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stuffeddeer2 · 29 days ago

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TRASH SUGAR MAGIC

➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13: ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴡ/ ʏᴏᴜ

➛ nikolai gogol x fem!reader

➛ cw: general content in main menu, fluff, suggestive, angst, possessive and disturbing behaviours, heavy dillemmas | words: 8.7k

➛ ao3 | spotify (note: slow love by tender is vibesss | main menu

You are still not in the right headspace.

As soon as you woke up this morning, Nikolai told you to get ready to go out. By ten in the morning, he already shoved you into his car. Right now, you are still sleepy and confused as to where he is taking you. It is not even the road to Olga’s diner or Nastasya’s studio. You remember Olga did not ask you to come to the diner and take a shift the last time you were there.

“Still sleepy?” Nikolai asks when the car stops at the red light. You hum and nod slowly. “You drink coffee?” He asks again.

“Not really. I prefer tea… and hot chocolate.” You say before you tilt your head to the side, looking outside the window. The world is dull and pale. The snow is falling today, but it is not so cold that you cannot handle it. Though, you have a tendency to snatch one of Nikolai’s many overcoats and wrap yourself in it. They always smell so nice, with a hint of tobacco and alcohol.

“Here,” Nikolai slips his hand into his pocket and takes out a can of peach tea from it. Your eyes widen slightly as you accept his little gift. You still do not understand how his ability works—hell, you do not even understand that there are the existences of unique people with unique abilities. Your whole life was spent moving from one place to another and Nikolai was the first instance of such people.

You subtly slip your hand into the red cardigan you wear—it belongs to him—and sure enough, your hand ends up in an empty pocket. Huffing to yourself, you open the can of peach tea and drink it. It is quite sweet.

You glance at Nikolai, noticing that he is grumbling curses in Ukrainian as he flicks off a car that drives past him. “Where are we going?” You finally ask the question that has been swirling in your mind. He seems to snap out of his minor road rage when he hears your soft voice.

“Olga’s house. To see your new place.” He says.

“Oh…”

Being constantly reminded of how you are going to leave Nikolai—or more accurately, he leaves you—does dissipate your delight. Your face turns sour as you drink more of your peach tea. It is not that you despise the possibility of living with someone new in a better house. Olga’s place probably has a better bed, better bathroom and a kitchen fully equipped with food. Vasily could be a very fun housemate too.

But your heart tugs elsewhere, towards someone else—someone who repeatedly has said that he is going to leave this town.

You suddenly remember bits of your conversation with him long ago—when he first opened up about himself. He told you about him joining a terrorist organisation, his attempt to kill himself, his anger and frustration and his desire for freedom. You remember feeling sympathetic towards him—which in better logic, you should not. He is not a good man, in a lawful sense.

But at least he is not as bad as his friend, Fyodor. That name has been nothing but a ghost until recently. The closer you are to his departure date, the clearer that name is in your mind. Fyodor, Fyodor…—what is he? How amazing of a man is he for someone like Nikolai to do a lot of this preparation and sacrifice just to kill him? Why does Nikolai want to kill him? What kind of illogical yet profound reason could justify that?

“Killing him will prove myself to be truly free. I just want to set it right. I am setting it right. It is not revenge I seek. I’m freeing myself.”

Would such scenarios be applicable to you? Would you kill your father to be free? Perhaps—if you have the guts to actually hurt someone. But then again, your freedom from your father would only be in a physical and literal sense. However, despite his absence from the world now, you are still not free. Dangerous people are after you.

Nikolai’s goal to kill that friend does not really look like a path to literal freedom. Killing him will prove myself to be truly free—he wants to free himself in a spiritual sense, you think. It is a weird sentiment, you would admit. What kind of person Fyodor Dostoyevsky is if his death could prove something as abstract and complex as the free will itself? If free will can be proven, would that also deny the presence of destiny itself?

Somehow you feel slightly envious—if he has made that much impact on Nikolai’s life, he must be very important. To be such a significance in someone’s life—oh, you could only dream about it. Not even your father wants to save you and certainly not your kind mother who gives up life.

“Alrighty, we’re here,” Nikolai says as he parks his car at a box near a brown apartment building. The apartment certainly looks better than a lot of other blocks in this suburban town. It looks cleaner too. Sometimes you just want to cry to Nikolai because of how bad the staircase at his apartment smells. It is a privilege to have a couple janitors having a cleaning duty every Saturday.

You leave the car and look around the area. Pretty empty, save for a convenience store, a closed food truck and a leather boutique—it looks vintage and apparently the boutique also has repair services for leather goods.

“This place is boring,” You murmur. Nikolai snorts.

“I know right. That’s why I’m gonna leave.” He says as he walks towards the building. You follow him closely from behind.

“Must you always bring that up?”

“What? Me leaving?”

You nod, crossing your arms as you size him up. Nikolai returns your dissatisfied stare before he taps your cheek lightly. “You gotta get used to it. I know you like living with me, but there comes a point where you have to let go of something, you know?” He says before his fingers wrap nicely on your jaw, bringing your cheeks together. “And Olga would be a much better person to take care of you. She has connections and you’ll be safe, I assure you. You’ll like living with her.”

With pouty lips, you say, “I hope so. I hope Vasily is a good housemate too.”

