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chr0n1c-ag0ny · 7 months

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Kunidazai reunion sparking them finally, actually, truly getting together (cause they're idiots who have essentially been and old married couple for years and were the last to notice)? I think yes.

kunikida offering his apartment to Dazai, as his partners was in no shape to be lived in, after all the time that had passed with no upkeep and the time it spent in police custody, being milled through for any potential evidence. there was no way he could let him go back to it, not now, not tonight. Kunikida needs him close tonight.

Dazai takes him up on his offer. he doesn't want to be alone. he won't admit it, but he can't be alone, he doesn't know what it would do to him, what he would do to himself if he was left unattended. so he gratefully, while making jabs and cracking jokes at his partner, follows him home.

their night proceeds as normal, as it had for years of Dazai crashing with him. Kunikida cooks while Dazai sits up on his counter, rambling on and on about anything he can think of. Kunikida never realized how much he missed Dazai's voice until the relief of not cooking in silence hit him.

when they eat Dazai drags his partner to sit on the couch, even though Kunikida hates eating on the couch, knowing he would make an exception for him, just for tonight. they sit too close to just be friends, coworkers, partners even. their arms touch, their knees lean into one another.

when Dazai's finished with his dinner he lays a head in Kunikida's lap, turning on the TV, flipping through all of his partners recorded media until he finds the show they had been watch together, every episode that aired since he was arrested is recorded and unwatched. with blurry eyes he hits play. Kunikida's hand is in his hair and it doesn't leave.

they don't talk, they don't have to, they've talked enough. for now they just want to sit and feel each other's touch and hear each other's breathing. it's all they need.

its nearly 3 in the morning when Dazai finally starts to doze, he'd curled up into a ball, halfway in Kunikida's lap at that point, holding onto one of his partner's hands. Kunikida knows he should get them both to bed, he should offer Dazai the room and take the couch, that he should have the man some space after all he'd been through. but he aches at the thought of leaving his side, at being separated again.

but he doesn't even have to say anything, should have known he never had to, Dazai's always been sharp as a tack, his intuition, almost terrifyingly, even sharper.

His partner turned lazily in his arms, looking up at him with tired but knowing eyes. let's go to bed, they say. you don't have to go, you can stay, they assure. please don't go, they beg.

Kunikida breathes a long, heavy, sigh of relief.

"ok," he answers, before finally getting up after hours laid up on the couch, watching as Dazai continues to doze.

his heart aches with feverish heat. he'd missed him so much he had begun to go mad, had gone mad really, and now his partner was back, he was back and alive and mostly well, and now he was so relieved it ached in its own right.

he went about making up his bed for two, for Dazai, knowing he needed enough pillows and blankets for half a dozen people, but kept stopping to look over the back of the couch to make sure he was still there, still with him, that he hadn't been taken away again. by the time he's done he's probably crossed his apartment two to three dozen times, from his room to the couch again and again, before he's finally decided the room was good enough, there were enough blankets for Dazai to cover himself with and pillows to hide in.

when he goes to Dazai this time around, he kneels in front of him, carding a hand through his hair, tracing a thumb over his brow, to his nose, and then his cheek. his partner's eyes flutter open, a smile graces his lips.

"come on," he whispers, worried too loud a voice would shatter the delicate air of safety and comfort around them, "time for bed."

Dazai hums, getting up with a stretch and a yawn, much like a cat, before gingerly hopping off the couch and into Kunikida's arms, a false smile and air of cheekiness to him, hiding the ache Kunikida knew all too well resided in his partner's heart as much as it did his own, if not more. he holds him for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in his arms, before taking his hand and leading him to their room.

Dazai knows the drill. he goes to the other man's dresser and picks out a pair of his own sweatpants, ones he kept here for nights like these, and as per usual, one of Kunikida's shirts, gliding across the room, out into the hall, and into the bathroom.

Kunikida crawls into bed, feeling like he's been hit by a bus by the days events, and ends up half asleep by the time he feels Dazai crawling into bed next to him.

he expects to see bandages peeking from the borrowed nightshirt, to watch Dazai shield himself from the world, from his partner's touch, with a swarm of blankets, for Dazai to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for him to fall asleep first.

but tonight's different, so different.

Dazai's skin is bare where the shirt doesn't cover, his scars on display, each and every one of them, the burns, the cuts, the bullet wounds, the ones Kunikida has never one been able to decipher the story of. they're all bared to him, with no visible hesitation on Dazai's end.

when his partner climbs into bed he neglects the pile of blankets laid out for him, the pillows too. instead he lifts the comforter that's draped over the entirety of the bed, Kunikida included, sliding beneath it like it's natural to him, like he'd done it every night for months, years even.

he looks at Kunikida for a moment, silently asking for permission, which Kunikida cannot give fast enough, and then Dazai's in his arms, his own wrapped around his neck, nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.

Dazai pulls away, just a bit, Kunikida almost cries out, almost pulls him back in, but knows better. he lets dazai go, but he never leaves. he's moved just far back enough so they could both look each other in the face.

