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fyorina · 2 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 TO SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

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

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

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

Dazai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you’re so cruel, Dazai Osamu.

You hate that you instantly feel relieved.

You hate even more that he definitely notices.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

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

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

A bit too tight, but you don’t mind.

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

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

“Sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think you could stare at it forever.

His fingers burn.

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

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

But he has it.

He has it.

He has you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sakae and Kanagawa?

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

It’s not an option.

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll wait for you.”

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

Ding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so tired.

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

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

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

He really can’t get a break.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you give him a smile.

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

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

“I’m sure,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s already looking at you.

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kisses you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A screech comes from the television.

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

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

You want to kiss him again, so you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Yeah. You might be falling for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want company?”

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

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

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

Dazai comes home to an empty penthouse.

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

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

Where are you?

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

Did you leave?

Why did you leave?

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

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

Maybe you were just sick of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is she?”

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

“... What do you mean?”

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

Where did you go?

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

Why the fuck did no one say anything to him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is he going to do?

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

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

But if he can’t…

He has two options:

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

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

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

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

And then the elevator dings.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

He spiraled for nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smile splits across your face.

“Is that even a question?”

Dazai’s woken up by someone shaking his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does. Of course, he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, is this it?

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

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

How does he prevent it?

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

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

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

“You sound… disappointed,” you say hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he freezes.

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

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

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

But now…

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

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

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

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

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mockerycrow · 7 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a one shot with gn!reader who gets hurt in a mission trying to save Ghost and as he feels bad for it, so he gets reader a small plushie (kinda like those for the key chain) and when reader wakes up doesn't know it was ghost how gave it to them

💙

KEYCHAIN (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — 1.3k words

authors note; it’s your local author criticizing their writing non stop again!!!!!! i feel like i could’ve written this better idk i’m sorry, anon! i wrote this whilst focusing on other projects </3

[WARNINGS; violence, descriptions of stabbing and choking, gore, hospital settings, fluff at the end.]

Ghost did not expect you to do what you did. Someone somehow managed to get the jump on Ghost from behind, wrapping their arms around the man’s neck with a knife in their hand. It was right in the middle of Ghost claiming he cleared a building; in his defense, he had cleared the entire building of every hostile for the exception of one. You heard him grunt and choke before going radio silent, you decided that you were on your way to his location the second something sounded wrong.

Ghost gasps for air and reaches for a knife of his own, trying to stomp his foot down on the man’s foot, but the man grunts and laughs when Ghost discovers he’s wearing steel-toed shoes. Ghost struggles against the man, his head beginning to swim—when is the last time he’s been overpowered like this?—and Ghost manages to grab one of his knives, taking it out of the sheath—

Ghost’s vision goes white for a moment when he feels the man’s blade sink into his abdomen, the man shushing him in his ear. “It’ll be over soon, big boy.” The man hisses, carelessly ripping the knife out of Ghost’s gut, making his legs buckle. Ghost must have blacked out for a moment because the next time his vision and hearing work, he’s on the ground in immense pain, witnessing a figure fighting off the strong, armored man. Ghost hears someone cry out—is that you??—but his vision won’t focus just yet.

His ears are ringing as he puts a forearm against the ground, a groan leaving Ghost as his other hand goes to his gut, and he winces as he applies pressure to his stab wound, hot thick blood trickling between his fingers and onto the ground. Ghost’s throat aches terribly, so he clears it as his vision finally focuses and it’s you fighting off a man that’s bigger than him. His eyes widen as he shouts your name, his voice hoarse and broken, laced with panic.

There’s blood staining your uniform as Ghost lets go of his stab wound, and he groans loudly as he leans down and grabs his handgun out of his ankle holster. Ghost inhales through his teeth and he shakily aims his handgun, and holds his breath to steady his aim, and he pulls the trigger.

The bullet ripples through the air and rips through the man’s temple, causing him to stumble for a second before crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. Unfortunately, you follow suit, a loud pained gasp leaving you as you land on your side. Ghost holsters his handgun and he calls your name again, fighting through the pain to quickly crawl over to you, blood trailing him. “Oi, oi—“ Ghost hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to roll onto your back.

There’s blood caking your uniform so horribly he doesn’t know where your wounds begin. It’s smeared against your neck and face, your eyelids fluttering from the pain. Your lips part and shut multiple times as your mind tries to comprehend what just happened. Ghost calls your name, a loud noise of pain leaving him, one hand pressing against his own wound whilst the other grabs your jaw to keep your head still.

Ghost hears Price shout your name through comms in an angry and panicked tone. “Ghost?? Fuckin’ hell, someone come in!” Ghost pants before he begins to tear the velcro straps off of your vest as he needs to know where you got hurt. He moves his hand off of his own stab wound—he is a bit lightheaded—and he presses down on his radio. “Ghost to Price, we’re both injured. One SW for me, I’m not sure how many for them.” Ghost croaks into the radio, trying to multitask.

“Bloody—where are you two?” Price demands through the radio, sounding a bit breathless. Ghost inhales sharply as he leans over, his body bending the wrong way as he grabs the front of your vent and he grunts loudly as he drags it off of you with one hand. He’s lost a bit of strength with the blood he’s lost. You gasp and grab for Ghost’s wrist as he begins to press down on one of your multiple stab wounds near your vital organs. “Building two, third floor.” Ghost responds with a strained voice. He notices your head rolling back, and you barely hear Ghost yelling.

Don’t let this be the end.

You ended up passing out from pain and blood loss, despite Ghost’s best efforts of keeping you awake. You slowly awakened in a plush setting, slight pain humming through your veins, your throat dry and aching. You twitch, your muscles heavy from not being used for a bit. You hear a monitor or two, which gives you an indication you’re in the hospital. Your eyelids fluttered open and luckily, the overhead light in your hospital room was not on. The curtains were drawn open, and the light streamed into the room.

You glanced around, seeing Soap with his journal in his hand, sketching something. It gives you a warm feeling in your gut and you glance over to your other side, seeing Gaz sitting there, holding.. your keys with a little fuzzy thing?

“What’s that?” You croak, causing both Gaz and Soap’s heads to snap to look at you. “Aye, look who’s awake!” Soap exclaims, grinning. He closes his journal and puts it on the ground next to his chair before he grabs a foam cup. Soap brings it to your lips, and you realize it’s water so you greedily gulp it down, the water soothing your throat. Gaz lets out a breath before he scoots closer, the crease in his eyebrows finally relaxing. “It’s nice to see you awake.” Gaz murmurs with a soft smile of his own.

Soap pulls away the cup and sets it back down. “How long was I out?” You question. “What even happened? It’s in sections for me..”

Soap and Gaz share a look before Gaz fiddles with the fuzzy thing in his fingers, your keys clinking around. “You saved Ghost. He was being overpowered and you found him, but uh..” Gaz winces a bit, causing your eyebrows to furrow as bits and pieces begin to flood back to memory. “—But you got injured yourself. Luckily lil’ ol’ LT got off with one stab wound. You? Ya got off with six.”

You blink for a moment. “Oh.” You utter, taking a moment to process that. “You had to have surgery which is why your throat aches so much, the tube.” Gaz explains, putting your keys and the fuzzy thing in your lap. “They said everything should heal normally, but you'll be out of commission for a while.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and you nod, your hand reaching out and grabbing your keys. “And Ghost?” You ask, your tone tight, expecting the worst. “He’s alright,” Soap assures, causing you to look at him now with a look of relief. “He just left a bit ago to get some rest, since he can’t stay and lay hunched over.” Gaz chuckles and you can’t help the smile that appears on your face. You finally look down at the fuzzy thing attached to your keys; it’s a little keychain plushie of a black and white cat. You let out a soft “aww” before looking at Gaz, and then Soap. “Who gave me this?” You ask.

Soap and Gaz share a knowing look—a glance you can’t quite yet decipher—before they shrug and mutter stuff like “i don’t know..” and “no idea” when in fact they watched Ghost, in a wheelchair, wheel himself into the room and grunt for your keys. Soap had wordlessly handed them to the man, and they watched him put on the kitty keychain and made them promise to not tell them he gave it to you.

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 3 months

Note

Can you write hcs for Luke and a daughter of Hypnos (😴)

PLEASE

🥰

(If possible?)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ luke castellan x daughter of hypno! reader hcs

content: luke castellan x daughter of hypno! reader hcs warning: so soft you'll puke tho tbh minor mentions of luke's angst author's note: why do i love this more than life itself???? i dunno, you tell me. i kinda wish it was longer but yo girl outta ideas. also, i think im so fucking funny for that last line like hello guys where is my oscar for funniest teen girl to exist????

lukey pookie and his sleepy girl frrrrr

you guys were, like, aware of each other but not like friends, ya know???

until his quest - well, failed quest

he kept having nightmares, horrors of the shame on his father's face, visions of his mother hearing the news had he actually died, terrible dreams of demented dragons and enough golden apples to drown in

chris noticed and suggest luke go see you, hypno's best daughter

chris knew you following a head injury that had him scared he was going to fall into a coma, but the apollo cabin had called you over to sooth his nerves.

you were also often called in when new, younger campers were struggling to sleep, which made the a common but distant face in the hermes cabin

and chris just knew you could do wonders for luke's recent sleep problems

after a little bit of resistance, luke finally went to you

he'd had the worst nightmare yet, leaving him with huge bags under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that he couldn't seem to loose

he figured it quite literally couldn't get any worse, so he knocked on the door of cabin fifteen, already feeling slightly more at peace from just standing outside it

then a pretty girl opened the door, a cute yawn hidden behind her hand

"h-hey! luke, right? what can i do for ya?" you muttered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before beaming a soft smile at the boy

luke choked on nothing, attempting to get words out but his tongue kept getting in the way and all that came out was chortled noises

you giggled softly, unable to keep them in despite the boys growing blush

"i-i- chris, he said- er, something about you being able to help me sleep with you- sorry! no, sleep, just, you know, in general," luke finally managed to spit out, his brain working overtime and the words coming out all wrong

you giggled at the boy once more before leaning forwards and grasping his wrist, tugging him into your cabin

you gestured towards one of the free, fluffy beds, disappearing off to somewhere, though you kept talking to the boy

"chris is really worried about you, ya know. i almost had to visit you, which we don't do very often. here, you want some tea?? lavender or chamomile? i prefer the chamomile but i think you'd like the lavender," you rambled, sitting beside him in the bed criss cross and presenting him with a mug and holding up two separate tea bags

"chamomile's fine," luke replied, taking the teabag from you, not wanting to mention that it reminded him of his mom but it reminded him of his mom

"chamomile's great!" you joked, bumping your shoulder with his

a few minutes passed of just luke drinking the tea and yawning before you mentioned that he should lie down, removing the mug from his hands

he was resistant, admittedly, not wanting to risk seeing more horrible things in his head

but you took his hand into yours, gently running your fingers along the veins and bones that you could just feel through his skin

"you think i'm just here for shits and giggles?? nah, i'm here to fistfight the boogie man. and lemme tell ya, these fists are lethal," you joke, winking at the boy, who laughed, settling into the soft pillows and blanket

but most importantly, he was settling into your presence, the hold you had on his hand, the soothing that your voice did to his brain and heart

and luke fell asleep, peacefully drifting off to the sounds of your hums and the feeling of your soft fingers ghosting over his skin

for the first time in a long while, luke castellan slept like a baby, warm and coddled and trusting that nothing bad could happen to him

not with the defender of REM cycle there

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan

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maeumi-jng · 5 months

Text

language of love

pairing: enhypen x gn!reader

synopsis: the language of love... so simple yet so profound. especially when you can't muster the courage to tell that special someone. or the subtle ways enha shows they like you.

warnings: fluff, skinship, swearing, mention of a nosebleed, unclear topic of insecurities about looks with riki, kinda cringe but everyone's so flirty (esp, hee, jay, and hoon 🤭), proof read-ish as usual

library: enhypen bookshelf

author's note: this was supposed to take one day but took four because i kept getting called into work shifts that i don't normally do 😭🤧 so i may or may not have gotten a bit lost on the way, bare with me please ♡︎

heeseung

heeseung is someone who likes to spend time with you, quality time if you will. but he's always in internal conflict about it. he loves being with you but when he's with you, he doesn't know how to act. you make him feel like jelly. as if he'd melt by being with you. and the amount of time he'd spend with you made the lines between friends and something more quite blurry.

but the time he likes to spent with you isn't on anything normal or something that occurs everyday like grocery shopping, having lunch together, or watching a movie with you. while of course, he enjoyed those things, heeseung like to make the smallest things that seemed insignificant and unimportant to life heart fluttering.

take for example, the one time you had decided to sit down at a bench in the park with your group of friends. heeseung was next to you when you found a newspaper that had been left behind with an unfinished crossword puzzle.

you weren't really a crossword puzzle type of person but you had a pen in your bag and you figured why not?

the puzzle was ocean themed which lost you even more. but you persevered only to become stuck on the very last word. it was across, intertwining with the 1st word, and seven letters long. the prompt? 'what is a community of organisms that live on or near a 'benthic zone'?'

yup. beyond you.

heeseung, who was talking to sunghoon, noticed your struggle by the pout of your lips, wondering eyes, occasional sighs and the tapping of your pen against your chin. a small smile crept onto his face when you turned to him and asked, "hee, i'm stuck. how do you do this? help me... please?"

who was he to deny such a cute request?

suddenly, he leaned towards you, taking your pen out of your hand. you blinked blankly at the close proximity between the two of you. you could feel the warmth radiate off of him. awkwardly, you rubbed the nape of your neck while heeseung glided the pen across the seven boxes. you couldn't tell what he was writing, eyes focused on the side of his face. he looked beautiful from the side too.

you chewed on your lip, watching him pull back and retract his hand. "you're done?" you asked, bewildered he had figured it out without searching it up.

heeseung hummed, eyes trailing over your face. "nope," he said, "i don't know the answer." he shrugged.

"huh?" you raised a brow, now peering over to the once empty row of squares. you're brows furrowed, trying to read the letters. but once you did, your eyes widened at the seven filled boxes.

URSOQT♡︎

"i–" you turned your head to heeseung to ask him what he meant as a wave of heat taking over your face. but he was already looking at you.

any voice you had had suddenly died down. you pressed your lips together, unable to form any words.

heeseung smiled softly, heart entirely overwhelmed by your reaction. he sighed, breathing in the fresh air before looking over to sunghoon. "don't you just love crosswords?"

sunghoon blinked. "what? hyung, i'm talking about basketball right now. crosswords? what are you on?"

heeseung pursed his lips, turning back to you. "i love crosswords."

see? crosswords... insignificant and not life changing. but ever since that day, you had never gone a second without your heart fluttering when you thought about it.

see? significant and life changing. 🤗

jongseong

jay hated having glasses.

or he hated having poor eyesight which made him have glasses.

whatever... it didn't matter. he just hated his glasses. they were a nuisance, always hurting the bridge of his nose and actually rendering him unable to see the face.

to make matters worse, riki and jake loved to tease him about how bad his eyesight actually was by trying them on. it was only a few seconds into wearing them that riki was complaining about sore eyes and the shock of his suddenly blurry vision had finally registered in jake's brain once he wore them. so jay avoided giving people his glasses to try on.

but when it came to you... it was hard to say no.

jay was in his local cafe, just reading his book, determined to get through it even though his brain was telling him to take an afternoon nap. also because he was meeting you soon and he was more determined to stay awake for that.

he had come early because he didn't want to keep you waiting, even for a second. but he had become so engrossed in his book, jay didn't even realise you had finally arrived.

"peekaboo. guess who? " suddenly, as jay was reading, your hands hovered over his glasses, covering his vision.

a smile automatically came to his face while jay rested his book down on the table. "is it the most prettiest girl in the universe?"

your eyes widened at his words, pulling your hands quickly back to you. your cheeks flushed while you cleared your throat, taking a seat next to him.

jay watched you try to dismiss his words but you didn't know what to say. and call it a bit odd, but jay loved it.

you blinked at his face, tilting your head, making jay raise a brow. suddenly it was his turn to be nervous when you leaned in and took his glasses gently off of his face. he could feel your hot breath from this close proximity. oh how he wished he could close in just a few more centimetres.

"can i try these on?" you queried.

jay slowly nodded, watching you first look through the lenses. you squinted at the wave of blurriness. "christ," you mumbled, trying to blink it away. "jay, you really can't see," you teased before gliding the frames onto your face.

jay needed to look away, taking anything as a distraction because he wasn't sure if he could handle seeing you wear his glasses.

you scrunched your nose at the heavy weight. you tapped jay's shoulder, trying to get his attention. "jay, look! i can't even see anything with these on."

jay internally cursed, slowly moving his head back to it's original position. he paused at the sight.

the thing was, jay already found you extremely adorable. there was just so much to like about you. the look on your face when you tried to be mad or when you needed to concentrate. or when you meet up and both realise you were wearing matching clothing. or whenever you saw stray kittens and puppies when it rained and you would sacrifice your umbrella just so they could have some shade and keep warm.

in the nicest way possible, you were terrible for his heart.

but watching you wear his glasses... it was so simple and stupid but it made his heart flip a million times more. you looked good in his things. a fact of the universe.

jay smiled softly, observing you take them off once your head started to throb.

