#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

[gay-kurapika]

It's been extremely fun that I've had night terrors where there is definitely something shadowy standing over my bed multiple times this week and typically three or four times a night. But I'm definitely okay lol

[heich0e]

vash wears his signature round-framed glasses every day, and has for all the years you've known him. he's not particularly shy about anything, but he freely admits to having terrible eyesight and an absolutely insane lens prescription to anyone who asks.

nai on the other hand outrightly lies about it.

his eyesight is every bit as bad as his twin's—worse, sometimes, because he gets tension headaches that affect his vision that vash has never suffered. but in contrast to his brother, he wears contact lenses at all times to keep that secret hidden. he doesn't reveal much personal information in the first place, and his frosty demeanour is enough to put anyone off from prying, but you really would swear that someone as perfect as nai has the 20/20 vision that he claims.

except one day, during midterms, you show up unexpectedly at the twins' apartment to drop off a textbook that vash had forgotten at the library the night before in his exhaustion-induced stupor. you have to pass his place on your way to campus anyway, so you stop by to return it to him bright and early—knowing he'll need it in last minute preparation for his test that day.

but it's not vash who answers the door when you come knocking, it's nai. he's more dishevelled than you've ever seen him; in a pair of track pants whose elasticated legs are lopsided—stuck at different points on either side, one resting at his left ankle and the right about a quarter of the way up his calf—and a rumpled t-shirt, his bright blonde hair sticking up on one side. he must have just woken, you realize quickly. it's early in the morning, after all, and he's in the throes of midterms too. premed midterms at that. but you just never quite expected someone like nai to even be capable of being dishevelled, much less succumbing to any sort of academic pressure, seeing as he's always so frighteningly well put-together.

"you're wearing glasses."

any lingering softness of fatigue in nai's expression is immediately replaced by a much more familiar look of ire.

"what do you want?" he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

he doesn't take the glasses off, you notice. part of you wonders if it's only because that would be like admitting defeat.

"vash left this at the library yesterday,"—you lift the textbook in your hands, holding it before you like a peace-offering—"i know he needs it for-"

nai snatches the hardcover from your grip before you can even finish your explanation.

"is that all?" he asks you coldly. you know he only bothers to do it—only grits his teeth and bears it—because if there was something else you'd come there for, and he kicked you out before you'd gotten the chance to do or say it, vash would be upset with him later.

you purse your lips in thought as he stares you down from behind the lenses of his glasses—cold blue piercing though the clear glass. after a moment's consideration, you laugh lightly.

"they really suit you," you remark with a smile.

nai slams the door in your face before you can say anything else.

[hellodarling1357]

Modern!Cassian x Reader HCs - part 1/∞

This got a little out of hand but I just love the thought of Modern!Cassian so expect plenty more posts like this to come, and (as always) feel free to send in some requests!

It's for sure on the (much) longer side for a drabble but we've got Modern Cassian and reader becoming "official", skincare routines, date nights, couples who gym together (etc, etc), and a small little snippet of Cassian meeting reader's family

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 1.6k

You and Cassian had been seeing each other for a few weeks but it was nothing too serious, despite feeling as though you were falling hard and fast for him

One night when he’s cooking you dinner and his phone buzzes he asks if you can check it for him, which you do but you’re still shocked because none of your exes had been so open with their messages, especially this early into the relationship, or whatever it was between the two of you

You read out the message Rhys had sent Cassian, but what really had you well and truly shocked was his background image

It was a photo of you from one of the first times you had stayed the night with him

You had woken up to Cassian trailing kisses down your bare arms and across your stomach, but because it was your first day off in weeks you hit him over the head with his pillow and jokingly yelled at him for disrupting your sleep-in

You had foolishly tried to get back to sleep after that but the next thing you knew, Cassian was straddling you, strong thighs trapping your arms against your sides

He looked down at you with a wide, cheeky grin and then, to your dismay, started tickling you which had you fighting for your life as you heaved in air through your ongoing laughter

After he finally let up, you squeezed your eyes shut, a wide smile still spread across your face as you breathed in heavily and tried to catch your breath

You felt Cassian move above you, leaning over to grab something from the bedside table

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Cassian staring down at you with a look of complete adoration

You quirked your eyebrow but smiled up at him just as he raised his phone and snapped a photo of you

You objected and tried your best to hide from the camera, aware of your messy hair from last nights activities and your still naked body

But Cassian swiped your arms away as he kept taking photos, causing you to wrap your legs around him and, somehow, managing to flip the two of you over so that you were now straddling him, to Cassian’s absolute delight

But now, staring at the photo of yourself, sun gleaming across your still sleepy face but with a wide enough grin to show you didn’t really mind, you found a defensive wall coming up as you turned to Cassian, holding the phone to face him

Memories of one particularly bad relationship came to the surface, where you were constantly made to feel as though you had to chase after his approval and love, which he would smother you with, but then take it away the second something didn’t go his way

That relationship had also moved incredibly quickly and now you worried about repeating the same mistakes with Cassian

“What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Was his absentminded response as he juggled the different pots and pans that were sizzling away on the stove

“Cassian.”

Your blunt tone had him turning to you, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he tried to work out what had made you upset

“What’s this? Why do you have this as your background?”

Again you waved his phone at him

He studied you and his phone for a moment before lifting his eyes back to you as he put down the wooden spoon he had been using and lent against the bench, facing where you stood on the other side

“Because I like the photo?”

“Okay? But why?”

“What do you mean why? I didn’t realise I needed a reason or excuse to look at my girlfriend’s face whenever I pick up my phone.”

“But…”

Wait, what?

Your words left you as you processed what he had said

Still feeling somewhat wary, you asked

“Girlfriend?”

“Well yeah,” Cassian started to blush (the open vulnerability doing something to your insides) “I mean, well... yeah?”

You walked over to him, all doubts leaving as you reminded yourself of the man who stood in front of you. He was not your ex. He was nothing like your ex

“I hadn’t realised we’d made it official.” You said in a coy voice as you looped your arms around his neck

“Well, I’m not seeing anyone else, so if you’re down…?”

“How romantic” you teased with a laugh before leaning up on your toes to kiss him

You definitely got Cassian onto the skincare bandwagon

He was at your apartment one night watching a sports game that you had zero interest in so you got bored and went through your bathroom cupboards

Hiding a hair mask behind your back, you walked into the lounge room and straddled Cassian’s lap

He automatically wrapped his arms around you but still craned to see the TV screen

You pressed a kiss to his exposed neck and murmured “close your eyes”

“Hmm?” He still wasn’t paying attention

This time you trailed your lips up to his ear, tugging on it slightly with your teeth as you said again, “close your eyes”

That got his attention, but also coincided with an ad break which you chose to ignore

Cassian leant back on the couch, a smug and expectant smirk on his face as he waited for whatever you had planned

What he didn’t expect, however, was the glob of a hair mask you splattered onto the top of his hand, running your hands through it to coat the long strands

“What?” Cassian spluttered, raising a hand to touch whatever you had put on him

You swatted him away, “Stop. You’ll get it everywhere.”

