#i think going no contact would just be best
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“Oh my god, Robin.” Steve is whispering into the mouth piece of his desk phone, begging she can hear him. Because he’s not going to be removing his hovering hand from over his mouth, while he groans into the phone, risking being overheard.
“What?” She sounds exasperated but not annoyed.
“You know the new guy? The one starting in IT today?”
“Yeah?” He can hear her clicking the ballpoint pen he thought he hid last week.
“He is so hot, and I need your help finding out if he plays for our team.”
“Your team, Steve. If he played for my team, this would be a different conversation. Why can’t you figure it out yourself?”
“Because Mike was the one that brought him by and you know how Mike feels about me. I’m pretty sure he told Eddie I was an asshole or something because he barely made eye contact. I don’t want to come on too strong and then I make it worse if he’s straight.” Steve glances over his cube wall to ensure no one’s listening. “Please, do this for me and I’ll buy you tacos for lunch.”
“Fine, oh speak of the devil. Here they come.” Steve hears her chair squeak. “I’ll call you back.”
They hang up and Steve leans in his chair trying to peer down the aisle and see if he can watch the interaction. Robin’s desk isn’t quite down the line so he can only see the top of Mike and Eddie’s head. Neither of their skulls are giving anything away so he sighs and accepts he’ll have to wait for Robin’s call.
After a painstaking 7 minutes Steve’s phone rings. He grabs it immediately and grunts an acknowledgment.
“Um.”
Steve’s stomach drops because that’s not Robin’s voice. “Sorry, this is Steve.”
“Hey, um, it’s Eddie. We just met.”
“Yeah,” Steve’s voice lilts up. “What’s up?”
“Oh, Robin said you had a question about something.” Of course she did.
“Uh, did she mention what it was about?” He’s going to murder her.
“No,” he sounds annoyed.
Think quick. “I was…do you play softball? I’m on a league and we’re always looking for new players.”
“No?” He’s probably wondering why he had Robin ask him to call. “Not really a sports guy.”
“Oh, yeah ok. That makes sense.” Steve rubs the back of his neck scrambling for conversation.
“Why does that make sense?”
Shit. “No, I just noticed your rings and nail polish. I can never keep polish on my nails during the season. Gets chipped too easily.” Eddie hums some kind of acknowledgment that Steve can’t interpret. “You’re probably in a band or something, way cooler than softball.” Steve sighs and needs to get out of this shit show of a conversation stat.
“I play guitar,” Eddie states simply.
“See? Yeah, so much cooler than softball. I never learned how to play anything. Wanted to, thought it would get me more chicks in high school.” Steve realizes what that sounds like and rushes to add. “Or anyone now.”
“Yeah, ok. Was there something computer related you needed help with?”
Steve wants to jump off the fifth floor of this building because why is he such a disaster at this? “Sorry, no. You’re probably busy. It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you too, man.”
“Bye,” Eddie doesn’t respond and Steve drops the receiver down like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“Well that was embarrassing.” Steve whips around to see Robin hovering behind him. “I set you up an easy hit and that’s what you do with it?” She has her right hand on her hip and her left hanging on the edge of his cube wall.
“You sabotaged me.” He points his finger at her then pushes himself to his feet. He needs more coffee.
“I did nothing of the sort.” She follows close behind as he weaves through the maze toward the break room.
“Yes you did. I asked you to find out and keep me away from the entire thing. You didn’t even send me a courtesy Slack message. This does not equal tacos.”
“Not fair!” She whines as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.
“It’s only fair since you didn’t do anything. I was the one who looked like an idiot fumbling to come up with something to say to the guy because my best friend refused to find out if he’s queer on her own.”
Robin’s eyes are wide and she’s not speaking which slightly terrifies Steve. He turns around to see the man of the hour pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Hmm,” Eddie tuts, then leans against the counter with a level of nonchalance that shouldn’t be doing something for Steve. “That explains that. Glad I won’t be obsessing the rest of the day about what in the world the hot guy was going on about.”
Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve and when Steve sees the corner of Eddie’s mouth tick up he can’t help it when a blush spreads across his cheeks. Steve thinks he hears Robin back out of the room but he’s not going to turn around to verify.
“My band has a show this Friday. You should come.” He says while pushing his body away from the counter and stalking toward Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve watches the man move closer.
“I’ll email you the info.” Eddie stops a foot in front of Steve, much too close for casual, and it sends a rush of butterflies through his gut. “Harrington, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Cool,” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he steps past. “Oh and it’s too bad you don’t paint your nails more. I bet your fingers look pretty wrapped around…that bat.” Steve feels the weight of the pause and so does his dick if the twitch it gives means anything. “See ya later, man.”
When Eddie disappears through the doorway and Steve’s alone he exhales loudly just before Robin’s pushing her way back into the break room.
“Soooooo?”
“Wanna split the carne asada plate?”
“Yes!” She fist bumps into the air. “Knew it.”
“Also, how does manicures at lunch tomorrow sound?” She cocks her head at him. “He thinks my fingers would look good painted when holding-“
“Don’t!” She interrupts.
“A baseball bat,” he says innocently.
“Uh huh,” she narrows her eyes. “As long as you’re driving, I’m game.”
#Eddie finds out how good Steve’s fingers look late Friday night#modern office romance au#steddie#platonic stobin#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#my writing#steddie ficlet#steddiecameraroll posts
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Hiya Mr Gaiman!
It's probably unlikely that you'll see this, since ofc you're probably busy rn, but incase you do see this in your inbox but don't have time to answer due to other stuff, i just wanna let you know that i still appreciate you somehow having time to read this lil ask I've sent you! Again, thank you Mr Gaiman!
Anyway, so this would probably sound *kinda* weird in terms of the ask i'm writing to you, but do bear with me!
Ok, so uhh Mr Gaiman, if you were to have the ability to time travel to alternative dimensions/universes, would you go to an alternative universe where Monty Python member Graham Chapman never got throat cancer and was still alive and well and happy in his 80s and living his best life in said alternative universe? If so, why? If not, why?
Again, sorry if it sounds a bit out of league and sorta philosophical in terms of the question for you to answer, Mr Gaiman, but I've been thinking about this for quite a while now and it does make me both happy and emotional to think about if Graham Chapman was still alive today, and if he was still alive today, what kinda projects he would've been in, both in terms of writing and acting? Would Graham still be in contact with the other Pythons? Would Graham probably also have a Tumblr account? (ok that's a bit of a stretch but it's a bit funny to imagine imo).
I certainly think that, if Graham was still alive today, he would've been absolutely happy that same-sex marriage was finally made legal plus many other achievements for LGBTQ+ rights, and that he would've probably gotten legally married to his partner David Sherlock, with the other Pythons being the guests of honour for the wedding ceremony!
I also wonder that, if Graham's adopted son John Tomiczek (who unfortunately died from a heart attack in 1992) were to also live, would've Graham finally become a grandpa/great-grandpa?
Idk, it's just some thoughts that I've been thinking about. Thoughts about the many upon many possibilities of Graham doing lots of stuff today if he were still alive. Things he *would've* and *could've* have had the opportunity to do......that is.....if the universe didn't decide to be a dickhead one day and give Graham throat cancer for no absolute reason, and to make it hurt even more, have him pass away on the eve before the 20th Anniversary of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" airing on the 5th October, 1989.....
Again, I understand if you can't be able to answer rn due to other stuff, but I thought I'd ask you this rather hypothetical (rather philosophical of sorts) question cuz I have been thinking about it for quite a while now, and I wanted to hear your personal thoughts on this hypothetical AU situation!
Thanks Mr Neil Gaiman ❤️
It's a lovely idea. I never knew Graham (although I've met most of the other Pythons, and am friends with Terry Gilliam). I like thinking of worlds in which wonderful people didn't die.
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ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA
FEATURING: beast dazai osamu
SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}
AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated
GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.
SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST
READ: BADLANDS SIDE A
“... You said you have a brother?”
You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive.
If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.
He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.
“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”
God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.
It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard.
It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.
He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.
He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.
Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.
“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”
Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-
The incident with Verlaine.
No.
Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.
Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.
Everyone but him.
His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.
You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow
Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this.
The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?
It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…
“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”
Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.
What other pieces is he missing?
Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have?
Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that.
And…
Oh.
Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.
But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t.
He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.
It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.
That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.
“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.
“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.
The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.
“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.
Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”
“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.
“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.
He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.
You don’t.
Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.
“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.
“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.
“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.
He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.
“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.
You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect.
“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.
His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.
His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”
“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”
He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.
God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.
“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”
He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.
“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”
“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.
“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”
You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.
“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.
Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.
When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink.
You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.
“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway.
In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.
“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.
You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before.
“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”
His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”
“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”
Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.
God, what has he done?
He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state.
“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”
You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you.
He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.
“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response.
“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign.
Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.
He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.
Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.
Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.
“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”
He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.
Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-
Oh.
Oh.
Dazai has made a fatal mistake.
His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-
You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.
Shit.
His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.
He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.
Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.
It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.
Just do it.
His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-
“How could I accept any of this?”
Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.
You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly.
First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe.
He was fifteen. It had been too much.
It’s still too much.
His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.
He’s so tired.
When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.
Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut.
There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.
The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.
He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.
For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.
He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.
He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-
His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe.
But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own.
Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-
“How could I accept any of this?”
“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”
Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.
“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”
Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”
“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”
“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.
“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”
He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.
“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”
“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”
“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”
“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”
“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”
Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”
Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.
“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”
Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.
You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that.
Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.
“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.
You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”
Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way.
He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.
“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.
“Ask away,” he says.
“Do you think there are other universes out there?”
Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”
“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?”
This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips.
Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”
Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.
Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.
“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”
You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”
Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.
“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”
“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”
“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”
“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.
Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”
You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”
Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”
Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.
“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”
“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.
Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.
It doesn’t.
After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.
“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”
Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already.
“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?”
“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”
Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.
“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”
Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.
As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”
Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.
“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”
“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”
“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”
“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”
No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.
Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake.
“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you.
“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”
“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.
It’s happening.
It’s happening.
He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.
Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.
“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”
At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”
If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself.
“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”
Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.
“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds
Dazai follows her gaze.
On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.
Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next.
Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.
He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.
Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.
Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery.
With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.
Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.
Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”
“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”
Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.
“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”
Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.
“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”
“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.
You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for.
“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”
Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.
“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you.
You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”
“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.
You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”
“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.
“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.”
“Oh? What do you do for work?”
Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”
You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”
“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.
“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”
You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.
“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”
“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”
“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.
“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”
“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”
“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”
“Only one?”
“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”
“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”
“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”
Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.
“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”
“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.
You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.
“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.
You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”
“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.
Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.
“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.
The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches.
One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away.
Another second passes, another step forward.
A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.
A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side.
A fifth second passes, and you’re gone.
His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.
One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.
Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him.
A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.
Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.
Chuuya knows that this is his fault.
The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city.
Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it.
You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.
A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.
Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.
“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”
Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.
Or, maybe that’s a lie.
He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you.
He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence.
You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky.
Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.
“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”
Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die.
He wouldn’t do that to you.
He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.
“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”
How the hell does that work?
Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.
Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.
He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.
“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face.
Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”
How far?
Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.
Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way.
Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.
“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”
Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.
“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”
You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.
But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.
As if he’s given up.
“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”
“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”
Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.
Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.
Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.
And if you’re wrong?
Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”
Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.
If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?
It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.
“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there.
(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)
Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.
Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.
A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”
What then, Chuuya?
Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability.
Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.
For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.
And they do it.
Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.