His eyes darken. A frown forms on his face. Before he could say anything back, the lift dings open and he quickly retracts his hand from you. Then that very hand slithers down your figure, grabbing your wrist instead as he pulls you into the lift. He presses the ‘4’ button.

“Hey, girl! W-Wait!” You both turn to the outside of the lift, seeing a middle-aged man trying his best to rush towards the lift. You are about to press the ‘Open’ button but Nikolai slaps your hand away and presses the ‘Close’ one.

He waves at the man as the door closes.

— ✿

“Hello, you two! Come in, come in.” Olga greets you at the door, opening it wide enough for you and Nikolai to enter her house. You are gaping at the way her house looks. Humble but extremely cosy. Much better than Nikolai’s apartment indeed. The living room is quite spacious, with just one couch, a coffee table, a shelf of antique fine china plates and an old yet functioning television. There are some board games in the cabinet under the television too.

The kitchen is just a little messier, probably because she was cooking before you two came. There is a small dining table placed against the wall, enough for four people to sit in. A vase of multi-coloured carnations is in the middle of the table. It does look like fake flowers though.

Olga leads you two to a vacant room, just beside Vasily’s room. The vacant room is quite messy—a complete contrast to the rest of the house. There is an old bed, complete with a blanket and pillow. The bed is covered with old-fashioned floral sheets. The room is also filled with boxes and old items.

“I kinda make this room as a storage room,” Olga chuckles sheepishly. “Lots of unused and used things.” She adds. Nikolai snorts.

“So you’re a hoarder.”

Olga huffs, crossing her arms. “Oh, come on. If I had an overcoat like you do, this room would be clean! And don’t tell me that there isn’t some random stuff in there either.” She says. Nikolai pouts, sticking out his tongue at her childishly when he has no counter for that.

“Olga, I couldn’t find more mops— Ah!”

You turn your head, seeing Vasily is holding a mop. He looks shocked when he notices Nikolai. You do not understand why he fears Nikolai that much and why Nikolai just cannot be friendly to Vasily specifically. If Nikolai does not want to be friendly with Vasily, that is fine. Not in your case though. You are more than happy to make friends with him.

“Hi, Vasily!” You wave at him. Vasily nods at you, his shoulders relax slightly as his lips twitch into a smile at you. His voice does not come out confident when he says hi back.

“No more mops from downstairs, Vasya?” Olga asks. Vasily shakes his head. She turns to Nikolai, eyes leering at the coat he wears. “No mops in you?”

“What, like in my ass?”

“Hey, language!”

Nikolai hums half-heartedly and shakes his head. You wonder what limit he can store stuff inside his coat—you know he can store a long rope in there. Can he store a whole bed in there? Or a car? Can a human fit in his overcoat? His ability is one of the mysteries you want to unravel about him—it is fascinating, you think.

“That’s fine. Mopping can wait. What’s more important is to move all these things…” Olga wiggles her index finger at the items on the floor. “… and clean all the dust off the floor, windows and walls.” She grins before she nudges Nikolai deeper into the room. “So, uhm, get to work, men. Vasya will help. He knows what stuff to throw away and what not.”

“Whaaat, why should I do it?” Nikolai tries to protest.

“Because I’ll be in the kitchen with her and Vasya needs a trusted adult,” Olga grumbles, patting Nikolai’s back. You beam. You do not really mind working in the kitchen with Olga. Cleaning this whole room sounds like hard work.

“Biblically inaccurate trusted adult.” Vasily murmurs. “Can’t she stay with us?” He points at you. “This will be her room anyway. She needs to stay with us. She has to. Please stay with us, please.”

He sounds like he is begging for you.

Olga only laughs before nodding. “Alright, alright.” She looks at you. “You help them. I’ll be fine alone in the kitchen. Play nice, you three. Oh, and don’t steal anything. I know you still have those naughty hands.” She ruffles Nikolai’s hair before walking to the door. She stops by you, also giving your head soft pats. “If they give you hard times, tell me okay? I’ll handle them.” She grins, flexing her arm. You nod, grinning as well before she leaves.

It is an awkward five seconds of looking at each other after Olga leaves. You cough and look at Vasily. “Where do we start, Vasily?” You ask before you put away your baby blue pouch on the bed and take a broom for yourself. Vasily stops you.

“Oh, we don’t need to sweep the place just yet. Olga wants most of these things to be thrown away. Unusable things… old things… broken things.” He says before he takes an empty box. “We put those in this box so we can throw it away later.”

“Here I have one.”

Vasily freezes when Nikolai gently rakes his fingers through his hair. The younger man’s eyes are frantic, seeking you for help. You sigh loudly, pulling Nikolai’s arm to move him away from tormenting the poor guy. Nikolai pouts at you—he looks almost like a boy who thinks he does nothing wrong. You look around and reach one of the white cloths used for wiping dust. You shove it into Nikolai’s hand.

“You clean the window. Vasily and I will gather the things.” You say, poking his chest. Nikolai looks at the dusty window and his pout just gets longer.

“I have allergies.” He says.

“No you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“You always smoke by that dusty window in our house.”

Nikolai nods. “Fair enough, my love. Fair… enough.” He grumbles before he walks to the window and starts wiping the glass half-heartedly. You turn your attention to Vasily and smile.

