i could just go on and on about this one, don't even get me started.
cw: mention of blood, weapons, typical mafia stuff
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Mafia!Boyfriend who keeps his line of work far out of your reach, though he knows that won't keep you safe on its own. He constantly keeps you within his or his men's line of sight, primarily in public settings. He keeps a firm hand your lower back or waist when he walks with you in larger crowds to not only to soothe you in the midst of chaos, but to hold you close to him.
Mafia!Boyfriend who doesn't have too many rules for you, except for two major ones. Never lie to him, and never leave without him or one of his guards with you. He doesn't typically care where you go, he trusts you completely. However, he knows how scary the city can be, and needs you to understand that. He's a little traumatized, so it's only natural.
On a brighter note, you've become close friends with your guards. it's like having a small unit of armed besties.
Mafia!Boyfriend who can just be so paranoid sometimes. You ran into the wall earlier and have a bruise on your arm? Definitely questions you about it. Your location pinged a little too close to the hospital? Expect a quick phone call, just to be sure. He doesn't see himself as overbearing and he wouldn't care if you see it that way. He's does what he believes is best for you (with actually good intentions).
Mafia!Boyfriend who teaches you how to properly use a gun, but doesn't ever give you one or allow you anywhere near his own weapons. He flinches when you find one of his good knives and you taunt him by just barely poking the tip. What you don't expect is just how sharp it really is and draw a little blood, and that pisses him off. He punishes you by pouring rubbing alcohol on the tiny wound, which you squeal from. Afterward he might give you another lecture on not touching his stuff.
Mafia!Boyfriend who is absolutely enamored by you. He calls you things like, "darling", "sweetheart", etc. He doesn't allow you to speak ill of yourself, and will call you out on it. If someone even dares to be rude to you, they will be dealt with accordingly. Someone once made a snarky remark about how you made him "weak", but couldn't even finish the sentence before the barrel of his gun was pressed against their temple. It was just a warning, but he never had any issues after the incident.
A dangerous man and a heavy emotion like love is not a healthy mix, but he can't live without you. He will do whatever it takes to keep you in his life, whatever the cost may be.
To Strike True and Draw Slow-Chapter 6: The Shape of Control
Summary
The court begins to notice what Baelor refuses to name. Aelora pushes, Baelor holds the line—and something between them sharpens into something dangerous.
Not loudly. Not through proclamations or declarations, but in the quieter ways power always revealed itself—through watching, through whispers, through the careful noting of what was permitted and what was not.
And what, precisely, Baelor Targaryen permitted had begun to shift.
Aelora felt it before anyone said it outright.
Eyes lingered longer when she entered a room now. Conversations dipped—not fully silenced, but altered, redirected. Servants bowed a fraction deeper. Lords measured their words more carefully in her presence, as though uncertain whether she stood alone or… beside something far more dangerous.
She understood why.
She simply refused to behave accordingly.
The training yard was loud that morning—steel against steel, the rhythm of practice strikes echoing against stone. Dust clung to the air, kicked up by boots and movement, sunlight cutting through it in golden streaks. Knights shouted corrections, squires scrambled, and somewhere near the far edge Matarys laughed like he had discovered something endlessly entertaining about someone else’s suffering.
Aelora stood at the edge of it, watching.
Not hidden.
Never hidden.
“You are going to make them nervous if you stare like that,” Valarr said, stepping beside her without ceremony.
“I am observing,” she replied lightly.
“That is worse.”
She glanced at him. “You say that like it is a flaw.”
“It is, here.”
Her gaze returned to the yard. “Then perhaps this place requires improvement.”
Valarr’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, quickly suppressed. “You speak like someone who has never had to survive it.”
“I have survived worse than disapproving lords.”
“That is not what makes this place dangerous.”
Aelora tilted her head slightly. “No?”
“No,” Valarr said quietly. “It is what people believe they are allowed to do when no one stops them.”
She considered that.
Then—“And who stops them?”
Valarr did not answer immediately.
His eyes shifted—not to the yard, but beyond it.
Toward the entrance.
Aelora followed his gaze.
Baelor had arrived without announcement.
Of course he had.
He did not move like other men. There was no unnecessary motion, no wasted energy. Even stillness seemed intentional in him, as though he had decided precisely how much of himself the world was permitted to see at any given moment.
And yet—
His attention found her immediately.
Not searching.
Knowing.
Aelora held his gaze.
Did not look away.
Did not soften.
Valarr exhaled slowly beside her. “That,” he said under his breath, “is who stops them.”
Baelor stepped fully into the yard, and the energy shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough for those who did not understand him to name it.
But enough.
Knights straightened. Movements sharpened. Laughter quieted—not gone, but contained. The rhythm of the yard adjusted itself around him like something instinctive.
Control.
Aelora watched him move through it.
Measured. Precise. Untouchable.
Until—
He stopped in front of her.
“You should not be standing this close,” he said.
She blinked once. “To what?”
“To this,” he said, gesturing faintly toward the sparring men. “You will be hit.”
“I would move.”