You went back to rubbing the treatment through his hair and he eventually relaxed into the feel of your fingers across his scalp, eyes drifting back to the TV screen as the game started up again

Once you were done, you leant back to inspect your work

“Right, leave that on for twenty minutes. Don’t touch it.” You warned before climbing out of his lap without another word, this time heading to the bathroom to find a face mask

You didn’t bother to hide the small container as you climbed onto his lap again

“This stuff smells like you,” He said absentmindedly, playing with a strand of his hair. “It’s nice.”

“I told you not to touch it” you chastised with a small smile, letting him relax back into the couch and pressing a kiss to his lips

“You trust me?” You asked against his mouth

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure”

He lent forward and kissed you again

“Yes. Do your worst” he indicated to the face mask, unable to hide his hesitant expression

So you happily leant back and started applying the mask all over his face

“Y/N, I don’t like this”

“Shhhh, 15 minutes then you need to wash it off”

“But the game—“

“I’ll help you”

Your suggestive smirk as you ground your hips against him had his pants tightening

But you just jumped back up, saying over your shoulder “15 minutes. Bathroom”

After that night, whenever you were both getting ready for bed and you were washing your face, Cassian would jokingly ask, “Are you gonna put more of that stuff on my face?” to which you would nudge him with your shoulder and continue your routine of serums and moisturisers, ignoring, what you thought, was him teasing you

However, a week later he still hadn’t let it go so you asked “What? Do you want some of it?”

He was silent for a moment but then “Yeah? I don’t know, maybe?”

You tilted your head at him in the mirror, your raised eyebrow prompted him to sheepishly continue

“Well, my face felt really nice after it. And your face is always glowing and soft so…”

You broke into a grin, so excited at the thought of sharing your nightly routine with him

“Why didn’t you just say so from the start!”

A few weeks later you were out for dinner with Cassian and your friends when Rhys, after studying Cassian for a moment said “Somethings different about you. I mean, you look different? Like all glowy.”

This caused everyone’s eyes to roam over Cassian’s face who nervously shifted in his seat

“Just been getting out in the sun a bit more…” He trailed off, shooting you a look that told you to keep quiet as he quickly changed the subject

However, six months later, Cassian gifted Rhys and Az a starter kit of the skin care you had got him onto for their Christmas presents

Cassian is definitely the type of boyfriend who pretends to act all pervy towards you at the gym by making flirty comments purely to embarrass you in front of the other gym-goers

(You've definitely fucked in the changing rooms on more than one occasion: abs, muscles, sweaty Cassian - how could you not??)

Him helping you with exercises and standing really close to you is just foreplay at this point

Leaving together and he just slings a sweaty arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple, proudly showing you off and not finding it in himself to care whether or not the other gym-goers know what transpired not even 10 minutes ago ;)

Cassian for sure drives one of those big 4WDs and he loved picking you up in it when you first started dating

He still makes sure to open the door for you every time you’re driving around together

Just picture, overnight dates where you pack up the car and sleep in the back of it on a pile of blankets and pillows, just watching the stars together and whispering about your future before drifting off to sleep

Then there’s Cassian meeting your family for the first time and being so incredibly nervous because he didn’t have a stable family growing up but little does he know, he’s already won them over before even meeting purely based on everything you have told them about him

(I need to stop because this will be a whole post in itself and I could just go on forever)

[monkee-mobile]

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.

[mistress-ofmagic]

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.”

“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 

[treatian]

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.

[ysbrydthespoop]

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.

[thetenthdoctorscompanion]

Christmas Eve

Steve H x FOC x Eddie M Requested: no, i’m just sappy Warnings: none, just fluff

Steve respected that not everyone celebrated Christmas. It wasn’t a surprise that he was working on Christmas Eve, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bummed to be sweeping instead of cuddling at home with Chrissy and Eddie. The movie theater had divided up the shifts: Christmas Eve morning, Christmas Eve night, Christmas morning, Christmas night. Everyone had to work at least one of the shifts, because the theater wasn’t closing or cancelling any of their showings. Steve had opted for the night of Christmas Eve. It gave him time to wrap his gifts in the morning, open his gifts the next morning, and still be home for dinner when Mr. Walcott joined them that night. It wasn’t a particularly busy shift, but there was still a lot of work to be done with less staff. By the time he’d finished counting down the registers, inspecting each of the theaters and bathrooms, and cleaning the concessions counter, it was past midnight. Christmas Day and he was still at work. He had to admit—while he didn’t love working at the theater—there was a certain irony in working there while Chrissy attended her classes; enough irony to help him make it through the night.

He drove slow on the roads home, wary of the snow and ice that were packed down on the road. When he finally got to the apartment, he was dead on his feet, missing the keyhole three times before he was able to let himself in.

The living room was lit up like…well, like Christmas. They’d ended up with a six foot tree, which was really six and a half feet by the time they secured it in the stand. A few of the upper branches were bent against the ceiling, but Eddie had managed to wedge the star in at an angle where it was still visible.

Steve hung up his jacket and crept through the room so he wouldn’t wake anyone. He expected them to be asleep in their rooms, but he did a double take when he saw the couch. Eddie was slouched in the corner, head tipped back and mouth wide open, dead asleep with Chrissy in his lap. She was curled up on her side with her head resting on Eddie’s thigh, a blanket half-covering her legs as she snuggled closer to him for warmth.

Steve paused, allowing himself to watch them for a moment, painted in the multi-colored lights of the Christmas tree. He smiled to himself, then snuck away to retrieve his gifts from the closet in his room.

He did his best to stay quiet as he moved around the apartment—grabbing a cookie from the platter in the kitchen, dropping candy in the stockings Eddie had nailed to the counter, placing the gifts under the tree—but he wasn’t too surprised when he was interrupted.

“Mm, Santa?” A voice asked blearily behind him. “Thought you were supposed to have a red suit.”

“Yeah, it’s at the dry cleaner,” Steve chuckled softly.

“S’alright. Jeans make your ass look pretty good.”

Steve shot Eddie a look over his shoulder, hoping the Christmas lights would cover any pink in his cheeks. Eddie grinned through his sleepiness, stifling a yawn and trying to shift out from under Chrissy’s sleeping form.

“Wha’ time s’it?”

“One-thirty.” Steve finished straightening out the last package and helped Eddie up off the couch. Eddie slumped forward at once, half-collapsing into Steve’s arms. “Woah—okay, yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.”

“Sorry. M’up, m’up…” Once Eddie’s legs had woken up too, he righted himself and pulled Steve into a proper hug. “Was worried about you. Busy night?”

“Nah, not too bad, but with only three people on, there was a lot to do. That’s why I’m pretty sure I told you guys not to wait up for me.”

