” you ask hesitantly, and when Gin gives you a half-alarmed, half-concerned look, you elaborate: “I just… feel bad, I guess. That he’s dealing with so much work and can’t even have a space to decompress when he finishes because I’m here.”

Gin says your name with so much humor that you’re almost insulted, but there’s a glitter in her eyes as she looks at you, so any complaint you have promptly dies. “Being with you is decompressing to him,” she says quietly, and though warmth spreads through you at the words, you’re still doubtful.

“I don’t know,” you say, unconvinced. “I see the way he tries to hide how exhausted he is whenever he sees me. He shouldn’t have to put in so much effort to mask himself in his home just because I’m here.”

Gin doesn’t respond for a moment, gaze flickering down to the floor, but when she speaks, her voice is soft.

“He’s always so lonely,” she says, more to herself than anything else, but then she raises her eyes to meet yours, “no matter how many people are around him, he’s always so cut off from everyone, refusing to let anyone get close… except when he’s with you. In all of the years that I’ve known him, I’ve only ever seen him happy when he’s with you.”

You stare at Gin, lips parted to respond but no words leave them.

Instead, Gin continues, “He… had to step up at a very young age. He was sixteen when he found me in Suribachi and even back then he was just so… empty. I’ve never seen him actually acting his age except when he’s with you, or talking about you. So-”

Gin is interrupted abruptly by her phone ringing. She looks down and gives you an apologetic look before answering the call and wandering off to the other room, leaving you to your thoughts. Your throat still feels swollen, but with a far more pleasant emotion now. A small smile tugs at the edges of your lips, hand pressed to your chest as if you can physically slow the erratic pace of your heart. Your face feels warm and a giggle slips from your lips as you flop back down to the yoga mat, staring up at the ceiling.

Or, well, it’s not entirely pleasant. A heavier feeling settles on your chest as Gin’s words about what Dazai used to be like—still is like, whenever you’re not around—process through your head. It’s not like you didn’t have any sort of inkling about it, you’ve known that there’s more than meets the eye about Dazai Osamu since the first night you met him, and the past week you’ve spent with him only has made you more sure of it. His mind drifts off so often, eyes faraway and expression so vacant that sometimes it takes a few tries for you to get him to come back to you.

You don’t mind, but it does make you sad to know that he’s been like this for as long as Gin has known him, and since the only time she’s ever seen him even partially happy is when he’s with you, you can’t help but wonder how many years he spent depressed and isolated. And you’re realizing, a bit scared, that you’re starting to care for Dazai a lot because the first thought that crosses your mind is that you wish you’d met him sooner so he didn’t have to spend all of this time alone.

You sit up straight, alarmed by your own thoughts, because yes, you’re enamored by Dazai and you have been since you met him almost two months ago, but you didn’t think you were falling for him yet—not like that at least. It’s absurd, you still hardly know much about his personal life. You don’t know about his family besides for the fact he took over his father’s company, you don’t know anything about said company besides the scraps you found online but… but you remember the way he kisses you gently, and the way his expression always softens when his gaze falls on you, and the way whenever you speak, he’s always giving you his full attention no matter how inane the topic might be, willing to listen to you ramble on about all of the books you’ve read and gossip with you about your ex-coworkers and drama happening in your friend group and-

Oh.

Yeah. You might be falling for him.

Your hand rises to your lips, mind racing and spiraling all at the same time and you realize that you really, really need fresh air. Promptly, you remember that you’d meant to ask Gin to order some groceries because Dazai’s kitchen is about as bare as his bedroom, and you’ve been craving some specific snacks anyway; you also wanted to have her order some actual food so you can make something to try to make Dazai eat more because you’ve noticed he doesn’t eat all too much and you don’t think that’s very healthy considering how much stress he’s under. You’re not the best at cooking, but you can make do and just pray that he likes it.

A perfect excuse. You’ll run out and grab some groceries, maybe take a walk in the nearby park to clear your thoughts and come to terms with the realization you’d just come to, and then come back and do something nice for Dazai.

Decision made, you bound over to the door Gin disappeared into so you can let her know where you’re heading, but when you peek your head into Dazai’s office, you see Gin in deep conversation with someone over the phone, brows creased and frown on her lips as she stares down at some of the paperwork on Dazai’s desk. She looks distinctly frustrated and slightly distressed, so you decide not to bother her. Instead, you just close the door quietly and make your way over to the elevator, stepping inside when it finally reaches the top floor and pressing the button for the lobby.

You won’t be long anyway, you doubt she’ll even notice you’re gone.

The elevator dings as it reaches the first floor of the massive building and you adjust your purse over your shoulder as you step into the lobby—it’s massive and bustling with dozens of people. You haven’t been back down here since he brought you here a few days ago, and you’d been too exhausted to really be able to gather your bearings, plus it had been the middle of the night and not as many people had been around.

You’re hardly able to peek around for half a minute before someone runs into you.

You let out a quiet yelp, startled, blinking as your gaze focuses on the man who’d bumped into you. He’s a bit on the short side with fair skin and light freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, bi-colored eyes—one brown and the other blue—narrowed as he studies you. He’s pretty, you think. Not quite as pretty as Dazai, but definitely attractive. Or he would be, if he wasn’t staring at you with such an unpleasant expression.

You half-think he’s about to demand that you apologize even though he’s the one who bumped into you, and you think if he does, you’re going to have serious problems with him, but instead, a vague recognition flashes through his eyes as he finally speaks. Although, you can’t help but notice he still is looking at you with distinct displeasure even after recognizing you.

“You’re the girl that’s been living up with the boss,” the man says, his voice is cool and guarded and you feel a bit uncomfortable under his stare. You’ve always been particularly good at reading people, and you can tell at first glance that he does not want you here. “Where are you going?”

You don’t know why it’s any of his business, but you say: “Out. I’ve been cooped up for almost a week. Plus, I don’t know how Dazai feeds himself, he has literally no food in his place.”

“Does he know you’re going out?” he asks, eyes narrowing onto you as he tilts his head to the side.

You bristle, not liking his tone. “He’s not my keeper.”

“No, but he’s gone out of his way to give you a place to stay when he didn’t have to. The least you can do is let him know when you’re going in and out.” The man matches your sharp tone with his own and you wither a bit, because he’s right, even if he is being a bit of an ass about it.

“Gin-chan was busy,” you mutter. “I’ll text him.”

The man lets out a sigh of what can only be utter suffering, lifting his head to look up to the ceiling as if asking a higher deity ‘why me?’ You have no idea what’s going through his head, and you just want to slip out of the building and drink in some fresh air and sunlight, but the last thing you expect is for him to look back at you and ask:

“Want company?”

You blink, wondering if he’s fucking with you, but he only stares at you, expression flat as he waits for a response.

“I-” You’re about to say no, you aren’t particularly looking for company, but then you realize that this might be a chance to try to gather some more information about Dazai. You quickly amend to a: “Yeah, sure… What’s your name anyway?”

“Nakahara Chuuya,” he tells you, voice a bit brusque. “Just call me Chuuya.”

Dazai comes home to an empty penthouse.

For a moment, he doesn’t react. The unconscious smile that had begun to curve to his lips while taking the elevator back up to the top floor of the headquarters falls instantly as his dark gaze sweeps across the room that you’re usually lounging in with Gin only to find it eerily silent, void of the laughter he’d become desperately used to the past few days.

He doesn’t let the panic hit right away, not even bothering to slide his coat off before making his way over to his bedroom, wondering if you’d decided to take a nap. He very much does feel a distinct spike in his heart rate when you’re not in there either. He stands there for a moment—Gin is still up here, she would have called down if she had to leave, so where are you?

Where are you?

Dazai suddenly feels sick to his stomach, a bit dizzy on his feet.

Did you leave?

Why did you leave?

Did you go into his office? Find something implicating his position in the Port Mafia?

Or did you just get sick of staying in the same place so many days in the row? Why wouldn’t you tell him if that were the case?

Maybe you were just sick of him.

His vision spins a bit, he presses his hand against the frame of his bedroom door to steady himself. Stop it, he tells himself, inhaling deeply once to try to get his head back on straight. But he can’t, he can feel numbness spreading through his chest viciously at the thought of you leaving. The void returns with a vengeance, consuming him entirely, and it’s only the thought of the chance of you being in danger out there alone that pushes him forward. He needs Gin to tell him what the fuck is going on.

What does he do if you left on your own voilition?

Dazai’s head is not sitting on his shoulders properly. It can’t be. Everything looks wrong, everything feels wrong. His hand drops down to his side, resorting back to the technique he had to use before he met you—he steadily taps your name against his thigh as he forces himself to walk across the room to his office, to where Gin must be, to get some answers. But even your name isn’t enough to keep him grounded.

He’s holding you in his arms. You’re so cold. There’s blood everywhere. They’re telling him to let you go. He can’t. He never can.

He’s reaching out to you, desperately trying to grab your hand before you topple over the side of the roof. He never makes it.

He has to make a choice. A life for a life. He always chooses to save you. It doesn’t matter—they always kill you anyway.

Nausea builds in his throat, he forces it back down, and when he opens the door to his office it’s a bit too aggressive. Gin’s head snaps up from where she was working at Dazai’s desk, flipping through papers with creased brows as she tries to put together the list of suspects. She stands up instantly at the sight of him, lips parting to greet him. He doesn’t let her.

“Where is she?”

The words come out cold and cutting, a far cry from the awful emotions wreaking havoc on his chest and mind. To his absolute distress, Gin only looks confused at his words, lowering the phone and bidding goodbye to who he can only assume is Kouyou as she asks:

“... What do you mean?”

Fuck. Dazai takes a step back out of his office, back into the living room of his penthouse. His head feels all hazy, his vision starts spinning more. Fuck. You had to have left on your own. There’s no way anyone is getting all the way up to the top floor through all of the guards, and if they did, they wouldn’t leave Gin alive. Fuck.

Where did you go?

There’s blood. Too much blood. Or is it water? He’s dragging you out of the water. And then his fingers are meeting air, the tips of his fingers just barely scraping yours before you plummet down, down, down.

Why the fuck did no one say anything to him?

He can hear Gin talking, but her words go in one ear out the other. Dazai pulls out his phone, double, triple, quadruple checking to make sure he got no messages. None from you (his chest hurts). None from either of the Black Lizard captains. None from Atsushi. None from Kyouka. None from Chuuya. All people who should have feasibly noticed you leaving the headquarters.

