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fyorina · 1 month

Text

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.

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.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you

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c0smoshit · 5 months

Note

hi! i have a request (obviosuly you can choose to do it or not, im not forcing you ^^) with a cloud x fem reader story.

y/n and cloud were togheter for a year now, and cloud returns home after a long time (1 month) and he was really clingy because he missed y/n so much but he was kinda shy doing all these things and let this side of him go out that much. (i'll leave to you adding details or something to the story) basically just a cute fluff story with shy kisses,cuddles and things like that :3

bye and thank you! i LITERALLY LOVE your story "Shy Kisses", and i love the way you write! i would be happy if you did this story for me❤️

Far Road ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ last fic of the year and it had to be a Cloud one, hope you enjoy it and thanks for this adorable request!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.233

A knock at your door kept you from washing your dishes.

God how you missed him.

Everytime someone knocked, you would run to the door, only to be dissapointed with a plain looking hair and eyes, not your spiky blonde hair mixed with some astonishing mako infused eyes.

It had been such long, lonely and cold nights without his arms warming you up from under the bed, his body so close to you, you could feel his own heartbeat.

You even tried to replace him with some big chocobo plushie he had gifted you a few months ago.

And although they might look alike, no big, fluffy chick could replace your grumpy one.

"I'm coming"

You announced, the glint of hope on your eyes completely vanished now as you placed your plate down the sink. Drying your hands on a towel, you began walking towards the door.

. . .

"Please don't be out there for too long"

Your words caused a crack inside his chest, when he had finally became comfortable with you, with your home, your smell. He had to help his friends once again.

He hadn't even stepped outside the door on that quiet, dark twilight he already was missing you so much. He couldn't bear the fact that he was going to be without you for such a long time, what if something happened to you?

He wouldn't be able to protect you and he did not want to go over that feeling again.

Your shivering hands held your door as your blanket was still wrapped around you, too cold not to hold it close against your body. He hated seeing you shivering, you should be heading back to the bed with him, you even didn't have to work next day so he could've stayed with you.

You also were supposed to be sleeping, it was definitely too early for your puffy eyes to be staring at his own ones in such a melancholic way. He felt guilty, your poor, tired body had been awaken by him shuffling around the appartment, soon coming to see him depart.

"I'll be back soon, promise"

He whispered into the thin air before wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you close to his chest for the last time before a long while. Getting a whiff of your syrupy shampoo, memorizing it's smell.

But on top of it all, he hated saying goodbye after all the times he hadn't got the proper time to verbalize it.

. . .

Opening it up you didn't even see the face of the person that was standing in front of you at first, your eyes peeking at your kitchen for a brief moment to see if you has closed the sink. But when you took a glance at the very man that was standing in front of you, you almost fell down.

Eyes wide as you recognized his almost hollow scent, you quickly searched his eyes, hoping that they had been exposed to a, now familiar, substance.

"Hey"

Oh god.

It was really him.

His eyes quickly closed tight as your arms suddenly enveloped his neck like a scarf, a homemade one. You smelled good, really good. He had been craving that sweet aroma of yours, how it would linger on his pillows for a while after you had gotten off the bed.

And your soft skin finally embracing his own one, tender as he had imagined so many nights out there without you. Your nose hitting his shirt in such a perfect way as you pressed closer into his chest, your short breaths and your tight squeezes against him.

He finally was home.

He got so deep into his thoughts he didn't notice you dragging him into your home, back to the place you had both shared everything. Your socks dragging along his boots as you happily guided him to the living room, not once spliting appart.

"Can't believe you're finally back"

He huffed, rubbing your right arm soothingly as you both sat on the sofa, getting lost in the softness of the couch, you really had done a great job in choosing the pillows.

. . .

"Hey"

He said with half a chuckle as your hands worked on his belt, eager to get inside the bathtub you had made with so much love for both of you.

He first sat down, letting you do the same as you rested in front of him, a relieved sigh coming from your mouth as you leant your head back slightly, careful not to soak your hair up with the blueberry foam.

Both of you getting lost in the feeling of the lukewarm water, a bit too cold for your liking but you knew he liked it just this way. When he opened his eyes briefly he saw you already smiling like a dork at him, almost seeing hearts in your eyes.

"You really did miss me huh?"

You chuckled, of course you had, buying groceries without him by your side and his nonexisent advices over which fruit would taste better or the clothes that would fit you the best.

His afternoon dates of offering you rides around Midgar, the warm afternoon breeze vanishing through your hair as you stared at the dying sun, mind in blank and finally at peace. Listening to the loud roar of the engine, you would always place your hands underneath his jacket, trying to keep them warm as your cheek pressed against his back.

Your homemade meals, god he missed them, nothing could even come closer to the taste of your food, your own personal chocolate smiling faces on your desserts whenever you had the chance.

"Mmmhm"

You nodded in agreement before getting outside the tub, at first he would've asked you where were you going but the feeling of your hands on his wet hair and the smell of his shampoo quickly shut him up.

"Missed you so so much"

You said in a soft tone, rubbing the liquid on his scalp, slowly massaging it around his golden strands, careful not to make knots.

He was in heaven right now.

He desired to wash himself up on his bath once again, the strong scent of his few soaps and some deserved intimacy. But your hands working on his hair was definitely something else.

"Feels good?"

A nod slowly answered your question, smiling as you admired his state: tightly closed eyes, limbs falling over the bath and the sluggish pace of his chest.

You continued rubbing his scalp, your movements soon growing more and more tender and sweet. You had missed him so much you wanted to express your feelings through your touch, your honeyed words and maybe a tasty meal.

When you had finished cleaning up his hair, you motioned him to wash the soap off with some water, giggling as you saw him sliding down the tub, shaking a bit his head under the water. You finally got up, knees feeling slightly numb as you stretched yourself, slowly getting inside the tub again with him.

But this time you had layed on top of him, his eyes shooting wide as he took in the feeling of your body, too blissed out to even notice you getting back up. But he soon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as he spread his legs, letting you rest in between them.

There wasn't anything sexual about this, the feeling of your wet skin touching his underneath the water didn't make him feel aroused.

It made him feel loved, warm.

The way your cheek would brush into his before your head lowered down below his chin, your red face thanks to the closiness and the temperature of the room. It was all too much for him to handle so he opted to just admire you as you closed your eyes with a sigh on top of him.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist, sitting upright before his limbs decided to copy your own, relaxing and softening under your body.

Oh how he wishes to do this every day, to hold you until his last breath.

The feeling of your skin wouldn't go away even if the tried to file it down his own skin.

He kissed your forehead, and after you were both satisfied and soaked up enough until your fingers were all wrinkled up. You kissed him on the lips slowly, smiling like a dork and laughing lowly, your breath hitting his mouth as you whispered.

"I love you"

"I'm here with you now"

His deep voice made you giggle like a little girl, you loved his low tone, the first thing you would hear in the mornings and the last thing you would hear before falling asleep. For things like that you loved his quiet self, after a long while of not talking, his voice would naturally lower some tones.

. . .

Wrapped with a towel you looked at him, his hair all ruffled and soaked up just as his body. His towel hung lowly on his hips and you couldn't help but admire your boyfriend's chiseled physique.

How did you get so lucky??

Your mind always gets back to that question, he wasn't only caring, honest and cute but he was ripped off too?!?

And his absolutely angelic face, his gorgerous eyes and his small and cute nose were too much for you to handle. Since the day you had first seen him, you had always thought that his absolutely adorable features didn't match his body. He was just too cute to be that buff!

"Seen enough already?"

He asked with a hidden smirk, he also loved the way you drooled over him, teasing you just to see your blushy cheeks as you had been caught. But he couln't really laugh that loud because, hell, you looked absolutely astonishing too.

"Nah, not yet"

You teased back, walking until you met him as you wrapped your arms around his back, pecking his shoulder as you heard his breath hitching, earning a sly smirk from you.

But as much as you wanted to tease him further, the roles were quickly exchanged as he picked you up suddenly, throwing you over his shoulder as he started to walk off the steamy bathroom. He often did this, picking you up or manhandling you around, trying to avoid your teasing kisses or touches. And you should be already accustomed to it, but you couldn't help the yelp escaping from your lips.

He was the one smirking now.

Playfully kicking his back you told him to put you down, laughing as you felt his shoulder poking your stomach through your towel, your hair fell down and your face was starting to heat up again thanks to your blood travelling downwards.

But soon your giggles were cut off as you landed on the bed, jumping off slightly as you stared at him with fake disbelief.

"Did you loose your maners on that trip?"

You said as you stared at him, resting on your elbows, his back was facing you as he searched some clothes on your closet. His back moved swiftly as his muscles flexed under his skin, huffing out he answered.

"Maybe"

You laid your head on the bed, closing your eyes as you breathed out, taking all the space with your extremities. The bed felt extra-soft today and the lavender scent you always sprayed on on top of the mattress seemed to have became stronger.

"But maybe you shouldn't tease me like that"

You almost didn't pick up his words but your pride was much more bigger than just accepting them, so you sat upright, looking at the oversized shirt he was holding on his arms.

"Oh, you love it"

You said in a ludic tone, quickly taking away the piece of clothing as you smiled mischeviously.

"Hey, that was my shirt"

You dropped your towel before putting on the shirt, smelling it like crazy before your head poked out of it. He naturally retrieved his eyes from your back, as if he didn't see you naked just a few minutes ago.

"Well, it smelt too good for you to wear it"

He huffed out, reaching out to grab another shirt before placing it over himself finally and he actually noticed it smelling a bit too much like him. Did you spray his perfume over it?

Well, he couldn't blame you, he was the first one to take a long breath of your hair the moment you hugged him. Press his face on your pillow as he woke up, hell he did even smell your shirts once in a while.

"mmmhmm"

You mumbled, sighing out for a long while as you finally nuzzled into his neck once again. You had really, really missed his arms around you, well, his everything around you. From his soft skin to his steady heartbeat, soothing you slowly into nirvana.

"I love you"

You lifted your head just so you could kiss him once again, lips you couldn't understand how they were perfectly hydrated always. And it wasn't an exception tonight, moving slowly against yours as his hot breath hit your cheeks.

But you felt yourself slowly falling asleep on him, so he took your face off him, pecking your cheek before his right hand guided you back to his neck. His hand then lifted the mattress, carefully covering both of your entwined bodies.

#[ 📒 c0smos!fics ]#ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy x reader #ff7 x reader #cloud strife #cloud strife x reader #cloud x reader #final fantasy fluff #cloud strife fluff #ffvii x reader #ff7 cloud #cloud ff7 #final fantasy cloud #ff7 fanfic #ffviir #ffvii cloud

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sugrhigh · 4 months

Text

ALL YOURS - ( roomie!matt pt 5 )

summary- you and your roommate matt have been sleeping together for a minute now, but neither one of you wants to ask the other what it means. feelings come to fruition one night at a party and the dynamics of your relationship change once again.

warnings- nsfw content ahead people so read at ur own risk, swearing, drug/alcohol use, dom!matt kinda, unprotected sex, it’s straight up smut at the end so fr don’t read it if u don’t want to!

roomie!matt x fem!reader

a/n: THIS IS TECHNICALLY PART 5 OF THE ROOMIE!MATT TEXT SERIES so if you haven’t read those you might be a bit confused. link to the master list is here.

strap in because it’s kinda long so i hope u guys love this final chapter as much as i do <3 inbox is always open xo

@sleepysturnss

rain patters against the windows mercilessly as the tv drones on, interrupted only by booming thunder every few minutes.

its late in the day now, and the cloud coverage makes it extra gloomy, even with interior lights on. not that this bothers you.

storms have always been a source of comfort in your eyes. something about them makes you feel safe, reminds you that the world is far bigger than whatever is worrying you.

“oh, i’ve been meaning to ask if you’re still seeing that guy. what’s his name again?” nick asks from beside you, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he slumps against the couch.

you’ve been sitting like this for hours together, rotting in his living room while it continues to pour outside.

“it’s luke, and no, i’m not talking to him anymore.” you reply, trying to sound as casual as possible.

he looks up at you now, clearly a bit shocked to be hearing this. “please tell me it’s not because of my bitch ass brother.”

you bark out a laugh before you can stop yourself, mostly due to the fact that it’s absolutely because of matt. just not for the reason he thinks.

“as if. it was my decision, don’t worry.”

this is only half true. you did cut the poor guy off, but only because matt had essentially instructed you to do so before you guys had sex for the first time a month ago.

and then you hooked up again. and again. and a couple more times after that. neither of you could stop coming back for more apparently.

none of your friends know yet. as much as you want to be honest with them, you haven’t really talked about the details of this little situation. you’re almost positive matt hasn’t been seeing anyone else, but you also haven’t outright asked.

and there’s no use telling everyone about something that might not even be real.