"it's okay. they look better on you anyways," you told him, leaning in again to carefully put them back on his face.

jay's heart was now slamming against his chest. in his vision, he could see you use your index finger to nestle the glasses onto his nose bridge. "there," you said, "handsome as ever."

jay blinked, trying to calm his racing heart with subtle deep breaths.

he needed to confess... soon.

jaeyun

you know how quality time is a love language? well, it's a language that jake knows off by heart ever since he met you.

unlike heeseung, he wasn't entirely fixated on the small things. he liked doing the daily things with you like your morning hot chocolate run, going shopping with you, having a fixed lunch (date) everyday... it guaranteed him his daily dose of you and vice versa.

even if you were doing nothing, jake liked to hang out. just watching tiktoks on your phone or tv shows together, trying a new recipe you found, or even going on a picnic was enough for jake (and you).

take now for example. you were hanging out in the library for god's sake. you had an assignment to finish (mostly because you had pushed it so far that you had almost entirely forgotten it). despite you telling jake that it was literally going to take you hours because it took you thirty minutes to half-ass an introduction, he was all like, "it's fine. i have nothing to do any way."

like ??? what do you mean you have nothing to do? you could think of twenty things that were better than this. and that was just off the top of your head.

you'd like to think that you were getting a lot done, considering a few hours had passed and it seemed like there were a lot of words on your screen.

however, reality is not that kind.

instead, you had only written 600 words of your 2000 word essay and mostly focused on the fact that jake was spending him time... by staring at you.

"jake... i can't focus if you keep looking at me. i told you to go do something else more fun," you uttered, not peeling your eyes away from the screen.

"but this is fun. for your information, i find the fact that you find me more interesting than your essay really fun," jake smiled, leaning on his arm while he sat across you.

you blinked blankly at your screen. what were you writing again? "well now... now you're just twisting my words," you mumbled, feeling a wave of warmth scatter across the back of your neck.

suddenly a ding echoed from your phone making the both of you jump. you quickly ushered your phone to yourself, forgetting to silent your phone when you had entered. your eyes flickered over the notification and upon registering it, your face dropped.

jake raised a brow. "who is it?"

"it's my mum, shit i forgot," you sighed. "i have to go run errands for her. sorry, jake. at least you can find something fun to do now. see you!"

jake watched you quickly pack your stuff up, suddenly processing that you were leaving with out him.

you were just heading out of the library, standing up from your table when you felt a tug on your wrist. your eyes fell to your hand and then up to jake. you peered with a curious gaze.

"wait for me," jake told you, jacket half shrugged on. he sighed at your confused expression. "i'm coming with you, obviously."

"jake, seriously, it's fine," you laughed softly as he struggled to gather his things.

jake turned to you, sporting the uttermost serious expression you had ever seen on his face. "you don't get it... i cancel my other plans to spend time with you. sweetheart, there is literally nothing else i'd rather do than be with you."

oh.

your eyes widened. the endearment... the obviousness of it all...

you gave a small sigh, shaking your head slightly before letting a warm smile sprawl onto your face. "well come on then."

jake grinned, taking his bag off of the chair next to him. "this is gonna be great! especially because i haven't seen your mum in ages."

you raised a brow as you both walked together. "jake, you literally saw her three days ago."

"my point exactly."

sunghoon

to be honest, sunghoon doesn't necessarily exhibit the fact he likes you. because he doesn't really know how to. he preferred to keep his feelings at bay, more than content with being friends with you instead of ruining your relationship. and maybe... just maybe his feelings for you would go away.

but that preference was short lived when sunghoon realised he couldn't really control himself around you any longer. he'd find himself caring about all the small things.

every time he talked to you and he caught your smile when you were happily talking about the things you loved, sunghoon had to force himself to turn his head away and hide his own smile.

one time you hit your nose and dramatically made a big deal about it. it was amusing until sunghoon actually saw blood and the panic cross your eyes. now sunghoon naturally covered all the sharp and blunt corners and objects that you could possibly hurt yourself with when you were both walking together while making sure you walked on the inside of the road rather than near the cars or poles.

his friends even noticed. especially when he'd laugh at a tiktok you were showing him but they showed the exact one to him days before and sunghoon didn't even utter a word.

in summary: sunghoon liked you way too much.

and it was getting harder to contain his feelings.

"sunghoon-ah?" you called out, looking at your phone.

sunghoon, who was laying next to you on a picnic blanket, discreetly looking at you the entire time and revelling in the idyllic nature, hummed in response.

"what do you think about this guy for me?"

sunghoon squinted as you showed him your phone. a small huff of amusement fell from his lips. "why? does he have a crush on you or something?" he joked, briefly glancing at the phone, not even hiding his uninterest.

you rolled your eyes, taking your phone back. leave it up to sunghoon to take things so half-heartedly. "no... it's just that my friend is trying to set me up with someone–"

suddenly the phone was taken out of your hands. now fully attentive, sunghoon eyed the photo on your phone. he furrowed his brows, making you question him. "sunghoon?"

he sucked his teeth and tilted his head, pondering. "but don't i look better than this guy?"

you blinked rapidly, at a lost for words. sunghoon wasn't ever this straightforward with you. nor did he flirt subtly. in all the time you had known him, you had known him to be a sweet and caring person underneath all that evasiveness (all of which you'd come to really like, not that you'd ever tell him). but he'd never voice these things to you...

you broke out into a small smile with a quiet hum. "i guess you are better looking," you shrugged with feigned nonchalance, averting your eyes to anywhere else in the park.

sunghoon looked at your flushed state and smiled to himself. he nodded, mostly to himself, as he returned your phone. "yeah," he agreed with red ears, "i'm a lot better looking."

seonwoo

when seonwoo realised he liked you, at first he did nothing about it. what was he even going to do? tell you? ha! what a joke!

but after encountering several other people asking him for your number or socials, seonwoo realised he needed to up his game. make it more obvious. like really obvious.

so the first thing he did? he confessed.

you being you, you thought he was playing a joke on you. because why on earth would the kim seonwoo like you? this was the real world not la-la-la land.

seonwoo could barely register that fact that you thought he was joking. so he made it his mission to bring it up as often as he could. but not so much that you'd get fed up.

like you had just begun watching a drama that had finished a few weeks ago and seonwoo had decided to join you. you were so obsessed with it that you kept bringing it up when you could. one day, you were telling him about a part you saw when he briefly fell asleep and he says casually, “i know.”

and you’re like ??? “seonwoo, you fell asleep. what do you mean you know?”

he’d look at you and say, “i already watched all of it.”

you blinked blankly. “i– w-what? then why would you watch it again? isn’t that like a waste of time?”

“because you wanted to and because i like you. do i need any other reason?”

ohhhhhh

or on any random day, seonwoo would walk into your room and smile widely while holding up two matching items. "look what i got!”

you’d look up and press your lips together. “more matching keychains? not that i'm complaining but seonwoo.. i have like twenty of these because of you. the whole point of keychains is to actually use them not swap them out every other day.”

seonwoo would pout. “b-but each one shows how much i like you.”

you blankly look at him before slamming your head into your pillows, hiding your flushed cheeks. "ugh, seonwoo, why are you like this?" you grumbled, fighting between the urge to cringe or crumble.

seonwoo would be attaching the new keychains he brought to your already packed bag. "because i'm amazing," he'd say, "and because i like you."

your last straw was picked when you were trying to do something a simple as show him a video you found on your phone during your absentminded scrolling. "seonwoo, watch this."

seonwoo leaned in next to you, eyes momentarily on the phone before resting on you for most of the video.

you were grinning at the video of cute puppies before realising seonwoo was looking at you instead. "i– are you watching?" you queried, suddenly feeling self conscious all of a sudden

"hmm?" seonwoo blinked, moving his eyes back to the screen. "oh... yeah."

"seonwoo," you whined. "you need to stop that."

"stop what? looking at you. but that's like normal," seonwoo raised a brow.

"no, stop looking at me like that."

"like what?" seonwoo egged on. "like my entire world is in front of me?"

you sucked in a sharp breath, giving him a pointed look.

seonwoo held your gaze, responding earnestly. "does it make you feel uncomfortable? if it does... i'll stop. it'll be hard but i'll do it."

you chewed your bottom lip, spotting the dismay in his boba eyes. "no. it's okay. i like it."

a surge of relief wavered throughout you when a wide smile appeared back onto his face. "good," sunoo beamed, "i'm glad."

jungwon

jungwon was as direct as some get. if he had something to say, he'd say it. this persona, however, did not apply to two things: when someone asked him if he liked the food he was eating when he didn't or when it came to you.

jungwon didn't really know how it happened but he seemed to lose all senses and all the ability to speak when he was around you. that's when he realised he liked you.

every time you were with each other, a majority of it was in this comforting silence with the occasional side conversation. but if you minded, you didn't say anything. you seemed to enjoy the peace that always stemmed when you two were together.

that was one of those things that made jungwon find it difficult to communicate his feelings with you. with every passing day, he'd return home with something else he liked about you.

one day you were hanging out with your friend group. the sun was setting, it was warm out despite the slight breeze. jungwon was talking to his friend on his right when he realised he hadn't heard your voice in a while. he turned to you, only to find you resting your eyes, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere while your hair danced with the wind. that day, jungwon went home realising he really liked seeing you at peace.

another day, jungwon found out that you were really good at remembering the small things and how attached you got to them. he was in your room for the first time and you went to grab some water. his eyes skimmed the room, stopping on the shelf that was littered with some of the most random items: old movie tickets, beads, coins, and even a heart-shaped pebble.

you came back into the room, settling the cups of water down on your desk. "what are you looking at? ah, you found the shelf."

jungwon curiously turned to you, eyes still stuck on the shelf. "what is all of this?" his voice barely above a whisper.

"memories," you murmured softly. you walked next to him, gingerly picking the pebble off of the wood and showed it to jungwon. "you don't remember this one?"

jungwon raised a brow, trying to scavenge his brain for this pebble. after a lot of nothingness, it struck him! "oh my god, this is not the same rock we saw at beach last year, is it?" you had both found it hiding in the sand after you trailed away from the others.

"ding ding! a point for yang jungwon!" you confirmed, a small smile teetering on your face.

jungwon looked at you wordlessly. he didn't know what to say. if he thought about it, a lot of that shelf had him on it. the movie tickets, the coins he found on the road, the teddy bear he brought you for your birthday... you had kept everything.

after that day, jungwon knew he needed to make things a tad bit more obvious. at least in his perspective. so he showed you in a way that didn't have him talking too much: acts of service.

jungwon knew you ordered your coffee every morning so he'd bring it with him every time you met. he always kept a hoodie for you because you always got cold easily. always call you when you were on the bus or getting a ride to make sure you reached home safely. opening stubborn packs of food when you couldn't. always having medicine on hand when you felt unwell.

jungwon would basically drop everything for you. and he'd think he was doing it sooo discreetly but you noticed, embarrassing him when you pointed it out.

"you're just so thoughtful, so i wanted to show you that i also think about you too.. like a lot."

(future) boyfriend goals indeed. 🤭

riki

similar to seonwoo, in an strange way, riki was direct. strange because this only occurred when he had a point to prove. call it what you want... youth or the journey of maturity, but if he wanted to let you know something, he'd say it. in summary: for you, an attention seek.

while riki was competitive, he never really competed with a person one-on-one. it was rather a battle of what he could do rather than him by himself. like he'd rather find out he's better by acing them in a basketball match or something.

yet, when both of you were hanging out with your friends in a pet cafe to relieve some stress, riki found himself competing with the worker who had been staring at you ever since you took a step into the place.

how was riki going to resolve this you ask? (or win, in this case?)

by trying to get as many pets around him as he could. see, riki knew you cherished animals. any time you were near one, you'd always have to stop to look, talk, and ensure they were safe. riki found it endearing. so if all the animals in the cafe loved him and not the the guy who literally works there, then not only has he won over the animals and the worker, but most importantly, he's won your heart (vicariously through animals, of course).

the only problem? as mentioned, the guy worked there. and while the one shiba inu in the cafe seemed to adore riki, the rest were in the hands of the freaking worker! and right beside him was you.

riki whisper-yelled your name, capturing your attention. "look at this!"

you turned to find the same young shiba inu, the one you had been fawning over the moment you saw him, sleeping in riki's lap. your eyes softened at the sight of them together. cuteness with cuteness... just your luck. you reached for the phone in the pocket of your jacket.

riki paused briefly, realising you had snapped a sneaky photo of him and the puppy. discreetly, his eyes took a moment to savour the awkward realisation on the worker's face. a small smug grin made it's way onto his face. he was on your camera roll. he won.

but this type of stuff was tame in comparison to what riki pulled the other day.

you were at his house, waiting for him to get ready so you could watch a new movie in the cinema. riki was hopping out, trying to put his sock on when he saw you intently staring at your phone.

a sudden flick to your forehead got your attention.

"ow!" you exclaimed, rubbing your head. "riki, what the hell?"

riki bit back his smile when he saw you pout. "what are you looking at so much that you can't look at me?"

you rolled your eyes, removing your hand from your forehead. "first of all, you're the one taking forever. second of all... it's not really anything, it's just a pretty person. see? don't you think they're like really pretty?" you sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for an answer.

riki furrowed his brows, trying to put his shoes on at the door as you showed him your screen. he eyed the photo before looking back up at you and back at the phone. "you're prettier," he said nonchalantly.

you blinked blankly, slowly raising your phone back to your chest. you were suddenly desperately fighting a wave of fluster from drowning you. you pressed your lips, letting a small huff of amusement slip past your lips. "i don't think that's what other people would say."

riki finished tying his shoelaces, standing up straight. he sighed, taking the phone out of your hands, closing it and putting it into the pocket of your hoodies as he stepped closer to you. his hands moved to hold your cheeks while his brown eyes held yours intently. "it doesn't matter what they think. i think you're prettier. that's all that matters."

your mouth fell open, cheeks warm at his sudden touch. it was as if all the words you had ever learned or read had flown right from your brain and dispersed into the air.

removing his hands from your face, riki grasped your hand tightly. "now come on! we're really going to be late if you keep standing like a gaping fish!"

#maeumi-jng #maeumi jng’s library — enhypen bookshelf ♡︎#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen reactions #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #jay x reader #riki x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcannons

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incognit0slut · 4 months

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (Epilogue)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Series Masterlist Part Summary: The couple finally finds the happiness they both deserve. Part Warnings: nothing really just implied smut, fluff, and happily ever after

Author's note at the end!

...One year later...

"WE NEED TO LEAVE."

The urgency in his voice carried a subtle tone of exasperation as the words softly left his lips. The urgency wasn't overtly pronounced, but it lingered in the air, urging her to quicken her pace. She focused her attention on the bathroom mirror, hastily slipping into the dress chosen for the occasion of the night.

"Give me five more minutes!"

"We're already five minutes late!"

"And whose fault is that?" she retorted, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

She could almost imagine the incredulous expression on his face from the other room as he responded, "Mine? Really?"

"Who insisted on spending this afternoon watching a documentary about the wonders of deep-sea exploration?" she teased.

"In my defense, it was fascinating," was his immediate reply. "Did you know there are creatures down there that look like they're from another planet?"

"I know, Spencer, we watched it together, remember?"

"You fell asleep halfway through it."

"Well, in my defense—" She paused, struggling with the zipper of her dress. "You were really warm."

His laughter resonated from the other room. "So it's my fault you're taking forever to get ready now?"

"Absolutely, it's a cause-and-effect scenario," she replied, her arms stretching behind her in an attempt to reach the stubborn zipper. A sudden strain and a high-pitched groan escaped her lips. "Ouch!"

His concerned footsteps approached and he appeared at the bathroom doorway. "What's wrong?"

She winced, rubbing the sore spot on her back. "I strained my muscles trying to zip up this dress."

He raised an eyebrow. "Need a hand?"

She shot him a mock glare. "Are you insinuating I can't handle a zipper?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Of course not. But if we want to make it to Rossi's place on time, maybe a little help won't hurt."

She glanced at him from the mirror as his gaze lingered on her dress, tracing the contours that hugged her figure. She noticed the subtle appreciation in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the effect the outfit had on him. A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she sighed in mock defeat.

"Fine, but no funny business."

He slowly approached her, gently taking the zipper in his fingers. "No funny business."

She felt his presence as he settled behind her, the air carrying a subtle warmth that seemed to dance across her skin. Instead of immediately tending to the zipper, his fingers, gentle and deliberate, traced a tantalizing path along the exposed skin of her back. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and for a brief moment, time seemed to slow.

"Spence," she breathed out, the name carrying a subtle plea for him to continue or to stop—she wasn't entirely sure which.

"Hmm?"

"I thought we were late."

He smiled, the corners of his lips lifting in a playful yet knowing expression. He held her gaze as he leaned closer to her, brushing a feather-like kiss on her shoulder.

"I believe we can spare a few more minutes," he replied, the timbre of his voice holding a warmth that echoed through the space between them.

She couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "And what, may I ask, do you plan to do with these 'few more minutes'?"

His lips lingered on her shoulder for a moment longer before he pulled back, still maintaining their proximity. "Well, I was thinking of using them to properly appreciate how beautiful you look tonight."

Her cheeks flushed with a combination of flattery and playful embarrassment. "Very smooth."

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin as he spoke, and a teasing glint sparkled in his eyes. "After all, punctuality can sometimes be overrated, don't you think?"

She chuckled. "Coming from someone who likes to be punctual."

"Maybe I've learned a thing or two from you." His fingers traced a gentle pattern on her exposed back, and he murmured, "Besides, Rossi wouldn't mind. We have more important matters to attend to."

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "And what might that be, Dr. Reid?"

He pushed the strap of her dress down her shoulder, his touch gentle yet filled with a subtle urgency. His fingers traced a delicate path along her skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

"You," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

As his lips met the exposed curve of her shoulder, a soft sigh escaped her. "Baby... are you really trying to have sex right now?"

"Why wait when the opportunity presents itself?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his sudden change of mind. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, a boyish charm lighting up his features. "Guilty as charged."

Before she could respond, he dipped his head and sucked on a spot right below her ear. She breathed out a moan and leaned back into him, giving him better access. When she felt him tug down her dress impatiently, her rational thoughts flew out the window.

"Fine," she agreed, letting her dress fall around her feet. "But make it quick."

As if to answer her challenge, he scooped her up in his arms with unexpected strength. Her laughter mixed with a surprised gasp as he carried her towards the bedroom, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. Quick was a concept they never quite understood when it came to their sexual needs, but maybe they could entertain the idea, starting from now.

They were an hour late.

Fifty-six minutes, according to Spencer, because apparently, he measured the exact time it took for them to arrive at Rossi's house.

