#but looking around at the vastness of everything around me and realizing i had also created everything with my own two hands

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 TO SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

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

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

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

Dazai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you’re so cruel, Dazai Osamu. 

You hate that you instantly feel relieved. 

You hate even more that he definitely notices. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

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

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

A bit too tight, but you don’t mind. 

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

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

“Sir?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think you could stare at it forever. 

His fingers burn. 

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

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

But he has it.

He has it. 

He has you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sakae and Kanagawa? 

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

It’s not an option.

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll wait for you.”

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

Ding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so tired.

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

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

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

He really can’t get a break. 

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you give him a smile.

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

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

“I’m sure,” he murmurs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s already looking at you.

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kisses you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A screech comes from the television. 

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

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

You want to kiss him again, so you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah. You might be falling for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want company?”

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

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

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

Dazai comes home to an empty penthouse.

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

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

Where are you?

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

 Did you leave? 

Why did you leave? 

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

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

Maybe you were just sick of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is she?” 

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

“... What do you mean?” 

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

Where did you go?

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

Why the fuck did no one say anything to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is he going to do?

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

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

But if he can’t…

He has two options: 

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

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

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

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

And then the elevator dings. 

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

He spiraled for nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smile splits across your face. 

“Is that even a question?” 

Dazai’s woken up by someone shaking his shoulder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does. Of course, he does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, is this it?

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

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

How does he prevent it?

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

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

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

“You sound… disappointed,” you say hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he freezes. 

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

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

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

But now… 

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

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

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

[shogunish]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟲]

synopsis. all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

words. 2.8k

warnings. none

note. IT'S FINALLY HERE 🥳 i hope you guys have as much fun reading this chapter as i had writing it 🥹🥹

previous || next || masterlist

as you thought, you didn’t belong to these sorts of people.

grandeur surrounded you like the sea encapsulated an island in the middle of nowhere.

men dressed in expensive suits filled the dimly-lit hall with their wives hanging on to their arms like the finest jewelry. waiters and waitresses alike steered their way through the crowd with practiced ease and grace in their feet all while carrying a silver platter around, giving champagne away like candy and offering little treats.

such things were foreign; you only had seen such things on tv and for a moment, you felt somewhat intimidated by the sheer scent of money in the air. sometimes, you forgot that satoru worked for a great company, enjoying a high ranking and an even greater paycheck if his tailored suit was anything to go by.

“you look amazing,” satoru reassured you with a whisper in your ear. “don’t be afraid. i’ll be with you all the way.”

and his words did soothe your worries, but not the rapid pounding in your heart. maybe you wouldn’t feel so light-headed if satoru didn’t wear this damned suit and didn’t add a hint of his cologne on his neck and wrists. even his hair was styled and you swore you had suffered a heart attack when you first laid your eyes on him.

smoothly, with your palms clasped around his arm, satoru guided you through the crowd like he had never done anything else. a pinch of pride shone in his eyes; not only did you look stunning, but you also wore the dress he had picked for you.

“it’s too expensive,” you had argued with a pout on your lips when you saw the price tag still attached to the graceful thing. “i can’t possibly wear that.”

and look at you now, turning the heads of his colleagues as he showed up with you.

like a ship in the vast sea, satoru steered you from person to person just to exchange some pleasantries and introduce you to those he worked with for the majority of the time. to your surprise, it was easier than you initially believed. occasionally, he even snuck a little snack from the platters and shared the small treats with you.

it was at these times that your satoru shone through the cracks of the styled businessman in your hands.

everything was going smoothly until your not-date date suddenly got stolen away by some chubby business man in his fifties and drowned in the sea of people and lights and grandeur.

“satoru?” you called out softly, worry in your eyes when you realized he wouldn’t hear you over the soft tunes spilling from the speakers.

damnit.

how hard was it to find a 1,90m man with white hair and dazzling blue eyes in a crowd of people? yeah, you were surprised as well when you found out it was indeed hard.

heels clacked against the polished marble floor when you found yourself at the bar, giving up on finding satoru for the time being. next to you, three ladies chatted amongst themselves. draped in diamonds and silver, they gleamed in the dim lighting of the grand hall like they were gems themselves. their eyes found yours when they appeared to recognize you.

“oh, you have to be gojo’s date for tonight, right?” lady #1 chirped in kind and mildly surprised tones. you recognized her; she was the wife of one of the businessmen satoru had introduced you to earlier. at least one face was somewhat familiar.

“i think it’s the first time gojo brought a woman with him, right?” the second lady added with a glass of champagne in her manicured fingers.

you perked up. “excuse me? the first time? i fear i don’t quite follow..”

lady #3 sat back in the bar stool and flashed you a smirk, her lips painted a deep burgundy as she spoke, “gojo’s never shown up in the company of another woman. many have tried to become his plus one, but he always brushed them off.”

“yeah, you should’ve seen everyone’s faces when he first started talking about you and how well you get along with his son. lots of hearts were broken that afternoon,” lady #1 giggled as your face fell into disbelief.

sure, you suspected that satoru was popular with the ladies. not only was he handsome to the bone, but he could provide a stable life, he was funny, charming, smart and– you were getting carried away.

before a response could make it out, the topic suddenly shifted when one of the ladies realized she hadn’t shown off her newest necklace which glimmered and split the lights into the colors of the rainbow.

at this moment, you realized that you truly didn’t belong in the same boat as them when they talked about tiffany’s jewelry, mansions, vacations in malaysia and venice. the topic of satoru and his lack of female company was wiped clean from the shared canvas of their mind and was instead painted with problems and luxuries you couldn’t even dream of having.

luxury meant for you ordering takeout twice a month when the delivery app had some sort of sale going on.

satoru’s strong arm wraps itself around you like a blanket of comfort as he sweeps into the conversation with one of his charming smiles. the eyes of those women were as drawn to satoru like a flock of moths to the flame as he spoke in soft, suave tones that had even your heart beating a tad bit faster. a bit harder.

“excuse me, but i fear i must steal my lovely lady from you.” satoru flashed them a gentle smile and left the women giggling amongst themselves as he guided you towards the balcony, away from all the hustle and bustle, away from unnecessary attention that wasn’t his.

the moon hung high in the sky in its entirety, filling out the dark heavens above as it watched over countless twinkling dots. below the balcony railing, city lights glimmered in bright neon colors. streets were alive with as many people as there were stars in the sky and yet all of them seemed so far away when you finally breathed.

“sorry.” satoru broke the beat of silence before he combed his fingers through his snowy hair. leaning against the steel railing, he looked handsome. the moonlight caressed his features with the touch of a lover while those cerulean irises bathed in the infinity of the skies. or so you thought. “i didn’t expect anyone to need my attention tonight when it was reserved for you."

heat rose to the apples of your cheeks and suddenly, your heart was pounding underneath your ribs. this feeling budding in the core of your heart was blooming with each word satoru said. especially tonight.

there was no child to take care of. no stomach aches that made you feel horrible.

in this little corner, you found a glimpse of paradise with satoru by your side.

“don’t worry about it,” you said, resting your elbows on the railing and letting your eyes drift towards satoru like he was pulling you into his orbit. “you must be really important when you’re stolen away from me in the blink of an eye.” up until this moment, satoru didn’t know that a chuckle could be like silk in the form of sound and dribble into his ears like warm honey.

leaning closer to you, satoru bumped his shoulder against yours – or rather his biceps. even slumped over, he was still taller than you.

“so tell me, have you been gossipping about me while i was gone?” it was a light-hearted joke, you knew, and still you had half the heart to let satoru know that you would never talk about him behind his back.

you shook your head, eyes crinkling at the edges as you gave satoru a smile. “not about you. but they had a lot to say about their men.”

that seemed to pique satoru’s curiosity if his cheeky grin and the twitch of his ears was anything to go by. a funny look was painted all over your face; one that made satoru only more curious than he already was.

“don’t look at me like that.” he almost pouts. almost. “you can’t just say you got some juicy details on my colleagues and then seal your lips shut.”

fuck. if anything, you wanted him to seal your lips shut. ever since you had laid your eyes on satoru, dressed in that tailored suit which accentuated the slimness of his waist..your thoughts decided to wander and they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.

“my man and i argued and he got me a tiffany’s necklace. my man gifted me this dress, my man gave me this, my man gave me that,” you mocked voices, tone going up by a pitch before you ended the show with a sigh slipping past your lips. those ladies weren’t bad people, but gods were they exhausting. “it felt like a competition.”

“what, don’t tell me you’re jealous.” a teasing lilt lingered in satoru’s voice. he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face when you shivered and pouted your glossy lips. if only you were his..he’d pin you against the railing and kiss you stupid until your lipgloss was smeared all over his lips.

“of them? never.” shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you leaned your weight against satoru’s strong frame and basked in the way his warmth seeped through the fine fabric of his suit and into your pores, keeping you warm and toasty. “i don’t need fancy things to have a happy relationship.”

acting on auto-pilot, satoru rested his arm around your waist and pulled you a little tighter against him. “well..what would you need to be happy?”

now that was a question you had never given much thought. the only answer that you could come up with sparked the butterflies in your tummy to life. right then and there, you swore you were a silly teenager again who had come face to face with her crush and there was nowhere to hide.

you didn’t know if the goosebumps on your skin came from the pounding of your heart or the chilly breeze passing by.

“..maybe someone who can communicate his feelings. someone who’s fun but can be serious when the time calls for it. someone who buys me a year worth of pads and prepares a hot water bottle for me. someone who eats so many sweets that it’s a miracle he doesn’t have diabetes yet.”

usually, satoru would like to tease you and say something so cheesy that you were certain you’d regret opening up to him, but he just looked at you with those infinitely deep eyes that glimmered in the moonlight. his hold around your waist tightened.

“you know, i think i’d also be happy with someone who gets along with megumi and doesn’t know how to use my stove. someone who laughs when i buy all the pads with wings and dozes off on my shoulder. someone who brought cookies when she asked if she could help me watch over megumi.”

a smile, that of a lovestruck fool, graced satoru’s lips as you stared at him with round eyes and shock written all over your face. for a moment, he feared you’d ask “me?” like you didn’t even dare to think that satoru could be into you when it was so painfully obvious that it was you.

the moment he saw you standing at his door with that batch of cookies in your hands, he knew it was you.

“gojo, there you are! there’s that man i wanna introduce you to.” one of his colleagues popped the intimate bubble satoru had carefully crafted for the two of you. bubbles were meant to pop eventually, but this was probably the worst timing ever. “oh, you can bring your girlfriend, too! he’ll be delighted to see her!”

this was the hellish equivalent of getting cock-blocked, he thought.

apologies swam in the irises of satoru’s eyes as he furrowed his brows and let out a defeated sigh. he would get his chance. and it’d be tonight.

“shall we?” satoru offered you a hand which you gratefully took before he led you back inside.

.

.

.

an hour or two later, you found your arms looped around satoru’s biceps as he escorted you back home. street lamps lined up next to the concrete going through the park illuminated the space around you, adding a golden glow to satoru, to you, to the feelings that wouldn’t stop growing.

you only took a break on a bench when you mentioned the ache in your feet. walking around in heels for an entire evening, for hours on end, was not one of your many (hidden) talents.

words of memories past fell from your lips like honey as you recalled something about you changing shoes in the middle of an important event.

if satoru was honest to himself, he wasn’t truly paying attention to what you were saying. he did add an occasional hum of approval or offered a chuckle, but what he really focused on was the glimmer in your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way your hair fell. you were imperfect, he knew, but to him, you were perfect for him from head down to your pinky toe.

he wanted it all. he wanted it all for himself.

“..and then there was– oh.” following your line of sight, satoru spotted a small food stall illuminated from within and occupied by an elderly lady who seemed to be distracted by the malfunctioning radio. but that wasn’t what stood out – it was the strawberry crepes being sold.

“you want some, don’t you?” satoru chuckled, cerulean eyes glowing even in the dim lights of the street lamps lined up right beside the two of you.

“how did you know?” you inquired with curiosity laced in your voice.

shrugging his shoulders, satoru smirked. “you’ve been with megumi and me for a while now. it’d be a shame if i didn’t know what you wanted just from a glance.”

you couldn’t protest when satoru already strolled over to the elderly lady and ordered two strawberry crepes. gladly, the lady prepared the sweet treat and even added some extra whipped cream for satoru as if she could sense his sweet tooth. within mere ten minutes, the crepes were done, warm and adorned with ripe slices of scarlet strawberries.

sauntering back to you, satoru handed you your crepe, sat down right next to you and enjoyed the first bite which was as messy as it was sweet. a frown was etched onto satoru’s features as he dropped a strawberry onto the ground. a sweet treat forever lost and never to be savored as god intended.

taking note of satoru’s misery, you offered him one of your strawberries with a gentle smile adorning the curve of your lips. “here. you can have mine.”

“are you sure? it’s your strawberry after all.” who would’ve known that an insignificant thing such as a strawberry would bring a blush to his cheeks? sky blue eyes blinked once, twice at the fruit between your fingers before settling on your face. this was the chance he had been waiting for all evening, he realized.

“you’ve got some whipped cream on your lips.”

“huh?” hastily, you rushed to wipe your lips with your index finger and when you were done, you lifted your face again for further inspection. “is it gone?”

oh, how sweet you were. amused, satoru shook his head. “no. right there.”

nimble fingers tilted your face upwards while cerulean irises gazed into the cracks of your soul as satoru leaned in, closed the gap and sealed your lips with his own.

for a moment, your muscles froze. was this truly happening? was satoru actually kissing you? or was this another one of your daydreams right before he dropped you off at your doorstep? no, it was better than a mere daydream – it was reality.

fingertips twitched, needing to hold his face, his shoulders, anything. but before you could even lift a finger, satoru pulled away with a smile on his soft lips and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “this is much better than a strawberry.”

like a fish, you were left gaping at the man who just kissed you with the care of a lover. you wanted to say yes a thousand times over, but not a single words made it past your lips. satoru liked you, that much you knew. he had said so himself earlier that evening and yet, you were still left speechless like a canvas that was waiting to be painted with his love and kisses.

“it is,” you finally breathed, set aside your crepe and cupped satoru’s cheeks as you pulled him in for another sweet kiss.

lips melted into each other like candle wax as they danced with each other, explored and got to know each other all over again. no words were needed to explain the feeling, now in full bloom, engulfing you and satoru like a cocoon.

all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @risuola, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur , @lu-lynds, @staryukis

[angelnthsnow]

The Party & The After Party

pairing: toto wolff x f!driver!reader

summary: after winning your first formula one race in your first year in the category, you don't think the day can get any better. fortunately, your boss has other plans for the night.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: age gap? it's never mentioned but it's there obvi, boss x employee, use of y/n, cursing.

author's note: i must say my friends have gotten me into formula one, but it's kinda hard paying attention to the cars when this man exists. i wrote this nonstop in the middle of the night, it's shorter than usual but i couldn't get the idea out of my head, so enjoy! i promise i'll post smth nfl related soon lol k bye!!

In your first year as the first female F1 driver, you had done the impossible. Standing on the 1st place of the Monaco Grand Prix podium, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you looked down at everyone who had ever doubted you. Years of resisting attacks, sexist remarks and the constant need to prove yourself, you felt like you could finally breathe. By your side, stood two of the greatest drivers the sport had ever seen, Lewis Hamilton, your teammate, in P2, and Max Verstappen, in P3.

Your eyes wandered through the vast crowd that chanted your name from below, searching for the man who had made it all possible, your boss, Torger Wolff, the first person who took you seriously. Being a woman with hopes of getting into Formula One was exhaustingly hard, but everything started to change when you won the F3 Championship, a few years ago.

Paul, your teammate at the time, had told you that a certain team principal would come to the race that day, and although you kept telling yourself to not get your hopes up, every single attempt to do so went downhill when you saw the Mercedes team principal walking through the paddock like he owned the place.

To you, Mercedes was everything. Besides being one of the most modern teams, you also realized soon enough that Toto was probably the most open-minded out of all the other TPs on the grid. It was sad, of course, having such a little percentage of people who would be happy to see a woman in a position that was so dominated by men, but still, it lit up a flame in your chest, a string of hope you clung onto whenever you felt like giving up your dream.

That day, with him on the bleachers as you drove fearlessly around Spa-Francorchamps, you won the F3 championship, putting you on a watchlist of drivers that could get into F2.

Ever since that day, the austrian had kept an eye on you.

He saw how fiercely you fought to have a place, to have a voice and to be heard in a space ever so dominated by the opposite sex, and it didn't scare him, not one bit, he admired it. When you stood on that podium earlier, he didn't even bother hiding a smile, taking pictures and videos and chanting your name with the rest of the team as Lewis and Max sprayed the ridiculously expensive champagne on your back as you laughed.