Dazai has never done well with emotions, negative or positive, but he thinks fear is the worst of all and he’s been plagued with it since the moment he’s come in contact with the Book. Fear of the future, fear of making a mistake, fear of fate.

Fear is the mind-killer. The quote rings through his head over and over again, damning and true. It’s the one emotion that paralyzes him, puts him into a state that makes him incapable of making decisions. Fear of one thing turns into fear of another—it’s a ceaseless cycle, and a ruinous one. Fear of you leaving him turns into fear of you being vulnerable and then to fear of you being targeted and then to fear of you being dead, and already he can feel numbness spreading from his chest to his limbs. He thinks he feels Gin touch his arm but he can’t even turn his head to look.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do: he channels it into something else. He funnels the fear into something more familiar, something more welcome.

First, it turns into frustration—another emotion capable of incapacitation, but one that’s far more manageable. He jerks away from Gin, grip tightening on his phone as he paces back across the room. His thoughts begin to race, a red fog clouding his mind as he wonders why the fuck no one told him that you left, and if no one knows that you left, then Dazai is going to have to have serious fucking words with all of the security details posted throughout the building because that sort of laxness is not acceptable.

He doesn’t even know who he should message. Atsushi? The boy might close in on himself and shut down for failure and Dazai cannot afford to deal with that. Chuuya? Not an option, Chuuya would be the last person to go to about you seeing how often he actively expresses his distaste for your presence in the building, Dazai doesn’t want to give him more ammunition about you. Hirotsu? Might be the best option, the Black Lizards are quick and efficient, they’ll be able to track you down fast, but if he sends the Black Lizards he needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

What is he going to do?

God, he doesn’t know. The red starts to tint blue as a helpless feeling sweeps over him. He doesn’t know what to do. You left on your own, he doesn’t know why and he doesn’t know if you have any intentions on coming back. He doesn’t know what to do if you don’t plan on coming back. His whole reasoning behind the decision to indulge in you was centered on the fact that he could protect you in this lifetime, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep you in the ivory tower forever but he hoped he’d at least have a little longer to try to figure out a plan.

And the fact that you didn’t even tell him that you were leaving doesn’t bode well—again, the fleeting, anxiety-inducing thought of you stumbling upon something that you shouldn’t have crosses through his head but he pushes it away. Maybe you left because you were bored, because he wasn’t around and Gin was busy, he can try to fix that. He can fix that. Maybe he’ll even convince you to come back.

But if he can’t…

He has two options:

He can put protection details on you, it would be an extension of Port Mafia resources that will face a lot of push back from his executives considering they’re approaching a gang war with the now united forces of Dostoevsky, Nabokov and Tolstoy, but he doesn’t give a fuck about what his executives think, you and Odasaku are the only things that matter in this universe so he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe. But regardless of what his executives think, the main issue with this option is that your safety is not guaranteed. It’ll only take one slip up for your life to be forfeit and for everything that Dazai has built and sacrificed to be flushed down the drain.

That leaves option two. Forcing you to stay in the tower. Locking you up until he can ensure that there are no more threats to you (there may always be threats to you). You’d hate him, surely, and is he capable of living in a universe where you hate him? He has to be, if it means your safety. But that isn’t the life that he wants for you. He wants you to live, achieve all of the dreams you were never able to in all of the other universes, you can’t do that if you’re locked up.

Dazai feels sick. Regret starts to churn his stomach. He never should have approached you. He never should have indulged. He never should have convinced himself that he could keep you safe because he can’t. It’s fate. Fate. Fate.

The word twists the cloud fogging his vision, the ugly color that formed of the mixed blues and reds turns darker, until an inky black is creeping into his vision. Fate, he hates the word, he hates the inevitability, he hates himself for dancing right along with the strings that have been placed on him by the cruel gods above, even when he knew what would happen if he did. The weight of the gun hidden in his jacket starts to weigh all the more heavily, his fingers twitch toward it, desperate to feel the familiar weight of it in his hand. And then-

And then the elevator dings.

Dazai’s gaze cuts to the side, sharp and cold, and it’s only when the elevator doors slide open and your pretty laugh rings through the air that Dazai’s world is finally set straight again. The color returns, the numbness disappears, the void is pushed away for another day. His eyes land on you, and the bright smile painted on your lips as you bound back into his penthouse.

“You’re back early!” you say, delighted, and Dazai can only hope and pray that you can’t tell how badly he’s spiraled because you weren’t around. He thinks you can, of course you can, because your smile falters a bit but then it brightens again as you make your way over to him and-

Oh.

All of the tension in his body melts away as you make your way over to him with a skip in your step and lean up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Dazai lets out a breath, too sharp and too shaky for you to not notice with how close you are to his face, but he can hardly bring himself to care as he brings trembling hands to wrap around your waist. He basks in the feeling of your warmth and if any of the numbness had threatened to linger, it’s certainly gone now as he calms himself down by setting his heart in pace with yours as he feels it thump steadily against his chest.

“Where did you go?” His voice is hoarse, as much as he tries to make the question seem light.

“You have no food, Dazai,” you complain, and you don’t seem to care that he’s definitely hugging you for a bit too long, propping your chin on his chest to look up at him. “Plus, as fancy as your penthouse is, I can’t sit around in the same place for days. I wanted to go out on a walk. So I ran to the store to pick up some groceries. I thought I’d make it back before you, I wanted to try to make something for dinner. I saw a pasta recipe while I was scrolling through Instagram that I want to try out, although I should probably test it out on my own before feeding you any. It usually takes me a few tries to get a recipe down and the first few attempts are more akin to toxic waste than actual food…”

You ramble, probably because you can tell how out of it he is and it’s scary how easily you can see through him because he thinks it’s only a matter of time before you see through to what he really is. But for now, he lets his eyes slide shut as he loses himself in your voice, and he feels silly for thinking that you would leave without saying anything.

He knows you better than anyone else in the world. Anyone else in any world. Maybe even better than you yourself. He should have known better. You would never do that, no matter what you learn about him, no matter what he does. It’s not who you are—you’re always so stringent on communication, you can’t sleep until an argument is settled properly. It’s something he’s hated in other universes, because he’s flighty and can’t handle confrontation, but he thinks it’s something that he should rely on in this one, because he knows that no matter what you might learn, you’ll always sit down to give him the chance of a proper conversation rather than just ghosting him.

He spiraled for nothing.

He’s not drawn back to the present until he hears:

“... and Chuuya is so cool, by the way. Why didn’t you introduce me to him sooner? He has an ability, I’ve never met an ability user before. I made him carry all of the groceries, and he did it like it was nothing. Gravity manipulation? Did you know in undergrad, I wanted to major in physics—I tried to actually, but had to drop 101 because apparently my brain is not cut out for the sciences. Or mathematics. It was kind of embarrassing actually, who has to drop out of a 101 class?”

In your spiel, only one word—one name—matters. His eyes reopen, he makes sure to keep his body lax in your arms as you lean against him so you can’t feel his sudden shift in mood. His gaze is cold and cutting again, lifting from you to behind you, where he finally lays his eyes upon the person with you.

Chuuya stands there, dozens of grocery bags hanging off his arms, a faint red glow around each of them signaling that he’s using his ability. Dazai’s expression is lethal as he stares at his executive, but Chuuya’s lip only curls up in a half-snarl, as if daring Dazai to say anything, before he makes his way out of the elevator to bring the grocery bags into his kitchen.

And Dazai can’t say anything, not this time, because he’s already figured out what happened: you must have tried to leave on your own when Gin was busy because you were bored, and Chuuya ran into you and tagged along so you wouldn’t be defenseless should someone target you to get to him, in spite of how he feels about you and your presence in the building.

Dazai bites his tongue, for once, and instead focuses back down at you. His expression softens when he catches you looking up at him, curious, and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You should have texted me,” he murmurs. “I would’ve told you I had a quick day today, we could’ve gone together.”

Your expression twists a bit in irritation. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I did text you,” you say, indignant, and Dazai’s brows furrow and you immediately draw back to pull out your phone. He misses your warmth instantly, but forces away the longing. Your lips part a bit as you look down at the screen, a sheepish expression on your face as you say: “... I thought I texted you, evidently, it did not go through.”

Dazai lets out a puff of air, half-amusement, half-disbelief, because of course it was a matter of miscommunication, and he thinks again that he should have known better. Logically, what he assumed was so unlikely that it shouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but evidently, you turning him into an illogical and emotional fool is something universal across all of the different worlds.

But he still remembers the one fleeting thought he had earlier—that you were bored, and probably lonely sitting up here all day, especially when Gin is busy dealing with Port Mafia matters. This is bound to happen again, and next time, he might not be lucky enough to have someone catch you slipping out of the building.

So, he’ll have to do something about it himself, make sure you’re not bored enough to leave the building and unwittingly place yourself in danger, he decides, pleased.

“Would you…” Dazai hesitates as he looks down at you, uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head to the side curiously. “Would you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?”

A smile splits across your face.

“Is that even a question?”

Dazai’s woken up by someone shaking his shoulder.

Realistically, he knows that no enemy is able to make it to the top level of the Port Mafia’s most well-protected tower—it’s impenetrable, if the masses of armed guards on the lower floors aren’t enough to keep out intruders, then the Black Lizards on the middle floors would be more than enough, and if even they aren’t, Atsushi and Chuuya are stationed on the higher floors, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. Still, he’s startled, unsure of who would be in his office waking him up at this time and caught off guard because he hadn’t even meant to fall asleep, so instinctively, he’s reaching for the gun hidden at his side, eyes a bit wild as he jolts up, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Sorry.” He only settles down when he hears your voice coming from his side, apologetic and little over a whisper as to not alarm him anymore than he already is. Instantly, his fingers loosen around the grip of his gun, a lump in his throat when he realizes that he almost pulled a gun on you. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dazai shakes his head as soon as your words process, still trying to gather his bearings. He’s in his office, he must’ve fell asleep while looking over paperwork at his desk—plans for the upcoming event hosted by Nabokov, and a list of all of the possible informants that could be leaking information to Dostoevsky’s rats because one too many of the Port Mafia’s warehouse’s have been raided by the military police in the past few weeks for Dazai to be comfortable with, and he knows Dostoevsky is behind it because the man has been leaving little clues like it’s some sort of game to him. Dazai thinks that they should just kill all of the suspects and be done with it—if someone is even being suspected of having betrayed the Port Mafia, then they’re doing something severely wrong, but Kouyou advised him to go about this the right way.