Although calling his place a house seemed like a mockery considering how big the property was. It was more like a mansion, and even when Spencer had taken her here a few times ever since the early stages of their relationship, Rossi's place never seemed to seize her amazement.

The host of the night didn't even bat an eyelash when they arrived, he didn't mind their tardiness. The other team members, however, couldn't resist making comments about the couple's late arrival, and the teasing became even more persistent when the girls cornered her at one point in the night.

Penelope raised an eyebrow with an impish grin. "What took you two so long?"

She wasn't sure how to answer the question. Should she just be honest and tell her she was being fucked in different positions? Penelope didn't seem to be the type to judge, granted, the first time she was introduced to her, the perky blonde woman didn't have much filter on her mouth to begin with. But she also didn't want to discuss her sex life with her boyfriend's colleagues.

She contemplated her response, weighing the balance between honesty and maintaining privacy. Penelope's inquisitive gaze lingered, and she decided on a response that offered some truth without delving into the details.

"We lost track of time," she replied instead, keeping it intentionally vague.

Emily leaned in, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is that so?"

She laughed, her cheeks flushing even more. "It's not what you think."

JJ joined in the teasing, "Well, someone is glowing tonight. I hope you at least have a good excuse for being fashionably late."

"Actually, we were discussing the intricacies of deep-sea exploration."

The girls exchanged amused glances, and Penelope quirked an eyebrow. "Deep-sea exploration, huh? Is that the code for something?"

She laughed. "It's about a documentary."

They exchanged a knowing look, clearly unconvinced by her vague explanation. Despite the embarrassment, she couldn't deny the warmth that spread within her. It was a strange yet comforting feeling, knowing that they had something special that others could only speculate about. When Penelope and Emily left to refill their drinks, JJ leaned in closer to her.

"We're sorry," she insisted. "Spencer never had a serious relationship before, we couldn't stop teasing."

She smiled appreciatively at JJ's sincerity. "No harm done. I understand it comes with the territory, especially with Spencer."

JJ smiled, her expression softening. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay with it."

"I can handle a bit of teasing. Besides, it's all in good fun, right?"

JJ nodded, a friendly smile on her face. "Absolutely. He's a great guy, and we're just happy to see him happy."

She followed JJ's gaze, watching Spencer engage with the kids. His eyes lit up with childlike excitement as he performed a silly magic trick, and the children erupted into giggles. The older child, who initially seemed to act as if he was at a big boy age, now wore a huge grin and eagerly urged Spencer to perform another trick.

She couldn't help but smile as she witnessed his effortless connection with them. It was a sight that made her heart swell with affection. A year ago, she could only dream of such moments. The happiness that Spencer brought into her life was beyond her wildest expectations. Not only was she in a happy and steady relationship, she was welcomed into his world.

The memory of visiting Spencer's mother, a year prior, resonated in her thoughts. Witnessing his patience and tenderness with his mom had moved her to tears. It was a moment that spoke volumes about the depth of their connection and the kindness embedded in his character.

Now, a year later, even when she had interacted with his teammates before, she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude. Their presence made her feel as if she was embraced as an additional family member to this tight-knit group. The realization touched her deeply, and her eyes lingered on Spencer with so much affection, reaching a point where her heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting.

"He's really good with kids," JJ suddenly said, bringing her back to reality.

She smiled, a warm feeling coursing through her. "Yeah, he is. It's amazing to watch."

JJ nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Have you ever thought of having your own?"

The question hung in the air, and she took a moment to consider it. The idea of starting a family with Spencer had crossed her mind, but discussing it with someone else made it feel more tangible, more real. She took a moment, her gaze drifting back to Spencer, still enchanting the kids with his magic tricks.

"I... I think about it sometimes," she admitted, her voice soft.

JJ's smile widened, and there was a glint of genuine happiness in her eyes. "You two would make wonderful parents."

The compliment warmed her heart. The thought of a family with Spencer, navigating the joys and challenges of parenthood together, painted a vivid and hopeful picture in her mind. Yet, it was also a conversation they hadn't explicitly delved into.

She looked back at Spencer, his laughter mingling with the children's joy, creating a symphony of happiness. The idea of sharing these moments with their own children felt like a dream she hadn't dared to fully embrace. His gaze suddenly met hers and he waved in response.

JJ leaned in, her voice softer. "Whenever you're ready for it, just know you have a whole team here ready to support you both."

A mix of emotions swirled within her. Spencer, seemingly sensing her emotional state, excused himself from the impromptu magic show and approached them.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

JJ gave her a knowing look before patting Spencer on the back. "Just sharing some girl talk, don't worry."

He quirked an eyebrow but didn't press further. JJ slowly excused herself and now that they were alone again, he pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She leaned into his comforting embrace, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I'm more than okay." Her eyes then trailed over to JJ and her kids again. "They seem to adore you."

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "Well, I adore them too."

A comfortable silence settled between them. She wasn't sure it was the right moment to have this discussion, but she found herself voicing her curiosity, even when her heart was beating fast. "Have you ever thought of... having kids?"

Spencer's gaze softened as he considered the question and she waited with bated breath for his reply.

"I used to, but then I've always been focused on my work and solving cases." He paused, his fingers gently tracing circles on her back. "Although lately, I find myself thinking about it more, especially with you."

She let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. "With me?"

"Who else would I be thinking of having a family with?"

She couldn't help but smile at his response, a warmth blooming in her chest. "Fair point."

His thumb continued its gentle movements on her back. "The idea of creating a home together, it—” he let out a sigh. “It sounds like a dream."

Her heart skipped a beat. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "It really does."

They stood there, wrapped in the warmth of shared dreams and the quiet excitement of the future. But then her smile faltered, a subtle cloud of worry casting a shadow on her face. Spencer sensed the shift and gently tugged her. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes reflected a hint of concern. "I... I haven't had my period this month."

His own brows furrowed as he performed a quick calculation in his head. "Of course, you haven't, you're due—" his words trailed off as his gaze met hers. "...two weeks ago."

She wasn't sure which one was more surprising—his knowledge of her menstrual cycle or the fact that she was two weeks late. The weight of the situation settled in, and just as anxiety started to swell within her, Spencer's face transformed into a wide grin.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "Spence—I... what if...?"

His grin widened, eyes filled with a mix of excitement and joy. "What if we're going to be parents?"

She threw him a ludicrous look. "How are you not panicking?"

He laughed. "Didn't we discuss how great it would be to start a family?"

"Well, sure, somewhere in the future, not now."

He led her away from the festive atmosphere surrounding them to a quieter area out on the back porch. When they were finally alone, he stood in front of her, making sure his body was shielding her distraught face.

"Hey," he said gently, cupping her face in his hands, "This could be a wonderful surprise. We just talked about it, right?"

She nodded, but uncertainty still lingered in her eyes. "Yeah, but it's so sudden. I didn't expect it to happen a minute later after we discussed it. What if we're not ready? What if—"

"No one is ever fully ready for a significant change, but we have each other, and we'll figure it out,” he cut in, his thumbs caressing her cheeks.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "But... w-what if I'm not a good mom?"

His gaze softened, and he cradled her face in his hands. "Are you kidding? You'll be an amazing mom. I've seen the kindness, strength, and love in you. Those are the qualities that make a great parent."

Her heart swelled at his words. She sniffled, a small smile breaking through. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he affirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

A sense of calm washed over her as she absorbed his words, holding him closer. It was scary, yet nothing was certain yet, and there was no use in her worrying. He gently wiped away a tear she wasn't even aware of.

"We'll take it one step at a time. And no matter what happens, we have each other and a lot of people who care about us."

Her eyes traveled towards the group of people behind the glass window. The same people who had saved her life, the people who took care of her, the people who embraced her with open arms.

She slowly nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—fear, excitement, and so much affection. "Okay," she whispered.

"You know I love you, right?"

She softly smiled, a tender warmth enveloping her. Her thoughts traveled to the first time he confessed his love for her, remembering how flustered and embarrassed he had been. Now, those three words came effortlessly, carrying a depth that only time and shared experiences could carve.

"I do," she whispered, her gaze lingering on him. "And I love you too."

He smiled affectionately. "We'll get a test pack on the way home."

He then brushed a strand of hair away from her face and leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The irony of her initial thoughts about how wrong it was to be involved with him crossed her mind. The circumstances that once cast shadows of guilt over her feelings now seemed to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense that everything was right.

Their bodies melded together seamlessly, and the way his lips brushed over hers felt nothing short of perfect. She couldn't help but feel that what initially seemed like the wrong path had led them to this moment. It was the right kind of wrong—a beautiful contradiction that had crossed their lives together in ways they could have never predicted.

And the two lines greeting them later that night were evidence of how right everything was going to be.

Author's note

When I started this series, my goal was to give him the happy ending he deserves and a proper love interest. One that had a back story, one that clearly didn’t die, and one that would make him a dad! I wanted to portray a story as if you were watching a Spencer-centric plot on the show. (Although with the amount of smut here, I doubt it could be aired)

And with that being said, I apologize for any inaccuracy of the crime/mystery plot. Although it's not perfect, I'm pretty happy with how this turned out throughout the eight months this story went on. Yep, EIGHT MONTHS. This was my very first post on this blog and I'm deeply attached to it.

So thank you for reading, commenting, sharing, interacting, and just accepting me and my ideas. It's also safe to say that I won't be writing another series in the near future, but I will still be posting other things.

Again, thank you so much. I love each and every one of you💕

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528 notes · View notes

cloudiewrites · 4 months

Note

OMG. Hiiii. I love Tom Riddle and Theodore Nott. So I am totally going to ask you if you are comfortable to write either Professor Tom or a Professor Theo x fem reader fic with smut. Feel free to ignore this but I really struggle to find Professor Tom fics and Idk how to write them 😅

Professor Tom Riddle x f!reader

Warnings: strong language, toxic behaviour, manipulation, SMUT reader is a student in the beginning (still over 18!), reader becomes a little bit unhinged towards the middle (who wouldn't after meeting TR?) 18+MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author's Note: Wow, this took me ages to post! I was having a break from this blog due to my exams, but I promise I will be more active from now on. Also, this is actually my first smut! (Idk how to write them either, so I do hope you like it.) I tried to build some plot into it, so it is not just filthy p*rn, haha. Thank you so much for your request! <3

There are moments that change your life. Moments when you realise you will never be the same and your whole existence is divided into two parts - before this, and after this.

For you, this moment was meeting Tom Riddle.

The memories of that rainy day when your gazes crossed for the first time continue to haunt your thoughts almost every second of your existence. And no matter how hard you try to forget, they become more and more vivid. Sometimes you wonder if you are actually reliving it or if it is just a fruit of your imagination.

The rain was so cold that day, that your whole body was shivering under your soaking clothes. You were running across the courtyard, trying to get inside as soon as possible. Both of your hands were clutching your bag on top of your head, trying to prevent the water from getting into your eyes. You were almost at the door when your body collided with someone, and you lost your balance falling into a muddy puddle.

You looked up, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever made you end up like this, but your words got stuck in your throat the moment your gaze crossed his.

Eyes as dark as the night. Skin as pale as the moonlight. Hair falling in elegant curls on top of the most beautiful face you have ever seen. He silently offered you his hand, before he took off his jacket and wrap it around your trembling figure.

"Are you alright?", he asked. His voice was smooth like honey, yet deep. You couldn't do anything else other than slowly nod before your cheeks turned a light shade of red. He offered you a small smirk, before guiding you inside the castle. No words were exchanged between you after that.

Looking back, you are sure that this was the moment that changed your life.

You didn't know who he was at first. He looked so young, that it was natural to assume he was your age. You have not seen him before, so he must be a transfer student, just like you were a year ago. "He did not wear a robe, so he must not been sorted yet", you said to your friends later that day and they just shook their heads. No one has heard of any transferring students this year, yet here you were claiming you have seen in the flesh the man of your dreams.

And you were almost convinced you were dreaming a few days later when you found yourself sitting in the back of the class, while he was neatly writing his name on the black board.

Professor Riddle.

"As your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I would like to establish a few ground rules right now", his voice was calm but dominant, "Always come prepared. I do not tolerate lazy students. No talking during class. No questions during lessons. If there is anything you do not understand, you can either conduct your own research in the library or visit one of my additional sessions every third Friday of the month."

Unlike you, the majority of the students have already heard of Tom and some even knew him personally, as he graduated just a few years ago. They carefully listened to all his rules, noting everything they should do to stay on his good side. No matter the house, the respect and fear felt towards Tom was felt by all students. You would lie if you said that this did not include you.

Yet in two weeks time during his first Friday session, you found yourself leaning over your notebook, while Tom was calmly explaining the lesson material to you. You were nodding your head, not paying even a little bit of attention to what he was saying. All you could focus on was the sound of his voice and the tingles that covered your whole body every time he lifted his eyes to your face, checking if were actually following.

"I am curious, miss, for the real purpose of your visit today", he said once you started packing your bag. You immediately froze in place, cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. Your trembling hands closed your bag before you turned to him with a tight-lipped smile.

"I am not sure I understand what you mean, professor."

He offered you a small smile, before grabbing his coat and briefcase and making his way towards you. Stopping just a step away from you, he lifted his hands toward your neck, making you gulp. You stood still, expecting him to wrap his hand around your throat, while his eyes burned into yours. His long fingers inched closer and closer to your skin, before wrapping around your tie and adjusting it so it could be centred.

"I am a patient and understanding man, miss", he said, his hand resting on the piece of cloth for a few more seconds, before moving away, "But I am no fool."

And you knew his words to be true. Because if there was a fool here, that was you. You knew it was wrong to pursue the foolish feelings that started to blossom in your chest. Despite the age difference being only a few years, falling for a professor was never a good idea. But how could you stop yourself when every time his eyes laid upon you there was a feeling of longing behind them? The small touches on your arms, every time he tried to explain to you the parts of the textbook you claimed "not to understand", the way his lips curved in a small smirk every time you volunteered to help during demonstrations in class, the way his gaze darkened that time he saw your friend's arms wrapped around your shoulders during dinner...

He may have thought he was subtle, but you knew there was some part of him that desired you as much as you did.

"What do you think of me, professor?", you asked one day, while sitting on the desk, arranging papers. As you were the only student who showed any interest in DADA sessions outside the scheduled classes, Tom moved the Friday meetings to his private office. They also started to happen every week, rather than once per month. And often, you were helping him with work, rather the other way around. "Why?", his gaze lifted from the papers he was grading, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion. He laid his pen down, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his body back on his chair. You sat next to him on a smaller wooden chair, but your hands did not stop arranging the graded exams, and neither did your focus move from them.

"I am...", you took a deep breath, thinking how to phrase your explanation, "Curious, I guess."

Tom watched you with interest, noting the way that your voice trembled in the beginning. Looking up at your face, his eyes trailed every single one of your features, before stopping at your lips.

"You are a good student", he finally said, his tone flat. Your shoulders immediately slumped and you let out a quiet "Oh.", your fingers now pressing the tower of papers on its sides to make sure it is stable. The silence between you grew longer as you tried your best to hide the disappointment you felt from his answer. Tom, on the other hand, was still staring at your face, trying to read your emotions based on your pursed lips and furrowed brows.

"All finished. I think it is better if I go", you finally said, unable to sit in his presence anymore. You stood up, ready to grab your bag from the floor, when cold fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist halting you in place. Tom stood up from his chair, moving behind you. Laying his free hand on the side of your waist, he leaned towards you, nose just a few inches from your hair. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, and let out a low groan.

"What I really think...", he murmured, the fingers on your waist digging into your flesh, "is not something I shall voice out loud. The thoughts that flood my mind every time I see you are too..."

Your breath hitched.

"Too?"

"Sinful", you felt his breath on the back of your ear and your body involuntarily shivered. Before you could think of an answer, his hands left your body and he took a step back. You turned around, eager to close the distance again, but were stopped by him grabbing your shoulder and gently pushing you away.

"Do not", he warned, "do not make this harder for both of us."

"But I-"

"I think it is best if you leave."

You gulped. And the first time your eyes did not cast down in shame - instead you held his gaze, your expression hardening.

"You cannot do this to me", your voice trembled, "Toying with my feelings , then pushing me away."

He raised his brow and his hand fell from your shoulder. You stood in place, not making any attempts to get closer.

"I did not do such thing", his voice sounded low and dark, his eyes suddenly turning colder, "In fact, I am telling you now... Whatever hope you hold in your heart about anything happening between us, you should kill it now."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said", he interrupted you impatiently, "And I mean it. But whatever affection I have towards you does not change the fact you are my student."

Your fingers wrapped around the edge of your skirt and you clenched your jaw, moving your gaze towards the door. The rational part of your brain was telling you to just grab your bag and dash through the door. The other part, the one led by your heart, was screaming at you to stay and confront him. It did not take you long to decide which one to listen to.

"Why does it matter?", you snapped, "I am an adult already. And you are only a few years older. It is not illegal or anything!"

Tom let out an annoyed sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, before running his fingers through his dark curls. He turned around and walked around the desk, before slamming his hands on the hard surface.

"Merlin, you just do not understand!", his voice was full with irritation, "I can not lose my job. I can not lose everything I have worked for!"

"We can hide it", you protested, gluing yourself to his side and gripping his bicep, "Only for a few months! Only till I graduate!"

The man tore your hands away from his arm, cupping them in his palms instead. He tilted his head, searching your eyes, which were now starting to form tears of stress and frustration.

His face suddenly relaxed. The air between you felt lighter and a new spark of hope started to burn inside of you. His finger made its way to your cheek and wiped one of the tears that started to trail down your skin.

"Is it not curious, how weak love makes a man?", his finger trailed down to your jaw, before cupping it, "And no spell in this world is strong enough to save a man that has already fallen."

Your head instinctively leaned towards his hand and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth of his skin on yours. If you could only freeze time, you would stay in this moment forever.