Eddie smirked as he pulled back. “Hey, don’t look at me. You know Chrissy’s in charge. She wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

Home. The word made Steve’s chest tingle as he looked from Eddie to Chrissy, still sleeping peacefully on the couch. Her face was painted blue in the string lights, but there was also a faint light coming from the TV, the screen dark but still active as the VCR hummed in the cabinet below. Steve trod over so he could turn off the set and eject the tape.

“What’d you guys watch?”

“Ohhh, take a wild guess,” Eddie groaned as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Gremlins?”

“Gremlins. I keep telling her it’s not a Christmas movie, but she won’t listen.”

“That’s because it is a Christmas movie.” Steve winked over his shoulder as he slipped the tape back in its case and returned it to the shelf. “Hot chocolate?”

“Sure,” Eddie sighed. “Spike it and I’m in.”

“Naturally.”

They migrated to the kitchen and fell into an easy rhythm. Steve prepped the hot chocolate while Eddie grabbed the fixings—the mugs, the whipped cream, the marshmallows, the liqueur; he went quiet after that. Steve assumed he’d fallen asleep on the counter, but when he turned to pour their drinks, Eddie was just watching him, chin in his hands, his eyes sleepy but still shining bright.

“What?” Steve asked warily.

“Nothin’. Just lookin’. You’re cute.”

“Ha. You’re sleepy.”

“Yeah, but you’re still cute, babe.”

Steve shook his head with a smile, pushing Eddie’s cup toward him. “Yeah, well, you’re not bad yourself, pretty boy.”

Eddie hummed in content, though whether it was a response to the compliment or the first sip of his drink, Steve couldn’t tell. He reached across the counter to wipe the whipped cream off the tip of Eddie’s nose before he even touched his own mug.

“You done wrapping?”

“Yup.” Eddie nodded confidently, which wasn’t enough to convince Steve. He raised an eyebrow until Eddie grimaced. “…No…but it’s just some stuff for the kids. You know, shit we’ve gotta mail. Your stuff is done.”

“Gee, thanks. You know if Chris finished?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I don’t even know where she’s hiding that shit. I tried snooping, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“And you never will, Munson.”

Eddie chuckled as Chrissy shuffled into the kitchen like a zombie. Her eyes were completely closed, navigating by instinct around the counter to Steve’s side. She hugged him around the waist and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“M’glad you’re home. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, baby,” said Steve, planting a kiss on top her head.

Chrissy sighed happily, then pulled back with a wrinkled nose. “You smell like popcorn and disinfectant.”

“Yeah, I still gotta shower. You two head to bed, huh? I’ll be in in a bit.”

“What?” Eddie laid a hand on his chest and gasped. “We can’t come with you?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but smirked. “Take her to bed, Munson.”

“Hey, don’t have to tell me twice. Come on, sugar.”

Eddie pulled Chrissy back a few steps, then effortlessly scooped her up over his shoulder. Chrissy made a startled noise of protest, but it looked like she was too tired to fight back. Eddie patted her thigh in reassurance before stealing a quick kiss from Steve.

“Night, Stevie-poo.”

“Yeah. Night, Eds.”

Chrissy mumbled something similar as Eddie hauled her away to the bedroom. Steve watched them go and drained the last of his hot chocolate. Sure, he’d started Christmas cleaning up popcorn kernels and making change—but if it meant Steve came home to this, it was worth it.

[osarina]

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.

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.

[thesilmarilchick]

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.

[mingtinys]

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.

[astaroth1357]

How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer 

Near constantly. 

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well. 

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them. 

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes: 

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus 

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor 

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

[maximotts]

𝑙𝑒𝑢𝑐𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑦 • 𝑤. 𝑚𝑎𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑓𝑓

a/n: just a quick drabble for this new AU; I really wanted to write for her, but the actual parts don't start until next week so y'all get this in the interim. It doesn't happen at any particular point in time for the story, just a little moment

words: 1K

warnings: mostly just a fluff insert; implied smut, beginnings of?? idk how to describe that Wanda's just that kind of 24/7 horny type of gal

desires unspoken AU; Wanda wakes you with a silly question and if it was anyone else, there'd be consequences, but for her you'd lose the sleep

desires unspoken series. || main masterlist.

• 𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 | 𝘭𝘦𝘶·​𝘤𝘰·​𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 | \ ˈ𝘭𝘶̈𝘬əˌ𝘬𝘢̈𝘭ē \ 𝘯.: 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 •

──── ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

“Hey..”

“Hey, psstt..”

Sleepily, you craned your neck, eyes just barely peeling open. The deep dark of the room told you it was the middle of the night, the barely there candlelight giving you just enough ease to see. Wanda sat up, way too alert for the late hour, her hand resting on your blanket covered thigh. “Is something wrong?”

Wanda shook her head quickly, calming your worries, but as a yawn gripped your body and exhaustion weighed you down, you resented being woken up. Your expression must’ve given away your budding irritation because she shot you a wide smile, biting her lip in the sweet way you were powerless against. With a deep breath, you waited expectantly for whatever she was so giddy about, giving her a nod to go ahead. “What if I were a bear?”

She couldn’t be serious. This wasn’t what she woke you up for, surely. But as she raised her hands like claws, twisting around with abysmally embarrassing bear noises, you realize this really was what Wanda woke you up for. The lack of reaction settled the brunette down; you didn’t notice until her face fell that it was because of you. Instead she dropped her previously animated hands, playing with the edges of your shared blanket silently. Her long hair fell in a curtain around her pouting face and instantly you felt bad. “It’s fine, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

You were stunned by her quick change of mood; yes, you were a little grumpy about being awake, but it was nothing near anger towards her. If you’d known your hesitancy would’ve caused such a downturn, you would’ve at least tried to fake a smile. “Now, don’t pout…”

When Wanda didn’t look up, just shaking her head to wave you off, it was your turn to frown. It was no secret Wanda’s nature was to turn inward, to ‘be seen and not heard’, as her aunt said, particularly when she thought she was becoming too much of a nuisance, but the last thing you wanted was for Wanda to feel like she had to close herself off from you. Tired as you were, you’d be lying to say her little night display wasn’t extremely cute.

“You know…” Strong hands wrapped around Wanda’s soft thighs, pulling her closer until her head hung over yours. The soft candlelight illuminated just enough for the outlines of her face to be visible, gentle contours of her confused expression marked between you two. “If you were a bear, you’d be the cutest one.”

She shook her head, a nervous chuckle just barely escaping her throat. “Maybe an average bear, but I doubt I’d be the cutest one in existence.” A low hum floated through the air, open hands sliding up her legs and taking her thin nightgown with it until you directed one of them over your midsection. Wanda was beautiful, ethereal even, with a mind so active you wondered how she ever sat still.