Subtly, so as to not draw your attention, he shifts to cover the papers and then gives you his full attention, curious as to what you’re doing up so early because the sun hasn’t even risen yet. He’s been trying to make sure that he wakes up before you so that you don’t come looking for him in here, knowing where this is the most likely place where you’d stumble upon something that incriminates him as a mafioso rather than a businessman.

“You didn’t,” he lies through his teeth, voice a bit hoarse from sleep. “Is something wrong?”

You’re still dressed in your pajamas, but you have a fluffy rube wrapped around you and a soft smile on your face that makes Dazai’s chest swell. Your eyes are bright, gleaming with a type of excitement that has him tilting his head in curiosity, waiting to see what you have to say.

“Do you have access to the roof of the building?” you ask him, voice still hushed but tinged with more enthusiasm. When he nods, a smile splits across your face. “Can we go up there?”

Dazai doesn’t have the willpower to deny you anything, so there’s no hesitation as he says: “Of course.” But then as he rises to his feet, pulling on his long, black coat that he’d shrugged off at some point last night, he looks at you and asks, “Why?”

“I like watching sunrises,” you say, bounding over to the elevator and waiting for him to follow. He does, of course. He would follow you anywhere. Everywhere. He dreads the day you go somewhere he can’t follow. It’s inevitable—he doesn’t believe in the existence of heaven, but if there is one, you would go there, and he won’t. There’s too much blood on his hands, staining his skin no matter how much he scrubs it raw, and the blood that runs within him is black and corrupted, beyond any type of remedy. “I want to see one from the highest point in the city.”

Oh. Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat when he realizes what’s about to happen, pulling his access key from his pocket and swiping it against the pad to allow access to the roof. Some things differ across all of the universes: the way you meet him (although you’re always the one to find him), the way you die (he always finds you though), sometimes it takes a while for the two of you to progress past the friends stage, but it’s usually not too long.

Everything varies except for one thing: the sunrises. In every universe, you have an obsession with them: you like watching them, seeing as many new ones as you possibly can. You explained to him once that it was because it helps you move forward, gives you hope, a reason to wake up each morning. The infatuation with them began after your brother’s death in the other universes when you couldn’t find any reason to keep going on your own so you sought one out in the sunrises—although this is something you only opened up to him about in one universe, in all of the others, you’ve hidden your past struggles with depression from him. He’s not sure why, maybe just because you don’t want to burden him with them.

It would be just like you, trying to share the weight of all of his burdens but shouldering yours on your own.

He wonders if you’ll tell him in this one. He wonders what made that universe’s Dazai so special. He feels viciously jealous and for a moment, irrationally hates his other self, only finding solace in the fact that all of the other Dazais would probably feel just as scorned over the fact that only one of them got special treatment.

He thinks you can sense the deterioration of his thoughts, because you reach out and lace your fingers with his as you lean against the back of the elevator, waiting to get to the top floor. His grip on your hand is a bit too tight, he thinks, but it keeps him grounded. You’re here. You’re with him. All of the other universes don’t matter. Only this one does.

His lips part to speak, to fill the silence, but no words leave them. He thinks he’s spoken more these past two months with you than he has in his entire life. He never has any desire to speak unless he’s with you, and then he’ll find any reason to speak if it means he can hear your voice.

“You don’t have to sleep in your office, you know?” you say abruptly, voice quiet. You’re not looking at him, he wonders if you’re embarrassed at whatever you’re about to say because you hesitate as you add, “I know I’ve pretty much commandeered your room but… I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you. This is your place, you should be comfortable too.”

Dazai thinks his face might be on fire, all of the air whooshing from his lungs at your words because of course, it’s something he’s thought of, dreamed of, but he never imagined you would just offer it up like that. He’s quiet for too long, evidently, because you seem to be more embarrassed. Just as he’s about to force something out, the elevator doors slide open and you’re rushing forward, yanking him along, as if to pretend you never said anything and Dazai can’t help the small smile that curves onto his lips.

“That would be nice,” he tells you quietly, he doesn’t know if you hear but he thinks you do because your grip on his hand tightens.

The air is bitterly cold as high up as the two of you are, and the wind is wicked. He thinks that you’re definitely not dressed warm enough, a robe isn't nearly enough to shield from this type of cold, but you look unbothered, an exhilarated smile painted on your face as you drag him dangerously close to the edge of the roof, and Dazai can’t help the way his anxiety spikes—not for his sake, but for yours. His grip on your hand tightens a bit but you only plop down at the edge of the roof, tugging his arm gently as a way of beckoning him to sit with you.

He does. Of course, he does.

His legs dangle off the side of the roof, thigh pressed against yours, and you keep your fingers laced with his, holding his hand on your lap. You stare ahead, eyes bright and excited as you wait for the sunrise. He stares at you, captivated. A part of him is still convinced this is all some twisted dream that his mind conjured to torture him—that he’s going to wake up slumped over on his desk to an empty apartment with only the faint memory of you to console himself with.

Desperately, he wonders if there were any other universes like this, if this is just another spiral into the pages of the Book, just one more intense and more vivid than all of the rest. He knows there were universes where he stayed with the Port Mafia, universes where he became its boss—but he was older in those, in his mid or late twenties. No, this is his universe, it has to be, right? Right?

He doesn’t realize that his grip on your hand has tightened until you look over at him, and instantly, he loosens it, but you only tighten yours in response. Your eyes meet his and suddenly Dazai is breathless, unsure of what to say or do. You always look at him as if you’re looking into him, not at him, not like everyone else. It’s unnerving. He hates it. He loves it.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, knocking your shoulder into his.

The smile on his face doesn’t necessarily meet his eyes, but the words he speaks are probably the most genuine that he’s ever uttered in his entire life. “When I’m with you? Always.”

Your expression softens, although he can’t help but notice that you don’t seem entirely placated by his response. He’s grateful that you don’t push though, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. You lean over though, resting your head on his bicep, and his breath hitches when you bring your free hand to your lap too, cradling his hand in both of yours. He forces himself to look ahead again, not wanting you to see the way his visible eye has suddenly become misty.

You trace absent patterns on his skin as you wait for the sun to break over the horizon and Dazai is lost to his thoughts once more, heart suddenly clogging his throat as he realizes that yes, this is his universe and yes, you are here. With him. He doesn’t have to cling to the vague memories of your warm touch and sweet words, not when you’re sitting next to him and giving him them now. Why is he trying to drift off into the pages when he has you here? In a universe where Dazai was certain he’d never experience the tenderness your presence brought him, he should be savoring this.

“Gin told me the other day that you guys are having trouble with a rival company,” you say quietly, and that draws him back to the present, brows furrowing as he wonders just how much Gin told you, mind racing as he tries to figure out where exactly this conversation is going. “That you guys are trying to prepare for an event they’re hosting in a week. I don’t want you to… worry about me or anything while you’re busy getting ready for all of that… Maybe that’s a bit presumptuous of me to assume but I just… I don’t know. I know you’ve been stressed about it, I don’t want to put more on you.”

Dazai lets out a quiet puff of air. “You see right through me, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice gentle and fond as his gaze drifts over you. “You don’t have to worry about that. You don’t put any stress on me.”

You look a bit flustered at his words, glancing down at your lap, at where his fingers are still laced with yours. You squeeze them tighter for a second and then look back out at the horizon. “... I’m glad,” you tell him softly. “I’ll keep out of your way the weekend of, though. I already talked to one of my friends, she’s going to let me stay with her for the weekend. Well. Assuming my apartment isn’t fixed by then. I still can’t believe it’s taking so long.”

The fondness is gone. Dazai’s world crashes and burns.

It’s only sheer willpower that prevents his sudden burst of anxiety from showing on his face. He turns his gaze out to the horizon now, staring ahead as he tries to figure out how to tell you no without sounding psychotic.

His tongue presses to the roof of his mouth, the nails of his free hand scrape painfully against the rooftop as he desperately tries to fumble together a plan. You cannot leave the tower the night of the event. There’s already a high chance that Dostoevsky knows about you—Dazai knows there’s a spy in the Port Mafia and he doesn’t know if they’ve spotted you around the base. You’ve been leaving the headquarters more frequently during the day since that day with Chuuya; Dazai is never able to join you but he makes sure that Tachihara, Chuuya or Atsushi are with you on the chance that you’re targeted.

If he’s being realistic, there’s no shot that Dostoevsky doesn’t know of you already, and if you’re out and about while the entire Port Mafia is readying for this event… No one would be left for him to station a protection detail on you, and it would be just like Dostoevsky to capitalize on that as he has in so many other universes, having you killed when no one is around to protect you.

God, is this it?

The words ring through his head. Cold. Damning. His bones feel as if they’d been thrown into a blast chiller and stuck back inside of his body. His stomach churns. Is this it? Is this how it’s going to happen?

He can’t let it happen. How does he prevent it?

How does he prevent it?

He thinks there’s only one way, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth because it’s nearly as risky as letting you go off on your own, the only difference being that he would at least have some semblance of control over the situation.

“Oh,” he finally forces out, the words sound distant and hoarse even to his own ears.

You look at him. Fatal. You can always read right through him, he has to make his decision quick.

“You sound… disappointed,” you say hesitantly.

He makes his decision, and he prays to any god that will listen that it doesn’t backfire.

“I was… going to ask you to be my date to the event, actually,” he says, careful to not look at you and give you even more of a window into his mind. He feels the way you straighten at his words. Hooked. He continues with, “... but if you already made plans with your friend…”

“Really?” you breathe out, your grip on his hand is tight, he can feel the way your fingers are trembling around his.

“Really,” he tells you softly, finally daring to look at you.

Your eyes are shining, the expression on your face so open and unguarded that Dazai almost feels bad for lying, but you don’t have to know the truth, that the only reason he’s inviting you with him is because he can’t have you going out and about alone. Not now. Not until Dostoevsky is dead.

But once Dostoevsky is dead, then what about all of the other threats? Agatha Christie? All of the enemies he’s made in this lifetime? When does it end?