"I don't want to be saved", you murmured and despite not being able to see him, you could feel the small smile that grazed his lips once you said it. You freed your hands from his and wrapped them around his torso, burying your head in his chest. It took a few seconds for him to embrace your body, resting his chin on the top of your head.

And if you could only see the satisfied smirk and cold gaze on Tom's face, you would have known how true his words are. There is no spell in this world that could save you not that you have already fallen...

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You can't say exactly when the dream had turned into a nightmare.

Private sessions became everyday afternoon meetings, where you talked about different random topics. Tom never opened up about his past, even his Hogwarts years. On the other hand, he was a good listener and without you realising it, he managed to unravel your whole family history just within a week.

His silent nature did not bother you, however. You finally had someone who listened to you. You slowly started to detach from your friends, excusing your unnatural behaviour on all the extra academic work you were taking. They were worried, but every time they tried to voice their concerns, you rolled your eyes, before running to Tom to tell him about their words. "They are just jealous of you, my dear, " he would always chuckle, gently stroking your cheek, "because you found what they would keep searching for a long, long time."

Soon, he was the only person you really trusted. And he claimed he felt the same.

This is why he couldn't ask anyone else to sneak into the Headmaster's office and get the little leather diary in one of his desk drawers. This is also why you had to find a way to get the books he was interested in from the restricted section without getting caught. This is also why you had to lure the naive fifth-year Hufflepuff into the Chamber of Secrets and leave her there.

There was simply no one else whom he trusted to do these tasks. And you gladly completed each of his requests without question, doing everything in your power to keep him happy.

But soon this was not enough. And once you graduated all the promises he made to you broke into thousand little pieces, which were discarded into thin air.

"I don't need you anymore", his cold voice said, his eyes glued to the papers in front of him, "You can leave. Make sure you close the door."

Without sparing you even a glance, he grabbed the pile of papers and left for class, leaving you to gather your thoughts and pieces of your heart by yourself.

What did you do wrong? Why did he change so suddenly? Was it all a lie?

These questions continued to poison your mind for the next few years, while you tried to rebuild yourself. You did not realise how dependent you were on him, till you were left on your own. The weight of all the unsaid feelings within you was forcing you onto your knees, making you unable to get up and continue with your life.

And this is how two years after your graduation you found your way back to Hogwarts. The place where it all began...

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The wooden clock on the wall was ticking dangerously close to midnight when Tom finally got to his office. The teacher's gathering has been prolonged unnecessarily due to Dumbledore's ramblings and him finding problems where there are none. The amount of control the young professor has exercised to endure this long meeting has left him completely drained of energy, but he knew he still had to do some research about the Founders' Relics. After so many years he was finally getting close to achieving his goal and he was ready to sacrifice as many nights of sleep as necessary.

He knew something was not right the moment he opened the door. The lights were still off and everything seemed to be in the exact place he left it... but there was just the faintest sound of someone breathing which made him immediately reach for his wand.

"Ah, look who finally came", your giggle reached his ears before he saw you turning on his chair, fingers moving towards the small lamp on his desk, "Terribly rude of you to make me wait this long."

Tom's lips pressed into a thin line and his grip around his wand tightened. He traced his eyes over the visible parts of your body, noting the little changes that had occurred since he last saw you.

Your hair, which was usually neatly combed and put in a bun, was now in a messy braid, the front pieces framing your face. Your lips, which usually curved in a shy smile, were now forming an arrogant, almost sinister smirk. Your eyes, which have always looked up to him full of admiration, were now staring down at him with a glint of insanity.

"Get out", he commanded, striding towards you with his wand pointed towards your head.

Your raised your eyebrows and your mouth shaped an "o" in a mock horror, before you reached for your own wand, pointing it back at him.

"Now that is not a way to welcome your ex-lover, is it?", your eyes squint.

Tom scoffed at your words, stopping at the edge of his desk, before his expression hardened.

"You were never my lover", he stated, his head tilting to the side, "And I thought I was extremely clear when I said last time I saw you that you are not welcome here."

You hummed, eyes moving to the ceiling. Still holding your wand towards him, you relaxed further into his chair, lifting your legs onto his desk. With a curious gaze, you followed the stone patterns of the walls around the room, while scrunching your face in disgust.

"3 years, Tom", you finally said, landing your attention back on him, "3 years you have been here and your office is as bland as it was when you first came here. It brings my mood down, you know? It's so grey!"

"You can leave then", Tom hissed through his teeth, making a few more steps till he stayed right in front of you. The tip of his wand rested under your chin and he pulled it upwards, making you look up, "I am giving you exactly a minute to leave, before I take your life."

A loud giggle left your lips and you pressed your neck further into his wand.

"How generous!"

"45 seconds."

You gently put your own wand back into your pocket, not moving your eyes from his. Tilting your head, your mouth formed a wide smile.

"Okay."

His brows shot in confusion, his jaw clenching. You could see his on the wand became tighter, his knuckles almost white.

"Okay?"

"Do it", you shrug your shoulders, "My ghost will be eager to see how are you going to explain why your new assistant went missing after coming to your office to drop a list of all the students that are going to be in your... our class this year."

Before you know it, his free hand flew to your face and gripped your face. His fingers dig into your jaw, lifting it dangerously close to his face.

"My assistant?", he let out a dry chuckle, "Good try, dear. And a terrible way to waste that minute I gave you."

With lips already starting to form the words of the deadliest spell, his fingers dug deeper into your face, before his eyes landed on the sparkling object in your palms. The unforgivable words quickly died in his throat and he withdrew his wand, stumbling back. Eyes full of anger met yours, who in contrast were sparkling with playfulness.

"How did you get that?", he demanded, reaching towards the object, but you pulled it back, before laying it on your head. Putting your elbows on his desk, you fluttered your eyelashes, smiling brightly.

"Do you think it suits me?"

"Stop playing around."

"You are such a bore", you rolled your eyes, "I went on a holiday to Albania. And I found this gorgeous, gorgeous diadem, which turned out to be Rowena Ravenclaw's. What are the chances?"

Tom seemed unamused by your story, instead twitching his jaw. His eyes stayed glued to the diadem on your head, the reflection of the sapphire on it sparkling in his cold eyes.

"How did you know where it was?", his gaze moved towards you, his hand putting his wand back in his coat. His tall form moved towards you again, this time taking a seat on the empty surface of the desk in front of you. With a smile, you took the diadem out of your head, twirling it between your fingers.

"You don't think you were the only one who managed to charm the famous Helena Ravenclaw, do you?", you raised your eyebrow, moving your tongue across your top lip, "You underestimate the power of women's empathy and love for gossip, Tom."

He let out an airy laugh, running a hand through his thick curls. After two years, he hasn't changed anything about his appearance. His face, his haircut, and even the suits he wore were the exact same ones he already wore when you were a student. You would lie if you said you didn't enjoy it - that meant that the Tom you loved was still somewhere inside of him. Your Tom.

"I'm impressed", he finally said, moving his hands towards his knee and locking his fingers around it. His face dropped into a serious expression once again, "Give it to me."

You tilted your head, pursing your lips. Your eyes moved to the diadem, before landing back on him.

"Oh, I can't do that, Tom", you rested your palm on your chest, looking up at him with doe eyes, "He would be very disappointed if I don't bring it back to him."

Tom took a deep breath, his upper lip twitching.

"He?", he pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek, "Who is "he"?"

You twirled in his chair, pressing the diadem closer to your chest.

"My Lord, of course", you let out a giggle, resting your cheek on your shoulder and closing your eyes. You still managed to see the way Tom's body tensed, however.

"He sent his regards to you", you smiled, standing up, "If you hadn't left me that day, he wouldn't have met me and subsequently learned all about making horcruxes."

The man's eyes immediately darkened and his hand flew towards your wrist, stilling you in place.

"Name."

"Huh?"

"Tell me his name", Tom hissed, his nostrils flaring. You stepped closer to him, noses almost brushing.

"And why would I do that?", you raised your brows, your voice turning into a mocking laugh, "Do you think I would betray him... for you?"

The sudden feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you forward made you almost lose your balance and you grabbed his shoulder in reflex to keep you from falling on top of him. Nesting his head in the curve between your neck and shoulder, Tom pressed his lips next to your ear before muttering:

"You, my dear, are a liar", his teeth grazed the end of your earlobe, "And a very bad one."

Your whole body froze and you tried to push yourself away from him, but his arms were holding you firmly in place. Suddenly all the confidence you have displayed in his presence so far melted under the warmth of his touch, and you were left only with the hope you could still lie your way out of this situation.

"I am not lying", you protested with a quickening breath.

Tom lifted his head from your shoulder and rested his forehead on yours instead. His eyes stared deep into your own and his warm breath on your face made your whole body involuntarily tremble.

"I have already told you I am not a fool", one of his hands slid from your waist towards your arm and then hand, where you were still clutching the diadem. His fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out of your grasp with ease. Without looking at it, he placed it on the desk behind his back, before his hand found its way to the top of your head.

"I know you better than you know yourself, my dear", he muttered, his hand gently stroking your hair, "And I know there is no room in your heart for anyone but me. You would not be here otherwise."

He pulled back enough to be able to take a better look at your face. His gaze fell from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

"You are mine. Always were, always will be."

A loud whine escaped your throat before it was swallowed by Tom's mouth on yours. His plump lips were chapped, a result of hours of his teeth sinking into them, trying to hold back all the snarky remarks he had for his fellow colleagues. The rough feeling made your knees buckle and you closed your eyes, relaxing fully in his arms.

Without breaking the kiss, he turned you around and with a swift move of his hand, pushed the diadem and a few books out of the way, before laying you on the cold surface. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging the soft curls.

A low growl left his lips and he lifted his lips from yours, a trail of saliva connecting them, before it was broken by his fingers cupping your chin.

"This is what you wanted, is it not?", his voice was suddenly deeper and darker, "For me to take you on the same desk I once you graded you."

His words made a loud moan to escape you and your back arched up, seeking nothing more than to be close to him. With a low chuckle, he pressed his palm between your breasts, pushing you flat on the furniture beneath you. You opened your mouth to complain but were quickly silenced once he pushed his index and middle fingers in your mouth, almost making you choke. Fixating your gaze on his, you closed your lips around them and started to suck, making sure to flatten your tongue in the process.

The image before your eyes was something you had dreamt of countless times before - Tom, with his messy curls and parted lips, panting while the fingers of his free hand were skilfully unbuttoning his vest. You did not waste any time in helping him, focusing on shakingly unbuttoning his belt.

"So impatient", he clicked his tongue, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth, so could remove his shirt. Once his torso was in full view, you did not hesitate even a second before you lifted yourself in a sitting position and attached your lips to his neck. Nibbling and sucking the smooth skin, you started to nibble and suck your way down to his chest. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing under you.

Tom Riddle may not be a man who was capable of love, but he was a man after all. And it would be a lie to say he has never thought of you in a more... erotic way. You have always been so obedient and good, doing everything for him without any hesitation. He has always found that incredibly attractive, but not enough for him to act on his desires.

Now, however, the sight of you has ignited some primal urges within him that he never felt before. Maybe it was the few drinks he had consumed prior at the gathering or maybe it was the idea of the the crazy lengths you were willing to go in order to get back to him...

Tom Riddle would probably never know the reason for him giving up control for the first time in his life. To you, nonetheless.

His mind came back to reality when he felt you pushing him on his chair and nestling yourself between his legs. Looking up at him, you tugged his pants and boxers down, letting his erection free. You let your index finger gently caress the length of it, making it twitch. A small giggle left your lips before you repeated the gesture.

"Stop teasing me", the man groaned, and his palm rested behind your head in order to push you towards his member, but you swiftly moved to the side dodging it. You squinted your eyes, moving your hands to his thighs and digging your nails into them.

"You", the word was hissed through your teeth, "are in no position to order me around."

Tom scoffed and was about to argue when your mouth unexpectedly wrapped around the head of his penis, twirling your tongue around it. He let out a choked gasp and he tried to put his hand on your head again before you smacked it away. Swallowing his pride, he rested both of his arms on the side of his chair, bucking his hip forward.

Carefully watching his reaction you wrapped your hand around him, slowly moving it down and back up again, following the movement of your mouth. The feeling of him filling your mouth was causing some saliva to start dripping your chin, but rather than pulling away, you pushed him further into your mouth till your nose was buried in his dark pubic hair. The feeling of his swollen head hitting the back of your throat made you gag, causing Tom to groan in pleasure.

"Fuck this", he muttered, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling your head up, before pressing it down again. His hips buckled in harmony with your head, making sure you were taking all of him. His dick was now coated in your saliva, making it glisten in the dim light. You closed your eyes, the lack of oxygen making them sting. The rapid pace with which he was moving was making it hard for you to breathe through your nose and you tried giving him a warning slap on his leg, which he purposefully ignored. Instead, he moved his other hand towards your chin and held your head still, while he continued to thrust his hips up and down. Sloppy wet noises filled his office, being interrupted only by his heavy breathing.

Your thighs clenched together in a weak attempt to relieve the burning ache between your legs. The way he was using your mouth to satisfy himself was making your underwear damp, yet you knew better than to touch yourself yet. After so many sleepless nights during which you tried to relieve yourself, imagining how would it feel to taste him, you wanted to focus all your attention only on him.

Feeling he was close, Tom finally pulled your head back and examined your face. Both saliva and tears were smeared all over your chin and your cheeks were flushed in rosy colour.

"What a pretty sight you are, my dear", he smiles, wiping some of it with his thumb. You licked your lips, getting up on your feet.

"And you are such a smooth talker", your face leaner just inches from his, "I wonder if you are as good with the action as you are with words."

Taking this as a challenge, he stood up and pushed you back onto the desk, before lifting your skirt. His fingers hooked under the elastic bands of your panties and with one tug they snapped, leaving you completely exposed in front of him.

Tom gulped, burning the image of your waiting arousal into his mind. His fingers made their way towards your slit, gathering the wetness before easily sliding his middle finger in. You moaned at the contact, fluttering your eyes closed. He pumped his fingers a few times, his eyes carefully observing your facial expression before he slid it out. You whined at the loss of contact, opening your eyelids only to find him smirking down at you.

"Do you really think you deserve me wasting time on your pleasure?"

"Fuck you!", you snapped, resulting in him grabbing your neck and squeezing so hard, an airy cough left your lips.

"Such a dirty mouth", he lifted your face up, his jaw clenching, "but such a weak mind. Look at the pathetic mess you are..."

Your lips parted to offer a snarky response, but your mind quickly went blank the moment he slid fully into you. Arching your back, your hands found their way around his shoulders, while his rested on both sides of your head.

Tom did not waste any time in developing a quick pace, which made you roll your eyes back. With each thrust the head of his cock was brushing against your cervix, making your whole vision white. His left hand moved towards one of your breasts, pinching and twisting the oversensitive nipple between his fingers. His other hand made his way to your pussy, where his thumb started to draw sloppy circles over your clit.

Never in your life have you felt such pleasure in your life. Of course, you had previous lovers during the past two years while trying to get Tom out of your mind, but nothing compared to this. Curling your toes, you lifted both of your legs and rested them on his shoulder.

Both of you groaned in unison when you felt him going even deeper than before. His upper body collapsed on top of yours, his lips immediately latching onto your other nipple. Still gripping his shoulders, you dragged your nails down his back, leaving angry red marks behind.

The knot in your stomach started to tighten and your moans became louder and louder. Moving your hips so you can meet Tom's thrusts, you looked at his face, only to find him staring back with eyes clouded with desire. His fingers were now working faster on your sensitive bud and you let out a shaky breath: "Tom, I...", you could not finish your sentence, your vocabulary suddenly consisting only of his name.

"Shhh", he whispered, his hand moving from your breast to your cheek. He gently stroked it with his thumb and suddenly you saw in front of you the same Tom that charmed you years ago, "I've got you."

His words were enough to cause the knot to snap and your whole body went rigid, squeezing and pulsating around him. A few harsh trusts and Tom suddenly tensed on top of you, as he painted your insides white. You both held onto each other, fingers digging into soft flesh, as you melted into your shared euphoria.

It was not romantic.

It was primal. Rough. Dirty.

It was everything you have imagined.

Finally relaxing on top of you, Tom buried his head in your shoulder, trying his best to calm his breathing down. You laid under him, crushed under his weight, yet enjoying every second of the contact he allowed you to have.

Against your better judgment, you lifted your hand and started to gently stroke his hair. Against his better judgment, he allowed you to and closed his eyes in the process.

Tired from the long day and your office activity, Tom lifted you in his arms, his now soft member slipping out of you and he sat back on his chair, adjusting the backrest so you can both take a more comfortable position.

You lifted yourself from his chest and raised your eyebrow, but bit back your tongue the moment your gaze crossed his stern one, warning you not to voice whatever you had in your mind. Letting out a small chuckle, you shook your head and laid it back down on his skin.

There was an urge burning inside of you to mock him about showing gentleness, but deep down you knew this was your only chance to enjoy it. So you closed your eyes and relaxed, finally being able to fall asleep without the haunting dreams of what could've been.

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The sunlight was painting the whole room in a beautiful gold colour and Tom let out a low groan when he felt it hitting his face. His hand made its way over his eyes, shielding them from the light, while his mind slowly started to become aware of his surroundings. The uncomfortable chair was making all of his muscles ache and he immediately regretted not gathering the energy last night to make his way back to his room. The chill air coming from the window has not helped too, especially when we was only partly covered and-

Tom's eyes shot open looking down at his body and finding his suit jacket thrown over his waist and private parts. You, however, were not to be found. Not on top of him, not on the desk, nowhere in the room.

He immediately stood up, grabbing his pants from the floor and furiously putting them on, while breathing heavily. His gaze fell on the stack of books he pushed from his desk last night and he immediately fell on his knees, scanning the floor around him.

"No, no, no", he hissed under his breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "That little serpent!"

Not only you have left, but you also have taken the diadem with you. No matter how much he searched for it, it was definitely not here.