He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.
Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head.
What then, Chuuya?
Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions.
Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.
Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse.
Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.
Onto you, and onto Dazai.
You thought that you would be scared of dying.
Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.
Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.
Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed.
You couldn’t force that choice on him.
Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.
The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye.
You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.
Osamu…
You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.
Maybe in the next life.
Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.
Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.
“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to.
Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-
But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough.
“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?”
Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.
“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”
Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.
Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.
They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.
But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.
Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.
And then-
And then Dazai sees it.
Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.
He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.
Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.
The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.
Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.
One voice rises above the whispering crowds.
“What the fuck?”
Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.
Ah, he realizes. Iceman.
Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-
To the sight of you.
Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-
You look so dead.
Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.
How did this happen?
He’d-
He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?
The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate.
It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.
It was Dazai.
Dazai is the reason you die in every universe.
The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.
The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.
Fate.
Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.
The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-
“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”
Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.
And now-
Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.
“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”
He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.
Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.
Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.
“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”
Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.
Iceman has never been a good brother.
He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child.
He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.
He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.
He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.
He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.
He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.
He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.
The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.
And for what?
Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.
And for what?
It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.
Two and a half weeks since your death.
Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.
He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark.
The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone.
Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.
Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.
He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.
His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.
Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company.
Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.
His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.
But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.
“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”
Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.
“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”
The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone.
Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.
“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”
“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.
He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.
“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”
“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”
“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”
Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.
So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you.
You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.
He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.
Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.
Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”
“…oss. Boss.”
Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-
For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment.
In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.
Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters.
By dawn, it’ll be time.
But one major obstacle remains.
Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.
“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”
“We’ve captured Gogol.”
Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”
Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-
Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.
But now…
From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.
“Dazai.”
Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.
He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.
But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.
Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.
“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”
Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.
“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”
Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.
“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”
Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”
Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.
He just wants to be with you.
Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”
Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder.
“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?”
Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”
He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.
“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.
Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”
“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?”
“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”
“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”
Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”
Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.
Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again.
We can watch one last sunrise together.
“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”
Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?”
The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”
Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”
Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.
This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.
Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”
Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed.
“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”
Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”
Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”
Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”
Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.
“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”
The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.
“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”
Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do.
Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.
Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.
He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.
“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”
“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”
“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest.
Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.
He’ll get to be with you.
Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right.
I promise.
GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(
some notes to share with u guys:
fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.
THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.
uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything
ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a
badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.
in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee.
dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.
also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.
anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me
(。♡ ‿ ♡。)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you
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Hurray 🎉 more asks!!
First off love-love your writing!
I'm not sure if you were the writer or if you've read the snippet. But there was one that I read where Captain Marvel gets de-aged into a child, a speaks an unrecognizable language child (like he was an actual adult not a kid pretending to be an adult). Everything is mostly fine until he asks for his parents and nobody knows who they are. Kid Marvel screams and a giant hole tears open and I assume the JL meets the Everlasting Trio.
I would love to see how you would continue something like this or write something of this nature.
Ironically, the champion of Magic was turned into a child with magic. It was one of those things that he was sure would be funny in a few years but not in the moment. Initially, Bruce had been horrified to see his teammate fall like that from the sky, his form shifting and changing into what could pass as a five-year-old right before his eyes.
The spell caster had unfortunately gotten away with a convenient portal, and they were left scrambling to catch Captain Marvel. There was also the issue of all the civilians that were displaced due to his rampage through the city of Fawcett City.
Bruce quickly worked to have Wayne Enterprise start funding the relief program for them, but it would take time, which was not something they had. He left it to Superman, Flash, and Wonder Woman to get everyone sorted—the three were the best at working with scared civilians.
In the meantime, he Zeta-beamed himself, and the small child Marvel had become up to the watch tower. The boy had been unconscious the entire time, which worried Bruce. After a few tests and scans with the medical staff, as well as his own studies, it was decided that besides being de-aged, there was nothing physically wrong with Marvel.
They would just have to wait till the Champian woke himself.
Bruce wondered how he would take his new form. In all the research he had done on Marvel and the legends of the Wizard, the champion had never been depicted as a child. He had assumed this was due to the champion repeating in various forms- sometimes female, sometimes male- but never as a child.
If anything, Bruce had discovered that they were always at peak physical age, usually from twenty-two to thirty-five. He had assumed this meant the reincarnation or the selection for the champion was just made that way.
How foolish to think they were never children that grew to that age before proclaiming themselves as Captain Marvel.
"Where am I?" a child's voice called, surprising Bruce from his files on Captain Marvel. Twisting around, he finds himself staring into the doe-blue eyes of Captain Marvel.
For a moment, he is reminded of his various children with similar coloring, and it pulls on Bruce's heartstrings to see the distress on that little face. He raises his hands, making sure his voice is softer than his usual growl. Bruce became the vengeance, so every child should feel safe with him after all.
"You're safe here." He reassures, watching the boy's face twist. He steps closer, portraying comfort but not reaching out to touch. "Do you recognize me?"
"Are you a ghost?" The boy's voice is low, slightly fearful. There is no hint of recognition in his posture, expression, or voice. Bruce bites back a swear.
So much for that hope. Still, his teammate needs him. "No, my name is Batman. A few hours ago, we were, in fact, together against a magic user. You were hit and turned into a child. Does any of this sound familiar?"
The boy grips his blanket, bringing it up to his chin, and stares at Bruce with growing distress. He shakes his head just as tears start to swell in his eyes. It's not good at all. "Where are my parents? I want to go home."
He filed that away, wondering if there were any parents to contact for Captain Marvel. He's been around for hundreds of years. If he had been selected as a human, the myths implied, then his parents would have likely been long gone.
Bruce wonders if there is any way he can conceive Captain Marvel coming to live in the Wayne manor until he is turned back. He could leave him to live in the Watch Tower, but he hates the idea of it just as he thinks it.
His face crumbles as Bruce tells him honestly, "I'm not sure where your parents are, chum."
Captain Marvel's tears fall to the bed as he curls up. Bruce reaches out to give him a hug, trying to comfort the distressed child. He is just about to assure him he is safe again, and Batman will help him when the child lets out an ear-piercing scream.
It's high pitch enough that Bruce can't tell if the ringing he hears is from the sound or if it's only in his ears. He opens his mouth to ask when a portal—unlike the one the magic user had cast—rips open in the room.
Out steps a man with snow-white hair. On instinct, Bruce gathers Marvel in his arms, flinging them to the corner and throwing a Batarang at the intruder. He shields the boy behind him, pushing him toward the wall and growling at the man.
His batarang is shot out of the air with some kind of green ray, as the man's eyes narrow.
A sound escapes the man. The structure and expression of the man indicate that it's obviously a language, but Bruce doesn't recognize it. He can tell that the man is angry, though, and that's not something he wants anywhere near Captain Marvel in his current state.
"Who are you!?" He demanded, raising more weapons. "How did you get in!?"
Oddly, Captain Marvel speaks, his words similar to the language the others use, and the white-haired man's face softens.
"You have my son," The man says in perfect English. Bruce raises a brow.
"Do you know him?" He whispers to the wiggling child.
"Yeah, that's one of my dads." The boy whispers back, sounding a lot calmer now that his apparent father is around. Bruce cautiously steps away, watching Marvel run straight into the arms of the stranger.
The man meets him halfway with a loud, excited chirp and purr, bringing the boy into his arms and squeezing him into a tight hug. Bruce watches every hint of body language, concluding he is not lying about being the boy's father.
"I'm sorry about the scare. It's been a long time since Billy used his distress call. I got a little worried." After a few minutes of chirps and purrs exchanged between parents and child, the man says. He raises his head to stare at Bruce with a regal air.
An aristocrat. Bruce's mind whispers, wondering where this noble hails form. Nowhere on earth with his glow or bright eyes. Was Captain Marvel half-human? "It's alright."
"I'm Danny Phantom," Danny tells him, flouting over with an outstretched hand that is not holding his son up. "It's an honor to meet you."
Bruce returns the handshake, keeping his voice and tone even. "Batman."
But inwardly, he swears up a storm. He knows that name and recognizes the legends and myths. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, ruler of the connecting dimension of the muli-verse. It was one of the first beings he had encountered in his in-depth religious and culture studies, having seen the Ghost King be depicted throughout history even when he was lost in it.
One of the strongest beings to ever exist. Alongside, his wife and husband, who each ruled their own powerful area on the mortal plane- The Green that Posoisin Ivy and Swamp Thing gain their powers were said to be Samatha, the wife of the ghost King.
The meta gene—identified by the scientific community in recent years but proved to exist long before the first ancient Egyptians—was said to be a blessing from Tucker, the Husband of the ghost King. He was the one who appointed the first pharaohs, destroying the meta gene through their bloodline.
And Captain Marvel was their child.
No wonder the man was the champion of Magic. Who else was more qualified than the Heir to the Ghost King?
"It seems like a simple curse. It should reverse on its own," King Phantom comments while continuously turning his child this way and that, making the boy giggle. "It will wear off in only ten years."
Bruce wondered if he knew that was a very long time for humans. But what was a decade to a god?
"Batman was it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Call me Danny. I was thinking, since Billy will be stuck like this for ten years, maybe my family should go on vacation while he recovers." Bruce does not like the sound of this, but he can't deny the king's action as a bright light overcomes the glowing figure, and a regular-looking human is left in its wake.
"I'll call my husband and wife. Do you know if any properties are for sale in your neighborhood? I want Billy to be close to his work friends."
Bruce was right. He did not like this one bit. Should he risk war with the Infinite Realms to keep them out of Gotham? The answer was no, unfortunately, and he could try to push the family to move to Metropolis so they can be Clark's problem, but he knows that lying to higher beings is never a smart thing.
He sighs, tapping his wrist computer. "I know a realtor."
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#Billy's Parents#Part 1#Everlasting trio move to Gotham#Tucker is the god of the metas since he bestows powers onto people#Form all the times he was possessed and gain powers himself#Billy was made from all three dna but he looks the most like Danny#The trio have forgotten what being human is like#Bruce is tired man
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my best friends brother (is the one for me) - part three
i’m so excited for this series you guys aren’t ready
word count: 903 words
read part two here!
⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ୭ৎ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚
i woke up with the sun shining into my face. i turned around to try to get some more sleep, only to roll into matt. i had forgotten that i had slept in his room with him. i moved away from him and watched his chest rise and fall, small snores coming from his mouth with every exhale. i stretched my arm out, grazing over his chest, letting myself wonder what it would be like if it were like this all the time.
i watched as he slowly opened his eyes, moving his hands up to rub the sleep away from them. he turned over to face me with a goofy smile on his face.
“good morning.” he groaned as he stretched. i couldn’t helped looking at the skin peeking out from the hem of his shirt.
my attention being drawn away from a knock on the door.
“did y/n leave last- nevermind.” nick said while opening the door.
“sorry, we ended up watching another movie and by the time it was over you were already asleep. i didn’t want to wake you up.” i said, almost defensively, while starting to get out of bed.
“where’s my phone?” matt asked me, scrambling around him for it.