“what made you do that? was the sex bad? is he an asshole?” nick interrogates further, clicking his phone off so his full attention is on you.

you can’t tell if he’s suspicious or if you’re just genuinely paranoid, but you don’t like this line of questioning either way.

“no he’s fine, he just wasn’t doing it. and his breath always smelled for some reason.” you’re lying through your teeth, but his face morphs into an expression of disgust like he’s buying it.

“ew, major turn off.”

“you’re telling me.”

nick sighs and snuggles further into the cushions, resting his head on your shoulder as he stares at the tv.

“well for what it’s worth, i’m sorry it didn’t work out. but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone sexy at nathan’s tomorrow.” he says.

“yeah, maybe.” you feed into the hypothetical, even though you know that won’t be happening.

at least not if matt sturniolo has a say in it.

your music is playing softly over the speaker as you get ready, perched in front of your vanity like a doll. you’ve just finished your makeup when you hear a singular tap on the door.

“can you hurry it up in here?” matt calls as he pushes it open slightly.

you find it funny that he’s always sure to knock, ever since he walked in on you naked that fateful afternoon. even though you’re literally sleeping together now, he makes it a point to not invade your privacy.

“can’t rush perfection, matthew.” you taunt him as you put your palette and brushes back in their rightful place.

he moves further into your room, walking over to stand behind you. he’s dressed up in jeans and that black muscle tee you love so much, tattoos on display as his hands go to knead your shoulders lightly.

“you do look amazing.” he compliments.

“likewise.” you reply before meeting his searing gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

he increases his pressure slightly, digging his fingers into your neck in a steady pattern. you already know what he’s angling at and he hasn’t even spoken.

“you know, we could just stay home.” matt suggests with a smirk.

“c’mon, we can’t keep ditching our friends. they’re gonna get suspicious at some point.” you shake your head and stand up, because the massage is starting to feel a little too good.

“nobody cared when we left early last time.”

you cross your arms over your chest and turn to give him a pointed look. “because you convinced them that i was sick.”

“so i’ll just tell them a different lie.” he shrugs.

“oh my god, i am going to this party with or without you, so you better make up your mind before the uber gets here.” you say over your shoulder, headed out of your room toward the stairs.

“such a brat.” he grumbles, but you hear him following you regardless.

“only for you.”

two hours later you’re standing in the middle of nathan’s living room, dancing along with the typical crowd. nick and madi are on either side of you, both bopping around drunkenly to the beat.

you’ve had three shitty drinks at this point and your head feels a bit fuzzy. you’re positive your cheeks are flushed, which is actually kind of nice.

matt was with you minutes earlier, but he’s ventured off to get another drink. it’s selfish that you miss him every second he’s not around.

it’s just nice having him by your side. sure, it was kind of casual at first, and you didn’t think it was going to develop so quickly. but now whatever is going on between you means a whole lot more.

you like when he asks you to spend the night in his room, or when he saves the last can of redbull for you so you don’t go to work without caffeine. you like that he’s been replacing the flowers he got you every time they start die, the way he insists on driving you places even if it’s out of his way.

you just like him, and it’s more than casual. at least it is to you, and you can’t imagine that at this point he doesn’t feel the same.

but you don’t want to be the one to try and put a label on it. quite frankly, it scares the shit out of you, and you’re still not drunk enough to keep thinking about it in the middle of this party.

you see chris a few feet away against the wall, beer in his hand as he chats animatedly with nathan. you know he has what you’re looking for, so you shout that you’ll be back and head their direction.

they both smile at you as you approach, almost perfectly in sync.

“what’s up!” chris leans down a bit so you can hear him better.

“do you still have that joint you mentioned earlier?” you ask into his ear.

he nods happily, and nathan shoots you both a questioning glance. by the looks of his sleepy eyes, he’s probably already crossed.

“we’re going to smoke!” you fill him in, motioning toward the front door.

nathan nods and tells you he’ll stay back, so the two of you shuffle your way out of the living room, trying to avoid bumping into as many people as possible.

you pass the kitchen, and as your eyes scan the people you spot matt huddled in the corner. he’s talking to a very obviously enthusiastic girl, one that you don’t recognize. your stomach drops at the sight of them, and you hate it.

he doesn’t see you, so you turn your head and keep following behind chris. he’ll stop talking to her soon. he’ll probably even come looking for you instead.

right?

the crowd thins as out by the door, and the two of your step out into the fresh air moments later. the street is relatively quiet, and once the door is shut the noise of the party is muffled. there’s nobody else outside, and you’re grateful.

the other townhouses stare at you as chris crosses the short driveway so he can hide underneath the tree in the yard. you follow his lead, watching as he fishes the lighter and joint out of his front pocket.

“keeping it handy, huh?” you joke.

“you caught me at the right time, i just packed it upstairs.” he smiles before putting it between his lips.

the flame burns the end as he takes a hit, exhaling up toward the sky. you pass it back and forth in silence, both enjoying the momentary break from socialization.

chris clears his throat a minute later, nudging at the grass with his toe absentmindedly. “so, i have a question to ask you.”

he looks over so he can hand the joint back, and your hands shake ever so slightly as you reach out to take it.

“yeah?”

“i think matt is seeing someone. do you know anything about that?” he asks bluntly.

you try to remain calm as you shake your head at him, though it seems impossible. you aren’t prepared for this at all.

“uh, no?”

chris smiles just a little bit, like he’s already got you right where he wants you. “so he doesn’t bring anyone over? it’s just the two of you?”

your narrow your eyes at him. “just ask what you want to ask.”

“are you guys together?”

there it is. you were expecting it this time, and it still makes your stomach flip.

“no. i mean, kind of? we’re not like, dating. we’re just…uh…hooking up.” you’re trying so hard to figure out how to put it that it sounds horrible.

he just laughs. “no you’re not. that kid is in love with you.”

your jaw drops slightly in surprise, and this only makes chris chuckle harder.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you ask him once he finally calms down.

“i’ve seen how he’s acting lately. so fucking goofy, like he’s got his head in the clouds. he only ever gets all dopey like that when he really likes someone, and i kind of suspected it was you.”

it’s hard to find any words. there’s simply nothing on your brain, no coherent thought to be found. chris gives you a playful nudge.

“it’s okay, i won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. but i think you feel the same.” he makes a guess, and he’s very accurate.

you look away as you take your final hit, trying to decide how you want to respond. you exhale the smoke and pass the remainder of the joint back to him.

“okay, you got me. i do want it to be like, a real relationship. and i’ll talk to him about it soon, i promise. just please don’t tell anyone until i do.” you plead.

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. you relax into him, and you have to admit you’re a bit relieved that at least somebody knows now.

“of course not. i’m here to support you both whenever you’re ready. everyone else will be too.”

“thank you. that makes me feel a lot better, seriously.” you say truthfully as he pulls away.

“good.” he nods in satisfaction, giving you a loopy grin.

“i’ve mooched enough, so i’m gonna go back inside, but thanks again. i owe you a blunt for the reality check.” you point a finger at him as you back up off of the grass.

“i’ll never turn that down.”

the high has taken over as you spin around to walk normally, and it’s nearly impossible to stop smiling. having confirmation that you’re not crazy for feeling the way that you do is wonderful.

you head back inside the house, almost positive that you’d find matt hanging out somewhere with your friends.

but as you pass the kitchen again, you spot him in the same place, leaned up against the end of the counter with a solo cup in hand. it seems like the girl is even closer than she was before.

your face falls immediately. it makes you angry that it’s been so long and he still hasn’t told her to get lost yet. if he wants to be all possessive over you, then you shouldn’t have to act so cool for him.

you’re certainly not feeling collected right now. and he deserves to know that.

you wedge your way around the people chatting and pouring themselves drinks without a second thought. matt sees you coming before you actually reach him, and he looks confused by your irritated expression.

you wrap your fingers around his arm wordlessly, right in the middle of the nameless girl’s sentence. he doesn’t put up a fight. in fact, he’s practically hot on your heels as you pull him back toward the hall.

“uh—hey! we were talking bitch!” she shouts after you.

“don’t care.” you don’t even give her the satisfaction of making eye contact.

there’s really no point. matt is trailing behind you like a puppy, and that’s all that matters. he clearly doesn’t want to be there any more than you want him to.

“what’s going on?” he asks as you maneuver around the outside of the crowded living room, making a beeline for the staircase.

it’s taped off to everyone except your group, in case of emergency.

this feels like one, considering you don’t even care if anyone sees you together. you don’t respond, you just let go of his hand and step over the thin barrier, glancing behind you to see if he’ll follow.

there’s a curious look in his eye, but he does the same.

you continue up the stairs, making sure he has the perfect view of your ass as you go. you can literally feel him staring, which only stokes the fire.

“are you taunting me right now?” matt asks as you reach the second floor.

this makes you pause, and you turn around so you can wrap your hand in his shirt. you yank him into the bathroom, slapping the light switch on with your free hand.

you close the door behind you, which suppresses the booming sound of nathan’s music playing through the speakers.

“what the hell is this?” you uncurl your fist and shove his chest to put some space between you.

his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he regains his balance and sets his cup down on the counter. you realize you probably spilled some of it by dragging him around, but that’s not your main focus right now.

“what do you mean?”

“don’t you dare play dumb. you can’t stand it when anyone else even breathes near me, so why would you think that i would be okay watching you flirt with some random girl for fifteen minutes? you either want me or you fucking don’t, matt.” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

it’s shocking that you’re being this honest with him, but you’re faded and you’ve been pushed beyond your limit.

no use tip-toeing around it now.

“you think just because she came up to me that somehow means i don’t want you?” he asks, and there’s more of an edge to his tone now.

“how am i supposed to know? we haven’t talked about it, whatever this is.” you wave your hand back and forth between the two of you.

a look of understanding passes over his face. “oh, this is about labels, huh?”

this infuriates you more, because that’s not even the point you’re trying to make. he’s aggravatingly calm right now, like he’s so sure of himself.

“look, if you don’t want to be in a real relationship with me, then fine. i don’t care. but i’m not gonna keep exclusively sleeping with just you if that’s the case.”

matt is silent for a moment, eyes darting across your face. you can see him gazing at your lips, and it drives you crazy.

he takes one step forward, staring you down with those pretty blue eyes. even though your height different is relatively small, it still feels like he’s towering above you.

“are you really trying to tell me you wouldn’t care at all if i wanted to see other people?” he asks quietly.

his face is so close, and you breathe in his familiar smoky cologne. it’s dizzying, being this overwhelmingly attracted to someone.

“of course i’d be upset, but there’s not much i can do about it if you don’t feel the same.” your voice is hushed now too, and you wish you didn’t sound so weak.

matt cups your chin gently with one hand, forcing you to keep your focus on him. your heart is slamming against your ribcage now, begging for some kind of relief.

“i want to be with you so bad that it kills me.” he finally admits.

it’s your turn to be stunned, and you stay completely still as his thumb grazes over your bottom lip slowly.

“i had this whole thing planned, i was going to take you to a fancy little restaurant and ask you out like a gentleman. but you just couldn’t wait, could you?” his voice is husky, pupils blown out in lust.

“i…really?” you ask breathlessly.

“really. so what do you think? you wanna be mine?” he goads with a smirk, gripping your face a bit tighter.

it’s normally hard to swallow your pride, especially with matt, but you’re so vulnerable in this moment you can’t tell him anything besides the truth.

“i do.”

“good, because you already are.” he growls before closing the gap between you, lips crashing against yours.

he tastes sweet, like the soda he’s been mixing with vodka all night. it’s a pleasant mess of teeth and tongue as you deepen the kiss, passionate in a way that you’ve never experienced with him before.

his hands travel down to grab at your hips, pressing against you so your lower back bumps against the sink. you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling enough to elicit a groan.

it vibrates against your mouth, and you feel yourself throb just from that little noise alone. he’s normally not very vocal, but you bring it out of him.

matt’s hands slide up your body, finding their way under the hem of your sheer lace top. his cold rings press against your stomach as he slowly inches higher, leaving goosebumps in their wake. you let go of him, throwing your hands upwards so he can peel the shirt over your head.

“so fucking pretty, just for me.” matt praises as he tucks your hair behind your ear, attaching his lips to your neck seconds later.

you tilt your head back to give him a better angle, sighing in pleasure as he nips at the soft skin. one hand is feeling up your chest as his teeth dig into your collar, tongue sliding over the marks he’s leaving in an attempt to soothe the irritated areas.

you move your own fingers down between both of your bodies, ghosting them over the crotch of his jeans, palming him just a bit. his dick is already straining against your hand, and he hisses a string of curses into your shoulder.