You tricked him.

Getting up back to his feet, Tom kicked one of the books on the floor, before slamming his hands on his desk. His breathing was hard and he could feel his blood boiling in his veins. Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small parchment of paper placed next to his quill. Unfolding it, he could have sworn his heart stopped for a second.

"My dear Tom,

Thank you for our wonderful night together. I did not want to leave you so early, but I had to be out of the castle before everyone else woke up. To be truthful with you, I am not going to be your new assistant. But your already knew that, so I guess it is not shocking news. I sneaked it yesterday when all of the teachers were having a party (or what you call a gathering, ha!). Neither do I have a new lord. You already knew that as well.

Do not stress about the diadem, as it is safe with me - if there is one thing I learned from you is that I need to take good care of horcruxes once they are made. I know it was probably foolish of me to bring it to you last night, as it does hold a part of my soul, but I promise that from now on I will take better care of it.

Without doubt your paths shall cross again. Remember Tom: You are mine. Always were, always will be.

Love, y/n

P.S. - I hope you do not mind that I helped myself by getting your keys from your jacket and getting a shower in your room. Also, I think you need to follow your own advice and start putting your objects away. I found your diary resting on your bedside table, so I had to take it with me. Do not worry - I promise I will keep it safe...

for now."

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CC artwork: Nasan Hardcastle

#tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #slytherin imagine #tom riddle smut #professor tom riddle #professor tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #professor tom riddle smut

346 notes · View notes

zoewrites · 10 months

Text

Stupid Girl (Joel Miller x F!Reader) 18+

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, smut, dirty talk, daddy kink, spit kink, pet names, creampie, unprotected and rough sex, mean joel, shame, degradation, choking

Wordcount: 2k

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I've been busier than ever with work this summer and haven't had any time to write. I have 3 Joel fics in the works currently, including a part 2 to Your Price. Thanks for being patient with me and please accept this mean!Joel smut that I quickly came up with on my first day off in ages. :)

You’d never seen Joel this angry, not with you. His fingers dug sharply into the flesh of your arms as he held you against the wall, seething as he asked you what the hell you’d been thinking.

Apparently he didn’t like your answer, because the moment you whimpered, “I don’t know,” his jaw tightened and his eyes grew even darker. They searched your own for any signs of understanding or remorse but all he saw was your brewing anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He was in your face, so close you could feel the heat of his breath, his low tone daring you to challenge his authority. It made you wince, made you feel so small.

“Think I do this for fun? Spend all my damn time teachin’ you how to survive for fun? Just for you to act stupid and careless? Never thought you were this goddamn brainless,” Joel growled, the pinch of his fingers on your skin stung but he didn’t let up, he needed you to understand the seriousness, that keeping you alive wasn’t a joke to him. He pressed closer, his chest only inches away from yours.

“You wanna die out there?! Because that’s what happens when little girls like you start actin’ high and mighty, actin’ like you’re above listening to me when I tell you what the fuck to do!” He berates as tears begin to form in your eyes.

Your hands meet his chest, shoving him back with all the force you could muster, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the words to defend yourself.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” You spit, your hands still pressed against his chest, creating space between you to see his anger fully, “I’m not a child and you’re not my fucking dad.”

His eyes narrow, “You think I like treating you like this? Like yelling at you?” He laughs humorlessly, “I need you to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull, sweetheart. You can’t afford to make stupid mistakes like that.”

“No,” You hiss meanly, hastily wiping tears from your cheeks and feeling the red-hot rage flaring within you, “I think you do like it. I think you get off on this.”

His breathing becomes heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words hit him. A complex array of emotions dance across his features - fury, disbelief, something darker…

"Oh yeah?" he grits out, "I get off on being mean, acting like your fucking dad? You think you've got me all figured out?" His words are laced with venom and suddenly the tension is palpable. Your stomach drops. You begin to wonder if you’ve pushed too far. Joel is furious, and as scared as you are, a sick tinge of desire is beginning to fester deep within you.

“Joel,” His fingers grip so tightly that you grab at his hand and yelp, attempting to pry him off your bicep.

“Let me tell you something, girl,” You don’t realize you’re shaking until he presses you firmly against the wall, “You have no fucking idea. And maybe, just maybe, you do need someone to act like your fucking daddy to keep you in check."

His words hang in the air as he watches how flushed your face becomes. That shameful ache fermenting in your core demands your attention as you try with all your might to ignore it. You both breathe heavily for a moment, staring each other down. When his fingers finally loosen their grip, you let out an accidental whimper. The energy shifts as you watch Joel’s lips curl into an infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

“Think you’re the one who gets off to this,” His voice drips with dark amusement as you stand motionlessly, silently cursing yourself and your body’s reaction to his words.

“No,” You whisper. He doesn’t believe you.

"You like it when I call myself 'daddy'?" His fingers reach out to brush against your cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle after he’d just held you so roughly. It sends a shiver down your spine, your resolve wavering in the face of mounting lust. His proximity makes it impossible to ignore the magnetic pull between you, drawing you deeper into the dangerous game you've both been playing.

"You like when I’m mean,” He taunts, “You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, are you?”

You hate him, you tell yourself. You hate him for doing this, for making you feel so pathetic. Your eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to ignore the burning as he’s being so fucking mean to you. He waits for your response, letting his hand move from your cheek down your jaw, tilting your face upwards until you finally open your eyes again.

“No,” You scowl at him, hating the way your eyes begin to water once more. You swing your arm up, ready to shove at him again, but he catches it quickly and spins you around, pinning you face-first against the wall.

“Don’t,” Joel growls into the back of your head and you gasp, his body presses to yours, allowing you little room to wonder what's being shoved against your ass.

"I could let go right now," He noses at your neck, “but you don’t want me to.”

It’s not a question. He knows.

Fuck.

And you don’t want him to let up. But it would kill you to admit it. You think you might actually disintegrate if you had to admit it. That Joel calling himself daddy and speaking down to you had you absolutely dripping.

You feel his pleased, breathy little chuckle against your neck when you remain silent, not denying how badly you want it.

“That’s what I thought.”

"...Shit," you breathe, embarrassed and furious and so, so turned on, as you finally allow yourself to press back against him. Without hesitation, he’s shoving his hand down the front of your pants to where you need him most. The rough pads of his fingertips run along your wet slit and you fucking whine.

“Christ,” he practically groans as his fingers glide against you, feeling how shamefully slick you are, “and here I thought you hated me.”

“I do,” You grasp desperately at his wrist.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby,” You know he’s grinning behind you, “All I’ve done is shove ya ‘round a little.”

“Oh my god,” You gasp as he moves a finger inside of you.

“Need daddy to put ya in your place, huh?” His free hand snakes its way up the back of your neck and into your hair. He gets a firm grip and pulls you back from the wall to the couch a few feet away. He pulls his hand out of your panties and shoves you over the armrest with your face pressed into the seat cushions.

His hand's still fisted tightly in your hair as he grinds himself against you. The friction is so good and it drags out a breathy moan that you can't hold in any longer. So good that you could probably cum just like this but Joel is losing patience and pulls back.

His hand leaves your hair and you sneak a glance back. What you see knocks the air out of your lungs because Joel is shoving his pants down just enough to pull his cock out. And he’s big. He looks hungry and disheveled and you’re about to cry again from the anticipation of it all. His stupidly smug face has you wanting to hit him again but you want him inside you more as he pulls your pants down your thighs and yanks your soaked panties to the side.

When he presses the tip of his cock to your sopping entrance, you fully register that you’re about to fuck Joel, you’re really about to let Joel Miller of all people wreck you. And then when he finally slides into you, deeper than you’ve ever felt, your thoughts fucking dissolve.

He wastes no time, immediately setting a brutally fast pace, sliding his hand back into your hair and yanking your head back.

“Should’ve told me this is what you needed,” His voice hoarse as he slams into you, “needed the stupidity fucked outta ya.”

He feels you shiver beneath him and he laughs cruelly. There’s no holding your moans back now, with his hips snapping hard against yours and his degrading words. There’s no hiding how it’s affecting you as you soak his cock. The pornographic sounds of it have your entire body burning. Your eyes glazed over, mouth gaped open, you’re barely conscious of the noises you’re making.

"Fuckin pathetic,” his grip in your hair tightens and he uses it as leverage to fuck you even rougher, “Letting daddy fuck you like this. God, you’re really lovin’ this, aren’t ya?”

He’s right. You do. He's relentless, his cock so thick it aches. He keeps fucking into you like this, spitting filth and mocking you, until you feel your climax approaching.

“Joel-fuck, I- mmmnnnn-” Your eyes squeeze shut as your face is buried into the cushion.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to be done already,” He grunts out as you gasp, trying to reach back for the hand that’s in your hair, “C'mon, call me what you really want to.”

“D-aaaaaaah!” You babble and cry as he swiftly pulls out and flips you onto your back. He shoves back into you unceremoniously, one hand clawing at your hip, keeping you in place as he sets a brutal pace yet again. The other hand wraps around your throat.

He leans forward into your face, you can see the sweat glistening on the slope of his nose and forehead, “Say it.”

“Daddy!” You clench around him, a fresh wave of arousal sending you barreling toward climax again.

"Jesus,” He’s panting as hard as you now, rutting deep into you, making you beg for mercy.

“Please,” you scream, agonizingly close to cumming.

Fingers digging deep into your hips, the pressure on your neck squeezing a little harder, he’s practically snarling, "You’re drooling, baby.”

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he says through gritted teeth, fingers clamping down on your throat and causing your jaw to drop in search of air. He spits viciously onto your tongue and you have no choice but to swallow it up while he grins.

“Gonna fuck your throat next time too, you stupid slut,” He groans, his head tossed back in pleasure, “teach ya a real lesson.”

You should punch him. You should push him off and never let him touch you again. You should be humiliated. Instead you’re cumming. Hard. And you’re calling him daddy. Loudly. You faintly think you hear Joel laughing at you, but its impossible to tell when your eyes are rolled back and wave after wave of searing hot pleasure is rolling through you.

You’re squeezing him so tightly, clenching and pulsing as your orgasm rips through you. That’s what does it for Joel, his hand leaves your neck and replaces it with his mouth. His teeth grazing your skin, muffling a long, loud moan. It almost sounds like he’s in pain as his hips stutter, his cock pressed as deep as it can possibly be, and then you feel the hot throb of him gushing into you.

You have no idea how much time has passed before you finally come down from your high and Joel’s finished filling you up. He’s still covering you, his face in the crook of your neck, and you begin to realize what the fuck you’ve just done. You turn your head away when he pulls himself back up.

You feel his gaze on you but you can’t bring yourself to look up as his cum dribbles out of you onto the couch seat.

He tucks himself back into his pants before leaning back over you and gripping your chin roughly, forcing you to look him in his cold, dark eyes, "remember that you made me do that… try thinking next time before you fuck up and put us in danger like that again."

With that, he walks away, leaving you sore and full of his cum.

taglist: @evyiione @fishingforpike @pedrosballsack

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fanfiction #daddy!joel miller

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merchelsea · 8 months

Text

took care of my girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles gf) reader

summary: after a lifechanging turn in your plans, you need to sort things out with charles to be able to get together with your true love, max. things can't always get so hard, can they?

author's note: the so required part two is FINALLY out. a massive thank you to every one that asked for this, i hope you enjoy it! (a HUGE thank you to @stupidandunnecessary for helping me outt)

word count: +1,6k

previous part

last night, charles and you exchanged less than ten words. you wanted to talk to him, but you didn't know how to start, nor how to do it without hurting him.

it was clear that his feelings were not love, maybe some attraction and friendship, but not love. still, you didn't want to hurt him.

you loved max, but you were in a relationship with charles. you weren't quite sure if he would understand, and even if he did, things were a lot more complicated since you were three public figures.

charles woke up to find you, very dizzy and confused, staring at the ceiling of the room in silence. he regained his sences before you thought of moving, and he soon started talking.

"you love him." he stated, looking over at you. startled, you turned to look at him, taken aback by his smiling face. "I- what?" you asked him.

"max. you love him." with that smile planted on his lips, you struggled to articulate something to tell the him. your well-prepared speech for this very moment seemed to vanish, and your words failed you.

"I'm sorry." it was the only thing you could say after having your mouth half-opened for seconds.

"what are you sorry for? loving someone? that is not your fault." he reassured you. "I'm not angry, if that's why your apologizing. I'm happy for you." you couldn't quite comprehend what he was trying to tell you, and he noticed it by the puzzled glances you shot at him.

"I'm happy for you both. I know I've never been a top contestant to the 'best boyfriend' award, quite the contrary. but I also know we both started this relationship out of loneliness." he claimed. it was evident that you weren't the only one preparing for this moment.

"I'm still sorry." you persisted. he chuckled, but you never even gave him a trace of a smile. you couldn't.

"you don't have to be. you deserved to be happy. to be loved in the same intensity that you love someone. that is something only verstappen can do." leclerc understood this situation a whole lot more than you expected him to, and you were starting to wonder if he might have a female max in his life.

"its a fact, even tho it pains me to admit. I could never make you happy the way he does." he added.

"you deserve that too. I know this probably means nothing to you right now, but it's true." you smiled sadly to him, and he shook his head in disagreemeant.

"it will never mean nothing to me. apart from everything, you were my friend first, and I would hate for that to end." you smiled softly at him, the sadness now less evident. you two stood silent for a while, just breathing and thinking. "look, I'm sorry for not being the boyfriend you deserved." he appologized, breaking the akward smile.

he was ready to continue, and he would have done so if you hadn't interrupted. "it's not entirely your fault. we didn't work out because we didn't love each other. period." charles too was sad about how your realtionship was ending, but he was also grateful that none of you had to get hurt before it happened.

"now, I think we are both mature enough to recognize that and begin another chapter." you continued. he nodded softly and you both stood quite looking at the ceiling.

"y/n, you should really go get him. I still have a headache to deal with but I'll try to pack everything and leave before you return home." he advised with a warm smile. he rose from the bed, moving around it to bend over and kiss your forehead.

"you deserve this, mon chéri." he whispered as he exited the room to confront his weary reflection in the bathroom mirror.

after changing, you left the bedroom with the intention of grabbing a bite to eat. however, you decided that sharing a meal with Max might be better, so you sent him a text. within seconds, he responded, as if he had been awaiting your message his whole life.

the truth is, max could deny all he wanted, but he panicked when he got home and realized charles would be sleeping in the same bed as you, and probably trying to get you back. although he now knew that you loved him, it didn't change the fact that you had been with charles while still harboring those feelings, and that thought terrified him.

that's why he left his hotel without even hesitating and met you at a coffee shop near your house.

"how did he react?" he was clearly trying to avoid the subject, and noticing it, you respected his decision and never brought it up. but he has his limits, and he clearly crossed those. he needed to know, and if you were being real, you needed to tell him as well.

"better than I expected." you replied with a smile, which wasn't what he had anticipated. he couldn't decipher whether your smile meant "we broke up" or "we got back together."

"better how?" he asked, not so sure now that he wanted to know.

verstappen didn't think of himself as an anxious person, but when it came to you, he struggled to conceal his apprehension. He yearned to know every detail, and he might have even fainted if you hadn't filled him in.

"well, he told me to come and get you." you were finding that whole situation a lot more funny than you should, max acting all calm when it was so clear that he was freaking out could be ranked on top of the most entertaining things in the world.

he let out a heavy breath that he was holding for god knows why and you finally could see the beautiful smile he was hiding behind the seriousness.

"really?" he asked, smile still playing on his lips. you nodded, smiling too. anyone who passed by would think you two were a couple on the best stage of your relationship, smiles so wide that everyone could see were genuine.

"well you already have me, so…" max points with a joking tone, every word coming out of his mouth being the most truthful. "why do i always want to kiss you in situations or places where i can't?" he throws his head back, frustrated.

"oh why can't you kiss me now?" you asked. cofusion and also frustration kicking in when you realize its not going to be today as well. you begun to think max might be actually afraid to kiss you.

"there's people here. and i know it's a discreet place, but still…" you almost grasped what the dutch meant, were it not for your intense desire for his lips to meet yours. "what? I don't care about the people, you know I don't."

it's true, he knows you never cared about people's opinions. that's why, from the both of you, he was always the one that helped you with everything you thought of putting out to the world. most of it not coming out thanks to him.

"you may not, but I do. you know how this things work and I don't want my gi- your name associated with sleeping around for a seat."

your smile didn't fail on showing up. he could have just said the most horrific thing ever, you hadn't listened. max verstappen calling you 'my girl' was something out of this world for you. you covered your face with your hands as the gleam in your eyes intensified.