“oh, i put it over here with mine last night,” i grabbed the two phones handing him his, not before looking down at the screen lighting up. i recognized the wallpaper, it was a picture of us and his brothers from the last time we were in boston. one of few pictures we had taken that trip, he had his arms hugging my waist with his brothers next to us in a security camera. i smiled as i gave him his phone, getting up to go see what chris and nick were making for breakfast.
the only way i can describe the smell in my nose is burnt. the closer i got to the kitchen the worse it smelt. i walked into the kitchen to see chris running around, like he was trying to hide the evidence of anything going wrong.
despite the horrible smell, the food was surprisingly good. laid out on the table were eggs, slices of toast, bacon, sausage links, and waffles. it looked shockingly good, considering who cooked it. i grabbed a plate and started piling food onto it when i heard matt come out of his room. he walked right past me, grabbing a plate and walking to the table. i sat at an empty chair, thinking matt was going to sit next to me but he sat the furthest away from me.
i half ignored the conversation, eating my food and wondering what was up with matt. he was keeping to himself more than usual and not acting himself.
“you still with us y/n?” chris asked, finishing the food he just ate.
“oh yeah, sorry i’m in my own world,” i pushed the eggs around on my plate.
i can feel matt’s eyes on me as chris asks if i’m sure. i stood up and walked over to the garbage, scraping my food into the trash. i heard someone get up from the table and felt them behind me.
“why’d you lie to him?” it was matt.
“i don’t know why you care.” i shrugged, trying to act like it doesn’t matter.
“of course i care, y/n,” he said in disbelief, “why wouldn’t i?”
i felt my heart drop but i just shook my head, walking away.
୭ৎ୭ৎ୭ৎ
walking to my car, i felt a slight sprinkling of rain hit my face. disregarding it, i got in my car and starting driving home.
halfway to my house i saw matt’s contact popping up on the screen in my car.
’matt!! is calling’
i didn’t answer, half focused on the pounding rain on the road and half because i did not want to talk to him at the moment. after the ringing stopped, i turned up the music and kept driving, not being able to stop thinking about him.
‘matt!! sent you a message’
i ignored it.
‘matt!! sent you a message’
i grabbed my phone and shut it off.
turning down my road, the rain started to let up a little bit. i passed my driveway, not wanting to go home just yet. i circled my neighborhood for a few minutes before going home, dreading turning my phone back on.
once i walked in, i immediately got in the shower, not bothering to turn my phone on. i needed five minutes to myself without him texting or calling me. i couldn’t stop the events of last night replaying in my mind.
getting out of the shower, i started trying to decide what movie i should watch. changing into shorts and a big shirt, i got into my bed. i decided on watching shutter island, considering i was just ranting about it the night before.
i decided to turn my phone back on, finding eleven messages and three missed calls from matt.
‘are you okay?’
‘hello?’
‘y/n answer me please’
‘look it was raining pretty hard i just want to know if you’re okay’
“y/n’
‘i’m seriously getting worried.’
‘please just text me’
‘or just like a message.’
‘please.
‘i’m sorry’
‘i'm coming over’
the last message was sent at 11:26 a.m. i looked at the time and it was 11:47 a.m.
tag list:
@beersangel @whoseyouare @wh0schl0 @st7rnioioss @slutsformatt @h3arts4harry @matthewscherrypie @satvisfavetoodles @secret-sturniolo @mattsturniololoverr @blablablabla2525 @melanch0lybby @always-reading @bbernard-03
#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fic#chris sturniolo imagine#nick sturniolo#nick sturniolo fic#nick sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo triplet fic#sturniolo triplet imagine
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Personally how touched starved do you think Arlecchino and Furina are? Like one has been alone for 500 years and the other killed her best friend and probably doesn’t think she deserves love.
☆ — DEMO TRACK: Arlecchino x Reader, Furina x Reader
☆ — TYPE: SFW
☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A
Oh I think they'd be VERY fucking touch starved, except the two are like. On two different sides of the scale
On one end, you've got Furina. On the other end, you've got Arlecchino. What they're on a scale of? How "vocal" they would be in terms of it
Furina would be on the VERY vocal side, and by that I mean she WILL monologue to you about how she needs your touch or else she will PERISH from a lack of you-contact
Furina puts the back of her hand on her forehead, "My beloved wants to leave me be! Oh, you torture me..."
"Babe, I'm literally only going to get a glass of water."
"You forget my domain over the element!" She moves to throw herself onto you, wrapping her arms around your neck and causing you to laugh as you caught her, "I can satisfy your needs easily!"
"At that rate I'll be better off taking a shower!"
"It gets the job done!"
But she's not vocal for no reason :((( 500 years spent in self-isolation in order to save her people takes a HUGE toll on you so the moment Furina had realised that she doesn't have to do the whole song and dance all over again, she just can't help the want—the need—to basically be attached to you
It's not just because she wants to make up for lost time after FINALLY being able to do so, but also because she's scared that one day it'll all just go poof and disappear in a distant dream. She doesn't speak of her troubles until either she decides it herself that she should or one of the members of her Salon Solitaire (Crabaletta lol) decides to conk her for it
Sometimes she'll ask if she's being a pain in the ass bc she IS aware that she's constantly wanting for you to at LEAST be near her which. If you say she is then I need to sit you down personally and slap you in NOT a fun way
Meanwhile, Arlecchino on the other hand, is VERY quiet about it. She won't say anything, nevermind doing anything. She'd restrict herself from clinging onto you as much as she'd like to
You were a vision to her, a lovely sight to see and a lovely voice to hear as you recounted your day's events. Even when you did something so mundane, something that isn't necessarily something special, Arlecchino still looked at you with such adoration.
She almost didn't notice her hand inching closer towards yours from her warm daze.
Almost.
Before she could draw it back unnoticed, however, you turned your head at just the right (or wrong) time.
"Arlecchino? Is there.. something wrong?"
..She shakes her head instead of admitting her desires, "No, my apologies, darling. I was rather captivated by your tale. Do tell me more about your friend's predicament."
And so you do, but you couldn't help but notice the longing look in her eyes.
It takes a while before she starts warming up to the idea of letting herself actually do SOMETHING. And that'll take a lot of time, patience and encouragement from her❗️❗️❗️ But trust when I say it's worth it bc she practically treats you with so much more affection and devotion than the literal archon she serves HAHA
She doesn't thinks she deserves to show physical affection, to touch you, to truly worship you and your body in every way she can—not when she has the power to hurt you, not when she's killed off the person she had cherished the most all those years ago :(
You gotta reassure her that everything's okay and that you won't disappear bc once you've done that? She's SO TOUCHY she will NOT go through the day without havign some form of contact with you
She won't do it as much in work though she has a reputation she wants to keep lmao
#hazy demos!#i tried making them equal i swear wtf 😭😭😭#arlecchino x reader#genshin arlecchino x reader#furina x reader#genshin furina x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin women#genshin women x reader#genshin women imagines
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Guys, I am begging you. Please please please please please PLEASE do NOT vote 3rd party, or not vote at all.
I get it. I really do. Biden’s handling of Israel has been, not gonna mince words, dogshit. Abominable. Unspeakably bad.
But we cannot afford to protest like this.
We don’t need Biden as president. We do need to keep Trump out of office. And to those who respond “well, I don’t want just the lesser of two evils,” please, for the love of god, grow the fuck up.
For one, why wouldn’t you want the lesser of two evils. It is, by definition, LESS EVIL.
“Why can’t we just have no evil, why isn’t that an option.” I really wish it was. Just as much as you. But it’s not. These are our cards, and we have to play our hand to the best of our ability.
Which brings us to two.
Trump is more evil. Like, so much more evil. We’re comparing apples and oranges here guys.
I understand that a lot of you might doubt that. The largest demographic of people advocating for third party or non-votes are in the 18-26 range. New voters, with one or no elections under their belt.
So they don’t remember.
Most of us (I myself fall under this age range) don’t remember 2016. The election, that is. They don’t remember how so many people protested Hillary vs Trump by going 3rd party or writing in joke votes, because they saw the two as equally bad. And Trump won.
Half of us don’t remember the Trump presidency. We’ve heard he was a weird, bad, bigoted president, but don’t fully grasp the scope of how bad.
So off the top of my head, here are some highlights of real things Donald Trump did while he held office.
- threw toilet paper at hurricane victims like he was trying to shoot a 3-pointer
- fired the man investigating him for election fraud
- called African countries “shitholes”
- appointed members of the Supreme Court who would go on to overturn roe v wade
- stole classified documents from the white house to hide at his resort
- tried to instate a Muslim Ban
- incited a insurrection to try and keep himself in office, and maybe hang his VP if there was time
- looked directly at an eclipse. Like no glasses, full on.
- fueled covid conspiracies. Also told people to “drink bleach” to fight the virus
- withdrew us from the Paris Climate Accord
- cofefe. Remember that? What a fun, normal thing for the president to tweet at 2am.
- employed literal white supremacists
- called Nazi’s “very fine people”
- got endorsed by the KKK, and refused to condemn David Duke
And that’s just what I can remember right now.
So if you’re angry at Biden about Palestine, please please please do not think for a fucking second Trump would be better. He would almost certainly actively be worse. He would give Netanyahu the green light. If you think Biden has used a loose leash, at least it’s some kind of leash. Trump would be all in. Full chips, flying to the Middle East to send in the bombs himself.
If you’re still hesitant, consider this last plea.
Things are bad. These shouldn’t be the only two choice we have, but they are. You can’t look at the menu, which is offering either bland soup someone spit in or actual rat poison and go “could I have some steak”.
You can order the soup and live to write a one-star review on Yelp, maybe call health inspections on the restaurant or contact the owners and say “you guys know your menu has only two options and they’re both dogshit. If you don’t add more, you’ll be unemployed soon.”
Or you can order rat poison and die.
If we elect Donald Trump in the fall, we will be eating rat poison. He has repeatedly said himself to be in favor of a dictatorship. He quotes Hitler. If he is put in office, the change we all want and so critically need will not be fucking POSSIBLE. Because with Biden, it’ll be hard, and tedious, and long, and exhausting, but at least it will be goddamn possible.
So, come November, please don’t order the rat poison.
Please just eat your shitty ass soup so we can live to get really angry about it.
Please.
#gaza#usa#politics#2024 elections#trump#biden administration#joe biden#israel#social justice#election 2024
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iv. raising the stakes - t.w.
pairing: female driver! x toto wolff
word count: 2.0k
warnings: cursing, age gap, mentions of divorce, power imbalances, mentions of age gap relationships, sexual references, toto wanting to be with you every second of every day, YEARNING, pining, yadayadayada, the works y'know
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“don’t tell me it’s that fucking nitwit.”
the team principal nearly growls, fury oozing into every single word.
“i haven’t talked to him in a while,” panic starts to flare up, “fuck, fuck, fuck. what do i do?”
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
“ignore him?”
“i can’t do that,” you suck in a breath, “you need to go to my room. just sit on my bed or something until he leaves.”
“scared he’s going to catch on or something?” toto arches a brow, his tone shifting from scorn to a light-hearted tease, “oh schatz, are you worried your little boyfriend won’t like that you’re with another man?”
“no,” you scoff, “you know exactly what would happen if daniel saw both of us. go to my room. stay there until he leaves.”
“fine,” he rolls his eyes, clambering to his feet. he stretches slightly, wincing, “that was not my best idea.”
“that’s what happens when you’re an old man.”
the remark lights a new fire in toto, the austrian licking his lips, “oh don’t worry love, this old man will you show you soon he’s actually–”
“get. in. my. room.” you hiss, scrambling to your feet.
“fine, fine,” he exhales, nodding towards the end of the hall, “i assume that’s it?”
“yes,” you affirm, “just stay there. answer some emails or something.”