"I missed you," he spoke softly, his hands shifting to hold the blonde's face.

"I missed you too,"

there's a moment of silence.

"I love you." the words are hesitant, skittish even, like he's unsure of how Kunikida would take it.

"I love you too," he replies without a second thought. he loves his partner, he loves him, more than he knows what to do with, so much it drives him mad and makes him ache.

Dazai nods. he's thinking, Kunikida can see it on his face, his mind is going a million miles a second. worry flashes on Dazai's face, and Kunikida panics, goes to pull away, goes to give Dazai space, even if his own skin burns at the thought of parting with Dazai's.

but Dazai doesn't let him, he clings to him, "Don't go, please don't go, please," he begs.

his voice is desperate, so Kunikida doesn't. he watches his partners face twist and turn, watches as fear spreads across his brow and tears gather in his eyes, and he doesn't know what to do because this has never happened.

but than Dazai leans in, slowly, tugging Kunikida closer so they can meet in the middle. Kunikida feels his partners lips on his. he kisses him back. he can't decide if that was a foolish decision or not. It's soft, softer than either of them knew they were capable of, it's gentle and earnest and good.

Dazai stops after a moment, lingers in Kunikida's space before looking him in the eye once more, he doesn't speak, they don't need to. Dazai looks at him, tears running down his face, but he's smiling, he's ok. his thumbs wipe away tears Kunikida hadn't realized he'd shed. they're ok.

"I love you," Dazai mutter's again, speaking again before the other man can answer "Kunikida?"

"yes, Dazai?"

"don't go."

"I won't."

"promise?"

"I promise." its a foolish thing to say, but Dazai needs to hear it, hell, he needs to hear it, "I'm not going anywhere, so long as you promise me the same."

he hesitates, his eyes avoid Kunikida's for a moment, before returning from their shared gaze, "I'll try, I promise, I'll really try this time"

Kunikida nods, slowly moving to kiss Dazai's forehead, the brunette leans into it.

"I know you will," he whispers into Dazai's skin, "and I'll always be here when it's too hard to manage on your own."

there's silence again, but it doesn't feel wrong or heavy, its soft and warm and it feels right.

"I love you," Kunikida finally returns.

there's more silence, Dazai just looks at him, just watches, fingers playing with Kunikida's hair and drifting over his face until something clicks into place in the other man's mind, something nobody but Dazai could ever understand.

he leans in once more to kiss his cheek before he settles against Kunikida's chest, letting out a pleased huff as he curls himself into a ball, "goodnight," he muttered, almost instantly going still with sleep.

"goodnight," Kunikida replied, knowing Dazai wasn't going to hear him, pressing his own goodnight kiss to the top of Dazai's head before burying his face in the other man's hair (Dazai doesn't smell like his shampoo anymore. it makes something in him cringe. he tries and fails to ignore it).

it takes Kunikida a while to fall asleep, he's too busy running the night over and over and over again in his mind. he holds Dazai close and lets his fingers trace over scars, feeling over his too-thin frame, feeling each bone beneath his skin. there's so many thoughts rushing through his mind, to many fears, worries, anxieties, what ifs. what if I hurt him? what if I break him? what if I ruin this?

his thoughts are only stopped when Dazai gently nudges his head into his jaw, hands pulling Kunikida's off of him, holding them gently in his own (he should have known sleep wouldn't come that easy to Dazai).

he takes a deep breath, steadying himself and his mind, his partner's hands squeeze his gently, good, they seem to say, and sleep finally starts to pull at him once more.

he lets it happen, let's his eyes close and his mind go blank, knowing Dazai is safe, he's safe in his arms, he won't be taken away again. he sleeps knowing Dazai loves him, that he kissed him, that tomorrow they'll wake up like this, and maybe, just fucking maybe they can finally have this one happy ending.

#I love when two emotionally constipated men find ways to be indirectly vulnerable and soft with one another. it matters so much to me.#they don't know how to talk about it or what they mean to one another or what they need from the other but they make it work #but after so long of dancing around each other only to be ripped apart for so long something just gives way and for once its in their favor #I hc that Dazai can be quite graceful in a ghostly and/or feline sort of way when he wants to be. he hops to his toes instead of standing-#glides instead of walking. stares into your soul with these big old eyes instead of just look. so thats just sprinkled in here.#on another note. these men are idiots. I said getting together but for christ sake they've been together for years they just never noticed.#I cringed at their stupidity multiple times while writing this.#dazai is scared of loving kunikida. he's scared his love will damn the man he loves. he's scared he'll leave too #but he can only run from his feelings so long #kunikida is scared to love dazai. he's scared he will find a way to break him. that he won't be careful enough. that he'll screw it all up.#they're so fucking messy and I love them your honor #I have so much to say about them #kunikida bsd #kunikida doppo #bsd kunikida #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #kunikidazai #kunidazai #if you see typo's no you don't

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stigmvtas · 4 months

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it's 10pm on a monday night. tws for grief, brief suicidal ideation.