"but, you know, you could always take me home." he added, grinning with both his lips and eyes. "let me finish this and we'll go right away." max nodded and took his phone out, pretending to be composed on the outside while feeling like an exuberant child within. he eventually even snapped a few pictures of you to keep for himself and immediately changed his locked screen. he's not familiar with the concept of going slow.

exiting the coffee shop, you and max laughed like a pair of joyful fools, unable to recall precisely what was so amusing. at some point, you found yourselves laughing at each other for no apparent reason. what you both knew for certain was that spending time together was effortless—it brought a profound sense of peace.

as you closed the door behind you, max took your hand and pulled you close to him. his free hand found its place on your cheek, his thumb tenderly caressing it. "after all these years, I can finally kiss you."

the smile on the red bull driver's face emphasized his happiness. although your smile wasn't as broad, your eyes spoke volumes.

in the end, his focus remained on your eyes. for three years, max had gazed into those same brown eyes, yet each time felt like he could continue indefinitely. and, indeed, he could.

from his prespective, it was the greatest view one could have. and he was genuinely sorry for everyone that would never get the chance to do so.

when he finally let go of your eyes, he foccused on your lips, not as mesmerizing, but equally breathtaking.

before he kissed you, you got a good look at his deep ocean blue eyes. had you not been studying them since the day you met their owner, you might have easily lost yourself in their beauty.

you almost cursed max for closing them, but if that meant you got to study his lips too, you could never complain.

once he guided you into the kiss, one of your hands instinctively traveled to the back of his neck, while the other one squeezed his, trying to be sure that this was really happening.

it became evident that your lips were made solely for each other—the way they fit perfectly, moved in harmony, and how max's lips embraced yours as if he had been doing it for a lifetime. every element aligned to create perfection—this is what love felt like.

with max, it felt right. with max, it was love.

taglist: @mehrmonga @yourusername1 @lexiecamposv @electrobutterfly @miakatharinaa @jeconnaismeslimitesus

#max verstappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula 1 #formula one #f1 2023 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #took care of your girl #max #verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 masterlist #f1 imagine #reader driver #mercedes driver

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mambalae-s · 1 year

Text

sugar — geto suguru x reader

wc: 4.3k

cw: ceo! geto x employee! reader; unprotected sex; office sex; semi public sex; reader is described as a black woman; she’s not explicitly called chubby but she is described as plump; creampies; oral (reader) receiving; one instance of spitting; one instance of choking; mating press; a sir kink you dont have to squint too hard to find; not at all proof read; if i’m missing anything, please let me know!

notes from author: yeah, this went an entirely different direction than what i had planned… this is an nsfw post — if you’re under 18, PLEASE do not interact with this post. i will block you.

suguru’s certain you have no idea the kind of effect you have on him. he’s so entirely convinced that you’re oblivious to his struggle to merely contain himself with you sitting across his mahogany desk, dark stockings hugging your plump thighs and that short, a-lined skirt just barely sitting over your lap. you wear your hair like a regalia, beautiful, thinly done tresses of black braids half-tied at the back of your head where the rest flowed down each side of your body, the ends of them elegantly curling while you’d left two braids to frame both sides of your face — a style called french braids, he’d learned when he’d asked you curiously.

his mind is so far gone from words of acquisitions and business meetings that you read from your prepared document, eyes zoned in on your plump, full lips that glisten on strawberry flavoured gloss. he’s so distracted by the ‘o’s formed on your sweet voice, every sentence sinking themselves beneath his skin like drops of honey that rush through his veins and churns within his blood like a drug. he leans back into his chair, throwing his head back in unhidden frustration and releases a groan, and the sound of it snaps your attention from black printed words to look up at your ceo.

“sir?” you call him, hesitant. you cock your head to the side worriedly. “i’m sorry, is it not how you want to proceed?”

suguru shakes his head weakly, brushing his thumb over his lips. “no, no,” he assures you, “that’s not it at all. you’ve done great, in fact. it’s perfect.” he sees the way your brows furrow over your dark coloured eyes, the way your lips part on words you don’t let out, and suddenly, he feels too hot. “i’m sorry, ms. (l/n). it’s just especially hard for me to focus right now.”

“oh, i understand.” you utter, shifting to sit a little straighter in your chair. the action causes your breasts to shift beneath your low-cut blouse as you close your manilla folder. and suguru, he has to remind himself to breathe. “well, we do have some time before the board meeting if you’d rather we look over the details some other time?”

suguru hums in agreement as he stands, forcing his eyes off you and walking over to the left wall where he keeps a fine array of wines and expensive liquor. “yes, let’s do that then.” his hands reach for a bottle he knows you enjoy most out of his collection, an itallian imported masseto merlot. he reaches for two wine glasses and turns to you, offering you one to take. “how about we enjoy a drink for now?”

you rise from your seat to stand next to him, taking the cup from his hands. he wonders if you’d felt your fingers brush against his, if you’d perhaps done it intentionally to tease him. ah, but he knows you better than that — even now as you hold your cup out for him to fill, he knows that you’re far too shy to ever think of trying anything with him, your boss. you’re always the respectful and diligent worker, always and ever doing your best to meet his expectations and go beyond. he’d be lying if he tried to say he didn’t look forward to seeing you every day, or that he dreamt of doing unspeakable things to you right here inside his office. even standing this close to him, suguru feels his pants tighten at the uninhibited view he has of your plump figure, your breasts tempting him as he loses himself on your sweet scent of fresh linen and honey oats.

“is there something on your mind, sir?” unaware of the thoughts clouding his mind, you innocently flutter your eyes to peer up at him with your glossy lips pursed atop your glass. he watches you take a sip of the dark red liquid and thinks about it wetting your mouth, imagines the satisfied sigh as something far dirtier, unprofessional, and how you would sound with your legs folded against your chest. he imagines all the ways you’d cry out for him, to beg him for more until he turned you into a whiney mess.

“it’s just…” again, he clears his throat. he reaches one hand up to loosen his tie, showing off the expensive watch on his left wrist. “been a long week, that’s all.”

your lips form a sympathetic pout as you lower your glass to your chest, your forearms unconsciously squeezing your breasts together and, have mercy— how can you make the dirtiest things look so innocent? “i’m sorry, mr. geto,” you offer, “i’ll certainly try harder to make things a little easier for you… is there anything i can do for you?”

“oh, no, miss (l/n), you’ve already been such a great help to me—” he stops himself midway, his dark eyes turning thoughtful as he considers. the idea that pops into his head is an awful one, he gives himself second enough to consider. but, what is he supposed to do when you stand so close to him, eyes innocently looking up at him, your very breath hanging onto his words? here you are right in front of him, so open and willing to help him, and perhaps— no, not just. suguru’s certain you don’t mean your words in the way that he thinks, but the very sight of you, the thoughts he has of you late at night and even now, it overwhelms him and tells him to cast aside all logic and give in to viscous wanting.

suguru quietly draws a breath, sets his glass down atop his desk and bites the bullet.

“well… there is something you could do for me.” one, two, it only takes him three short steps until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough for the smell of your sweet, honey-scented oils to fully wrap around him and fill up his lungs. his figure basically shadows your much smaller frame, towering over you as your eyes nervously met his. he focuses on the way your brown lips hang open slightly, on the way your pretty eyebrows furrow over your expression. he focuses on the deep breaths you take that cause your chest to rise and swell, lets himself go on the slight squeak in your voice when you hesitantly call him.

“sir…?”

“what if, ms. (l/n),” suguru hums, reaching his hand to your own glass of wine, intentional when his fingers cover yours. “i told you that you’re what’s been distracting me all along?” like a hawk, he observes every flicker of thought that crosses your dark brown eyes. first, he watches them widen on surprise, then they waver back and forth before lowering to where he held your hand, the deep red colour of your merlot surely not what holds your attention. you’re flustered, he knows it by the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, but he’s not kind enough to let you hide that beautiful expression from him. slowly, as if not to scare you, he takes his fingers and holds on to your chin, tilting your head to where you had no choice but to meet his stare.

“i— i’m,” you pause, your lips trembling so deliciously, your breath ghosting against his skin like an autumn’s gentle breeze. “i’m not sure what you mean… mr, geto…”

“you aren’t?” suguru lowers his voice to a whisper. he imagines he could hear your heart thumping inside your chest, that he could feel your pulse racing underneath your skin, and he wants more of it, wants more of you. “let me show you exactly what i mean then, ms. (l/n).”

he tells himself to be gentle as he leans in, tilting your head up so that his lips meet yours finally, finally— and suguru nearly loses himself to the sensation of being swept off his feet. gods, you’re even sweeter than you’ve ever tasted inside his dreams, the living flesh and bone version of you kissing him back so softly as if you’d walked right out of his fantasies and come to find him at daylight. he can sense the hesitance behind your lips, an uncertainty weak to your own desires as you lean further into him. your hands reach for his chest and you pull away with a breathlessness, gasping as you look up at him, showing to him your worries, your fear, your mutual want.

“mr. geto, we shouldn’t do something like this here,” you whisper as if afraid your words would be heard by someone passing by. though suguru could tell that, if he pushed, you wouldn’t be able to resist. your fingers feebly grasp at his arms, bunching up the white fabric covering his biceps and, oh— you pull him closer, yet not close enough to close the gap. he looks at you and sees it then, in the way your lips pout up at him, that—

“you want this too, don’t you?”

he touches a hand to your cheek and feels heat radiating from you in waves. pulling you closer, he brings that hand to cup the back of your neck and revel in the feel of you being so close to him, your chest so soft against his as his other hand falls to squeeze your hip. gently, he tilts your head to one side to expose your neck and he lets himself be greedy, leaning to drag his nose against your bare skin, lips just slightly parted so that you could feel his warm breath ghosting against your cheek.

your knees nearly buckle beneath your weight and you have to squeeze on to his biceps even tighter, for fear that you would collapse if you don’t hold on tight. “y-yes…” you quietly gasp once he finally presses his lips to your skin. the feeling of him harshly sucking your neck is enough to cause your head to spin, for your legs to clench together at the new heat that pools in your panties. you feel him begin to press forward, and as you step back, he chases you, pushing you until the back of your thighs hit his desk. the sensation of cold wood is stark against the waves of searing heat that pours from the both of you and you stumble for a moment, accidentally knocking his pristine ceo plaque to the red carpet below.

“then,” suguru’s voice sounds slurred. his words are heavy and he sees the way they weigh you down as his fingers skillfully pull the first buttons of your blouse. he takes in the picture of you with reverence and worship as greed swirls within his gut, tightens his pants and makes him forget anything that didn’t have to do with you. with one hand, he pushes you further until you’re sitting on top of his desk and leans in once more, ever more wanting to feel your lips on his. “don’t think about anything else right now. just focus on me, yeah?”

dazed, it’s all you can do to nod ‘yes’ as he slots himself between your open legs, his hands squeezing down on your hips and pulling you forward until his bulge presses right up against your core.

it’s hard hold himself back any further, and suguru abandons his inhibitions as he hungrily slots his mouth against yours, the kiss almost universes different than the last. where before, he’d been experimental, testing the waters almost and tasting you for the first time, he now devours your very soul like a man starved of water and you, his fountain found in a scorching desert. his lips are searing as they move, and he pours so much into you that it becomes too much and it burns so deliciously, filling you until whimpers slip out from you and your hands hungrily pull apart his buttons. his nails dig into your thighs as he bites down on your bottom lip and pulls before he begins to press kisses against your cheek, trailing wet, impatient lines of spit along your jaw.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” its almost a growl when he speaks, low and dangerous as he feels himself slipping further. his teeth sink into your dark skin and he sucks, hard, relishing in the moans that you reward him with. “how badly i wanted to have you till i couldn’t sleep at night.”

“s-sir wait,” you try to call him, struggling to find your words amidst the fog clouding your brain. he’s sucking your skin so much that you fear he’ll leave marks, yet your voice seems to only urge him to leave more. “not there, people will see— ngh!”

he doesn’t pull apart when he grinds his bulge against you, letting you feel just how big and hard he’d gotten for you. each move he makes sends you reeling, the pool between your legs enough to soak you right through your stockings as he rolls his hips into yours.

“focus,” suguru reprimands you, lowly growling into your neck. “all your attention on me right now. do you understand?”

when you take too long to respond, he pushes one hand around your neck and squeezes, causing you to squeal as he pulls your head back to face him. your mouth hangs open, gasps of air struggling to make it past his hands, his spit smeared all across your lips, cheek and neck with the beginnings of purple bite marks forming on your dark skin — you’re the perfect picture of a mess, your beautiful brown eyes glazed over by lust and desire, so far gone from your normally neat and put together appearance, and it’s all because of him.

“understand?” he bleeds the word slowly, and, feeble, you respond with a desperate nod of your head, barely managing to force out a ‘yes sir..!’ through his grip around your throat. you try to squeeze your legs around his waist, wanting to pull him closer, to feel his cock pressed against you once more, for any kind of friction, but one hand swiftly pries them wide apart as his fingers snake between them. startled, you try to squeeze them close, though your body quickly loses its strength when his slender digits press up against your dampened core.

god, you’re already so fucking wet, you’re dripping enough to leave dark coloured stains atop his wooden desk. suguru marvels at the feeling of your slick practically pooling along his fingers, coating them as he rubs slow, teasing circles over your clothed pussy. “look at that,” he says breathlessly before pulling his hands away to lick at them, and the taste of your essence causes his cock to twitch against their restraints. popping his fingers out of his mouth, he shoves them past your gaping lips for you to swirl your tongue around, a groan escapes him once you begin to suck and whimper around them. “fuck, (y/n), you’re making it hard for me to control myself.”

his thumb brushes against your lip and he pulls your mouth open, dizzy when you eagerly open your mouth for him to spit into. “such a dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?” he grins as you swallow with a moan, “yeah? never dreamed i’d see you do something like this, ms. (l/n). were you thinking about something like this everytime we spoke? hm?”

a sharp ripping sound startles you, though you hardly have the chance to regain your bearings as suguru finally touches you in the place you need him the most. your pussylips are basically sopping and so, incredibly swollen, your clit so eager for him to touch you when he presses his thumb against it. “f-fuck…!” you throw your head back, hissing and biting your bottom lip to contain your cries, all while suguru marvels at seeing you unravel. you’re completely under his control like this, a pretty little doll in the palm of his hands that he could toy and play with until your mind would crumble. the revelation blazes through him like a wildfire and swirls like a ferocious torrent — more, he wants — needs — you to break even more.

“i want an answer, (y/n). how badly did you want me to fuck you all this time?”

you try to respond, though your words fall apart on a weak, wavering cry of his name as he sinks two fingers inside you, feeling them split apart your walls before pulling back out slowly. he uses his knees to keep your legs from clamping shut while his free hand slips your bra up over your chest, letting your full mounds fall freely for him to squeeze. large, brown nipples perk up under the exposure of the cold air, pointy and sensitive beneath his thumb when he pinches one and softly twists. he groans, nearly panting, your pussy clamping down around his middle and ring fingers. “you’re so fucking tight, you’re just leaking and making such a mess. must’ve been waiting for me to fuck this pretty little cunt, huh?”

“nngh, sir..!” oh, those pretty little cries you make would be the end of him. he wants more, wants you to fall apart utterly and completely until your mind would be blank and you would be nothing but a blabbering mess. he wants to feel you, taste you, to devour you whole.

swiftly, he drops down to his knees and spread your legs wide open, one on each of his shoulder for him to see your messy cunt. he’s mesmerized at the view of you, sopping and dripping as your hole squelches around nothing, greedily begging for him to take it and make it his.

above him, you’re barely able to register his movements before you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth hungrily sucking your pussy, and it catches you so off guard that you release a loud cry of his name. “suguru…!”

“shhhh. shhh, baby,” the man doesn’t stop for even a second, muttering the words right up against you and sending shockwaves through your core. desperate to keep your voice down, you clamp your hands over your mouth as you feel his tongue flicker against your swollen clit, back and forth before he begins sucking and lapping. your essence pools all over his tongue and suguru feels himself getting drunk, diving his tongue between your folds while his fingers drill in and out of your hole, filling the large office with sloppy, slurpy noises as he coaxes ever single drop he can out of you.

despite you trying, you fail to hold your voice back as the coil within your gut tightens and your vision grows spotty. his fingers repeatedly brush against that spot deep inside your cunt that makes you see stars and you can’t catch your breath. your moans turn into strangled cries as your legs clench around his head, and you can’t pay any mind to how tightly you’re squeezing him between your plump thighs as you grip his hair to pull him closer. “aah..! aghn! nnngh..! fuck, sir, i’m close…!” your hips begin to buck as you chase your end, desperate for your climax as he groans between your legs and sets a relentless pace with his tongue and hands. he focuses his mouth on your clit while his fingers stretch and fuck your cunt and you taste like honey, pouring into his mouth as he laps it all up and milks you for everything you could give him.

“cum for me, princess.” his muffled voice shoots through your core like lightening, and you feel that coil in your gut reaching its height. you’re almost there, you’re so close, you’re so fucking close— “make a mess all over daddy’s face, come on. thaaaat’s it, baby, gimme all of it… don’t hold back and fucking squirt for me.”

he curls his fingers inside you, and the coil snaps like a bullet shot right through you. your orgasm crashes into your body as every muscle inside you seizes, your cries and whimpers unrestrained and nearly deafening. tremours reck through your figure as suguru coaxes everything out of you with sweet praises, till you squirt all over his face and fingers and you collapse against his desk, sending several important documents and utensils clattering against the carpet.

“shit…!” your eyes barely register suguru’s form hastily rushing to his feet, stumbling and lightheaded, his face and shirt absolutely drenched in your cum as his fingers unbuckle his belt. you see his cock spring out from his boxers when he pulls them down, and in your fucked out daze, you admire how pretty it looks. the pink tip smacks against his toned stomach, the length of it thick and twitching as he grips your thighs and he’s so fucking big. fuck, you start to panic, but your body’s far too weak for you to move quickly, barely able to lean up against your elbows while he folds your legs up against your chest — “wait, sir, not yet, i— haaah!”

your mind blanks, your vision shoots white as his cock bullies its way into your pussy, still sensitive from him eating you out before and a cry erupts out from your chest. above you, suguru’s expression contorts and he groans loudly as he sinks deeper into your cunt. your gummy walls clench down on him as if to keep him out, squeezing him so tightly that his knees nearly give out underneath him. “aaaahh, fuck, (y/n), your pussy feels so fucking good.”

he’s too impatient to give you time to adjust, you just feel so good clamping down on him the way you do and he pounds you, fucking into you relentlessly while you writhe and cry beneath him. “fuck!! sir—!! s-slow down— ahh! haah! ‘m still— still sensitive— ngaahh!”

“sorry, princess.” he huffs, folding your legs further down into your chest and pivoting his pelvis to reach inside you deeper, deeper until he pounds your cervix and you jolt as if you’d been shocked. you have to grab the edge of the desk to keep yourself from sliding from underneath him as he relentlessly fucks into you. “your pussy jus’ feels too good, fuck. ‘s like this pretty cunt was made jus’ for my cock.”

how perfect you look folded underneath him like this, breasts bouncing and tears pooling from your eyes as your body trembles and shakes from the overstimulation. how your hair messily flails underneath you, your clothes all bunched up and your stockings shredded and your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you senselessly wail, fuck, you look so damn hot. “i know you can take it princess,” he coons, stilling his hips as he pushes all the way inside you, pinning you down when you try to squirm. “c’mon, pretty girl…” slowly, he pulls out and slams back into you — once, twice, over and over, each time your walls tightening and squeezing ravenously. “you got this. you’re doing so good for me, soooo so good. you like how my cock feels inside baby? does it feel good fucking up your pretty little pussy?”