“no more teasing tonight, i need you now.” he grumbles, already out of breath as his hands travel to undo the button of your pants.

you take the lead and slide them down yourself, tearing your thin panties off with them because you want him just as much. it doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one exposed, so you tug his muscle tee upwards in desperation.

matt doesn’t protest, he just tosses it to the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes. you let your fingers rake over his skin, down his abdomen and over his happy trail until your fingers meet the waistline of his jeans.

you glance up at him through your lashes as you unbuckle his belt, entirely naked now, and he swears he could finish just by looking at you.

the sensation of your hands skimming against his thighs as you drag his jeans and boxers to his ankles makes him twitch. nobody has ever turned him on the way you do, and it’s frightening how good you make him feel.

but you always enjoy everything just as much, because he’s the best dick you’ve ever had. perfect length, enough girth to stretch you out, and he knows exactly how to move to your liking. matt even keeps it trimmed nicely.

the tip glistens with precum, and you pull your hair back with one hand like you’re getting ready to put it in your mouth.

“no, stand back up baby.” he instructs, and the commanding note in his voice makes you push yourself off your knees, extending to your full height.

matt turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, one hand on your side and the other on your back as he forces you to bend at the waist. your forearms press flat against the cool marble counter, and the assertiveness of it all sends a jolt of excitement right to your core.

his palm comes down on the curve of your ass without warning, just hard enough to sting. you let out a whimper, arching your back more as you gaze at him through the reflection.

he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, smoothing his hand over the place he just hit. his eyes are so dark, so full of desire that it just solidifies the way you feel about him.

“you like that? you want me to be rough?” matt leans over you, cock pressed against you as he speaks into your ear.

“please.” you whine, shifting your hips to try and feel more of him, to feel anything.

he stops your movements immediately and smacks your ass again, this time on the opposite side. it makes you groan in delight, almost involuntarily.

“you’re gonna look at yourself while i fuck you, got it princess?” he says, backing up just a bit so he can take his dick into his own hand and pump a few times.

you nod as you feel him line himself up at your entrance, and you know that at this angle you’re perfectly on display for him.

he pushes himself inside of you in one fluid motion, and you gasp as his fingers squeeze your hip. matt doesn’t give you time to adjust to him like normal. instead he immediately starts to pick up speed, wrapping your hair in his free hand so you can’t look anywhere else besides in front of you.

your lips are parted as you moan, eyes fluttering at the stimulation. you can hear matt grunting behind you, a deliciously dirty sound.

“look at how pretty you are, taking me so well. all fucking mine.” he marvels, rocking your body against him even harder.

skin slaps together, and his pace is making your legs tremble. you can feel the party raging on underneath you, and it’s strangely even hotter in this setting.

“shit, you fill me up so good matt.” you tell him, catching his eyes for a second before he throws his head back.

“fuck.”

he’s hitting it so well, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with every stroke. it’s turning him into an even bigger mess.

“god, if you keep that up i’m not gonna last much longer.” he warns, bucking his hips into you at a slightly different angle.

you cry out at the new sensation, a guttural noise that you didn’t even know you could make.

“i’m so close, right there babe.”

matt listens perfectly, using the hand on your waist to guide you so that you bounce against his thighs in the same spot. you’re a whining mess, and you can’t keep looking in the mirror.

you feel the tears as your eyes screw shut. the fire in your stomach is growing, spreading throughout your whole body. he tugs your roots a little bit more.

“come all over my dick, pretty girl. it’s all yours.”

his words are what send you over the edge, and your body shudders as you feel yourself giving in to the high, releasing all over him.

“fuck, matt, stay inside.” you pant, and he groans loudly.

two more sloppy strokes and you feel him tense, filling you up as he finishes. matt lets go of your hair, dragging his fingers along your shoulders, you back. you look so fucked out, makeup smudged slightly under your eyes, and you both love it.

he pulls out slowly, giving you one last tiny pat on your ass.

you’ve both got stars in your eyes as you stand, and you can feel the wetness pool against your thighs. thank god you’re on birth control. this was a special occasion anyways.

you turn, and matt immediately pulls you in for a kiss. you smile slightly, because you can’t help it.

“come on, i need to get cleaned up.” you pull away slightly.

“fine.” he sighs, but he lets you go regardless.

you wipe yourself off with some toilet paper quickly and flush it while he redresses. you two have been missing for minute now.

you guess it doesn’t really matter. sure, you should probably be discrete about having sex around your friends. but you’re also together. officially.

“so, does this mean i can tell the other girls in your dms to fuck off?” you joke as you put your underwear back on, shimmying into your jeans next.

“you can honestly tell them whatever you want.” matt runs a hand through his hair, smiling at you like a fucking goofball.

you’re just situating your shirt into place when the door comes swinging open, revealing a very drunk nathan. you and matt freeze, completely unsure what to do.

his eyes go wide as he realizes what’s going on, mouth hanging open like he can’t believe it.

“woah. no fucking way”

#matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #fanfic #roommate au #smut

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literaila · 9 months

Note

can you please write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where the reader gets injured and when Peter comes to visit her in the hospital her crush is exposed because her heart monitor keeps going insane 🙏🙏 she’ll get really embarrassed and he may tease her a bit but ultimately her feelings end up being reciprocated. There could be some angst when she gets hurt but I am the number one fan of teeth-rotting fluff that will make me giggle and kick my feet 😍🫶 could be a friends to lovers situation or an established relationship if you’d like!!! I love ur writing <3

he’s trying to kill me

tasm!peter x fem!reader

a/n: it’s only proper for this to be a hurt reader comfort peter fic (and i mean that literally)

“what is wrong with you?”

you’re momentarily shocked when an accompanying voice bursts through the room. the words are loud and imposing, and completely distracting you away from the already rough rasp and egg smelling breath of the doctor trying to explain how reckless you were being.

but the new voice is angrier than the first; harder and louder.

there’s still uncertain goosebumps running up your skin when he walks through the doors with his chest heaving and eyes dark, pushing past the doctor like he doesn’t even realize that the woman is there, or just doesn’t care.

but his hands are gentle as they reach you, and his face is anything but shocking.

the doctor is glancing around his shoulder, a worried look in her eyes.

quickly, your muscles relax. you’re used to this imposition. your nerves settle, and you allow peter the chance to freak out for the both of you.

his hands run over your cheeks, his eyes darting over every possible inch of skin they can find. his frown is unburdened and furious. when he is satisfied with his scan of you—all limbs accounted for—peter’s shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

although you allow peter to pull you closer to him, his eyes are threatening, and not even your small greeting of a smile gets his face to settle.

he hugs you—crushing your head against his chest—and then quickly let’s you go, like he’s just realized that you’re made of lava.

but not too far, of course. peter is well within a foot distance.

“what is wrong with you?” he repeats, but a hiss this time. a punishment awaiting its victim. a demand of you. “are you crazy?”

your brows furrow back at him. “i’m fine, peter, now shush. let me listen to the doctor.” your voice is firm, but your chastising is ruined by the tip of a smile at your lips.

your hands wrap around peters arm, moving him away from blocking your view of the doctor.

you nod for her to continue.

“your x-rays came back fine, and there’s nothing unusual about your blood work. the only concern i have is about your head—“

“her head?” peter repeats, voice a bit high. you give him a look to shut up. pinching the skin of his arm, but he doesn’t flinch. just stares at you like you might disappear. or you gained four additional eyes.

she clears her throat. “it looks to be a minor concussion, but any more blunt force trauma might worsen your condition. so it’s important that you take extra precautions in the next couple of weeks, and avoid doing anything that might affect your head. no strenuous exercise, or harsh movement.”

“so no alleyway fist fights?”

she doesn’t laugh, and neither does peter. the tension within the room remains, swirling over you like a cumulonimbus cloud.

but he does interrupt once again. “could it get worse on its own?” he asks, eyes darting between you and her. “do i need to be watching for anything? checking her pupils every once in a while, or making sure she’s not excessively napping for the next couple of days—“

“it shouldn’t be necessary.” she looks back to you, and you can see the sarcasm in her eyes. “if you develop any unusual symptoms, schedule an appointment with your physician. but otherwise, you’re free to leave whenever they bring in your paperwork.”

you feel peter sigh next to you, and you shake your head. “thanks, doc.”

“i’ll have a nurse bring in a list of information about any reoccurring symptoms, and the healing process for your brain over the next month.”

you nod.

the doctor clears her throat once again, giving you a tight lipped smile and nodding at peter, and then she runs out of the room as fast as humanly possible.

you watch her go but peter is staring at you. eventually, when you’ve been dwelling on the pattern of the tile for a moment too long, you look back.

and what you see is expected; harsh lines and worried dimples, stormy eyes and a gash of a frown ruining his otherwise perfect face.

you sigh.

peter swallows. “are you going to explain yourself?”

you lean forward, small teasing smile on your lips as you rest your chin on a hand. “explain what? my headache?”

“c’mon, i’m serious,” his frown doesn’t budge, but he nudges your leg so he can sit down next to you. “what were you thinking?”

he sighs again, shoulders falling, and leans his head next to yours. when he’s this close, you can see the lines wearing under his eyes. you can smell smoke coming off of his skin.

“i was thinking that my doctor needs to improve her bedside manner, and that my boyfriend needs to learn how to wait his turn to speak.”

“i’m not kidding. you could’ve hurt yourself—you’ve already got a concussion.”

“a minor concussion.”

“does it matter?” peter mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“i’m fine, baby, all bandaged up and everything.”

peter pushes himself up, meeting your eyes with an unfound passion. “this time,” he urges, getting closer, he glances at the door. “but what about next time when you decide to jump off a building just to prove you can fly?”

“i’m not icarus,” you shake your head. “you needed help, peter. i’m not going to let someone get hurt just so i don’t.”

“that’s my job.”

“that’s every good samaritans job,” you roll your eyes, hand brushing through his hair, feeling the dirt build up under your fingertips. “just because you have an advantage over everyone else doesn’t mean that you’re the only one who gets to be a hero.”

“dying isn’t heroic.”

you scoff. “that’s actually the most heroic thing a person can do, but i’m going to let you have this one so you don’t go and get any ideas.”

he bites his lip, swallowing. “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“well so could you, but you don’t see me bursting into your room and interrupting—“

“that’s not the same thing.”

“how, peter?” you ask, shaking your head and giving him a small smile. “how is this any different?”

“because i can handle it!”

he moves away from you, and throws his head back, sighing out of frustration and looking at you with gentler, more pained eyes. “i can handle it,” he repeats.

“are you saying that if you were standing where i was you wouldn’t have pushed that woman out of the way?”

“i—“

“you cant expect me to watch you save everyone and not help when i can.”

peters eyes catch yours, and you watch him struggle to speak. but eventually he whispers, “you got hurt.”

“i’m okay, though. really.”

“i don’t…” peter shakes his head. “i don’t want, i can’t—ugh.”

you reach for his hand, running a finger over bruised knuckles. “i appreciate your concern,” you tell him, softly. “i know you’re just worried, but you have to let me make my own decisions. you cant rescue everyone all the time.”

“you would be enough.”

you snort. “peter, you have the worlds biggest savior complex. if you let a single person get hurt—even if they live in antarctica—you brood for days. i don’t expect you to watch other people suffer, but i need you to respect the same for me.”

your words are almost biting.

there’s a moment where peter looks at you, and then glances towards the wall. “are you mad?”

you frown. “no, of course not. annoyed or frustrated, maybe. but not mad.”

he gestures beside you with his head. “your hearts beating really fast.”

you look over to the screen next to your head, watching the lines rise and fall rapidly. and then down to your finger, with the cursed device making it apparent to everyone in the room.

“that’s just my resting heart rate,” you say, curled lip and waved hand.”

peter licks his lip. “oh, really?”

“yes, peter. you put on the finger thingy and let’s see how fast your hearts going.”

“i’m not the patient here. are you feeling alright? light headed? dizzy?”

“i’m feeling interrogated.”

peter moves closer to you, eyes darting towards the screen by your head, then to your eyes. he moves away, and his eyes squint. “hmm.”

you look with him, furrowed brows. “what?“

he leans forward again. “there seems to be a common factor.”

“i already told you—“

“every time i move closer to you your heart rate spikes.”

you roll your eyes. “that’s because i’m mad at you.”

“i thought you said you weren’t mad?”

“things have changed.”

peter laughs and leans down to kiss your hairline. when he moves back his eyes aren’t on you. a small smirk falls on his lips, and he moves to kiss your cheek. and then the other.

you don’t need to watch your heart rate to feel the heat rising in your chest.

he leaves a peck on your nose, and moves to kiss the side of your jaw. his kisses are gentle and ticklish, and when his nose runs along your cheekbone, you have to refrain from shivering.

he’s incredibly annoying.

peter moves back as little as possible so he can watch the screen. “maybe i should leave the room.”

“maybe you should get over yourself.”

peter moves forward again, kissing your cupids bow. and then his lips are at your ear and his fingertips are grazing your jaw.

“you first,” he whispers.

you groan and tilt your head, trying to shake him off of you. “this isn’t fair. get your own monitor.”