“Okay, let’s begin. Shall we start with this pile of boxes?” You ask, walking to an opened box, filled with vintage and antique house decorations. Vasily follows you and crouches beside you just as you crouch by the box.

Time passes by swiftly as you two work together. You sort box by box, setting the items according to their rightful place—not really, some items you think should be thrown away but Vasily insists that it is valuable. You start to notice how there are some out-of-place things among the antiques—a deflated basketball, various coloured caps, broken board games, chess pieces, some Game Boys and a couple of old game controllers.

“Do these things belong to yours?” You ask Vasily as you examine a Game Boy. It is blue in colour and there is barely any button anymore.

“Nope, not mine. Nothing in this room belongs to me. And that looks very old. I wasn’t living here until two years ago.” Vasily replies. “Probably belonged to her son.”

“Olga has a son?”

“Had.”

“… What happened to him?”

Vasily glances at you slightly and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just got here. I just know she had a son.”

You chuckle. “Well, she looks like she would have a son. She kinda treats you and your friend like one.” You say as you examine an old, torn board game before tossing it into a box that is meant to be thrown away.

“My… friend?”

“Yeah. What’s his name again? Err… A-Aleksy?”

Vasily suddenly huffs and curses under his breath. “Nah, not my friend anymore.” He mumbles angrily. Your eyebrow jerks up before you pause your sorting duty, looking at him intently.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I thought he was a fine guy but he started being weird after he hung out with this group of guys. I don’t know, he just made me uncomfortable now. We’re not friends anymore.” He says. His face grimaces, as if he is remembering hard times that happened probably not long ago. Feeling bad about his gloom, you place your hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze as a tiny solace.

“I’m sorry for you. I’m sure you have other friends who care for you.” You say softly. Vasily gives you a thin smile, nodding to himself.

“Yeah, I do. My friends are cool and they end up hating Alyosha for that too.” He laughs briefly. “They’re fun people. Smart too. Some of them tutor other students in their free time.”

You coo, nodding in amazement. Tutoring other students? Must be a next-level kind of intelligence. If the opportunity to continue your study presents itself, surely you will take it. You are not sure where your qualifications can have you end up in but if it is a road to see more of the world, you would take it.

Maybe if you are lucky, you can pursue your education somewhere else—a better place, a better life. Like Vasily does right now.

“Maybe someday I can introduce you to them,” Vasily says as he closes one box with tape. You look at him, sheepish. You chuckle lightly.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I’m not a student like you guys.”

“Why does that matter? You’re perfect as you are. Very friendly, very kind, naive… Too naive sometimes. You gotta make friends with people within your age range… for similar experience purposes or someshit. Although… none of us got kidnapped and insisted on staying with a suspicious guy.” Vasily smiles sweetly at you. You find his dimples to be adorable, a remarkable trait indeed. It compliments his slightly tanned skin. “If Olga likes you, everyone likes you. That’s the rule of thumb.”

You scoff before you smile smugly at him. “Oh, really? Olga likes Nikolai. You don’t seem to like him.”

Vasily sulks immediately. He grabs the box properly and hoists himself up. He adjusts his stance as he carries the big box. For a brief second, he looks at you. “I would like him if he actually helps us instead of napping in the bed… and not being so scary.”

You turn around, finally seeing the figure of your kidnapper on the bed. Nikolai is lying on his stomach, facing the wall instead of your direction. He is watching a video on his phone—it looks like a theatre play or something. Vasily grumbles again under his breath but you cannot really catch it before he leaves the room with the box in his arms.

Being alone with Nikolai gives you that familiarity again. Sure, Vasily is a good company. It is comforting to talk to the guy but Nikolai’s presence alone is complete enough for you. You look at Nikolai. He seems to be so engrossed in the theatre play. You smile to yourself, finding a little joy at the fact that you find something new about him. You wonder if he was involved in some kind of play like that, considering he used to work in a shady circus.

What was his role in the circus? What was his favourite magic trick? What made the circus so shady? You want to know, you need to ask, but pestering him would probably end up with you being pushed away and your questions being diverted to many roads. Although, there are also some instances where he gave up to your curiosity.

You keep working alone, with Vasily occasionally coming in to take another box to move out. By the time you start to sweep the dusty floor, you are already overcome with boredom and exhaustion. Your laziness takes over as you tread slowly to the bed, and plop yourself down on the surprisingly soft mattress—although the bed frame does creak very loudly.

Nikolai rolls himself, lying on his back and his eyes meet you. He smiles. “Tired already?” He asks. You nod. “You’re such a hardworking girl, even when you don’t have to be.”

“Or maybe you’re just too lazy.” You murmur, slightly displeased that Nikolai abandoned his duty so quickly. You bet the windows are still dusty. Nikolai only snickers, seemingly proud of his unproductiveness. You look at the door, hearing the faint voices of Olga and Vasily from the nearby kitchen. You are about to get up, wanting to join in and help. You are in Olga’s house and it would be so rude if you just lounge around and do nothing.

However, just before you can raise yourself, your wrist is grabbed and held tightly.