“No no, you’d be the best bear. My favorite bear, even.” Wanda let her body sit atop yours, watching silently as you took one of her hands and brought it to your lips. Kissing her skin was a blessing, soft and sweet as a marshmallow, and maybe you got carried away pressing little reminders of your love up her wrist and arm, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Wanda didn’t either, if the wetness spreading from her core to your abdomen was any indicator. Your lover melted without fail whenever you doled out affectionate words, especially nights like these where the two of you had to be quiet and still you risked it all just to be sweet to her. Neither of you knew if it was the forced secrecy or genuine emotion creating the growing feelings for the other, but what there was right now —whatever it was— felt new, exhilarating and there was no desire to halt it. “My beautiful, darling bear.”

“Stop…” Wanda broke into a flurry of giggles as your fingers tickled over her skin, louder than she should have been but you wouldn’t dare stop her. A real laugh was a rare thing from the young woman; you wouldn’t rob her the pleasure of joy. “You’re over-exaggerating. It was just a frivolous question I had, but thank you for indulging me.”

Gently, carefully, you pulled her down until she was flush against you, the thin fabric of her undergarments barely hiding how her nipples had hardened in the chilly room. “I’ll always indulge you. You’re my weakness, Wanda Maximoff.”

“Even when I wake you with my thoughts?” Her lips brushed over your jawline, attempting to soften any lingering annoyance you may have had with her. It was a good day when Wanda found out how much she could get away with after a few well-placed kisses. “And keep you up for my own selfish wants?”

You knew what she was after; Wanda’s insatiable nature was hardly news to you, it was one of the things you found most amusing about her. If you had to stay awake, you might as well have fun with it. “Depends on if those wants appeal to me too…” Your hands slid over her expertly, sneaking under her bunched gown to grip your lover’s ass. The lack of shame with which Wanda folded her legs farther, creating the perfect angle to grind her sensitive cunt against the planes of your stomach, twisted the coil in your belly desperately. The sight of her would never get old.

Wanda pushed her ass back into your hands, taunting you until you gave her a warning smack to behave, “If I appeal to you then yes, our wants align.”

“Tempting…” You pretended to think of denying her, well aware you were already persuaded by her hips just barely rocking against your prone form. You drew her into a full kiss, sleepy and a little clumsy, but dragging her bottom lip between your teeth until she whined; Wanda was surely worth staying up for.

“Fine then, what if..” you drew it out, mocking her earlier game, “I make you cum as many times as you want, but you stay good and quiet for me?”

The brunette nodded swiftly, agreeing eagerly and obediently quiet. If she was going to behave this well, you’d be up all night. But Wanda’s panting breaths in your ear, whispering some of the naughtiest of thoughts that came to her mind forced the need to sleep from your own.

[howl-at--the-sun]

So the wonderful @imprisioned-in-the-hole suggested Twilight and Hyrule with "Hey can you help? They fell asleep on me…” from this prompt list, so here y'all go

Title: early morning predicament

Relationships: Twilight & Hyrule

Twilight was in quite the predicament. 

He’d been in predicaments before, every hero had, but this one was particularly challenging. This one was going to take all of Twilight’s strength, skill, and intelligence to get out of. He hadn’t faced a challenge quite like this one since that fateful day in Castletown, and the prospect of facing a challenge as daunting as that was terrifying. Twilight was walking a fine line between success and disaster, between life and death itself. 

“Hey, can you help? Hyrule fell asleep on me,”

Legend turned around from where he was packing up his bedroll to give Twilight an incredulous look.

“Do you think I’m crazy? Do you know how much shit the Old Man will give me if I wake him up?”

And there lay the crux of the issue. After discovering that Hyrule had a worse sleep schedule than Wild, which was impressive in a terrible sort of way, an unspoken rule had been imposed on the rest of the heroes: Let. Hyrule. Sleep. The penalty for waking him was hours of Time’s Disappointed Glare, and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of that. The rule, for the most part, had been easy, they had simply opted to not disturb him while he was resting, but that was considerably harder when Hyrule’s resting place was Twilight’s hair. 

Last night, a sleepy Hyrule had asked Twilight, while in wolf form, if he could sleep on Wolfie’s head because he was having trouble getting to sleep on his own. Twilight hadn’t thought much of the request at the time, and had allowed the sleepy hero to curl up on his forehead as he himself had drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately for Morning Twilight, Evening Twilight had failed to realize that when Morning Twilight inevitably changed back into his Hylian form, Hyrule would be sleeping on his head. 

And that was the predicament Twilight was in. An adorable fairy was asleep on his head, rendering him imoble and with no support from his teammates. It reminded him of that day in Castletown a few years earlier, where he’d made the mistake of dozing off around the various stray cats of the city and woken up unable to move due to the furry felines resting on him.

It wasn’t a bad predicament to be in, but it was a predicament. 

Suddenly, Twilight’s hair began to part as if tiny arms and legs were moving through it and a voice slurring due to sleep said:

“Wha time isit?”

Twilight smiled. “It’s only eight. You still have an hour to sleep in,”

“M’kay” Hyrule murmured.

A yawn split the silence and Twilight felt movement on the top of his head. 

“It's really nice up here,” Hyrule said with a yawn. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep?”

“Not at all,” Twilight said, and he felt Hyrule curl up on his head once more. 

Legend shot him a grin. “Looks like someone’s not going to be getting up early?”

Twilight didn’t have the energy to flip him off. 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Good Morning Showers

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x reader (cishet woman, no y/n, no kids, established relationship)

Tags/warnings: PiV sex with no mentioned protection (they're fine, though), some basic dirty talk.

Summary: Morning sex in a cold bedroom with the rain beating on the window, is there anything better?

Words: 2,419

Notes: This goes together with Good Night Showers but it's not necessarily the same couple. Also, this one turned a lot spicier than I intended, so if you're looking for something as cozy and nice as Good Night Showers, you're not gonna find it here, I'm afraid.

Frankie awakes to the sound of rain on the roof. It’s mid-October and the bedroom is chilly, even to him, and he doesn’t freeze easily. But it’s warm and cozy underneath the covers, and that’s where he remains. It’s dark, but when he turns his head to the side, he can see the outline of the woman sleeping next to him.

You.

It amazes him every morning that you’re here. The smell of your apartment has quickly become familiar to him, and the rooms have become home, but the fact that you are here, with him, is something he can’t quite grasp yet. At least not first thing in the morning, when his inner military clock has decided it’s time to wake up but his body is nowhere near ready to give up sleep.

Lazy Sunday mornings with you are his favorites. To be able to stay in bed with you, kiss you out of sleep and then slide into you while you’re soft and compliant, to move inside you and hear your gasping breaths… Frankie grunts to himself when his boxers start to tent. Dammit. You’re not going to be happy about being woken up this early, not even for sex. He immediately feels bad for thinking about sex first thing, but in the next moment he decides that there’s no shame in wanting you. As he looks at your sleeping form, his eyes grow accustomed to the half-light, and he begins to discern your eyebrows, lashes, the ridge of your nose, and your lips.

You sleep late in the mornings. Something Frankie learned even before he moved in with you was that your morning temper is not to be trifled with. He knows that it’s better to let you sleep as late as you want to, and then wake you slowly with caresses

and coffee.