“yes…!” with teary eyes, you look up at him, your response short of senseless and incomprehensible as you choke out a sob through your pleasure. “yes, yes, yes, yes, sir, feels so fucking good!”

“shhh, shhh, i know baby,” suguru coos down at you, grinding slow, sweet circles against your core before picking up his pace. the sudden change catches you unprepared and you shout, hands flailing to his biceps and clawing into his skin as he caged your body beneath him. “you’ve been so good for me already, aah, can you gimme one more? cum one more time for me pretty baby, jus’ one more for me.”

as if at his command, you feel that familiar tension take hold of your body as he drills into your cunt, so sudden and without warning as it crashes over you. you squeal, babbling his name over and over as your pussy creams all over his cock, your gasps drawing little air as your orgasm tears through you and leaving you breathless.

“thaaaaat’s it, shit. just like that.” he praises you through stuttering breaths, cooing at you sweetly as you come dkw. from your high. you’re positively fucked out of your mind with tears falling freely from your eyes and drool smearing your cheeks, snd the sight of you like this beneath him, the feeling of your pussy milking around his cock, it’s enough to send him over the edge.

“fuck…!”

his body twitches as his cum spurts inside your pussy, warm and thick and so, so much of it comes out, painting your insides white. your chests heaving in unison, suguru finally collapses on top of your chest, and he’s just every bit of a mess as you are. both of you are absolutely spent of every drop, endorphins coursing through your veins as the adrenaline exists your systems. your eyes seek out his to find him already staring at you with a cheeky grin, your own face flushing with embarrassment while he presses butterfly kisses against your stomach.

“d-did, um…” it’s hard to get the words out, your lungs still very much fighting for air, but you cheekily grin at the man, your boss, kneeling between your legs, and dare to allow your hands to run through his disheveled hair. “was i… able to help?”

suguru weakly chuckles, and your heart flutters a bit at the sight of crinkles forming on his nose. “you did, (y/n).” smiling, he rises to his feet and leans down to kiss you, pressing a hand down on your tummy and pushing down. he feels you writhing beneath his palm as his cum leaks out of you. “trus’ me, ‘s just what i needed.”

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feasibilities · 2 months

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"Perhaps you should have some, clear your head."

Investigative Reports | Jonathan Crane x Journalist!Reader

Warnings: Non-Con, Drugging, Kidnapping, Dumbification, Bondage, Corruption, Pet Names, Hallucinations, Cockwarming, etc. Author's Note: I finally got around to writing this! This insane post got a lot of hilarious/supportive reactions, so thank you. I hope it really is The Most Disgraceful Fanfiction Ever Made.

“Would you like to see our treatment facility?” Jonathan inquired, smiling faintly.

“Of course. Where is it located?” You said, looking around curiously.

“The elevator will take us there.” Jonathan replied, guiding you inside. You wondered why he was so eager to show you this “facility”, but it would be good for your article on Arkham Asylum. You also noticed that his hand lingered on your lower back. You made a mental note of the floor being accessible by key only. The door opened to a poorly lit corridor with double doors at the toward the back. A sinking feeling in crept into your gut but you followed behind him anyway. He opened the doors to an underground sweatshop. You saw the faces of some of the criminals who mysteriously avoided being prosecuted.

“This is where we make the medicine.” Jonathan said. You quickly realized this was a trap. Why would he be willing to show you this if he would let you leave? A feeling of panic clawed at your internal organs but you stayed perfectly still.

“Perhaps you should have some, clear your head...” He said in a restrained tone, swallowing harshly. His icy disposition transformed into that of a monster. You ran for the elevator and frantically pressed the buttons. The doors never closed. You scurried out and ran down the hallway. You ducked into one of the empty holding cells. You saw a white bed with restraints. You hid in the corner behind it and held your breath. Tears rolled down your face as you blamed yourself for taking on this story.

“Ready or not, here I come.” A ragged, disorienting voice spoke. Your heart dropped as the voice was a complete contrast from the composed one you heard minutes ago. You covered your mouth to muffle any sobs. You heard his footsteps click down the corridor before they stopped in front of the cell you were in. You crouched to make yourself as small as possible. You saw a figure with a burlap mask over his head.

“Hmm, I wonder where she could’ve run off to.” Jonathan said sarcastically, knowing exactly where you were. Walking to your hiding spot, he stood over you.

“There you are, princess.” He cooed. He kneeled down and wiped your tears with his thumb. You cringed at his touch and tried to scoot away. He pulled you back and put a white cloth over your mouth and nose. Your struggling was useless. Blackness crept into your vision as you lost consciousness.

——

You woke up to an unfamiliar bedroom and a throbbing headache. This room was quite different from the dilapidated cell you fell asleep in. You didn’t recognize the pink silk nightie you had on. You were tucked in perfectly as well. You had little to no memory of the night before. Jonathan came in and shut the door behind him. Checking his watch, he smiled to himself.

“Just in time.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What happened? My head is killing me.” You inquired, sitting up slightly.

“You had a fall and hit your head. I know how to make you feel better.” He said softly, pulling the comforter from your body. His smooth hands ran up your thighs.

“I-I don’t think this will help.” You hesitated.

“Of course it will.” Jonathan replied. You pushed his hands away and tried to cover yourself once more.

“I guess I’ll have to tie you up, darling.” He relented, retrieving rope from the nightstand. He removed your nightie and folded it neatly. He tied you in the Shibari style of the Star Harness with your arms bound. He covered your mouth with duct tape. He pulled you to the edge of the bed and bent you over. You cried desperately in hopes that he would stop.

“Shh. The more you struggle, the longer it lasts.” He hushed you, kissing the back of your head. He took in the sweet smell of your hair. You felt him slide into you slowly, whimpering at his size. His thrusts were slow but deep to the point of causing pain. Your knees buckled with each thrust.

“Already falling apart, hmm? Isn’t that sweet...” Jonathan purred, speeding up. You looked back at him with teary eyes. Jonathan kissed you over the duct tape on your mouth. Sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. You clenched around him frenetically, earning cruel spanks from him. His glacial blue eyes bore into yours. A searing pain managed to reach your cervix as his movements grew careless. The rope he adorned you in began to scrape painfully against your skin.

“Want me to stop?” He teased. You nodded frantically. He pulled the tape off your mouth painfully.

“Please, sir.” You begged innocently, beginning to cry once more.

“Of course, my love.” He whispered, pulling out. He groaned at the sight of your arousal dripping down your legs. He took out a polaroid camera and snapped some pictures of you from behind. You turned away until he violently flipped you over. He put his middle & index fingers in your mouth.

“Smile, sweet pea.” He mocked, snapping one final picture. Setting the camera aside, he stared down at you with an esurient gaze. You shifted uncomfortably as you were still tied up. His fingertips grazed the tender burgeon of your nipple. Enjoying the sensation, you pushed your chest up into his hand. You mewled sweetly and batted your eyes.

“Don’t do that…” Jonathan said, barely holding it together.

“I can’t help it.” You whined, oblivious to his impending breakdown. He was fuming at the effect you had on him.

“Right.” Jonathan said, standing up and opening a drawer nearby. He grabbed a burlap mask and held it up for you to see.

“Remember this, hun?” He inquired, taking off his glasses.

“No, what is it?” You replied, furrowing your eyebrows.

Sliding it over his head, you froze in fear. You realized he was the man of your never-ending nightmares. You suddenly saw hallucinations of maggots and spiders crawling from the eye & mouth holes of his mask. The world around you started to spin nauseatingly. You closed your eyes tightly hoping it would all end quickly.

“I knew you would remember me, angel.” He said, speaking in the same ragged voice. He walked to you and untied the rope around your body. He began spreading your legs once more. You scratched, punched, and bit him to no avail. In actuality, your resistance was much weaker than you thought. The sedative he gave you drained you of any kind of physical strength.

“Help!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping anyone could hear. Jonathan put a firm hand over your mouth and entered you once more. This time, his pace was sadistic and blistering. The headboard banged against the wall. You felt your bones shake with every motion. You screamed behind his hand until you had no voice to scream with. That familiar band of pleasure in your lower half finally broke. Your body convulsed wildly. He enjoyed seeing you unravel.

“Almost done, stay still.” He sneered, continuing his assault. Your mind was nearly blank from everything that was happening. Jonathan moved his hand from your mouth to your throat as he was getting close. Your fucked-out expression made his heart flutter. Suddenly, hot spurts of seed shot into you. His groans echoed through the bedroom. You felt some relief that it was over. Instead, he laid next to you and slid back in hastily. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you still. Your shaky hand clawed at them. A doused white cloth smothered you once more as you lost consciousness.

“Sweet dreams.” He whispered, holding you close.

#don't look!#my writing #cillian murphy #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #dc scarecrow #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #batman begins

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 21 days

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 2

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Morning did not come quickly. You kept the blankets tucked to your chin, desperate for a barrier between yourself and the outside world. Your eyes stayed locked on the window as the dark blues faded into lighter shades until finally, a soft pink glow filled the room. Throughout the night, the only sounds were the male in the room next door shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out soft sighs. It seemed he wasn’t sleeping much either, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your screaming had woken him enough to stir his mind awake for good.

When the first birds began their calls and the room was barely lit by the morning sun, you finally pulled back the blankets. Every bone in your body ached, and your head still pounded from the incessant headache, now mixed with lack of sleep. You ran your hands over your face, smoothing them over the back of your head before clasping them behind your neck. You took a deep breath in through your nose. Now what?

You sniffled slightly, wiping your nose before letting your feet finally hit the floor. The bed creaked softly. You made your way to the adjoining door, peering through the crack to see the male lying in his bed, facing the wall, his wings spread out behind him as his shoulders gently rose and fell. At least he was able to sleep. You pressed your hands against the door, willing it shut as silently as possible. How are you going to get through this? You can’t hide from sleep forever, and you certainly can’t keep going without rest. You shook your head. You’d figure it out, somehow.

You moved through your morning, treading lightly as the inn’s old floors creaked and groaned under your weight. You dressed, pulling the leather jacket back over your shoulders, your nose crinkling at the scent of spruce and sage. He was everywhere, even now.

You closed the door to your room, boots in hand, fearing the noise they might cause if you wore them inside. You tiptoed past the closed door of your strange companion from the night before. Sneaking down the steps, you threw a smile to the waitress, who nodded at you as she wiped down platters before her morning began.

The air outside was crisp, with dew still clinging to the grass. The morning sunlight cast a pale glow around the clearing where the tavern sat. You paused to slide your feet into your boots, lacing them as you looked at the purple hyacinths blooming in the fields. The dotted purples brought you back to when you were a child, wandering the streets of Velaris with your family. Your mother would buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor and tuck one of the soft-stemmed flowers behind your ear. You always loved the purples the best. You smiled to yourself, shaking away the memory, as you did with all of them. But you let yourself stop as you crossed the clearing, plucking a single purple flower from the group, which stood slightly shorter than the rest. Given its stature, it wouldn’t be missed. You tucked it behind your ear. Silly, you thought, to take such precious time picking flowers, but you did it anyway as you entered the woods again, not looking back at the tavern where that strange male, who was so gentle, so attentive, still lay asleep in bed.

Your only plan was to head south, away from the mountains and deeper into the country. You weren’t sure how long it would take to cross the border into the neighboring court, or if you would even make it that far, but south was the only clear option to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You’d considered trying to make your way to Velaris, but it seemed too close, too obvious. You feared it would be the first place he would look for you, the place where you felt most at home, where he could easily come and take you back. If you cleared the Illyrian mountains, it would be farther than you had made it in past attempts just a decade ago, and perhaps that would be enough.

You had planned this escape months ago, setting aside coins left out on tables and scattered on the floor during his moments of rage, when it seemed the blinding red overtook all his senses. You had packed and repacked your bag, changing out clothing and supplies for each season, hoping for the day when you might finally have had enough and decide to leave. You were always ready, waiting for the right moment.

It was foolish, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the dense woods, that just a few weeks ago you believed things were getting better. He had brought you fresh berries from a farm a few miles away, kissed you on the forehead, his hands still holding the berries as he wrapped himself around you, and you pressed your nose to his chest. He had promised things would get better after he shattered that window, where you ducked as he raged and threw a pan through the glass, leaving shards in your hair. He had promised he would stop. You were a fool to think that the nights you spent tucked into his side, his hands gently stroking your forearm as the night passed quietly, were a glimpse of a peaceful life that the Mother and the mating bond had promised you.

You couldn’t even recall what had shattered that illusion. He had come home from the forest in a rage, already flying off the handle as you stood, pressed into the corner counter while he slammed around the cabin searching for the absinthe you had poured out into the grass behind the house a few days before. He nearly tore the doors off their hinges as he screamed for it, his hair growing wilder with each yell, demanding to know where you had hidden it. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your knuckles bone white as you gripped the lip of the counter until he finally came over to you, pressing his body into yours as you whimpered and tried to shrink away.

He grabbed your face, his large hands nearly covering the entirety of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His breath, already laced with alcohol, assaulted your nostrils as he leaned in close and through clenched teeth asked, “What the fuck did you do, you witch?” When you closed your eyes tightly, he squeezed your jaw, the pain forcing them back open. “Why do you fucking hate me?” he had asked, moving his hand to your throat, his large, callused fingers tightening around it. “I do everything for you. Every godsdamned thing, and you—” he stuttered as you wrapped your own hand around his fingers, begging for release or even a bit of air as your windpipe was squeezed shut. “You bitch, all you do is fuck with things. You fuck with my head, and you lead me on, and you do this shit.” As your eyes widened and you sputtered for breath, he finally released you. You hadn’t even realized he had lifted you off the floor until your feet hit the wood again. You grabbed at your own neck, gasping in ragged breaths as he continued to scream at you, calling you every possible wretched thing as you doubled over, still coughing life back into your lungs. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward from the corner cabinet, the jerk causing you to fall to your knees before he yanked you back up.

You cried out in pain as he hissed at you to shut your mouth. He led you to the counters, already ripped apart in his frantic search. “Find it. You better fucking find it.”

Hot tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over. You began hopelessly searching for the bottle you knew wasn’t there. You cursed yourself for not just emptying the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, claiming he had finished it during his last bender. Instead, you had buried it deep in the woods, foolishly hoping he would give it up completely. Panic rose in your chest as you rifled through the cabinets, trying to think of something to say to stop what you knew was coming. He stood next to you, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. He knew there was no bottle. This was purely to torment you.

When you finally turned to him, you whispered, “I don’t know where it is.”

His hand rose, and he slapped you across the cheek, yelling, “Liar!”

The blow threw your head to the side. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your cheek, the sting radiating through your face. “You’re a liar and a fucking witch!” he raged. You took a step back, hand still pressed to your cheek, as he barreled toward you again. He ripped your hand away from your face, took both your wrists in his hands, and stared at you with hollow green eyes. “You better fucking find it, or you’re dead,” he howled, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

“I don’t know where it is,” you pleaded, tears finally cascading down your cheeks.

His anger deepened as he gripped your wrists tighter, causing your fingers to curl into claws. He shook you violently, screaming, “What the fuck did you do with it?”

A sob escaped your lips as he slammed your body into the counter. Your hip screamed in pain, and your legs gave out from under you. Sliding down to the floor, his hands still grasped your wrists, holding you upright. You turned your face away from him as he continued to yell, spittle spraying your cheeks. When your body finally hit the floor, he released you from his grip. You curled into yourself as he reeled his leg back, sending a kick to your abdomen that knocked the air out of you. An unnatural gurgle erupted from your lips as he kicked again and again. Your head knocked against the sharp edge of the cabinet corner with each assault. The searing pain spread through your body as you curled in, trying to protect the soft parts of yourself.

You sobbed as he, with reckless abandon, continued his assault. His boot, splattered with your blood and spit, struck you repeatedly until you had nothing left and stopped making noise. Your vision blackened as your head hit the counter again, your body knowing nothing but the fire of pain as every part of you willed to let go. Your eyes shut, tears still streaming down your face.

Suddenly, without warning, the kicking stopped. You felt air rush back into your lungs, the taste of iron filling your mouth. You winced and recoiled from the pain, feeling the bones in your ribs cracking, already beginning to mend, but the spasms of your muscles fighting to stay intact caused you to wince. Above you, without looking, you heard his quiet sob. Too weak to lift your head, you felt him drop to his knees beside you, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your broken body as he sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cried between sobs, his voice breaking.

Your face remained expressionless, save for the pain etched in every feature. He pulled you into him, his tears dampening your hair and shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he kept repeating, the heat of his tears burning into you as he held you close.

You had no words, and even if you did, the air had been forced out of your body, and your throat was raw from screaming. Anything that would come out would have been as broken as you felt. What felt like an hour passed, but you were sure it was only minutes before he stood up, muttering again how he wasn’t sure what was happening. He ran his hands frantically through his hair, pacing about the kitchen of the cabin. The tea kettle you had put on whistled a scream, echoing your own pain.

He sniffled, his breathing ragged, before he finally stopped pacing and looked towards you, still curled into the corner of the counter, blood streaming from your eyebrow, eyes hollow and empty. He started to speak but paused, then turned and walked out of the cabin and back into the woods, muttering and yelling indistinctly.