That's why today, hours after winning your first ever F1 race on your first year in the category, he still couldn't get off the high he was on. He had finally gotten the confirmation he so desperately needed, not because he didn't believe you could do it, but because he was eager to prove everyone else wrong, to rip the smugness out of every single man who told you you didn't belong there.

At least that's what he had told you earlier through the radio before the lights went out, prove them wrong. He just didn't know you fought to reprimand a sob as you tried to concentrate in the lights that stood just above the Albert 1st Boulevard.

Now, Toto's eyes scanned every single corner of Jimmy'z searching for you, only to find you on the dance floor, pornstar martini in hand as you swayed to the beats of Empire of The Sun's We Are The People.

You had a smile on your face that could lit up a whole room, and he couldn't be prouder. Soon enough, your eyes met his and you chuckled, making a peace sign to point at your eyes and then at his as the line got lost in your eyes blasted through the club's speakers.

Even at distance, you could see him rolling his eyes and chuckling at your playful gesture, but still, he came closer, until the only thing in his field of vision was the visibly drunk version of you.

"You look happy." he leans down and forward to yell in your ear, making himself heard even if though the loud music made it hard to.

You squirm at the proximity, but brush it off by taking another sip of your drink. "I'm on top of the world, Toto. I don't think I've ever been happier." You yell back and he resists the urge to fight back a smile, presenting you with his pearly whites.

As one of the neon lights hit your face, he's forced to take in all of you. The version of you you'd put up whenever he'd tell you he had an important meeting he needed you to attend, or whenever you were needed to put up a show, like today.

You wore a black strapless dress, the one you'd seen a few weeks prior to the Grand Prix at Elie Saab's display window while you were on your daily night walk through Monaco. It was mesmerizing, with a shimmery type of fabric that would definitely make sparks fly if a bright light shined over it. You had thought of buying it, for days, really, but decided against it because party dresses were never a much needed piece of clothing in your wardrobe. Well, that until you told Lewis about the dress, and when you arrived at your apartment a few hours after the race, there it was, on a hanger hanging on the curtain rods.

As much as your looks prevented Toto from thinking about anything else, he couldn't help but notice how huge your pupils were, so big that it felt like your iris' were long gone. That and the fact that your sclera had shifted from white to a more reddish color.

He shifted on his feet, unaware of how to proceed. Were you.. high? Was that even a thing between sportspersons? Deciding on it being a matter that shouldn't be handled in front of the city's most congested place as of today, he mutters a "come with me" in your ear, putting a hand on your lower back as he guided you away from the crowd.

When he finally stops, you find yourself in a more private, smaller room with a few sofas and armchairs. He then proceeds to ask you "You've taken something. What is it?"

You laugh at his sudden concern. The answer was clearly a big red yes written in all caps, but part of you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed at yourself. You had done it, yes, but now you felt sort of guilty, because the last thing you wanted was to damage his or the team's image. You shake your head, trying to to keep those thoughts away. It was just a party, a party for you, with only selected people being allowed in, it wasn't like you'd wake up to your name on the news.

"Come ooon.. don't be such a party pooper!" You slurred.

Toto was shocked by your reaction, part of him wanted you to celebrate as you wished, after all, you had just fulfilled a dream, but the other part, the responsible boss part craved an explanation, he didn't want you to cause any harm to your already fragile media image.

"Are you serious? You're the star of the entire team today! We have thrown a party just for you and you're getting off on drugs?" He says, lowering his voice on the last word as he crosses his arm.

"It's just a blunt, Toto. I swear I'm fine." Your laugh echoes throughout the small room as you grab his big arms, uncrossing them. "Don't get so serious on me." You look up at him through your lashes.

Toto gives you a stern look before a smirk creeps up on his face. The anger and seriousness fades away in an instant as he realizes the situation wasn't that serious. He sighs and looks at you with a sly, yet curious look. "How many? One, right?"

"Just one, sir." You say mischievously, holding your pinky finger up before kissing it to symbolize a promise.

Toto is taken aback as you kiss your pinky finger in a sarcastic manner, although he doesn't say anything. He looks at you with the same sly look as before. "I see... and have you done this before?"

"Who hasn't, duh?" You furrow your brows, flashing him a backward smile.

'He hasn't, of course. That's Torger Wolff we're talking about' you think to yourself as you look up at him. The soreness of your muscles and the pain of being on your feet for so long getting to you.

Sometimes it was kind of annoying having a conversation with your boss due to the fact that you had to look up the entire time, and countless were the times you found yourself with neck pain after hours of chatting. This conversation would surely be added to that imaginary countless list of yours, because even today, with high heels that could make you look six feet tall, he still looked way too big.

Toto chuckles before getting a playful look on his face. "Oh, really? I highly doubt the star of my F1 team has ever smoked a blunt before, although you do seem very knowledgeable about this." He moves closer to you, looking down at you as he speaks, his voice low and husky. You wondered if his neck ever went through the same problem yours did when you two talked, causing you to chuckle.

"I do?" You lift one eyebrow, narrowing your eyes. "Well, I must say.. the star of your precious F1 Team has done a lot, Mr. Wolff." It comes off more flirtatious than you intended, but you pay no mind to it. You try to take a step back, but end up slipping on the hem of your gown, the high getting to you later than ever.

Toto immediately rushes to you and catches you mid-air, wrapping his arms around your torso.

"Is that so?" Toto says, his voice now raspy and face close to yours.

You exhale deeply, relief from not having made an absolute mess out of yourself filling your body. If you had fallen, your dress would probably be completely torn apart and headlines would have a field trip with it.

He is still holding you, his hands burning on your back.

"Yeah.." You close your eyes, getting away from Toto's embrace as you regain balance and straighten yourself.

Toto steps back as you do so, although he does want to reach out to hold you again. Instead, he settles for engaging on more double entendre conversations with you.

His eyes are full of admiration, your body is more visible in this dress than it has ever been, and he makes a mental note to thank Lewis for the gift. He recalls the moment you two shared a few minutes ago, the way you swayed and jumped with the music like you were the only person in that dance floor would never fail to amaze him.

"You truly do look like a notorious celebrity in this dress, don't you?" He finally says, a hint of shyness in his tone, although the look in his face is stern.

"You could thank your other driver for that." You joke, trying to hide the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

"I certainly will." he smiles, his gaze softening as his eyes meet yours. They're still red, but it starts to grow on him.

Looking at you like this, completely wasted, happy and carefree, he couldn't help but remember the afternoon you two had met, when he started to be so sure you'd be by his and Lewis' side on a race weekend one day.

Now, there you were, in front of him, with a trophy standing somewhere back in your apartment. "I'm so proud of you." he finally says, not because he thinks you should hear it, but because it's all he wants to say to you after today's events.

You look away from him shyly. You had heard it before, specially from him, but every single time felt like fireworks in your belly. Him being proud of you was capable of putting you on a whole another level, it was just another signal that you had made it, that you had proved you were capable, even to those who were always so sure you definitely were.

You try to hide a smile as you mutter a simple thank you, because in this state, visibly high and drunk, staring at the man who had made it all possible, it's all you manage to say.

He smiles back at you, and your mind almost short circuits when he steps closer, not stopping even when you can feel his breath close to your face. That's when you realize he's about to hug you, and you just let him.

It's genuine, simple yet abnormally meaningful. His big hands rest crossed on your lower back as he pulls you closer, making your cheeks rest on his suit covered chest. You almost feel like crying, because how could you not? You had it all now, a place in the sport you so desperately craved to have since you were a kid, a win, an amazing teammate and an even more amazing boss, who believed in you through your entire career.

"You've done it." He says quietly as if you're a wild animal that would run away at any abrupt movement or sound. "I can't even imagine how you feel."

On cloud nine, that was the most appropriate answer.

"It's like nothing I've ever felt." you say, arms hugging his chest. "Thank you for always believing in me, you have no idea how much you've done for me." you sniff, clearly on the verge of tears.

"It's nothing compared to what you deserve. You're one of the greats, Y/N. The whole world's gonna know you name." he says, causing the tears you so eagerly fought to keep off to fall rapidly on your cheeks. You sniff, opening your eyes to see that a small wet circle had formed on Toto's shirt.

"Shit, sorry." You laugh awkwardly as you take a step back, desperately trying to dry your tears with your fingers before they ruined your makeup too.

"Hey, it's fine." He steps closer again, bringing his thumb to your face as he continues your job of drying the tears you had shed. Once he's done, his hands linger there for a bit longer than they needed to, stroking your cheeks. You thank the Gods for whatever the hell he was on today. "You do look pretty when you cry, though I must say I prefer the way you look on top of a podium, with champagne drenched hair and a first place trophy in hand."

You roll your eyes, as if it was possible to fall even more in love with him. It had become stupid at this point, really. Clearly the two of you had something special, to say the least, going on, but none of you were courageous enough to come clean about this.

"You aren't a bad view from up there as well." You shoot back, earning a smile in return.

The shameless and obvious flirtation to whoever watched from outside continued for a few minutes, until Toto insisted that you should go back to your party, and although at this point you had decided to give up the celebrations to look at him for the rest of night, there he was, once again with his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd back to where he initially had seen you. Doesn't take long for you to get lost in the music, dancing like there was no tomorrow. Toto had excused himself to greet other team members and sponsors, fulfilling the ultimate boss role even at parties, and stealing glances from you every now and then while talking to someone.

A few drinks later, the club was getting more empty by the minute, the clock almost hitting 4:30 a.m. Your makeup was already lightly smudged, your black Louboutins long gone in the corner you once laughed with your friends. As you thanked the remaining people for coming, Toto showed up again, startling you as he came from behind, putting his right hand in your shoulder.

"Seems like the party has reached an end." he says, making you look up at him. His face was fairly red, and by the way he slurred his words, you could tell he was somewhat drunk. His hair was messier than earlier and the tie that was once a fancy bow was now untied, resting around his neck, a nice combination to his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

"Unfortunately. I hope you had fun, though." you reply, turning your attention to shake some of your guests' hands.

"It's always fun with you around." He says as he smiles to the same people shaking your hands.

You crookedly smile, turning around to walk to your table. As you do so, he follows.

"Do you need a ride? I saw you coming in with Bradley, but he already left," He watches you as you walk through the empty club, employees cleaning the floor of what was once the party of a lifetime. "guess parties aren't really his thing." He chuckles.

"I don't wanna make you take me home now, it's late and you're probably very tired."

"Oh, please, it's Monaco. Not like I'm going to be driving for hours." He replies, earning you a laugh. You and Toto lived pretty close to each other, but you'd drive past his building before getting to yours, so you truly didn't want him to make a huge detour just because of you.

"Fine," you smile, grabbing your sparkly clutch. "just please tell me you came with your 300sl roadster." You say and he chortles, rolling his eyes.

The Mercedes 300SL Roadster owned by Toto was probably one of your favorite cars in his collection. Hell, in anyone's collection. It's such an incredibly classy vehicle you couldn't resist its charm.

"I did." He says, and you let out a slightly loud yes! as he grabs your scarpins, laughing at your reaction. The way the smallest things were capable of making you happy always made him smile. Even after closing a multi-millionaire deal with your team, some things would never fail to make you excited, such as being driven home in a car you've always wanted.

The both of you start to walk towards Jimmy'z's exit in a different sort of haze, like the two of you were in your own little world together, laughing and exchanging inside jokes. The dry warm Monaco summer air hits you as soon as you step out, and soon the vallet comes driving Toto's car, opening the door for you to get in.

As the both of you get in, he starts driving, the sound of the car's engine echoing throughout Princesse Grace Avenue. Duke Dumont's Ocean Drive in the radio as your hair flies due to the speed in which Toto's driving. Now and then, he casually glances at you, smiling at the way you still manage to dance even when sitting on the passenger's seat.

Despite being a race weekend, the city seemed awfully quiet and empty at this time. Soon enough, he takes a turn and you're finally in Larvotto, which meant in a few seconds he'd be pulling up at your home. However, before he had the chance to, you saw the sun rising in distance, its warm light gleaming in the sea water.

"Toto, look!" you point to the horizon, and he slows the car down to follow your gaze. "It's so beautiful.."

"Indeed it is.." he says, and you can tell by his tone he's got a change of plans coming. When you realize, he's parking the car in the shore, exiting the vehicle to open the door for you. "Come on, let me give you a real after party."

You smile, because there was no way the day could get any better. You were sure you'd wake up later convincing yourself this had been a dream. Taking your hand, he pulls you out of the car, and after you close the door, he runs towards the sea, fingers intertwined with yours.

In this moment, you force yourself to forget about all of the implications and concerns that could come at you. In this moment, it was just you and Toto, not a Mercedes driver and the Mercedes' Team Principal. To anyone else who'd catch a glimpse of the scene, the both of you looked like stupid, reckless teenagers in love.

Sitting on the sand, you try to catch your breath, stomach hurting due to you not being able to stop laughing. You lay your head on his broad shoulders, hands holding his arm.

Suddenly, he feels the need to confess, "I'm always so happy when I'm around you" with the german accent getting heavier as it always did when he was drunk.

You smile, "Me too."

A beat, and then, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

It comes lower than he intends to, but he's also never felt so nervous around someone as he does now. You thank the heavens for the fact that he's not looking at you, you look like a kid stupidly in love.

"You don't need to say that," you sigh. "you've already told me you're proud of me for today."

"I know. I'm not saying it because I feel the need for it to be said, but because I truly think that." he replies. "Ever since that day in Spa, you've proven to be an extremely fierce, fearless, wonderful driver and an even more amazing woman." You roll your eyes at his compliments. "I mean it, Y/N." He grabs your attention just by saying your name, making it all even more real. "Mercedes is extremely lucky to have you, and so am I." he looks at you, his face closer than ever as yours rest on his shoulder.

"You have me?" You say, looking at him through your lashes.

"I like to think I do. Do I?"

"Utterly." You giggle, your eyes glowing just by looking at him.

His hands go to cup your face, and the last thing you'd expect from him happens. At first, his lips brush over yours lightly, as if he's asking for permission, testing the waters to see if he's allowed to go further. When you don't protest, he deepens the kiss, sweeping you off your feet.

The both of you laugh, and you hide your now completely red face in his chest. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this." you say, feeling his body hairs stand on end.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do this." he says, and you shed a tear on his partially shirt covered chest. "Are you crying?" He asks, and when he hears you sniff, he takes it as a yes. "Hey, don't cry. Look." he lifts your chin up, making you stare at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.

The sunrise looked like a piece of art, with pinkish and yellow tones coloring the sky. Toto puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You could now add having him at your list as well.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Lilia, Epel: Blessing Givers, Curse Breaker

Lilia’s vignettes continue to be gold! He “humble” brags about how his voice is great, he’s sooo adorable, and such an ikemen… (Apparently he realized he was cute because people would give him free stuff and help on his travels and when he first came to NRC!) Best part was definitely when Lilia described cooking for his dorm members and they were “so touched” that they bowed their heads, covered their faces, and/or cried 💀 NOT THEM PUTTING A PICTURE OF MALEFICENT DRAGON FORM ON LILIA'S BIRTHDAY CARD… His vignettes also mention having the strength to overcome “a curse” 😭 Cruel reminders of the tragedy that unfolded in his past, and bis unfulfilled search for a cure for Silver... TWST devs, you sickos/j

A Tale as Old as Time.

Three fairies crowded around a cradle, its curtained hood up to obscure the infant within. Green, pink, blue—each was dressed in a particular color. They glanced at the baby and at each other, mouths agape to discuss their blessings.

Safeguarded within the platinum frame was a celebration of life and a future yet to be told. The fragile start of a brand new story.

Lilia wanted to protect it himself.

“Looks like some fancy shindig.” The remark came from Epel, who gazed upon the same painting. "Erm... I mean, party. That is what it is, right...?"

"They've come to bestow gifts upon a newborn princess. Royal affairs can be a bit stiff, I'm afraid. Can't even show up to one without an invitation! Some hosts are just sticklers for tradition and protocol."

"Oh, I got it!" Epel visibly perked, cheeks appling with pink. "It's a different kind of gathering. Back home in Harveston, they're a lot more informal. Family and all the neighbors coming by with plates of warm food, a makeshift band and folks dancing, catching up by the fire... It's so lively."

Lilia’s lip curled, the corners lifting into a slight smile. "It's good to know that your hometown hasn't lost its charm."

"You've visited before?"

"Once, long ago," the ancient fae chuckled, "when I was still a stubborn and stony-faced youth. The people of Harveston opened their hearts and offered hospitality. From what you've told me, it's clear that the very same spirit from then persists to this day."