“You would be too late.”
“I doubt that.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “That is not confidence. That is inexperience.”
“And yet,” she said, folding her arms, “I remain uninjured.”
“For now.”
A pause.
Then—
“You came to find me,” she added.
It was not a question.
Baelor’s expression did not change. “I came to assess the yard.”
“You have done that.”
“I am still doing it.”
“And yet,” she said softly, “you stopped here.”
Valarr, somewhere behind them, made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a warning.
Baelor did not look away from her.
“You enjoy drawing conclusions.”
“I enjoy noticing patterns.”
“And what pattern do you think you see?”
Aelora stepped slightly closer.
Not enough to be improper.
Enough to be deliberate.
“You do not like uncertainty,” she said. “And yet you keep returning to it.”
Silence stretched.
Tighter now.
Baelor’s voice, when it came, was lower. “You mistake attention for interest.”
“And you,” she replied, just as quietly, “mistake distance for control.”
That—
Landed.
He did not react outwardly.
But something in him sharpened.
“You speak as though you understand me.”
“I do not need to understand you,” Aelora said. “I only need to see you.”
A beat.
Then—
“That is more than most manage,” she added.
The wind shifted through the yard, carrying dust and heat and the faint scent of steel.
Baelor stepped closer.
Now there was no mistaking it.
Not proximity for conversation.
Proximity for something else.
“You assume that is an advantage,” he said.
“I assume it is true.”
“And what you see,” he continued, voice steady, controlled, “does not concern you?”
Aelora met his gaze without hesitation.
“No.”
That was the problem.
Not defiance.
Not boldness.
The absence of fear.
Baelor studied her for a long moment, as if searching for something—hesitation, doubt, the slightest fracture in her certainty.
He found none.
“You should be careful,” he said at last.
“Of what?”
“Of what happens when you push too far.”
Aelora’s lips curved faintly. “And what happens?”
Baelor held her gaze.
Did not soften.
Did not yield.
“You find out exactly where the line is.”
The air between them stilled.
Not quiet.
Not calm.
Charged.
Aelora leaned in just enough to make the moment unmistakable.
“Then I suppose,” she said softly, “I will know when I reach it.”
For a heartbeat—
Neither of them moved.
Then—
“Aelora!”
Matarys’ voice cut through the tension like a thrown blade.
She stepped back before Baelor could.
Not retreating.
Resetting.
Matarys approached with entirely too much enthusiasm. “You are missing the best part. Ser Edwyn just realized he cannot actually beat someone half his size, and it is becoming deeply philosophical.”
Valarr followed more slowly, his expression thoughtful, watchful—tracking something unspoken between his father and Aelora.
Baelor stepped away.
Just enough.
Control, reasserted.
“We are not finished,” he said quietly, only for her.
Aelora’s gaze flickered—not surprise, not hesitation.
Recognition.
“No,” she agreed. “We are not.”
And this time—
When he turned away—
He knew.
This was no longer disruption.
This was escalation.
And somewhere, beneath the discipline, beneath the structure he had spent years building—
Baelor Targaryen realized something far more dangerous than disorder had entered his world.
a/n: ugh i love this trope so much i wanna eat it
this is severely self-indulgent
c/w: typical dazai, you know the drill.
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
dazai likes looking at you, and he can be pretty intense too
don't question him about it, he'll deny it.
he isn't good at expressing his emotions normally, but with you, he cracks. especially if you're alone
once you come to realize his outlandish behavior is an act, he can be surprisingly calm.
he is so possessive over you in subtle ways
if an outsider gets a little too close to you, he gets wildly uncomfortable.
like you know how he stares at you? try that but more
typically, people get the hint when they see him looming from behind you.
that lil bit of port mafia leaks out, and it's kinda hot.
he def watches you sleep if you take a nap around him, whether its at your place or his.
frequent sleepovers, at least once a week
he takes the couch at your apartment, but at his, he'll sleep with you in his bed.
you both are kinda casual about a lot of things. cuddling (in private)? sure. sharing drinks? whatever. you don't even blink wen he openly flirts with you.
but you two will not kiss. that's crossing a line.
except for that one time you both got really drunk
neither of you remember that
he's fun to drink with, though. he likes drinking games.
you borrow things from each other, like his jacket or your lip balm.
he doesn't like labels, it makes him feel weird.
it's so nice when you get to have real conversations with him. he's so smart and can go on and on about a lot of things.
but he's also able to share some of his deepest thoughts with you.
he talks less about wanting to die, unless he's having one of those aforementioned heavy conversations.
he's a fun texter
he shows actual interest in you as a person, rather than putting on a face like he does for others.
he has no plans of getting romantic with you. not because he's uninterested, but because he feels safe in the position he is in with you now.
if things get really crazy (like with fyodor and that whole mess), he might confess his feelings for you.
calls you "darling" in private.
he reads to you sometimes.
he accepts help from you when you reach out, and vice versa.
you share office gossip with each other
dazai holds a lot of respect for you if he considers you his closest friend and ally, which in this case, he does.