He can’t think about that right now. He has to tackle the issue at hand first.

You turn your head to look back out at the horizon, a smile edging at the corners of your lips. “I would love to be your date,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost doesn’t hear you.

But he does, and he can’t hold back a relieved breath this time as he squeezes your hand.

A comfortable silence washes over the two of you as you wait for the sunrise, and Dazai doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at home. He’s still tired, undoubtedly; he hadn’t meant to fall asleep last night because he knew damn well that he’d only be more tired when he woke up, it would’ve been easier to just stay up the whole night. But now, he’s so at ease with you that he could almost fall back asleep—and that’s a feat in itself because Dazai hardly sleeps, and never feels comfortable enough to do so, he only ever sleeps when he's too exhausted to keep going. You’re so warm, so home, how could his eyes not start drooping shut?

“You know why they’re so great?” you suddenly ask, drawing him out of the drowsy state he was threatening to fall into. You’re still looking ahead, but he’s looking back down at you now.

It’s close—the sun is about to rise, and he doesn’t care to see it himself, he cares to see you. He wants to see how the orange hues reflect in your eyes, the way your skin glows beneath the golden rays; he thinks it’s a holy experience, Dazai has felt the whirlwind of emotions that all of the other Dazais go through the first time they see you beneath the rising sun and he never thought he’d be able to feel it for himself.

“Because no two are ever the same?” His voice is soft and hesitant, and he’s not thinking as he speaks. He doesn’t even register what he said until you’re pulling your head off of his shoulder to look at him again, eyes wide, delighted.

“Yeah!” You toss him such a stunning smile that it almost physically dazes him. “You get it.”

He doesn’t have the heart to admit that he’s a fraud, closing in on himself a bit, but you don’t notice, head turning straight again.

“They give me something to look forward to,” you say, a bit quieter again. Your gaze is distant as you look out into the sky, as if you’re seeing something that’s not actually there. “I want to see as many of them as I can.”

Dazai once tried to find the same comfort in sunrises that you did. It was when he first came up with his plan and he realized that he’d never get the chance to be with you, and he’d never get the chance to call Odasaku a friend. He came up here, actually, and watched the sunrise in this very spot. It was bitter and cold. It made him sick to his stomach. It made him feel emptier than he already was. And he realized that there was no beauty or appeal to them unless you were at his side.

“We should…”

You trail off as you turn to look at him again suddenly and Dazai’s lips part to warn you that you’re going to miss the best part—your favorite part, as you’ve told him (not him) over and over again. But the words die on his tongue as the sun breaks over the horizon and wow, he understands it.

He understands it. God, he understands it. Everything he’s felt through the other Dazais pale in comparison to the sight before him and how it entirely devastates the thin thread of control he has on his emotions whenever he’s with you. Enamored. Captivated. His chest feels tight and his throat feels swollen and Dazai is in love. He is so completely and irrevocably in love that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to recover.

Suddenly, he understands why so many of the other Dazais have come to terms with their feelings for you at this moment.

The sunrise washes over you and Dazai thinks you’re utterly angelic. Your eyes reflect the myriad of colors sweeping over the horizon, your skin glows beneath the red and gold hues. You’re beautiful, unreally so. Too divine for someone like him to lay his tainted fingers upon. He’s suddenly hyper aware of how his shoulder is brushing yours and how your fingers are laced with his. He thinks he should pull away, spare you from his putrid touch, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to, because he’s so wholly selfish that he would rather condemn you to ruin than part from you.

“We should watch them together,” you finally say, and your eyes don’t leave his and you’re missing the sunrise but you don’t seem to mind, searching his face desperately for an answer.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for your words to process, but when they do, Dazai thinks there’s no way he’s going to be able to hide the sudden urge he feels to cry.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice cracks, he can’t even bring himself to care. “Yeah, we should.”

Nakahara Chuuya is livid when he gets a notification to his phone about the roof suddenly being accessed, knowing damn well only one other person can get up there. The vibrations from his phone wake him up, and then the subsequent spike of panic that shoots through him when he realizes what the notification is and what the implications of it are is more than enough to have him throwing himself out of bed and sprinting up the stairs, realizing that the elevator will take far too long.

It takes him a total of two minutes to get up to the roof from the thirty-second floor, and by the time he gets there, he’s so full of rage that Chuuya feels like he might explode. The last time Dazai went up to the roof, he was six bottles deep and Chuuya was hardly able to grab him before he toppled over the edge, and Chuuya is not in the mood to deal with that this early in the morning.

Chuuya hadn’t thought this would be an issue now, not with you here because although Chuuya still doesn’t know quite who you are or how you’ve managed to get Dazai Osamu under your thumb, he knows that Dazai is not the Dazai that Chuuya knows whenever you’re around. And Chuuya doesn’t get it, you’re nice enough, pleasant to talk to and pleasant to look at, but he doesn’t think that there’s anything special about you. Not special enough to have Dazai so entirely enamored by you that he’s starting to put the Port Mafia second, at least.

Apparently not enamored enough to stop from getting shit-faced and suicidal, though.

Chuuya’s jaw tightens as he pushes open the door to the roof and-

And he freezes.

The fury slowly starts to dissipate as he catches sight of where you’re sitting at the edge of the roof with Dazai as the sun finally starts to rise. He thinks he should leave, go back down and get a few more hours of sleep before he has to meet Kouyou and Hirotsu at ten to go over the protection details for the event Nabokov is hosting, but he can’t help the way he hesitates, watching how absolutely infatuated Dazai looks as the sun rays sweep over you. Less like the cold and cruel boss of the Port Mafia that Chuuya’s become used to over the past few years, and more like the kid he met at fifteen, the one who disappeared and turned into a shell of himself after a few months of Chuuya knowing him.

Chuuya never understood why. The only time he ever got close was that night on the roof when he started breaking down after Chuuya stopped him from jumping, but even then Dazai refused to explain anything to him. It pissed him off, honestly, because they were supposed to be partners. Chuuya was supposed to have the asshole’s back, no matter how infuriating he may be, but something changed a few months before Dazai’s sixteenth birthday and whatever it was, it entirely killed off anything left of the Dazai that Chuuya knew. No matter how much he demanded to know what happened, Dazai blew him off—dismissive at first, then cruelly, until Chuuya finally had enough and let it be.

If he wanted to go off and be a husk of himself, then so be it, far be it from Chuuya to stop him.

But now…

Chuuya lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head, drawing his eyes from where Dazai is looking at you as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters, stars in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips, to look up at the sky. He supposes it doesn’t quite matter if he doesn’t understand what’s so special about you to make Dazai act like this, just the fact that you do is enough—and if it turns out this is all some scheme by one of the Port Mafia’s enemies to get close to Dazai, Chuuya will do what he has to do. He always does.

He thinks he should still grab Dazai—if Chuuya remembers correctly, he has a meeting with Ace in twenty minutes, but he takes one last look at where you’re sitting with him and lets out another heavy sigh, shaking his head and deciding that he’ll just handle the meeting. He’s been meaning to have a word with the man about his business in eastern Russia anyway.

He closes the door quietly, heading back inside, all of the lingering resentment and anger washed away; he lets Dazai indulge, if only because he knows nothing good ever lasts in this line of work. It’s only a matter of time before his luck runs out.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you

476 notes · View notes

thesilmarilchick · 2 years ago

Text

The War of the Dead, Chapter 9: Nightmare in the Dark

The Fire’s come for you again, just like it always does in these dreams, only this time it doesn’t look like fire, looks like water or smoke or air. Almost like it can’t make up its mind what to look like, you prefer the dreams where it sticks to being fire.

It’s decided it wants to be water today and you want to scream but you can’t, the foul water is already filling your throat and your lungs. You can barely breath let along speak, so how are you supposed to scream?

The Water has begun whispering again. You think it might be talking to you but seeing as how you don’t speak any sort of Elvish, you have no real way of telling. You feel something cold and black wrap around your belly, you think they may be chains like the sort you saw hanging unused down at the Shirriff office. You’re not sure, but right now you don’t really care because you know what part of the dream comes next.

It’s the light that really scares you now, after so many dreams like this you’ve become desensitised to the other dangers around you, but the light well…the light always burns.

You believe it might be trying to talk to you as well, but you’ve been down here too long by this point and you can’t hear it over the screaming in your head anymore. Your body’s gone numb by now, just like it always does round this part of the dream. It’s not yours no more, not your body anyway but it makes a pretty picture as a cage for your mind. The light’s still talking to you, but it doesn’t really matter ‘because you can’t understand one-word outta its mouth.

You’d say it sounds a bit like some of those old poems Mister Bilbo reads you sometimes, though different, older and more unnerving. As if you just sat there and listened, you’d hear the forging of the worlds hidden between the glowing orb’s soft vowels and gentle words. The language sweeps over you like always and you find the world growing dark, your vision failing and your surroundings growing blurred. You know what’s coming now, you’ve known it since the start but that doesn’t make it any less painful. That doesn’t make the knife any less terrifying when it plunges into your gut, or your blood any less vile as it spatters across your frozen face. Or your bed any less wet through when you wake up screaming.

Sam Gamgee bundled his sodden bed sheets up into the washing basket, he’d been lucky … no one had been woken by his screaming this time.

***

The Shire, Number 3 Bagshot Row; T.A. 2989, S.R. 1389; February 5th

Hamfast Gamgee was not having a particularly good morning; Sam-Lad had been up and about in the night again. Though the boy had attempted to hide it, Ham had caught on quick when he found the lad snoozing on his, now quite bare mattress – wrapped in naught but a thin wool blanket. The only covering that hadn’t been completely soaked after the lad’s dreams had turned sour and the child had been too afraid of punishment to risk finding more, even for his own comfort.

The tired hobbit had nudged the distraught boy awake and helped him into some dry clothes. Then they’d both set about the task of remaking Sam-Lad’s bed before the others could be woken by the sound of his soft crying. Bell had had one of her fits last week, a pretty bad one at that, and she was still recovering – she needed her sleep. The two hobbits made quick work of the small bed and then retreated into the kitchen when the sounds of stirring from the other rooms caught their ears.

Bell was getting worse, Ham mused as he stirred the large porridge pot over the fire, this had been the fifth fit in almost a month and they were getting more and more disturbing each time they happened. She’d been spitting and cursing his name during the last one, they’d had to call healers just to stop her from hurting herself… or anyone else.