“let’s just focus on you right now.”

your hand locks around his neck, the other moving to his hair. peters eyes are almost shocked at the feeling, but his momentary surprise gives you the perfect opportunity to pull him closer.

to actually kiss him and avoid dying of any more teasing.

peters smile is evident against your lips, but he doesn’t move away, and his breath meets your own in gentle strokes.

his hand is smooth as he tilts your chin up.

you can feel your own heartbeat, but peter takes his other hand so he can rest two fingers against your neck, feeling for your pulse.

you want to die at the feeling.

“interesting,” he says, his lips brushing yours.

you roll your eyes while they’re still closed, and hope that he can feel it. “shut up.”

peter laughs again, and guides you in short but tense kisses, like he’s trying to make sure that you’re still breathing.

he doesn’t budge when you try to force him closer.

and before you can get him to kiss you properly again, there’s a clearing of a throat, and a different kind of spike in your heartbeat.

a nurse stands behind peter, looking a bit uncomfortable.

peter moves away, swallowing, and greeting the nurse with a shake of his hand. she’s holding a clipboard and a juice box, giving the two of you a brief smile. “sorry to interrupt,” she says.

peter laughs and looks back at you with wide eyes.

you smile, then point at peter. “he’s trying to kill me.”

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darling-i-read-it · 9 months

Text

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it.

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin.

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress.

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away.

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look.

“We’re in for one.”

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head.

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel.

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely.

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant.

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment.

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing.

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.”

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said.

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you.

“Taking my 15.”

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile.

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered.

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.”

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot.

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.”

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?”

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food.

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh.

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift.

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.”

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you.

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.”

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation.

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off.

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it.

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town.

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.”

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock.

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.”

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway.

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered.

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.”

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded.

“How was the chief?”

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?”

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest.

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?”

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!”

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all?

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!”

“You seen my phone?”

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there.

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water.

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use.

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table.

Right onto the stove.

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand.

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!”

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained.

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else.

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee.

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said.

“She what?!”

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car.

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say.

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest.

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted.

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting.

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor.

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said.

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted.

“I don’t think-”

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded.

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat.

“I had coffee spilled on me.”

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason.

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him.

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him.

“A stove did this?”

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.”

“And that’s okay?” You nodded.

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him.

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.”

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently.

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off.

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book.

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you.

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head.

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body.

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.”

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again.

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb.

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?”

“Five.” He applied more pressure.

“Now?”

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit.

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.”

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there.

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.”

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly.

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.”

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained.

“Son?” you asked.

“Edward.”

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger.

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described.

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away.

“Sounds like a task.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner.

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle.

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?”

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.”

“You’re such a wingwoman!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.”

Part 2

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x fem!reader #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x fem!reader #carlisle cullen x reader x charlie swan #charlie swan x fem!reader x carlisle cullen #twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction

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shayyprasad · 4 months

Text

right next door // part two | peter parker

summary: summary: you move in right next door to a cutie, problem is, he isn't much of a talker. or anything at all. but it's okay, because you're dead-set on getting him to warm up to you.

warnings: none, maybe cursing?

pairing: post-nwh!peter parker x fem!bubbly!reader

word count: 2.0k+ words

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you yelped, and in panic, threw down the dish towel onto the fire, hastily trying to get rid of it. you nervously glanced up at the alarm, sighing in relief when it didn’t go off.

well, that relief?

it lasted two seconds.

the loud blaring sound made you jump, and you whined.

“are you kidding me? you have to be kidding me. seriously, i mean, it’s my first freaking day here and i’ve already messed it up. everyone’s gonna freaking hate me. i’ll have neighbors that hate me! and then they’ll kick me out and arsenate me and-”

you cut yourself off, realizing that you had to get out of the apartment.

“screw you, stupid oven!” and for good measure, you threw the measuring cup at it, only slightly wincing at the loud bang.

sighing, you exited the flat, dreading what was yet to come. there were already people out in the hall, cursing and grumbling under their breath. you paused in front of the elevator before realizing that wasn’t going to pass. you slipped into the crowd that was already down the stairs, checking the time on your phone.

you didn’t bring anything else but that, knowing that it wasn’t an actual fire.

you know because you’re the one who set it off.

it was 10:47pm, so not everyone had been sleeping, but there was also a large chuck of people who were.

several people were dressed in their pjs, including yourself. all you had on was a black satin shirt, paired with matching shorts.

…which were definitely short.

you tugged them down as far as you could, biting down on your lips. you were on the literal verge of a mental breakdown. how did everything go so south, so fast?

were you really that incapable of taking care of yourself?

you needed to be more responsible, you thought.

you exited through the front, and the cold air hit you like a brick, making you shiver. to say it was cold outside was an understatement.

it was absolutely freezing.

blowing out breath, you watched as the white cloud dissipated. out of the corner of your eye, you spotted peter. mustering up all the courage you could, you walked over, hugging your sides to warm up.

“um, hi. again.”

he looked over at you, tilting his head slightly. your heart was racing, thudding against your ribcage so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

you held your breath, afraid that he’d hear your racing heart.

no, you scoffed in your head, that’s impossible.

“hey,” his voice was slightly raspy, mussed with sleep.

you shivered again, but not just because of the cold. your brows knitted in guilt, you must’ve woken him up as well.

“some idiot, huh?” you blurted.

“what?” he asked, recoiling slightly, as he straightened up.

“who bakes cookies this late?” god, you needed to shut up. now.

“uh, cookies?”

“well, you know. you can start a fire by baking cookies,” you stammered, trying to amend what you’d already said.

“yeah. i guess.”

you rubbed your arms harder, watching the firemen inspect the building.

“here,” you turned to see peter thrust something towards you. squinting, you realized it was a jacket.

“oh, no, it’s okay, really.”

“you’re cold,” peter said bluntly.

“yes, but-”

“just take it. you can return it later if it’ll make you feel better.”

“are you sure?”

“if i wasn’t sure, i wouldn’t be giving it to you.”

“oh, um, okay. thank you.” reluctantly, you slipped it on.

it smelled like pinewood and… peter, you supposed. you clutched it closer, inhaled the scent. was it weird that you instantly felt so comforted?

“it’s not a biggie.”

you smiled at him anyways, and he quickly looked away.

one of the firemen walked up to the crowd, throwing his hands up. “we’re good. just some dunce set it off. no fire or anything.”

you forced out a laugh, “yeah. what a dunce.”

waking alongside peter, you went back up to your room. standing in front of your room door, you smiled softly at him, no less bright than the one before.

he pulled out his keys, and you opened your mouth, “have a goodnight peter. sleep well.”

this time, he looked at you. for the first time, he actually held eye contact.

he really looked at you.

“you too,” peter murmured, before slipping into the darkness of his room.

if you were being honest, you weren’t sure if he liked you or not. truly, you couldn’t tell. last night, and he didn’t even really do anything, but it seemed like there wasn’t pure annoyance in his voice.

that was a start, right? i mean, that had to count for something? right?

right?

probably. most likely? you didn’t know.

honestly, you didn’t know anything when it came to him. you were trying to talk to him, but he kept brushing you off.

oh, well. you’d make it work.

you had dough left over from last night, and you really wanted to put it to use. “i can’t waste it,” you murmured, biting your lip. “but, god, i don’t need a part two of last night. that would be terrible. there goes any hope of peter freaking parker liking me back. as a friend, duh. for now. maybe.”

pulling it out of the fridge, you grabbed some cookie cutters and a baking pan. you clipped off the top of the tupperware box, tearing off a small piece of dough. it tasted like home.

you’d used the same recipe as your mother, in hopes that it would cure some of your homesickness. but standing here with raw chocolate chip dough in your stomach, you felt rather opposed to that.

sure, you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love them.

you did.

they were overbearing, and that was alright. they were just more careful given… given what happened.

it was reasonable. after all, you were all they had left now.

“nope. no. think happy thoughts. we think happy thoughts.”

no matter what though, you couldn’t help but reminisce about the times when you’d get scolded for eating the dough uncooked. you and… her.

“happy thoughts, y/n. ohhh-kay. where are those instructions?”

you didn’t really want to do this, but you also did. and didn’t (you had serious ptsd from that incident). after being indecisive a bit longer, you decided to make the cookies. hopefully, you wouldn’t burn them this time. first, you preheated the oven.

“okay, okay, i got this.” you glanced back at the phone, just to make sure you were doing this right. grabbing a rolling pin, you flattened out the dough (tearing off one more piece, just to… just to make sure it tasted the way it should. [it did.]). you picked up a cookie cutter before pressing it into the dough, sliding it around a bit to make sure it went all the way through.

you repeated the action a few more times, and then peeled away the excess. doing the same with what was left, you stepped back and admired your work, feeling confident.

“oven time!” sliding them in, you shut the door. you picked up your phone once more, setting a timer for 15 minutes.

maybe you could trial and error it?

since you had some time, you decided to get ready. you planned on giving peter the freshly baked cookies, and you didn’t want to show up in ratty, old pajamas.

you opened your closet, humming. you weren’t planning in going outside, so perhaps you could throw on a casual dress. filing through the racks some more, you settled on a light blue dress, once with short, puffy sleeves.

it was casual, but it was cute casual. you slipped it on, putting on some light makeup and brushing your hair. by the time you were done, you thought it looked quite presentable. you grabbed a random jacket from the corner of the bed and threw it on.

you moved back into the kitchen, checking in on the cookies. sure, they seemed a little misshaped, but they looked almost like how your mother used to make them. they were a soft, golden-brown at the edges, the chips melted into soft circles of black. you put on an oven mitt and pulled them out.

hesitantly, you picked one up and took a bit of it.

“it’s… not bad? it’s not terrible.”

and it wasn’t. it tasted relatively like one’s that would be made at home. “…kind of.”

oh, well. you didn’t have anything else to give to peter, so why not?

you grabbed the tupperware and set the dessert inside carefully, trying to fit them all in (except for a few for yourself). taking a deep breath, you swung the door open, locking it behind you. actually, you weren’t sure why you locked it, you were literally walking two feet away.

“new york is getting the best of me,” you muttered. new york was also getting you to talk to yourself more often.

it was deeply off-putting.

you paced for a couple minutes outside of his door, contemplating what to say. “hey, peter. you’re hot and i wanna smash you, but i need to have some courtesy first.” you paused.

“yeah, no. what about ‘i really like you and i have the biggest crush on you, despite the fact i don’t know you at all, but i need some friends before i totally lose it and i need you.’?”

you groaned, “that’s definitely worse. y’know what? i’ll wing it. i did improv in freshman for, like, three months. i’m basically a pro. how hard can it be?”

you inhaled and, after a moment, knocked. there was some shuffling and crashing on the other side, and instinctively, you leaned into the door, pressing your ear to it. not even a second later, the door opened and you went tumbling into someone.

well, not someone.

peter.

if it weren’t for him catching you, you would’ve face-planted. his arms were around your waist, and your hands were pressed against his chest. he smelled… like peter.

it was silly to describe it like that, but he had a certain comfort.

it took you a moment to process what just happened, but once you did, you pulled away quickly. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean for that to happen at all!”

he raised an eyebrow, “i doubt you would.”

“um,” you dropped your eyes to the box, sighing in relief when it hadn’t opened when it hit the ground, “i just,” picking them up, “-here.” okay, so improv was harder than you thought.

you thrusted the cookies into his chest.

“cookies?”

“yes, uh, yeah… like a… thanks for being my neighbor?”

“i didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“oh. right. okay, how about… thanks for the jacket?”

“the one you have on currently?”

“what?” you looked down, and as soon as you did, you turned bright red. “i honestly had no clue i was even wearing this! i-i just grabbed a random one, and y’know, i didn’t look-”

“relax. it was an observation.”

“okay. uh, okay. i’ll get this washed.”

“like i said before, no biggie.”

you fiddled with your ring, pressing your lips together.

“i thought you burned the last batch.”

you looked up, “sorry?”

peter shook the box lightly, “the last batch of cookies. didn’t you burn them?” there was a ghost of a smile on his face, and you felt your heartrate pick up.

“i don’t…?”

“i could hear cursing and a buncha noise. thin walls. and… you weren’t so subtle ‘bout it last night.”

“oops. sorry.” you rubbed the back of your neck, “that was me. sorry again. really, especially if you were sleeping. i’m seriously so sorry about that.”

“it’s fine. i wasn’t sleeping.”

when you glanced at his face, you saw how he looked torn. like he really wanted to say something, but he didn’t. “uh, thanks for these.”

“of course!” you winked at him playfully, “and if you ever need anything, i’m right next door.”

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #fluff #angst #tom holland x you #peter parker imagine #right next door part two #right next door

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wroteclassicaly · 5 months

Note

maybe I'm late to kink hour but cmon Gator has a spit kink

Oooh, he probably has so many kinks he’s never been able to try, tbh. But we’ll focus on this one for now ;)

Warnings: Spit, spit kink, & language. Kinda smutty, but no actual smut?