Christ, he wants you. But it’s too early, he can’t wake you up just yet, you’d have this balls for breakfast, and not in a good way.

Carefully, he turns onto his back and contemplates a silent hand job to take care of his uncomfortable boner, but decides against it. He would feel weird doing it with you unconscious next to him. And if you woke up, he’d feel even more weird. Wrong. Unleashed. No, it’s better to last it out, think unsexy thoughts.

One hand resting on his belly, those unsexy thoughts come quickly in the form of self-doubt when his fingers sink into soft flesh. He’s not as slender as he used to be. Time and civilian life has softened him, made his stomach press against and slightly over his belt buckle, filled out his thighs. He’s had to go up one size in jeans, rendering his still pathetically small ass a flat little pancake hidden behind baggy denim. He has a double chin, particularly when he’s laughing. He tries not to think about it. He loves laughing together with you, adores your smile, lives for your laughter. He can’t let his aging body get in the way of that. And you love him, no matter what he looks like, he knows you do.

Fuck.

He’s thinking about you again. How happy you make him. How hard you make him. He turns his head to look at you once more. The love he feels for you is… undiluted and incredibly strong, almost addictive. The need to be physical with you is almost tangible at times. He has to touch you, all the time. You are his world. You are everything. Even now, especially now, when you’re snuffling like a little pig, no doubt because the cold air of the bedroom has made you congested, you are everything to him.

The rain increases in strength, and with that, a gush of wind comes in through the open window, making you shift. You arm reaches over to his side of the bed in search of him, and it makes his heart joyously skip a beat. Finding his arm, you lie still for a moment before drawing a deep, stuttering breath, and slowly opening your eyes.

”Morning,” he whispers, and is rewarded with a thin smile.

”Whattimeissit…?” Your voice is raspy and you do sound congested.

”Way too early. Go back to sleep, querida.”

You murmur something about cold and scoot closer, pressing your face against his shoulder. Your body feels cool against his. You get cold easily and love to burrow against him, but during the night you usually emigrate to the other side of the bed, the covers retaining enough of the warmth of both your bodies to make you too warm to be comfortable. But the wind definitely picked up during the night and you’re both feeling it now.

Frankie extends his hand and draws one finger down your cheek, taking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You stay quiet and still for a moment and he thinks you’ve gone back to sleep, but then you sigh and put your hand on the softest part of his stomach. A wide grin spreads across his face and he’s filled with warmth. It’s like you know.

Your hand slides south and lands on his erection. Frankie tenses up for one breath before relaxing again, his cock twitching into your hand.

”Mmmm,” you mumble, like you found and tasted a delicious treat. A shiver runs through you and Frankie misinterprets it.

“I’ll close the window.”

He moves towards the edge of the bed but you grab his stiff dick through his boxers.

“No!”

He groans; your grip is on the verge of painful.

“Sorry,” you whisper throatily before you cough and let go. Frankie slips out of bed and closes the window, his skin rising in goosebumps before quickly returning to the warmth of the bed, where he collects you in his arms.

“You didn’t catch a cold overnight, did you?” he asks you softly when you sniffle again.

“Naah…”

“Warm me up,” you murmur before reclaiming his lips.

You pass your open palm over him, firmly but carefully. Frankie sighs and lowers his lips to yours: they’re a little cold and dry but surprisingly demanding, considering the early hour. You roll half on top of him, your other hand reaching up to his neck, fingers playing lazily with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Small shivers of

pleasure run down his spine to his pelvis. His dick twitches again under your palm and he sighs into the kiss.

“Oh, baby…”

God, he loves you. He loves your tits pressing up against his chest. He loves how one of your thighs press down on his cock, freeing up your hand to slide up his chest and pinch a nipple into stiffness before settling on his shoulder to hold onto him. He loves your sleepy kisses.

And sleepy is what you are. Despite your growing desire, you could still easily let yourself be pulled back into dreamland. The covers have slipped down your shoulder slightly, your skin knotting and its fine hairs rising. Frankie resettles the covers before gently pushing you off of him.

“Lemme cover you, querida.”

You lie down on your back next to him and he rolls over you. Lowering his face to your neck, he starts to trail soft-yet-scratchy kisses along your skin, down to your shoulder, before diving under the covers to suck a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back, humming low when jolts of pleasure run through your body. Frankie spends quite some time teasing your tits with hands and lips before you grow tired of waiting.

“Need you, Frankie,” you moan, threading your fingers through his bed hair before taking a firm hold and pulling him up for a kiss. Once you have his lips against yours, you release his hair and move to tug down your panties and his shorts.

“Don’t you want me to go down on you first…?” His voice is all sweet seduction and it makes your pussy clench, but no, that’s not what you want now. Frankie’s penchant for eating pussy is one of the many great things about him, but there are times when you just want him in you.

This is definitely one of them.

“I need your cock,” you specify for him in a whispered gasp, and he presses his lips to yours before helping you tear off your panties. He lowers himself over you, settling between your spread thighs, and skims his hand over your throbbing pussy.

“You wet enough for me, my love?” he murmurs into your ear as he dips one finger into you. It’s not just sexy talk: he’s a big guy and if you’re not lubricated enough, it’s going to hurt you and be uncomfortable to him.

“Come to me, baby,” you moan as he rubs his finger to your spot, your hips moving against his finger, wanting to filled up by something thicker.

“God…” Frankie quickly replaces his digit with the head of his cock. With a quick, deep thrust that shoves you up a few inches and makes you cry out, he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck! Oh God, oh Frankie, that’s so fucking big…!” You wrap your arms around him and pull him down to you, on top of you. The sensation of being speared by him runs up your spine to the back of you head and soaks your brain in pleasure.

“So full,” you whimper against his shoulder as he bucks into you forcefully a couple of times, “so – full – of – your cock, baby!”

You’re wide awake now, and your skin feels like it’s on fire when Frankie sucks a bruise on your breast while coming to a slow, almost lazy rhythm in and out of you. The initial shock of him splitting you open subsides into a sense of comfortable fulfillment, of him belonging inside you, no matter how deep the reach or how wide the stretch.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groans before snagging a piece of skin on your neck between his teeth and sucking. “So wet and ready for me as soon as you wake up. So tight and warm.”

It is getting plenty warm underneath the covers now, and you welcome it. The contrast between the cool air of the room and the heating coziness in bed is the perfect setting for morning sex, with the rain still beating against the window. You run your hands up his waist, over his shoulders, and bury your fingers in his tousled hair, enjoying the feel of every inch of him, not just the impressive ones filling you with each leisurely roll of his narrow hips. Frankie lifts his head from next to yours and seeks your lips for a slow, soft kiss in which your moans can safely drown.

“Frankie,” you beg him, “go faster, please.” You sneak one hand down between the two of you to rub your clit, and your pussy squeezes hard at the heightened pleasure. Frankie groans and stops, forehead to yours.