‘I think it’s done, Da.’ Hamfast jerked from his thoughts of his wife, and glanced down to his youngest son, who was now staring intently into the bubbling pot of goo. Ham grimaced when he stuck his pinkie into the gurgling depths and brought it to his mouth, it tasted of nothing but burnt oats. They should just throw it out, but Sam was already starting to get fidgety with hunger and truthfully Ham wasn’t far behind him. So, sighing inwardly he motioned for Sam-lad and young Marigold, who’d appeared like a ghost from her bedroom sometime after Ham had turned his back, to bring their bowls forward. Even burnt porridge in their bellies was better than nothing at all.

***

Two hours later

For as long as Hamfast could remember he had been… well…. I suppose the only way to describe it is to give it its proper title…he had been a Ganyman. For those of you not of a Hobbit nature I will describe, to the best of my ability, exactly what that is. For those of you who are I will assume, that unless your education was extremely limited regarding your cultural identity, that you already know.

To put it in the simplest of terms, the Ganyman (or Ganymen as is the plural) is the bridge between life and death. Or rather between the living and the departed. They are the givers of the last tale and are able, if truly needed, to cut the string that ties a soul to this earthly plain.

It is said, by some of the more superstitious folk, that when a Ganyman is about to be born a crow will fly into their mother’s birthing chamber and circle the room until the baby is born. Then the bird will land… dead …at the infant’s feet. It was of course complete nonsense, not least because birthing chambers as a rule were kept tightly sealed from all outwardly distractions. Which would include open windows and birds flying about the place, as any hobbit midwife or healer with a lick of sense could tell you. And while it was true that some of the skills needed to be a proper Ganyman were innate from birth, it still required a great deal of training to probably harness them. And not every babe born with a psychic gift was going to be up to be a Ganyman, even if they had a strong connection to the other side.

For Ganymen were at their hearts… storytellers.

Which brings us to the core of the matter, the reason for the Ganymen’s entire existence as a people: The Last Tale. Legend goes that if the last words a hobbit ever speaks in this waking world is their deepest secret, then they’ll live on through the telling of its tale and thus their soul will not fade into nothingness. It was an ancient hobbit custom set down in the days before days. Before the wandering years, before Mirkwood, before the three clans, before Mother Magda and her Blarney Son, even before hobbits knew they were hobbits. Some say it was a tradition started by the ancestors, the ones who came before. But no one could say for certain, because strictly speaking no one - except perhaps the Ganymen themselves - could even say what the ancestors were, they simply lived too long ago.

Times back a Ganyman would be called to every hobbit’s deathbed, rich or poor, cruel or gentle, but in later years they’d fallen out of favour…among the gentlefolk anyway. After Bullroarer Took’s famous last words of ‘I don’t need a Ganyman to tell my stories’, the powerful family had dropped the age-old tradition as if it was so much childish nonsense. And whether they wanted to admit it or not, wherever the Tooks lead the other well-to-do families would follow. Which was why the message from Mistress Proudfoot was so very strange, by rights the Proudfoots weren’t the richest of families, but they were still well off enough to call themselves gentlefolk.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about such oddities, right now Ham had a duty to a hobbit on his deathbed.

He’d debated leaving Sam-lad and Little Marigold at home, but eventually decided against it. Even if they never developed a call to it, which considering Bell’s once grounded nature was more than likely, it was still good for a youngin’ too see Gany-work at least once in their lives, without the fog of loss and grief getting in the way.

The Proudfoots’ smial – for no self-respecting gentlefolk would live in anything else – while undoubtedly fine as smials go, was not half so grand as Bagend. The lamps were already lit inside the round windows when the three of them reached it and Ham knocked tentatively on the large red door, his Ganyman Staff clutched tightly to his breast. The round door creaked open and a large weathered face poked out, frowning at them over its long-crooked nose.

‘Yes?’

Ham steeled his shoulders, not in a mood to be waylaid from his duty and the dying hobbit inside by disapproving relatives

‘I’m the Ganyman, the Mistress of this house called for me…please let me in.’ The old hobbit snorted but moved back just enough for the trio to squeeze past. Once inside Hamfast’s eyes by passed the specifics of his surroundings, and instead landed directly on the door farthest to the right. He felt the familiar tug in the middle of his chest, and knew where his charge lay.

***

One hour later

By the time Hamfast had arrived at the dying hobbit’s bed, the patient was already in the middle of his death-throws; so, it hadn’t been the easiest of Last Tales to acquire…but then again, his patient this time was still technically living, so it hadn’t exactly been the hardest either.

The Hysterical soon-to-be-widow shrieking at his side hadn’t made the situation any simpler. He needed quiet to work, and he needed it now – unfortunately that meant he had to be a bit callous. He hadn’t exactly thrown the grieving Mistress out of her husband’s death-chamber, but his suggestion had been strong enough to mistake it for so.

Once she’d removed herself from the chamber, black streaks of makeup blotching her cheeks and a half-chocked sob concealed within her throat, Hamfast had been able to get down to work at last. If this was an ordinary run-of-the-mill Last Tale then right about then Hamfast would have been restraining the patient’s arms, he might have even let her stay to watch, but something deep in his gut told him this had to be done now.

Climbing up onto the bed, Hamfast straddled the old hobbit, pinning him down firmly onto the mattress with his own quite sizable weight. The Ganyman’s fingertips pressed into the old hobbit’s temple, and the death throws seem to still and freeze in place. It was said that the final words of a hobbit were his Last Tale, but of course, as any good Ganyman knew, words didn’t have to be spoken out loud. Which was a good thing, when the patient was a far gone as old Proudfoot was.

The Tale floated through Proudfoot’s dementia-addled mind and into the Ganyman’s. Hamfast saw each detail as it happened, as if he were in the story, living it right here and there. What seemed like years, decades even, to the two hobbits on the bed was barely a minute in the world beyond and with a cry like a wounded Eagle, Ham flopped backwards off the bed and began to sob.

***

When a Hobbit soul gives up its Last Tale, it moves on to the world beyond, into the Ancestor’s Caverns, where not even a Ganyman can properly enter. Leaving not but a whisper of its past self to continue through the story that the Ganyman will tell, but Faldo Proudfoot…did not do that.

Oh, he gave up his Last Tale to the Ganyman, every horrifying bit of it, but as for moving onto the world beyond…well…that he did not do. Or at least so it would appear to the still gasping Ganyman now lying on the old hobbit’s floor. For you see…Faldo Proudfoot’s body was still very much breathing when Hamfast Gamgee shakily climbed to his feet.

Hamfast could have been sure that Proudfoot’s spirit had passed over. Nay he was sure, he’d felt the body go limp with the spirit’s absence himself. Yet Proudfoot was undeniably alive, of that little the Ganyman could be certain of. Laying his hand on the withered chest, Hamfast spoke in soft low voice.

‘Master Proudfoot? Are you there, Master Proudfoot? You’ve given me your Last Tale you can move on now; you won’t be forgotten while I breathe good master, I can promise you that.’

As the Ganyman spoke the old master’s chest shook in an unrhythmic fashion, it was as if something was forcing the old chest to move up and down against its will. Suddenly Faldo Proudfoot’s hand lashed out and struck the Ganyman where he knelt by the bed, sending the other hobbit careening across the floor and smack right into the adjoining wall. And as Ganyman Gamgee began to slip into unconsciousness, his eyes beheld the horrific sight of Faldo Proudfoot’s body, standing up from his death-bed and walking out the door.

***

Middle-Earth, South Lands (or The Dark Land to the heathens of the West), The Yellow Mountains: T.A. 2989

It is a strange land the Great Wizard has led them to, not cold or boiling as the rumours had led them to believe – but strange none the less. The whole place feels…calm, as no mountain should. For mountains, whether their bellies be filled with fire or not, are grand monuments to the gods. Left here by the giants that had made them, or at least that was what Akunosh’s nursemaid had always told him when she was tucking him into bed at night. But then the Nursemaid had been of the lower classes; his father, a man of wealth and education, might have said something different. Akunosh didn’t know, but all the same he couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment as he climbed the steady slopes of the Yellow Mountain. There was nothing particular awe-inspiring about sun-bleached rocks, or scrabbly blades of grass and for a boy of fifteen – who had joined the Blue Wizard’s cause to seek adventure, that was a terrible blow indeed.

Still, seeing a Silmaril might make up for it. He hoped anyway, he’d never seen one before, so it wasn’t like he had anything to base it on. For all Akunosh knew it could be just as dull as the mountain… and that was the moment when they saw the body.

Small, but clearly not a child – the thing had been wrapped up in a multi-coloured shawl and then just left out on the rocks. Probably for more than a couple of days giving the smell of the thing. More than a few of the younger recruits hurried away from the sight; and even a couple of the older soldiers screwed up their noses. But Akunosh stopped by the body and let himself fall behind. Then, when he was entirely certain that no one was looking at him, he knelt by the strangely wrapped thing and stared at her face.

She was old, her shrived face, raisin like to look upon, baked by the sun now scorching his back. Slowly he pushed back the shawl from her face, her hair was still black even despite her clear age…but it was not that that Akunosh stared at, it was her ears. They were small like the rest of her, small and …pointed, he’d never seen such strange ears before, they weren’t the ears of men.

His Nurse had told him many stories as she tucked him into bed at night, but always his favourite had been the stories of the Halflings. Small creatures who belonged to no god of the west – sometimes in the tales they were kind, and helped travellers when they were lost; but other times they were wicked. Tricking the big Folks into wondering off the path and drowning, but whatever they were, friend or foe, good or evil, they had always captivated Akunosh. And they were here, they were real…and they were the people they had been sent to slay.

Up the mountain he could already hear the screams, and felt himself begin to shake.

#the hobbit #fanfiction #lord of the rings #fanfic #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings

0 notes

mingtinys · 2 years ago

Text

Bad Day

pairing : jeong yunho x gn!reader

angst , hurt / comfort

warnings : language , yelling , insecurities

word count : 2.5 k

requested ? no

a/n : i feel like we rarely see yunho being anything but a ball of sunshine , so i thought this would be an interesting perspective to write about

"Hello..?" The voice on the phone is mumbled, but deep and undeniably Mingi's. He sounds tired, like he's fighting off the last remnants of sleep after being woken too soon. You suddenly feel bad for calling so late, especially after a dance practice. Maybe you were overreacting.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

A yawn. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"

"I just haven't heard from Yunho yet, do you know if he's still up?" Based on what Yunho had told you this morning, dance practice ended at 9 pm. It's now midnight and you'd yet to hear from Ateez's lead dancer.