It starts off with normal banter and moves quicker than anticipated. You’ve been annoying Gator in the office all day, even following him outside to bitch. No one else got involved with helping him at home, not really. So you’d rode in the patrol car to his place, pissed and bitching about the cold and the snow (despite being used to it), and why he can’t get someone else who will tolerate him.

“People are busy, s’ why they aren’t around. You know that.”

“Probably one of the reasons, is because of that nasty fucking thing.” You sneer, criticizing with a gloved hand towards his gross flavored vape.

His accentuated jawline tightens, freckles bouncing with the movement of his skin as it stretches across the bone. A cloud of vapor expands into winter’s frost, polluting the air with an acidic fruit scent. You make a gagging noise, egging him on when you see how pissed he’s getting. You don’t realize, that in the midst of enjoying his unease, he loses his temper and reacts. With a quick movement of hair gel gleaming under the winter sun - his calculated movements catch when your mouth opens next to mimic him.

His lips part and he leans, spitting a wad directly into your mouth. You’re appalled at first, shocked, literally choking on - not your own saliva, but his. And it tastes exactly like the item he inhales one more hit off of, before blowing it into your face.

Are your eyes watering? Ears ringing? Blood rushing? Yes, but not because of sadness, anxiety, or anger. No, it’s a buried emotion of what you’ve gambled on since you’ve known him, and among the bodily exchange - a realization. You liked it. You feel claimed, rather than mocked.

“That taste good, babydoll? You’re lucky I wasn’t chewin’.” His boots crunch in the snow as he attempts to walk away, but you reach out and grab his leather clad arm, squeezing.

You aren’t sure what you attempted to accomplish? A half assed remark, a berating lashing? As Gator turns and receives your physical message, he raises a brow, bordering on amused, annoyed, and ready to fight. But what he sees isn’t what he’d expect in a million years. You don’t spit, you swallow - straight down, your pupils expanding rapidly, eyes darting towards his mouth, still wet with projectile.

He’s got power. All the power here in this moment, but more importantly — you accepted what he gave and then you imprinted on him, the mold of keys to open previously locked doors between the two of you. His fingers reach out and dig the class ring (similar to his own, that he keeps put away) from beneath your blouse, that’s visible through your partially zipped coat. He tugs you closer, his frame smelling of cologne, copious amounts of hair product, and that damn vape. It’s overwhelming and you can’t focus, not even to answer him.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Come on now, darlin’. You afraid to look at me again? Because I don’t know if you were there with me a minute ago, but you were eyein’ my mouth like it was a sugar coated carnival prize.”

Still nothing. He wants more. He needs more.

That crafted nose nuzzles its way behind your ear, hot air on your neck that travels straight to your nipples and curls your toes as they sit in your boots. His voice is a low whisper, a damned rasp.

“You know what else I could spit on?”

// Eat me paragraph //

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rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

The return of your best friend was something that made your heart flutter and beat to the rhythm of his words, but there he was, framed before you like the mountain peaks of your small town, and he had a secret — a secret that would change everything.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☘︎ Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ 3.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☘︎ Light angst, copious amounts of fluff (literally and figuratively) ჻჻჻ TROPES: Idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☘︎ You all know me by now, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ☘︎ Tidal Wave (Acoustic) by Old Sea Brigade

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟭 — Lumberjack AU — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The air was crisp with freshly fallen snow, and the mountain peaks in the backdrop of your small town were dusted with a coat of white – a picturesque view for the drive to work, with the heaters of your truck on full blast, of course.

Music played quietly over the speakers as you hummed along, content and happy for the opportunistic day. Business had been booming. Your shop had turned into quite the hive of activity in the past few weeks from the season change – spring was on the way, and with it, came endless possibilities.

It also meant that James would be setting out to start work for the busiest period of the year, given the blistering winter that had hammered your small town left the woods treacherous and dangerous, even for a man of his skill and wit.

A lumberjack’s work was never easy.

Your shop – a perfect mix of a bakery, cafe, and bookstore – came into view as you turned the corner, the snow tires of your old truck crunching over the road. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon so the warm tones of the wood frames of the outside looked bleak. “Need to get some hardy vines…” you mumbled, pulling into your parking space.

“Morning, babe,” a voice called. You looked up from your keys to find Wanda – the town’s florist, and your best friend.

“Hey, you,” you returned, smiling happily. The click of the door lock sounded and you looked down to check it. “I can’t wait for this chill to be gone. How’re you?”

Wanda chuckled. “Same old, same old.”

There was a sly smirk on her lips when you glanced up again, and you narrowed your eyes. “What are you planning? I know that look.”

“Bucky is coming into town today, or so, the rumours say…”

“Oh my god,” you grumbled. “Not again. Yes, I know. And I am looking forward to seeing him.”

“Maybe you could–?”

You sighed heavily, knowing all too well what she was implying – having fallen head over heels for the mountain of a brooding bear that was your best friend. “No, Wands. I don’t want to lose what I have all because I can’t get my head outta the clouds, you know that. Besides, I am also looking forward to seeing my babies, Koda and Sarge.”

Wanda hummed happily. “I do miss those balls of fluff. You make sure you give them kisses from me, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Have a good day, babe.” You waved goodbye as Wanda turned to walk down the street to her shop.

The lights flicked on and your little slice of heaven came to life. Warm lights blazed over the earthy tones of browns and greens spread over the interior – golden spines of books shone, and the reflection of light on the glass display made you feel at home. Even though it had only been a few hours since you were last in your shop, coming back to it was like a tight, comforting hug.

“Let’s get this day started, huh?” You said happily, taking off your coat and switching on the heater, all the while walking towards the counter.

An hour later, the shop was filled with the smell of freshly baking bread, and the sweet smell of breakfast pastries. Coffee was brewing and the morning rush had just started – and your first customer? Steve, Bucky’s best friend.

“Hey, love,” Steve greeted, his hair packed under a dark blue beanie while his broad chest was covered in red plaid. His smile was contagious and unusually bright, and you couldn’t help but beam back at the bearded lumberjack. “How’ve you been? Keepin’ warm?”

“Stevie,” you breathed, rounding the corner of the counter to pull him into a tight embrace. “I have been great, keeping busy.” Pulling back, you moved back behind the counter and began the process of making his usual order. “How about you? How is Cap?”

“Causin’ trouble as always,” Steve said fondly, shaking his head. “The ball of fluff is in my truck, waitin’ ever impatiently for his puppacino.”

“Wait.” You paused in making Steve’s order to stare at him incredulously. “You brought my boy all the way here, and yet, you’re making him wait in the car.” The look on Steve’s face bled sheepishness, a sharp contrast to his goofy nature, but you didn’t let up. “Steven Grant–you get out that door and you bring that good boy into my shop.”

If Steve had a tail, it would have been pulled between his legs as he slunk out the door to his truck. Not even a moment later, the barking of an over-excited Cap could be heard over Steve’s yell of, “Easy, boy! Down!”

The door of your shop swung open, and a giant ball of fur bounded your way, tongue lolling, and black and white coat moving with his powerful muscles. “Cap!” you yelled, falling to your knees to greet the Malamute. “Hey, boy! Oh my gosh, look atchu!”

“It’s like you didn’t see him the other damn day,” Steve said, a ghost of a laugh in his words. “Drama queens, the pair a’you.”

“Don’t you dare insult my boy, Rogers,” you huffed, squishing Cap’s cheeks. The Malamute only opened his mouth in what could be perceived as one big smile. “He is precious, and for that, he is getting an extra treat.”

After sending Steve and Cap on their way, the morning rush began in earnest as the sun rose in the sky – casting yellow rays through the big windows that lined the front of your shop. People flocked to and fro on the sidewalk outside, stopping in for a steaming hot beverage or a sweet treat, and you felt at ease, falling into routine like a well oiled machine.

It was only when it hit nine o’clock did the hustle and bustle pass, and you worked at a more sedate pace. The display case of baked treats was considerably much emptier than when you opened for the day, and you grabbed two trays full of cookies to restock for the imminent lunch rush, when the bell sounded at the door.

You smiled and turned to greet the customer, only to freeze; the air in your lungs evaporating into nothing at the sight silhouetted by the sun.

“James,” you rushed, eyes wide, and smile even wider. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

The mountain that was your best friend stood in the doorway, a small smile on his full lips as he looked at you with such softness it turned your legs to jelly. His big boots were covered by black jeans that hugged his thighs, a dark blue and black plaid jacket stretched over his wide shoulders, and his long hair fell down in a swoop under his upturned collar.

Bucky opened his arms wide. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, tone gravelly and eyes bright. “Need my Clover to come an’ gimme a hug.”

The trays lay abandoned on the display, and you ran to Bucky, giggling all the way and colliding with his chest. “Oof!” He grunted, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and lower back. “Fuck, it’s good to see you, sweetheart. How have you been, huh?”

“Good, good! It’s been so lonely without you here!” you gushed, pulling back to look at him. He had a dark shadow of a beard on his jaw, and his smile framed his handsome face perfectly. “How was the scouting? How are you?”

Bucky gave you one last squeeze and threw an arm over your shoulder, walking you to a couch in the reading nook in the back corner. “It was boring, as usual–should be ready to start this logging season. And I’m good, Sarge and Koda missed you, too. Almost as much as I did.”

“Oh, my babies,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his middle so you could squeeze him tightly. “Alright, sit down and I’ll knock somethin’ together for you.”

“You betcha,” Bucky said. The couch creaked under him and he groaned loudly. “Fuck, this couch is my favourite fuckin’ thing–”

“I thought I was,” you interrupted, pouting at him. Bucky laughed.

The hiss of the coffee machine filled the comfortable silence, when you realised something. “Wait, where are my babies, James?” Bucky froze on the couch, and eyed you apprehensively – the action made you put your hands on your hips and stare at him pointedly. “Where are my babies?” you asked again.

“I left them in the truck because I needed a damn minute of silence, and Iwantedyoutomyselfforaminute…” The last part was a rushed mumble, and you blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky hastily said, and he stood from the couch. Another loud groan left his lips as he stretched – if you stared while his eyes were closed, that was your business. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

“Good, you do that, mister,” you huffed. “Coming in here without my babies. No wonder why you and Stevie are best friends.”

The comment made a loud howl of laughter to leave Bucky as he opened the door, and walked out. You shook your head fondly and made a round of two puppuccinos – extra large.

“Sarge, heel. Good boy–no, Koda, baby, ah, fuck it,” Bucky rambled from just outside the shop, and you watched through the window as two giant balls of fur ran around his legs, bounding and yipping for all their worth. “Yes, you’re seein’ her! Calm down, easy.”

You laughed and strode around the corner to take a seat on the couch that Bucky had occupied just moments before – the two dogs that would burst through that door any second would have no qualms on bowling you over if you knelt on the wooden floor.

“Alright, goddamn it, guys,” Bucky groaned, fending off paws and wet noses. “I open this door, and you two better be on your best behaviour.” Two loud barks answered his words, and the door flew open with a clatter of the bell.

The same two balls of fur and fluff barrelled into the (thankfully, empty) shop, looking around for their friend, until they spotted you at last. “My babies!”

You were lost in a flurry of black, white, and brown fur. “Oh my gosh, yesyesyes,” you gasped, shaking your head side to side to abate the worst of the incessant licks to your face. “Hi babies! Oh, lookatchu!”

A quiet chuckle sounded from above you, and you opened your eyes to find Bucky looming over you, phone in hand. “Are you recording my death–my death by fur and fluffiness?”

“Yep,” Bucky replied, grinning. “Gotta give somethin’ to everyone to remember you by.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to sit up, though it was impossible with Koda laying over you, and Sarge hogging your legs. “Barnes, help me.”

“Nope.” He smirked, plopping down on the couch, right next to your head. “You can stay there for a lil’ while longer, darlin’.”

“You are the worst,” you groaned. “These babies are heavy. Fine. I will be crushed and it’ll be your fault.”

Bucky only shrugged and slid down the couch cushions, then he gently moved your head so you could rest it on his thigh. “Thank you,” you hummed, and Bucky smiled, his hand resting on your shoulder.

Silence fell between you two – the comfortable kind that was shared so often when you both were just content to be in one another’s presence.

“I’ve fuckin’ missed you, Clover,” Bucky mumbled, and his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek gently, lovingly. The rough skin of his hand was warm and it made something clunk in your mind – you could only hope it wouldn’t show on your face. “So damn much. I hate goin’ scoutin’–rather be home, here.”

You looked up at Bucky from your vantage point – his upside down face and thoughtful gaze, a small frown on his lips.

“I know, I know, Jamie. I know,” you whispered soothingly back, running one hand through Koda’s black fur, and moving the other one to rest over Bucky’s. “But you’re here now, you know I will always wait for you–you’re my best friend.”

