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fyorina · 1 day

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ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

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. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.”

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes.

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area.

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean.

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself.

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia.

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally.

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai.

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on.

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers.

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?”

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully.

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on.

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror.

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?”

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there.

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression.

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him.

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.”

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this?

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently.

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears.

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp.

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box.

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you.

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time.

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out.

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos.

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance.

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias.

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him.

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen.

But is this really any better?

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress.

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?”

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low.

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall.

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are.

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away.

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners.

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?”

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them.

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer.

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?”

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?”

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick.

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him.

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them.

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths.

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake.

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start.

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners.

“May I have this dance?”

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other.

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting.

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does.

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him.

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him.

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond.

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance.

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth.

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction.

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you.

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?”

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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envysparkler · 1 day

Text

Jason might’ve mentioned a passing interest in meeting Robin—the old Robin, because he was going to be the new Robin, only judging from the low, furious conversation and the death glares, Bruce hadn’t exactly mentioned that to Nightwing—but he wasn’t expecting Bruce to leave him alone with the guy.

“Justice League emergency,” Bruce had interrupted, cutting off Dick’s half-hearted tour of the parts of the Cave Jason hadn’t explored, and disappeared through a zeta tube with a simple behave for Jason and a growled watch over him for Dick. Leaving Jason with the guy that spent the entire visit seething in unconcealed distaste.

Alfred wasn’t home, he had left on one of his rare days off, or perhaps he was aware of the cloud of tension that formed whenever Dick and Bruce got too close to each other, and Jason understood that heroes and emergencies were a part of life, but he didn’t enjoy that that meant that Jason and Dick were left alone in the abruptly resoundingly empty Cave.

“Right,” Dick muttered, not quite under his breath, “I don’t know why I ever expect anything different.” The bitterness was palpable. “Two and half goddamn hours, and he leaves to space.”

Jason shrunk back slightly. It had been clear from the start that this visit was not for him, and his desire to meeting the original Robin had fast dwindled in favor of getting out of ground zero before Bruce and Dick actually started yelling.

Dick blew out a sharp breath and turned on his heel, suddenly enough that Jason flinched. Dick froze, staring at him like he’d forgotten that Jason existed. Jason couldn’t read the expression on his face, and didn’t think he wanted to.

“Jason,” Dick said, carefully pronouncing his name. His blue eyes were sharp and cold. “So. New Robin, huh.” His face stretched into a smile that looked warm for all that it was plastic.

“Yup,” Jason said, inching back another step. “Uh, it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Where are you going?” Perfectly level, calm and even, but it still forced a chill down his spine.

Jason had been terrified of Batman, but terrified in the way he was of shadows and ghosts. Abstract. Not real. Once Batman had proved himself to be human, all that was left was a man—large and trained and dangerous, but who got scolded by his butler and forgot to put on matching socks and bought Jason a stepstool to reach the books on the tallest shelves.

Bruce wasn’t scary.

Not the way that Richard Grayson seemed to be. Quicksilver manipulation of his expressions, smiling when he didn’t mean it, and cold, cold eyes—Jason wasn’t reminded of monsters or demons. He was reminded of the gang members that watched him ducking into alleys with just a little too much intent, the narrowed eyes of his mother’s dealer, the bright, fake smiles that marked the cops he had to run from.

And Jason was here with him, all alone. Robin—Nightwing—trained and dangerous and currently looking at Jason like he wanted to leave him in pieces for Bruce to find.

Jason had read a book with facts about robins just last week. Robins are territorial birds, and disputes can get physical. Fights to the death often occur.

“Upstairs?” Jason hated the way it turned into a question. “I was reading a book, and—um, I wanted to finish it?”

“We haven’t finished our tour,” Dick said, and Jason had preferred the low-voiced hiss to the casual neutrality. “Come on, there’s lots of cool stuff here I bet Bruce hasn’t shown you yet.”

Jason dithered in place, casting a glance at the stairs—Dick was already walking away, heading for the back of the Cave—but as much as common sense was shrieking at him to stay away, go upstairs, don’t stay down in the dimly lit cave with the guy that hates you, Jason was still the kid that looked at the Batmobile and decided to steal some tires.

“Fine,” Jason said, hurrying up to match Dick’s pace. “But I don’t know what you can show me that Bruce hasn’t already.”

“Oh,” Dick’s expression twitched, something flashing for a second, “You’d be surprised.”

~#~

Jason, mouth agape and neck protesting as he stared up at the acrobatics equipment, was speechless. Dick was breathless and flushed and grinning widely, and fuck, this was what Jason had wanted to see. Not Bruce’s sulky other son, or the cold, dangerous Nightwing, but Robin.

“Bruce showed you that yet?” Dick teased, calling down to him from where he was swinging upside down from the ring.

“How do you do that?” Jason breathed out, too amazed to feign at disinterest. Dick had moved like he was an actual fucking bird, like gravity was for lesser things.

“Practice,” Dick laughed, flipping off from the ring and flopping down on the safety net. Even across the rope, he was all fluidity and grace, flipping once more before he reached the ground.

“Bullshit,” Jason rebutted, looking up at the silks and the ropes and the swings, the scaffolding, the way Dick flew—“Tell me the truth. You’re a meta, aren’t you.”

Dick laughed again, bright and twinkling. He looked much happier than the sullen teenager that had met Bruce’s hesitant hope with a scowl. “Nope, just practice. Grew up in the circus. I could fly before I could run.”

“That’s so cool,” Jason said, looking back up at the scaffolding. “Can you teach me how to do that?” Flying through the air, spinning and flipping without a care in the world, unbound by physical constraints…it sounded like the best thing in the world. It sounded like freedom.

It took him too long to realize that Dick hadn’t responded. He turned towards the older boy and saw Dick stock still, expression frozen in a pinched grimace. When he saw Jason staring at him, he turned away. “Sure,” Dick said, in a voice that wasn’t even remotely believable, and Jason flushed at the reminder that Dick didn’t want him here. “Maybe later. You need a lot of training first. How about you show me what Bruce is teaching you so far?”

There was a bite to the words, and Jason had too much of Gotham in him to not respond to the challenge. “Was that an offer to kick your ass?” Jason retorted, stalking past Dick and towards the sparring area. Need a lot of training first. Well, while perfect Richard Grayson had been growing up in the goddamn circus, Jason had been living on the streets. He knew how to fight. “I’m ready when you are, Dick.”

That cold smile was back, like Dick was trying to figure out just where he wanted to stick the knife, and Jason thrummed impatiently on the balls of his feet as Dick slowly made his way to the sparring area.

#my snippets #dick&jay #first meeting

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 22 hours

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Do you take requests? I have a brainrot here, with the Creator’s child being Childe’s kid

Imagine the one codenamed as Childe have a child, the convos of creator can be confusing to their people HAHHAHA

Or there’s this one ginger child that looks like one of Childe’s sibling but it is really just Tartaglia’s kid

The creator had a:

Carrot top child

WC: 500~

I kinda take request ig? I like reading what other people think of what I wrote and little drabbles about ideas

“He is a redhead but not quite like Diluc’s family” Venti waves a wood rattle In front of the baby's face his blue eyes blown wide and arms thrashing around.

“Such an interesting hair color” Morax covers his mouth, a grin forming at the familiarity with who he guessed sired that child.

“Whoever laughs alone something knows, Morax” the tsaritsa eyes him, her hands tying a small ponytail on “her little eurysaces’s” head. For someone who was so mad at the news she did become attached quickly. A mystery to all but morax.

“shouldn't you be the one laughing then?”

“Stop it, you two” you scold them as you take back eurysaces from the tsarina.

“childe, stop playing around you are scaring the child” you chime at him from the door, seeing him throw the kid up and catching him

“He doesn't seem to care, see?” he holds up his one year old, his auburn hair curling wildly in every direction and his mouth forming a smile.

“He is fear laughing”

“look at how happy he is! A little thrill seeker like his папа”

“Childe!” You yell as you walk to your lover and kid “what did I tell you?!”

And as if thinking you were screaming at your kid for eating a piece of candy before supper Ajax's mom starts defending her grandkid, already saying she was the one who urged him to have some but stops when you pass by her.

“I told you to stop trying to chop the damned wood, your shoulder blade is broken, just let your brother do it!” and she turns around to see her son holding up the axe and a small bunch of wood. For some reason he was bare chested.

“child, put on your shirt! You are embarrassing yourself”

“I didn't work out so much only to cover my muscles”

“папочка, stop embarrassing yourself…”

“Oh, ajax, it's been so long since we last saw you, since you father sent you to the fatui to fix your behavior you barely visit”

Childe settles his toddler on his hip, already knowing how long gossipy old neighbors can chat for “oh, it's been busy since their highness decided to stay in Snezhnaya, having to act as a bodyguard and all”

“Seemingly that excessive energy of yours at least did you some good at last” she smirks a bitter twinge of poison over her words, her gray eyes falling on the redhead on his hip “did your mother have another kid? I thought treucer was the last one, but she did say that about Tonya too” she glances over the two kids fighting with snowballs a few meters away.

His smile feels more forced and a thin vein pops just under his eyebrow and getting mixed with with his matching hair “No, treucer is still out spoilt baby brother, this one is my baby”

“But you are so young! Aren't you around 24? So bad you ruined your youth with such a reckless mistake” she grabs her forehead as she sighs without noticing you exiting the house.

“Oh? I would say eury is rather endearing, and it isn't like Ajax's career could advance much more” the poor lady almost falls over from the scare when she sees your face.

#genshin impact #gi #sagau #self aware genshin impact #genshin x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe #genshin ajax #genshin tartagalia

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theetherealbloom · 1 day

Text

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - CH.3

Chapter 3: Dutiful Daughter, All My Plans Were Laid

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking Around, FLUFF, LOTS OF SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Oral Fem Receiving, Kissing, Barely any plot, NOT A SLOW BURN AT ALL, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content, Size Kink, Reader is “smaller” than Joel but no further descriptions, Breeding Kink, PWP (wrap it up), Body worship, declaring their love for each other,

Word Count: 10k

A/N: THERE ARE SO MANY OF YOU… UHM, HI! We’re nearing the end of the mini-series. I believe I have one or two more chapters to write and then we’ll have the epilogue. Thank you for all the comments, reblogs and likes! I look forward to reading all the feedback from ya’ll, it really does give me the motivation to write. Thank you all again!!! 🤍☺️

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

As you lay there, wrapped in Joel's arms, you can't help but steal a glance at the small alarm clock on the nightstand. The glowing numbers tell you that it's nearly 3am, and as much as you don't want to leave the warmth of his bed and his embrace, you know that you can't stay forever.

Your dad is expecting you for breakfast in just a few hours, and the thought of him having a heart attack if you don't show up is enough to make you sit up and take notice.

"I don't wanna leave," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you snuggle closer to Joel, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin.

"I don't wanna let you go," Joel replies, his accent thick and heavy as he tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer still.

You can feel the heat of his body, the strength of his muscles, and the warmth of his embrace, and you know that you could stay there forever, wrapped up in him.

But reality calls, and you know that you can't ignore it forever.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you say, your voice filled with longing and sadness.

"Me too, darlin'," Joel replies, his voice filled with emotion. "But we both know that we can't."

You nod, your heart heavy with the weight of the decision you both know you have to make.

"I guess I should get going," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I guess you should," Joel replies, his voice filled with regret.

As you reluctantly pull away from Joel, he surprises you by gently tugging you back into his embrace, his lips seeking yours in a kiss that is both passionate and intense. The taste of him lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you share.

With a soft sigh, you finally gather the strength to untangle yourself from his arms, a pang of longing tugging at your heart as you begin to get dressed. Joel watches you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, his southern drawl adding a soothing cadence to his words.

"Let me help you, darlin'," Joel offers, his voice warm and comforting as he assists you with your clothes, his touch gentle yet possessive. The intimacy of the moment lingers in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you share.