There's a pause.

"Is he not with you?"

Your heart sinks just a little at the thought of Yunho being unheard from by even his best friend. But you push any worrisome thoughts down for the time being. Perhaps his phone is dead or he came back to the dorms without Mingi noticing.

"No, did he say he was supposed to be with me?" Your words come out more urgent than you wish them to. Mingi must take notice because when he speaks next his voice loses its tired edge and he seems more alert.

"Oh, no! He didn't say anything. It was just a rough practice today so I figured he'd go straight to see you— hold on let me go ask Hongjoong."

There's shuffling on the other side, which you presume to be Mingi going to Hongjoong's room. It only takes a few seconds for you to hear his voice again, this time just a little more distant.

"Hyung, do you know where Yunho is? Y/N's asking."

Hongjoong's voice is too quiet for you to make out anything he says. At some point, Mingi drops to a whisper as well and the two discuss to themselves. You mess with your fingers as you wait for Mingi to reiterate the conversation.

"You still there?" His voice finally comes through. You give a short confirmation and Mingi continues. "Hongjoong said he's still at the studio."

Though still concerned for him working way past normal hours, you let out a relieved sigh. Mingi says goodnight to Hongjoong on the other side and you take it upon yourself to ask one more question. "Do you think it's best just to let him be then?"

He takes a beat to think. Then, "I actually think he'd appreciate seeing you, maybe it’ll cheer him up."

"What exactly happened?"

"We had a new choreographer today, the guy was a serious piece of work. It's like nothing any of us did was up to his standards, but he was particularly hard on Yunho. He seemed pretty dejected by the end of it." He explains.

Your heart aches for Yunho, someone who takes immense joy and pride in his work. To be shot down and berated time after time must have been grating.

"Alright, I'll go see if I can get him to at least rest. Thank you, Mingi."

"Of course– oh and Y/N?" Mingi asks a second before you can hit "end."

"Hmm?"

"Can you tell him he did well, even if he doesn't think so? He wouldn't hear it from us, but he tends to listen to you."

Mingi doesn't get sentimental often, nor does he take such a serious tone. It's unsettling really, but sweet, and it leaves no doubt in your mind that tonight's practice really was hell.

"I will, you all take care of yourselves as well."

"We will. Goodnight, Y/N."

You bid him goodnight as well before ending the call.

It doesn't take long to gather your things and head to the dance studio. Maybe thirty minutes max, which included a stop at a nearby 24-hour convenience store for two cans of cold coffee.

The night-time security guard happily allows you in with a polite greeting. If he's not supposed to, he doesn't make it known. After a full year of dating Yunho, you were on friendly terms with most of KQ's staff, so it’s easy to get away with stuff like this.

The practice room pulses with a new song that echoes down the halls. It's way too loud for this time of night, but makes navigating KQ's halls a little easier. You follow the increasing volume until it comes to a crescendo just past a door with a small glass window cut into it. Through it, you spot Yunho dressed in sweats and mid-dance. Though his body isn't moving as fluidly with the music as it usually does. Instead, his moves are jagged and forceful, but most of all sluggish. You aren't sure how long exactly he's been going at this, but it's clear exhaustion set in long ago.

Yunho stops suddenly, muttering to himself as he strides across the room to pause the music. He leans against the desk where the laptop sits on and drops his head into his hands. His shoulders move up and down with heavy breaths, and you feel awkward interrupting such a moment without warning.

So you lightly rasp three times on the door to alert him of your presence before easing into the room. You just barely catch the tail end of him muttering out a quiet, "fuck."

It's rare to hear him curse in a non-lighthearted matter. But in just a few seconds, Yunho straightens himself out as if nothing happened. He must have been expecting the security guard or quite literally anyone else, because he completely freezes when he turns around and sees you.

You're finally able to fully take in his appearance, and he looks rough. You're not sure you've ever seen him so sweaty and worn out in your life. His grey t-shirt is drenched, and it sticks to his skin in a way you can't imagine being comfortable. Strands of dark brown hair clump together and splay across his forehead. His breathing is deep and heavy, like he's trying to suck down as much air as humanly possible. You aren't able to tell if his red and puffy features are due to overheating or crying; maybe both. Yunho's usually bright and excited brown eyes look dull and lifeless. Dark under circles hang below, making his face look more gaunt than usual. It's truly a pitiful sight to behold.

"Babe... what are you doing here?" The way he forces a sweet saccharine tone into his voice sinks your heart into your stomach. He really does try his best to cover his beaten-down demeanor. But it's strained, and the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Mingi said you were practicing late, thought I'd bring some coffee." You extend one of the cans to him, and he takes it before setting it down next to the laptop.

Again, he attempts a smile. "Thank you, I'll call you after I'm done, yeah?"

"Why don't you take a break?" your hand comes to rest on his bicep, grazing over the feverish skin with your thumb. "We can sit, have some coffee, talk about your day. . ."

"Not right now babe, maybe another time okay?" He grows antsy with each word and shrugs off your hand. It's clear something is bothering him. And unfortunately, when Yunho feels an overwhelming rush of negative emotions he tends to put on a brave face and lock himself away until it passes. You've always respected his need for space while he learns it's okay to lean on you during these times. But you have to admit, it's frustrating when he shuts you out. He's too concerned with keeping up his playful and joyous demeanor to even consider the idea of looking for support.

"Yunho—" you start, but are immediately cut off by the overpowering speakers as he restarts the song and strides back to the center of the floor.

He picks back up from the start, and you decide it's best to wait him out. It's useless to try and pry something out of him right now. So you set your things down and lean against a wall.

Normally you enjoy watching Yunho dance, whether it be practices or performances. He's insanely talented, yet most of all, takes immense joy in dancing. His grace radiates across the stage and never fails to bring a smile to your face. But right now he just seems … sad. He isn't enjoying it like usual, nor is he putting much heart into it.

Frustration emanates throughout the room with him at the center. It's such a rare sight to see. Yunho absolutely at his wit's end, struggling like someone had placed one hundred pound weights on each shoulder.

You're startled from your thoughts at the sound of a loud thud and shouted "shit!" You look up just in time to see Yunho on the floor, large hands gripping his ankle and face contorted in pain.

You're kneeling beside him within seconds, hands hovering around where he's holding, unsure of how to help. "Shit, Yunho."

"I'm fine! Just– why don't you head home?" He slowly picks himself off the ground, wincing every time he accidentally puts too much pressure on his left foot. He's able to stand, albeit wobbly, but it's a good sign of nothing being broken. Probably just a sprain, easily fixed with ice and a good night's rest. If he ever lets you talk some sense into his head.

"Why don't we go home together?"

"I really can't, okay? Please just go!" It comes out harsher than he'd intended. But the frustration is getting to him, and you know he's trying anything to get you to leave before he fully implodes. So you don't have to see him any worse than he already is.

"I don't know what exactly happened today and I understand you're upset, but that doesn't mean it's okay to take it out on me."

A flash of irritation etches itself into his features, but it's gone just as fast as it came. Yunho takes a deep breath. Then another. "You're right, I'm sorry for blowing up at you. But please, I just want to be alone right now."

There's still an edge of urgency in his strained voice, but you accept the apology.

There's a moment of silence that blankets the room as the music fades to an end. In the commotion, you barely registered it was still playing. But its absence now leaves a palpable tension in the room, the only sounds being Yunho's ragged breaths. He must have expected you to just leave without another word from the way he's expectantly looking at you.

You shift in your spot.

"Babe please–"

"I'm not going until I know you're okay."

The muscles in his jaw visibly tense and his fists curl into balls at his side, knuckles white from the pressure. "It was just a bad day." He spits through clenched teeth.

You nod and another few moments pass. There's a glossy sheen over his already reddened eyes. He pushes down what sounds like the start of a cry, but it only causes his chest to constrict and spasm further.

"We had a new choreographer today and he–"

A pathetic hiccup breaks past his lips and it's the first leak in his already crumbling dam that is able to break through the disguise he put on. He tries to conceal it, turning his back to you and roughly gripping at his hair. It's a poor attempt at best, made even more pitiful by him still nursing his left ankle.

You rush to comfort him any way you know how when the next sob rips its way through his throat. Wrapping your arms securely around his midsection and giving a reassuring squeeze. You press a kiss to his shoulder blade and rest your head against his back, mumbling kind affirmations to coax the full story out of him.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong!" Sobs shake through his entire body as he finally gives in. "But nothing I did was good enough. He just kept saying 'it's not right, you're too slow, too awkward, too lazy.'"

"He sounds like an idiot," you mumble against Yunho's back.

He doesn't hear your comment, or if he did he doesn't acknowledge it. "I thought I could stay late and fix it but— it's not fucking working. I can't get it, I keep stumbling and forgetting the moves, and I–"

Another sob breaks his sentence in half, but he continues on.

"And I hate feeling like this. I never meant to yell or for you to see me like this," he's rushing through his words, trying to redeem any piece of himself he can at this point. "I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have to—"

"Yunho, please look at me." He doesn't respond at first, only stills in your hold at the request. "Please."

Begrudgingly, he turns around. His hands fall from his hair and hang loosely at his sides, shoulders slumped. Yunho still refuses to meet your eyes, head tilted down at the floor instead.

Your hands come to cup his jaw ever so gently, swiping away stray tears. You tilt your head to catch his watery gaze. For the first time ever, Yunho feels unbelievably small in your grasp and it makes your heart ache in a way that tightens a knot in your throat.

"Please stop apologizing, Yunho." Your voice is merely a whisper. "I love you, so much. Good and bad days alike, I promise nothing will ever change that."

His eyes squeeze shut and his lip quivers ever so slightly. He tries to drop his head back down, but your palms on his jaw support the weight. "You don't always have to act so brave all the time. It's okay to be upset, I would never judge you for it."