You look at Nikolai. His eyes are set on you. “Just stay and take a rest, my love. That boy is helping Olga anyway.” He says. You hesitate, eyes wavering towards the door and then him. He tugs on your wrist slightly. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

As if his little tug has a stronger force to it, your body feels heavy as you descend slowly onto the bed, exactly beside him. Your head on his firm arm, his hand shakily holds you. Heart beats fast and yet you find it hard to properly breathe as you lean into his heat.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

He does not answer, only staring at the video on his phone. His eyes are unfocused and his body tenses up. For a brief second, his hand tries to pull you away from his proximity, but his fingers itching to tuck you close. And those very fingers press harder onto your shoulder when you place an arm on his waist, with half of your leg straddling his.

Was it nice?

“Fuck.” He breathes out.

The two of you stay like that for a moment. You are staring at nothing, just enjoying the closeness shared between you two. His breathing is heavy at first but it gradually calms down, though you can feel him getting tense once a few seconds.

“Kolya?”

“Yes, dove.”

You tilt your head up to face him. “Can I ask you something? About Petersburg?” You say. Nikolai blinks profusely at your question before he puts away his phone and faces you. His mismatched eyes are as mesmerising as ever, his lips are slightly dry and his cheeks are slightly reddish. Wavy white hair, begging to be ruffled and messed with. As you stare deeper, you notice more features on him—a mole on his neck, a little bump on his nose, dark circles under his eyes.

Beautiful, beautiful man.

“Hey,” He suddenly pinches your cheek, tugging it. “If you want to ask, just ask. No need to scrutinise my face like a customs officer.” You giggle at his touch before lifting your upper body just a bit to look at him clearly.

“Is your plan… uhm… going well? What’ll you do after this?” You ask.

“It’s going fine… I just need to pack my things and return the apartment key to the landlord.”

“Huh? You don’t have like excessive documents you need to do?”

“Eh, the landlord is all for money anyway. She lets anyone rent with her, as long as they pay. Just ask for the key, really.” Nikolai says. “You can count on one hand how many lawful citizens there are in this city, sweetheart.” He pinches your cheek again, lightly and teasingly.

Nikolai sighs softly before he turns away and gapes at the ceiling for a couple minutes. With a slow voice, he asks you, “Does Elvir still come to the diner?”

You rake your brain to remember who Elvir is and it is not easy to forget that middle-aged suspicious-looking man. He sat in the restaurant for hours and you forced yourself to sweep the same tile on the floor just to avoid him—although, his leering gaze rarely left you. Knowing his true connection with the loan sharks and your father sent chills and a trickle of paranoia in you that for the past five days, you have been working in the kitchen instead.

You did tell Vasily about Elvir since he works mostly outside the kitchen and Vasily has not seen anything peculiar. So you shake your head at Nikolai’s question. “Haven’t seen him in the diner…”

“I think you need a gun, for your safety.” Your eyes widen at his words, confused too. Nikolai is unbothered by your reaction as he takes out a gun from the inside of his coat, handing it to you. He even wiggles it, encouraging you to touch the dangerous metal. You shake your head fast, keeping both of your hands to yourself. The retraction of your arm from his waist makes his eyes twitch, but he says nothing.

“What? It’s not gonna shoot if you don’t press it.” He says before he wraps his fingers around the handle. He sways the gun left and right. “It’s a very quick thing to kill someone.”

You gasp when he suddenly presses the muzzle right on your head. Complete silence and intense stares. Your body tenses and freezes as your eyes quiver terribly towards him and the gun. His name is stuck in your throat as your voice refuses to vocalise itself. His staring is deep and he bites his lips as if his mind is swirling with thoughts he forces himself to swallow.

“I’m kidding. I won’t hurt you.” He says before he retracts his hand, resting the gun on his chest instead.

“… You won’t?”

“Mm-hm.”

“P-Promise?”

“Yes, little dove. Pinky promise, sealed with a kiss.” He smiles and just like that, you finally find the courage to gesture the same. You glance at the gun on his chest and nudge your chin.

“Can you put that away?”

“What, you’re scared?” Nikolai smirks. You timidly nod and he cackles briefly. He moves his gun away, putting it beside the pillow he lays on. “Ha, you’re lucky you look cute when you’re sca—”

Nikolai’s throat dries up all of a sudden. His eyes shake terribly as they travel down to you—as soon as he puts away the gun, you lay your head on his chest, once again placing your arm around his waist. You make yourself comfortable and Nikolai— well… he would not say he is uncomfortable. He feels something, surely.

You are laying on his chest, so close, so so close. Worse, his arm that you laid your head on before instinctively goes to wrap itself around you—as if that is the most natural thing to do. As if it is the right thing. You could probably hear his heartbeat by how close he holds you. And your eyes certainly could see some signs of his delight. Nikolai groans, bracing himself for any embarrassment he might get today.

“W-What’s with this?” He shakily asks.

“Hm?” You move your head upward, looking at him. The way your eyes twinkle makes his stomach aflutter. It burns—warmth seeps into his chest, whelming his ribs.

“You are being sooo clingy,” Nikolai grumbles, making his voice as annoyed as possible. But he wants to shriek when he notices how whiny he sounds. It feels like his cold mask has slowly melted, thawing his old glee and jest. Did the warmth manage to travel up to his face too, just like how it travels so easily to his groin?

“Is that not okay with you?”

“Nah,” Too quick, Nikolai. Too quick. “I’m good.”

You squeal tinily before you turn your head to its comfortable position. Your finger is fiddling with the decorative rope on his jacket. He just watches you silently, while praying to someone to grant him the power to control his heartbeat.