Once you're dressed, Joel's arms wrap around you, holding you close as if reluctant to let you go. His embrace is both clingy and sweet, a silent plea for you to stay a little longer, to prolong the inevitable parting.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Joel murmurs, his voice filled with longing. "I could hold you like this forever."

You lean into his embrace, savoring the warmth and security he provides. "I wish I could stay too, Joel," you whisper, your voice filled with emotion. "But I have to go."

As you prepare to leave, Joel's gaze lingers on you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of his affection and devotion.

"I'll be counting the minutes until I can see you again," Joel says, his voice filled with sincerity. "You mean everything to me, darlin'."

As you step out onto Joel's front porch, the cool night air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. You take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the night, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision to leave.

You make your way quietly and quickly to the back of your house, tiptoeing through the darkness, your mind filled with thoughts of Joel and the intense connection you share. As you slip back into your bedroom, you can't help but feel a sense of bliss and excitement, knowing that you'll see Joel again in just a few short hours.

The anticipation builds within you, a simmering heat that courses through your veins, fueled by the memories of your time together. You can't wait to feel his touch again, to lose yourself in the passion and intensity of your connection.

As you lay in bed, your mind drifts to thoughts of Joel, his drawl echoing in your mind, his words of love and devotion filling your heart with warmth and joy. You know that what you have together is special, a bond that goes beyond mere physical attraction.

You close your eyes, drifting off to sleep with a smile on your face, your dreams filled with the promise of a future filled with passion and love.

As the morning sunlight streams through your window, you wake up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, the memories of the previous night still fresh in your mind. You can't wait to see Joel again, to feel his arms around you, to lose yourself in the intensity of your connection.

With a sense of excitement and anticipation, you get ready for the day, your heart filled with hope and joy, knowing that you have found something truly special in Joel.

You make your way downstairs to find your dad had gotten up extra early today. He glances at you and asks, "Well, someone's happy this morning. Did you sleep well honey?"

"Huh, what? Oh... yeah, I was pretty tired from yesterday so I just kinda passed out," you say, trying to be nonchalant. But you can see your dad give you a suspicious look before taking a long sip of his coffee.

"So... you and Joel..." Your dad begins, and you feel blood rushing into your ears, making you feel dizzy.

You raise your eyebrows at your dad, waiting for him to continue.

He clears his throat and says, "You gonna go with him to pick up Sarah later?"

You nod and smile at the mention of Sarah, "Mhm! I'll text you when we're leaving."

"Alright then, just..." Before your dad could finish that sentence, the doorbell rings, and you watch as your dad moves to the front door. When he opens it, Joel is standing there in a grey tee and those tight jeans with his hands in his pockets.

Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him. "Fuck. He looks so good," you think to yourself, your body responding to his presence in a way that you can't control.

"Hey there, darlin'," Joel says, his deep Southern accent sending shivers down your spine.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you take in the sight of him standing on your doorstep.

Your dad has his eyes narrowed between the two of you, before saying, "Be sure to tell Sarah hi for me, I'll be going now."

You and Joel say goodbye, and watch as your dad hops into his car and drives off to work, leaving you alone with Joel.

"I missed you," Joel says, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You melt into his arms, feeling the warmth and strength of his body against yours.

"I missed you too," you reply, your voice filled with longing.

As you pull away, Joel's gaze lingers on you, his eyes filled with desire and affection.

"Let's go pick up Sarah," he says, his voice filled with excitement.

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as you make your way to the car. The feeling of gratitude for the connection you share with Joel washes over you, knowing that it's something truly special and rare.

As you approach the car, Joel grabs the keys from your hand and gives your ass a playful smack, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Hey!" you exclaim, looking at him with mock indignation.

Joel's smoldering gaze meets yours, filled with a mischievous glint that makes your heart race.

"Darlin', you just sit back and relax," he drawls in that deliciously Southern accent of his, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm in charge of the driving, and you're in charge of lookin' like a damn goddess."

You can't help but smile at his playful banter, feeling your heart flutter with excitement as you slide into the passenger seat. Joel's eyes follow your every move, and you can't help but feel a little self-conscious under his intense gaze.

As he starts the car, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment and happiness wash over you. The connection you share with him is electric, a magnetic pull that draws you in and makes you feel alive.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Joel reaches out to place his other hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. You let out a soft moan, biting your lip as you feel a spark of desire ignite within you.

"You like that, don't you?" Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "You like when I touch you like this."

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Joel's touch is intoxicating, making you feel dizzy with desire.

"Good," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Because I love touching you, feeling your body respond to my touch. You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

You lean back in your seat, feeling a sense of contentment and happiness wash over you as Joel's words of love and affection fill your ears.

"So... darlin'... how'd you feel about tellin' Sarah about us?" Joel asks, his Southern accent sending shivers down your spine as he rubs his thumb gently on your thigh.

You play the thought through your mind, considering the implications of sharing your relationship with Sarah.

"You want her to know?" you ask, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Joel nods, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Of course, darlin'. Do you?"

You take a deep breath, thinking it over. "Will she be okay with it?"

Joel smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "With you and I? Yeah. To be honest... I talk about you to her... a lot."

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of Joel sharing his feelings for you with Sarah. "Really?"

Joel nods, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your thigh. "Yeah, darlin'. I can't help it. I'm crazy about you."

You can't help but smile at his words, feeling a sense of belonging and love that you've never experienced before.

"Okay," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's tell her."

Joel's face lights up, his eyes shining with happiness. "Really?"

You nod, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation wash over you. "Yeah. I want to share this with her. I want her to know how much you mean to me."

Joel leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your hand. "Thank you, darlin'. I promise you won't regret it."

As you and Joel make your way to the parking lot of the airport, the anticipation of reuniting with Sarah and Tommy fills the air with excitement. The energy between you and Joel crackles with anticipation as you head towards the arrivals area, scanning the crowd for their familiar faces.

And then, there they are. Sarah and Tommy, standing out in the crowd like beacons of joy. You can't contain your excitement and start waving your arms wildly, practically bouncing up and down with anticipation.

Sarah's eyes light up as she spots you, and she breaks into a wide grin, her steps quickening as she rushes towards you and Joel. Tommy follows closely behind, a smile playing on his lips as he takes in the scene before him.

"Hey, you guys!" Sarah exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug, her excitement contagious.

Sarah then turns to Joel, her eyes sparkling with joy as she throws her arms around his neck, embracing him with her whole body.

"Hi dad," she says, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

Joel's face lights up at the sight of his daughter, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug.

"I missed you too, baby girl," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his love for her radiating off of him in waves.

You watch the exchange between Joel and Sarah, feeling a sense of warmth and happiness wash over you. The bond between father and daughter is something special, a testament to the love they share.

Your gaze shifts to Tommy, and you make your way over to him, a friendly smile on your face. You wrap your arms around him in a warm embrace, feeling the strength and warmth of his body against yours.

"Hey there, it's good to see you!" you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine warmth and affection.

Tommy returns your embrace, his arms tightening around you for a moment before releasing you.

"Hey, it's good to see you too!" he replies, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

You take a step back, your hands still resting on his shoulders. "So, how was the flight?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Tommy shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, you know, the usual. Turbulence, crying babies, and the occasional snoring passenger."

You laugh, the sound rich and full. "Sounds like a blast," you say, your voice filled with sarcasm.

Tommy grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, it was. Trust me."

As you all make your way to the car, the banter and teasing flow freely, the shared history and inside jokes adding to the sense of closeness between you.

Joel takes the lead, helping Tommy load his and Sarah's suitcases into the trunk of your car. His strong arms lift the heavy bags with ease, his movements fluid and efficient.

Sarah watches him with a proud smile on her face, her eyes filled with admiration and love.

"Hey dad, can I sit up front with you?" she asks, her voice filled with excitement and hope.

Joel shakes his head, a gentle smile on his face. "Sorry, baby girl. It wouldn't be polite to do that since it's not my car."

Sarah pouts, her bottom lip sticking out in disappointment. "But I want to sit up front with you!"

Joel ruffles her hair affectionately. "I know, but we have to be polite. Maybe next time, okay?"

Sarah nods, her disappointment forgotten as quickly as it appeared. She climbs into the back seat, her eyes sparkling with excitement and joy.

Tommy follows suit, his movements easy and relaxed. He slides into the back seat next to Sarah, a friendly smile on his face.

As you all settle into your seats, the car is filled with laughter and chatter, the shared excitement of the journey ahead palpable in the air.

As Joel navigates the car out of the airport and onto the road leading back to his house, a sense of contentment washes over you. The familiar sights pass by outside the windows, the hum of the engine providing a soothing backdrop to the lively conversation inside.

You feel Joel's hand on your upper thigh, his touch warm and reassuring, a silent declaration of his affection for you. Your heart flutters at the intimate gesture, and you steal a glance at him, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

In the rearview mirror, you catch Tommy raising his eyebrows playfully, a knowing look in his eyes. Sarah, oblivious to the silent exchange, gazes out the window, her expression one of wonder and excitement.

The dynamic in the car is one of comfort and familiarity, each person bringing their own energy to the mix. Joel's presence is a steady anchor, his touch a source of comfort and reassurance. Tommy's playful teasing adds a lightness to the atmosphere, while Sarah's infectious enthusiasm fills the space with joy.

Eventually, you arrive back at Joel's house, the journey from the airport filled with laughter and chatter. As you all step out of the car, you lend a hand to Joel and Tommy, helping them with the suitcases and other items as you all make your way into the house.

Tommy excuses himself to put away his things in the guestroom, while Sarah does the same in her new room. You take the opportunity to help Joel fix up a few snacks for Tommy and Sarah, the two of you working together with ease and familiarity.

As you put the finishing touches on the snacks, you feel Joel's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. His lips find your neck, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin as he inhales your scent.

You lean back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The connection between you two is intense, a magnetic pull that draws you closer together.

As Tommy makes his way back into the living room, Joel releases you, a playful smile on his face.

"I see you two found each other," Tommy says with a wink, a teasing glint in his eye.

You feel your face heat up, but Joel just chuckles, his arm draped around your shoulders.

"Can't help it," Joel says with a shrug, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to Tommy.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye. "You gonna tell Sarah?" he asks, grabbing a potato chip from the ceramic bowl on the counter.

Joel nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, when she gets down here," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Just then, Sarah appears from around the corner, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I knew it! Finally! He's been talking about you non-stop and was an absolute grump for the past few months!" she exclaims, a wide grin spreading across her face.

You feel your cheeks flush at the mention of Joel's infatuation with you, but Sarah's excitement is infectious.

Joel chuckles, his arm draped around your shoulders. "I guess the cat's out of the bag now," he says, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

Sarah claps her hands together, her eyes shining with joy. "I'm so happy for you two!" she exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug.

Tommy joins in, a warm smile on his face. "Welcome to the family," he says, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

You quickly send a message to your dad, updating him on your whereabouts and letting him know that you'll be having dinner with the Millers, and that he's welcome to join you all.

The rest of the evening is filled with laughter and conversation, the four of you sharing stories and memories as you get to know each other better.

As you were nearing finishing dinner, you hear a knock on Joel's front door, and he excuses himself to answer it. You continue to laugh loudly at Sarah's jokes while Tommy rolls his eyes playfully.

But then, you hear a familiar voice call out your name, and you find your dad standing by the entryway of the dining area. The room falls silent as all eyes turn to him.

"Hey Dad... we just had dinner. Do you want anything? I'm sure I can fix you up a plate," you say, standing up to greet him.

Your dad shakes his head. "No, just had dinner with some of the guys back at the shop. I wanted to say hi to Sarah and Tommy. Didn't think you'd still be here... thought you'd be home already," he says, giving you and Joel a pointed look.

Sarah, bless her heart, quickly jumps in to save the day. "Oh! That's my fault. I insisted she stay here for dinner since I missed her so much," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Your dad chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "Well, I'm glad you're having a good time. I'll let you all get back to it, just don’t be home too late," he says, giving you a quick hug before turning to leave.