"Gosh, really?" Epel puffed up at that, as though he were a peacock flaunting his feathers. "Hehe, wellll, Harveston does have a way of makin' ya feel cozy and right at home, even if yer far away from it!"

"That it does." Lilia's eyes traced the wall of artwork before him. The colors, shapes, and textures. "Twisted Wonderland is so vast and diverse. I've traveled far and wide, experienced a great deal of cultures, yet I always find myself anchored to that one special place called home. There is no comfort like it."

There’s no place like home.

A twinge pulsated in his chest. The pain, marring the nostalgic warmth he bathed in. Lilia did not let it show—not to his underclassman, not this child that stared at him with such eagerness.

He swallowed.

“How do you celebrate in Briar Valley?” Epel asked. “Can you tell me about your traditions too?”

“Kufufu. You’re keen on learning, I see.”

“I didn’t always. I’m sure if you asked Vil, he’d give you a mouthful about how ‘uppity’ and ‘full of myself’ I was at first.” Epel groaned at the thought of another lecture from his dorm leader. “… But recently, I’ve been thinkin’ it’s not too bad to hear about how others experience everything.

“Meemaw—my grandma—goes to the city to sell our farm’s produce. She has to switch up how she talks to speak to the locals. I noticed our mayor too, when he talks to tourists. So learning about new people and cultures can’t be a bad thing.”

Epel’s eyes were wide, sparkling with wanderlust. Wistful and longing for the world that awaited him.

Perhaps Lilia had worn the same expression before, at the moment of his epiphany. When had he realized it? When the elderly couple had draped a blanket over him, when they shared a meal, when they spun him the stories of their lives, or when he sat at the cradle and relived those times to a still dormant Malleus?

The warmth in him expanded, like a gulp of soup trickling down his throat, then splashing in his stomach. It had been a humble broth of vegetables, and yet it satisfied him down to the last drop.

“We’re really not so different,” Lilia explained with a grin. “Food and friends are all you need to have a good time wherever you are.

“However, if you are particularly fortunate, you just may have a guardian fairy descend and give you blessings as well.” He indicated the painting of the three fairies hovering over a cradle. “Like so. I believe this infant was gifted with song, beauty, and…”

“Song and beauty?!” Epel’s expression crinkled. “Who decided on those, the parents?”

“The guardian fairies themselves. They choose what they believe will bring the blessed child happiness.”

“They could’ve given the kid something more…” Epel vaguely waved a hand. “I don’t know, useful? Why not strength so they won’t lose any fights? I’d be happy with some more muscle of my own…”

Lilia laughed, soft and low like a midnight whisper. “Why not indeed.”

Because time steals away everything eventually, hissed a voice in his head. The truth, bare and bitter.

The edges of Lilia’s vision quivered. A memory resurfaced—blink, and he saw himself in the frame, his long shadow cast over the crib. Blink, and that was Silver nestled in the fabric. Blink, and the castle was abandoned and covered in thorns.

A fairy robbing a crib of its cursed child.

“Strength is good to have,” Lilia said slowly, “but it will not last forever. Not many things do.”

Still… If I could have one wish, it would be…

The only force able to break the spell set upon Silver. The one feeling he was certain he was incapable of. A love so pure and honest, it was known to be true.

Something he wasn’t worthy of.

True love.

Not him. Not the grimy, low-born bat of a dubious past—as his most unkind of thoughts would insist.

He was the same as them. He had condemned Silver to walking in the night, had made the decision for him. The instant his hair had turned from pale sunshine to the moonlight of his namesake, it was too late to unwind the clock.

Which had he cast—blessing or curse?

The longer he looked at the painting, the more mocking the gentle, rounded faces of the guardian fairies seemed to become. Guiltless, oblivious beings, they were.

They would never know of his plight.

Lilia scoffed. “If the fairies wanted the child to be happy, they should have granted them that strength.”

That which was impossible for him.

"The power to overcome a curse.”

"... The power to overcome a curse, huh?" Epel quietly mused. "Not even Vil-senpai has that kind of strength--and his unique magic is to cast curses! Until the conditions are fulfilled, it can't be broken."

"That's the trouble with curses," Lilia agreed. "They're finicky, depending on how they're woven. Some may even last a lifetime without ever being lifted. Others may spend their own lives seeking out cures."

The story of his life. He was always searching for something, something, something. Lost friends, how to hatch a dragon's egg, true love to dispel drowsiness.

Now, a happy ending.

Lilia released a sigh through his nose.

If only.

"Well, if magic can't make that wish come true... we'll just have to make it a reality ourselves, won't we?"

[hearts4hughes]

i wish you would | trevor zegras

nora’s bday celly | trevor zegras x fem!reader

summary: three times you thought about contacting trevor after the breakup and the one time you did.

note: this barely follows the song, but i think it’s cute. this is the first time i’ve done one of these 3+1 type of things. also, i’m aware i said so it goes would be my next writing, but i cannot finish it for the life of me.

{ #1 }

in the quiet of the night, you lie in bed, restlessly tossing and turning. you pass time watching the headlights pass the window pane. the empty space beside you feels increasingly vast with each passing night. his warmth, his presence, the feeling of completeness he brought to your life—all of it is deeply missed.

weeks have passed since you agreed to part ways with trevor, and the weight of regret bears down on you. throughout your daily routine, everything seems to trigger memories of him. the scent of his cologne that still lingers in the air, the sensation of his arms around you, and the echo of his laughter haunt your thoughts. it’s all vanished, leaving you begging to turn back the clock.

recollections of the heated argument that led to your breakup flood your mind. the hurtful words exchanged in the heat of the moment once seemed justified, but now you see the mistakes. you wish you could take back those terrible words and heal the wounds.

“you’re so fucking full of yourself, trevor!” your voice was loud, thunderous even. “do you even care about anyone else other than yourself? have you ever even cared about this relationship?” the questions hung in the air. he took them like a bullet, each going through him with a stabbing pain.

he look at you through teary eyes, “of course i care! i’ve done everything for you!” he retorts, matching your tone. “you say i’m the one full of myself, but you don’t even know, honey. you’re just as bad as me.” he stifles out a sarcastic laugh. the sound of your heart breaking fills your ears.

through staggered breaths and choked sobs, you muttered, “it was never a good idea starting something with you. i knew you’d act like this.” you didn’t even mean what you were saying. the words flew freely off your tongue and straight into trevor’s face.

“then maybe we should break up.”

break up. you and him were breaking up.

tears streamed down your cheeks onto trevor’s boston university crewneck that swallowed you. “yeah, i think we should.”

you jolted up in your bed, shaking your head as an attempt to get the memory out. without thinking, you grabbed your phone, dialing his number, but hesitating to press call. finally, your thumb pressed down on the screen. his unchanged contact photo filled the screen as the dial tone rung through the silence of your room.

your heart seemed to pause when he finally answered, and for a moment, there was silence before his voice filled your ears. “hello?” he greeted, his tone tinged with confusion. say something! say something, y/n! but just as you parted your lips to speak, he interrupted with, "who is this?"

your heart sank as the realization hit you. he had deleted your number. tears welled up in your eyes, and with quivering breaths, you hastily hung up the call.

-

{ #2 }

as you stroll along the familiar streets of your hometown, an unmistakable sense of nostalgia washes over you. it’s been quite some time since you last been to bedford, your home town, and it feels as if a floodgate of memories from your past has been suddenly unleashed.

you hadn’t been back here since you moved to anaheim with trevor. your family would travel to california for holidays and your busy schedule never gave you time to visit.

taking a turn onto a tree-lined street, you find yourself at the very place where you first met - the moment that started it all. this was trevor’s street.

you find yourself pausing, leaning against the street sign, your thoughts carried away by the flood of emotions. it’s a bittersweet rush, a reminder of why the two of you were soulmates to begin with.

the memory of his radiant smile, the tenderness in his gaze, and the way his fingers used to entwine with yours - all of it floods your senses, and an overwhelming longing for the hockey boy surges through you, stronger than it has been in a long while.

you stand before the street sign, caught in contemplation about taking a stroll down memory lane. you know he wouldn't be here; he left his family home when he got drafted by the ducks a couple of years ago. it’s the offseason now, and he's probably out somewhere in los angeles, likely at some club.

still, doubts swirl in your mind as you turn the corner, and there it is - a jolt of surprise courses through you. his orange bronco is parked right there in the driveway.

your walking comes to a halt as well as your breath. he was in bedford at the same time as you. your thoughts go back to yesterday when you thought you saw someone who looked like trevor, but before you could catch a second glimpse, your sister was pushing you out of the store. he’s been here the whole time.

in a vulnerable moment, a thought crosses your mind - to reach out, to hear his voice, to find out if he misses you too. yet, reality soon hits you, and you're reminded of the reasons that led to your parting. the pain, the heartbreak, and the carelessness.

with a heavy heart, you continue down the street, leaving behind the memories and the longing.

-

{ #3 }

you push your shopping cart down the aisles of the grocery store, your eyes scanning the shelves for the items on your list. it’s just a routine errand, but today, something feels different.

as you turn a corner, you suddenly spot him - trevor, standing by the fresh produce section. your heart skips a beat, and suddenly it becomes hard to breathe. it’s been a while since you've seen him in the flesh.

sure you knew it was coming. he was in bedford at the same time as you, it was only a matter of time before you bumped into each other. and yet you were still surprised as ever.

his eyes scanned the shelves for cherries - his favorite fruit. whenever you’d go to the store together he’d make sure to grab two bags of organic cherries, just because he knew he’d go through the first bag within a day or two.

his hair has been trimmed since the last photo of him you’d seen. you always attempt to stay away from any social media news surrounding trevor. it just hurt too much to see anything regarding him. however, a few times you’ve caught yourself searching his name, just to check in.

as you continued to stare at him from hidden inside the cereal aisle, an impulsive urge to go talk to him filled your mind. a chance to reconnect, to bridge the gap left by the breakup. or possibly to strike up conversation and maybe relight the flame that once went out.

but then, a wave of doubt sweeps in. a few weeks ago you scrolled by a tiktok about trevor. as soon as you saw his name your scrolling halted. although, you soon paid the price.

there were rumors that the hockey star has some sort of relationship with dixie d’amelio. your heart flooded with hurt and sadness. there had been photos of him at her birthday dinner and out on an aquarium date (where he had taken you many times before).

yes, you two were broken up, but it had only been a few months. were you really that easy to get over? were you just another one of trevor’s flings?

the mere idea of him with someone else sends a surge of sadness through you. it’s an unexpected punch to the gut, causing you to hesitate. you don't want to face that reality, to witness him contentedly moving forward while you still wrestle with unresolved emotions.

with a sad sigh, you pushed your cart along through the aisle and away from trevor. he hadn’t even seen you, but what if he had? would he had forgotten about his rondevu with the tiktoker for you? or would he not even bat an eye? maybe it was best that he hadn’t seen you.

-

{ + #1 }

it had been a few days since you’d seen trevor at the market. seeing him was reliving the break up all over again. reliving the turmoil of packing your things and giving him back all his possessions. you just couldn’t take it. you couldn’t take seeing him. not right now at least, so, the safest option was to just stay locked inside your airbnb. however, sofia had a different plan in mind.

with relentless enthusiasm, sofia called you up, her voice brimming with excitement. "you won't believe who i bumped into at the coffee shop today!" she exclaimed. "it’s destiny, my friend. we’re going out tonight!"

you tried to resist, your initial instinct being to wallow in the comfort of your own thoughts. "i don't know, sof. i’m not really in the mood for going out."

but sofia wasn't about to take no for an answer. "nonsense!" she declared. "we’re going to hit the town, dance our hearts out, and try to get laid!" with sofia’s infectious energy, you found it hard to argue.

she arrived at your doorstep dressed to the nines, her outfit shimmering with confidence. "we’re getting you out of that slump, babe," she announced with a wink.

“fine.” you grumbled, stomping your feet into your bedroom and picking out the tiniest and shimmeriest outfit you had. it would be good to go out and have fun for a change.

within an hour, you and sofia were walking into the crowded club. the air reeked of alcohol and sweat. sofia grabbed your hand tightly, leading you through the crowd of people and to the bar.

once she reached the bar, she ordered some colorful drink that you were sure would get you drunk with the first sip.

“here you go, doll.” she smiled, passing you the glass. you looked down at the concoction, not entirely sure what it contained, but the mystery didn't faze you as you downed it, savoring the bittersweet burn as the liquid slid down your throat.

“that’s my girl.” she praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “now i’m going to do my rounds, make a few friends, and maybe score some free drinks. you’re welcome to join, but i assume you might want some space.” she said. “it’s up to you, honey.”

the thought of trailing behind sofia as she charmed every man in the room didn't hold much appeal. "i’m good, sofia. thanks, though," you replied graciously. she beamed, bid her farewells, and reminded you to call if you needed anything.

throughout the night, the atmosphere of the club and the effects of the colorful drink started to ease your mind. you swayed to the music and danced with a few nice girls around you.

and then through the flashing lights and dancing bodies, your eyes locked onto a familiar figure across the room. trevor was standing there, his gaze unexpectedly meeting yours. then the real reason you were out partying came back to you. you had forgotten him for three hours at most, that must hold some sort of record, right?

he turned to you, completely forgetting the conversation he was in and walking towards you. as soon as you saw him move, you were already zooming to the exit.

“y/n, wait!” you heard him exclaim from behind you, but you didn’t dare to look back. you could already tell that he was hot on your trail.

as you dashed toward the exit, your heart raced, pounding in your chest as the thought of trevor catching up to you consumed your mind. sofia’s cheering and the party atmosphere had become distant.

outside, the cool night air hit you like a brick. you leaned against the club’s wall, your breath coming in heavy gasps as you attempted to gather your scattered thoughts.

within moments, trevor caught up to you, his face etched with concern. “why are you running away from me?” he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.

you looked up at him and just like that, you broke months of no contact. you hated how his blue eyes caused butterflies in your stomach despite the situation. you despised how his tender touch on your side had the power to make your troubles vanish, yet simultaneously create new ones.

“trevor, i,” his gaze softened as your voice rang in his ears. he longed for the sweet sound of your voice over these past few months. “i can’t face you right now.”

despite your words, you didn’t dare to move a muscle.

“why not?” his tone was gentle and composed.

you stared at him, inhaling a sharp breath. you look up at the stars and then to the oak bench that stood to the left of you. tears sat at your waterline, threatening to fall at any moment.

“because facing you brings it all back. it brings back all the memories and everything i wish would’ve happened.” you confessed, your voice quivering with raw emotion. tears welled in your eyes and trailed down your cheeks

he stepped back, his hand rubbing his neck. “what do you wish, y/n.” his voice grew louder, laced with a mixture of longing and desperation.

“i wish you would come back!” you retorted, your words spilling out uncontrollably. “i wish i never hung up the phone that night and i wish you knew how much i miss you because it’s too much to be angry anymore."

the hockey player stood their breathlessly. why hadn’t you said this before? why hadn’t you said this when you were breaking up? if he had known he would’ve been in your arms these past lonely months instead of praying to the universe that you’d come back.

with a word, he took a step closer, and his arms enveloped you in a warm embrace. you felt his heartbeat against your chest. the tears you had been holding back finally flowed freely, along with his own.

trevor’s voice broke the silence, gentle and sincere. "y/n, i wish i could turn back time and change everything."

you looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt or insincerity. finding none, you whispered, "it’s not about turning back time. it’s about moving forward."

he nodded, his grip on you never faltering. "i’m here now, baby. i promise i won't let you down again."

a warm smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "i missed you so much," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

his fingers brushed away your tears, his thumb caressing your cheek. "i missed you too, more than you'll ever know."

[dreamingcloudie]

❛❛ When Two Worlds Meet ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ What a fascinating creature... ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore x Mermaid!GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Fluff (oneshot)

Warning(s): Use of Dottore's (speculated) real name

wc: ~2.8k

Notes: I'm sorry if this isn't one of the requests 😭 I'm still on writer's block and I wanna write something to give myself some ideas or to warm up. I originally wanted to write reader as female but nah. I want everybody to be able to enjoy, so please tell me if you see any female pronouns!

Anyways, request fics will be coming in slow, I'm sorry :'(

With a curious mind, one would hope to seek more of the world around them. To salvage knowledge for their minds to ease that inquisitive hunger. As both a scholar and a scientist, his thirst for knowing more thrived. If there was an opportunity to learn, he wouldn’t turn it down.