“So fucking tight when you do that, baby…” He draws a deep breath before repositioning himself, now propped up on his elbows, his knees spread wider apart, your legs sliding up and around his hips. With a couple of rough thrusts, he knocks the breath out of you, before he starts to fuck you at a faster pace.

“Like this?” he gasps against your jaw. “Like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, “’s good, so good…!” You rub your clit furiously, chasing your release, getting nearer each time Frankie’s hips connect with yours. You bring your free hand behind his head and pull him in for a breathless, clumsy kiss when the first waves of the orgasm start to lap at your shores, making you tremble.

“Good girl,” Frankie encourages you, his teeth clenched, “cum on my cock, baby, just like that.”

He ducks down to suck your nipple into his mouth as you let yourself go in wave after extraordinary wave of bliss, your voice louder than the heavy rain outside, your hand staying stubbornly on your throbbing clit. When you finally grow oversensitive, you whine Frankie’s name and put your hands on him, neither pushing him away nor pulling him to you, uncertain yourself about what you need.

Frankie’s not uncertain, however. He pulls out and nuzzles your neck, gasping for breath.

“That felt so good, baby, you were squeezing me so tightly,” he praises you with small kisses on your neck. “Now turn around so I can fuck your wet little pussy from behind.”

Too exhausted and simultaneously riled up, you roll over. Frankie rearranges himself, his stiff, sticky cock resting against your ass before he finds you between your soft thighs, and slowly slides in. You exhale audibly, easily taking all of him, welcoming him back into you with a teasing squeeze of your slick walls.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, and drapes himself over your back to keep you warm. For a moment, he holds you softly, kissing your shoulder, shallow, hot breath burning your skin.

Then he starts to fuck you into the mattress, fast and deep. You’re completely trapped underneath him, and as he wraps one arm around your shoulder and the other around your head, he has the leverage to fuck you even harder.

“Fuck that pussy,” you moan into the pillow, “thassit, baby, fuck your cum deep into my tight pussy!”

Frankie growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder, and speeds up, before his balls tighten and he spurts thick ropes of cum into your core while gasping your name.

“Fuck… baby… your dirty mouth will be the death of me…”

You squeeze his quivering cock inside you and move your hips against his, prolonging his orgasm, until he moans and slips out, only to slide down onto the mattress right next to you. You turn your head so that you can look at him in the dark of the bedroom.

“Okay?” he asks you, still breathless.

“Warm and satisfied,” you promise with a weakened giggle. Frankie barks out a laugh as well and passes one hand through his damp hair.

“Yeah. I should grab a shower.”

“Later.” You extend your neck so that you can kiss his sweaty forehead. “Rest now. It’s still early, and still cold outside of bed.”

“That it is,” he murmurs. “Love you, querida.”

“Love you, too.”

It only takes the rain a couple of minutes to lull both of you back to sleep.

[hogwartsmarvelmommy]

Sleep talk

Harry Holland 

A/N- i literally have no patience so i’m giving you all this way earlier than i anticipated. OOps 🤭❤️

Summary- a bad habit of talking in your sleep gets you into a predicament you would have never expected

Word count- 4k

Warnings- sleep talking. Smut. So much smut. additional warnings under the cut.

🌸🌼 Masterlist 🌼🌸

Warnings: Wet dreams. oral (F receiving) unprotected sex, (Please wrap it up!)

You wondered if anyone else felt that the car was stuffy. Sandwiched between Sam and Harry with Tom and Harrison in the front, there was little to no room. This was day three of the ten day road trip, and you were officially tired of sitting in the car. Sam was respectful, trying to give you as much space as he could with you being in the middle seat, Harry on the other hand was pushed up into you with his hand resting on your leg for the umpteenth time. Not that you particularly minded, but you weren't sure why he was being so touchy with you. Your mind kept wandering every time his fingers brushed across your thigh, and as much as you tried to not think the things you were about him, you couldn't help it.

You had finally given up, and closed your eyes, hoping the ache that was in your core would dissipate. There was quite literally nothing you could do about it yourself, at least in the moment. So with your eyes squeezed shut and your head thrown up on the headrest you tried desperately to get the dirty thoughts about your close friend Harry Holland out of your head.

It probably would have worked too, until you felt his face nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His warm breath ghosting the skin of your neck, spreading goosebumps all through your skin and making that desperate ache grow ten times. You couldn't take it anymore. With your thighs squeezed together, in hopes of any relief you let out a loud sigh. “Harrison, can we please stop at the next place with a restroom?” You asked, hoping that no one noticed the desperation in your tone. Harrison obliged, pulling into a nearly empty rest stop only a few miles further down.

As soon as Sam was out of your way you bee lined it towards the building, rushing to the bathroom like your life depended on it. You stood in the tidy restroom, with mirrors that barely offered a reflection. You splashed cold water on your face hoping the ache would disappear now that you weren't stuck to Harry.

Years upon years of knowing the Hollands, and since day one Harry had always tickled your fancy. The curly red hair, the humor the boy quite simply radiated, the warm kind eyes, and his smile. Oh his smile. This road trip was supposed to be a fun experience, a vacation of sorts, but it just seemed to be a constant torture for you. The other boys sticking you with Harry every chance they got. You were sure it was merely a coincidence, there was absolutely no way they knew about your crush. Right?

Last night though, had taken the cake. The hotel had only one room left and they had stuck you and Harry in one bed. You claimed it was no big deal, but in the middle of the night when he had unconsciously thrown his arm around your waist and pulled you into him, you were sure you were going to explode then and there. And the ache just seemed to keep growing.

The door opened causing you to jump. You looked over to see Harry walking in, weary of the fact that he was in the ladies room.

“What are you doing?” You asked him. The smirk that creeped up his lips let you know, he knew. He had to know. Why else would he follow you into a rest stop restroom?

“I was just worried about you, love,” his voice was low, deeper than usual, and you could feel your pussy clench at the sound of his voice.

“I'm alright,” You whispered. His eyebrows raised as he took another step towards you. You shivered as a million ways he could simply take you right now flashed through your mind.

“I've noticed the things you have been doing you know,” he smirked. Your eyes grew wide, not sure exactly what he meant. You have been doing an awful lot lately. “Every time i touch you, your thighs clench together, probably in hopes to relieve some of the pressure that has surely built up over the last few days,” the truth behind the things he said had your mouth hanging open, unaware of what to say to him. He closed the distance between the two of you arms boxing you in as you leaned against the wall in absolute complete shock.

“I-” You began to try and say anything but his finger pressed against your lips. He took his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked over you, a fire in his eyes you had never seen before.

“Am I wrong?” He whispered as he brought his lips to your neck, leaving the softest kisses down from behind your ear to your shoulder. You let out a moan, as you felt yourself grow wetter. “Didn't think so,” Harry mumbled before bringing his lips to yours. The kiss started slowly, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Moving gently over yours, but soon it became deep and with intent, you could feel his hand traveling down your body stopping right before the pool that had accumulated in your underwear. This was it.