It is just silence between you two—you are just silently playing with whatever you can reach of him and he is just watching.

“Nikolai…” You finally say something after about five minutes of tying and untying a knot from the rope of his jacket. “Are you really going to be okay when you reach Petersburg?”

“Why would I not be? I’m over thirty years old. I can live alone. Been doing that since forever. Everything’s almost settled. Car, house, transportation to go there…” He murmurs as his hand mindlessly plays with the threads peeking out of your (well, his) red cardigan.

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You say. You sound a little frustrated, but Nikolai is not so sure. It is just a tint so faint it can barely be seen.

“Then, what?”

“You,” You look at him again. “I’m worried about you.” You purse your lips and glance away. “I’m worried that the friend you wanted to kill—Fyodor—will do terrible things to you. Again. W-What if he made you go to prison again? I…”

I’m not ready to lose you. I’m never ready.

Nikolai’s eyes widen at the mention of his old friend. A mixed quandary bubbles and boils among the delightful warmth—slowly it bleeds into conflict. Suddenly he is repulsed. Suddenly he is angry. Suddenly he is irritated. Suddenly he is pissed. Suddenly he wants to shove you away, scream at you, grab the gun, pull the trigger, scream and scream—go away, go away! Why must you torment me like him?

With a hand on the side of your face, he stares hard at you.

He does not say anything, just glaring. But his mismatched eyes are not as dull—they are alive, blazing like fire igniting chaos and havoc. You, however, are slightly shaken—a light touch on a stagnant swan lake.

“Do you remember what I told you about him? About me?”

You nod slowly. “You two were… terrorists… and you were supposed to d-die.”

“He was supposed to die too.”

You frown but only for a quick second—in fear Nikolai might think you are displeased. You reach to touch the hand on your cheek. “Will you allow me to know about it?”

He is silent but his gaze is wandering madly all over your face—your eyes, nose and lips. He squeezes your face slightly before he throws his head back and groans loudly. And in quick precision, he pulls you by your waist to lay directly on top of him, with the rest of your body resting between his legs. You mewl in surprise and you want to ask him but he wraps his arm around your head and tugs you close to his chest. He is hugging you like a teddy bear—except you can barely move. You cannot even move your head except your eyes.

“I don’t want to see your face right now.”

“W-What?” Your voice sounds muffled, thanks to his arm.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just can’t.” He murmurs and his tone is hushed and desperate, as if to urge you to comply. You do not nod—you cannot even do anything, really. You can only hum and stare at the wall—as that is the only thing your eyes can freely gawk at.

Nikolai takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent. He is wagering his choice. He just cannot spend another millisecond gazing back at your glimmers. He will lose it. He will lose himself to delight and delirium.

But at the same time, he needs to pour his chaos elsewhere. A little whisper in him convinces him to allow you to know—after all, whether he likes it or not (he likes it), you are entangled with him in one way or another.

You are not protected like Olga or Nastasya. You are not entirely an unimportant outsider like Vasily. You are definitely not as well-knowledged as Viktor. You were just an outsider, a stray dove who flew wrongly at the wrong place and the wrong time. His message to Viktor—“Yea, yea. I accept. I’ll call you when I got her.”—was just a small piece of domino that had fallen.

The pieces fall one by one until the little dove decides his arms would be her cage.

What good would it be for you if you were left in the dark? Even a prison has a light from the sun or a lonely lightbulb.

“Fyodor was supposed to die…” Nikolai says slowly, still hugging you tight. “He was in a special jail, along with his… beloved chess partner, I guess… I arranged a scheme to break him out of jail and ensure his death.”

“Y-You broke him out…? Why?” You ask.

“… I don’t know. At that time I wanted to help him and release him from jail. And at the same time too, I wanted to kill him. I guess it would be a mere instinct, much like animals, to only kill him. Listen, you listen.” His voice deepens. “I was torn between saving him and killing him. Saving him would mean that my emotions are still intact and tangled in me. That’s why I did both. It was to prove that it was not a mere animal instinct.”

He takes a deep breath and continues, “He got out of the prison first and got into the helicopter that was prepared to aid the winner in his escape. He got in… and well… minus some details, he was stabbed when commanding the pilot. The helicopter crashed, exploded, burnt to debris. All that's left of him was his arm. It’s probably somewhere in my coat.”

You flinch.

“Was it spooky?” You nod quickly with all your strength. Despite his voice being soft and alluring, it is very uncanny. Probably because he does not seem bothered about keeping a mutated limb in his possession. He chuckles, but just a short, feeble one. “Sorry,” He says while he caresses your hair.

“I-It sounds like he was very important to you…” You attempt to reply.

“Mm, I guess you can think of it like that… We barely talked to each other but he understood me when nobody else did. He understood me, my essence, my goal, my ideal. That’s why I agreed to join the terrorism. Partly because it was a pure evil plan, separating morality and amorality. But also it was because I could die freely. Because I could choose happiness or freedom of my soul. I, obviously, chose the latter but it wasn’t… as… satisfying and liberating as I thought, especially when I was caught up with my emotions towards him. I caught up with that and changed my fate. And I thought I would feel liberated when I saw him die but… it felt the same. Maybe I did feel the freedom, but it wasn’t as pleasing as I thought it would be.”