As the door closes behind your dad, a sense of calm settles over the room. You all let out a collective sigh of relief, the tension dissipating as you begin to help clear the table and clean up the dishes. You insist that Sarah and Tommy take a break and get some rest after the meal.

Just as you're elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a plate, you feel Joel's presence behind you. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you gently away from the sink.

"I'll wash 'em, darlin'," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You can rest too. You've done so much already. I can take it from here."

You turn to face him, a grateful smile on your lips. "Are you sure? I don't mind helping," you say, your voice filled with appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

Joel's gaze meets yours, his eyes warm and filled with affection. "I'm sure. You've been a big help today. Let me take care of this," he says, his drawl adding a soothing cadence to his words.

"I'll help dry the dishes and put them away," you say, grabbing a towel from the drawer next to the sink.

Joel chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist as he presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head. "Fine, darlin'," he says with a wink.

You bump your hip with his, a playful grin on your face. "Come on, slowpoke. Let's get these dishes done," you say, sticking your tongue out at him teasingly.

Joel laughs, the sound deep and rich. "Alright, alright. Let's get to work," he says, his arms still wrapped around you as you begin to dry the dishes together.

The warmth of Joel's body against yours, the sound of his laughter, and the easy banter between you creates a sense of comfort and familiarity that you cherish.

As you work together, the pile of dishes slowly dwindles, the kitchen gradually returning to its former state of cleanliness.

Finally, the last dish is dried and put away, and you turn to face Joel, a satisfied smile on your lips. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" you say, your voice filled with playful teasing.

Joel grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "No, darlin', it wasn't. But I think I'll let you do the dishes next time," he says, his arms still wrapped around you.

You laugh, the sound rich and full. "We'll see about that," you say, your voice filled with playful challenge.

You and Joel make your way back to the living room, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air. Tommy and Sarah are settled on the couch, their attention focused on the TV as they watch some show they had found.

Sarah turns her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she tilts it at the two of you. "So... when are you gonna tell your dad?" she asks, her voice filled with playful teasing.

You glance at Joel, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. "I'm not sure... but hopefully... soon," you say, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Joel nods, his arm draped around your shoulders as he pulls you closer. "Yeah, we'll tell him when the time is right," he says, his voice filled with confidence and reassurance.

Tommy turns his head, a knowing look in his eyes as he takes in the exchange between you and Joel. "Well, whenever you're ready, we'll be here to support you," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Sarah nods, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, we can't wait to see what the future holds for you two," she says, her voice filled with genuine happiness.

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over you all. But then, the sound of laughter and chatter fills the air once again, the tension dissipating as you all settle in to enjoy the rest of the evening together.

As you lean into Joel's embrace, his arm wrapped around you, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

"I had a lot of fun today," you say softly as Joel walks you back home, the short distance feeling longer with each step as a mix of excitement and nervousness swirls within you.

Joel's hands are tucked away in his jeans, a subtle restraint evident as he refrains from intertwining his fingers with yours, a silent acknowledgment of the need for caution in the presence of your father.

He hums in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. "I did too," he replies, his voice warm and filled with affection.

You glance up at him, a hint of longing in your eyes. "Wish I could stay over tonight, but y'know... my dad," you sigh, the reality of the situation sinking in as you step onto the familiar steps of your front porch.

Joel nods, understanding the unspoken boundaries that need to be respected. "I get it. We'll have plenty of time for that," he says, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of desire and restraint.

You smile, your heart filled with gratitude. "Yeah, definitely. Thanks for walking me home," you say, your voice soft and sincere.

Joel leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Anytime, darlin'," he murmurs, his deep baritone sending a shiver down your spine. "I've been meanin' to ask you... d'you mind comin' with me to grab a bite to eat and then head to the store to pick up a few more things for the house tomorrow?"

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. "Of course," you reply, your voice filled with eagerness. But then you remember, “You know what small towns are like. People talk.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Joel admits. “But we can only do our best to keep our hands off each other until it’s the right time to have everyone know. If you think that’s for the best,” he susgests, and only try to make you feel better.

You let out a small sigh and eventually nod and give him a small smile in agreement.

Joel's eyes sparkle with affection. "I'll see you soon, darlin'," he says, sweet as whiskey.

As you watch Joel's retreating figure, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the warmth and affection that fills your heart. Reluctantly, you turn and head back towards your house, the day's events still lingering in your mind.

The familiar surroundings of your home envelope you, the sound of the television filtering in from the living room. You pause in the entryway, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before making your way towards the comforting glow of the screen.

"Hey, Dad," you call out, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

Your father looks up from the television, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Hey, kiddo. How was your day?" he asks, his eyes filled with genuine interest.

"It was good," you reply, trying to sound casual. "I'm going with Joel tomorrow to help him pick up some stuff for his house."

Your father raises his eyebrows, a hint of a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Oh, alright. Sarah and Tommy coming too?"

You shake your head, feeling a slight flutter in your stomach. "I don't think so... I think they wanna fix their things and rest up a bit."

Your father nods, his gaze studying you for a moment, a hint of a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Just the two of you, huh?" he says, his voice laced with slight concern.

You feel your cheeks flush, but you hold your father's gaze, determined to be honest. "Yeah, just the two of us," you confirm, your voice soft but steady.

Your father leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Alright," he says, his voice calm and reassuring. "Just text me when you leave, okay?"

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. "Thanks, Dad," you say, your voice filled with appreciation.

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, the weight of the day's events finally starting to catch up with you. "I'm gonna head to bed," you say, stifling a yawn. "I'm kinda exhausted."

Your father chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "Get some rest, kiddo. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow," he says.

You nod, leaning in to give your father a quick hug. "Thanks, Dad. I love you," you murmur, your voice filled with emotion.

"Love you too, kiddo," he replies, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull away.

You tuck yourself into the cozy comfort of your bed, a big smile spreading across your face as you let out a contented sigh.

As you settle into the familiar softness of your pillows, your mind can't help but wander to Joel. The thought of spending the day with him tomorrow fills you with a sense of giddiness and anticipation that you can't quite contain.

You hum a soft, lilting melody to yourself as you move through your morning routine, the excitement for the day ahead bubbling within you. The sound of your father stirring in the kitchen reaches your ears, and you know he's likely headed out for an early shift at the shop.

After quickly whipping up a simple breakfast, you hear a familiar knock at the front door, and you can't help the grin that spreads across your face as you practically bound towards it.

Pulling the door open, your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight of Joel standing there, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe. His silver curls are neatly pushed back, and he's dressed in a different colored flannel than the one he wore the day before, paired with his well-worn jeans.

A smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief.

"Mornin', darlin'," he drawls, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hi," you breathe, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, yet unable to tear your gaze away from him.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and rich. "You ready to head out?" he asks, his arm reaching out to gently brush against yours.

You nod, your heart fluttering at his touch. "Just let me grab my bag," you say, turning to retrieve it from the nearby table.

As you turn back to face him, you catch a glimpse of your father in the kitchen, offering you a warm smile and a subtle nod of approval. The gesture fills you with a sense of comfort and reassurance.

Turning your attention back to Joel, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation. "Okay, I'm all set," you say, your voice brimming with enthusiasm.

Joel grins, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you out the door. "Then let's get goin', darlin'," he says, his touch sending a thrill through you.

As you step out into the crisp morning air, hand in hand with the man you've come to care for so deeply, a sense of anticipation and uncertainty lingers between you.

"What are we gonna do, Joel?" you ask suddenly as you settle into the car's passenger seat, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

To be honest, it's the last thing Joel is thinking about, and your question catches him off guard. But he can see and feel how it's affecting you, the worry and doubt etched in your expression.

"You could just sneak over to my house every night. Make sure you're back home in time for breakfast," Joel suggests, trying to lighten the mood, but he knows deep down it's not as simple as that.

"Do you think your dad might already kinda know?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with concern. "Deep down, I kinda mean, darlin'."

You shrug, a mix of emotions swirling within you as Joel drives. You feel annoyed at yourself for even bringing it up, but Joel is grateful that you did.

"Or we could just go. Take off," Joel says, thinking aloud. He feels you turn to look at him, his hand still rubbing comforting circles on your thigh.

"You mean... just leave?" you ask, the idea not entirely foreign to you.

"It's not something we have to think about right this minute, but do you really wanna stay here, in this house? In this town, tutoring kids for a few bucks an hour?" Joel questions, his voice tinged with a hint of restlessness.

He remembers one of the main things he doesn't miss about small towns – how everyone seems to know everyone else's business. And in the case of you and Joel, that would be none of their damned business.

"But you only just bought the place, and Sarah and Tommy just arrived, and I guess the only thing I'm really worried about is Dad. Screw tutoring," you say, your brow furrowed as you grapple with the weight of the decisions ahead.

"I only bought the place... only came back to town to be closer to you, remember?" Joel explains, his voice filled with sincerity. "Sarah's school transfer papers haven't been processed yet, and Tommy has to go back anyways. I didn't think in my wildest dreams that I'd have you all to myself on day one, darlin'."

"You're a pretty fast operator, that's for sure," you tease him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, but the underlying tension remains unresolved between you.

The realization that you are well and truly Joel's, the depth of your connection with him, fills you with a sense of contentment and joy. It's a problem, but the best kind of problem to have, a testament to the love and bond you share.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel hasn't checked his messages yet, but he's confident that the call he made to boost your dad's business will yield positive results. It may not all happen today, but he's hopeful it will help your dad regain his confidence and pride in his work.

In the meantime, Joel is adamant that you shouldn't do anything you're not comfortable with. He inquires if you're the only tutor available at the college.

"Of course not," you sigh, a hint of resignation in your voice. "It'll just mean a couple of college kids keep their tutoring money from Mom or Dad, is all," you reflect, the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders.

From your perspective, the real challenge lies in explaining to everyone that you've been with Joel the whole time. The thought of facing your father's reaction weighs heavily on your mind, and Joel is keenly aware of the potential conflict that may arise.

He knows that your father's protective instincts will be triggered, and navigating that aspect of your relationship will require patience and understanding from both of you.

"Well, if we're gonna burn for it, we may as well burn together," Joel tells you, his voice filled with a mix of determination and tenderness.

"But there's no point makin' it harder on ourselves either," Joel adds, his tone thoughtful. "Let's just wait and see, huh?" he suggests, his eyes meeting yours with a reassuring gaze.

The idea sinks in – it isn't the end of the world if you stop tutoring, and if nobody has caught on to the fact that you two are together, why stir up unnecessary trouble?

Relieved when you agree, you relax back into your seat, the weight of the situation lifting slightly. Joel parks the car on a street lined with small stores and cafes, the hustle and bustle of the town adding to the charm of the moment.

Despite the external distractions, it feels wrong to be near you and not show you how much you mean to him. The subtle touches and stolen glances have evolved into something deeper, a connection that demands to be acknowledged.

By the time you graduate from those fleeting moments to a full-blown kiss once you're back in the car after your meal, the intensity of your feelings for each other becomes undeniable.

Just as the moment seems to crystallize into something special, a female voice interrupts, shattering the private bubble you and Joel had created.

"Oh! Hi, Professor," you squeak, the sudden intrusion jolting you out of the intimate moment.

Joel, his expression darkening, turns to face the unexpected visitor, a protective instinct rising within him as he assesses the situation with a keen eye.

As the scene unfolds, Joel quickly grasps the situation at hand. A mildly annoyed college professor, Professor Hannah Bennett, catches her star tutor – you – in the arms of a man, instead of where you're expected to be.

The initial tension softens as Professor Bennett's gaze meets Joel's, her expression shifting from annoyance to curiosity. Joel, ever the gentleman, gulps slightly before extending his hand in introduction.

"Professor Hannah Bennett," she says, regaining her composure, though Joel feels her hand limp in his for a brief moment, a sign of her surprise.