“will do,” he whistles, turning on his heel.
once the door to your room closes, you clear your throat. your voice was probably shaky from what just occurred. hell, even your brain felt like it was a pile of mush.
there was not a single thought rattling around, your memory only replaying a constant loop of what just happened.
oh fuck. you realize your shorts were completely soaked. and it was noticeable. although you weren’t going to be opening your legs, you were obviously flustered.
time to act like nothing ever happened.
quickly, you throw a blanket over you, “come in!”
daniel pokes his head in, a bright grin enveloping his face, “hey there, winner, winner!”
“how are you?”
“i’m okay,” he shrugs, crossing over to the couch, “were you watching something? i thought i heard some voices.”
“oh yeah,” you nod fervently, “i was just watching some tik toks before you came in.”
“sorry it’s so late,” daniel fiddles with a loose thread on his shorts, “i figured i would come by after all the press and all that. you must be tired, yeah?”
“a little bit.
“it was a huge day for you,” he points out, “i’m happy for you. i really am. i couldn’t think of anyone who deserved that win more than you.”
you can’t help but feel a grin form, “thank you, danny.”
“also,” he lets out a shaky breath, “i feel like i owe you an explanation why i’ve been so distant this last week.”
“oh daniel you don’t have to–”
“but i do,” he interjects, his voice so quiet you had to lean forward to hear it, “i guess when you asked me that question after bahrain, i was confused. to tell you the truth, i was confused about how my feelings for you. i guess i never really addressed the feelings i had for you until you brought it up. yeah, i do have feelings for you. i am attracted to you. but i can’t act on them because i know that you would never pursue me in that matter. you’ve always seen me as one of your best friends, and that’s okay. i figured i would take a step back so i could heal without hurting you or lashing out. because it’s not your fault, it’s all been one-sided.”
“daniel i–”
“you don’t have to say anything,” he shakes his head, avoiding eye contact, “i had to heal on my own. i had to come to terms without bringing you into it. it would have been immature of me to make you feel like you had to reciprocate the attraction. besides, i feel like you’re attracted to someone else.”
your heart nearly stops beating for a moment, eyes widening, “oh – um, i–”
“you’ve always spoke so highly of carlos, and with the way you look at him, i have a gut feeling you like him.”
you can clearly picture toto in your room, leaning against the door, listening to every word. this meant you had to tread these waters carefully.
very carefully.
“oh daniel,” you begin, “at the moment, i’m not attracted to anyone on the grid. if anything, i see most of you guys like my brothers. it’s the best group of friends i could have ever asked for. if i were to have romantic relationships with any of you guys, i feel like it would diminish the bonds we have. also, i just don’t think it’s very professional. we have to keep things professional, you know?”
“i understand,” daniel’s eyes meet yours, and you can’t help but see nothing but anguish, “i appreciate you, i really do. can we just act like you never asked that question?”
“of course.”
“i love you,” daniel leans forward, scooping you in an embrace, “you’re the best. i’d stay and chat about your big win today, but i bet we’re both exhausted. i’ll text you, okay?”
“okay,” a giggle bubbles up as daniel shakes you back and forth, “i love you too, danny.”
“i’ll see ya around,” he places a swift peck on your temple before getting up, “sleep well. you deserve some rest.”
“you too,” you murmur, waving as the australian strolls out, “see you around.”
“byeeee!”
once the door shuts, you flop backwards, breathing out a sigh of relief.
that seemed to go well.
shooting up, you remember that there was a very large, very handsome austrian man waiting for you in your room. wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, you spring up, nearly jogging down the hall.
pushing open the door, your breath hitches in your throat.
instead of being wide awake, toto is slumped on your bed, limbs sprawled out. light snores fill the air, his chest rising and falling. rays of moonlight cascade into the space, shrouding him with a soft glow.
quietly, you make your way to the bed, discarding your shorts and underwear. after seeing the clothes on the floor, you realize you may as well ditch the top too. peeling it off, you toss it, burrowing under the comforter.
toto stirs, blinking, “how long was i– oh my god.”
you can’t help but smirk as he’s left speechless, mouth agape, eyes nearly as wide as saucers, “not long. daniel only came over for about fifteen minutes.”
“and you didn’t wake me the moment you started taking off your clothes?”
“i didn’t know i was supposed to,” you tease, scooting towards the principal, “you don’t have to leave. you can stay.”
“i don’t know if i should,” light kisses pepper your nose, cheeks, and forehead, “they’re probably all wondering where i ran off to. i’ve been gone awhile and haven’t been answering my texts or calls. if i’m not careful, they might send out a search party.”
“lewis hamilton can’t be without his team principal for one second?”
at your response, toto laughs, his chest vibrating against your shoulder blades, “you’d be surprised. at times i wonder if i adopted him as my own. george too.”
“please?” you roll over, facing him. for extra measure, you jut your bottom lip out, ensuring that your lashes flutter as you blink, “please stay?”
“hmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “what’s my incentive for staying?”
“you know, not everything is a business transaction.”
“i just wanted to hear you beg a little.”
the truth of the matter was that the team principal knew if he stayed, he would be in too deep. even further deeper than he already was.
oh, toto wolff was already weak for you.
but now?
it was far worse than he could ever imagine.
there was just something about you that he couldn’t shake. as you laid beside him, moonlight swathing your figure, he couldn’t resist admiring. fuck, you were just so gorgeous.
however, that was not the only thing that drew him in. your aura alone was attractive enough. confident, radiant, oh so intelligent, and level-headed. also, you were unapologetically yourself. toto needed that. he needed someone to match his energy.
the fact that you were one of the best drivers on the grid was just a bonus to the plethora of qualities that he adored.
of course, there was that ever-present thought looming in his mind.
if a single soul found out about this blossoming relationship, every aspect of his life would come crumbling down.
his children would shun him. he would be let go from his esteemed position at mercedes. the fia would exploit his wrongs in every way imaginable. the media would have an absolute frenzy. his drivers would no longer speak to him.
and susie? oh god.
although there was still a band gleaming on his left finger, the marriage with susie had devolved three years ago. the papers weren’t signed until several months ago, the team principal keeping that matter private. merely for the sake of his ex-wife and children. wearing the band was simply a promise he made with susie for the time being, to keep the public thinking that they were still happily married.
the divorce would be announced at the end of the 2024 season, just so that the media wouldn’t speculate.
although, they already speculated more than he liked.
yet, there was this part of him that urged him to take that risk. to pursue you. to get to know every part of you. to learn, cherish, and love you in every way possible.
you were his golden girl, without a doubt.
a shining ray of light that deserved the world.
and by god, he was more than determined to give you that.
“toto,” your eyes were closed, lashes fluttering as a hand ran through your hair, “can you please stay?”
“if i stay,” the team principal shifted his body, propping himself up with an elbow, “i’m going to have to leave early. probably before sunrise so that i’m not spotted.”
“you could just disguise yourself.”
“right,” a light chuckle flows his lips, “i’ll find a mustache and stick it on. no one would ever dare recognize me then.”
“you think?” fuck, your giggle was going to be the death of him.
“i know,” leaning over, he presses a kiss on your temple, “i’ll stay, schatz. just don’t be disappointed if you wake up and i’m not there. all right?”
“all right,” you nod, sleep slurring your words.
quickly, toto unbuttons his shirt, discarding it to the floor. fuck, it was probably going to be wrinkly in the morning, but he didn’t care. as long as he got to spend a few more hours with you, it would make up for it. standing, he unbuckles his belt, slacks falling to the floor.
pulling the comforter back, he curls up next to you, bringing you close to his chest.
“you know, sixteen-year-old me would be screaming, crying, throwing up, right now.”
“is that right?” his chest rumbles as he laughs, “well, we’ll have create a time machine to let sixteen-year-old you that all of her dreams come true.”
“are you sure you don’t have a crush on me, mr. wolff?”
“like i said before schatz,” his arms squeeze you gently, “crushes are for children.”
“then what is it?”
“we’ll have to find out,” toto found his eyelids drooping as you snuggle closer, “goodnight, golden girl.”
in his heart, toto knew the answer all too well.
if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to want a relationship. with such a bright future ahead for you, would you even want to settle down at mercedes with a man like him? a previously divorced man going through a potential midlife crisis?
additionally, if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to fall in love.
and if that was the case, the stakes would only be higher.
not only would be acquiring one of the best drivers in formula one’s history, he would be acquiring the girl he loved.
and god, was he determined to make that happen.
by any means possible.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama
please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3
#formula 1#toto wolff#formula one#toto wolff x reader#f1#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#toto wolff x y/n#toto wolff x you#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#daniel ricciardo#toto wolff smut
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I know that canonically (show-wise, at least) St Hilarion's worked to cover up Charles' death, and nothing was ever really done about the disappearance of Edwin and the other boys, but even so, do you think the school has a reputation for being haunted??
I'm imagining Niko following various ghost-hunter groups online, especially when the agency doesn't have many cases going on, and occasionally the boys will mirror hop over to an interesting-sounding location, and they'll even get a real case as a result
So when she tells them that one of the teams is planning to investigate St Hilarion's (either it's been closed for a while or they have special permission to go during the summer holidays), Edwin and Charles steel themselves and decide to go, in case there are other ghosts there that need help ('can't imagine a worse place to be trapped for the rest of my afterlife' says Charles, who has been to literal hell. Edwin, who spent 70 years in literal hell, agrees)
So they go, with Niko and Crystal as moral/emotional support, except when they get there they realise they've fucked up and are there on the same day/night as the ghost hunters. They could come back some other time, but what if there really are ghosts here that are suffering? No one wants to take that chance, so Crystal uses her powers to convince them that she and Niko are there for work experience, or are friends of a friend, or are here to replace one of the tech guys who called in sick
Both Charles and Edwin are tense and uncomfortable returning to the place they died - Edwin had gone there after he escaped Hell because he didn't know where else to go, but they've built themselves a home now with the agency. This isn't like before, when it was the closest place to familiar he could find. Charles, meanwhile, feels colder and colder the longer they're there - his hair is wet, there are bruises flaring and spreading, and a faint rattle in his chest that would have become pneumonia if he'd lived long enough
But they need to be sure there aren't any other lost ghosts stuck here that need their help crossing over, so they keep going
(maybe, as a consequence of a door to hell being opened in the school, there are unusual happenings, maybe there's still a place where the line between earth and hell is very thin, maybe there's some fragment of a demon left behind, and they can do something about it)
Anyway, the most important thing is that Charles, either accidentally or in a fit of pique at the whole situation, knocks something over just as one of the paranormal investigators is asking for spirits to make their presence known. In fact, this happens repeatedly - the boys move things, change things around, their presence is detected somehow with the equipment. Crystal and Niko are doing their best to distract the team and ruin as much of the footage as possible, and at least once the boys do something on purpose, maybe because someone is being a creep to the girls (and yes, they both know that Crystal and Niko are more than capable of taking care of themselves, but this way scares the asshole more and is also funnier), and then also to fuck with their readings
Anyway, it's coming to the end of the night, the problem has been identified, and whaddaya knows, of course it's in the attic where they both died. This is fine, why wouldn't it be fine. They get started, draw some (invisible, ghostly) runes and start working their magic when, of course, the paranormal investigators turn up, because this is thought to be the most 'active' area of the school, and the body of a schoolboy was found here in the 80s
Yeah, they try to contact 'any of the boys who disappeared in 1916' and Charles. It would be fine if they weren't so irritatingly loud, Edwin's trying to concentrate, and Charles is now shivering and dripping wet, but they managed to ignore the team right up until they start speculating that Charles was killed by one of the angry spirits from 1916
At which point, Charles - half visible, clearly enraged, looking very much like the half-drowned and frozen kid he was, like a proper ghost - tells them to fuck off already before they get hurt, they don't understand anything, and how dare they give a shit now when it's too late
Which is, of course, the exact moment Edwin finishes the spell, and causes some sort of a magical rebound that fritzes the cameras for a second, throws furniture around, and knocks them all flying. When the cameras start up again, they catch Edwin kneeling by Charles, holding his hand, and softly telling him that it's ok, it's over, they can go now. Charles sniffs and smiles and knocks their foreheads together and says yeah, let's get out of here, and together they fade from view
The investigators think this means gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day that now that the truth of their story is known the ghosts have moved on, and it's all thanks to them! How beautiful, how wonderful, how affirming! Perhaps one of the boys from 1916 tried to help Charles, and when that didn't work, they both stayed to try and protect other people from these violent spirits, and now their unfinished business is finished! It's so tragic and touching story
Charles and Edwin, who are putting their tools back in the backpack, roll their eyes and smile at each other
On the way out, Charles swipes the memory cards from the cameras, Edwin inscribes a couple of sneaky runes on various pieces of equipment to fuck with it, and Crystal uses her powers to make sure they all remember a couple of details differently, so later they won't be able to agree on a bunch of stuff
The episode they were trying to make can't be released, their social media posts about the experience are full of details that don't match up, and fans are bitterly disappointed
Crystal and Niko watch the footage Charles stole with Jenny and the Night Nurse back at the agency. Jenny turns it into a drinking game. Charles does a dramatic reading of the posts with added commentary while Edwin pretends he's not laughing. They buy t-shirts of the paranormal investigators and wear them ironically. They leave anonymous comments
Just. The dead boy detectives having to work around ghost hunters, in a world where ghosts definitely, tangibly exist
#dead boy detectives#charles rowland#edwin payne#crystal palace#niko sasaki#Not exactly a writing tag
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CONFISCATED - Part 1
"AGGGGHHHHHH! I FUCKING HATE YOU, I WISH YOU'D DIE!"