You try to take a glance at him but when you make the slightest move, he firmly holds you, insisting you to stay in your position and keep your face hidden. You obey, not wishing to push his button too much, especially when he is being too vulnerable and unstable right now.

“After that… what happened?” You ask.

“I returned here. I met up with Viktor again. I truly believed Fedya was dead. Anything that happens on the other side of the world is none of my business. I don’t care what happens to the rest of the group, nor what happens to the world when some kind of beasts are unleashed. I just feel… lost… and empty.” He sighs. “One day, when I was in St. Petersburg, I saw him. I saw fucking Fyodor Dostoyevsky in the street, alive and well and… as if nothing ever happened. I don’t know what’s his goddamn superpower—it is probably something to do with death. At that time…” He sucks in his breath, sharp. His fingers grip your hair harder. “I felt everything. I felt angry, I felt sad, I felt nostalgic, I felt infatuated, I felt understood and… disappointed.”

“I felt disappointed,” He mutters. “And I don’t know at whom I’m disappointed with.”

“I told you. You tried to kill me. I am simply returning the favour. I am not too late, aren’t I?”

“What?” An awkward laugh, a tiny crumbling mask. “You’re going to kill me now? Huh, I guess there really is no use trying to outsmart someone like you.” He stares at the ground. “What are you waiting for then? Are you going to touch and bleed me? Or is it something you actually never do? What does the great one have in mind?”

“No. Not here. Not now. Nothing so ordinary.”

“Ooh~ I’m excited!” He grins, but his fingertips are cold. His smile falters when the man turns around, seeming to leave. Cold, frosty fingers twitching intensely, eager to wrap all of them around his neck, squeezing the life out of him.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere concerning you. But you should go back. Walk home, Gogol. Walk. By then, you’ll find yourself hungry for your key.”

He leaves. He walks away. He does not turn back.

“Nikolai?”

Nikolai glances at you and you let out a tiny whimper. “You’re pulling my hair…” His eyes bolt towards his hand, now realising he unconsciously gripped you a little too hard, as if his anger is accumulated and seeking something to descend on. He loosens his grip, both arms pry away and drop on each of his sides. You slowly lift your body, just enough for you to see his face. You are basically lying on your stomach with your legs up—except you are also still straddling his body.

“The way you’re describing this man is like he can do anything even avoiding death, apparently. Do you really want to face him again?” You frown, your voice is careful. “Because… well, if I may speak freely, I think chasing and living your hurtful past wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, he’s a terrible, big guy, isn’t he?”

“He’s not a big guy.”

“Well, we’re not talking about sizes. His influence on you was rather big, no?”

Nikolai hums passively, slightly rolling his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I will admit that. He certainly had a grip on my head, once. That’s why I must kill him. I must. Killing him would get rid of it. If I kill him, I’ll kill the very thing that controls the entirety of me. If I sever it—I sever myself from this brainwashing. Do you understand me now, my love?”

It is now your heart that is beating fast. Not because of the closeness between you two, but the shakiness in his voice—fragile, just like his lucidity. A push, a nudge, a poke—it feels like anything can make him fall into madness. It is only a matter of time—a matter of who.

“Kolya… this kinda sounds like— it’s— it’s like… you’re saying…”

You purse your lips, wondering if it is even a correct assumption. You are uncertain whether you should even say it, so you decide to put away that thought. However, it is hard to just pretend you forget it—as its implication alone is already disturbing.

He does not push you to tell him, but one of his hands creeps slowly onto your lower back. Maybe you do understand Vasily now.

“Am I scaring you?” Nikolai suddenly asks as both of his hands touch your face again, tilting your head left and right like a mannequin. “Are you scared of me?” His thumbs press and fondle your skin, hard, causing you to squeak pitifully at his roughness.

“S-Sometimes. But you’re more confusing than scary.” You say truthfully and immediately hold his wrists to stop him from kneading your face like dough. “I prefer that over my father’s though.”

Nikolai hums, nodding to himself. He thinks of something and decides to test his theory once more by pulling your hair a couple times. You only fight it with pouty pleas for him to stop. But you do not look too displeased. You certainly do not look so repulsed by his touches.

He decides it—yeah, that’s definitely a kink or someshit. But that thought is only kept in a special corner of his mind.

“Hey~! Lunch is ready— Oh my God!”

You shriek in surprise and hastily get up from his body. Your face is hot and you feel extremely abashed when you see Olga standing right by the door, eyes wide, a hand on her waist. Her amused gaze is on you before she turns to Nikolai.

Nikolai has already surrendered. He does not even move from his position and the embarrassment he is supposed to feel has become dormant. He gives up, really. His friends would target him more than you for their teasing and perhaps it is truly the time for him to accept the fact already.

But he is thankful that you are still seated in the space between his legs though. His embarrassment could have awakened again because Olga would see the rush that tightens his pants—fuck, it hurts.

“Food, anybody? Food? Or did you two eat each other already?” Olga laughs at her joke, bringing a fluster onto your face.

“We didn’t do anything…” You mumble.

Olga’s eyebrow jerks up before she scoffs. She crosses her arms and smiles smugly. “Yeah… sure, sure. I’m not going to ask more, it’d be disgusting to know.” She makes the motion of ‘Come here’ with her hand. You quickly get up and Nikolai follows after. He even stretches himself, making whiny noises as if he has been working the whole day.