The small frown turned into a fond smile. “Luckiest fella, I am. Havin’ a sweetheart like you to call his–”

Your heart seized. The words, while you knew they didn’t mean what you hoped for, still hit like a punch to the guts, and it was an effort to keep your face blank and void of the realisation. You wanted Bucky, and for much more than just a best friend.

“–Girl, huh? Why don’t we get an early lunch, darlin’?”

“I own the best cafe, James.”

Bucky laughed at your comment and shook his head. “I didn’t say we couldn’t have lunch here, you dork. Why don’t you make it to go, and we take my truck out to the clearin’?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, you brought a basket to the counter and pointed to it. “Lunch, and you get to carry it because it is heavy.”

“You just want an excuse to see me be a man, sweetheart,” Bucky teased, and you narrowed your eyes.

“Shut up, you idiot. Now, c’mon,” you urged, “I gotta be back for the actual lunch rush.”

Bucky saluted and took the aforementioned basket, only for his eyes to widen. “The hell you pack in this? Bricks?”

“I packed for Koda and Sarge,” you said simply, shrugging one shoulder. The two dogs ran to the door after Bucky, and you followed, your heart in your throat.

The drive to the clearing was pleasant, if only chilly – but it gave you the excuse to steal one of Bucky’s good jackets from the back seat. He only rolled his eyes and pulled into a parking spot. “Sure, you can use one,” he said, “Don’t want my darlin’ gettin’ cold now, do I?”

“No,” you replied smugly. “Thank you.”

Bucky snorted and opened the door, sliding out. “Koda, Sarge, c’mon.” The two dogs jumped from the car and bounded into the trees, kicking grass and snow up in their wake.

Something felt off, however – a sense of impending something was hanging tantalisingly over your head. Something was going to happen, and you had no idea what it could have been. You swallowed thickly, and opened your door to exit the warm cabin of Bucky’s truck. “It’s not that bad out here, thank god,” you commented.

It was the truth. The sun had warmed the chill in the air to be bearable, and while the snow hadn’t fully melted just yet, it was stunningly pretty to see the light bounce off crisp white mounds – that both Koda and Sarge barrelled through, their coats becoming covered in the soft snow.

“Sure is pretty,” Bucky affirmed, smiling at you – and the feeling of apprehension doubled in intensity. “Let’s dig in, I’m starvin’.”

“One thing we can agree on,” you hummed, walking to a picnic table under a gazebo. “I packed extra because you are a garbage disposal.”

“Hey!” Bucky chided. “Ain’t my fault that I’m a growin’ man, alright?”

You raised a brow and stared at him, and then you broke into a fit of laughter as Bucky scowled. “You’re not wrong, Jamie–you look like a bear on steroids. Have you been weightlifting trees?”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Well, it’s my job, sweetheart, kinda have to lift them somehow.”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I would have thought you wrestled with a bear, considering you’re one of ‘em now.” The urge to repeat the joke you had made with him became overwhelming. “You could say… you’re a Bucky Bear.”

“Ha ha,” Bucky deadpanned, reaching for the basket. “Real funny, Clover–real funny.”

The meal passed in spurs of conversation – you caught Bucky up on the gossip of the town and what Wanda had been up to, and then Bucky caught you up on Steve and Sam’s ventures on site, or how they wouldn’t stop teasing him about a situation that he refused to divulge.

“So,” you began, watching Bucky’s flickering gaze, and how his hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. “What did Stevie and Sam tease you for?” Taking a bite of your lunch, you chewed slowly, growing increasingly intrigued by Bucky’s show of nerves.

“Y’know, normal shit,” Bucky said evasively, “they were bein’ assholes, like usual.”

Deciding to poke the bear, you probed further. “Doesn’t sound like it’s nothing, Jamie. Do I gotta tell them boys off?”

“No,” Bucky rushed, flushing slightly. “No, I got it.”

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, narrowing your eyes. Bucky was fidgeting something fierce, his usual aloof and charming aura had vanished – replaced with something akin to what he was like as a nervous teenager. “Jamie… are you alright?”

Bucky looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and he swallowed. “Clover, if you had-” His brows furrowed, like he was considering, or regretting, his words. “If you had the chance to tell the one–the one, would you do it? Tell them, or- Or ask them out?”

“Oh,” you said immediately. The question made the air in your lungs leave in a sweep – it was happening, Bucky had found someone. “Um, I-I,” you faltered, and you cleared your throat while placing your lunch down on the paper wrapping. “I, uh- Yeah. Yeah I would. Why?”

Something flashed across Bucky’s eyes and your stomach twisted. It was almost too much to bear.

“Well,” Bucky said slowly, his hand twitching on the table, like he wanted to move it but couldn’t. “Clover, darlin’–uh, would you-”

Two loud barks cut him off and Koda, followed by Sarge, ran up to Bucky and pawed at his thighs. “Really? Now?” Bucky grit out. He fished through the basket and split a large dog biscuit. “Now go on, get.”

“You were saying?” you chuckled, watching the dogs run off with their trophy.

Bucky flushed a deeper pink, and he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. His hand that had twitched just before reached across the table, open. Automatically, you took it, knowing he must need the comfort – hell, you needed it yourself, your heart was hammering so hard it felt like a rib was breaking. Whatever he was going to say was obviously hard, but you would take it and help him, he was your best friend.

“Would you wanna be- God fuckin’ damn, why is this so hard,” he cursed, frowning.

“Take your time, Bucky, baby, you’re okay,” you soothed, rubbing your thumb over his scarred knuckles. “I’m here, and I don’t mind waiting. You say it when you’re ready.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart fracture – surely he would only be acting this way if-

“Would you wanna be my Clover? My girl?”

What?

“Wait- What? Did you- Did you just–?” you floundered. Shock cascaded through every fibre of your being, and you watched as Bucky stared at you, almost imploringly. “Hang on, hang on.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispered, his hand squeezing yours once.

You took a singular second to think about what he had just asked. After all this time, after all that pining, the teasing from Sam and Steve must have been about you. It must have been about how- But that meant Bucky was serious. And… “Oh my god. Yes,” you blurted, staring into his eyes. “Yes–fuck, Jamie, I have–”

“I knew.”

“What?” you squeaked, terrified you had been far too obvious.

“I knew that I, uh- Liked you, sweetheart,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I just… didn’t know how to approach it ‘till the assholes cornered me on site, demanding to know why the fuck I looked like a loon–smiling at nothing, when I was remembering you.”

A heavy breath left your lips, trembling only slightly. “So that’s why Stevie came into my shop this morning, smiling so big! After all this time,” you wondered out loud. “Just- Wow. Wow.”

“Well, now,” he began, chuckling quietly when his much larger hand engulfed yours. “Now I have my own lil’ four leaf clover.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #alternate juneiverse 2023 #rookthorne's works #POH

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peeweekey · 2 months

Text

sweet like

word count: 1.5 k

synopsis: love confessions are not easy, having nosy neighbours isn’t either—but loving sam is different, it’s as easy as breathing.

a/n: samson my beloved, youre allergic to pollen but accepted my bouquet anyway. 😔❤️

edit: sweet like is now on ao3! here

today’s the day, you’re really going to do it. no ifs or buts.

you swear you will, but damn if it isn’t messing with your head. it’s definitely the nervousness or heat stroke symptoms causing the overly-conscious way you regard all other shoppers in pierre’s general store. you feel the uneven, erratic thrum of your pulse underneath your skin.

your hands are cold and clammy and disgustingly sweaty as a bright bouquet of tulips, poppies, sweet peas and fairy roses is unceremoniously slid across the store counter and bundled into your arms. the smell is dizzyingly perfumed. pierre doesn’t bat an eye though the knowing glint just tells you that he knows.

you and sam have been friends for as long as you started living in the valley. he’s a literal ball of sunshine compacted into a 5’10 body, and he’s sweet—maybe at times a little sloppy and forgetful but those quirks make him all the more lovable—to you.

and you admit yes, you did have a crush on him—and after watching his band’s performance in zuzu city, it got even worse. suddenly the ignition jump started the thrum of your heart—beating at race car speeds at the mere mention of his name. restless and anxious

so, here you are, buying a bouquet (one you could surely make yourself, but according to abigail buying this exact one is town tradition) at 10 am in the morning, in front of all your nosy neighbours.

you clutch the flowers tighter to your chest as caroline cranes her neck to take a peek. slowing down as she restocks the shelves. shameless, these people are sharks to blood when it comes to gossip.

you shoot her a wary glare, lips pursed together. pushing open the door to the shop, the little entrance bell rings with your exit.

after your realization, you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, the skies seem brighter and clearer, with soft fluffy clouds suspended in them. the breeze is soft and refreshing, while the sun is a comforting warmth at your back.

not even a few steps past the stardrop saloon do you feel any different.

adrenaline pumps through your veins as you see a flash of familiar spiked-up golden hair in your periphery. you feel your breath stutter as you reflexively stuff the delicate bouquet in your pack and snap it shut.

you turn your back, clutching a hand to your chest—you feel your heart racing underneath your fingertips as well as the heat rising up your skin. it’s fine, you reason, you’ll play it off as sunburn.

you slap at your cheeks, encouragingly.

the aforementioned man, skates towards you, calling your attention. turning, you nod your head in greeting, offering him a less than wobbly smile.

you wait until the skateboard skids to a stop, sam stops a few feet from you. his breaths slightly labored from the effort, he’s still as bright and cheery as ever

“sam,” you cringe as your voice cracks into an awkward pitch. he perks up at the mention of his name, giving you an enthusiastic wave. you swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“hey farmer,” he smiles, sam sets one of his feet down from on his skateboard. “it’s really bright out today. what’cha up to?”

“i was looking for you, actually.”

“and i’m here!” he replies before sheepishly adding. “that’s a coincidence. i was going to go visit you—well, before i forgot.”

“really,” your stomach traitorously flutters. “what for?”

“to give you something,” he says breezily, sam digs around in his pant pockets, seemingly looking for something. “i swear i have the thingy in here somewhere..”

you watch as he fumbles around looking for the thingy. Your mind drifts to the scrunched up bouquet sitting in your pack. you hadn’t expected running into him so soon—

maybe, you think. you aren’t as ready as you think.

“ahh, here it is!”

sam fishes out a rectangular shaped object from his back pocket, its slim and clear. you tilt your head in curiosity and he smiles wider.

“a cassette of the band’s song,” he tells you, grabbing your limp hand to stuff it into your palm. “listen to it! you have a cassette player on your farm, right?”

the momental brush of his hand against yours has you stumbling over your mess of thoughts and feelings. it is a little pathetic, to be acting like a lovesick teenager again—you groan to yourself. “yeah, i do.”

the cassette is light in your palm, the hard plastic case is covered in sharpied lightning bolts and smiley faces—along with the careful engraving of your name. the hand drawn designs are wonky and childlike (you suspect he asked vincent to draw them), but it’s yours.

he made this for you.

you feel the giddy warmth spread all throughout your body—concentrated in your chest and stomach which twists with some emotion you’re too confused to name.

“i couldn’t find you after the performance,” he confesses. you peek up from the cassette at his face—his cheeks are bright pink with bashfulness. “it was too crowded, i wanted to give you the first sample recording.”

standing on willow street in front of his family house with the sun beating down on you, sweat dripping down your temple, flowers haphazardly stuffed into your backpack. you’re literally buzzing with energy—the warmth, inside and out, is making your head spin.

you feel your mouth moving before you can even register what you’re saying, feverish words tumble out.

voice a tad strangled, you rasp. “sam.”

he looks down at his skateboard, his attention; short and slipping away. “yeah?”

“be my boyfriend.”

“sure!” he pauses, processing what you said, his eyes whip back up to stare into yours—wide and so, so blue. “waaait.. wuuh—”

“i was—uh, do you want to know why i wanted to visit you today?” you ramble on, tracing the cassette case edges with sweaty fingers. the beat of your heart is a resounding thumping sound in your eardrums. “actually, this is not how i planned things, but got nervous, you make me nervous.”

you shrug off your backpack, the heavy weight of it that once was grounding you groaned as it hit the ground. you open the flap and produce the now crumpled flowers—stems bent and broken, petals missing but the smell is still overwhelmingly sweet. you hold out the bouquet to him with shaky fingers, the cassette held in your other hand clasped behind your back.

“—i wanted to make this a little more special…” you sigh nervously, eyes squeezed shut while your bottom lip is chewed between worrying teeth. “it’s all crumpled, sorry…”

“i think this is plenty special already.”

you feel as he moves closer, plucking the flowers out of your hands. now, there’s barely any space between the both of you. your eyes snap open, mouth slightly gaping as he takes a long sniff full of flowers.

your heart sings for joy as he does—but the concerningly wet sneeze he lets out makes you furrow your brow in realization.

he’s goddamn allergic.

your eyes widen, reaching for the flowers. “sam, you’re allergic to pollen!”

your fingers barely brush the stems when he pull the flowers away from you. sam laughs, bright and pure—one that sounds like it came deep from his gut. you flush deeper in embarrassment, and a little in confusion.