The car screeched to a halt and you could hear Tom cursing at the driver in front of you, you looked around shocked that you had fallen asleep. When did Tom and Harrison swap seats? More importantly, how long had you been asleep and how much of your dream had slipped from your unconscious lips. You were a sleep talker, like majorly, so the panic set in instantly, having just had a wet dream about the boy to your right.

Harrison noticed you had woken up first, turning around in his seat as much as he could to look at you. “Morning y/n, have a good sleep?” it didn't seem as there was any teasing behind his question so you were hopeful.

“S’allright. How long was i out?” you felt Harry's body move as if he was chuckling you turned to see a giant shit eating grin spread across his face. You felt your stomach twist. “What did I say?” you asked burying your face in your hands, you knew this could be bad.

“It's okay love, think only I heard,” Harry whispered.

“I heard,” Sam piped in.

“So did we,” Tom announced from the driver's seat. You groaned in embarrassment, why did you have to have a wet dream in a car with your closest friends.

“Was it bad?” you finally asked, peering through your fingers to see Harry's face. You could clearly tell he was holding back something.

“Oh Harry,” Tom mimicked your voice.

“Better than my dreams,” Harrison added.

“Soo soo good,” Sam chuckled.

This was it, the end of your life, this was by far the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened.

“Please don't stop Harry,” Harry whispered in your ear, eyebrows raised, obviously enjoying this. You were sure you were as red as a tomato at this point, your worst fears coming to life.

“Oh my god, you could have woken me up!” You shrieked, burying your face deeper into your hands.

“It seemed like a very good dream, didn't want to interrupt,” Harrison chuckled from in front of you.

You decided to keep your eyes closed for the next few hours, being sure not to fall asleep. When you finally arrived at the small cabin that had been rented for the night, prior to the trip you were relieved to be able to breath and stretch. You had stayed relatively quiet, you were absolutely mortified and you didn't want to become more embarrassed by anything you could say or do at this point.

“Y/N” Tom called. You turned your attention to him, not having heard what he had just said. “Only two rooms, so I'm going to have you bunk with Harry again. You don’t mind right?” He said the last part with a smirk and you knew instantly you would never live this down.

“Course she doesn't,” Harry chimed in, throwing his arm around your shoulder. saving you from having to respond in any way. You smiled up to him through your lashes, silently thanking him. He nodded at you and winked.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Sam whipped up a quick but delicious dinner before the five of you went to your sleeping areas. Tom and Harrison took the bunk room, Sam settled with the pullout bed, leaving you and Harry to share a full sized bed. It would be a snug night.

“You okay darling?” Harry asked as he settled into the bed next to you, you were trying to not let your mind wander. Sleep, you were going to just sleep tonight.

“Other than being mortified, I'm alright,” You mumbled as you rolled onto your side facing away from Harry.

“Because of your dream?” you felt him shuffling on the bed before his hand reached out gently resting on your hip. “You can't control the things your subconscious comes up with. Honestly it was flattering,”

“Seriously?” you asked, face deadpan. As you turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows at you. “It wasn't my subconscious Harry, yes i happened to be asleep, but i have been having these thoughts for weeks. Imagining you stripping me naked and having your way with me. Every time you touch my leg, I hope your hand will travel between my thighs. I'm longing for you to scratch an itch I wasn't even aware I had,” you took a deep breath and then realized what you had just said. “You're my best friend, I'm not supposed to be thinking like this,” You went to turn back around, but Harry reached out grabbing your waist. Before you even had a second to respond you felt Harry's lips crash into yours. His fingers gripped onto your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you, you of course reciprocated, your hands rested on his chest as he pulled your body closer to his. His lips left yours causing a whimper to leave your mouth.

He moved his mouth to your neck, leaving soft kisses and light nibbles down the sensitive skin, till he reached your collar bone. He looked up at you, with lust filled eyes. “I haven't been able to get you off my mind,” He admitted shyly, returning his lips to yours. You smiled into his kiss.

“You're joking,” he took his bottom lip between his teeth while shaking his head. You were sure everything melted away at that moment. Your arms went around his neck as his arms went around your waist closing any distance that was between the two of you. The kisses became sloppy and hungry as Harry's hands slipped under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sending a wave of excitement through your body. “Harry,” You moaned as his lips ghosted over the skin on your neck.

“Tell me what you want love,” his voice was deeper than normal, and filled with lust making you shiver.

“Touch me please,” You nearly begged him. He raised one eyebrow before letting his hand that he had moved to your cheek travel unimaginably slow down your body.

“Where do you want me to touch?” He asked you as his hand made its way to your breast, cupping it and feeling around over your shirt until he had the bead of your nipple between his fingers gently rolling it. You gasped at the sudden stimulation. He lifted your shirt replacing his fingers with his mouth letting his tongue roll it around while his hand glided down your stomach stopping just before the waistband of your pajama bottoms. “Can I?” he asked coyly.

“Please,” You let out as his hand slipped down past your pants and your undies. His fingers gently glided through your soaking folds, before finding your bundle and rubbing it lightly in a circular motion. You let out a moan at the action.

"Take it off for me," Harry said as he pulled his hand away from you.

You began to shake slightly your eyes shooting open, was this seriously happening a second time in the same day? You looked over to see Harry propped up on his elbow next to you, his features illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the curtains. His grin was undeniable.

“Please, i don't even want to know,” You groaned as you buried your face deep in the pillow.

“Oh but I want to know,” He said as he ran his fingers down your spine. “Please tell me what I am doing in your dreams to make you make those noises?”

You lifted your head, looking at him. You could tell him everything and maybe he would feel the same and actually act on your wild dreams, or you could pretend not to remember and hope this never happened again. He leaned in closer to you and his lips brushed against your earlobe. “Tell me how I'm making you moan like that in your pretty little head,” he whispered.

You let out a gasp, at his sudden close proximity to you. You could already feel the juices pooling in your panties.

“Well,” You gulped. “It usually starts with you kissing me,” His grin grew as he leaned in, letting his lips nearly touch yours. You were sure you were about to melt.

“Just like this?” he whispered, not actually connecting your lips.

“Y.y.yeah,” you stuttered out, your mind going wild at what was actually happening.

“And then?” he asked, licking his lips as he stared into your eyes.

“You move to my neck.” He moved his hand so it was on your neck, his fingers brushing up and down your skin.

“Kissing, sucking, or biting?” he asked. You nodded to him, unable to think about anything. He flashed you a smile before moving his lips down to your neck, barely kissing your skin.

“What's next?” he asked into your skin, not moving his lips from where they were peppering the most gentle kisses.

“Either you touch my boobs or go down lower, but then i always wake up,” you admitted, your voice breathy and uneven. Harry lifted his head from your neck with wide eyes.