Lawrence winced as the screams of his hysterical teenage daughter rang in his ears and she slammed the door to her bedroom so hard, the house shook and plaster fell down.
Bella was volatile at the best of times, but by confiscating her phone - the most important thing in her life, her Father had really just set her off.
He could hear sobbing and crashing in her room and knew she was trashing it. He knew from experience that Bella would try anything to get her phone back... threatening him, threatening to hurt herself... begging, screaming, pleading, lying... it was kind of sad. She might even try to contact her Mom, but even though he and Beth had separated, they still parented together and it would do little good.
'Since when did teenagers get so addicted to social media?' he thought. He'd noticed his daughters addiction to her phone had been getting worse and then when another parent had contacted him to say Bella was bullying her daughter he had decided to act.
He'd been pretty disappointed to see the mean messages calling the other girl a fat loser. He knew Bella was a popular girl and obsessed with her looks, but he hadn't realised she was so mean. It seemed everyone was afraid of Bella and she liked it.
Lawrence had decided that he needed to get his daughter back on track. She would be moving out soon and he didn't want his legacy to be a spoiled toxic bitch who thought she could treat other people like dirt. Bella seemed to think the only thing that mattered in life was money and status.
"I better go through here and see what else she's been up to..." he mused.
Scrolling through the phone, Lawrence was a little embarrassed to see the clothes and outfits his daughter had bookmarked as things to buy. They were all skimpy and expensive... he wasn't sure he approved. There were also pictures of boys in her phone and he didn't want to think about his horny daughters crushes on other men.
As he scrolled through, his eye was suddenly caught by an app he had never heard of. Brat App.
Opening the app, Lawrence saw it was some sort of social media app. It seemed you scored points for posting selfies and completing tasks and then you could spend those points buying outfits and upgrades.
Bella had obviously been playing it a lot. She had accumulated a lot of points. Perhaps she'd been saving up?
Intrigued Lawrence opened the avatar menu.
CREATE NEW AVATAR?
He clicked the button and a 3D doll appeared. It was female - you could only have a female representation it seemed. The name Loren had been randomly generated. He went with it.
Clicking on the doll, Lawrence saw you could spend points to buy different features. He began to play.
Hair: blonde. Body-type: Princess. Makeup: Pink
Each selection changed the avatar making it more attractive and feminine looking. Lawrence found it strangely addictive. Strangely pleasing to shape and mould the avatar, to watch it getting prettier and prettier.
Make her bitchy. Make her mean.
He wasn't sure where the intrusive thought came from but it felt good. Yes... why not make the avatar look hot and mean. A bully... even worse than his daughter.
Yessss. Make her super popular... make her an IT girl.
He selected the toxic femininity personality trait and pushed the natural leader button. Loren was going to be an Alpha girl.
More... make her meaner. Make her a total nightmare. Make her completely evil.
The intrusive thoughts felt really good and Lawrence saw that there were other options besides physical. He began to play with those. He cranked the popularity slider to maximum. He selected Head Cheerleader. He selected the slider for wealth and pushed it as high as it would go.
Make sure she knows how to fuck. She has to be the best at everything. Make her a fucking dirty slut...
Lawrence didn't feel embarassed as he entered the sexuality tab. It seemed so natural now to adjust Loren and make her nastier.
Sexual Orientation: Likes boys but will make out with girls. Sexually confident - switch. Likes to be fucked by Alpha's, but peg and dominate beta boys.
He noticed he'd nearly spent all of his daughters points. She'd really been saving, but he'd had enough points that he could pretty much max out all of Loren's stats.
The avatar was now of a mean, bullying, rich brat. She was the Head Cheerleader and a completely cruel delinquent who got whatever she wanted. She oozed toxic femininity, was an avatar of lust and desire and clearly had no morals. Loren was the most evil bitch it was possible to be.
COMPLETE AVATAR AND TRANSFORM?
Lawrence stared at the big button flashing at the bottom of the app. What did that mean? His thumb hesitated over it. Something wasn't right here.
Push it loser. Push it and see.
Lawrence felt like something was influencing him. Something external... yet also something within himself. Something hungry and dark and desperate to be free. Something that had seen its chance and was going to take it.
He pushed the button...
Lawrence screamed in pleasure as pink lightning blasted out of the phone and engulfed him. Bones cracked and skin tightened as with a howl of orgasmic pleasure he began to transform.
Long blonde hair cascaded from his scalp and makeup simmered across his features as his drab clothing became hot and sexy. Breasts grew and his dick shrunk away and his ass inflated out.
Loren was becoming a reality.
Pussy lips opened as body hair receded and a hot blonde teenage slut rolled her pretty eyes in ecstasy. Nails shot out, thick makeup covered her face and the new bitch giggled in glee. This felt amazing.
"Ohhhhh fuckkkkk yesssss," she hissed as her transformation completed.
Loren blinked. She looked down at the phone in her hand. What... a.... rush.
She smirked and standing up walked to the mirror to admire her perfect body.
She was eighteen... she was popular and she was horny.
This was going to be a lot of fun...
The end?
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Jellybean
summary: you are very pregnant and harry can't go a day without quality bump time.
word count: 1067
read time: 5 min
content warning ⚠️: pregnancy, fluffy fluff fluff
a/n: my brain is such an odd place. i saw this tik tok and my brain instantly came up with this haha because...harold absolutely would lol. Enjoy!
You’d been rolling around on your California king mattress for the better half of two hours now. You’ve rolled from your side to Harry’s rearranging the expensive pregnancy pillow that Harry had gotten you the day you found out you were pregnant, and still nothing seemed to get you comfortable.
Part of it was your bundle of joy, nestled warmly in your womb having a block party for one. But mainly you were just frustrated, and on top of that sleep deprived and, so heavily pregnant. You were about ready to pop any second, and yet your lovely, attentive husband was on the other side of the world, working. And worse of all, you hadn’t spoken to him all day, besides your daily “Good Morning, Lovie” text. In all your time together with Harry, it never bothered you. The traveling, or the fact that you’d go all day without hearing from him. He was a busy man, and a hard worker, it’s part of the reason you fell so hard for him, and married him.
But with the pregnancy hormones, and the fact that the princess treatment that you’d become accustomed to getting from your doting husband over the last few months has been missing in his absence the last few days, it was taking a bit of a toll on you.
So when your phone buzzed later that night with a text from Harry you couldn’t help the happy and frustrated tears that welled up in your eyes. And when you saw that adorable contact photo of him pop up on your screen with an incoming call, well you started bawling. You answer the phone and instantly your bad mood dissipates when you hear the smooth honey sound of Harry’s drowsy bedtime voice.
“Hey, Lovie.” Harry coos into the phone.
“Hey, you” you sigh, trying your best to put on a smile, but you’re not very convincing. It only makes Harry crack a smile. He hates how uncomfortable you’ve been the last months, but he can practically hear your adorable pout through the phone and it makes his heart go all fuzzy.
“How long have you been trying to sleep?”
“Hours!” you whine, slightly dramatic, “They really are your kid, you know? Just bouncing off the walls, when all I want to do is sleep.” You grumble and can hear him chuckle over the phone. “Harry, I’m serious! I feel like I haven't slept in days. If they’re not tap dancing on my bladder, they’re doing somersaults off my ribs.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t mean to laugh. I’m sorry you're uncomfortable, and I hate not being there to help. Do you have the pillow? Is it helping any?”
“Yeah, but everytime I think I’m comfortable, Jellybean has other plans.” you chuckle slightly, taking a breath and looking down at your bump, bottom lip going wobbly, “I just want him here, already.” You sigh, whipping a tear that slipped despite your best efforts. “And you, too. I missed you today.”
Hearing your voice crack with sadness, it was like something grabbed at his heart and twisted it. He hated, despised, being away from you. Especially now that you were so close to welcoming your first baby. But it was ‘unavoidable’ according to everyone he spoke to while he tried to keep the meetings to Zoom. So there he was, halfway across the world while his beautiful, very pregnant, and sleep deprived wife cried to him over the phone. He felt like the world's worst husband, and he hated it.
But he had to remind himself that you and your baby on the way were what he was doing all the work for in the first place. And in nearly 24 hours, he’ll be right back in your arms, cradling your bump and kissing your plump cheeks.
“Aww, baby I missed you too. But just think, this time tomorrow I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll be holding our Jellybean in just a few more weeks, yeah?” he lulled.
“I know…but you know how impatient I am.” you laugh, and he does too.
“Oh, trust me I do.” he chuckles, remembering all the subtle ‘hints’ you dropped in the years leading up to your engagement. He takes a moment and remembers that there is one person he hasn’t spoken to since he went out of town, “Do me a favor, Lovie?”
“Yeah?”
“Put me on speaker, and put me next to your belly. I wanna talk to Jellybean. Set ‘em straight so mama can get some rest.” you laugh loudly into the phone and he smiles, “I’m serious, let me speak to ‘em. They listen to me.” You can’t help but smile, because it’s very true. Your bundle of joy hasn’t even arrived yet, and it seemed the two had already formed a little alliance between them.
“Alright,” you sigh before hitting the speaker button, “there, you're on speaker.”
“Okay put me on your belly.”
“Done.” you chuckle, rolling your eyes.