He was now on a ship, sailing from Snezhnaya to Sumeru; he had research to conduct there. It rocked along with the foamy waves as he stood there on the top deck, overlooking the vast ocean before his eyes. It was a sea of turquoise, with sun glitter bouncing off of the water surface. He usually didn’t care for such mundane things, but even he had to admit, it was quite a lovely view.

He took out a watch from his pocket and took a peek at the time.

Still had a few hours left before he’d reach the Sumeru docks…

He groaned a bit before putting his pocket watch away. As much as he enjoyed the view, he wanted to start his project already. Any moment longer and he’d—

“Sir!”

His thoughts were cut off when a Fatui agent ran to him. His face was covered by a mask, so The Doctor wasn’t able to read his facial expression. However, judging by his frantic movements, it seemed to be urgent.

“There’s a—”

Before the agent could finish his sentence, a brief moment of bright light flashed, followed by an ear-piercing rumble in the distance. The Doctor turned his head to where the sound came from and he could see the clouds in the sky were getting darker. He then started to feel multiple droplets landing on him…

A thunderstorm was heading their way.

His gaze went from the sky to the raging sea when he felt a strong wave crash against the ship. As it tilted, he held onto the railings as tight as he could, careful not to slip on the now wet floorboards. Everything was a mess, the screams of the staff on board were lost in the roaring winds as the waves got more intense. It was as if the gods of the sea and sky were doing anything they could to make them sink.

“My lord!” One of the staff yelled.

Before The Doctor could learn of what caused him to yell. He felt a sudden force hit him from behind and a piece of wood pierced into his leg. He gritted his teeth at the sudden sensation and lost his footing, also causing his hands to let go off the railings subconsciously. Before he could make sense of everything, he was wondering why the ship was upside down and he was getting further away from it.

Why was it that everything around him was blue and it felt so cold?

And why… Why did it feel like his lungs were on fire?

He opened his mouth and tried to breathe, but he saw bubbles floating to the top. That was when he realized he was swallowed by the ocean. With his leg injured and his body weak from whatever hit him. He was unable to do anything. He could only watch as his body slowly got further away from the surface above…

Was this how the world was going to mark the end of “Zandik’s Legacy”? Was it a way of punishing him for the unorthodox crimes he had committed? For he, who had to make sacrifices in the name of science, to fulfill that curiosity of his, was looked down upon by the gods who deemed it as “unethical”?

His eyelids had never felt this heavy before. Perhaps… Perhaps he could take a little nap?

Yes… Yes, that sounded nice, he thought. Everything felt so peaceful right now, a little rest wouldn’t hurt…

---

The sound of giggles and water splashing could be heard in the distance. 

You were just enjoying your time swimming around these more foreign parts of the ocean, exploring every nook and cranny that you could get into. Other than to explore, if you were lucky, you’d also find what you considered “treasure” that fell down from the world above. Collecting all these bits and pieces of human items had become a hobby of yours when you first learned of such species.

Their existence was fascinating to you. How could one not live in water? What do they eat? What is this “teapot” that they use? Is it an instrument? You tried blowing into it once but it did not make a sound so… maybe not.

But the most curious of them all, how do their “legs” work? You always shuddered at that, you couldn’t imagine having your fins split in half.

So many questions, and yet, so little answers.

You were swimming out of a cave when you saw something blue glowing on the ocean floor. You got closer and squinted your eyes when you tried to look at what it was. Gasping a little, you realized it was probably another human item, as you have never seen this before. You picked it up and held it in front of your face. It was an odd looking tube with some blue liquid inside of it.

“Woah…”

You were mesmerized by its glow, it was hypnotizing. You inspected it further, the top and bottom of this tube was adored in gold, and there was some kind of hook on it. Smiling in triumph at this new find, you swam ahead to see if you could find some more. As you did so, you noticed a merman slowly falling onto the ocean floor.

You were concerned as he looked like he was unconscious, so you decided to swim near to see if you could help. Once you did, it was then you noticed he wasn’t someone of your kind.

He had… legs.

Was he…

You didn’t know what to do, there was a human. An unconscious human right in front of you. Should you help him? This was the first you’ve ever seen one in person as well, you didn’t know if he’s dangerous or not…

Your dilemma was quickly settled with your morals. You could worry about that later, this human needed help. You held his hand and with all the strength that you could muster, you swam him to the surface. Looking around, you spotted an island he might be able to rest on and you brought him there, laying him on the sand.

You looked at the human before you, he was wearing something funny on his face and, well, he looked funny in general. You touched whatever that was on his face slightly and realized you could move it. You took it off and you were pleasantly surprised. He had a sharp jawline and his lips looked so soft.

You were starting to doubt the rumors you’ve heard about them. How could someone look like this could be so… dangerous? You shook your head and placed whatever that was on his face back on him.

Well then, what to do now?

---

The Doctor groaned slightly as he began to gain his consciousness again, he could feel the senses of his body coming back to him. His nose could pick up on the pungent smell of something fresh and he could hear the sound of ebbing waves. Not long after, he could also feel his hands again. He touched the ground and he could feel a gritty texture, was it sand?

Wait, sand? And he could breathe? 

His brows furrowed in confusion, he could’ve sworn he was in the ocean…

He slowly fluttered his eyes open, adjusting them to the bright light. Once he did, he turned his head left and right, trying to make out where he was. Not too far from where he was laying on, there were a few palm trees around him.

Ah, so it seemed like he was on an island. He assumed that he got washed up. Well, lucky him. It seemed like not even the angry seas and skies could take him down. Of course they couldn’t, he’s the second of the Fatui Harbingers!

He sat up and looked around him. As he did, he noticed a person sitting a few feet away from him, humming to themselves. He could see their upper half clearly and their bottom half was submerged in the water.

Who was that? He thought.

Anyone would think they were just an ordinary person. But he could sense that they were different somehow. Something about them was… alluring.

He continued to observe them, listening to every note they hummed. It felt as if he was in a trance. Their voice was gentle; it could lure him to sleep. He was mesmerized by whoever this was, how could one be so captivating?

His body was still aching but he tried to stand up quietly anyway, only for him to fall back down onto the sand as a sharp sting sent through his leg. His breath hitched he hit the sand. He cursed under his breath, there goes his chance of being stealthy. He made quite a loud noise and there was no way the person didn’t hear him.

And he was correct, the person turned around when he fell. When they did however, he now got a more clearer view of them. Instead of legs, they had… fins?

He stared at them in wonder.

Fins?

Was his eyes seeing things correctly? He knew of this mythical creature. Mermaids, was it? So, were they not a myth, after all? But was it truly scientifically possible for a creature from fairytales to exist?

The more he stared at them, the more questions started to conjure in his mind. He had only just seen them and yet, he wanted to know anything and everything about them, like:

What are they?

What’s their favorite food?

What’s their origin?

It was all so new to him, to have discovered an entirely new species. He sat still when the mermaid crawled closer to him cautiously, getting even closer when they sensed that he wasn’t going to hurt them.

He was just sitting there, intrigued on what they were going to do.

---

The human that you saved a while ago was now awake, and you assumed he was looking at you since he turned his head in your direction. You inched toward him slowly. Once you made sure he wasn’t going to make a move to hurt you. You got closer to him.

You didn’t go on land often, and with your fins it was proven to be a little difficult. But you managed to reach him.

You were now just staring at each other, no words were exchanged between the two of you.

You were wondering if you should say something but was beaten to it by him.

“I have to say, you have quite a soothing voice.” 

Baffled, was what was written on your face. You expected him to speak. But not to make a comment about your voice.

You could feel your face heat up. You turned your head away and cleared your throat before facing him again.

“I’m glad you’re awake now, I saw you were unconscious so I brought you here.”

Ah, so he wasn’t washed up. It was you that saved him.

“My, thank you for saving me. What can I do to return the favor?”

You looked at him with wonder glinting in your eyes.

“You can answer my questions. You’re a human, aren’t you? You have, uh, legs?”

He chuckled a bit before answering.

“Indeed, I do have legs and I am a human, but I’m more curious about you, my dear.”

You tilted your head at him, gesturing to him to continue.

“And you, are a mermaid, correct?”

You nodded.

“So, what do you know about us humans?”

“I heard you guys were dangerous, and supposedly, have a scary appearance. But you’re not scary…”

Not scary? Oh you naive little thing… if only you knew. He thought to himself as a little smirk grew on his face. What an interesting creature you were. He wouldn’t tell you what he had done or was capable of, oh no. That would scare you away and he was just starting to get into you.

“Is that so?”

You smiled and let out a noise of “mhm”.

You then looked at his attire again, pointing at the funny thing he was wearing.

“What’s that?”

He followed where you had your eyes on, and they landed on one of his gloved hands.

“Oh, this?” He lifted his hand up.

“It’s called a “glove”, we usually wear these to provide warmth or to protect ourselves,” he explained. He held his hand out to let you get a good look at it. Judging by the questions you had for him so far, he assumed you barely knew a thing about human society. You were naive, and he was quite amused by your curiosity.

You took his hand and held it gently, examining its design and tracing a finger to feel its texture. Unbeknownst to you, your tender touch had sent a tingle down his spine. Even through his glove, he could feel just how soft your skin was.

He was caught off guard when you pulled on his glove slightly.

“...It’s alright. You may take it off if you’d like.”

You then took his glove off and you were surprised at what you saw.

He wasn’t sure how you’d react, but judging by your expression, he could only assume you either found it interesting or disgusting. His hand was covered in many scars that he got from battles and experiments. Although he had a big ego, he silently hoped that you weren’t disgusted at it.

You looked down at your own hand before looking back at his, and placed your palm against it. As you did so, your eyes widened once more. And he was also equally as surprised as you were now. He did not expect you’d… touch his hand like that.

“Our hands… they’re not so different…” You looked at your connected palms in awe. Your hands were almost exactly the same, albeit his was bigger than yours.

“Indeed.” Was the only word he could muster out. He now found himself staring at your face, darting his eyes from one detail to another. 

Your eyes… Your adorable little ears… The scales on both sides of your cheeks…

Truly, a sight to behold. So enticing, so vibrant, so perfect.

What was it that you were doing to him? He had only just met you. So why was his heart racing? Did you put a spell on him?

His thoughts were cut off when your hands left his. He was a little saddened at the loss of your warmth, but he didn’t say anything about it. You then handed his glove back to him. He took it and put it back on, muttering a “thank you”.

It was then he realized he saw a familiar accessory of his laying beside you.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my earring.”

You picked up the glowing blue tube you found earlier and showed it to him.

“You mean this? I found it when I was exploring the ocean floor. I thought it looked pretty so I took it.”

It was subtle, but he could see you were disappointed when you knew you’d have to return it.

“You could keep it if you’d like, I have more.”

What?

His mouth and mind acted on their own before he could even think. This was ridiculous. He was convinced that you put a spell on him now, what else could explain his impulsive action? But not a spell he objected to… Quite a nice one, actually. 

Your eyes lit up, “Really?”

He nodded.

You were about to say something else when you saw a few more humans running up behind this man. 

You gasped at their sudden appearance and without saying a word more, you retreated back into the water and swam away.

He was startled at your sudden departure and yelled. 

“Wait!”

But you were already gone…

“My lord! We’ve found you!”

He turned around and a few of his underlings ran up to him.

“Are you alright, my lord? Our greatest apologies. It shouldn’t have taken us this long to find you!”

The Doctor tried to stand up again, being careful with his injured leg, he looked down at it and it was being wrapped neatly with a leaf. It must’ve been your doing when he was unconscious.

“I’m fine… Let’s just go.”

They nodded and led him back to the ship that was anchored not far from here. Before he left, however, he looked back at the ocean that you fled to in a hurry, and his hand that he could still feel a lingering warmth from you.

He didn’t even know of your name, but he knew he wanted to see you once more…

No, he needed to see you.

“Until we meet again, my dear.”

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (47)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N NOT BETA READ. We have only two more chapters left of this arc! After that I might be taking a break for a bit. Not only to focus on some original novels I have planned but to also have a few chapters ready for you all to read. Cause this having to write chapters the day of updating--hate it lol.

It was a quick affair for when someone had come in to take away Hendricks. He struggled for a moment but after Wooyoung got annoyed with the man’s shouting and fighting, he was quick to shove a rag into the man’s mouth. Seeing as he was cuffed, Hendricks was only able to huff and puff into the fabric. 

When you turned back around to face Klein you watched as he was looking over the papers once more. He had a somber look on his face, one of regret as he sighed at each word that seemed to process into his head. 

“I'd like to thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Klein said, not meeting any of your eyes. 

“You don't seem like it.” Hongjoong raised his brows, crossing his arms as he stood in front of the man. 

“You're still criminals in the eyes of the public.” Klein finally looked up, sighing to himself as his eyes skimmed over all nine of you. 

“We understand.” You spoke up. “You're a respectable man who has a city to protect.”

You watched as Klein suddenly thought about the entire town, going back to clenching his jaw as he began to think lowly of himself. It was a tough job to take on, especially for a town that was the second most populated. You were never going to be able to make everyone happy, but you were able to make the world a better place. At least in your own image.

Your family had always supported Klein–a vast majority of the town did–so he must have felt a heavy pressure on his shoulders knowing that he was close to putting all of them in danger. There aren't many people you are able to trust when it comes to positions in office, especially not with times growing more and more. People were getting greedy as things began to change, which led to problems. But that shouldn’t stop the few who were trying to keep things at peace from doing what they must. 

While Klein had the right intentions–wanting to see Cromer grow into a modern city–he didn’t realize he would fall into a pit of snakes. Human era was inevitable. You were just glad to have stopped everything before it got too far. 

“Will you leave soon?” Klein asked. 

“We have a mission to finish.” Yunho explained. “This was only a side quest.” He chuckled.

Klein huffed a little laugh, pressing his lips together. “This drug.” He asked, tapping on the papers and envelopes. “What happens if it gets out?”

“The world falls.” Seonghwa answered. “It becomes baron of the joys we see everyday.”

“We've seen what it could do.” Jongho called from the back of the group. “It's not something this world should suffer from.”

“Why hasn't Aurora done anything then?” Klein shook his head, not understanding the whole thing. 

“They don't have evidence to prove corruption yet.” Hongjoong told the mayor. “That's what we've been trying to do for the past couple of years.”

The man took a moment to gather his thoughts before moving to grab the things from his desk. “Here.” Klein began to gather all the papers between Quaid and Hendricks, handing them over to you. “Take these then.” He told you.

“What about Quaid?” Mingi asked.

“I've already sent people after him.” Klein answered the boy. “We'll take care of him here in Cromer seeing as it's my jurisdiction.” He turned to look at you, giving you a thankful bow of his head. “Should anything else come to light though, I'll be sure to send word to you.”

“Thank you, Mayor Klein.” You smiled in thanks. 

You watched as he suddenly clapped his hands, rubbing them together. He gave you all a raise of his brow, pursing his lips. “You've all committed crimes that should be punishable but it seems to me you're all hard to catch.”

All of you suddenly looked at him oddly, frowning a bit at his words. You were a bit worried that Klein would somehow punish the boys for all they had done, but as you registered the rest of his sentence you concluded that wasn’t going to be the case. 

“You're letting us go?” You said, being the first to realize what it was he meant. 

“If what you say is true about this drug, then it seems we have a common enemy.” Klein nodded to himself. “I have a city full of people to keep safe. It's what I signed up for as mayor of Cromer.” He took a breath, coming to a stand. “I'll tell the city it wasn't you who stole the money.”

“Tell them you had money left over.” Hongjoong suggested. “You'll be seen as the hero again.”

“As much as one would love to take credit for that, I could not.” Klein shook his head. “I was going to send that money somewhere terrible. I could never live with myself had you not taken it.”

Your shoulders dropped at the man’s convention. He was right in thinking a majority of people would have loved to take the glory and credit for saving the town, but Klein wasn’t a majority of people. He was someone selfless who took care of others first. It was something each of the boys were quick to realize after speaking with him more. 

At least by what you could tell from the looks on their faces. 

“What will you say then?” Wooyoung asked. 

“The truth.” Klein spoke up, smiling as he thought it over. “ATEEZ were the ones who took the money.” He smiled, watching as the boys all gave him skeptical looks. 

“They have never seen your faces.” The mayor added. “I don’t believe they will suspect 8 handsome, young men who work for one of Cromer’s hotels. Unless you have warranted for people to think that.” Klein joked. 

The boys all looked at each other for a moment, humming in thought as they pondered on what they had all done so far in your town. “They haven’t.” You answered for them, sending them looks that called for them to behave. 

You turned back to Klein, bowing your head and giving him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Klein nodded his head, giving you a kind smile as well. 

Just as the boys all turned one by one to leave the office, you suddenly gasped, stopping to turn back around. “One more thing!” You called back.