“so? you gave me these. i like them!”

“i can’t believe it slipped my mind,” you cringe. “don’t keep them! the stems are all twisted and broken anyway.”

he sneezes again, shaking his head petulantly, his nose pinkened with irritation, a small sound of mortification exits your mouth. how can you be so forgetful?

digging through your backpack, you grab the small pack of tissues you usually use to dab off sweat easily. you take one out of the pack and stretch it out towards him.

instead of your offered tissue, sam grabs you by the wrist, tugging you to him. you follow with not much of a fight, a confusing mixture of nervous and giddy energy you’ve become. he holds you still against him, his arms coming behind you to wrap the both of you together tightly.

you go limp against him, head buried his shoulder. you think, you fit together perfectly.

“by the way, i like you too.” he murmurs into your hair. “a lot more than you think i do.”

“even if i forgot you were allergic to flowers?”

he snorts, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead, you feel your cheeks flush. “especially because you forgot, it was kinda funny.”

your head shoots up, nearly bumping his chin. “sam!”

he laughs and you can’t help but smile in return. your gaze returns to the sky, and suddenly you can’t quite recall what you were so worried about. really, life in stardew valley has never been so bright.

(and if you see some of your neighbors watching at the corner of your eye, you shut your eyes to ignore them.)

#writers on tumblr #stardew valley #sam stardew valley #sdv sam #sam x player #sam x reader #x reader #cross posted on ao3 #key’s-vault #sdv #stardew

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ariseur · 12 days

Note

hey!!! ive been reading your sephiroth fanfics recently and it has been such an intricate work of art i genuinely feel the emotion and love put into it, your writing is just perfect in terms of how you write his character! i was wondering if i could request a seph x reader maybe during or post advent children and is really angsty with some fluff regarding his return??? it's vague (sorry😭) but i know if you did take up on it youd do fantastic!! 💖🫶🏻

liberabo volucres 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

omg you are literally so sweet!!!! thank you so much for this request, although i don’t think i did it justice 😭 i wasnt quite sure how to go about this considering after advent children, the remnants of seph faded into the lifestream (i think?) so it’s more angsty with lots of mentions of kadaj, but i hope you like it either way!! i’m glad you enjoy my sephiroth fics and don’t hesitate to send more asks!! love this one 💕

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of kadaj and remnants of seph, written in a yearning type of way where you still have a hole in your heart left from sephiroth, don’t ask where you came from at the beginning!! just enjoy it 😭, intended lowercase, mentions of kissing kadaj’s forehead, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1327 words, 7173 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“cloud,” your voice only a faint whisper as you called out to the blond, “what did you do?” he lifted his head, his skin glossier with the droplets of rain falling on his face. his eyes widened at the sight of you, chest still rising and lowering rapidly as he recovered from his battle with sephiroth. how foreign that name felt on your tongue, now.

you got up from your hiding spot beyond the debris, knees aching from how long you were crouched as your feet slammed against the flat surface of the floor. you watched as your kadaj’s catlike slits for pupils— pupils that constantly reminded you that he was still apart of sephiroth, despite his role as being only a remnant of your lover— flickered towards you with whatever energy he had left. the corner of kadaj’s lips quirked upwards ever the slightest as you rushed over him, cloud moving out of your way as he stood up.

cloud’s words, albeit firm, lay dormant in your brain, “he was going to kill me—kill us all.” and even with his sharp tone, you didn’t pay him any mind. the only thing you could focus on was kadaj’s eyes trained on yours, scoffing as he rasped out, “such— a drama.. queen.” you softly shushed him, watching as his eyes became emptier by the minute. your throat stung as a choked sob threatened to escape its enclosure behind your uvula. kadaj lifted his hand only for you to grasp it, moist leather clutched in your palm as you placed it back to his chest. he intertwined your fingers, a wince leaving his lips as you held his head up.

it took everything not to look away from him. his hair, his eyes, even the way he smelled, reminded you of sephiroth. sometimes, you wish it had been different. you wish you would’ve been there when it had happened, and even now, your memory’s fuzzy of the events. all you remember was the day sephiroth left you, and you haven’t stop thinking about him since. you wished he had come to you, and apart of you was angry. maybe you were angry that he left you with no word, or maybe angry that instead of opening up to you, he decides to burn a village down in his spiral, or maybe you weren’t angry at all.

you paused, taking another look at kadaj’s furrowed eyebrows and his lidded eyes. you wonder if this is how sephiroth felt upon his notice of who he really was— what he really was. he was only in his twenties when it happened, you couldn’t have imagined how he felt. you remembered; his friends, gone and turned against shinra, and with all the pressure on him about the cover-up, you thought that maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. you realized now, that you can’t get what you want from this world without taking it yourself. saying please didn’t scratch the itch in the back of your throat the way that anger did, and you assumed sephiroth felt the same.

clasping kadaj’s hand, he let out a weak sigh. you let your hand, although shaky and so weak that you can’t make a fist, card a piece of his hair out his face; your heart ached at your hands in his silver hair, mind racing back to when you’d brush sephiroth’s hair for him. a true honor, you’d always call it.

the way kadaj’s eyes widened and his ears perked up made you pause, like he was listening for something. even with cloud’s tense presence behind you, you refused to let go of the part of sephiroth, your part of sephiroth. the only part you had of him left. you couldn’t be angry at cloud. he was only doing what he thought was best— and in the end, maybe it was for the best, you thought. you couldn’t even be angry at yourself, your mind only clouded with grief as your sniffles and teary sighs filled the air.

the sound of kadaj’s arm moving, leather rubbing against itself, interrupted your soft cries as he lifted his hand up to the sky. a soft whisper of, “mother—?” left his lips.

your hand snaked up and you rubbed your thumb against his cheek, watching as he turned his head towards you slowly. a teary sound left your lips, you weren’t even sure if it was a sob or a laugh. but you leaned down, pressing one last kiss to his forehead as his eyelashes fluttered, just the way sephiroth’s did when you’d lay with him in the morning where golden rays would seep through the curtains and shine onto your beloved.

all good things must come to an end, you realized, as you watched the only physical evidence that sephiroth had coexisted with you fade into the lifestream, his arm fading into reduced crystallized mako. you closed your eyes, shoulders heaving as you tried stifling your thick cries; after all, cloud was still behind you. you held onto kadaj’s hand until it was no more, his body being lifted up and vanishing although you couldn’t bear to watch it. and you didn’t open your eyes, not for a long while, in hopes that maybe you’d be back in the comfort of your home as you heard heavy footsteps trail behind you to the kitchen, sephiroth’s content face across from yours at the dinner table. and you didn’t open your eyes until you heard a low hum, beyond the loud sounds of the rain hitting the concrete, beyond your own shaking breaths. this couldn’t have been cloud, you thought. your head lifted up and squinted so as to not get any rain in your eyes.

and there he was— or more so a faded version of him. even in the rain, you couldn’t help but gawk at him in awe, his hair flowing so gracefully even in the humidity of the rain. even if you were dreaming, you’d wish you would never wake in hopes of spending one last minute with the one you held dearest to your heart. one last moment with sephiroth and you’d feel like you’d finally be complete.

his eyes, still sleek and catlike how you always remembered, almost look amused. he held a smile at you, his head cocking at the sight. you didn’t want to think of the possibility that this was just a hallucination of your grief. this was more than that. sephiroth was more than that.

he gave you a nod, a nod of which you didn’t understand. ever so esoteric, you thought. the way he always was after nibelheim. you sat back on your haunches, your knees still against the wet, cold floor— taking one last look at sephiroth before he turned around. his head tipped back, fingers twitching as he let himself face the sky, until he finally let himself go and faded away as well.

your lip trembled, a teary laugh releasing itself from your throat until cloud put a soft, awkward hand on your shoulder. head turning to face him, your eyes met his. you realized now that cloud did what was best, and you couldn’t possibly blame him for that.

he cleared his throat, almost cautiously as if you’d snap at him for interrupting the silence, “we have to go. i’m sure tifa’s waiting for us.”

you sniffled, wiping your eyes from both the rain and the tears that littered your cheeks. looking back down at your lap, once where kadaj laid, you were met with emptiness. closing your eyes once more, you inhaled and let the air fill your lungs. the first deep breath of air that you’ve taken in what feels like years, one that felt fresher— almost bittersweet. and when you turned back to cloud, you gave him a firm nod.

the urge to be changed is not metamorphosis, you realized. you can’t be changed without making a change of your own.

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jolenes-doppelganger · 12 days

Text

Shooting the Messenger (Part Two)

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Harkonnen Reader NSFW 18+

Summary: As you struggle adjust to both your life under Jessica's steel grip and the casual assault of the Fremen spice on your palate, something has to give. But it isn't Jessica's humiliation that cracks you, rather the poorly timed dosage of spice on the both of you.

Warnings: Jessica is a menace (GASLIGHT, GATEKEEP, girlboss?), smut- oral giving (R), sex under the influence of spice melange, more spitting/water sharing (because it's Jessica, COME ON).

A/N: Finals week or my final week? Neither! Just one more takeaway essay. :(

Word Count: 3.3k

Jessica was true to her word. Mostly. The weeks following her initial ‘custodial arrangement’, as she often referred to it, felt like being imprisoned in a mostly hostile, occasionally uneventful prison. The Fremen didn’t like you. That much was obvious. But how could you blame them? Your unnatural complexion was a testament to just how other you were. They avoided you, mostly. And when the Fremen slipped enough spice into your food to make you literally see things, you didn’t tell a soul. And so the extreme doses of spice stopped. Jessica’s chambermaids came to respect you, in the barest sense. Sure they didn’t like you, and you didn’t like them, but you had an understanding. Don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with you. No further tests with spice were administered. But Jessica had her own tests.

“You’re late.” she growled, watching as you slipped into her chambers.

“I came as soon as you requested me.” you replied, voice meek.

“I shouldn’t *have* to request you, it should always be you coming to my chambers as you do every night.”

Arguing with her was the equivalent of Sisyphus pushing a boulder up the hill. No matter how much ground you gained, she always took it from you just as you were about to reach the highest point.

“I’m sorry, Reverend Mother.”

“Always sorry, always screwing up.”

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat. She was unhappy. The war on Arrakis wasn’t going well, more people were dying, not just on Arrakis but across the galaxy. By now you understood your job wasn’t to aid Paul, it was to aid Jessica. She needed someone to care for, and the warrior child Alia almost never requested her mother’s presence unless it was for matters of war. Paul and Chani were glued at the hip, all while Princess Irulan withered away in her sandy palace. Jessica had no one, and the Fremen needed a force that would rouse them. She’d given much of her duties to Stilgar, but as the days wore on, she became more moody, quiet and stern.

“You miss Caladan today.”

Jessica stiffened. As much as she was constantly pushing you towards sensing her needs, the moments where you succeeded caught her off guard.

“... I do.”

A seat beside her brought the woman much comfort. Her arms darted out for your frame, burying her face in the fabric of your veil. Your hair was starting to smell like sand. She hated it.

“I need something from you.” Jessica whispered, voice hoarse.

You reached up, cupping her face with your hands, the way she had instructed you to some nights past. Her spice blue eyes softened.

“Your eyes are starting to turn blue.” Jessica fretted, her eyes clouding over. “I’ve asked the Fremen to stop giving you spice in your food. If you taste it, you don’t eat it.” she whispered. “I won’t let this desert change you too. You must stay the same for me, okay?”

Her words were sensitive and frightened. It was a hidden battle within herself, clinging to the things that reminded her of home whilst still trying to reconcile with her changed life on Arrakis. It was heartbreaking to watch her suffer. That was when you managed the little empathy you could allot her.

“I like the spice in my food.”

Jessica’s face took on a pained expression, and she gripped you tighter.

“And I will not let your eyes go blue. If you want something for taste I will have them use pepper and sage. Not melange.”

Today was not one of those days where you felt empathy for her. It was a day where you had woken up sweaty and stinking of the sietch. It was a day where you couldn’t bear the taste of the Fremen food, and thus hardly ate. It was a day where you were thirsting endlessly for a glass of cool water, of water recycled by the earth and dug from the one ‘clean’ well spot on Giedi Prime. Not this water that had been carried in bodies so long that it had stopped tasting as water should. You missed the taste of chlorine in your water, oddly enough.

“Fine.” you assented.

Jessica dug her fingers into the hair on your scalp, tugging at it with a degree of force that was really unnecessary.

“It is not just ‘fine’ that you should be saying, it is ‘yes, of course’.” Jessica snarled, her blue eyes blazing with fire.

You were both out of compassion and patience, it seemed.

“You are alive because of me, you ungrateful brat.”

“And sometimes I wonder if the merciful thing would have been letting me die instead of staying in this shithole!”

Jessica crowed with laughter, amused by your words.