Her eyes flicker from Joel to you, who has momentarily lost your voice in the unexpected encounter. The professor, quick to regain her professional demeanor, decides to leave you two to your own devices.

"Your dad mentioned you were helping his friend... uh, new neighbor," she stammers, a deep blush coloring her cheeks.

"Just maybe more notice next time if you're not up for tutoring for the day, that's all I ask," she adds, her tone taking on a more authoritative air as she reverts to her professorial role.

"I think I'll take a rain check on tutoring for a while, Professor Bennett," you declare in a clear, resolute voice, your hand slipping into Joel's for support.

Joel's pride and satisfaction are evident as he grins at your decision. The old professor huffs in disapproval, muttering something about the younger generation, before swiftly retreating from the scene.

"You quit?" Joel asks, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and admiration, leaning in to kiss you deeply before you can respond.

"I guess I did," you reply, a hint of amazement in your tone at the sudden turn of events.

"Was it hard?" Joel teases, and you shoot him a sidelong glance, a hint of amusement in your eyes.

"The professor's the soul of discretion," you assure him. "But if we're caught like that on our first time out together..."

Joel knows exactly what you mean. The potential fallout from such a public display is looming, and he can feel the weight of it pressing down on you both.

"C'mon," Joel urges, determined to enjoy the moment despite the impending challenges. "Show me around town. Take me grocery shopping," he suggests, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"We can fill up both our pantries and maybe we can cook up a storm for dinner?" he asks, but he can see the worry etched on your face.

"Hey, your dad was alright with the idea, right? To come with me for the grocery run?" Joel reasons, hoping to ease your concerns.

Relieved when you finally yield, a smile spreading across your face as you relax. "You're right. He did," you agree.

"But easy with those kisses," you're quick to add, a hint of playfulness in your tone. "What if it was Dad that happened by just now?"

Joel bites his tongue, and to keep you happy, he agrees to the new terms and conditions. No aggressive public displays of affection – a small price to pay to maintain the delicate balance of your relationship.

Your little run-in with the professor has only affirmed Joel's feeling that small-town eyes and ears are always connected to big mouths. He knows they'll have to be cautious, at least for now.

"Say," Joel asks once you're back in the car, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is there like a lingerie store or something in town too?"

You raise an eyebrow, unsure if he's teasing you or not. "I think there is, but I don't think that's where you wanna be seen hanging out, is it?" you ask, a playful challenge in your voice.

Joel chuckles, his gaze focused on the road ahead. "I'll keep it in mind for future reference," he explains, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As he navigates the quiet streets, Joel makes a mental note that you're going to need a ready supply of all things underwear. The memory of tearing yours off is still fresh enough in his mind to remind him that he wants to make it a regular occurrence.

As you and Joel make your way through the quiet streets of the town, you can't help but feel a growing sense of unease. It must be your imagination, you tell yourself, trying to push down the nagging feeling that something is off.

But as you step into the local grocery store, the truth becomes undeniable – everyone is staring at the two of you. You're nowhere near touching, and you definitely don't have a sign around your neck proclaiming your newfound intimacy, but the curious gazes and hushed whispers are impossible to ignore.

You keep forgetting that a man of Joel's stature and presence is bound to turn heads in a small town like this. But as quick as the locals are to stare and gawk, they're just as fast to look away, especially when they lock eyes with Joel's unwavering gaze.

"Grab whatever you need, whatever you want. For your place, too, darlin'," Joel says, his voice warm and reassuring, though you can see the strain in his expression, the desire to reach out and touch you palpable.

He focuses his attention on filling the biggest cart he can find, his movements efficient and purposeful. You can't help but wonder how you're going to explain a houseful of food to your father, but you're sure he's well aware of just how naturally generous Joel is by now.

After filling up not one, but two overflowing carts, you can't help but protest the sheer volume of groceries Joel has insisted on purchasing. But he's quick to reason with you, his voice low and conspiratorial.

"The less I have to go out to shop, the more time I have to work on my new house," he says, his words laced with a hidden meaning that's clear to you.

You nod in understanding, realizing that his reasoning is not just about efficiency, but also about maintaining the appearance of propriety in the eyes of the small-town community.

As you check out, the total on the receipt makes your eyes widen, but Joel simply shrugs it off, his focus on ensuring you and your home are well-stocked. You actually think it's a great idea – if you both stock up now, you won't have to venture out for anything later.

No tutoring, no errands to run, at least for the next week. The thought of having all that spare time with Joel has your heart racing with anticipation, and you're pretty sure he has a few ideas of his own.

But as Joel pulls into your street, your breath catches in your throat. There, parked out front, is your father's truck. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation suddenly pressing down on you.

"Your dad's home," Joel says, his voice strained, but there's no hint of worry in his tone. If anything, he sounds more like an animal guarding its prized possession than someone afraid of getting caught.

Taking a deep breath as Joel pulls into the driveway, you brace yourself for the moment of confrontation you've been dreading. But as you both start to unload the groceries, the anticipated showdown never materializes.

Far from it, your dad practically leaps out of the house, a huge smile spreading across his face as he welcomes you both. Joel's mood instantly shifts, a sense of relief and contentment washing over him – if your dad is happy, so is Joel.

And just like that, you're off the hook for now.

"You're home early, Dad," you observe, but he's way too pumped up about something else to ask you two where you've been. He's grinning like a maniac, and you can't help but wonder if he's finally cracked.

Catching Joel's knowing look, you realize that this must be good news somehow. Whatever it is, it's clearly put your father in an exceptionally cheerful mood.

"I dunno what you did, Joel, but it worked!" your dad almost shrieks, pumping the air with his fist before high-fiving Joel, who doesn't seem surprised at all.

"What did you do?" you ask them both, but it's as if you've disappeared or something. Your dad has gone into full Joel-best-buddy mode, slapping his back and whooping and hollering. It's not until you're all inside that you can finally get any sense out of him.

"I'm booked solid for the next three months!" your dad exclaims to Joel, who's trying his best to look excited for your father's good fortune.

"And that, uh, client of yours? The one who collects all those vintage cars? Guess who he wants to be maintaining them all?" your dad asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"That's great news. I'm glad I could..." Joel begins, but your dad is on a roll.

He's re-hiring the mechanics and workers he's laid off, and he's going to "expand the business." He's going to do better than ever from now on.

He's going to...

He's going to make you vomit if he keeps going on about it.

"Dad," you finally say, talking over him to get his attention.

"Yeah, sweetie, what is it?" he asks, holding his thought so he can keep telling Joel all about his fresh business plans.

"Nothing." You smile. "But are you gonna stick around, or do you still have that tractor to fix?" you ask, wondering if you and Joel will have any time alone now.

And you haven't even thought about what's going to happen when it's time to go to bed.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, honey, but I've got Lucas going out to do it now. Boy! Is he glad to have his old job back!" your dad exclaims loudly, beaming up at Joel.

His admiration for Joel makes you feel like you're not the only one who thinks he's pretty amazing, which he is to a lot of people. But to you, he's the only one.

"You've done the hunting and gathering," your dad proclaims, his eyes sweeping over the abundance of meat and groceries you and Joel have just started to unload. Sarah and Tommy quickly make their way outside, greeting your father and offering to help with the remaining items that belong to them.

"So I'll start making us all a feast to celebrate," your dad announces, asking you if you can finish bringing in the groceries while he and Joel "catch up."

The subtle way he singles you out of the conversation is not lost on you. If this had been a day or two ago, before you had just lived through the best twenty-four hours of your life with Joel, you wouldn't have minded. But you hadn't counted on your dad being home early, nor did you expect him to hijack your man as soon as he saw him again.

You look to Joel for help, but he only shrugs, a strange expression crossing his face when your dad's back is turned that has you stifling a giggle. Instantly, you find yourself forgiving the entire group for being in this crazy situation.

You do as your dad asks, leaving out the items he calls for, the ones he'll need to amaze you all with his cooking skills. But once that task is complete, you're left awkwardly hanging out in the kitchen, feeling miles away from Joel. Maybe you should just go to your room.

No sooner do you glance towards the hallway leading to your bedroom, Joel's stern look stops you in your tracks. The message is clear – he wants you right where he can see you.

"I might just go change," you tell the room, knowing your dad is not paying attention, still talking a million miles a minute to Joel, who gives a little nod of approval.

You haven't seen your dad this excited, ever. Whatever Joel did has clearly done the trick to help your dad out, but are you really going to have to hear about it all night? It feels like you are.

By the time you change clothes, trying to look nice but not overly dressy for Joel, your dad stops long enough to notice you for a change.

"Sorry, honey. I've just been so pumped all day. And I've just gotta talk to the man who made it all happen," he explains, shooting Joel another glowing look.

"Don't let me do all the talking, though, and don't worry about skipping tutoring today. I already spoke to the professor," he adds, making your heart freeze in your chest.

"So? What have you two been up to all day?" he asks, snapping off a celery stalk from one of the brown paper sacks, crunching it loudly as he leans back against the counter.

Now, he's all ears, eager to know what it is that you and Joel have been up to.

He looks from you to Joel, and you can feel your mouth hanging open. You're waiting for Joel to save you both, which he does without effort.

"I had sweet darlin’ here help me run some errands, we did some grocery shopping, and then she showed me around town," he says, and none of it is a lie.

Your dad's brow creases with attention as he listens, already looking bored if he can't keep talking about his own good news. Joel does skip some parts, though, including the more intimate moments you shared – your father wouldn't be interested in those details.

But once Joel suggests you help him out like you did today more often, especially with all the plans Joel has for his new house, and hanging out with Sarah and helping her by tutoring her, it starts to sound more like a job offer than anything else.

"Well, it's up to you, hon," your dad says thoughtfully after a moment, not even a hint of suspicion in his voice anymore.

As your dad busies himself selecting ingredients for the meal he's going to prepare, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. The prospect of spending more hours talking and eating with your family and Joel looms ahead, a bittersweet reminder of the newfound dynamics in your life.

Joel's pivotal role in saving your dad's business is evident, and it's clear that your father is more than willing to follow Joel's lead from now on. Despite the relief and gratitude you feel, there's an underlying longing for the quiet moments alone with the man who has quickly become the center of your world.

"I wasn't getting paid very much to tutor, Dad," you remind him, shooting a playful glance at Joel when your dad's attention is elsewhere. You can't help but ponder what your hourly rate might be if you were to accept his unofficial job offer, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes.

It takes some time to adjust to the new dynamic in the kitchen with Joel and your dad. You find yourself fighting the urge to seek out Joel's touch every few seconds, a silent reminder of the growing connection between you.

As you call Sarah and Tommy over for dinner, the atmosphere shifts to one of camaraderie and relaxation. It feels good to simply talk, eat, and goof around without the weight of other concerns pressing down on you.

Throughout the evening, you notice the subtle strain on Joel's face, a reminder of the complexities of the situation. Yet, your dad remains your dad, unwavering in his friendship with Joel, creating a unique bond between the three of you.

As the meal progresses and conversations flow, you find yourself washing up alongside Sarah, the men engrossed in their post-dinner discussions out on the porch. Sarah decides to head back to the house early, leaving you with a sense of peace and contentment in the quiet moments that follow.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks – you might have to spend the night away from Joel, not just tonight, but potentially every night until you both figure out what to do. It's not a happy thought, and you know Joel is thinking the same thing as the time for bed draws closer.

You've spent more hours today not touching and kissing than you two have actually been able to do so, and you just know Joel isn't happy about that either. So when your dad comes back inside without Joel or Tommy, you try not to sound panicked as you ask where they both are.

Your dad chuckles, "He went home, sweetie. He lives next door now, remember?" he asks, stifling a yawn and scratching his belly, letting you know he's about to turn in.

"I gotta huge day tomorrow, so I might not even see ya before or after work, but thanks for helping Joel out. He's really saved our bacon," your dad says, pecking your cheek before stretching out another yawn and heading to his room.