“Yes?” Klein answered. 

“My father.” You began. “He's kind of in jail at the moment.”

Klein laughed, nodding in understandment. “I'll have him released, don't worry.”

“Thank you, Mayor.” You bowed one more time, turning to Hongjoong who waited closer to you.

“Be careful on your mission.” Klein called out before you all left the door. “It doesn't seem easy.” He added. 

You watched as the boys gave each other knowing looks again, Hongjoong sighing as he bowed his head. “It never is.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @puppyminnnie

[hausbabylon]

bigger than the whole sky

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 5,438

Warnings: Angst, unspecified legal age gap. This is pretty much about Natasha being mourned over and remembered as she deserves. What better day to post than on her birthday?

On December 3rd, you recalled all the wonderful memories you had created with your partner.

June 18th, 2019

Half of humanity was gone.

Each day, you woke up to a world where the sun shone as brightly as ever, permitting the shadow of loss to darken every corner of the souls of the survivors of the Thanos blip. The familiar warmth faded, replaced by only a deep melancholy at the memory of what everyday life used to be. In the blink of an eye, your loved ones vanished, leaving you with the agony of their absence.

You were lost and desolate. You longed deeply to experience just a glimpse of everything you once took for granted, like calling your mother after a long day, hearing the murmurs of people at the coffee shop, or receiving a funny video from your best friend. Just something...

But nothing.

Word of mouth, you heard about a support group that Steve Rogers was leading. The world had become so vast, that breathing the same air as Captain America, with the Black Widow at your side, was no longer an unthinkable madness that would happen only in the most delusional mind. It was a reality.

There you were, realizing that you also had something in common with heroes of international stature. When they weren't all over the news, fighting right-handed in their intimidating suits, they were simply human beings who also wanted to be heard from time to time. They too had a right to break down.

"I..." you looked up, once it was your turn to speak. All eyes were looking at you expectantly, and Natasha Romanoff's eyes on you made your task more difficult. "Well, the barista at the coffee shop I go to informed me about this, uhm.... I'm (Y/N)."

"Hi, (Y/N)," those present responded in unison. The raspy voice of the woman next to you somehow resonated more in your ears than any other. What a woman. Not for nothing had you become interested in the news, only to see her fight so bravely. You always considered her a beautiful woman, and above all, a powerful one.

The only three friends you had always teased you about your crush on the Black Widow. And this alone made you feel worse. They would have loved to see you all flushed and nervous like you were at that moment.

"I remember hating crowds. People rushing around at all hours, often pushing and shoving," you began, looking down at the ground as you fiddled with your hands. "I hated the voices. Sometimes it was so loud that, between them all, they sounded like a swarm of angry bees," some had the strength to only half-smile at your silly analogy, others were unfazed.

Natasha's resilience turned out to be greater than you imagined, she demonstrated it on multiple occasions, but you experienced it live and in full color when she specifically let out a distinguished laugh. It echoed throughout the room, you could hear it loud and clear.

"I know, it was annoying." you said softly, directing your first words specifically towards the redhead, who by the way had a bit of blonde on the ends of her hair, indicating that the dye was fading. It looked beautiful on her. "Anyway," you redirected your attention to the others again. "I know a lot of people here hated that noise. We'd put on headphones so we didn't have to listen to anyone," you continued, and earned a nod of agreement from everyone present. "Well, now, I put my headphones on and play audio of people talking. I never thought I'd miss this, or that I'd miss being constantly pushed around, the voice of an annoying customer I have to deal with at work. Besides, everything is slowing down, nobody lives in a hurry anymore, and... well, I think you understand," you let out a nervous chuckle. You had no intention of rambling on too much about it, or you were never going to stop.

"Thanks for sharing," Steve said, giving you a small smile, that smile where he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

Once the meeting was over, you let out a small sigh, grabbed your stuff and headed for the exit.

A voice stopped you as you stood on the other side of the door, causing you to turn and meet again those green eyes that looked so much more beautiful in person. Neither magazine pictures nor news cameras could capture that wonderful pair.

"I just wanted to ask you, if it's not too invasive," she spoke, as soon as you turned around. "Do you have anyone to talk to? Outside of this group, I mean."

"Anyone close? No," you answered honestly. It was the truth. Being highly selective had its consequences, as you were unlucky enough to lose your very few close loved ones; your three best friends, your mother, your aunt and your grandfather. Some family members, previous friends and even exes with whom you cut ties tried to reconnect, but the phrase 'better alone than in bad company' never applied better than in this case. "But if you're talking in general terms, even the person in line at the supermarket can be your confidant and support. You can imagine what it's like."

"I know," she agreed, and thought for a moment before adding, "In supermarkets, products expire before anyone buys them, but it's a good thing, it's an excuse to buy more snacks so they don't go to waste."

You let out a laugh. A full, genuine laugh, and wow... it was the first time in the last year that someone had made you laugh like that. It was a silly joke, yes, but in the midst of so much monotony, the spontaneity was a gift she gave you.

December 3rd, 2023

"You were in fact the only person who made me laugh," you barely managed to formulate the last words before you burst into tears for the fifth time.

Natasha would be turning 39. You both knew that aging was anything but a bad thing, yet she enjoyed ironically saying that she was getting old, even if it was far from the truth. She had no childhood, no adolescence. The concept of old age seemed the most comforting to her.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, and to swallow your tears. You were talking to a piece of marble with her name carved on it, and you knew that meters underneath there wasn't even a body to mourn over, but you had to let it all out one way or another.

"Happy 39th birthday, my love," you whispered, smiling faintly. "I guess your wish came true. You stayed 38 forever."

December 3rd, 2020

"Oh, my wish is to stay 36 forever!" Natasha exclaimed, with a broad smile, and then blew out the candles on the mini cake you had bought her.

You laughed along with her.

Laughing seemed impossible until she showed up a year and a half ago in your life at that support group. Now laughing seemed as easy as breathing.

You wondered if, somehow, you would have met Natasha. She was a very famous woman, unattainable to everyone including you. The possibility of having lived a life without her terrified you, so much so that it was the first time you were actually grateful that the blip had happened, because it made it possible for her to be sitting on the couch next to you, spending her birthday morning with you after making her her favorite breakfast.

"Oh, come on, Nat," you laughed, as you placed the cake on the coffee table, and started pouring the wine. "You age like this fine wine. I imagine how divine you'll look in your 40s, in your 50s... don't take that away from me," you spoke seriously, as if the candles really did have the power to fulfill her wishes.

She laughed loudly, and took the glass of wine you gave her, "38 is the most I'm willing to age. It is my final offer."

You rolled your eyes playfully, and raised your glass, "Very well. To your penultimate year of aging. Cheers!"

The rest of the morning, and part of the afternoon was spent lazying on the couch, marathoning romantic comedies from the 90s and early 2000s.

Until the clock struck 5:00 p.m., it was one hour before Natasha's adoptive parents arrived, and the nervousness was starting to hit you.

"My love, it's time to get off the couch and get ready," you spoke, pausing the Julia Roberts movie 'Eat, Pray, Love'.

"Ughhhh!" She protested, covering herself up to her head with the blanket resting on top of you both. Said blanket was perhaps twice the size of the two of you, and perhaps three times as heavy. It was the best weapon against the December cold.

"Nat, I don't want your parents to find us in penguin pajamas and ugly sweaters," you laughed, shaking her gently. "I want to make a good first impression. Come on!"

"You're overthinking," she replied, resting her head in your lap, under the blanket. "They won't mind your outfit, and believe me, they'll love you."

You sighed lightly.

"I hope so," you replied, scratching her hair with your fingertips. "I'm much younger than you, and I don't want them to think I'm immature, or..."

"Alexei still insists on wearing his superhero costume, even though it looks tiny on him," Natasha interrupted you, before your head wandered. "Maturity is something that doesn't exist in my family, you take it easy."

You laughed a little, and that little anecdote was enough to give you significant relief. If Natasha said you'd be fine, then it was true.

The redhead was somewhat reserved when it came to her family.

You understood that she wanted to be sure that it was going to be something long and meaningful before she let you into that sacred side of her life, so it wasn't a year and a half after you met her that you finally would get to know the famous Melina and Alexei. You felt more than privileged to know that your relationship with her had already reached that point.

She also always mentioned her little sister Yelena, whom she had lost to the blip. You wished you could have met that other brave soul who destroyed Dreykov and his entire twisted organization, saving thousands of girls and women around the world.

"Well..." she said, suddenly getting up from your lap, as she pulled back the blanket. Afterwards, she planted a quick kiss on your lips. "I need a few minutes to mentally prepare myself and get out of here. Get in the shower and then I'll join you."

Within forty-five minutes, both of you were fully dressed and ready to welcome Melina and Alexei to Natasha's apartment.

The table was set with a white tablecloth, four plates with their respective cutlery and glasses. In the middle was the previously started wine and a bottle of soda that was a little wet, as it had just been taken out of the fridge five minutes before. The older woman's parents would bring takeout dinner and cake, so the table was ready just to serve the food and eat.

Punctually, at 6:00 p.m., you heard the doorbell ring.

You took a deep breath, and together with Natasha, you headed for the door.

Naturally, she was the first to greet them and pull them into a heartwarming embrace, which was somewhat clumsy because it was obstaclized by the bags of food in Melina's hands and the box of cake in Alexei's right arm. You stood there, watching the scene feeling both tenderness and nervousness, because your girlfriend's parents were finally standing in front of you.

The redhead took the cake and a bag of food, and with her head pointed in your direction, "This is (Y/N), (Y/N), this is Melina and Alexei."

With a gentle smile, you waved at them, "It's very nice to meet you, Miss Vostokoff, and Mister Shostakov."

"Oh, let's drop the formalities, c'mere!" Alexei exclaimed, and held out his arms to wrap you in a tight embrace.

You let out a giggle, and accepted his offer. He squeezed you and you let out a playful groan of complaint. Melina, laughing as you did, hugged you once the man released you, however, she was gentler and briefer, concluding it with a rub on your back.

"Please call us by our names," she spoke. "Natasha has talked so much about you that you're not even a stranger. So we don't want to be strangers to you either."

You looked at Natasha, and she smiled broadly, having also enjoyed the scene at your first meeting with her parents.

"Very well," you chuckled. "Please, let me help you with this," you offered, pointing to the single bag she was carrying.

"Oh, thank you," she agreed, passing you the bag.

You and Natasha placed the two bags on the table, and the cake on the kitchen counter.

"Beer?" Natasha offered to Alexei.

"Oh, please!" he exclaimed, sitting down on one of the chairs next to Melina. Across from both of them, Natasha and you would sit.

You heard the sound of two bottles being uncorked, and Natasha was the last to join the table, handing one bottle to Alexei and both of them toasting and then taking a big sip.

The dinner went wonderfully.

Natasha was right, her parents were easy-going and funny, each in their own way. Alexei always had a joke on the tip of his tongue, and Melina, though calmer than him, laughed lightly and added to the joke just to make you all laugh. At the end of the evening, when they bid their fond farewells, you completely forgot how nervous you felt a few hours earlier. They were enchanted with you and the feeling was mutual.

A small meow was heard about a minute after Natasha's parents left, and she stepped forward, opening the window to reveal the black cat sitting on the stairs. Liho always wandered around her building, but Natasha's floor was her favorite due to the redhead always giving her food and treats. She was a very easy cat to love, and it didn't take long for her to grow on Natasha, so she was unofficially adopted by her.

"Sorry, Liho," she said, caressing behind her ears. "You were late. There will be no food for the unpunctual."

"Hey, don't be mean," you teased, reaching up to stroke the cat's cheek. She happily bowed her head, receiving your affection.

"I'm kidding," she let out a giggle, and headed for the kitchen. From there, she pulled out one of the cans of cat tuna she always bought for the feline. Once she placed it in a plate on the floor, the cat ran in her direction and didn't hesitate to devour the dish, making you both laugh. "Oh, thank you so much for coming to visit me for my birthday, little one. You're adorable."

You walked in Natasha's direction, and wrapped your arms around her waist. One thing you loved about her was that, no matter by what kind of physical contact you manifested your love for her, the older woman always seemed to melt at your touch.

"Stay another night," she whispered, entwining your hands in hers and then kissing them.

It was the fifth night in a row she had said that to you. No problem, though, it wasn't the first time it had happened, so you prepared yourself beforehand and packed more clothes to stay with her as long as you both wanted.

"Yes, I have another change of clothes..." you replied. "I think at this point, I'll have more clothes here than at home."

She turned to meet your gaze, and glanced at your lips briefly to lean in and kiss you gently. You, likewise, melted at any action of your girlfriend, and the taste of her lips never failed to delight you immensely.

"Move in with me," she was quick to say, resting her forehead against yours. "Let's find a nice house, let's officially adopt Liho, hell, let's adopt a kid when we're ready. I want everything with you."

December 3rd, 2023

"Did you enjoy your time with Grandma Melina?" You asked the little girl walking beside you in the direction of the car.

"Very much! She taught me some fighting techniques, and then we tried them on Grandpa Alexei," she replied, and you laughed at her statement. "He went down like a sack of potatoes."

Alissa Grace Romanoff.

A girl you and Natasha adopted when she was four years old. Now, at six, you were increasingly amazed at how smart, strong and determined she was, showing an interest in being like her mother but also possessing an artistic sensitive side.

"Did you leave my drawing with mom?" She asked, once you placed her in the back seat of the car and buckled her in.

The little girl remembered Natasha fondly, and longed for her with all her heart. Fortunately, she was at an age where she was more likely to remember more, and you would keep her memory alive in her mind.

You and Natasha worked hard to give her the best memories, so that her childhood was something she looked back on with fondness and happiness, unlike your girlfriend, who couldn't do the same and always avoided to think in the slighest about the matter.

"Of course I did, I left her your drawing and the beautiful flowers you suggested," you confirmed, kissing her small forehead and then heading to the driver's seat.

You needed some time alone in the cemetery every time you visited your girlfriend, even more so on this day. On the one visit where you took your daughter, you broke down to such an extent that she ended up crying a lot more than she initially was.

Knowing that holding back wasn't the best way to go, you preferred to go alone and vent properly. It hadn't even been two months since October 16th, so there were still times when you cried to the point where you couldn't get up from the floor. And when you finally did, your eyes were so swollen that you had to go home and wash your face so that they would look better so as not to worry the little girl.

Melina and Alexei insisted that you visit Natasha first, and as always, they were more than happy to spend time with their granddaughter. Since you got up early, knowing that you would take your sweet time, you returned early as well, so that they would also have their space on this day to visit their beloved daughter.

The day passed quietly.

You bought some lunch, and both of you ate while watching 'Tangled' for the thousandth time, but this movie ended up being background noise, as your daughter continued to tell you about how Merlina did her combat technique demonstrations and Alexei was the 'brave volunteer' who would attack her, even if he wasn't volunteering or brave at all.

At 5 p.m., you sat next to Alissa at the coffee table in the living room, and opened her maths book. She had an assignment to complete a page of two-digit addition problems, and although it was due on Friday, she was always allowed to do it on Sunday afternoons.

You preferred her to do it as soon as possible so she could spent the whole weekend freely with no pending homework, but well, the habit of leaving it until last minute stuck with you because Natasha was a little bit of a softie.

October 30th, 2022

You heard the loud sound of falling metal, causing you to startle and wake up in alarm.

Natasha was not in your bed, and that increased your concern. Maybe it was a thief, a spy, an enemy of Natasha's who broke into the house...

But when you ran to see the source of the sound, you found Natasha in the kitchen, and Alissa sitting at the counter. They both looked in your direction, and smiled innocently.

"We didn't mean to wake you, detka," Natasha spoke, and you noticed the silver bowl in the dishwasher, the one that previously fell and woke you up, nearly giving you a heart attack.

"Oh, what's wrong?" You asked, your eyes half open. The clock on the microwave read one in the morning.

"I went to get a glass of water, and mom was reading in the living room," Alissa explained. "I couldn't sleep, and neither could she."

"So we made Halloween-themed cupcakes," Natasha concluded, pointing with her head towards the oven, whose dim light gave you a view of the cupcakes baking inside it.

You laughed at Natasha's solution, and were deeply touched as well. Any other parent would have made their kid a glass of milk, read a story, or accompanied their child until they fell back asleep, but your girlfriend decided to keep her awake and make Halloween cupcakes.

"I suppose you'll write a note saying that Alissa won't be going to school," you deduced, knowing the redhead very well.

She nodded.

Your daughter didn't even have to pretend to be sick to miss school, she just had to say she didn't want to go and Natasha would melt at her puppy eyes and let her stay home. As much as you hated to be the boring one, you had to set certain boundaries, however, your efficient communication with both of them always led to an agreement without making you look like the bad one. So, if Alissa went to school, on the way home you would stop for ice cream or go to the park.