Slowly, his eyes flutter open, wet lashes clumping together as another wave of tears rolls in. He scans your face, soft brown irises darting back and forth. If he's looking for any sign of dishonesty; it isn't there. Your words are genuine and tell him everything he didn't know he needed to hear.

A newfound vulnerability registers in his expression. It hits him all at once as he collapses into your embrace. Strong arms pulling you impossibly close, he smells of sweat and floor cleaner with just a hint of his body wash lingering on his skin. He fists the back of your shirt, shaky hands grasping desperately as if harsh waves have been pushing him deeper and deeper underwater and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You cradle his head into the crook of your neck protectively. Smoothing back his hair and tracing delicate circles across the skin at the base of his neck. Wet tears absorb into the fabric of your shirt, but it doesn't matter.

"I wanna go home." He whimpers against your skin, but makes no attempt to let go. In fact, he tightens his hold on your shirt even more so. There's no rush to get home, so you let him stay, prepared to hold him for as long as he needs.

"You did well today, Yunho. I'm really proud of you, everyone is." You whisper, and you really hope this time he's able to believe it.

#yunho #ateez #yunho drabble #jeong yunho drabble #yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader #yunho fanfic #ateez x reader #yunho imagine #jeong yunho imagine #ateez yunho #yunho imagines #ateez imagines #yunho angst #ateez angsty #yunho oneshot #yunho hurt/comfort

896 notes · View notes

mistress-ofmagic · 2 years ago

Text

Around The Realms in 80 days- Chapter 17

Pairing: Reader x Loki

Story summary: You have fallen through a portal during the convergence into Asgard and come face to face with Thor, and his brother Loki. With no way to return, you must travel with the two men and their hoard of asgardian soldiers to get back home. Things get from bad to worse when you have to share a tent with the god of mischief himself.

Notes: Um hello!!! I said there would be another chapter shortly for all of you who interacted with my last post mawahah! I'm so sorry this has taken me an insane amount of time I had about a three month break from writing and Tumblr and I've been very quiet! I won't go into all the details but it's been some ride but I am back finally and I hope to god some of you are still out there in the void answering me! Hope you enjoy this latest instalment, I feel a bit out of practice writing so I hope it doesn't seem disjointed or anything! Hopefully I won't leave it quite as long for the next chapter!

Read this story on a03!

find all parts to this story on Tumblr here

“What about this one?”

The book shop was warm and pretty crowded, it felt like you had been in for hours. Still, it was nice to be doing something normal…right?

Leaning against the wall, your thoughts flitted back. You had actually gone up to bed eventually last night and snuck in next to Loki. You had woken to an empty bed again.

If there was something you had noticed about Loki it’s that he was an early riser, not something you could ever relate to.

You had laid in bed for a while, pondering over if you had made the right decision. Internally groaning, you realised that you literally had nothing to wear for today again.

The people of New York are going to think I’m heavily into the medieval vibe you thought sadly, mentally running through the Asgardian dresses you owned trying to work out which would be the least LARP-y. Either that or go for the office aesthetic again, not something you were particularly interested in.

Finally, you had forced yourself up to face the horror inside the wardrobe (after a few attempts of waving your arms around like a maniac thanks to Tony’s technology). You opened it up and…

You blinked.

Had you accidentally transported yourself into someone else’s bedroom?

The wardrobe was filled with….well, normal earthly clothes in your size. Shirts, trousers, skirts, even some dresses that weren’t giving a peasant girl vibe.

“What the fuck?”

You took out a shirt that you would actually wear. Just in time, you heard the door to the apartment open.

“Loki did you…make me some clothes?” You yelled through.

He came into the bedroom, rubbing his hair with a little towel.

Jesus, you had to get your hormones under control, who gave him the right to look so pretty immediately after working out? If this was going to be a regular sight every morning you had got to stop reacting so viscerally.

“What are you squawking about now?”

“Did you…magic these clothes up for me?”

Loki raised a brow nonchalantly

“Well you were yapping about not having any clothes yesterday.” He stared at you and you stared back, incredulously.

He rolled his eyes,

“Fine I’ll get rid of them. Honestly make up your mind up. You complain about a lack of clothing and then complain when you have some…” He muttered.

“Hey, wait, I’m not complaining.”

“You’re not? That’s unusual.”

“It just…it just took me by surprise that’s all. It was…nice.”

Loki stared at you with his brow slightly furrowed, as if you were a puzzle he was yet to figure out.

Your insides twisted funnily.

“So…thanks.” You gave an awkward smile.

Loki tutted,

“I only did it because now you don’t have to spend any time today shopping for garments and we can focus on my book shopping instead.” He headed towards the kitchen.

You rolled your eyes.

“Sure.” You murmured, rummaging through your new clothes.

Now, you were stood in a book shop, dressed, curtesy of Loki, while you waited for him to pick out his books.

You had been kind of concerned when stepping out with him, that you might get attacked or something since you know, you were chaperoning the guy who destroyed New York after all, but to your surprise, barely anyone had given you a second glance.

People only see what they want to see after all and you doubted anyone had expected Loki to be wandering down the street.

“How many books can one person have? You’re so old, surely you’ve already read like every book in existence?” You moaned.

Loki shot you a pointed look but ignored your statement.

You turned round and browsed the shelf half-heartedly in front of you. Your interested piqued slightly, realising that there were some books in a similar vain to your examinations yesterday; ones that even Tony didn’t have in his collection. A particular book caught your eye,

“Norse mythology for dummies.”

Checking over your shoulder to make sure Loki wasn’t looking at you, you picked the book up and started flicking through.

With one last sly look at Loki, you jumped to the part about the man himself. There was a silly little picture of him looking rather impish, with red hair and jester like clothing.

You chuckled darkly, “suits him.”

You stared at him through your peripheral, trying to spot any similarities and struggled to find any with this cartoonish picture. You wondered if Loki realised how he was typically portrayed in books and if it upset him at all, he was rather vain after all. You found a biography section that you skimmed through.

“Loki has been described as the trickster god…. a shapeshifter, sometimes taking the form of a horse or an old woman…”

You snorted, putting that on the list of questions to ask him later.

“Loki’s relation with the gods is varied, sometimes he assists them and other times he is malicious towards them…Loki’s father Laufey is a Jotun, hailing from Jotunheim.. little is know about Loki’s mother.”

Wait..you suddenly remembered the fire demon talking about that.

You quickly flicked to the page about Jotunheim.

“Jotunheim is the home of the frost giants…”

“What are you doing, mortal?” Loki looked over at you curiously, startling you out of your reading and you snapped the book shut.

“N…nothing. Just doing a bit of homework. I’m going to go and get this book.”

You dodged Loki’s attempt at swiping the book from you and headed to the checkout.

Smiling briefly at the man behind the cashier, you paid for your book and a bag of sweets, and sat one on of the chairs near the door, returning to your page.

“A cold and barren world with very little sunlight…” you whispered under your breath as you skim-read the rest of the page.

There was a brief part on some notable events, including teenage Loki and Thor barely escaping having chased the giants for stealing some apples.

Kind of an over-reaction jeez, reminder to not steal apples on a different planet.

Also something about Loki loosing an eating contest to someone called Logi (finding out about Loki’s past was turning into a bit of a hoot). And finally Thor having to wrestle an old lady?

You shook your head. This was ridiculous. Nothing about Loki’s parentage though. You turned the page and found a portrait photo of a Jotun. He looked nothing like Loki, for starters this guy was blue with white markings on his face and chest.

You sighed and jumped to the pages on Muspelheim, the fire realm, instead. A few seconds looking at some more fire demons made you feel slightly queasy however, and you shut the book.

Just in time, you caught Loki wandering back over to you with a pretty hefty pile of books.

“Let’s leave mortal.” He stated, haughtily.

“Did you pay for those?” You asked him.

Loki rolled his eyes and tutted, but, in his defence, made his way back to the cashier.

“That will be a no then.” You muttered.

You watched him, brows raised to see how the man behind the checkout would react. Just as the rest of the public had, he did not seem to be phased despite Loki of Asgard now standing in his shop. In fact, he seemed to even be flirting with him.

Unbelievable.

“C’mon.” You grumbled once he returned to you grinning rather irritatingly.

The cooler air outside was a welcome change from the stuffy bookshop. Still, you were used to much cooler Septembers than this, and you missed your home autumn climate.

A pang of guilt hit you very briefly, as you thought about your family at home. They had seemed happy enough with the idea you were now working with Tony Stark, and you had failed to mention the whole dangerous space travel aspect.

“Have you got everything you wanted?” You turned to Loki.

“Indeed I have.”

“Excellent.” You moved to walk back to the towers.

“Ah.” Loki cleared his throat. “Actually, perhaps we could go to the coffee establishment you mention constantly.”

You blinked.

“You wanna go get coffee with me?” You asked, surprised.

He smirked,

“I know it must be difficult for a mortal like yourself to believe I would ever grace you with my presence…”

“Oh for…yeah whatever. I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant…”

He continued smirking at you, annoyingly. God he pissed you off.

“Asshole.” You muttered and checked the time on your phone quickly.

“I have about an hour…” You spoke out loud without thinking.

“An hour?” He was still smirking.

“Hm?”

“Going somewhere are we? Surely my escort does not have any other prior engagements?”

“Gross, please don’t call me your escort.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“I erm…” You stuttered.

God why did you feel a twinge of guilt about telling Loki that you were meeting Oliver in the afternoon?

This was stupid, you had nothing to hide.

Loki continued to peer at you curiously, enjoying your discomfort.

“I’m meeting up with someone.”

“Oh?” Lokis smirk dropped finally, his face growing slightly more guarded.

“Prey tell, who is this mysterious figure?”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s go to the coffee shop.”

Loki fell into line next to you.

“I’m curious, just who could have taken my escorts attention away from me?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“You’re avoiding the question mortal.”

You sped up.

“I’m not avoiding it…”

You were only half listening to him, already deciding what to get at Starbucks. Since there was no Costa in New York. Boo. If you were going to get a coffee later with Oliver, you should probably not get one now or you would be jumping off the walls. It felt too warm still for hot chocolate season though…

Loki caught up pretty quickly with his long legs.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to New York.” You sighed wistfully as you looked around the streets.

Despite the shit-show that was your life currently, you had a sudden happy feeling flood you. You never believed you would even go to New York, and here you were walking around, enjoying the city.