“Hey, Jellybean,” Harry coos, and your heart warms at the sound. Your eyes begin to water when you feel your baby, seemingly to respond to his voice. “Your mama told me you're giving her a hard time. I thought we talked about this before I left, hm? It’s late and you both need to sleep. Okay?” Harry stops talking for a second, as if he can hear the little kicks to the speaker. “I know, you want out, but you’ve got a few more weeks. We are as excited as you are. But your mama is too pretty and needs her beauty rest, so let her sleep, and you rest too, okay bubs?” He hears you laugh, and he feels better knowing that even though you're so uncomfortable he’s able to put a smile on your face. “Now hand the phone back to your mother.”
“Thank you for that,” you chuckle, “They’ve actually calmed down a bit. May actually get a few hours in.”
“That’s good. Told you, they listen to me.”
“Yeah, something tells me that that’s going to be an issue when they’re here.” you laugh running a hand over your bump. “Just gonna be you two ganging up on me.”
“Maybe.” he chuckles, “Well, I’ll let you sleep while you can, alright?”
“Okay. I’ll try. I love you.” you yawn, already feeling sleep creep up on you.
“Love you too baby. Goodnight.”
✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & request box✨
#harry x reader#harry x y/n#harry x yn#harry x you#harry smut#harry angst#harry fluff#harry au#harry fanfic#harry fanfiction#harry fan fic#harry fiction#harry fandom#harry writing#harry imagine#harry imagines#harry blurbs#harry blurb#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles x yn#harry styles x y/n#my writing#my stories#my blurbs#my fics#husbandrry#dadrry#husbandrry x reader
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swing for the fences
He's already fucked up enough dates with his drama, he's thinking to himself as he sips his wine, and god, yeah, it's absolutely great that Tommy clocked the mood change bringing up Bobby caused, but Buck - he sort of just wants a moment in this, in this new thing that sort of turned his world upside down in the best way.
So. He lobs a softball, straight down the middle, throws out an easy daddy issues one liner, because he knows a little more about Tommy than he did a few weeks ago, knows he's got a quick mind and excellent timing and maybe he's fishing, just a little. There's been hints of it -- the dynamic that could evolve, if the right circumstances were met.
It's low hanging fruit, and Buck knows it. But Tommy doesn't swing, lets it fly right into the catchers mitt behind him, so Buck goes for a slider. Or maybe it's a knuckleball - he's mixing metaphors and the point is Tommy is an excellent flirt and Buck would like to be flirted with, please and thank you.
"But you think I do?"
There's a flash of a moment (sixty feet, six inches from mound to home plate) where Buck thinks it might be another swing and a miss. Tommy's eyes catch his --not that they've been off of him much for most of the evening, (god he's drowning in the prolonged eye-contact)-- and then, deadpan, Clack-Boom, knock it out of the fucking park --
"God I hope so."
Buck hadn't actually been sure if that was a thing he was into, but -- Jesus, yeah, yep, he's into it. It's a fight not to squirm in his seat, and Tommy clocks it, easy.
"Touch 'em all time," Buck murmurs, under his breath, thrown back to the radio calls he'd listened to in the Jeep on his drives through the mountains, the summer he spent in Colorado. Tommy quirks a brow.
"It's -- it's a baseball -- you sorta have to be in my head to get --." But he explains anyway, because for some unknown reason his filter goes from leaky to absolutely obliterated in Tommy's presence, and he's also desperately into the way Tommy looks at him when he's on a tangent -- intent, focused, like he's cataloging the questions he's gonna ask once Buck slows down the train.
Halfway through his convoluted explanation about home run calls and living west of the divide and ranch hand duties and then looping right back around to his murky metaphor for the way Tommy flirts and how it makes his heart beat out of his chest and his femoral artery throb in his thigh (Tommy grins, wide, pleased, eyes going a little dark even though it's the most ridiculous way to say he's hard up and hot for him) Tommy leans back, hooks his foot around Buck's ankle and rests it there, just a steady pressure.
"I have so many questions, but the most pressing one right now is do you have pictures of the ranch hand summer?"
Buck grins, and presses the meat of his calf back into Tommy's toes.
#yeah apparently this is gonna be a thing#bucktommy#bucktommy fic#911 fic#i really will do anything to shoehorn a bunch of sportsball terms into a fic
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Hello!I was wondering if you could write g!p Danielle smut?
-🩰
G!P DANIELLE X VOLLEYBALL PLAYER F READER
of course! i LOVE danielle sm , hardly see any smut for her,so i am happy to write some! enjoy MWAH! -ps sorry this took ages
what’s ahead: long fanfic ,college au,y/ns friends are,minji & haerin , danielle’s friend is , hanni,soft dom danielle , praising & some soft degrading,begging,body praise,sort of nerdy reader,riding,voice kink,biting/marking,and creampie
i sat down in my desk as the bell rung for our lecture to start , the teacher came in and began talking about whatever the topic was again
after a bit i started to regain focus and take some notes , one of my best friends , minji had nudged my shoulder indicating she wanted something , so i whispered to her
“what’s up minji?”
“wanna get something after the lecture before your volleyball tournament begins , figured you’d need a bit of extra energy!”
i nodded my head smiling the professor quickly told us to quiet down
time had quickly passed and the lecture was over , me and minji were headed to a coffee shop near our college,so we wouldn’t be late for my volleyball game incase of anything. Once me and minji had ordered and finished our drinks we were on our way to my game , haerin was also there to cheer me on in the crowd supporting me
my teammates were kazuha,minnie,ryujin,yeji,and yujin,that made six players including me
it was the final round and it was already a close game , my team just needed one more point to win,i had hit the ball over the net and then..
my team had won the tournament,my teammates had huddled into a circle and were cheering for our victory.
i turned to the crowd to greet my friends and smile at them,but i noticed someone in the crowd who could have been cheering me on aswell,Danielle marsh,one of the most popular girls in our school,known to be one of the nicest girls too.
i couldn’t take my eyes off her once i spotted her,i felt a blush creep onto my cheeks,i noticed her eyes meet mine ,she smiled at me and waved a little at me
i look around to see if there was anyone else around me or behind me , just to make sure that i wasn’t going crazy,i turned back to face her in the crowd and she seemed to have giggled a bit , and nodded her head and signaled me to come over,i was a bit confused but started to walk towards danielle.
The thing is i’ve had a HUGE girl crush on danielle ever since i laid eyes on her,well maybe not “girl” crush,just crush crush.
“you were really good in the game you know?, congratulations to you and your team on the win! , very much deserved if i’d say so myself , personally i think you’re the best player out there though” danielle spoke as she gave me a wink
my cheeks had to be beyond red by now,i was stuttering between words at first,but ended up getting my sentence out.
“t-thank y-you,means a lot to me!..i didn’t even know you watched our games..” i spoke a little embarrassed scratching my head
“of course i do! , i love watching you guys play, especially you, you know watching you focus and play is really cute, and you seem really strong too..”
i avoided eye contact as she spoke
“t-thank you danielle..you’re always pretty aswell…you really are as kind as everyone s-says..”
“oh please you can call me dani-unnie,as i am a bit older than you,only if you would like of course!”
i smiled and nodded my head agreeing to her proposal
“o-of course i’ll happily call you that!”
“hey y/n-ah,would you like to come over to my place later tonight?,maybe watch a movie or just hangout, have a sleepover?”
i light up at the thought , nodding my head like an excited puppy
“o-of course- i mean y-yeah that sounds fun- , do you want my number o-or something?”
danielle giggled and nodded her head
“of course i’d love that!,here’s my number , it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx!”
we both exchanged numbers and talked for a bit more and parterd ways
i got back to my friends and minji slapped my arm lightly
“ow! what was that for?!?”
“y/n! what the fuck was that with you and danielle?!?”
“yeah y/n since when were you two talking,tell us everything!”
i rolled my eyes
“can you two keep it down! , we barely talked , and i don’t even know when we started talking!! u-uhm not really talking talking? but u-uhm we started to g-get to know each other today…”
i scratched the back of my neck
“get to know eachother as in danielle just full on flirt with you and eye fuck you , meanwhile you stand there and act like the socially awkward nerd you are?”
minji said and haerin giggled
“n-no that’s not true! , plus she wasn’t even flirting,we just became friends…”
both of them just looked at eachother and then back at me , i just rolled my eyes
time skip - ish
me and danielle were texting back and forth for a while now , i noticed it was starting to get darker outside, suddenly a new notification pops up on my phone
from dani-unnie❤️
getting dark outside! wanna head over to my place now for the sleepover?💕
i smiled as i felt my heart beat,i responded quickly with a yes,and packed everything and left my house.
it was currently really dark outside , right now i have an overnight bag filled with my essentials for a sleepover.
there is stood at danielle’s door nervous to ring the doorbell,my hand shaking,my glasses falling off my face ,so i readjusted them
i finally rang the bell and nervously started rethinking my choices , quickly the door opened to dani-unnie in front of me
“o-oh hi dani-unnie!-“
“hi y/n-ah! come in please, im super excited for our sleepover,been excited ever since i asked you,but i was even more excited when you were on your way!!”
she sounded genuinely excited,it was super cute,as she leads me into the house and i take off my shoes she’s telling me where everything will be.
“oh and you obviously you can stay in my room,but i hope you don’t mind sleeping in my bed aswell as my room..”
she said turning to me in a more flirtatious manner , i avoided eye contact immediately and got jittery
“o-oh of course i don’t mind,a-as long as you’re comfortable with it a-as well!”
“of course i’m comfortable with it silly,otherwise i wouldn’t have offered..”
she said in a singy-song tone,she then led me to her room , telling me to put my bag down and letting me unpack my things
“holy shit..your room is super pretty,i mean it fits you,but it’s really nice , i feel comfortable in here too. It has a homey aroma to it..”
she giggles as i look around the room
“thank you cutie,i’d like to think it has a cozy vibe to it as-well,also i haven’t seen you with your glasses on,you look super cute,they fit you..”
i turned my head to her and it took a minute to process everything she said..cutie? i look cute?
i shook my head and sat down on the bed next to her
“thank you d-dani-unnie,you always look more than c-cute yourself..”
“what’s that mean? , you saying i look hot?”
my eyes immediately widened
“N-NONO,,,w-well not no o-of course..y-you do look hot ..alot of the time..all the time actually..right n-now even..”
i whispered the last bit about her looking hot right now but she just seemed to giggle
i was flustered and i looked away
until i felt her hand turn my head towards her..
“y/n-ah , you don’t have to be embarrassed,i think you’re hot too..”
she slowly took my glasses off my face
“matter of fact…why don’t i show you something?”
i was confused but of course i nodded my head slowly
“o-of course ,show me w-what?”
she crawled closer to me on the bed and whispered into my ear
“…why don’t i show you,how hot i can be..”
i was flustered beyond imaginable ,i just stuttered not even coherent words
“what do you say..hm?”
i nodded my head rapidly like a excited puppy
“good..”
she slowly undressed,leaving herself in only her boxers , and bra ,she was teasing me with how slow she was doing this all..
she sat me to the headboard of the bed ,sitting upright , then she crawled to me cradling me on my lap facing towards me. she came into a kiss , a slow one at first , then it became more passionate,more intense,lustful.
we parted from the kiss,a string of saliva could be seen between us. i was panting a little already..