But of course, this was an occasion where there was no choice but to agree to skip school, otherwise Alissa would be sleepy all day.

"All right, let's start working on the toppings, shall we?" You said with a wide smile.

December 3rd, 2023

"These crayons that Aunt Yelena gave me have very good pigmentation," Alissa commented, as she ran the brownish-red crayon over the white sheet of paper.

You laughed at the use of words. Somehow, she always managed to learn new words and use them appropriately. Little things you noticed and loved about your daughter.

"Oh, the 500 color box she brought from her last mission's trip? What are you drawing?" You asked, looking up from your book to pay attention to her. However, she was quick to cover her work with her arms.

"You can see when I'm done," she established.

Whenever she did the tedious math homework, Alissa redirected her attention to her drawings. She always knew that after working hard, she deserved to do something she enjoyed afterwards. No one told her, she just knew it was the right thing to do, and you were going to fight to death with anyone who dared make her believe otherwise.

Yelena could be considered the world-traveling aunt, except for the fact that it wasn't for fun and more for the purposes of freeing brainwashed Black Widows.

And when she was in town, your daughter would always come back with her sugar at 110% because her Aunt Yelena spoiled her with exaggerated doses of sweets, after taking her to the amusement park or the movies. You had difficulty putting her to sleep, because it was 9 p.m. and Alissa kept running around the house even though you begged her in every possible way that it was time to go to sleep.

So, while she was at the coffee table drawing, you were on the couch with Liho lounging in the other single recliner, taking her fifth nap of the day. The little black cat was no exception when it came to missing Natasha, constantly climbing on the bed on the side that used to be where she slept, meowing as if she was wondering where that nice redhead she used to visit in her apartment had gone.

Cats were transcendental beings, and you wondered if during her naps, she really did have astral travels where she could meet your girlfriend without worrying about the planes of existence that she could easily visit with zero effort.

You had your legs covered by the same blanket that once also kept your girlfriend warm on these cold days, and how she used to sneak under it to lie on your lap or to tease you by placing her cold hands under your shirt.

"I'm done," Alissa said after a few minutes. "It's mom."

You took the drawing delicately, as if it were a work that required the touch of cautious hands only, almost as if a very abrupt movement would fade the work captured on paper.

You watched carefully.

It was Natasha, but she did not have her reddish hair with blonde ends as your daughter had known her, but was from years ago, and you wondered if the girl had come across more pictures besides the ones hanging on the wall.

"Ah, here she has long curly hair. You portrayed her beautifully, honey," you complimented her, a nostalgic smile plastered on your face. "There was a time when her hair was like that, actually."

"I know," she admitted. "Mom told me she was just working for S.H.I.E.L.D back then and that's how she met Iron Man, pretending to be Natalie Rushman, a new assistant. That was the start of this whole Avengers adventure."

"Oh, yes..." you let out a chuckle. "Who told you that? Aunt Yelena?"

"No, mom told me."

"Ah, mom told you... when?"

"Last night, last night I dreamed about her," Alissa replied, so casually that it seemed to surprise her no longer. At first, she woke up crying, saying she hated the reality, and wished it wasn't a dream. However, over the days she began to relate it as if it were a regular occurrence. "We were in my room, and she saw my drawing wall. She asked me to draw her this way too, because she misses her long hair," she added. "Oh, and she also told me that birthday candles actually grant wishes. Because she once wished she was 36 forever, but she negotiated with you and it ended up being 38."

You tensed your jaw, and you mewed all the way in while making a superhuman effort not to burst into tears right there.

You had these recurring dreams of Natasha, mostly where she would tell you how proud she was of how you kept going for yourself and your daughter every day. In another, which was the day you met Yelena, the same night, you dreamed she asked you about how you liked her. In all the dreams she told you that she loved you and Alissa, and that sooner or later, she would find a way to get back to you.

"I'll find a way back," she said. "In the meantime, remember that love transcends time and space. We love each other, that's all we need to stay together more than ever."

Your daughter had similar dreams, with the difference being that many of them were just about the two of them spending time together like they used to.

You knew that Natasha healed her inner child through activities with Alissa. She might have looked mature and tough on the outside, but on the inside, she loved spending time with her little girl and at the same time giving the little Natasha living inside her all those experiences she was deprived of.

You thought you were going crazy and delusional, and that these dreams were just your subconscious going to great lengths to offer comfort and protect you and Alissa from pain.

But, it was not possible for Alissa to know that, as it happened long before she was adopted. That little anecdote you never mentioned it to a single soul, and neither did Natasha, otherwise it would have been brought up long before. Besides, your daughter wasn't a liar. And there was no way for her to know this.

There was just no way for her to know.

"You know, mom told me that, as long as we love her, she can transcend space and time, and be here, even if it's not on the physical plane like we are," you spoke finally, your voice failing to sound steady. Still, you didn't try harder. Natasha taught you in that support group when you first met her that even the strongest heroes had a right to break.

"Like she does when she visits me," Alissa concluded, smiling excitedly. "I know it's not my head or my imagination. I know it's her."

March 2nd, 2023

"I know it's you, mom!"

"No, who's your mom? I'm Rapunzel," Natasha said, in a high-pitched voice, far from her raspy tone.

She looked adorable in that blonde wig that came down to her heels, the purple dress and the makeup you did before your daughter arrived at the park where she would be having her very first surprise birthday party. Natasha insisted on dressing up instead of hiring an impersonator, because that way it would be more special and a nicer memory that her daughter would look back on in a few years.

"And I am, Flynn Ryder!" Steve came out from behind a tree, with his hair styled like said character, and a costume that also closely resembled, he even had that cross-body bag around his torso.

"That is you, Uncle Steve," she paused. "Oh, but I don't need a princess when my mom is a hero!" The little girl ran from her seat, and hugged Natasha's legs, who with a pout and teary eyes, lifted her off the floor and hugged her tightly.

That scene caused your eyes to glaze over as well, and as you looked around at everyone present, you realized you weren't the only one.

Steve, Clint, Melina, Alexei... everyone was touched. Everyone close to Natasha knew very well what it meant to her to have been given the opportunity to be a mother despite her past and unavailability to get pregnant, and watching the amazing job she was doing would warm up even the coldest heart.

"Hey! What about me?" Steve exclaimed, feigning offense at Alissa's exclusion.

"You too!" The little girl extended her arm in his direction, inviting him to join in the embrace.

Natasha then extended her free arm in your direction, and you didn't know how or at what point, but suddenly everyone present was enveloped in a group hug. Even Alexei ended up joining despite his previous rivalry with Steve. It was something everyone definitely needed.

"Okay, darling, let's pretend you don't know it's us and let us perform the act we prepared," Natasha spoke, and the little girl laughed at the silly impression of Rapunzel and Flynn Ryder your girlfriend and Steve had prepared for this special ocassion.

December 3rd, 2023

"We will be here when you come back, my love," you whispered with your forehead leaning against Natasha's, after pulling stay from a passionate kiss.

"Don't worry yourself. Clint and I will go to another planet, collect one of the Infinity Stones and be back in literally a minute," was the last sentence Natasha directed towards you, very confident that those words would be the truth.

"Damn you, Natalia!" You exclaimed, throwing your phone towards the floor of your room, so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if it broke.

It wasn't the best idea to end this day looking at old pictures; of your first dates with Natasha, of when you moved in together with Liho, and of the day you adopted Alissa, among thousands of other memories frozen through photograph.

You were drowning in your own tears again like every night, after Alissa was already sound asleep in her room to hear you.

It was a routine where you fell asleep after draining it all away, so you would have the strength to face another day without her.

You missed her caresses, her kisses, hearing her laugh, her jokes and her raspy voice in the mornings.

All physical aspects that ultimately were a form in which her eternal essence manifested itself, but you knew now more than ever that you were only used to her physical form, but that her essence would live on until the end of time.

Until she would return to us again.

[drconstellation]

The Passion Of Jimbriel

Part 1: The Entry into Soho

The story of events leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus, and the days following, until his ascension to Heaven, are collectively known as the Passion narratives. It comes from the Latin "to suffer," or "to endure."

More than one op has mentioned there are parallels to this in S2, so I thought I would try and find how well the whole narrative was followed. Oh yes, is the short answer, it certainly does! And how! And in places you might be surprised about. I hope this series of metas might answer some of the odd mysteries of "why is that there...? that are still floating around at the moment for you.

I've tried to match the narratives to scenes and incidents in S2 as closely as I can, but I only have sketchy Anglican Christian background, so if you have had a more thorough Catholic upbringing than me and see something I have missed, slip me a message and I'll do my best to edit things.

A word of warning before we start - it's not a linear match-up. I'm planning to run through the traditional sequence of the Passion in order, but will match with the S2 scenes as needed, and those are scattered back and forth in time. It's Catch-22 again - everything thrown up in the air and landing at seeming random places, where ever they seem to fit best for the narrative.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah, you startled me. GABRIEL: Is that good? AZIRAPHALE: I just didn't see you coming.

I actually thought I might start with this little scene, where Jim gives Aziraphale a jump-scare by creeping up next to him silently. Annoyed, Aziraphale tells him to make some noise as he moves about, and Jim trolls him with some creaking noises, before starting to sing.

There were prophecies about the arrival of Jesus, but the ironic thing here is that Aziraphale, someone who has a vast collection of prophecies and is someone you could consider an expert, had no warning of Gabriel's arrival - he just crept up to the door as a nasty surprise!

Starting proper, there were the three temptations while Jesus was fasting in the wilderness.

Making bread out of stones (I've also covered the Eccles Cakes here in the Altar of Eccles Cakes. They have multiple purposes!)

2. Being tempted to jump from a pinnacle of a temple and relying on angels to break his fall.

3. Being tempted to worship Satan in return for ruling all the kingdoms of the world.

This one was actually covered in S1, at Golgotha. I know Crowley mentioned to Aziraphale that he was the one who tempted Jesus, but I wrote a meta about it because I realized most people were missing the joke in the TWO demon names that Aziraphale suggested Crowley had changed his name to, and how that relates to that particular temptation.

The last miracle performed before the Passion was the raising Lazarus from his tomb, four days after he had died.

After Crowley is dragged down to Hell for an interview with Lord Beelzebub and finds out they are being threatened with the Book Of Life for being involved with Gabriel, he rushes back to Aziraphale and says they have to hide them. As they decide they will try a shared minor miracle Jimbriel descends the spiral staircase:

GABRIEL: Hello. Where did you come back from? CROWLEY: Outside. GABRIEL: Outside? Hmm. Is it big? Can I see the outside? CROWLEY: No, no, no, no, no. No, no no. You need to stay here, inside the bookshop. We can look after you in here. Just stay here.

Inside? Inside the tomb? Aziraphale has even 'wrapped' him up for the occasion.

Later, we find out that:

AZIRAPHALE: Jim is in his bedroom upstairs. I told him bookshops are always closed on a Wednesday. As for Inspector Constable, at a guess, they were sent to verify the 25 Lazarii miracle you and I seem to have accidentally performed together the other night. CROWLEY: That's how you lot measure miracles? How many times it could have brought someone back from the dead?

Uh huh. The miracle of Lazarus.

The Entry into Jerusalem

Jesus made his way into Jerusalem by donkey to show that he came in peace, not as conquering king on a horse. Gabriel does the same.

But he walked in, you say, on foot!

Yes, but he walked by the Dirty Donkey pub on his way to bookshop.

Next, was the Cleansing of the Temple.

What temple? The bookshop, of course! Is it not a temple of books?

Aziraphale sets Jim to cleaning it, with a duster.

I'd say you could also call the bookshop a temple to Crowley - it is decorated in his colours, after all. The presence of Jim initially drives the merchants and money dealers demon away, snatching his sunglasses from his mini-altar as his goes.

The last step on the Passion I'll cover in this meta is the Anointing of Jesus. It tells the story of how Jesus had an expensive perfume, worth a year's wages, poured on his feet from an alabaster jar by woman who was considered sinful. The gathered Disciples were aghast at this waste - they asked why she did not sell the perfume instead and give the money to the poor. Jesus thanked her for preparing him for burial.

This one had me stumped for a while, and I had to think hard about where something had been "poured out" on feet, because I was pretty sure no one had been "anointed" on the head, which is another version of this part of the narrative. Then I remembered seeing a GIF that was Aziraphale focusing on the floor for a number of seconds after Crowley had upended the box Gabriel had carried to the bookshop with his fly in it to read the message on the bottom of the box.

My precious...! You poured them out at your feet, Crowley!

Alabaster is a soft white stone that is easy to carve. The bland cardboard box makes a good analogy for this. And in it we see Aziraphale has filled it with priceless treasures - not one but two lost Shakespeare plays!

If at this point you are going "Wait - Wot? Now you're telling me both Jim/Gabriel and Crowley are playing the part of Jesus here?" I'm saying yes. It's not the first time I've said it. I'm not the only op who has been saying it, either. And as we head into part two of this meta you'll see Crowley take on more of this role from Jim/Gabriel. The two of them have a lot in common, much more than you might have suspected or might even want to acknowledge. This is the past echoing into the present again. I think it also gives us some interesting things about the future to contemplate.

Next: Part 2 - Trials and Denials

Where we move on to the Last Supper, and the Arrest of Jesus before his before he is judged before a court of priests and then Pontius Pilate, and the gathered crowd.

This post was inspired by @mr-period 's long meta Remembering Something Forgotten-Where is Jimmy Boy?

More reading on the Dirty Donkey in my meta here.

[hotchfiles]

third. damn your love.

masterlist

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 1,2k

previous chapter

chapter 3

days had passed since the last time you spoke to james, and if it was up to you, things would stay as they were. but it had never been that way. everything would always depend on james' desire. you rarely tried to communicate with him, afraid his girlfriend you catch you both. that was also why you didn't seek for him. you remained quiet, waiting for him or, on days like these, waiting and hoping he wouldn't show up.

you were still very much upset about what happened last time, but unfortunately, you were more disappointed in yourself than actually angry at james. you simply hated the power you let him have over you, hated how much you wanted to do or say something and still giving in to his whims. it was as if everything changed when he got too close, as if it were just the two of you in the vastness of the universe, no one to interfere.

even so, you were getting tired of it, just as you had grown tired of trying to discuss what you were and what future you had continuing such a relationship. you were beginning to realize that the person who might be messing things up was you; after all, you were the mistress, not lily. they were the happy couple and you were the one meddling where you shouldn't.

you shook my head quickly, trying to forget such thoughts, you were taking advantage of the solitude of the night, surrounded by photos and documents from work, you had decided about a month ago to change the way your department were dealing with its archive, but still hadn't had the time to do it, mostly because of work itself but also... because of james. you rolled your eyes at the realization that you were thinking about him again and turned back to the photos.

your department mostly archived the obliviations revolving everything around what happened and not who it happened to. it was a good way to actually find the files you might need, but when it got to the file what really matters is the people. who were the muggles, where do they live, how do they live, why were they exposed. and those details were too scattered around. some of your colleagues said you just cared too much about the muggles you wiped the memories from, which you did, but it was also a matter of organization.

before you had a chance to lie down after all the work you've been doing, you heard a frantic knocking at the door, and given it was 2am, you knew who it was. you take a long, deep breath and debate whether you should open it or not, but seeing that the lights were still on and he would notice them, you felt like you had no choice, even if that wasn't entirely true.

you mentally cursed yourself and opened the door, his hands were quick to push you against the wall, slamming the door close with his foot as his lips worked your neck.

"james..." putting both hands on his chest, you prepared yourself to push him away, trying to find the strength to get him out of there. "stop," it came out weakly, much more than you intended to, almost letting yourself be carried away by his touches. but then, a flash of awareness came back to you as you heard him groan, everything you thought about earlier and everything you wanted to say to him with it, you felt your strength return and pushed him away, looking at him showing as much seriousness and firmness as you could master, your breath still uneven.

"come on, honey, we've moved past this little game of you pretending you don't want me and denying me, come here," he said, approaching you again. you watched him come closer once more and moved aside, walking towards the kitchen. you needed to drink something if you were really intending to continue with this. sure, your first option had been to avoid him for at least a couple of weeks so you could organize your thoughts, but it was simply impossible to avoid james.

"we need to talk," you said coldly after filling one of your largest wine glasses. you heard him sigh, took a sip of the drink, and felt a knot in your stomach when you saw him sit at the small kitchen table. you were definitely not expecting that. you were absolutely sure he would deflect and try to take you to bed, as he had done the last time you said those words. seeing him willing to talk hit you hard, and you lost the words you wanted to say, resorting to the first ones that came to your mind.