“This is kind of cool right? I guess it didn’t settle in before. I really want to do the tourist bits before I leave, like the Empire State Building, central park and the statue of liberty. Maybe go see a show, visit Brooklyn Bridge, go the the Grand Central…hopefully if I survive the fire demons ill get to do them.”

Loki looked at you funnily,

“Why do you have to go home?”

You squinted up at him.

“Well I can’t stay here forever, I need to go…beg for my job back probably. I’m running on low funds here and I doubt Stark will let me live in the towers rent free forever like a little pet.” You snorted.

“And, once this all gets resolved…or you know even if it doesn’t, I’m not an Avenger or even in official employment of Stark. Plus this may surprise you I did have a life before all this.” You paused, “albeit not a very exciting one. Come on, let’s go to this Starbucks.” You stopped outside and entered.

“What are you going to order?” You asked him.

Loki rolled his eyes and looked at the board.

“There are far too many options.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty overwhelming. Well, erm, do you like coffee or not so much?”

“It is acceptable.”

“Erm, well there are different types of coffee I guess like espresso if you like a very strong coffee or a latte if you like milkier coffees.”

He rolled his eyes again.

“I know the different types of coffee, I have been to Midgard before.”

“Jesus. Well then, you can get syrups if you like them sweeter or there are options like frappachinos which are kind of more just milkshakes.”

“What will you be ordering?”

“My usual, a vanilla latte, my namesake after all.”

“Yes, the drink you had the day we first met.” Loki smirked.

“You mean the drink you caused me to spill everywhere when you literally pushed me over!”

“Haven’t we had this conversation before? I thought you were a spy.”

“Didn’t apologise for it though.” You muttered.

Finally you got to the front of the queue.

“Hi, I’ll have a vanilla latte please and a -“ You looked expectantly at Loki.

“Another one.”

You got your purse out to pay when Loki swiped his card agains the machine.

“Oh…thanks.”

Loki raised an eyebrow cooly,

“You said you were low on funds.”

“Er, yeah.”

After getting your drinks you managed to find a table to sit down on.

You stared at Loki in anticipation, watching him as he took his first sip.

“Well?” You asked, strangely nervous.

He took a dramatic pause before answering, definitely doing it on purpose to goad you.

“It’s not…terrible.”

“Woo!” You let out a squeal to which Loki stared at you disapprovingly.

Taking your own first sip you sighed happily.

“I’ve missed you coffee!”

“You’re very dramatic about coffee.”

“Well you’re very dramatic about literally everything.”

Loki sniffed. “I am not.”

“You really are. You could win an Oscar.”

“I do enjoy winning things.” He said, proud of himself.

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes. “What books did you get?”

“Hm. I need to improve my Midgardian knowledge it seems so I picked up books on human physiology and theology, as well as this abridged guide to quantum theory.” He snapped his fingers and a huge book that must have been as thick as your head appeared on the table.

“Jesus I’d hate to see the unabridged version.”

“Speaking of human physiology, how is your…affliction?”

You took another sip. “Hm? What affliction?”

“You know…” He eyed you cautiously.

You snorted coffee out your nose.

“My period?” You hiccuped.

Loki gave you a look of distaste as he passed you a napkin.

“Indeed.”

“Do we… let’s actually not talk about that.”

Loki sighed.

“Very well. I thought friends were supposed to talk to each other about intimate things. What do you wish to talk about?”

“Yeah but, you know. You are a 20 million year old alien male, it’s not… well…. some intimate things don’t have to be talked about. It’s not the done thing.”

“Once again you have no concept of my age. Why does me being a male change anything?”

“Well because… I don’t know really it’s just sort of something woman talk about between themselves, most men don’t want to know I guess.”

“Why would they not want to know?” He asked.

“Erm, I guess…well I don’t know really.”

“I could turn into a woman if it would make you feel more comfortable.” He took a sip of his drink smugly.

You eyed him suspiciously, unsure if he was joking.

“Not right now, that might attract some unwanted attention. Remind me to ask you to do that later though. Or perhaps a horse.”

You expected this to trip him up slightly, one of your current favourite activities but he merely blinked.

“As you wish.”

“God, can we just talk about something normal for once.”

“Like who you are running off to meet?”

“Er, well no, not that…”

Speak of the devil… your phone, laying on the table, buzzed and flashed up with Olivers name. Before you had change to grab it, Loki reached across the table and snatched it up with lightning speed.

“Wh…hey!”

“Whose Oliver?”

You grabbed your phone back.

“We met him yesterday, jeez your memory is bad. And don’t take my phone.”

“I have no recollection of meeting a mortal of that name yesterday.”

“Er, sure he was in the lab with Stark.”

You checked his message.

Oliver: Still okay to meet? Shall I come to Stark Towers?

“Oh.. you mean the moronic head-of-starks-fanclub boy.”

“What did Oliver ever do to you. He seems nice actually and he messaged me asking to meet up.”

“Ah, so you are running off to meet another boy.”

You snorted, “another boy, please that sounds as if we are on a…never mind. Unlike you, Oliver actually wants to spend time with me.”

Loki leaned back in his chair and looked at you with an odd look on his face.

“Well I’m here aren’t I?”

You shot him an exasperated look. “Only because I am the only reason you can leave the tower. Be honest Loki, would you really have come out to a bookstore with me if you weren’t under strict instruction to not go out alone?”

Loki shifted and blinked,

“Well I…”

“Exactly. It’s fine I’m not upset but I’m allowed to meet up with people who actually enjoy my company, not just tolerate it.”

You quickly replied back to Oliver to tell him he could meet you outside the towers.

“Your company is not always… intolerable.”

“Careful now, that was almost a complement.”

You sighed and looked around you. Once again, no one had noticed that a dangerous war criminal was sat, relaxing in Starbucks like it was the most normal thing in the world. It felt nice though, to be amongst…normal people going about their every day business, complete unaware that their lives were potentially at stake and you were somehow tasked with ensuring that didn’t happen. God you wished you were just as ignorant, there was no way you fit in with the gods and superheroes you were currently keeping company.

“Are we prepared for the trip?” You asked him.

Loki nodded. “I believe Volstagg and Fandral will also be accompanying us.”

Your eyes lit up,

“Aw nice!”

Loki shot you a dark look.

“No, not nice. It is highly irritating.”

“Well, the more people we have the better, no?”

Loki rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.

You let yourself people watch for a bit longer, watching as a guy ate a sandwich and completely missed his mouth as he read a newspaper.

“He’s a simpleton.”

You chuckled as the guy looked round in embarrassment, “yeah.”

“Then why are you meeting up with him?

“What?” You snapped your attention back to Loki.

“The boy.”

“Oh…well actually Oliver is super clever he went to Harvard and got an internship with Stark while he was studying.”

“Please, Midgardian education is nothing compared to the far superior Asgardian education. He wouldn’t have even met the entrance criteria.”

“Isn’t Asgard kind of backwards when it comes to things like that though? Seems like there’s kind of a harsh class difference, you know, gods vs the rest of Asgard?”

“Do not pretend Earth is any better.” He scowled.

“No, but I’m just saying, maybe Oliver couldn’t have gotten into the schools you went to but wouldn’t that have been because of his states rather than his brains? Also you age so much slower than we do so you have more time to learn things which is kind of an unfair advantage.”

You took a slurp of your coffee.

“You certainly seem to be quite enamoured.” Loki stated, cooly and guarded.

You blushed in spite of yourself.

“I…I am not…enamoured.”

It’s true you were up quite late texting him before Loki got irritated and said the light was disrupting his abilities to sleep and banished your phone to the shadow realm or something.

Loki stood suddenly.

“Going somewhere?” You asked surprised.

“If we are going to head back for you to be on time for your rendezvous we should return mortal.”

“Oh.” You checked the time, he was right.

He strode off out of Starbucks and as you attempted to catch up, you wondered if he was annoyed you were ditching him for someone else.

The walk back seemed to be feeling awkward and you felt bad for abandoning him. Which is probably what prompted you to say the following:

“You could come with me and Oliver if you wanted? This afternoon?”

Loki looked at you as if you had suggested he ran around Stark Towers naked doing the cha cha slide.

“Or not…just a suggestion.”

“Why in the realms would I want to do that mortal?”

“Well I just wondered if you were maybe a bit bored at the towers and would prefer to hang out with some different people for a change.”

“I would not prefer to hang out with you and that midgardian.”

“Jeez I take back my invitation.”

It was quiet between you again.

Aw man this sucks. You felt a strong sense of guilt for some reason and was that…a feeling of sadness? Where you…sad that you weren’t spending the rest of the day with Loki? It had been kind of fun spending the morning with him, even with his complete lack of knowledge around what counts as an appropriate conversation.

You snuck a glance up at him as you walked, laughing inwardly at his outright questions surrounding your menstrual cycle earlier. He looked kind of annoyed, but then again, you mused, his usual facial expression was kind of “mildly irritated” so it was difficult to tell. Loki had the worst case of resting bitch face you had seen.

As you got closer to the Towers, you spotted Oliver waiting for you. You smiled and waved at him as he walked over.

“Hi” He grinned.

You awkwardly looked at each other, both wondering if you should go in for a hug or not.

“You look nice! I like the more modern look today” He said cheerily.

“Aw thanks!”

You could almost feel Loki rolling his eyes behind you.

“Norns above this is sickening. No need to lie mortal boy she looks the same as usual.”

“Are you going to stay here and be rude all afternoon or do you have somewhere else to be?” You shot at him.

“I have far more important things to do than stand and talk to midgardians.” He sneered.

“Well why don’t you go do them then.”

“Well, I will.”

“Fine.”

“Goodbye.” You spat.

You turned to face Oliver who looked slightly unsure at the interaction he had just witnessed.

“Shall we?” You asked rather briskly and strode off in whatever the opposite direction of Loki was.

Notes: Let me know what you though! Not sure how many are still out here lol but I hope you enjoyed! Loki is a master of hot and cold!

Tag list:

@creationsbyme @kikster606 @slytherinintj13 @th0rswh0res @huntress-artemiss @jannieka394 @stefffrs @misswimberly @thedistractedagglomeration @yoongissidebitchh @purplekitten30 @mischief2sarawr @johnmurphys-sass

@ionadane @imalovernotahater @lokisgoodgirl @lalicexo eee @dlwrish

103 notes · View notes