“oh , so out of breath already doll..make sure to prepare yourself because i’ve got much more in store for you..”
i nodded my head slowly , i didn’t even notice that i was drooling.
danielle looked down and wiped the drool from my mouth , and just giggled
“what a naughty girl..can’t wait to make you mine..”
i gulped at her words,i could feel myself getting wet
she then started to undress me , leaving me in my lacy bra and panties that were see through to some extent.
dani-unnie giggles
“cutie did you wear this for me..?”
i shyly nodded
“good girl..you know how to tease unnie without trying , now get on your hands and knees for unnie why don’t you ?”
i was shocked when i heard those words come out of her mouth it didn’t fully process
“w-what was that?”
“i said .. get on your hands and knees for unnie and be a good slut..got it?”
she said smiling so brightly like it was said everyday , but i nodded and did what she asked
“good girl..oh wow,y/n-ah already so wet you’re soaking through your panties!
i got embarrassed by this..
“o-oh u-uhm-“
“it’s okay princess ,it’s perfect for me..i think it’s adorable..”
i shyly nod not knowing what to say , then i hear ruffling behind me , movement from danielle , it soon stops and then i feel danielle’s finger push my panty to the side , gasping at the cold air on my now fully exposed cunt..
she swiftly puts two fingers into me , making me moan abruptly really loud , i cover my mouth out of instinct..
“jesus..you really are soaked princess,did i do this to you y/n-ah? does unnie get you this wet,come on baby,uncover your mouth , wanna hear your pretty voice..”
she whispers into my ear bending over from behind,soon slowly moving her fingers inside me
“a-ah..y-yes! unnie makes m-me feel r-really good, d-dani-unnie gets me really excited..”
she then pulled her fingers out of me , making me feel empty , already missing the feeling of her inside me ..
“hey d-dani unnie what was that-“
soon i feel a much bigger and rounder thing go inside me ,assuming it’s danielle’s cock , which felt fucking huge..
“f-fuck!~..dani u-unnie please ..be careful..”
all danielle does is bend down and giggle into my ear and then whisper
“awh im sorry princess..would you prefer to ride unnie instead? , i think that’s such a good idea , seeing my pretty slut bounce ontop of me..”
all i could do was whimper , i nodded my head and danielle pulled my hair slighted to come up towards her , whilst she pulled out of me
she laid against the headboard of the bed , now signaling that she wants me ontop of her
she grabbed my hips and pushed me down onto her cock with no time to waste,wrapping her hands around my neck , licking,kissing,and biting my jaw going down towards my neck ,getting lower to my chest , danielle slowly removing my bra from me discarding the clothing item as she kisses and bites my chest getting closer to my boobs..leaving marks everywhere
“you’re so perfect..my slutty princess,just gonna mark you up nicely to let everyone know that you belong to me..god you really are so cute!”
she giggles into my chest as i’m whining slowly riding her cock,but she soon grips my hips down firmly stopping any movement from me,her nails digging into my hips
“mmhm i don’t think so..i wanna hear my baby beg to ride unnie..come on now cutie!”
i looked away and gulped nervously..
her grip got tighter around my hips and she bit down onto my neck and whispered
“be a good girl and do what unnie asked..”
i let out a breathy moan which was followed by nothing but mindless begging..
“fuck…dani-unnie i c-cant take it anymore please g-god please,your voice m-makes me so wet,everytime you speak o-or even laugh it gets me so t-turned on..fuck please unnie i-i need you to breed me so f-fucking bad..”
danielle was smirking slyly and pushed me back down onto the bed on my back,intertwining one hand with mine , and the other gripped onto my hip , pushing her cock into me swiftly , she then just kept at a fast pace
my eyes rolled back and all i could do was moan and whimper
“you feel so g-good princess..can’t believe you’re a v-virgin..unnie is s-so happy to be the one to change t-that..god you’re so tight..just wanna breed my princess..”
i mixture of our moans kept going on,soon tears started to flow out my eyes from being so close , and from all the pleasure
“f-fuck!~ u-unnie breed me..d-dani unnie,gonna cum..please b-breed me!~”
she giggled and just responded by whisper-moaning into my ear
“cum with me princess..let unnie breed you..”
at her words i felt a rush come over me , aswell as feeling danielles cum shoot into me ..
we both sighed and laid next to eachother , next thing you know i was passed out next to danielle..
next day in classes
“hey y/n what’s with the scarf..?”
minji spoke up to me and i was about to speak when haerin pulled it off revealing all the marks danielle left on me , they both just stood there shocked , danielle then appeared
“hi guys!,hi princess~”
she gave me a kiss on my cheek and wrapped her arms around my waist
“so-“
before i finished my sentence minji and haerin interrupted
“PRINCESS??!?!”
danielle just giggled
“you are most DEFINITELY filling us in later..” minji spoke up
#yunjinkisses#kpop gg#girl groups#wlw ns/fw#newjeans#newjean smut#newjeans minji#nwjns#newjeans danielle#danielle marsh#danielle marsh x reader#danielle#kim minji#haerin kang#nwjns haerin#danielle nwjns#hanni nwjns#haerin nwjns
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Time Of Our Lives || Part 3
Part 3:
Liana hadn't seen Art for three days.
Ever since they started studying at Stanford, not a day had gone by without his presence being felt. Even if just for five minutes, he would pop up suddenly and disappear just as quickly. Liana wouldn’t say it out loud, but his presence had started to grow on her.
She was never the most popular kid or the most popular teen. She always had two or three friends. And Art, it's not very clear who he is in her life, but he's a figure that's there. Present. Breathing the air she breathes. Knowing the people she knows. Laughing at her words, annoying her with his.
She hadn't seen him for three days and it's bothering her. So today, she decided to go to the open practice for the first time, and Art wasn't there either.
"Are you looking for Art?" a female voice sounded behind her, and she turned around. Facing her was Tashi. Liana searched for the words, something that was always complicated for her; finding words in front of people she didn’t know or felt threatened by. Right now, she needed to answer 'yes' or 'no', and all she could do was stare.
"You're Liana, right? Patrick showed me a picture of you with the boys, and I’ve seen you a few times with Art. Are you looking for him?" she explained and asked again.
"Oh, yeah..." Liana managed to find her voice, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. Unwanted color flooding in. "Did you see him?" she squeaked, trying to steady herself in front of the girl before her.
"He just texted that he wasn't coming to practice today. Nice to finally meet you. Maybe we can have lunch sometime." She smiled briefly and moved towards the court, leaving Liana in the stands. A bit more worried than she had been before.
She knocked on his door three times. Then another three. And then six more. After the fifth round, he opened it for her. It was the first time she had been in his room, and he couldn't hide his surprise.
"Li?" Art's voice sounded weaker than usual.
"You didn't come to the open practice," she said coolly, looking at him and furrowing her brows. He didn't look good. In fact, he looked like shit. His hair looked greasy, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were sunken with dark circles around them. Art Donaldson looked awful.
"What happened to you?" She gave his arm a light push, which made him lose his balance and almost fall, but he understood her intention and moved aside. He ran a hand through his hair, a tic she knew he had; when Art was nervous, frustrated, or confused, his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, a few seconds of that until he gets a grip and acts as if nothing had thrown him off balance.
"You were at the open practice?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stuck on that piece of information. Almost wanting to request that the sentence be engraved on his tombstone when the time came. 'Here lies Art Donaldson, whose open practice Liana Levi attended.' His parents would surely be thrilled.
"For four and a half minutes, then I realized you weren't there." She said as she walked to the window and opened it. "Your room stinks," she stated, turning her gaze back to him. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" she added. Sure, they weren't best friends, but they were supposed to be each other's emergency contact. They were supposedly here together. He made sure to remind her of that once a day. And now, in a real emergency, he wasn't talking to her.
"Because it doesn't matter, I already feel better," he tried to speak in a more upbeat tone, one he thought characterized him but failed miserably at it. Her hand was on his forehead, causing him to immediately lean into it and close his eyes.
"You're burning up, damn it, Art." She moved her hand from his forehead to his cheek, realizing that the situation might be worse than she thought and beginning to think of a plan. "Okay, I need you to get in the shower, alright?" she spoke softly. He looked at her, his mouth half-open. "Where's your spare key?" she asked, without looking at him too much, opening the closet intending to find clean sheets there.
Art watched her bustle around his room, and despite feeling awful, worse than he had felt probably in the last two years, he found himself smiling. Liana was worried about him. She would make sure he was okay. "Art, do you hear me? I need you to get in the shower, I'm going to get a few things. Can you do that for me? I'll be back in half an hour." she said assertively, and he handed her the key as she requested. "Please be done with your shower when I get back." She ran her hand over his forehead once more, almost causing him to surrender to her touch and close his eyes again, but just as she had entered like a storm, she left like one.
Liana went down to the cafeteria after making a phone order. She returned to her room with the soup and grabbed the bag she had prepared for Art. When she entered his room, the shower water was still running, so she decided to use the time to change his sheets and put the lemon, ginger, and honey in his fridge. He came out in a towel and looked at her, leaning against the doorframe. He felt blessed. His head hurt, he had sneezed forty times that day, and all his muscles ached, yet he felt blessed.
"You didn't have to, Li..." he mumbled, and she turned to him.
"Good, you're out. Get dressed and eat the soup. If it's cold, let me know and I'll go heat it up." There was a microwave on each floor, so that was an option. Art went back to the bathroom and put on long pants, unable to bring himself to wear a shirt. "I also brought you some pills I had. If you need anything else, I can go get it, this is just what I had in my room," Liana babbled, realizing she was behaving in an uncharacteristic way. It dawned on her too late that Art probably thought she was crazy. More than that, that he didn't want her presence in his room right now. She had invaded his personal space and decided on her own that she was there to stay, when he hadn't really invited her. He had done everything to avoid seeing her in the past few days.
He sat down to eat the soup at his desk, unable to take his eyes off her for fear she would disappear and he would be alone again, wallowing in his own misery.
"Is it hot?" she asked, not knowing what else to say.
"It's great. Thanks, Li," he smiled sincerely, and she reached her hand towards his forehead again.
"Can I?" she made sure to ask this time, hesitating and seeing him nod. Her hand moved from his forehead to his cheek automatically, and he sighed for a second.
"You're still warm." Her brow furrowed again. "When you finish, take this pill, okay? It's supposed to help with the fever..." she added, starting to gather her things.
"Are you leaving?" he asked. Art's voice sounded more desperate than he intended. He wanted to sound indifferent, as if he didn't mind being alone. As if the last three days hadn't been an isolated nightmare filled with self-pity. "You can stay a bit longer. If you want," he added quickly, saying the sentence fast as if it would make it vanish from the air.
"Okay," Liana said and nodded. "We can watch an episode of 'Gilmore Girls'," she smiled. Every summer, she forced Art and Patrick to watch a few episodes of 'Gilmore Girls'. If she had to be stuck with them, at least some of the time they would do what she loved. She was sure they liked the show because sometimes they would make comments about it.
Art shrugged while finishing the soup, acting as if he didn't care if she stayed or not. In reality, he wanted to smile victoriously because he had won today. No one could argue that Art was the winner of this day.
"You can take a shirt from my closet if you want," he told her, and she nodded. If they were going to watch an episode of the show, they would watch it on his laptop, in his bed. She couldn't stay dressed in jeans, and besides, they had seen each other in much less clothing over the years. So Liana put on one of his oversized boxers and a Stanford shirt that was at least two sizes too big for both of them. Art looked at her and nodded for a moment, lying down in bed and waiting for the moment she would say it was too much for her. That despite all her good intentions, she and Art weren't going to share a bed just so he could feel better. They hadn't done that since they were six, probably because she wouldn't even sit next to him on the same couch.