"you disappeared," you shrugged.

"as if you weren't used to it," james raised an eyebrow in your direction and looked at your glass. he knew your didn't drink casually, only if you were nervous. "if you must know, i wanted to come earlier, but lily wouldn't leave my side after i turned down wimbourne's offer. so we're like, totally wasting time."

"you seemed so sure. what changed your mind?"

"just decided not to keep rubbing her the wrong way. know her well enough, don't feel like dealing with her making my life hell over a stupid transfer."

you felt an unfamiliar anger take over you. you absolutely hated the way he talked about her, as if she was the worst person to be with, such an annoying, bad girlfriend. if she was so bad, why was he with her and not with you? you drank the remaining contents of your glass in one go, sighed loudly, and looked at him, taking in every detail of him—the curls, the lips, the glasses you liked so much, the tired eyes but never without that sparkle you knew so well. watching him always calmed you down in some way, but it didn't work as you thought it would. you were too tired.

"you're a bloody bastard," you were firm but he shrugged, smiling slightly. "not a joke. you're a dickhead. and i've let myself be made a fool by you. i've let you into my house, complaining about your girlfriend, and i've let you use me for almost an year now, hoping that you would change."

you shouted what had been stuck in your throat for so long, and he got up, realizing how serious you actually were.

"you agreed to this," he said coldly, crossing his arms and biting his lower lip. "we haven't been a couple for years, and we agreed on that."

"bollocks! you came to my apartment and intoxicated me with your stupid scent, with your touches, your voice. you know i've never been able to get over you, and you take advantage of that when you're fed up with her."

you ran your hands over your face in agony, trying to control the tears that were already inevitably trying to escape your eyes. you passed by him awkwardly and went to the living room, sitting on the sofa.

"where are you trying to go with this?" he asked from the kitchen.

"where are we trying to go with this?" you replied back, looking at the floor, and silence was your only answer. "what am I to you? we spent almost four years not being friends, talking to each other once in a while and meeting at some parties because of sirius and rem. then last year, you show up at my door drunk, saying you need me. what am i to you? come on, tell me."

"you're my best friend, and apparently, you're in a bad mood, on your period or something, " he said, leaving the kitchen, and you watched him leave, frustration building up in your stomach. "i'll call you later when you're back to yourself."

"yeah, go away! you never talk when you know you're wrong anyway, bloody coward," he slammed the door behind him after he left and you got up, even angrier, grabbing one of the vases from your shelf and screaming in frustration as you threw it at the door, breaking it in tiny pieces that now covered the floor.

you looked at him with tears in your eyes and you knew surely that james could feel how hurt you were by his actions, and that was your intention, you were silent, not having said a word to him since he had arrived to your house, despite his countless attempts to talk to you and apologise, your stubbornness was lasting almost an hour now and you knew he was about to lose his temper, so you decided it was time to speak before you weren't in the right anymore.

"where were you?" your voice was low, tired, frustrated, and you had all reason for that, leaving you alone in the hospital's waiting room while your mum was freaking out all over the place seemed like a reasonable reason to be upset.

"quidditch practice, c'mon, try looking into this from my perspective." james tries to get close to you again and you move away, wiping away the tears that were stubborn enough to keep rolling down your cheeks, you cross your arms and he scoffs at your denial.

"and what's that, really? using that bloody mirror so i could tell you my father had a heart attack and i needed you, and then proceeding to continue to play? is that it?"

"what? no… i'm new to the team, i can't tarnish my name by running out of training." you roll your eyes and it's your turn to scoff, throwing your arms up in the air, not believing what you're hearing. "don't do that, listen to me, take me seriously. my grandfather's heart went through worse countless times, and he was always fine. i knew your dad would be fine."

"yes, i remember, because i was by your side during all those times." you don't even mention how different it was just by the fact your dad was a muggle, in a muggle hospital, no healing magic to help. you glanced at the clock, it was late and you were both alone, your mom forcing you to stay there and rest; you feel your eyes wet and don't bother trying to stop them from falling, "james, as a friend, you're my best friend, if you're not going to be with me when i need you, who will? will quidditch always be above me, above us?"

"please don't talk like that, honey." he runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sits down next to you, lowering his head and covering his face with his hands. "i'm sorry, you're right."

"because if it's always like this, maybe we should break up." you say at once, feeling your heart clench and holding back the sobs that join the tears.

"you're tired, go to bed, i'll make you some tea, i'll stay here in case you need me in the middle of the night." he ignored what you said completely, getting up and going into the kitchen. part of you felt relieved that he hadn't accepted the suggestion, but a large part was annoyed that he'd simply run away from confrontation, that he'd been such a coward.

it had always been quite rare for you and james to actually fight, maybe that wasn't a good thing, considering you kept everything inside until you exploded, but while you were dating it was quite pleasant, when you disagreed on something, one of you would always give in; but when you did fight, it was unbearable, james had always been cold during fights, always the type to leave before finishing the conversation, while you were the explosive and impulsive one, talking way too much without thinking, yelling more than you probably should, and then you wouldn't speak to each other for days because of the it.

from past experience, you imagined he would disappear for a while, so you sighed and switched off the lights, heading to your room, more than ever you just wanted to sleep, sleep for a few good hours and put your mind at rest, but you knew yourself too well to know that after what happened, you would definitely end up dreaming about james, but you hoped it would be something good, something that would relax you at least during your sleep.

just before falling asleep, you remembered to reply the e-mail your mother had sent you during the day, saying how much your dad and her were loving their visit to france and were thinking about staying to help your aunt with her restaurant. your heart ached when you realized it wasn't a joke, your mom saying at the very end that she knew you had your own exciting life but that they would love to have you with them there.

a chance to run away.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @dreamsygirl

[silentglassbreak]

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

-

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

-

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

-

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

-

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

[lum13]

Ghostly confessions

Last part of the mute series

“You can talk– why aren't you talking to me?”

Wednesday x fem! Reader

It was the coldest day of the year.

Even with the fluffiest blankets wrapped around you, it seemed as though you could never get enough. Frosty winds ripped through the naked branches of the woods, and the snow that once felt soft like cotton had turned hard and unforgiving, piling up until everything was covered in white carpets.

It felt as if the world had shut down. No traces of life could be found in the woods– the ruthless temperature coaxing everyone into a long, sweet pause of their life.

Your back against the wall, you grip on the blanket tightened, biting your rough, deserted lips as the cold crawled into your skin. Your breath shook as you breathed it out, and your limbs grew stiff by the chilly air.

The cold seemed to shut you down, too.

For the last few days, you spent the day skipping class, huddled up against the wall, crying until you couldn’t. 

You tried to find comfort in your arms around yourself, tried to bury yourself in the forgetful snow. Usually, silence would calm your disordered thoughts– but this one didn’t.

It threw you into a stormy ocean, and you had no idea where to go without a compass leading you.

You were lost in the vast field of nothing.

“You can’t stay in there forever!” A muffled voice called out from the other side of the door, making you roll your eyes. It was your friend, again. 

You pretended you were sleeping– again.

“I know you’re awake.” She sighed, then waited for your reply, only to get silence for an answer. 

“Well, You have tons of assignments you have to make up. Don’t ask for my notes” you could hear her running out of patience, and winced at the bitterness in her tone. Perhaps you pushed it too far?

With that, you could hear her turning away, her footsteps fading out. You let out a sigh– your friend finally left you alone. 

However, a knock at your door interrupted your short-lived celebration. You ignored it, as always. But when the person knocked again, and again, your patience ran out, making you shout, 

“Go away!” 

You figured it was your friend playing with you, but paused once you realized that she wasn’t the type to prank you like this. 

So who was this mysterious person?

Thumping over to the door, you swung the door open– rather aggressively. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your eyes locked with hers.

Her. The one who broke your heart, but who was also your hero. Her who threw you in the middle of the ocean– her who left with the stolen compass.

After the momentary silence, your lips finally cracked open, and you found your voice again.

“..What are you doing here?”

There was something in your voice– though you couldn't pinpoint what. So many mixed feelings swirled in your chest, and it was colored with red, purple, green, with every hue of the spectrum.

She didn’t say anything. Why wasn’t she saying anything?

“You can talk– why aren't you talking to me?”

A wave of frustration and slight anger washed over you. You heard how she talked to other people, so why not you? 

Why?

The anger turned into sorrow, and sorrow turned into insecurities. You were being dramatic, you knew. But the waves of emotions opened your mouth, and you were rambling without thinking.

“Do you hate me that much?” You whispered, your head now hanging low as your eyes tinted red again. You really thought you were done crying for the week.

“Did I do something wrong? Why are you like this to me?”

“I tried so hard, and you didn’t–” You breathed in.

This conversation is going nowhere, you realized. 

“I loved you, Wednesday.” You said, your hands forming a fist. “If you didn’t like me, you could’ve just told me so. I know you knew about my feelings way back.”

You didn’t dare look at her. You probably looked like a mess, and you were afraid that if you stole a glance of her, your feelings would come crashing down, making you regret all the things you said. 

But then, Wednesday brought her hands up to your chin, forcing your eyes on hers. Your eyes widened at the sudden motion.

Your assumptions were correct; because yes, your feelings did come crashing down, and you did regret all the things you spewed out.  

With a matter of seconds, you stepped back, freeing yourself from her grip, and turned to run. Run– leave all the problems behind, running away like a loser you were.

And just as your fingers touched the door handle, a voice pierced through the silence, and it rang, 

“I love you.” 

Immediately, you froze in your tracks, slowly turning around to face the raven haired girl. 

Seeing your round eyes, she cleared her throat, looking away. “Our feelings are mutual.”

The waves of the ocean stilled– and, what? 

“What?” You managed to let out. You watched as the girl clenched her jaw, actively avoiding your gaze.

“You heard me the first time.” 

It wasn’t just her confession, it was something else. Like a burst of emotions that came with her words– and it suddenly clicked– she was your soulmate.

She was your soulmate– of course she is!

“You’re–” You stumbled over your words, too shocked to say anything. 

“Your soulmate.” She finished for you, “Yes, I’m your soulmate– and you are mine.”

Ah, yes. Wednesday Addams, the girl who broke your heart, the girl who saved you, was your soulmate.

“I’m not.. good with these kinds of things. I wasn’t aware of what I should do until last week happened.” 

The unfortunate accident in the coffee shop. Yes, you remember.

“No one’s going to touch you like that anymore.” 

With starry eyes, you met her eyes— her awfully deep, black eyes. When her gaze softened on yours, you couldn’t help holding your breath. Oh.

Oh, you’re falling in love again.

Your eyes subconsciously flicked over to her plump lips, before traveling back to her eyes.

“I’m not letting them.” 

Oh no, you’re falling in love again.

-

when you’re in a rush to finish this series bc I’m literally gonna be in a dorm in 45 min..:)

so sorry for the rushed ending, I wish I had more time to finish this.

Cant believe it’s over :( I’m gonna miss these two.

see you in a month everyone! I love you all <33

Don’t forget to check out the epilogue too :)

Taglist: @kaitlynroseb @idkjustliving2 @angel-luv-04 @left-and-right-up-and-down @reginassweetheart @thekid4466 @engenelxver @rainbow-love4ever @thenextdawn @sanguis-lupus95 @an-incompetent-writer @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk @tundra1029 @smromanoff

[marie-mcd]

A recurring feature that I like in Neil Gaiman's and Terry Pratchett's stories is the mundane and ordinary juxtaposed and blended with the extraordinary and fantastical.

There's a lot of humour derived from this, but it got me wondering if the concept also works as a theme under the surface of the humour, so I'll explore that idea a bit here with examples from Good Omens and Discworld.

First a look at the humour side, because it's fun, and so that people know what I'm referring to:

-In the opening sequence of Good Omens S1E1: an angel and a demon (fantastical beings) are conversing like ordinary people, using idioms like "Well that went down like a lead balloon", against a setting of biblical proportions.

-The Archangels' meeting in S2E6 discussing first the Second Coming ("Nah!"), and then next on the agenda is the cleaning roster.

-The visuals of heaven and hell in general - it's the subversion of expectations on what these places "should" look and function like - offices, clipboards, contracts, bureaucracy. This is humour and seems like theme/motif at the same time; the visual cues say a lot about heaven and hell and their role in this story.

-Death from the Discworld books owns an umbrella stand and a hairbrush, likes kitty cats, and rides a white horse named Binky.

-In Small Gods, the Great God Om is incarnated as a tortoise:

And it came to pass that in that time the Great God Om spake unto Brutha, the Chosen One:

'Psst!'

Next, looking at the concept's thematic or metaphorical potential.

The following excerpt gets me thinking about how people put outsized importance on mundane things, and about normalcy bias kicking in when a narrow mind is confronted with extraordinary events.

From Good Omens book (about RP Tyler):

It is a high and lonely destiny to be Chairman of the Lower Tadfield Residents' Association.

[…]

Your car is on fire.

No. Tyler just couldn't bring himself to say it. I mean, the man had to know that, didn't he? He was sitting in the middle of it. Possibly it was some kind of practical joke.

Next, a scene that makes me think about retreating into the mundane to cope, after being confronted with an extraordinary event.

From Good Omens S2E6:

Nina: Oh, God, I should've been open half an hour ago.

Maggie: How can you think about that after all this??

Nina: People need coffee, I sell coffee, it's my coffee shop.

And next, thinking about how the minutiae of the everyday distracts us from paying enough attention to big world issues (a bit of normalcy bias again too). 

From Good Omens book (when the horsepersons of the apocalypse arrive at the airbase):

No one stopped the four as they purposefully made their way into one of the long, low buildings under the forest of radio masts. No one paid any attention to them. Perhaps they saw nothing at all. Perhaps they saw what their minds were instructed to see, because the human brain is not equipped to see War, Famine, Pollution, and Death when they don't want to be seen, and has got so good at it that it often manages not to see them even when they abound on every side.

Next, two excerpts from Discworld books. At first I was thinking along the lines of needing to focus on the everyday because we can't spend all our time focusing on big existential stuff, or, how we take the wonders of nature for granted because of busy lives; but then I realized, I think it's actually a clever inversion of what we consider to be ordinary - that just being alive, against all odds, in the vast universe, is actually quite extraordinary.

From Small Gods:

And one of [the brain's] functions is to make the miraculous seem ordinary and turn the unusual into the usual.

Because if this was not the case, then human beings, faced with the daily wondrousness of everything, would go around wearing big stupid grins […] And no one would do much work.

Gods don't like people not doing much work. People who aren't busy all the time might start to think.

Part of the brain exists to stop this happening. It is very efficient. It can make people experience boredom in the middle of marvels.

[more going on in the above than just the subject of the post, but I'm narrowing the focus here]

From Hogfather:

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

"Yes, but people don't think about that," said Susan. Somewhere there was a bed …

CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE'S HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT A … A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

And a quote from Terry Pratchett himself, inverting ordinary/extraordinary (the whole video is great, by the way):

Within the story of evolution is a story far more interesting than any in the Bible. It teaches us amazing things: that stars are not important - there is nothing interesting about stars. Street lamps are very important, because they're so rare. As far as we know there's only a few million of them in the universe. And they were built by monkeys! Who came up with philosophy, and gods.

He also mentioned here that his impression after reading the Old Testament was: "If this is all true, then we are in the hands of a madman!" Off topic again, but relevant to some of what went into Good Omens I think.

Not sure if I've proved anything here, and that wasn't the goal, but it was fun to find some quotes for my brain to play around with!

[call-memissbrightside]

TW: NSFW, yandere!Izuku x Reader, noncon

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, than we wouldn't have to wait so long!"

You wake up with a jolt, eyelids heavy still as you let out a groan. The soft glow from the television is the only light source in the living room, windows also dark and telling that you've been asleep for a while. The rom-com playing was bright and rich of color, as the male protagonist realizes he still has a shot of love and returns to his female counterpart.

"Are you tired, we can turn it off and go to bed?" Izuku mumbles against your neck, where he laid behind you on the couch. Yet, his hands move from their place around your stomach to slip in your leggings, cupping your cunt and you feel like throwing up.

"Izuku," You're too tired to keep the bite out of your voice. "You promised you would watch the movie with me."

He groans, but alas his hands move to cup your stomach again, laying back down. "I don't know why you insisted on watching this one, you already know it by heart."

You don't answer him, instead choosing to ignore him and his stupid attitude to pay attention to your favorite part: the declaration.

"You erased me from your memories because you thought you were holding me back from having a full and happy life. But you made a mistake. Being with you is the only way I could have a full and happy life. You’re the girl of my dreams—and apparently, I’m the man of yours.”