Not long after hearing his door close, there's a light rapping at the back door. You spring around and see Joel, his finger pressed firmly to his lips before he stalks over to you in two steps, kissing you with a desperation that takes your breath away.

"Wait 'til he's asleep again... Then come over," he murmurs, cocking his head and darting back out the door before your dad shuffles down the hall again, this time in his pajamas on the way to the bathroom.

Once your dad goes back to his room, you know he won't be coming out again. And if he does, he'll think you're asleep. So, tidying up the rest of the kitchen in record time, it isn't long before you hear your dad blowing bubbles in his sleep, and you're hot-footing it next door.

The need for Joel's touch is overwhelming, the hours spent apart feeling like an eternity. As you step into his home, the familiar scent of him envelops you, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief and excitement wash over you.

Without a moment's hesitation, you find yourself in his arms, your lips crashing against his in a desperate, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, and all that matters is the connection you share, the hunger for each other's embrace.

Joel's deep, southern drawl sends a shiver down your spine as he leans in, his lips brushing against your neck. "You gotta be quiet for me, darlin'," he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your skin. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod eagerly, your heart racing with anticipation. The need for his touch is overwhelming, the hours spent apart feeling like an eternity. As his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame, you melt into his embrace.

Joel's calloused hands roam your body, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you. His lips crash against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a primal hunger. You whimper softly, the sound muffled by his searing kiss.

"That's it, darlin'," Joel growls, his voice dripping with desire. "Let me hear how much you want me." His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he grinds his hardness against you.

You gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. "Joel," you breathe, your fingers tangling in his silver curls. "I need you, please..."

He chuckles, the deep rumble vibrating against your skin. "I know, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of you." Deftly, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you towards the bedroom.

The world around you fades away, consumed by the raw, primal need that pulses between you. Joel lays you down on the bed, his calloused hands caressing your curves as he hovers over you, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're so damn beautiful, darlin'," he murmurs, his lips trailing featherlight kisses along your jaw. "I've been waitin' all day to have you like this."

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Then take me, Joel," you whisper, your voice dripping with desire. "I'm yours."

With a growl, Joel captures your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming your body as he slowly, methodically undresses you. The air is thick with the scent of your arousal, and the sound of your ragged breathing fills the room.

As he buries himself deep within you, you cry out, the sensation of being so completely filled sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Joel stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint. "Let me hear how much you love it."

You whimper, your hips rolling against his. "Joel, please," you beg, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his back. "Don't stop."

With a groan, Joel begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, driving you higher and higher towards the precipice of ecstasy. Your bodies move in perfect harmony, the world around you fading away until all that exists is the two of you, lost in a haze of passion and desire.

The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the heady scent of sex hanging in the air as Joel's movements become more urgent, more primal. Your bodies move as one, a symphony of desire and need as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy together, the intensity of your release washing over you in a wave of pure bliss.

As you come down from the heights of pleasure, Joel holds you close, his heart pounding against yours as you both catch your breath. In the aftermath of your passion, you're left feeling sated, fulfilled, and more connected to Joel than ever before.

In this stolen moment, you know that no matter the challenges that lie ahead, as long as you have Joel by your side, you're equipped to confront almost anything. The future may be uncertain, but in his arms, you've never felt more at home.

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moodymisty · 1 day

Note

Perhaps a 40k character of your choice and someone not very comfortable in their body? Shamelessly self inserting I guess. Thanks so much! ☺️

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Decided to do Guilliman. You didn’t specify anything (which is fine!) so I kept it vague for you. Enjoy!

Relationship: Guilliman/Fem!Reader(no pronouns are used, but reader compares themself to Fulgrim's wives and also mentions wanting a dress so femcoded one could say)

Warnings: None really

You wonder how Macaggian history can be so, boring. These history tomes Guilliman had given you while interesting, have largely been unbearably dull; Filled with little more than debate and the trials of leadership.

You had far preferred what Russ had once told you about the history of Fenris when you asked, though you’d never dare speak that to your beloved Primarch aloud.

Said primarch returns to your shared room not moments after you think of him, raking a hand through his own short blonde hair.

It’s quite late, the moon is high in the sky and has been for awhile now, and you assume he hasn’t had any rest in multiple days given you’ve seen little of him these past few. He’s been even busier than usual, since visiting Terra. Even if he has his Commanders take over a good portion of his duties while away from Ultramar, his duties on Terra tend to overtake his time and then some.

With nary a hello, Guilliman climbs onto the bed you’ve been reading in and swiftly lays down on it. The bed groans under his weight despite having been made for someone of his size.

He much larger hands reach to grip you by the waist and pull your closer, laying his face on your stomach overtop of the fabric of your nightgown. Your legs go over his left shoulder, as his left arm curls around your bottom, hip, and up your side to hold you close.

“Guilliman?”

He sighs into your belly.

“Give me a moment, if you will. I’m at my limit with these men today.” You assume he means his fellow primarchs. “Let me enjoy you for a bit now that I’m free of them for the time being.”

You want him to be happy, but you can’t help but shift a bit under him, nervous as he speaks so overtly, and touches you with so little hesitation.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” You whisper, nervously twirling a piece of his blonde and ever so slightly grey hair around your fingertip.

“Yes. You are perfect,” He says, your eyes widening at the declaration. You're so offset by it your mind wanders and can’t help but mumble:

“I find that hard to believe…”

You feel him suddenly tense, and he lifts his head to look at you.

“You do not believe me?”

He almost seems insulted by it; Like you think he’s a liar. You shake your head as you look away from his furrowed brow. You hadn’t expected him to spear you to the wall so harshly for your self-deprecating comment.

“No I just…” You grunt in frustration at not finding the right words. The Macragge tome he'd given you lays at your side, and you push it away a bit more. “I sometimes just think there are people out there far more, physically suited to stand beside you than me.” He loses some of his insulted demeanor, but his brow stays furrowed as you pick up pace and begin rambling.

“I mean, look at some of Fulgrim’s wives they-“ He cuts you off with his stoic, firm voice.

“You know how Fulgrim is. You know why and how they look the way they do.” He sighs, the wrinkles around his nose and eyes exaggerating for a moment. “Forget all of that.” He points a finger at you.

“And don’t bring him up again, I’ve had quite enough of him and his comments for quite some time.”

You smile a bit, and he softens. He’s glad you find his aggravation amusing somehow. You do wonder what Fulgrim commented about however; Though you know he has a habit of sometimes treading a bit too far into Roboute’s personal life. Into everyone's personal life honestly, though Roboute having you has made him the prime target of Fulgrim's gossip and colloquies.

His hand squeezes you reassuringly, arm continuing to awkwardly cradle you. He raises his other hand to brush his thumb across your cheek for a moment.

“You are perfect to me. You don’t need all of those lavish things.” He adds on. “Unless you want them, of course. I won’t deny you anything I can give.” Your smile gets wider, and he feels your body relax against him.

“I don’t need any of it,” You pause. “But if a dress showed up one day I wouldn’t complain, per se.”

Thankfully Guilliman can tell you’re clearly joking, and rolls his eyes. You speak up again a bit more subtly.

“Or maybe something a bit more, delicate? You could pick it.”

Guilliman takes a moment to catch your meaning before he awkwardly coughs, looks at you gentle but expectant smile.

“I’ll, see what I can do.”

Guilliman swiftly ends the topic by returning his head to lay on your stomach, and rest his eyes for a moment to the feeling of you raking your fingers through his hair.

#return of the queue #roboute Guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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fanofstuff02 · 2 days

Text

Ii… Know I said I’ll post the next chapter of Adamsapple x Chaggie yesterday but I remembered one idea I had and worked on it. I’m sorry :< I’ll post it I promise.

The thing I worked on on the other hand… It’s an one shot inspired from this ask on @rius-cave ‘s account (read it from here) where an anon suggested the idea of Lucifer and Adam fighting so bad that Adam ends up in Angel’s room crying.

Enjoy! (Also would you mind if I tagged you @things-arent-what-they-seem66 and @talesfromawannabejournalist ?)

Angel was getting ready to sleep when he heard a slight knock on his door, like the person behind it was doubting their decision to come here.

“I don’t know who you are but you better have a good fucking reason to be here this late.” He said to the door.

“Angel? Can I come in?” Someone spoke with a shaky voice.

Adam.

He opened the door, only to be met with a devastated sight of his friend. He looked like someone stole something from him. Heck, he must’ve been seriously off, he wasn’t even hiding his third eye on his forehead.

“Woah, what happened big guy?”

I was wondering if I could stay here tonight.?”

“Sure, but why?” Angel said, letting him in.

“Lucifer can’t come here unless you allow him to right?” He leaned against a wall, taking his head in his hands.

“Yeah, I guess..” So he did something…

“Let’s get you a beanbag..” He muttered to himself, walked to his closet but stopped when he heard a sob coming behind him.

The sinner, curled up in a ball with his wings wrapped around him, was crying silently. He sat down beside him quickly and began rubbing circles to his back.

“Hey… It’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself. Let it out.”

“I-I can’t cry..” He was shaking. Fucking shaking.

“What?! Of course you can, everyone can!”

“Not me! I’m the man, not the pussy!” His wings revealed him, he was trying desperately to end the tears with wiping them violently. “I can’t let feelings-“

“Hey.” He held his wrists and hugged him. “I told you to let it out.”

That did it. He didn’t care anymore. He cried loudly to his chest. His tears were colder than anyone could ever have.

They stayed in the same position for a while, Angel awkwardly patting his back as he thought of what to do. Sure, he could try to comfort him, but it’d probably make him feel worse. Maybe this’d be enough for the sinner?

Who the fuck was he kidding? He needed someone to do it properly. And he knew just who it was. He whistled quietly, and took his pet in his hands. Adam let go of the hug and looked at who came.

“As much as I’d like to make you feel better, I suck at it Ad. But, I have someone else. Would you like to hug Nuggets?” He held him to Adam, and the upset demon took him. He licked his face softly, getting a chuckle and a hiccup from him. He hugged him tightly. He seemed a bit calmer but there were still lots of tears coming out of his eyes. Angel put a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but if you want to, I’m here.”

———

Lucifer walked down at the hallway, going to Angel Dust’s room. He was looking for a certain demon, and Charlie suggested he should go and check Angel Dust’s room. The spider and him had some sort of a friendship after all.

He needed to apologize. No, more than apologize, he probably needed to get him his favorite meal, take him to a rock concert and shit like that. He could do those later, but first he needed to see if he was okay and talk the things he said out.

There he was, standing at the doorstep. He knocked it softly, hoping he wasn’t waking the pornstar up.

A tired Angel opened the door, but his attitude completely changed when he saw the King of Hell. He was looking at him with ice-cold eyes, and they also held a little bit… Anger?

“What can I do for you Your Highness?” He said simply, wanting the King to go away. Adam didn’t need him at this moment.

“Uhh, Is Adam here?” He said, trying to look inside the room. But Angel just spawned two extra arms to block the view, standing infront of the short guy.

“Yes he is. But he is sleeping. I suggest you to come at the morning. It’s the middle of the night right now.”

“I see, but can I please at least see hi-“

“No. No you can’t.”

“But you just told me he was-?”

“Yes, he is. He fell asleep while crying because of you. And I doubt that he wants the person, who made him pour his fucking heart to me, near him even if he is sleeping. So why don't you just leave him alone, like everyone else did. After all,” He placed his finger on Lucifer’s chest, near his heart. That's what he deserves, right Your Highness?”

“Come on Angel, I didn’t mean it! I wasn’t thinking when I-”

“That’s always what they say.” He hmphed. “If you seriously want the better of him, then go the fuck away. And come back, when you see him more than a toy or a pet you can play around and threw away when you get bored. Good night, Lucifer.” He shut the door in his face.

Lucifer backed away, looking at the door shocked.

Adam, who hated crying and showing ‘girly’ emotions, poured his heart out to another demon, because of what he said?

This wasn’t right. Right, they were having an argument, and sure, maybe it got a little out of hand, but… But it couldn’t hurt Adam that much.