"We're in Logan's season, are you excited?" she asked with exaggerated enthusiasm and sat down next to him. He automatically pulled her closer.
"Aren't you afraid of getting sick?" he felt like the biggest jerk in the world for asking only after he had pulled her that close.
"My immune system has never let me down, Donaldson, and it’s not going to let me down today." She started the episode while getting comfortable next to him.
As the episode progressed, her hand found its way to his hair, playing with one of his blonde curls that, just like Art Donaldson himself, had grown on her.
"That feels nice…" his voice was barely audible as he was close to falling asleep, his head half on the pillow and half on her shoulder while his arm was wrapped around her.
Just before Art fell asleep, focused on Liana's breathing and her fingers in his hair, instead of the show, he realized he didn't need much to feel good.
heyyy there. How are we feeling about this chapter? I hope the slow burn isn't too slow for you...any thoughts? I know that Patrick wasn't here at all, but he'll have his comeback, don't worry. Also, should I do a tag list? It feels a little too much since I really don't know if there are readers who want to come back. I really want to hear from you so feel free to talk to me (PLEASE).
By the way- I still feel like my English is ruining the story, but again, I'm trying. Thanks for reading. It means a lot ❤️
#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#challengers#challengers fic#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#tashi duncan
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i love u 3000 ¡!
pairing: sungho x reader.
warnings: +18, smut, fluff, some angst maybe, kissing.
summary: short scenarios of firsts with sungho.
note: this will be a series!! hope u all enjoy<33 find the others here as i make them (woonhak and sungho done)
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first encounter: idk if it would be at a cafe or at the gym but I'll go for the cafe because i feel like he would be too into his workout to actually pay attention to his surroundings and see you. so he'd be thinking what to order, looking up at the menu while he stood in the line, you were in front of him and he didn't even see your face but the way you smelled and the way your voice said "i want a caramel macchiato, please, with no sugar" was enough for him to feel as if the sweetness you opted out surrounded him instead and he melt right into it, following you with his eyes when you left the line and yours meeting his when everyone kept telling him to move forward in the line. he finally came to his senses and you laughed at his little blush due to the shame. you can know for sure he would ask to sit with you and launch a conversation about how he zoned out before, ending with your number in his pocket, wrote down on a paper tissue and a huge smile in his face while he walked down the street.
first time he realises he's in love; honestly he knew from the beginning that he liked you, the way he would look for you in his contact list just to see your profile picture setting him up, even if it was the same one. he would even "mistakenly" call you at least twice a week just so he could hear your voice and ultimately your laugh when you said "was this really a mistake, sungho-ssi" and he just went silent before you added "you can call me if you wanna talk, i don't mind" bet. cause he would call you everyday just to ask how you were doing and if there was anything that you may need so he could get it for you. the first day you guys went out was when he finally realized he kinda liked you a little bit more than he expected, looking at you with such a lover eyes that the old people passing by your side kept saying "he loves you so much, don't break his heart". an indirect confession i guess.
how would he confess; kinda obvious (at least for me) but he is wearing the best clothes on his closet, his hair done perfectly, that soft perfume you loved all over his body and that smile on his face only growing bigger when he handed you the bucket of flowers, "what is this, sungho?" , "i would like to ask you out, if you let me. i promise to make you nothing but happy if you allow me" it sounded like a marriage proposal but that's just how serious he was. you said yes, why would you say no? it was sungho and his pretty foxy eyes waiting for your response, the boy who never had an excuse when you needed him and the one who cared for you the most, y'all already looked like you were dating to begin with so now it was just official!!
officially dating w sungho; something i know for sure is that he is such a domestic boyfriend :(( you could find him helping out with the chores at YOUR apartment, doing the dishes and even the laundry while you slept during the morning. he would hold your hand at any moment, hug you while walking on the streets during winter time even if it was uncomfortable, tell you how grateful he was by having you. he would remember all your anniversaries and bring you flowers each time, every time being a different one just so he could tell you the meaning and how much he loved you and hoped for more anniversaries to come. i think he'd also be the type to introduce you to his friends and his family as he sees your relationship as a long-term one.
first kiss; idk why i feel it'd happen at one of your guy's house, like, you are laying down on bed, just cuddling and talking your day, your head resting on his chest and his arm hugging you, giving you the warmth the weather lacked. you were so comfortable with him that even looking up and being so close was not awkward, that's why you did it when he went silent for a few seconds.
"what are you thinking about?" you would mumble and he lowered his eyes to meet yours, making you blush when he just smiled a little bit before saying:
"you"
"i am right here, what were you thinking?"
"about how cute you are, how much i love you and how lucky of man i am to have you and had met you in this life"
"honey... i love you too" you softly giggled and he blushed after saying all that cheesy stuff, you removing the hand from his face and matching his eyes, feeling his breath hitch when his eyes dropped to your lips.
and he really didn't have to ask, he just leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, you both closing your eyes and shifting in the bed so he was on top of you, between your legs while he softly caressed your cheeks, staying like that for a little while before pulling out and looking into each other's eyes, gosh you guys are so in love :(
first time he wanted to do more than just a peck; it would happen during a movie night, you always got together at your place to wach a movie or a short serie on fridays, buying some junk food when neither you or sungho wanted to cook. you would sit in your couch, your leg between sungho's and one of his hands on your thigh while you payed attention to whatever was playing on the tv, but when you constantly feel him moving below your leg, his hand making some pressure in the uncovered flesh of your thigh, you had to look at him.
"everything good, babe?"
"yes... i'm just... you know"
"no, i don't" you said, pausing the tv and removing your leg from his lap so you could sit properly and look at him. "is something going on?" he just denied with his head but by the way he lowered his head, his cheeks flushed and his hands held that cushion in front of his pants you knew what was going on. "can i kiss you then?" his eyes met yours again. "i wanna kiss you"
but sungho really didn't want to seem like a pervert right now so he would try to say no just to end up with you straddled on his lap, kissing him with hunger and circling your hips on his erection, his tongue would get into your mouth and he'll take control from then on, his hands guiding the pace and movement of your hips by holding down on them. a few moans would escape his lips and tbh he couldn't be more ashamed to be making out w u for the first time due to a boner. but oh well, it was not going to be the last time either.
first time meeting your family; when i say "sungho domestic boyfriend" I mean it!! he would be so excited to finally meet your parents, you met his a few months ago so he couldn't wait to meet the people who gave birth to the love of his life :( he would bring food and help your mom cook it, asking about your childhood and making a few jokes when your mom got too emotional about you being all grown up. i feel like your dad would love him even if they don't have much to talk about, he would see his good intentions and the kind and lovely vibe he gave would make both of your parents love him sm !! i can personally see him calling your mom every mother's day, and your dad too on every father's day, sending them flowers and a present for their birthdays too. he is just such a family boy to me ;(
first time w sungho; when i pictured this i almost got an overdose of sugar fr fr. he would be so loving, so caring, so soft about it, i don't even see him using dirty talk (at least not for the first time). he would worship your body so much that it would make you feel shy yet so good you couldn't explain the mixture of feelings, his kisses would be long and wet, his hips rocking against yours during missionary (because yes, he would fuck you in missionary 99% of the time) and his hands holding your wrists pinned down to the bed on each side of your bed. "you look so pretty, y/n, you feel so good" would be something he would say when he left your lips for a second, looking into your eyes before smiling a little bit about how into you he was (pun intended). he would also be the type to softly moan in your ear and intertwine his fingers with yours while fucking you so good :(( and i also see him using his tongue to make you shiver, could be by kissing you or by playing with your ear.
overall, sungho is a good boy, he is mature and very loving, he seeks honesty and stability so if he ever falls for you, have in mind that he would like to be with you for as long as he can. he is a funny person too, making jokes to enlighten the mood when needed but also knows when to remain silent. his mood wouldn't have huge swings and i don't think he would be one to argue or be jealous. (he could get jealous tho but he'll let you know about it before it gets uncomfortable)
commitment wise he is a 10/10, his full attention is on you when you need him, i think he wouldn't cheat and he is such a lover boy :') but he would expect the same back so if you lack he would feel a little sad too.
so if you are looking for a long-term, marriage oriented and responsible, respectful, honest yet funny relationship, sungho is definitely your pick !!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
also, can we talk about those pictures of him???? he looks so pretty, dazzling, cute yet hot asf?? make it make sense, he can't be a gym bro and look that good 😭😭
#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor scenarios#boynextdoor x reader#boynextdoor smut#sungho x reader#boynextdoor sungho#sungho smut
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@jegulus-microfic | june 1 - pride | 521 words | tw: NSFW but not overly smut, black brothers angst | @ecstarry @star4daisy and @godsofwoes
“We shouldn't be doing this,” Regulus whispered as James licked the side of his neck while his other hand was wandering inside his boxers, Regulus was on fire.
James hummed as he softly bit his neck and he felt Regulus shivering under his touch.
“Yeah,” James murmured against his skin, slowly looking up and finding Regulus’ blue eyes on the mirror that they were facing together, “We shouldn't,” he whispered to his ear, not breaking eye contact.
Regulus gulped and his sweet Adam’s apple moved under James’ gaze. He grabbed his cock slowly and Regulus let out a soft moan.
“James…” His voice was so tender that it made something in James break, he felt like dying under a thousand stars.
James slowly tugged his cock, stroking him carefully. Regulus' eyes were half closed, lips apart and watching James still.
James licked the shape of his ear, and slowly whispered his name, “Regulus.”
“Fuck—” Regulus closed his eyes shut, slowly melting under his arms, “Fuck, this is not fair, James.”
And it wasn't, James agreed.
Sirius didn't know what was going on between his brother and James, and they both didn't feel like sharing that info with Sirius yet. Their best guess was Sirius would stop talking to the both of them and only that could have ruined what they had at the moment. And they couldn't let this go, not yet. Not when James was being selfish for the first time in his life and doing something he actually wanted for himself only. He couldn't afford to lose this precious thing, and his Regulus.
So they kept on doing this, meeting secretly and making up the time they acted like they hated each other.
“It's not fair,” James kissed his chin, “But we have no other choice.”
Regulus nodded as he tugged his cock so slow, achingly slow. He was hard, but he was also emotional, James could tell.
Regulus was silent for a few minutes.
And then, “I can't afford to lose you and my brother.”
James smiled as he looked at him through the mirror, he wanted nothing more than to kiss him silly. He felt pride swelling under his chest.
“You won't lose me,” He said as he held his chin and slowly turned his face to him, “I am yours.”
Tomorrow Sirius could find out about them and all hell could break loose.
But James didn't care, he knew he could find a way to make them both happy.
“What if he finds out first? When we are not ready to tell him yet, what happens then?”
James thought for a second.
“I'm not afraid to tell him that I'm yours Regulus. I'm just afraid to lose both of you.”
Regulus nodded slowly and leaned in for a kiss. But he stopped before his lips touched James’ lips.
He asked, “What if he makes you choose one of us?” He didn't stop looking at his lips, “What will you do then?” he asked, whispering.
James didn't waste any second to think.
“I think you know the answer deep down, love.”
Regulus smiled before kissing him passionately.
#jegulus#jegulus microfic#microfic#black brothers#black brothers angst#regulus black#james potter#mentioned#sirius black#?#yes#james x regulus
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