it's 10pm on a monday night - the sky's clear, the clearest it might've been all month; and all ducky sees as he stares up into the sky is a thousand stars glaring down back at him. it's 10pm on a monday night - and ducky doesn't remember the last time he's slept; everything's nothing more but haze, vision cloudier than usual - even in his bad eye. it's 10pm on a monday night - and freya's been dead for just about over 24 hours now, and ducky's calves throb a dull yet consistent beat against the cold, wet sand that the waves constantly exposed. there's snow in his hair - and snow still stuck to his lashes, and he can barely feel the permanent shiver that's begun to reside in his body; nor the waves lapping against his dull yet consistently throbbing calves - dancing over his knees, denim clinging like saranwrap. clinging like a tarp - clinging like the body bag that must've carried freya out. it's 10pm on a monday night - and the stars double over one another as warm tears melt away the snow on his lashes, cloud his already cloudy vision - salt mingling with salt; the tears grow colder the farther they slip, somewhere beyond his temple and into his rigid hair.

he doesn't really remember how he's landed here - flat on his back, probably letting frostbite settle into his bones; he'll be surprised if his pinky toes aren't already goners - he can't tell between cold - numb and regular - numb anymore. somewhere the lines got blurred - and even crying, ducky feels strangely devoid of emotion. ducky feels devoid of a lot of things; messy blonde hair, the warmth of a flannel - warmth in general, really. even her dry sarcasm and the callous nature she subjected others to when she meant to push them away - felt warm; warmer than ducky felt now, at least. he shouldn't have gotten - mad. no - he should've been mad, but he should've helped her anyways. he should've - stayed. instead of running from his fears - from vinny, he should've stayed. maybe he would've - seen her again. maybe he could've changed something. if freya was here - she'd probably make fun of him. prod his side with the toe of her shoe, hands stuffed into the pockets of a hoodie that hadn't been hers.

it's 10pm on a monday night - and ducky's high, and he's drunk, but sobering up - the small bottle in his pocket's got only a sip left, but it doesn't matter. he clambers up onto his elbows - stiff as a board, stiff as a body already cold on a slab of metal, stiff as freya - shaking hands and shaking fingers clumsily fighting their way into his coat's pocket, the bottom hem beginning to finally wet with the waves that hadn't quite reached thigh yet. the bottle's ice cold, or maybe it's ducky's hands - he can't feel much of them, either - and so is the liquor; but it's enough to warm his throat - to kick in some sort of survival instinct. he won't die tonight, even if he wants to - he's not somewhere remote, not on an island this small; there's lights dotting the beach to his left - a splattering of houses and businesses further down the boardwalk. maybe he'll lose a limb, at the very most - what's another, anyways?

it's 10pm on a monday night, and ducky's freezing - and he feels it now, the clatter in his teeth, as he forces himself up and towards the lights. part of him wants to fling himself back in the ocean, to wade farther and farther until his head's only a bauble above the surface, until his eyes match the double - vision stars that mirror against the ocean the further he looks - as the waves calm and steady, and become nothing but teasing laps at his nose and ears. ducky presses on - towards the houses, and the businesses, and the people he doesn't know are searching for him; his calves begin to throb again - how many miles had he run? how long - until he wound up at the beach? it doesn't matter, maybe. he doesn't know what does, anymore - at least tonight. maybe tomorrow he'll have - better sense. maybe tomorrow - it'll have all been a bad dream, and ducky will wake up against a lumpy mattress, and beside a warm body; and there'll still be crushed grapes that they hadn't brushed out of the bed, yet - because they would've had time to clean it up. there would've been time.

he doesn't remember when his feet hit sidewalk, and not sand - because nothing feels solid beneath his feet, anymore - and he's made it this far, but maybe it's not far enough - and he can feel the rest of his energy burning up; at least something's warm, if only the acknowledgment that he's run out of fuel. that there's nothing else to give - that he's barebones. it's 10pm on a monday night, and ducky finds his phone - and it takes a good minute to turn it on, because he has to physically press his hand against the fingers trying to press into the damn button, because his fingers barely work anymore - because it's cold, because ducky's damn cold. his damn - cold fingers swipe hastily - as hastily as they can move, at least - and he doesn't have to scroll to find the contact he wants - the contact he needs, before pressing call - before bringing the phone to his ear. he can feel how his knees buckle beneath him - but not their contact with the concrete, one palm firm against the cold - lungs trying their best not to heave, and he wants to just - lay there, again. in the snow, again - but he stays on his knees, back hunched forward, curling up into himself as if it'll bring the warmth back - though he knows nothing will. and he sits - and he waits, with all the patience in the world - as the phone rings on.

#––– ❛ donovan mercer 【 you bleed just like you puke / para. 】#grief tw #suicidal ideation tw #small bt #this isnt read over it came straight frm the heart </3 #somebody get this man a doctor btw. gna hv no toes. no fingers.#THIS IS NOT A DEATH PARA!!!!#THIS IS AN EMO PARA!!!!#DUCKY'S ALIVE!!!#literally was going to be a starter bt then. it got this long so uuhhhh #if someone replies 2 it like it's a starter tho who am i 2 refuse

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