Right?

—

Angel leaned against the door. God, he wasn’t going to deny he was quite surprised how he could find the courage to do this, but he knew Lucifer wouldn’t dare hurt Charlie’s clients.

Well, he is the wrong one after all. He peeked at his bed, where the demon he wanted to see was. Fat Nuggets was lying and probably sleeping near him, like he wanted to be there just in case he’d wake up crying again. Sometimes Angel could swore he was a literal angel.

He groaned, he needed a few things or atleast a glass of water, but he also didn’t wanted to leave Adam alone.

It’ll be quick. Just five minutes. He got up and opened the door, checking for Lucifer. When he couldn’t see him, he rushed to the kitchen.

Lucifer waited for him to dissapear from the curtain he was hiding in, and sneaked to his room. He hoped the magic wouldn’t work since Angel wasn’t in his room.

It didn’t.

Oh but how much Lucifer would want it to do.

Adam was there, in Angel’s bed, sleeping with the pig-pet near him. Looking horrible. His cheeks were puffy red, and still wet. His hair was messed up, his other eye wasn’t hidden like it mostly was, one of his horns looked like it had a missing piece, and so many few more details formed the broken man infront of him. But worst of all, even though he was sleeping, he looked more like he just passed out.

He was hurt.

He was hurt because of him.

He did this.

He absentmindedly tried to placed a hand on his, but his hand stopped when he heard someone behind.

“Ahem. I believe I told you to, GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY.” Angel Dust whisper-yelled, as Lucifer refused to let go of Adam’s side.

“I can’t leave him like thi-“

“Oh but you said you should, right? THEN DO IT! I am not allowing you here!”

The king felt the command grip his throat. He walked out of the room and stood at the entrance. The sinner was now straight up angry, and he didn’t seemed to care Lucifer was superior to him.

“Angel, I-” He faced a door again, the spider didn’t even had something to say to him.

He sat down at the entrance. If he had to wait for the morning then he’d do it.

He needed to clean up his own mess.

————

This was supposed to be a little one shot help-

Should I make a sequel?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin angel dust #holydust #guitarduck #adamsapple

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bethecliche · 12 hours

Text

my love mine all mine l vincent renzi x f!reader

summary: after seeing her for the first time, he just fell (deeply) in love word count: 3.7k content: female reader (no description of genitalia), mention of sex, mention of stretch marks, description of hair and eye color (but not texture or skin color), french laws and locations being misinterpreted, use of tv shows and books I didn't watch or read, non canon note: english is not my first langague! I wrote this in portuguese and then translated to english myself, there's a chance you'll find an error or something. I'm sorry sorry! I highly recommend you to listen to the song while reading.

you can check the aesthetic references for this oneshot here but take note that none of the people actual faces on this reflects on the character identity that I wrote, so don't base all of the details on the references for the characters in story.

The first time he noticed her, she was sitting on one of the wooden benches outside the courtrooms. She seemed nervous, shaking her legs and glancing restlessly between the watch on her wrist and the clock on the hallway wall, as if it made much difference. Regardless of her worried expression and furrowed brow, Vincent felt that he had never seen such an attractive woman in his life. From her brown hair to her brown boots, looked like she stepped out of one of those '70s fashion advertisements he'd seen in vintage magazines as a kid. He didn't had time to notice much more than that, as he crossed the hallway and headed to his session. At the end of the day, of course, she was no longer there.

What seemed to have been one of those street crushes that you see when crossing an avenue and never think about again, stayed in Vincent's head for a few days. Every time he passed by the corridor, he waited to see if the brunette would be there. He tried to guess what she was doing there that day and whether there was a possibility of bumping into her again, a question to which the universe answered “yes”.

Two weeks later, this time leaving work, he looked down buttoning his blue coat, distracted in his thoughts when he noticed the same brown boots a few steps in front of him. The stranger held a cigarette between her fingers and had her arms pressed against her body. Although it was snowing lightly, it was extremely cold for an autumn day. Her look was different, probably due to the weather, with a coat with a puffed collar and puffed sleeves, once again looking like she belonged to a previous decade. The wind ruffled her hair a little and the moonlight illuminated her posture, a scene Vincent believed could have come from a movie.

All his past relationships were comfortable. Someone he knew in high school, someone he knew in college, someone who was introduced by friends or someone his friends encouraged him to talk during an outing. He didn't consider himself an introvert, but he never needed to pursue someone who was interested. Things just happened for him. It wasn't his comfort zone just to approach a stranger like that, much less at the door of his work, but something that day said it was the right thing to do.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and approached the girl asking to borrow a lighter. His sudden plan only went so far.

As soon as she turned to face him, she gave a friendly and inviting smile, taking the object out of her pocket and activating the flame in front of his face. Vincent stood still, staring into her eyes throughout the action, mesmerized by her and her sparkling brown eyes.

“Will I ever meet a lawyer who doesn’t smoke?” She asked as she extinguished the flame, placing the lighter and her free hand back in her pocket. Too cold to let it out.

His response took a few agonizing seconds, as his mind was far away and still lost in her gaze. He composed himself, running a hand through his hair and looking away.

“The day this happens, let me know. I want to be there.” Vincent laughed awkwardly, causing the girl to laugh as well. At that moment, he felt that he wanted to provoke more of this reaction, he wanted to see more of her smile and so the conversation flowed.

His first question was how she guessed he was a lawyer and not a passerby to which she replied, "You stand like a lawyer." He shared how being a lawyer was boring and tedious, but it did have its dramatic moments in court when she asked if the career was challenging like its portrait on TV. He also discovered that she was there to pay a car ticket caused by her younger brother, hence the great nervousness when he first saw her a few weeks ago.

“When my parents told me that my 20th birthday present was a baby brother, I already felt within myself that I would be the best sister in the world. That I would try to make his life as easy as possible. 18 years later, he asks to borrow my car to visit his girlfriend - which I don't hesitate to do, after all I support young love. And the little shit-head makes sure on parking in front of a fire hydrant.” The girl blew smoke to her right side, not taking her eyes off him. “Would you be my lawyer if I try to choke him?”

Vincent could only laugh at her spontaneity, easy way of talking about life and easy way of making conversation.

“Just threaten him, it will be an easier case for me to win.”

They talked about Metz and how her family decided to move to Paris when she was a teenager because they knew the city needed more beautiful people, a fact Vincent agreed with. In order not to dismiss him, in a very charming way, she praised his Parisian accent and said that such a comment did not apply to him and only God knows how Vincent felt inside after that.

The two shared their tastes, such as reading romances and watching Dix pour cent every night before bed. It was as if they knew each other much more than the 1 hour they spent together under the snow. They shared maybe two more cigarettes before realizing it was getting a little too late to chat like that on the street.

He doesn't even know how he got out of that situation alive and managed to get home with her number.

Their first date was at a local cinema on a Friday night for a re-showing of Buffet Froid, a film Anne had never seen.

He didn't remember the last time he felt butterflies in his stomach, although it was guaranteed that nothing could compare to this time. As he got ready and tried to match his best t-shirts with his beige pants (which he eventually changed out of, finding them too tacky), Vincent remained nervous thinking that she might not show up or that this would be the first and last time they would meet in this circumstance.

In the end, all the “first time” flutter went out the window when he saw her smiling and waving on the other side of the street, already with the tickets in her hand. “I'm glad you came.” She said, holding his arm as they walked through the door of the establishment.

“I wouldn't miss it.” he replied.

The two took watching films very seriously, so it was only during the ending credits, after a lot of laughter, small comments and bumping hands on the popcorn bucket, that the two kissed.

He felt the softness of her skin on his hand and her sweet scent of perfume, in addition, of course, to the hot and saccharine kiss. It was slow, serene, just as they both wanted, being able to feel each other in that moment. It was also Anne's desire to slowly run her fingers through his hair and she didn't hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity.

After throwing their trash away, the two walked out of the cinema, now closer to each other, hand in hand. The weather wasn't as cold as when they first met and they were free to enjoy the warmth of their bodies without so many layers covering them.

“For a great 70's mind, you never having watched Buffet Froid is an insult.” He pointed at her with his free hand, wanting to tease her.

Anne rolled her eyes. Even though she liked the film, she didn't want to give a taste. “Obviously you would like action movies like that. It suits you.”

“I’ll make you like it too.” He stated, trying to imply that he wanted them to meet again, to which she responded by kissing his cheek and saying, “Next time, let's watch a romcom.”

Once, twice, three, four and a few more times, all being unusual dates. Sometimes she would call during his workday and say she would pick him up for an adventure. She drove aimlessly, just the two of them talking about their days and observing the city lights. These were Vincent's favorite “dates”, as they all ended with the two of them making out like two teenagers parked in the driveway of his apartment.

The more he got to know about her, the more he wanted to constantly be a part of her life. Anne owned a clothing store downtown, something he never tired of saying was the “most suitable job her”. On the last date they had, she took him to the closed store and put on a fashion montage for him, with improvised note cards on paper left on the counter and all. But she knew that the judge had been bought when he only gave her 10s. She also took the opportunity to get Vincent to do the same, putting him once again out of his comfort zone to find out that bell bottom jeans don't really suit him.

They even got to watch a car race - something that not even Anne had done, she had just decided that it was an experience they needed to have. They both entended up hating it, but the important thing was that the company was great.

That was one of the nights Anne slept at his house.

They ate some junk food from the fridge and watched a silly but captivating show on TV while they chatted more. When she realized she could sleep at any moment, Anne got up to brush her teeth and change her clothes, putting on her uniform for whenever she was there: a Vincent t-shirt.

Vincent found it charming how she captivated his gaze regardless of what she was doing. He loved her unique and sophisticated style, but he also loved seeing her like this, casually wearing his clothes, in his home, as if she were his. And lastly, he loved seeing her with nothing on.

Every detail of her body, her birthmarks on her shoulder and that one next to her beautiful eyes or her stretch marks on her back, everything about her seemed to have been chosen down to the millimeter. When they made love, his hands went everywhere, trying to reach as much of her as he could, to feel the warmth she exuded.

And the best way to love her was by looking into her eyes, admiring her beauty, running his lips up and down her body, being grateful for the privileged position it was to be able to love her.

Mornings were like nights, with him waking up earlier and being able, once again, to admire the woman beside her.

“You are even more beautiful in the morning.”

The two walked through the streets of Paris, both tipsy, looking for an available taxi in the dead of night. With their relationship now more established and their schedules aligned, they made it a challenge to come up with these unusual date only once a month so it wouldn't lose its fun. Today had been the day to go to the opera and due to their lack of sobriety, they didn't seem to have left anywhere other than the shabbiest bar on the corner.

The event was boring as fuck and they left halfway through to drink somewhere more enjoyable. They found an open bar showing a PSG versus Marseille match. Neither of them supported the teams or understood about football rules, but this seemed like a new opportunity for them to have another different experience that day.

One laughter after another, some passionate kisses between drinks and the two were celebrating PSG's victory at the bar with some strangers whom they befriended.

“My mother wants to meet you. My brother too. I said I might have a lawyer for the next time he's up to no good. Do you think it’s too early?”

When drunk, Anne tended to speak fast and slurred, but Vincent understood perfectly. He smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the tip of her nose. “I will love meeting your family.”

They never actually asked each other to go steady, but it was clear that they already belonged to each other at that point.

Vincent was on his cell phone writing a text to his mother about the shopping list for Christmas dinner and their desire to participate in decorating the tree (Anne's request to spend more time with her mother-in-law) while his girlfriend was lying on his lap reading his copy of Around the World in 80 Days (and she was loving it, for sure).

It was a lazy day for both of them at Vincent's place. A year into their relationship, the two of them loved sharing these moments together doing different activities.

“She said she misses you a lot and looks forward to seeing you on Christmas, but that you're banned from being near the kitchen when it is time to prepare desserts. Everything you touch that’s sweet ends up burning for some reason.”