“Vasya told me you’re being lazy,” Olga grumbles, hitting Nikolai’s shoulder. “Not even helping a thing. Hey, you’re still taking care of her. You should ease her work.” She says. Nikolai pouts and fakes a big yawn in front of the lady.

“Nikolai’s been tired lately,” You suddenly come to his defence. “He’s… uhh… been very stressed.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.”

“For fuck’s sake, Olga. Come on…” Nikolai groans and pushes you and Olga to walk in front of him. Olga wants to protest but you wrap your arm around hers, immediately distracting her from teasing Nikolai some more.

It works smoothly. You are certainly very good at your former job.

“What kind of food did you cook that took you so long?” You ask, sounding excited. Olga’s frown at Nikolai dissipates in a blink when she grins broadly. Her face is adorned with wrinkles and they become more prevalent when she smiles.

Just a happy woman.

“Ah, it took a while because I was making meat pies by hand. Frozen food isn’t really my favourite.” Olga says. She turns her head to Nikolai. “I also made deruny for you, Kolya! Your favourite, yeah?”

“My favourite is pyrizhky.”

Olga looks perplexed for a moment before she cackles. “Oops, I must have mistaken yours with Vitya’s.”

“Viktor eats everything.”

Olga leads the two of you to the dining area, where Vasily is cleaning the table. The smell of food coming from the kitchen taps your nose—definitely delicious and you are already feeling hungrier. You do not want to discredit Nikolai’s effort in cooking but you definitely miss the taste of complete, homemade meals instead of instant food. It feels like it has been forever since you touched food made with motherly love—you have forgotten it and you can only grieve it.

Your father was not exactly the best provider when it comes to food. He either gave you small meals that could not keep you sated or threw a couple cash notes for you to find yourself something to eat. It was lucky that at the very least, the club you used to work for did provide you dinner. But what kind of healthy, nutritious food that a night shady club can provide? The menu mostly consisted of appetisers and snacks.

“Vasily, let me help you.” You say to him, smiling sweetly.

“Huh? You’re a guest. Just have yourself seated.” Vasily looks slightly appalled by your sudden kindness but it does not really come as a surprise to him. You look at Olga as if to ask permission. She shrugs her shoulders.

“I would love some youngsters to help serve the food, yes.” She says, side-eyeing Nikolai in particular.

You grin. “Of course! You already cooked the food by yourself. It’s only fair that we do the rest.” You say as you walk towards Vasily, hold his arm and drag him to the kitchen. “Show me the way, Vasily.” You say happily.

“You’re already leading the way…” Vasily murmurs. “Are you sure you wanna help?”

“Hm? Yeah, why not? I help you, you help me. We have been helping each other since this morning.”

Vasily nods slowly before whispering, mostly to himself. “Right… Lord Jesus, please protect me from the Devil today…”

Both of you disappear into the kitchen, leaving Olga and Nikolai at the dining table. Olga coos, clasping her hands together. “Aww, isn’t she very nice? What a lovely sweetheart. I like her.” She says, nudging Nikolai’s arm with her elbow. She then giggles mischievously. “Just what were you two doing in that room, huh? She was on top of you and you were very excited. Very! I was suspecting that you two were having sex because I heard suspicious noises.”

“We weren’t doing anything other than conversing.” Nikolai sighs. “Seriously, what do you think I am? A rabbit in heat? I have great control over myself, m’kay?” He says as he continues watching you and Vasily through the door frame connecting the kitchen and the dining area. You are holding a big ceramic plate with one hand and tongs with the other. You are struggling, it seems, due to the tongs barely working right. You accidentally dropped a piece of meat pie into a pot of soup.

“Oh shit, girl.”

“Quickly, take it out, take it out. Shh, shh, shh.”

You and Vasily are holding back laughter when you stuff half of the soup-soaked meat pie into your mouth to get rid of the evidence. The other half is shared with Vasily.

“Kolya, control your face,” Olga says, firmly.

Nikolai’s long pout, dark gaze and scrunched nose disappear one by one. They are replaced with eyes flashing with malice and an uncanny wide grin. “Please keep the boy in his line or the babies in the orphanage across the street will burn.”

Olga blinks confusedly before she laughs out loud, slapping his shoulder. “Ahaha! You’re a funny fella when you’re jelly!”

Nikolai does not say anything. He just watches Olga until her laughter slowly vanishes. “You’re joking right?”

He says nothing.

— ✿

The day must have been exhausting for you.

You two left Olga’s house at around 6PM. But on the way back, Nikolai made a quick stop at Viktor’s house to grab something. You wanted to come along but he told you to stay in the car. It really was just a brief business because it took him less than ten minutes to go and return.

“What did you take from Viktor?”

“Some documents.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure, if you can take it out of my coat.”

You gave up immediately after that. Nikolai noticed that you lost most of your energy since you were not as talkative as usual during the car ride. He expected it though. You had been helping Vasily and Olga regarding your future living place. He barely did anything aside from moving boxes, but even then, he ordered Vasily around most of the time.

And when you two were home, you took a shower to get rid of the sweat and dirt from your hard work for the day and plopped onto the bed as soon as you got in your pyjamas.