“Oh, is the taste of real food making you upset? Do you miss your soulless sun and your grey walls and the sounds of debauchery wherever you went?”

Debauchery? How quaint.

“Do you think I am ignorant to the melange orgies? Do you think I am not aware of the way that men have trained themselves to fuck without spurting semen? The Fremen here are just as debauched as you are, lady mother. As we are, Harkonnen blood of my own.” Jessica was speechless. After all these weeks of breaking you down and bending you into the perfect obedient shape, you still had fight in you.

"Kneel.” The command hit you straight in the chest, pushing you from your lap and contorting to your knees in front of her. “You will remain kneeling until this chat is over, understand?” “I understand.” Assenting of your own volition was always better than the metallic taste of your words if they were forced with the Voice. It almost felt like blood was in your mouth when your tongue was compelled to speak, that thick substance slipping over your tongue as your mouth moved in shapes clumsy and uncoordinated. You never sounded like yourself when your speech was compelled, you sounded like you were eight, with a lisp peeking out, a lisp you’d buried after years of practice.

“Why do you fight?” Jessica sighed, as if this conversation was nothing short of tedious, (which it most certainly was).

“I don’t like you.”

Jessica laughed, eyes flickering with menacing humour. The idea was novel to her.

“Oh, how precious. You still allow yourself to be ruled by your feelings. I’d forgotten that individuals had that capacity towards blind emotion.”

Jessica wrapped her legs around your shoulders, using her hand to force your head to look up at her. It was a position that should have forced your face into her pelvis, but she manipulated your body just enough so that your head was pulled the opposite way. It added tension on your neck, highlighting the unnatural position of your head up instead of down; planted between her thighs. Another mind-fuck.

“You don’t get to let your emotions rule your decisions, that is not merely childish but also stupid. Everything about you is under my whim, what you feel I tell you to feel and you feel nothing else.” She dropped her grasp from your scalp suddenly, nearly causing you to face plant into her pubic bone. It was embarrassing, and thrilling. For many weeks she had been planting seeds inside your mind meant to excite desire for her. All of these seeds were laced with humility, such as the time she’d had you scrub her underwear clean of stains. It had been a lesson in how the Fremen sanitised clothes, mainly with the help of the sun, but also with the use of smell. You didn’t know a garment was clean until you smelled it. Sniffing her underthings to ensure they were clean had been sickening, creating an image of you doing it merely out of pleasure instead of necessity.

“I hate this.” you whispered under your breath.

Jessica paused, only for a moment. Her thighs wrapped around your neck, shoving your face into her pubic region. “I can always make you hate it more.”

Tears sprung to your eyes. Wasteful tears, tears Jessica would hiss over, glaring you down until you stopped.

“Why do I have to hate it? Why is it always a humilatory act?” you lamented, lips catching on the fabric of her dress as you spoke.

You heard Jessica’s sardonic chuckle.

“Would you obey if I was sweet to you? If I mothered you and coddled you and let you need me?”

“Yes.” you whispered.

Her legs loosened, and she pulled you up, wrapping her arms around you and cooing softly over your misty eyes.

“Why didn’t you just say so, hmm? Don’t you know that I’d rather be spoiling you than fighting with you?”

Her hands brushed over your face and head, soothing all the little worries away. She was manipulating you, this was textbook gaslighting. You knew it and you opened your mouth to fight it.

“Ah ah ah…” Jessica tutted. “Don’t think, I’ll tell you what to think. Just be here, present with me, hmm?”

She smiled, brushing her lips over your ear.

“Just be present.” <-->

The move to her bed was neither surprising nor eventful. Your chores stopped. The humiliating acts stopped. There was only sweet Jessica. Her arms curled around you while you both slept, the feeling of her lips brushing your ear as she whispered between you two, it was uneventful, almost maternal. But the abatement of her lust was destroyed after a particular melange engorgement.

“Where is she?” Jessica rasped to a Fremen chambermaid.

“Inside your rooms, I believe. She’s studying.” the Fremen woman lied. You could hear Jessica’s wheezing breaths from outside the door. “You’re not partaking in the festivities? Go back, enjoy the moment-” “No, open the door.” Jessica snapped. “Reverend Mother…” The two descended into a heated debate in Chakobsa, words spoken at such a rapid and hurried pace that you could hardly keep up. You’d been studying the language, and could practise it conversationally, but their words were too fast to keep up with. But it wasn’t just their rapid pace that made it difficult, it was the swirling shapes above your head that distracted you. Your food had been laced with spice, again. The argument between the women outside escalated, and you heard a slap. Your stomach lurched as you heard the sharp tone in Jessica’s voice, a visceral, unforgiving wielding of the Voice. The door cracked open, and Jessica came in, hand on her abdomen, taking shaky breaths. Her hands were shaking, and you could barely make out the desperate expression on your face as you lay supine on the bed. “Lady mother…” you hummed, eyes half-lidded and glazed over from the spice.

Jessica groaned, stumbling forward and slumping on the bed beside you.

“My beautiful girl, not you too? Oh you poor thing…” Jessica cooed, lips pressing sloppy kisses on your jaw. Jessica’s breath stank of melange. How much had she used?

“Shapes and colours…” you gave her a goofy smile.

Jessica groaned and whimpered again, touching your fevered skin beneath your tunic. “How much spice did they give you?” Jessica whispered. “Dunno. The food was very spicy.” you giggled. “I’m not too high. Just happy high.” you clarified.

Jessica nodded, letting out a breathy exhale. Her hands cupped above her womb. Was she having some kind of reaction to the spice? She looked like she was in pain. “Help me undress, I’m too warm.” Jessica panted. “Undress us both, actually.”

You didn’t argue with the woman. She was obviously reacting poorly to the melange she’d consumed, and so you stripped her of her tunic and her pants. Your movements were a bit sloppy, as you were intoxicated with melange, but you managed. She was covered in sweat, and the humid air of the sietch didn’t help cool her skin much, it just trapped the moisture. There was moisture clinging to her panties too. You assumed it was sweat. “These as well?”

“Yes.” Jessica panted. “Bare as the day I was born.”

You pulled them off, dropping the sweaty garments on the floor. Her hands pulled at your tunic, you were at risk of overheating. The fabric came off, and Jessica skipped no steps in ensuring you were entirely bare.

“I can’t believe they would do this to you, I told them to stop putting spice in your food, especially for celebrations…” Jessica whispered, pulling you towards her.

Her skin felt clammy against your own, and you shifted in discomfort, causing your nipples to brush over hers.

“Hu- Oh, no, don’t move honey.” Jessica whined. “I can’t let you move.”

You nuzzled into her neck.

“Lover, no, no. I’m too tense, I can’t have you snuggling with me.” “Why?” you rasped.

“Because I’ll lose my composure. I’ll use the Voice to make you do things that would defy moral behaviour.”

You giggled, tickled by the idea of Jessica trying to cling to whatever skewed moral compass she had.

“You don’t want to fuck me high, is that it?” you whispered, kissing her cheek. “Okay. I’ll just leave then.” You were significantly less encumbered by the spice than Jessica, namely because you hadn’t been given more than a few pinches. It was easy to slip out of her arms, leaving the woman to whine and whimper as you left.

“No! No!” Jessica whimpered. “Don’t leave, please.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the woman. Her hands were fisted in the bedsheets, and she appeared to almost be in pain.

“Oh come on, you can’t take care of it yourself?” you smirked.

“Please.” Jessica whispered. “I came because I wanted it to be you.”

The idea was novel.

“Oh, and who else would it have been?”

Jessica let out another whine.

“I don’t do orgies. I don’t like them, and I am depraved, but not in that way. My beautiful girl, I want it to be you.”

She was high. And you were high. The spice melange dulled inhibitions, it made you more susceptible to her manipulation, more susceptible to her games, but this wasn’t a game. She was being truthful, and you knew she was being truthful because she was so weak. Jessica never gave you an inch, she never dropped her guard. This wasn’t a game where she was teasing your strings and spinning you into a position of subservience for her own gain, this was her begging for you.

“Good girl, oh precious thing…” Jessica rasped, happily wrapping her arms around you as you dropped back onto the bed.

Her dark hair clung to her back in tangled, sweaty clumps. You didn’t want to think about the state your hair was in. She pulled you in deeper, cupping the back of your head until her lips crashed on yours in a messy, hurried kiss.

“I always wondered what Harkonnen women had that made men desire them so.” Jessica rasped. “I think it’s your smell. I hate that you’re losing your smell…”

Her hands drew circles up and down your back.

“I want to enjoy you, I really do, but lover, it hurts so bad.” Jessica husked, biting her lower lip.

“Give me more kisses.” you shut her down, lips hungrily seeking hers.

Jessica huffed, continuing to makeout with you on her mattress. Her tongue was bitter and laced with the taste of melange, and her tongue was dry. You reached for the water collector in the room, finding the straw and sipping from it. You held her mouth open, releasing the water into her mouth so she could drink. She was weak, dehydrated and in need of intimacy.

“Mmm… More.” Jessica sighed, the water quelling her slightly.

You drank a few sips for yourself, then you leaned down, delivering more water into her mouth. Jessica giggled, kissing you sloppily. She was happy, this was happy.

“Lay on your back for me now.” Jessica rasped, hands digging into your back.

You rolled over, allowing Jessica to lie over you.

“Can I trust you to tell me if you can’t breathe?”

“Yes, lady mother.”

Jessica sighed, moving to straddle your face.

“No, not like that. You sit on the edge of the bed, I’m too hot for that.”

The woman laughed, relinquishing the orientation to you. It was easier, kneeling on the floor. You liked it a lot, a simple cushion under your knees and your skin free for air flow. Jessica was quick to hike her thighs over your shoulders, letting out a needy whimper.

“Yes, yes, just like that.”

Her hands laced themselves in your hair. Your hands busied themselves with supporting her. Your thumbs spread her dripping labia, revealing a milky, inflamed entrance.

“How long were you-”

“Don’t make me use the Voice. Get to work.”

The thought was amusing, and you chuckled a bit, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her entrance, getting your first good smell and taste of her. Being that the desert gave limited opportunities to clean, her smell was concentrated, and the influence of spice was not lost on this particular part of her body either. A slow stripe up from her entrance to her clit was intoxicating, she was so different.

“I said, don’t make me use the Voice.” Jessica whined, hands shoving your face into her more earnestly.

It didn’t matter what she was threatening, you were in your own little world, the spice melange providing an immersive experience to the act. You were more present than you had ever been in similar situations. Slow licks provided the best coverage, the flat of your tongue working over her in gentle, steady motions.

“Lover, please…” Jessica sighed, heels digging into your back.

You looked up at her with half-lidded, relaxed eyes, your mouth glued to her clit.

“Roll your tongue, suck.” Jessica directed.

You shut your eyes, focusing on the sensation of her nub on your tongue as you rolled circles around it, sucking it in your mouth greedily.

“Mmmhmm… Yes… Just like that lover.”

Developing a rhythm became second nature, slow licks from entrance to clit to catch her slick, more pointed rolls of your tongue over her clit to elicit a few gasps and moans. But her opening got more attention.

“(Reader), you are such a tease… At least fuck me with your tongue.” Jessica panted.

You obliged, sticking your tongue past the ring of her vagina. You moaned into her, pistoning your tongue in and out. As to not neglect her pleasure entirely, your thumb found her clit, rubbing gentle circles over the nerve cluster as you busied yourself with slurping and licking at her entrance.

“Oh… Maker… Don’t you dare stop, yes!” Jessica groaned, pushing your face down.

You sped up your motions of your thumb, rewarding you with more soft whines and grunts as Jessica neared her peak. You felt it before you heard Jessica’s cry of affirmation, the muscles of her entrance contracting and quivering around your tongue. The woman slumped back into the bed, leaving you to quietly draw slow licks from entrance to clit, cleaning her up. Jessica drank greedily from her water bag, tugging you upwards by your chin. She flipped you onto your back, opening your mouth so she could deliver a beam of water on your tongue. You swallowed, and Jessica grinned, greedily licking her arousal off of your lower mouth.

“Such a generous lover… You’ve worn me out spectacularly.”

Jessica giggled, pulling you into her arms, pressing your still sweaty forms against each other to rest. The night was filled with zero interruptions, and as your skin and clothes dried, the moisture collector filled itself. Jessica was quick to take a sip or two, always stirring you awake to pour a mouthful of water into your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before you drifted off again. Come morning, your skin was dry, the humidity in the air gone and your mouths no longer sticky from mucus.

“Lover?” Jessica whispered.

“Yes?” you mumbled, head in her breasts.

“Can I spoil you now?”

You giggled, playfully biting the underside of her boob.

“Okay, feisty. Don’t make me-”

“Use the Voice? Empty threats.” you smirked.

Jessica laughed again, kissing you tenderly. A wicked look in her eyes remained.

”Desire.”

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