“You're telling me that's as far as it goes and I have you making noises like that?” The shock on his face and in his voice was cute, and you couldn't help but giggle at him.

“Yes,” you said coyly, a serious blush spreading across your cheeks.

"How long have you been having these dreams y/n?" He asked you quietly. You felt your breath hitch and you didn't want to admit to him that this isn't a new thing, your attraction to him has been a thing for years. You shook your head, not wanting to answer the question. “How long?” he repeated.

“Months,” You whispered, barely audible, But by the cocky look on his face you could tell he had heard you loud and clear.

“And you have never said anything, because?” He asked as he placed his hand on your stomach slowly sliding it down.

“I didn't think it was appropriate,” You mumbled, as you watched his hand as it slipped between the hem of your pajamas and panties. You let out a gasp as his fingers slid up and down your panties.

"So wet, and for what? I haven't even done a thing," Harry teased. You couldn't believe this was happening, especially after the day you had. To say you were embarrassed was an understatement, but in this moment you could care less. "Tell me what you want me to do," he told you as he rubbed you over your panties.

"If we're being honest Harry, all I can think of is how you would feel inside of me," as soon as the words left your mouth you were shocked at yourself, unsure of what exactly had come over you.

"Let's find out then princess," he whispered as he grabbed your pants and panties and peeled them off your body. You felt exposed laying sans bottoms in front of Harry, your friend, who you had feelings for. He reached down, running a finger through your slick folds, and then bringing it up to his mouth. The motion alone was enough for you to nearly die, the idea of Harry tasting you was unbelievably hot, and judging by the obvious bulge in his pajama pants, he agreed.

You reached out to palm him through the fabric of his pants, and as soon as you made contact he let out a quiet groan before pushing you down onto the bed, and finally connecting your lips.

Kissing Harry was everything you expected and more, his lips were soft and gentle all while being rough and hungry for yours. He kissed you with such passion you were sure this had to be yet another dream. It wasn't until you managed to push his sweats halfway down his thigh, revealing his hard outline in his boxers that you were fully sure this was in fact happening.

He moved his lips from yours and down the entirety of your body, focusing a little on your breasts, being sure to pay each one the equal amount of attention, until finally making his way to right above your heat. This was always the part you would wake up, never having experienced Harry between your legs, tongue at work while his curls tickled the inside of your thighs, just the thought of wrapping your fingers in those unruly curls to hold him closer to you made your mouth salivate. When he finally dipped his head down, running his tongue all the way from your entrance to your clit you let out a loud moan, forgetting that the three others were only separated by thin walls. The noises you were making were like music to Harry's ears, telling him he was doing a perfect job, and once your fingers grasped at his hair and began to tug tightly he knew you couldn't get enough of his tongue. He moved his hand from where it had been resting on your knee, slid it up your thigh slowly until his fingers were able to tease your entrance while his tongue focused all on your sensitive nub, drawing circles and flicking it so perfect that once his finger went inside it only took you about two brushes against your g spot for you to completely let go, and Harry rode that shit out, not stopping his precise movements until your moaning and gasping had quieted a little.

He pulled away from you, face glistening in the moonlight with a mixture of your orgasm and his saliva, he wiped his face with the back of his hand before crawling over you, and kissing you again. This kiss was different, more soft and gentle, still with purpose but unlike the first it seemed rather intimate, Harry let his body sink down onto yours, his clothed bulge brushing your sensitive nub while he continued to kiss you.

"Harry," you moaned into his lips, as you hooked your fingers in the hem of his waistband.

"We'll get there baby," he said brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face. The unusual pet name towards you just made your want for him grow. Harry Holland was to good for this earth, too good for you, yet here he was, fueling your fan fiction fantasies, and he was doing it so well you could almost forget that once this was over, you would go back to just being friends, and nothing more. Cause if you were sure of one thing it was that despite your ever growing feelings for Harry, he was not one to develop feelings, in the years you had known him you had never seen him be in a relationship. Which made you think he just wasn't interested.

With his hips grinding against yours while the two of you kissed for what felt like forever you could feel the ache building back up, needing more of him, needing to feel him. He disconnected your lips, pushing himself onto his knees so he could pull his boxers down, his cock which was oh so yummy slapping up against his stomach before he grabbed it and pumped it a few times. "You sure?" He asked you. Eyes full of worry. Once you did this there was no going back, even though your heart would probably break knowing he would never be yours.

"Never been more sure of anything else," you told him. He flashed you his giant Harry smile before lining himself at your entrance, his cock teasing you as his eyes were focused on your face. He wanted to see your reaction to him, to see how he made you feel. He pushed in slowly, giving you ample time to stretch to his size, though with how aroused you were you didn't need all that much. When his hips were flush against yours he started to thrust in and out, slowly at first, bit then harder and faster, stroking your spot with every thrust. The noises coming from the two of you sounded like they were out of a porno, skin slapping against skin, moans escaping from your lips and groaning from him as he pounded into you. After a few minutes of that he brought his hand down between you, letting his fingers rub circles on your nub, it wouldn't take you long now.

"Harry, 'm Soo close," you moaned, your fingers digging into the skin on his back.

"Me to baby, me to," he mumbled as he sped up his rhythm. When the cord finally snapped you felt a wave wash over you, of complete and utter euphoria. You felt Harry twitch inside you before slowing his thrusts down and falling onto your body. Your pretty sure you blacked out for a bit after that, cause when you finally open your eyes, the sun is streaming through the curtains and you are snuggled up against Harry. For a second you're worried it was just a dream, until you notice you are both still sans clothes under the sheet.

"Morning," Harry mumbles, eyes still closed.

"Good morning," you say quietly, not sure what's going to happen from here.

"Last night was amazing," he says after a few excruciating seconds. You giggle and nod your head, afraid that your word will betray you. "I've been waiting for that for years," he adds. Your eyes grow wide as you prop yourself up to look at his face.

"What did you just say?" You demand. His eyes flutter open and look directly at you, a smile on his face.

"I have been waiting for that for years," he repeats matter of factly. He could see the shock written on your face, so he reached out to grab your hand, interlocking your fingers. "You didn't honestly think I didn't have feelings for you did you? Why do you think Tom and Haz were always forcing us to bunk together?" You think back to all the times where the other three boys would group you and Harry off, leaving the two of you alone, and suddenly it all makes sense.

"You like me?" You ask, a smile spreading on your face.

"Baby, I'd be crazy if I didn't," he whispers, leaning up to kiss your lips.

Right then the door flies open and an irritated Tom, Harrison, and Sam are stood in the doorway. You're fully aware of your naked state now, clutching the sheet to cover all the exposed parts of your body.

"You guys were SO loud last night," Harrison says looking back and forth between the two of you. You mumble a sorry, completely embarrassed, until Tom starts to laugh.

"It's about time," he says, walking over and patting Harry on the shoulder before the three of them disappear back into the main area of the cabin.

"Whoops," Harry laughs, placing a kiss on your temple. You look up at him and can't help but smile.