The words make your heart squeeze, and the sweetness of the scene makes you stupidly tear up.

Growing up, you use to scrunch up your nose at the cheesiness of these movies. Rom-coms, chick-flicks, whatever you call the movies where boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, a falling out happens, than the declaration of love towards the end helps secure a happy ending... those types of films were the only thing keeping you sane.

What was it now? Seven months? The days blurred easily when you had no outside contact with the world anymore, Izuku making sure of that by keeping you trapped in his house. There were tears and sore throats from screaming at all hours of the day, disbelief making your senses sharp for any opportunity to outsmart Izuku and get the fuck out. But this was the number one hero you were up against, you never stood a chance.

So, you gave up too quickly for your liking but being angry and scared was just exhausting. Instead, you indulged yourself in these early 2000 movies where love could fix everything wrong and they lived happily ever after.

You weren't sure if you loved Izuku.

You knew you hated him, hated what he did to you and how he just chose to take you away from your life and force you into this new one with him and only him. But love? That feeling was harder to place.

He did force himself on you, making you feel good when you didn't want to and he made you moan his name like a prayer as he fucked you. That wasn't love, no, in the movies where the main characters have sex it's romantic and consensual. Yet, Izuku claims he loves you.

That would make sense, why would he do all that he's done if not for love?

Izuku was a collector, of All Might figurines, movies, books, and you found the box of items he took from you while he was courting: used underwear you hadn't seen in a while, a used tissue, and hundreds of photos of you living your life. It sickened you to find that, and no matter how much you begged for him to throw all of that out, Izuku wouldn't. He encouraged you to find a hobby, maybe look through his vast collection of movies and books to keep you occupied while he left and you stayed, not like you had a choice. That's where you saw them, your light in darkness, a reminder that true love exists: rom-coms.

Everyday, you'd watch as many as you could fit in the wee hours before Izuku came home from hero work. He liked confessions, he wanted to hear you praise him and say you love him, so you learned how to do so from the movies. Sure, the words you spoke sweetly to him weren't original, but they worked. You pretended you were in one of those films, and that Izuku and you were truly happy and in love and getting a happy ending. Right? You'll get your happy ending soon, this is just the climax where it gets bad before it turns good?

The ending scene is happening now, and the main characters kiss passionately on a boat in Alaska or maybe it's Antartica? It's an outrageous ending but you ache for that kind of life, where you're happy and in love and safe and-

"Okay, bedtime," Izuku said, sitting up and clicking off the TV the moment the end credits are shown. You groan in discomfort when he carries your body in his arms like you weigh nothing, your cheek squished against his hard chest.

No words were exchanged as Izuku undressed you, than himself, making your tired body sweaty and drenched in cum as the clock ticks and the night drags on.

Izuku grunts above you, where he slips in and out of your heat as you move higher up on the bed with each thrust. Your arms are loosely wrapped around the back of his neck, and you can't stand to look at him when he's moaning your name so breathlessly.

No, you have the stupid song stuck in your head from the movie to distract you from it all. Where you dream that one day, you'll get your happy ending.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up, In the morning when the day is new?

[ariicandy]

Prologue — Huge News Drop!?!?!?!?!?

Hope this prologue was okay, I forgot to do the private accounts for some characters which I will update. Anyone can share tips with me to help get set on trying to do an smau🙏🙏

“I told you we should have atleast disguise ourselves a bit to not get asked about our new show, brother.” Lynette said nonchalant from speeding ahead to their destination. “I know, I know, I didn’t think they would announce it today. I thought it was tomorrow I swear!!” Lyney said checking up to his sister. After a few minutes of trying to speed walk to their destination, the popular arts n’ crafts store every popular show and event uses, [Name]’s Blueprint Designs!

A bell chimes, signaling someone or people have entered the store. Fortunately for lyney and lynette, it seems no people are in the store at the moment. Earning a sigh of relief for lyney seeing they can now get what they came here for, prop supplies for their new show. The 2 siblings looked around the store in ease seeing what they should get from the vast variety of supplies of paint, wood, brushes, custom cutouts, and many more things the store can offer. Talking to one another the siblings were discussing the mandatory items they need first so they can get the rest of the list later next week, they were suddenly interrupted with someone. “Hi hello! Welcome, are you finding everything okay?” A worker has approached lyney & lynette wondering if they needed any help, and lyney looked stunned at how gorgeous the worker is. The worker not knowing it being the owner of the store, [Name] [Last Name], unknowingly by lyney & lynette.

The world seemed to stop for a moment looking at the worker’s eyes as if they were the heavenly gaze one prays to, but lyney snapped out of it when lynette bumped her elbow to her brother’s arm. “Ah! Sorry for that that! But we do have a question if we can do a commission for props and small crafts??” Lyney miraculously spoke immediately after being spaced out. “Of course!! Let’s had to the front desk and we can do that.” After discussing and calculating the pricing amount, props for the show will be delivered and done by [Name]’s blueprint design!

“Brother, you been acting a little weird since we encountered the person we met at the blueprint design store?” Lyney’s eyes widened from his sister remake, was he really acting out of character? “I’m alright lynette, what makes you say that?” “Well you were staring a bit at the person we were discussing to and would hesitate to immediately respond when we were asked about a this or that decision.” Lyney was stunned to realize what his sister lynette said..was true..painfully true that he didn’t even realize it. He looked away in embarrassment with one hand rubbing the back of his neck to try and hide his embarrassment, in which, he could not. “It all seems strange cause you were never like this whenever it’s with other employees from the many times we went for our props. But it was only to the person we talked today which happened to be my friend [name] I have gotten to know since we came to order to the store. It’s strange.” Lynette crossed her arms thinking to herself trying to guess why her brother was like this. Lyney was also trying to think why the person he just met had such a mesmerizing impact to him, he also thinking of their mesmerizing eyes that he was lost in for a moment.

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Taglist(open) — @sleepy-waffle

[raplinesmoon]

Alone With You In The Aether (KSJ x GN!Reader)

pairing: lunar deity!Seokjin! x reader (no specified pronouns) genre(s): angst… i’m sorry, a tiny glimmer of fluff at the end au(s): some kind of mythology mixed with dystopian mixed with post-apocalyptic au word count: 2.1k warnings: implied character d*aths (non-graphic), mentions of blood, lots of sad thoughts rating: 18+

summary: Seokjin thinks he's hard to remember, but your faith leaves him surprised every time.

a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime I wrote Seokjin in a strange apocalyptic, dystopian au, I'd have two nickels. It's weird that it happened twice. Also why do the most gut-wrenching, angsty ideas come to me for Seokjin (give this man a break)! Consider this my long overdue bday gift for him. This fic draws on this prompt, the song 134340 (of course), the book by Olivie Blake (for the title and angsty vibes) and the films Sunshine (2007) and Snowpiercer (2013). It's wildly experimental and may be slightly bad considering I haven't written for Jin in so long, but I hope you give it a chance <;3

Seokjin was used to the dark. He looked out upon the night sky every night, a vast sea of midnight black as far as the eye could see, lit up by tiny specks of stars and satellites, with him at the center of it, perched on the crescent moon, mesmerized by the world below.

The humans were fascinated by him, and Seokjin by them. Every night, they’d look up at the sky, pointing and exclaiming at the bright white orb that lit everything up. They’d offer their prayers and make their sacrifices – for peace, and prosperity, for good fortune to enter their homes and bless their families. And Seokjin would always deliver – whether it was through abundant crops, or the blessing of another child to the human race.

He was the gentle, all-giving light in their eyes, shielding them from the harshness of their day-to-day lives, ruled by his much more tempestuous counterpart, Hoseok, otherwise known as the sun. 

Until the day everything crumbled into dust.

The gods had never expected Hoseok to lose the battle against the malevolent demon that tormented the world, evil at its very core. Eternity had been promised to them as the Earth’s caretakers, tending to and sowing the seeds for humans to thrive. The devastation was profound at the loss of their beloved companion, none of them able to do anything as they watched the ichor leech out of his being, plunging the world into an eternal winter.

Paralyzed by shock and grief, they’d called a tribunal, lost on how to move forward without their beloved sun. Seokjin offered up his palace in the heavens, the deafening silence at his marble table proof that none of them had been expecting any of this to come to fruition.

Yoongi, the keeper of time, was the first to speak up. 

“It’ll happen to all of us,” his voice is gruff, leading to wide-eyed stares and gasps of shock and confusion around the table. “The humans grew weary of Hoseok, and the light that he provided. They destroyed the earth that he sowed, built buildings tall enough to block out his light, and retreated deeper and deeper into the underground and the shadows. They stopped believing.”

Seokjin ponders over Yoongi’s words, a pit growing in his stomach when he realized Yoongi was right. In the eons that he’d been tasked with being the caretaker of the moon, humans had always sought to conquer the land they’d been bestowed. He welcomed them when they tried to explore his dominion up above, lips twisting in amusement at their curiosity. But as he watched them grow more and more intelligent, fueled by Namjoon’s gifts as the god of knowledge, with that intelligence came greed, and its horrifying consequences. 

“They’ll lose faith in all of us, one by one. As the earth begins to crumble without its sun, their faith too, will weaken. And when the last person stops believing, we too will vanish alongside them.”

And Seokjin, who’d always been docile and kind to the humans, realized that with the advent of this new chapter in the universe, that he’d likely be the first to die, the humans’ faith in him as temperamental as the waxing and waning of the moon they searched for in the sky every night. A moon they could no longer see. 

If Seokjin had lungs, the dust would cling to them, burning up his insides, stealing the very breath from him. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since the death of the sun, whether it was decades, centuries, or even millennia. The dust clouded everything, rising up into the atmosphere, washing away the oceans, and Jungkook, the sea god, along with it.

One by one, the gods fell out of favour, helpless against the hopelessness which had begun to thrive amongst the humans. Seokjin wondered how any of them were alive at all, continuing to cling onto the fragile threads of life when everything that sustained it disappeared around them.

Most of all, he wondered how he’d managed to make it so long, his faint light present despite the cloud of dust. How people believed in a moon they could no longer see, one that could no longer promise hope of fertility in a barren land, where people picked at the dirt for food, where children stopped being a blessing and turned into a distant hope that evolved into a curse.

Who was left to believe in him, the weakest of all deities, powerless without the help of others?

And yet, Seokjin persisted. He watched the Earth freeze over, and what was left of the remaining humans crowd onto an old locomotive that traveled alongside whatever light remained of the fallen sun.

There were no more prayers for peace, for serenity. The prayers turned vengeful, resentful, all the gods left cowering in fear at how the tables had turned.

Seokjin stayed away from it all. He became listless, numb inside, just waiting for the day that he too, would vanish.

But that day never came. 

Dust. Dust as far as the eye could see. It was all that you could make out in the cloudy sky as you gazed out of the train, clinging to rocks, to the snow and ice that surrounded you.

You remembered the day the sun died. It’d been like any other day. Except you hadn’t been able to fall asleep. Restless on the scratchy sheets of your bed, you’d wrapped your blanket around you, staring out the window at the calming light of the moon. For as long as you remembered, you’d been obsessed with the gentle object in the sky, in awe of the radiant yet serene light it brought to the world, how it changed in relation to the passage of time. It was silly, but you’d always imagined there was someone up there taking care of the moon in the sky, fueled by stories your mother would tell you as a child.

Lulled to bed by it, you awoke to start your day as normal, remembering to give your mother a goodbye kiss before work. Nearly five hours later, while you were staring at your computer screen, the whole world exploded into darkness.

All you could hear were the screams of panic, objects clattering to the floor as people scrambled to rush outside, only to find that the darkness was everywhere, the once bright sun now a dull but sinister shade of crimson. Like the colour of blood. 

Your first instinct was to rush home, to check on your parents. Pulling up the light of your phone, you prayed the little battery you had left would be enough to sustain you. Instead, you came upon an empty building, shattered objects strewn about, and no sign of your parents anywhere.

It took nearly a week to learn of how many humans had actually perished in the panic surrounding the sun’s death, and even longer to come to terms with the fact that you’d never be able to navigate the darkness to come by.

You looked up at the smoke rising through the sky, creating the beginnings of the fine cloud of dust that would come to dominate the atmosphere, and saw it.

The faint glow of the moon, still there, still persisting. And so would you. 

From that day, the moon became your comfort, your protector. Even as the sky became more hazy, its presence in the night sky always kept you at ease.

Even when you boarded the train, knowing it was your only hope for survival in the increasingly harsh and hostile world, you never stopped looking out the window every night, imagining its soft light behind your eyes. 

“I know you’re there,” you whispered into the darkness. “It’s crazy, but even though I can’t see you, Moon, just imagining you still up there, in the sky like always, makes everything seem okay. It reminds me of why I treasure this world, why I want to keep holding on.”

. . .

Seokjin is jolted out of his haze by the words — he hadn’t heard anyone speak to him in so long. He knew by the fact that he was still around meant that there was someone who still believed, but their faith had always been silent. Until today. 

Seokjin feels warmth wash over him, warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

And so, into the aether, he talks back, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“I’ll always be here.”

Yoongi was the only one nowadays who wasted his time visiting Seokjin’s domain. The once lavish palace, with its halls of marble as bright as the moon itself, filled with jewels that sparkled like stars, now became decrepit, a mirror of Seokjin’s own hollowness.

Seokjin envied Yoongi, his immortal status nearly untouchable. Because while time became harder to track for the humans on the locomotive, none of them could deny its existence. None of them could stop the passage of time. There would always be people who believed in Yoongi.

“I never realized how lonely our existence was until we lost Hoseok,” Yoongi sits next to him on the staircase. “How foolish we were to think that we held power over the humans, when really, their faith was all that held together our fragile state of being.”

“I know you’re lonely, hyung,” the name surprises Seokjin. Yoongi hadn’t called him that in such a long time. “But haven’t you always been that way, even before we lost Hoseok?”

Seokjin ponders on Yoongi’s words, thinking back to the eternity he’d spent as caretaker of the night sky, watching humans sleep under his care. He’d yearned for a long time to connect with them, to spend time with them like the other gods did with their subjects, but they’d always forget about him come the dawn, the day and its promises far more alluring in their eyes.

“Who could be foolish enough to still believe in someone, something they can’t see?” Seokjin spits out. “I can offer no warmth or protection to the world. Some times I think it would be better for them to just let go, whoever it is. So we could both move on.”

 Yoongi pauses for a moment, taking in the distressed look on Seokjin’s face.

“I’ve seen them, you know,” Seokjin blinks at Yoongi, a smirk twisting on his brother’s lips. “They’re very beautiful.”

Yoongi puts a hand on his shoulder, his all-knowing eyes twinkling with something magical.

“Don’t let go just yet.”

“You’re all I have,” you whisper into your pillow, eyes heavy with sleep, but also with the weight of continuing to live this half-life. “I feel your absence everywhere.”

Seokjin wishes he could comb through the aether, resist the dust and smoke, weather the frigid ice, lay a hand on his shoulder to tell you he’s here. He’s here because of you, because while you believe you’re nothing, you’re everything. You’re the only thing he has left too.

He wonders how different it would have been if he’d met you in a past life, one where the tether between you two wasn’t something that could snap at any moment. Where the red string wasn’t frayed and splitting into pieces. Maybe you would have been a daring explorer, or a regal ruler. Maybe you would have been able to see Seokjin properly, to touch him, press your lips to his.

But maybe you were always destined to fall in love in this cruel, lonely way.

Seokjin doesn’t even notice the aether vanishing around him one day, until the moon, once his noble perch, gives out from underneath him, and he’s falling, tumbling through the endless vortex that is the universe. 

That’s how he knows there’s no one left to believe anymore. That you’re gone.

His heart races, and he calls out for Yoongi, for someone, anyone to stop the madness, closing his eyes.

All of a sudden, he halts, a gentle hand reaching out to clasp his own. Seokjin blinks open his eyes, and he sees you.

But you’re not you. Not as he’d known you. You’re glowing, a soft aura to match his own, a faint smile on your face.

“I never stopped believing.”

The void shifts around the two of you, spinning until Seokjin recognizes the heavens, the bright twinkling of stars in the sky. The two of you are in his palace.

Seokjin understands the moment he looks out onto the horizon, seeing the green of forests and the blue of oceans, the earth healing before him.

It’s you. A new star born from a dying one. A new dawn, one neither of you has to face alone.

a/n pt. 2: The lore for this honestly goes crazyyy, I could have taken it in so many different directions. But in case you're confused, OC is reborn as the new sun (rip Hoseok, gone but never forgotten), and also Seokjin's consort so they will live happily ever after for eternity. And those pesky humans get a second chance too! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