Her smile, excited by her mother-in-law's affection, turned into a face indignant at the rule she imposed. "What?" She looked up from the book and pulled Vincent's hand to check if the message was real and it was. “This is so unfair!”

“Sorry, Anne, you’re just really bad at this.”

She lightly pushed his arm and pretended to be uncomfortable, although she knew it was true and wasn't really upset. Before she could return to her book, Vincent placed his cell phone on the table and began talking.

“One more thing, huh,” he cleared his throat, “I made one more space on the rack for you. I don't want certain clothes to get wrinkled in the drawer. I’ll make room in one more drawer too.”

Anne put the book aside and knelt on the sofa, facing her boyfriend. “Won’t it bother you? I already have space in my bedroom drawer, bathroom… In fact, there are a lot of my things scattered around the house. I don’t want to impose my space here.”

This was a subject that she had also been waiting to comment on for some time. By working her own hours at the store and having an employee to take her place wherever needed, Anne had a more flexible schedule than Vincent and it was easier to stay at his house, helping to keep everything on track and cooking for both of them. He would arrive just before dinner time and they could enjoy together without rushing to do the chores.

Because of this, the few clothes she wore just to sleep there became a drawer full, her makeup in the bathroom sink and her shoes near the door.

The gray-haired man hugged her around the waist, kissing her forehead and assuring her of his action. “You are not imposing anything, mon chéri. I want you to use this space. I want to have more and more of you here.”

For him, having her scent permeate the rooms was a gift wrapped in the best bow. Knowing that every day he would come home to see her welcoming smile and welcome kiss was the biggest work incentive.

“It feels like my home.” She whined.

“It’s your home. Our home.” He insisted.

In his favorite action, he cupped her face and looked warmly into her eyes, admiring her features trying to associate with what he was trying to say. They both smiled at each other realizing where the topic was going.

“Are you…”

“I want you to move in with me.”

The beautiful smile that filled his heart appeared on her face and Vincent, who was sure of her choice, but a little afraid of her accepting it, smiled too at her positive reaction.

In conclusion, he ended up needing to make more closet space for her countless boots, but he was happy that she could call the space her own (and she looks great in those boots, he would never complain about making room for them).

The snack table was almost empty and that made Anne happy. She might not be good at desserts, but her food was always praised and she almost never had leftovers when she cooked for her friends.

“This sandwich is delicious, aunt Anne!” Daniel stated, taking another one from the table and sitting on the sofa next to her. “Can I take some home?”

“Of course you can! There’s more stored in the kitchen, I’ll put it on the side for you to take.” She continued, now coming closer to whisper. “You can give Snoop a bite, I won’t tell your mom.”

“Hey, I’m watching you two!” Sandra said towards the back of the sofa, pointing at the two jokingly. She was talking to Vincent leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking anxious.

There was approximately 10 people spread throughout the room at this gathering. The couple chose to host a celebration for the launch of Sandra's new book, a dear friend of both, and tried to make room for everyone present. She was very delighted with the honor, although unaccustomed to the positive attention she was receiving.

Even though they weren't glued to each other at the party, Anne and Vincent always stopped for a moment to exchange a kiss and ask if everything was okay. He, even more so, couldn't stop admiring his girlfriend from afar. Parties like this always made him happy to be able to share the love he had for her and also show others that this was his girl.

It was around 6pm that they said their goodbyes and thanked their friends for being there. After closing the door, Anne took a deep breath and leaned against it with Vincent kissing her neck and hugging her waist.

“Had fun today?” He asked against her neck, kissing slowly until he reached her face. Hugging him back, she just nodded yes, pulling him into a longing and passionate kiss.

Vincent pressed his body against hers and tightened his grip, placing his free hand against the wall for support. Everything was going well, until Vincent suddenly stopped, as if he couldn't give in to temptation yet.

He also took a deep breath, with a shy smile as he looked at her.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, still leaning against the door and resting her hands on his shoulder.

"What?" He retorted.

“During the party, you kept looking at me like that, with those heart-eyes, that fool in love face of yours. And now you're doing it again. It seems... different.”

Vincent laughed awkwardly, as if he was unprepared to respond that quickly. “In my defense, I always look like a fool in love when I’m with you.”

Before anything else, Vincent took a red velvet box out of his pocket and opened it, showing a silver ring made especially for her. With the hand that was on her waist, he slipped into her hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Kneeling isn’t your style, nor are long speeches in front of our friends, but I can’t just leave the ring in your hand without saying anything. The day I saw you for the first time, I was intrigued. The second time, that feeling I had of needing to talk to you urgently, of not letting the opportunity pass, I think, somehow, I knew we were going to get to this moment right now. By the third time - I was already in love. Head over heels, worshiping the ground you pass, heart-eyes, whatever you want to call it. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't feel those butterflies in my stomach before seeing you, that I don't feel the eager to be by your side. If you do me the honor of marrying me, I can promise that you will have a man who wakes up in love with you every day. Forever.”

Anne's eyes were already full of tears as soon as she saw the box and she couldn't help but shed them when she heard the proposal.

The last 4 years of their lives were instinctive, passionate, in a way she never thought she would experience. All her last lovers didn't last long, they couldn't handle her personality or couldn't love her right, so she was left with no hope that it would change. But Vincent's speech was something that she not only believed, she felt. Every day, she felt his love, his affection and his care. Wave of action speaks louder than words and she trusted her man.

There was no other answer than yes.

The same word was repeated by the two of them at the registry office a few months later. The idea was never a big party, it didn't suit either of their personalities, but Anne always wanted a dress and a veil, so they were both there, in their wedding clothes just before lunch time in the registry office next to Vincent's work place.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

With that sentence, the two shared a classic wedding kiss, with Vincent holding her around the waist and Anne throwing her leg up. They could live that moment over and over again, but they needed to go out for a little celebration party with their friends before they left for their honeymoon (and Anne was more than eager to have her friends around so she could toss the bouquet).

Outside, in another snowy day, Anne reached through the car window and took a black bag from the glove compartment, handing it to her now husband.

“What is it?” He held on, swinging by the loop to feel the weight so he could find out what it could be.

“It's your wedding gift.” She cheerfully replied.

He stole one more kiss from his wife before opening the bag, already imagining what could be inside.

“It has our initials and today’s date on it,” she pointed to the bottom where the details were, “so no other girl coming out of court will need to offer you the lighter.”

Vincent took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with his newest gift, but without inhaling, just lighting it for the sake of it.

“No one will have my love. Only you, mon chéri."

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #anatomy of a fall #fluff #i scrobbled this song 102 times to write this #my love mine all mine

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dancingtotuyo · 11 hours

Text

11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief.

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open.

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders.

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.”

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?”

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles.

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement.

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace.

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it.

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up.

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours.

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.”

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it.

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared.

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.”

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.”

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before.

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops.

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy.

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests.

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you.

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back.

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.”

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult.

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.”

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom.

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain.

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later.

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs.

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back?

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it.

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality?

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you.

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived.

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes.

“What?”

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!”

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind.

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway.

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders.

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time.

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house.

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much.

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!”

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?”

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living.

“I couldn’t lose her!”

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!”

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.”

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there.

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going.

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol.

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you.

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another.

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth.

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him.

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him?

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows.

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open.

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out.

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.”

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says.

“She?”

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water.

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs.

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin.

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly.

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred.

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away.

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose.

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.”

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers.

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name.

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled.

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

“Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.”

“You want to meet her?” you ask.

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you.

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks.

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa.

“You can get closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.”

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does.

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks.

“Willa,” you reply.

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly.

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal.

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her.

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?”

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice.

“Do you like the butterflies?”

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still.

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer.

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent.

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile.

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you.

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair.

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her.

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one.

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.”

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead.

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#woman (joel miller)#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #ppcu fanfiction #em's fics

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thatoneneuvichiliauthor · 1 day

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So I'm personally a fan of fics where the characters react to their show/game/book/etc, and how they react to the things they never would have otherwise seen. What im saying is, In what ways do you think ratio would react to seeing aventurine in that last update? Seeing his past cutscenes that got shown, his conversations with his future self and seeing Aventurine's child form as well. Because theres so much there that ratio never would have gotten this perspective on otherwise and I have to wonder how hed feel about it. He probably already guessed that Aventurine had a rough life since he knows he used to be a slave, but thats different from seeing it first hand in his memories and to hear him basically admit to himself that hes tired, wishes that fate didnt curse him with his blessing, and really just wants to die. Like theres so much to explore here, especially from the view of Ratio who genuinely wants to help humanity seeing this

Oh that's a good question! The first thing that comes to my mind is that the more Aventurine expresses his desire to die, the more Ratio would be stressing out about the possibility that he might forget to open his note, that Aventurine might never know that someone did care. And he would be beyond relieved once Acheron does remind Aventurine to read it.

As for him witnessing Aventurine's past, I think that after seeing everything he went through, he would feel kind of guilty for not realizing that the power of the Harmony would put him back through all those bad memories and for not being there for him as he slowly fell apart (even though Ratio staying away and pretending he didn't care was part of Aventurine's plan). At the same time, he would also be impressed by Aventurine's resilience, by how he managed to make it out alive despite all the odds that were pitted against him. It would confirm what Ratio already suspected: that Aventurine is far more clever than anyone gives him credit for.

Most of all, I think Ratio would be dying to find a way to reach out to him, even in a situation he knows it isn't logically possible, because he sure cares so much for Aventurine, though he might not be the greatest at expressing it. I can also see him scribbling on his tablet as he writes down everything he should say/do the next time he sees Aventurine, because the last thing he wants is to screw it up and to make Aventurine feel even worse about himself.

(Oh, and after seeing all that, he would be furious at Sunday for the psychological torture he put Aventurine through)

I'm sure there would be many more things to say about his reactions, but this is what first came to me after reading your ask! And once again, thanks for sharing your thoughts about them with me 😊

#ratiorine #aventurine #dr ratio #asks #rambling

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comicwritesstuff · 3 days

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okay this is so incredibly specific so please feel free to ignore BUT i’ve been wanting to read a fic for ages where the reader is Chase’s childhood best friend from Australia and she moves to New Jersey for a fresh start. She’s staying with Chase while she gets settled, and one day she comes to visit him at lunch at the hospital, where she ends up meeting House and he’s… intrigued by her 👀 either romantic or smut would be so very cool :^D <33 💐

YES. I LOVE THIS PROMPT IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT IM FINISHED!!!

Gregory House x Fem!Chases bsf!Reader

Warnings: None really, just cussing and tooth rotting fluff >:) 3k+ words.

Chase's POV:

“Well I was just wondering if we could go out sometime, I think you're really-” My attention shifted as y/n's call lit up my phone, interrupting the conversation. It was a more pressing matter than pursuing a one-night stand.

“Excuse me for a moment.” I say walking away, the woman having an annoyed look on her face.

I answer the phone.

“Hello, y/n? Whats up”

“Chase! Long time no talk haha.”

“You called me yesterday.”

“Learn to take a joke, anyways, I have some exciting news for you.”

“I’m moving to New Jersey!!”

“Wait what? Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell you and i'm actually at the airport right now, so I hope you aren't busy tomorrow so you can pick me up.”

“Wow, um alright, yeah I can pick you up, do you have a place to stay?"

“Um…no…” I sigh, “Just stay at mine for now.”

“Don't even with the sigh i’ve known you my whole life you can put the nightly hookups on hold for your best friend.”

I smirk and shake my head, “Yeah yeah, I’ll see ya tomorrow y/n”

Y/N’s POV:

I smile as I hang up with Chase, grabbing my luggage and pulling it along the airport. Ahh yes, crying babies, rushed parents, annoying couples and that one insanely attractive person you see for a split second, I love the airport.

Glancing at my ticket I realize I might have to hurry to make it to the gate, speed walking I see a text from chase, “Have a safe flight.” Let's hope so.