It is two in the morning and Nikolai is still not asleep. He is lounging in the living room, with a black bag open on the couch. There are a couple clothes in the bag. He is starting to pack his stuff for his journey to St. Petersburg. Nikolai plans to just pack his travel essentials and some long overcoats so he will just have to carry one bag. He is extremely grateful that his ability allows him to throw everything inside it. He can even put the whole couch he is sitting on right now if he wishes. But he could not do that because all the furniture in the house did not belong to him. It comes with the apartment.

Though, the idea is not entirely opposed. Except he has already gotten an earful from Viktor to not smuggle furniture out of the apartment because the landlord will come to seek Viktor for an answer instead. What a pussy. It’s just a small crime—Nikolai thinks.

Nikolai has been gathering his coats that are scattered and hung around the house. There were two on the chairs at the dining table, one on the couch where he sleeps and about four on the racks near the entrance doors. He piles them up on the living room floor—he plans to wash them all before throwing them into his favourite big white cloak.

He makes another round around the house to check for any remaining clothes he might have forgotten. When he is about to move on, he remembers he has not checked the bathroom yet. He does not step into it after you use it. Nikolai enters the bathroom and finds the red cardigan you wore today hanging on the hook behind the door.

His cardigan.

He takes it and inspects the cardigan. It is actually quite an old one. It does not fit him perfectly anymore—a little smaller for his figure. He remembers this cardigan was bought when he was like nineteen…? Twenty? He does not remember the exact year but definitely when his body is not as beautifully shaped as now.

No wonder it suited you. It looked like you were indeed wearing your age-appropriate boyfriend’s clothes.

Nikolai holds the cardigan tightly. It would not fit him nicely anyway. Might as well give it to you.

He leaves the bathroom and tosses the cardigan onto the pile. All of those clothes will be washed tomorrow. He is pretty sure he should at least wash the coats he never and rarely wears that are kept in the closet. They must have smelled like old wood by now.

Nikolai makes his way to the bedroom, finally. He slowly opens the door, and immediately his eyes fixate on you. You are snuggled under the blanket, curled up. He enters the room, making silent steps so he will not accidentally wake you up. He just needs to get to the closet and take his old never-worn coats.

But he halts when he is by the bed, so so close to you. He hovers slightly and his hand reaches out to you, fingers twitching over your body. But he does nothing more, leaving his longing hand suspended above you.

Nikolai sighs softly. He turns away, about to continue with his late-night task, until—

“Nikolai?”

Your slurry, slow, sleepy voice just had to call out to him. Nikolai turns his head, seeing your eyes are barely open and you seem to be not even half-awake. “You’re not sleeping yet?” You murmur. You look adorable—almost like a kitten that is barely aware of its existence. He snickers at the thought before he sits on the bed.

“Yeah… I gotta pack my things.” He says before he smiles tenderly at you and gives some pats on your head. “Go back to dreaming, little dove.”

He retracts his hand but you reach out to touch him. Your fingers are barely linked with his own, and still, it is enough for him to stop moving. He looks at you and your hands. You try so hard to open your eyes, blinking profusely to clear your vision a little bit more.

“You should… sleep too. You worked a lot…”

Nikolai scoffs lightly, chuckling. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking me with that Vasily boy? I might get angry.”

“No… No, you should get some rest… You deserve it… Because you always look… exhausted…”

“I will get my good sleep, I promise.”

“On the couch?”

“Where else?”

And your fingers dance their way to slither further, grasping his pinky and ring finger. It is just a weak pull but his body heavies down onto the bed until his head lays on the empty pillow right beside yours.

As if you are just awake for one and one objective only, you are back to snuggling the blanket and your eyes close fully. Nikolai can very well get up and leave, but he stays, watching as you are slowly descending back to the Dreamland. He does not move away, instead, his hand grabs some of the blanket you dominated and lazily drapes it over his body.

“Nikolai,”

You are clearly struggling to stay conscious. Whatever do you need to talk about that you cannot wait for tomorrow to pass a bit more?

“When you told all that story… it sounds like… you will kill anyone you love.”

Nikolai does not like where this is going.

“… You won’t kill me, right?”

“Have I ever said that I love you?”

Your eyelids flutter and your forehead creases slightly. Your lips part open but Nikolai quickly cuts your sloth-like momentum by pushing you by your waist to turn you away from him. Once your back is facing him, he pulls you and scoots himself closer. His arm rests around your body.

“I wasn’t serious about that.”

“… Which one?”

He does not reply. And perhaps you have given up because you also say nothing afterwards. Your breathing slows down as you relax in his embrace. His eyes are still not shut asleep even after ten minutes—he just waits for you to fall asleep again. When you do, he hopes that you will forget this conversation tonight.

Nikolai leans down a bit, placing a soft kiss on your nape.

He hopes you will forget that too.

©cherikolya 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#nikolai #beats him up #my bad #anyway ughhhh hes perf as per usual #stuff me in your coat king ill come with 😭

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stuffeddeer2 · 3 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it.

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks.

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up.

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week.

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?”

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly.

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?”

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya.

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least.

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering.

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?”

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?”

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia.

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to.

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now.

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?”

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face.

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question.

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile.

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance.

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie.

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room.

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises.

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off.

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

��Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done.

You have to be, for your own sake.

#i should die #dazai #this is so perfect

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