Time skip (to lazy to write all the details about fucking airports)

Relaxing on a 21-hour flight proved challenging, especially with a toddler nearby. It was unclear whether the toddler would be a source of annoyance or just be tolerable. The flight just started. So to entertain myself I decide to do some digging about Chase's job, he brags about it all the time and the infamous Dr Gregory House. To be honest I thought Chase was gay for a little while with how much he talks about him. Still speculating.

The plane lifts off and I start my look, at first just looking up Gregory House, a surprising amount of things show up. An article titled, “Gregory House, Talented Doctor? Or a lying Narcissist?” Oh well that's a good first impression.

Scrolling down I see another article, “The world's greatest doctor, and his deepest secrets”

Now that's enticing. I click on it only to find out his deepest secrets, including using 3 in one shampoo and how his leg got hurt. I guess people hardly know anything about him. I click on the photos of him, there's only a couple, most of them blurry but to be honest he's pretty good looking from the photos I can see. I’d honestly be gay for him if I was Chase.

The toddler next to me starts giggling, I glance at her and notice her staring at a picture of House. She's kicking her feet too. That's so relatable.

For the rest of the flight I find some stuff about this guy named Taub, who somehow also figured out that he cheated on his wife which is why he had to quit. How did I find that out? I took a coding class in 8th grade. (I got lucky)

Lisa Cuddy the Dean of Medicine, unfortunately only good stuff about her, boring.

Remy Hadley, oddly, can't find anything on her.

Eric Foreman, his brothers in jail, fun.

And the others are just as boring. For the remainder of the flight, the toddler proved surprisingly chill. I passed the time by binge-watching random movies I had downloaded earlier

*Another time skip to plane landing*

Finally, 21 hours on a fucking plane is horrible.

I check my phone after I take it off airplane mode, seeing a text from chase a couple minutes ago.

“I’m at the airport, is your flight done?”

“Yep, wya.”

“I’m parked in the front.”

“That's specific”

“There's no other front dumbass”

I roll my eyes at his text, and get off the plane as soon as I can. I walk out and see Chase standing outside his car waiting for me. His eyes light up as he spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. Unable to resist, I rush forward and envelop him in a bear hug.

“Man you’re a lot uglier in person”

I say jokingly, smirking.

“Oh shut up”

We climbed into his car, and he drove us back to his apartment. When we arrive he helps get my crap into the house, before he gets a call saying he had to head to work.

Eventually a week or two passes, I've gotten more comfortable in his apartment, applied for a bunch of jobs, and looked for places to stay so I’m not invading his “man” space anymore. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of options, and no jobs have replied to my applications, which is weird since im overqualified, it's almost like they aren’t even getting my applications in the first place.

I’m doing the dishes when I get a text from Chase.

“Hey, I left my wallet on the counter, so I don’t have money for food, could ya bring it for me?”

“Nah”

“See you soon”

I breathe out a laugh and grab his wallet, putting a coat on then driving to the hospital.

When I get there I walk in, looking around before I call Chase, “Where do I go this place is huge” I can hear talking in the background, actually more like arguing. “Uhm just wait at the entrance i’ll be right there.” He says in a whisper.

He hangs up so I just stand there awkwardly waiting, that was a weird ass phone call. To be fair Chase is a weird ass guy with weird ass coworkers so what do I expect at this point.

Before I see Chase I see Dr Gregory House, limping quickly towards me. And damn he’s even hotter in person than the pictures I saw of him.

“Hey, no time to explain, you need to come with me.” He grabs my arm dragging me into the elevator. Before it closes I see Chase come out of the stairway, he sprints towards the elevator but it closes. I hear him trying to say something, but it's muffled and I can’t understand it. Wait why the fuck did I even follow House?

“You're real compliant, you’d make a great hooker.”

I turn around and side eye him.

“Thanks, so would you.” I say giving a fake smile.

“Speaking of compliant, why did you drag me away from Chase? What's going on?’’

“I made a bet with Chase.”

“That's really specific and helpful thanks”

“Oh yeah no problem”

Sarcastic asshole.

“If you don’t tell me, I'll stop following you and go with Chase.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine, Mom! The bet is that I can convince you to work as my assistant here.”

“Really? That's it? I need a job. Why would Chase even bet against that?”

“He thinks you’ll fall in love with me so he doesn’t want that to happen, in his words, “She has a thing for homeless looking, narcissistic assholes with beards.” So he’s trying to prevent it, and he’s sure he can.”

Damn- I feel so called out. I stay silent before nodding.

“Well to be honest he isn’t wrong.”

I see House smirk before we get out of the elevator, he hobbles and leads me to his office, locking the door then having me sit down.

As I sit down in front of his desk, he grabs a ball and starts throwing it against the wall, while sitting down.

“So are you gonna interview me or something?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Chase to get back up here so he can watch me interview you.”

He really is an asshole…it's kinda hot though.

“Fair enough.”

We wait a bit before Chase comes jogging up to the door, out of breath, he’s clearly been running plenty. He starts banging on the glass door that House previously locked.

“House!! Y/N! Let me in! This isn’t fair!” He exclaims, House is grinning when he leans over his desk, crossing his arms.

“Okay! Let’s start this interview now.”

“Y/n! You traitor!”

Did I abandon my childhood best friend for some disabled doctor? No, I did it for the job. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Turning my attention back to House instead of the Australian cry baby outside the door, he asks me, “First question, do you want the job of being my assistant?”

“Obviously”

“Great! You have the job!”

I mean, easy enough. I smile and shake my head. This hospital really has some unique people.

House shakes my hand, grinning as Chase is sitting on the floor defeated outside.

As the days turned into weeks at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I got to know everyone. Cuddy had to actually approve of me working as House’s assistant first, but once she saw a…normal enough individual, she welcomed me into the environment.

Getting to know House better, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t really expected. The bet between House and Chase, Chase thinking I would fall for House, I took it as a joke, until that joke turned more into reality.

Despite House being a narcissistic piece of shit, there were small moments that I saw, or shared with him that made me fall for him. Ones where he seemed happy, or just easy to be around. At work he's serious but when Wilson dragged him out to bars, or other social environments, he could actually be fun. And though him being a dick is undeniably attractive sometimes, when he was…”himself” that's how I began to fall for him.

One day, after an especially tough day for the team, and being forced to go break into houses and get coffee and food, I found myself alone with House in his office. The rest of the team had left, leaving us in a rare moment alone with each other. As I glanced up from the medical chart of the most recent patient, I caught House’s gaze lingering on me, his blue eyes intense and unreadable.

“Something on your mind, House?” I asked, attempting to break the awkward silence between us.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease, “Oh just wondering why a catch like yourself doesn’t have a boyfriend, or husband?” He responds, his tone laced with flirtatiousness.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, a faint blush on my cheeks. House and I had gained an uncanny camaraderie, made from me running around doing everyone's paperwork, being the designated “you get to tell patients they are dying!!” person. And as you’d expect people didn’t respect me a lot, but if someone was blatantly mean to me, House would step in and destroy their self esteem in a second and walk away like it meant nothing. That's another thing that I think made me fall for him.

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that a lot too.” I smile, placing the medical chart on his desk.

“Do you want a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or a pet or something.” He quips, his eyes looking like they are reading me, studying my every movement and reaction to what he’s saying, it's flattering and uncomfortable at the same time.

“A boyfriend would be nice.” I say reassuringly, a laugh escaping me as I shake my head in amusement.

“Alright let's say *hypothetically* I asked you out. *hypothetically* what would your response be?”

Raising an eyebrow I ask, “Are you trying to go on a date with me?”

“I said hypothetically, now answer the question.”

A smirk plays on my lips as I roll my eyes in a mock annoyance.

“Well.” I say, “Hypothetically, I would say yes.”

“Great, meet me for dinner at (some random fancy place idk u make up a name i'm too lazy to), wear something cute.”

With that, he sauntered out of the office, leaving me to think about what just happened. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had just enough time to get ready for our “hypothetical date.”

The anticipation bubbled within me, standing outside (IDK A RESTAURANT NAME IT), waiting for House to arrive. My heart raced with nervous excitement, unsure what to expect from a…unique…guy like House. I had used all the time I had to work on my outfit, settling for a simple dress (or suit, or just anything you're comfy in :) ).

As I scanned the busy street, searching for any sign of House, I heard the obnoxiously loud sound of a motorcycle approaching. House rode in, parking his bike before getting off and walking (limping) towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him, he looked impossibly handsome, in a tailored suit that made his rugged charm come out, good god he looked fine.

“Y/n,” he greeted with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine affection. “That outfit makes your ass look nice.”

I scoff playfully, hitting his arm. “So much for acting like a gentleman, at least you look like one.”

He chuckled, offering me his arm in a more gentlemanly gesture. “Yeah yeah, shall we?”

With a nod, I looped my arm through his, savoring the warmth of his touch as we mad our way into the restaurant. The ambiance was elegant and inviting, with a soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the decor.

As we were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’m finally going out with House, damn Chase was totally right.

Throughout the evening, our conversation flowed surprisingly easily between us. I had half expected him to be rude or stuck up, but he seemed actually interested in me, in my life. He was asking questions, laughing and joking with me. Sharing stories of his own, and treating me like an actual human. Honestly it was scaring me a bit, but it was making me fall harder for him.

House raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. ‘So, tell my Y/N. What’s the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you?”

I laughed, shaking my head as I thought about the memory. “Well, there was this one time in college-”

“Let me guess,” House interrupted, a smirk playing on his lips. “It involved copious amounts of alcohol and very questionable decisions?”

I chuckle and nod in agreement. “You could say that. Long story short, I ended up streaking through the campus fountain at three in the morning. I'm pretty sure Chase might still have a video of it still.”

House raises an eyebrow, an amused laugh coming from him. “I wish I could say I was surprised, oh and also. I am finding that video.” He states, with a determined and mischievous grin.

The dinner continues and our connection just seems to get stronger, fueled by shared laughter, stories of shit Wilson and him did in college, things Chase and I did in highschool. With each passing moment, I found myself more and more under House’s spell, captivated by the complexity of himself, his character. His gaze, laughter, even his personality. Maybe it was the wine or something, but House was being nice, he had charisma, and was being attractive in general.

I don’t even realize that we’ve spent almost three hours in the restaurant just talking. I check my phone seeing that it's 9:30 already. We had got and paid the check awhile ago, but had stayed to talk longer. The restaurant closes at 10, and I felt a sudden pang of disappointment that our date was close to being over with. I didn’t want it to end, I was savoring this moment I was having, this seemingly perfect night.

When the waiter arrived to take our dessert order, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that the evening was drawing to a close. I wasn't ready for it to end—I wanted to savor every moment, to prolong the magic of our time together for as long as possible.

House notices my look of disappointment, “I’m aware how amazing I am, but if its up to me, this won’t be our last date.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks heating up as I blush. The butterflies in my stomach going absolutely insane.

So with a quick glance around the restaurant, I rose from my seat, House grabbed my hand as he led me towards the exit.

Stepping out into the cool night air, I felt a sense of happiness coursing through me. This was it, the beginning of a new relationship, a surprisingly healthy one so far.

As House’s hand tightened around mine, his touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through my veins. I knew now that maybe Chase knows me better than I know myself, in all fairness he predicted this, but right now I wasn’t afraid to admit this, to admit the undeniable attraction that I had towards Dr Gregory House.

His touch leaves mine, his hand pulling as we stand in front of the restaurant, close to each other, staring in each other's eyes. I glance at his lips before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, not sure if he expected it, but I pull back.

“Goodnight House. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that I walk away, to my car. When I get in my car, I look in the mirror, seeing House standing there with a lovestruck grin, one a child would have over some school crush. But it was cute, he was cute. And this was just the beginning of an annoyingly predicated relationship with a Vicodin addicted, asshole, who I suspect has a soft spot for me.

#gregory house #greg house #hatecrimes md #dr house #house md #gregory house x reader #greg house x reader #house md headcanons #james wilson #robert chase

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