When you finally managed to stand, you hoisted yourself up by the counter, your legs weak, almost giving out on you. You dragged yourself, one hand cupping your side where pain still shot pins and needles through you. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, barely registering that the hot metal handle burned your flesh, and threw it into the washbasin.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom. Uncaring if the blood slowly drying on your forehead stained the sheets, you willed yourself into the bed, the pain of your body hitting the mattress causing you to cry out. The window above the bed, slightly open, let in the sounds of him yelling outside, muttering things you couldn’t make out as you heard him assaulting the forest with his fists, screaming out. The background noise of his torment was the last thing you remembered before blacking out into nothingness.

In those moments, which happened more frequently than you would like to admit, you sometimes wished one of his blows had caused an organ to split or your head to hit the floor with such force it would have knocked the life out of you, ending the hell you were living. You often questioned why you didn’t leave sooner, why you wouldn’t fight back to escape, or why, in moments of excruciating pain, you didn’t scream back at him. Why did you feel compelled to stay silent as blow after blow landed? You pushed those thoughts from your mind. They were of no use to you now. You would keep moving forward, away from that place.

You had lost all track of time as you continued through the forest. The familiarity of the woods around the mountain and cabin was lost as new trees and boulders surrounded you. The sun hit its peak overhead, and you allowed yourself a short moment of rest, unwrapping a roll you had packed in a linen napkin. You ate it greedily, hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach as you scarfed it down. Its slightly stale flavor and hardened exterior were no bother as you finally quelled the growling from your core. As you chewed, you took in your surroundings. The trees here were taller and fuller, as if summer had already arrived, and the leaves had fully regrown. The canopy above cast long shadows on the lush green forest floor, and the boulder you sat on was slightly damp.

You folded the napkin, carefully placing it back into your well-packed bag as you took stock of your remaining food: two more rolls, a few apples, two chicken drumsticks wrapped in beeswax paper, a small bag of granola, and a handful of dried fruits. Enough to get you through a week, though you silently prayed for a town or even a small village where you could rest overnight.

Continuing into the forest, you allowed yourself to breathe freely, even enjoying the light burn of the sun across your cheeks. You went as far as to take your boots off and walk down a stream that babbled happily through the woods. The freezing chill of the water sent a spark up your spine as you searched for brightly colored stones and salamanders. It was silly to waste time doing this, but you hadn’t let yourself explore the world in so long, and for such little joys, it was worth it.

The afternoon waned, and the shadows grew longer before you came to a clearing. A meadow of soft spring ephemerals bloomed, filling the grasses with splashes of white, pink, and orange. As the sun cast orange fire across the sky, you deemed this as good a spot as any for the night. You threw your pack down at the edge of the meadow, unfurled the blanket you had wrapped your food in, and laid it on the meadow floor. You allowed yourself the luxury of one piece of chicken, the skin still crisp from when you had cooked it a few nights before.

You watched the sun dip behind the treeline, the oranges turning to evening purple, as a mother deer and her fawn approached from the opposite edge of the clearing, feasting on the meadow’s flowers. You watched them carefully, not daring to move an inch. The fawn stayed close to its mother, who ate without fear, while the young one occasionally pricked its ears at the snapping of a branch. The mother seemed content with safety as the fawn locked its eyes on you. You stayed still, the fawn scanning you before turning back to its mother and resuming its evening meal. The tranquility set your mind at ease as the family wandered back into the deep woods, disappearing as night fell.

Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep as you lean against a tree, using a small knife to peel bark away from a branch you had picked up, fighting the urge to lie down. Another day of uncertainty had passed, another day of finding who you were, and another day of tasting the tantalizing flavor of freedom and deciding you wouldn’t live without it.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes shot open as you heard the nearby crunch of the forest floor. How long had you been asleep? The branch you had been working on lay in your lap, your neck sore from where your head had fallen forward, and the side of your mouth wet from drool. You scrunched your face, shaking your head slightly to wake yourself up more when you heard another crack of a branch and what sounded like calculating footsteps.

Your heartbeat picked up speed as you frantically tried to pack your things. You had gotten too comfortable and unpacked most of what you had. The footsteps, now sounding like multiple pairs, grew closer. Silently, you pushed your items under a nearby bush before getting to your feet. You whipped around in search of a hiding place, but your only options were to run across the meadow, where you would be seen from every side, or run deeper into the woods toward the approaching steps. Instead, you looked up the towering evergreen above you and started climbing, limb after limb, higher and higher, each branch slightly less thick than the last. The ground disappeared below you, and you were panting, perched on a branch at least thirty feet up. You tried to steady your breath, gasping air into burning lungs as you waited and listened.

You heard the beginnings of voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. The voices were deep, male, in an accent you couldn’t place. The footsteps grew louder, and you saw the soft light of a torch through the trees as the group approached. Three males, all in black attire, swords drawn at their waists, and no lack of knives strapped along their legs and torsos, trampled through the undergrowth.

Finally, they were close enough for you to make out some of their conversation. “No, no, he wouldn’t have done that,” one noted.

“You weren’t there,” replied the second, following the leader in front, holding the torch. “He said he gutted him, drove his knife into his stomach, and ripped up through his chest.” You gulped as they continued to approach.

One of the males let out a slight chuckle. “Malek doesn’t have the balls for that.”

“He had enough balls to land you on your ass the other day in the ring,” another chided, causing the initial storyteller to shove him hard in the shoulder. As they continued through, you noticed they, like the odd male from the tavern, had large wings that hung from their backs, though more proudly than the one you had met.

One of them, the shortest, with jet-black hair braided back, trailed behind his two companions, swinging his sword idly. Though he did it without much thought, you could tell he was trained to use it lethally. “Why did we get stuck doing this patrol?”

The other, a few paces ahead, turned his head back over his shoulder, his shorter-cropped black hair glinting in the torchlight. You could make out the slight scar across his cheek, slashed into his lips. “Maybe because you couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut.”

The smaller one groaned, dropping his sword to his side. “That was months ago. He can’t keep shitting on us just because of that.”

The one in front, the tallest, with long cascading black locks pulled into a half bun, responded without turning back, “Well, apparently he can.”

You held your breath as the males continued their approach, now just under the tree you were perched in. Suddenly, the leader stopped, holding his hand up to signal their immediate halt. “Shut up,” he said.

The male behind him quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, while the short one behind raised his sword in a ready stance. The leader then whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Your heart sank as you pressed your hand to your mouth, hoping the sound of your heart trying to escape through your ribcage wasn’t audible from below. The leader glanced around in a slow circle, his ears pricked, trying to pick up any noises. The two others did the same, silently scanning the area.

Finally, the second male crouched down where your blanket had been laid. “The grass is pushed down,” he whispered, moving forward slightly to where your body had been. “And it’s warm.”

The smallest one took a few silent steps forward, crouching next to his companion and gazing around. He reached forward and from under the bush pulled out your pack. “They heard us coming.”

The leader, still scanning the surrounding area, said, “They can’t be far.”

“We would have seen them in the meadow,” one responded. The other chimed in, “And they would have had to come toward us if they ran into the woods.”

The leader slowly and carefully turned his head to scan the trees above. Your stomach dropped as he locked eyes on you. You begged it be dark enough that he couldn’t see you, but the smile that crept onto his lips told you otherwise. He pointed one long, tanned finger upwards. “Found it,” he whispered. His companions turned their heads skyward, and your eyes widened in fear.

With a grim laugh, the one with braided hair stood, cupping his hands around his eyes to look up at you.

The leader called out in a sing-song tone, “Come on down, we don’t bite.” But you didn’t believe that for a second.

The small one chimed in the same tone, “Just come down.”

The second then followed, “You’re trespassing. Get your ass down here.”

You weighed your options. The large wings on their backs and toned bodies made you believe they would outrun you and take you down the second you stepped foot on the ground. But the tightness of the branches made you consider if you could climb higher, hoping they couldn’t reach you. You barely had time to consider before they called out again, “Just come down.” You stifled a whimper. There were no good intentions within these three males, not like the one you had met just the night before. These males had smirks on their faces that made you recoil, your insides gurgling. You opted not to move.

The leader finally called out, “If you don’t come down, we will bring you down. It’s your choice.”

Your knees locked, sore from crouching and balancing. Your only chance was to stay here and hope they couldn’t get to you. When you didn’t respond, the little one let out a chilling laugh and rubbed his hands together. “May I?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other, nodding in agreement before the leader noted, “Go ahead.”

With that, the smallest one chuckled with excitement before shedding his harness with his sword and knives, giving you a better look at his lean, muscular body. He was toned and fit for battle. Placing a steadying boot on the trunk of the tree, he hoisted himself up onto the first branch and made his approach to you, moving fast.

As he continued his ascent, you pressed yourself closer into the trunk of the tree, blending into the darkness. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he finally made out your general shape. Looking down to the other two, he called out in a voice like a hungry predator, “We got a fae female on our hands, boys.” He turned back to you, licking his lips before singing out, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Bile rose in your throat as you watched him inch closer. You looked up to see another twenty feet of branches, each getting smaller but tighter together. In this moment of life or death—or something worse—you decided you might have to climb higher. The male below continued his climb as his two companions hollered encouragement. When he was merely ten feet from you, you made your choice and scrambled to the next set of branches.

He called back down to his friends, “And she’s quick. And fit.” He let out a small growl of desire, and you didn’t dare look back to see how much he had gained on you. “A tight ass,” he called out again, prompting his companions to laugh and groan with lust.

Your hands were bleeding, cut by the tiny twigs, but it didn’t stop you from pulling yourself up through the branches, away from the approaching danger. When you finally turned your head back, the male was at the branch you had just left. He took a moment to inhale deeply, “And she smells delicious.” He continued after you, faster than you could climb. You must have been ten feet higher when the males below you disappeared from view, obscured by the tree branches. The one with the braid was hot on your trail, struggling as the branches grew closer together. He let out a frustrated huff as he pulled his wing through a particularly tight spot. “Bitch,” he grumbled, “just come here.” His voice sounded as if it were directly below you. When you dared to glance down, he was a mere arm’s length away. He moved faster than you thought possible, and you let out a slight yelp, which made him smile, his toothy grin lit by the moonlight.

He reached forward, his hand clasping around your booted ankle and yanking you down. A scream left your lips as you clung to the branch above you, your fingers screaming in pain. Without thinking, you used your other leg to stomp downwards, your boot making swift contact with his face. He cried out in pain, yelling, “Fucking bitch!”

The two below shouted, “What happened?”

“She fucking kicked me in the face,” he replied.

The two below laughed amongst themselves, and the one in the tree yelled down at them to shut their mouths. You scrambled higher, finally reaching the last row of branches that could hold your weight. You pulled yourself through three separate crisscrosses before steadying yourself, clinging to the trunk like a bear. The midsection was thin enough that you could almost wrap your arms around it. You looked down, and a few feet below, the male wiped the mud from his face and spat blood from his lips. He looked up at you with a new sense of anger bubbling. “You bitch,” he cried, continuing his ascent. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

You whimpered, pulling yourself tighter as he continued up. Finally, when he reached the crisscrossed branches, he tried to push through, but his broad shoulders halted him. He groaned and grumbled, looking up at you with a sneer. “You bitch,” he whispered. He called back down to the two below, “She’s too high. I can’t get to her through the branches.”

The second called back, “You’re telling me your ass is too fat to fit through there to get her?”

The small one peered over his shoulder, “No,” he called back, “my dick is too big to make the clearing, dumbass.” He peered back up at you, considering his options.

The leader called up from below, “Just come back down, Darian. She has to get down at some point, or fall.”

Darian let out a growl, looking up at you. “I’ll be waiting down there when you’re ready. And when you come down, just know, I have big plans for you.” With that, he slunk back down, cat-like, almost sliding down the length of the tree. Below, you could hear them speaking. The second chided, “Your dick is not that big.”

Darian laughed back, pushing the other slightly, “My dick is huge, and you fucking know it.”

The second let out a noise of uncertainty. “I’ve seen it, and it’s nothing to get excited about.”

Darian jumped on the back of the second, his forearm wrapping around his neck as the second laughed, pushing himself back against the tree. The air in Darian’s lungs knocked out of him before the leader finally said, “Knock it the fuck off.”

That was enough for Darian to drop from the second’s back. “Thoren, head back to camp and tell them we found a trespasser who we’re going to wait out.”

The second let out a groan, “Why do I have to go back? Send the cock-master instead.”

The leader shot Thoren a glare, “That’s an order, Thoren.”

Thoren shook his head, taking a step back, arms raised. “Okay, okay, fuck.” With that, Thoren made his way into the meadow, his giant wings spreading before he took a bounding leap and jumped into the sky. He flew up past the tree you were perched in, peering in at you from the thick branches with a criminally vicious smile. “See you soon, little squirrel,” he said before flapping off into the night, back toward the woods.

The leader ordered Darian to build a fire as he rifled through your pack, pulling out the food and taking a hungry bite of a roll. Looking up at you, where you knew he couldn’t see you, he gave a slow wave. “Goodnight, sleep well” he called up, before a sinister laugh escaped his lips. You gulped once more.

_____________________________________________________________

Special thanks to the following readers of Part 1 who have encouraged me to continue writing this, it's truly wonderful to have such phenomenal support while I continue to craft these works!

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@annabethgranger123, @nickishadow139, @thatacotargirl, @depressedreader209

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tripleyeeet · 8 months

Text

GO SLOW (12)

SUMMARY: Astarion figures out some hard truths. Also some easy ones.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,665

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, depictions of a panic attack, brief mentions of past (sexual) abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SURPRISE SHAWTY!! Because I was home sick all day and now I'm apparently busy the rest of the week you get the chapter now! Hopefully you like it. :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You’re meant to be focused on the relic —on its discovery and retrieval and potential handoff depending on the item in question. As you walk across the cobblestone, tightly gripping the moonlit lantern, you’re well aware that you more than likely look a bit distracted. Lost in a world of your own as you glance around, knowing you should concentrate instead of allowing your head to fill with thoughts of him.

Embarrassingly though, you can’t help it. Not now, when Astarion’s practically glued to your side, brushing his arm against yours with every step. It’s distracting, to say the least. Creating a mess of thoughts within your mind. Shifting in and out of reality, you find it increasingly difficult to pretend you’re anything but elated over your previous private conversation.

As you continue your journey, feeling the coolness of his hand haphazardly make contact with your own, your heart swells twice its original size at the mere memory. How his voice, so simple and sweet, told you he loved you. Even now, hours later, you can hear it clear as day, echoing through the cavern of your skull. Taking its hold with each passing moment; enveloping you in a warmth like any other, laying a heated waste to every thought that may try to penetrate.

If you’re honest, it makes you feel a bit guilty knowing that the rest of the group is most likely feeling more anxious than anything else. Resembling a cluster of bundled nerves, trudging through the darkness, wondering what might be next, it’s as if you’re the only one struggling with something else.

Fully looking at Astarion, you can see the attentive scowl that rests across his face to prove this. The ever so slightly upturned nose, wrinkling in disgust at the rotting trees that line your vision. The angrily knitted brow that pushes together, revealing a lack of enjoyment as the shadows dance around the lantern. Even the frown that graces his lips appears almost too engrossed with the task at hand, making you realize that, despite your shared feelings, he’s more present than you are.

Upon realizing this, you force yourself away. Taking a half-step from his frame, you shake all thoughts of him, replacing them with whatever observation you find in front of you. Like the sound of a crow echoing through the air or the heavy wisps of wind that hit your ears a little too hard or the looming figure leaning on a nearby epitaph—

All of you stop in your tracks, watching as it emerges from the fog to reveal a smug looking Raphael sauntering towards you.

Greeting you with interest, despite the obvious lack of trust for one another, his eyes scan the line of your bodies, lingering on each for a moment before ultimately falling to you, smirking. “Through the dark he went creeping and awoke what was sleeping…”

His voice makes you shiver as he begins to recite some sort of riddle, reminding you of your previous conversation. The one where he threateningly spoke of his aid being the only way to release you from the tadpole's grasp. Assuring that with time you’d seek him out again despite all of you agreeing otherwise.

Even though the context of the conversation seems completely different, you assume it’s the same reason he’s here now, standing before you, rambling on about some terrifying creature through obnoxious prose. More than likely, he’s here to offer you yet another deal —another contract you know will only end in further misery if you so choose to agree to it.

It’s all devils like him seem to do.

“Strange way to warn us about something,” you comment when he’s finished, raising your brow as he chuckles under his breath.

“Well, you know, I’ve grown quite fond of you —in my own way.”

To your right, Karlach groans. “Is there an actual point to this fucking riddle or is this another opening to one of your shitty dealings?”

In response, Raphael tuts in her direction, subtly shaking his head as the grin across his lips only grows. “Such poor manners, tiefling. You’d think Zariel would’ve taught you better.”

Immediately, Karlach takes a step forward, her jaw clenching just as you and Gale hold her back, both of you staring with pleading eyes for her to calm down.

“And here I thought after all this time apart you might miss me.” Regardless of the obvious threat, he flashes all of you a fake frown, pouting his lips for a moment before changing the mood with another laugh. “No matter. I’m merely here to warn you of the dangers ahead.”

“Dangers?”

This time it’s Shadowheart who speaks, her tone quiet —cautious in the way that Karlach’s fails to be, causing Raphael to nod before going into some long-winded tale of a darkened stage with tired actors. Ones that, if awakened, will cause a great calamity.

Or, so he says. With Raphael, it’s hard to trust what’s being embellished and what’s not with the way he speaks, moving his hands through the air while he rhymes. Sure, there’s a bit of eloquence to the whole thing —an air of intrigue to his tales but ultimately, it only makes you and the others frustrated. Skeptical. A lack of trust rising through the air as he continues, pivoting the conversation to a lurking shadow.

Apparently, it’s of Infernal descent, something that piques both you and Astarion’s interest, sharing a look. As Raphael speaks, telling you to kill the creature before it can be released upon the rest of the world, your tadpole vies for your attention. Squirming violently, it makes you cringe with discomfort, trying your best not to let it show as you allow the call to enter your mind.

We should ask him about the scars.

For a moment you disagree. With Raphael being a devil and all, it’s almost certain that if you ask him a question he’ll only offer a bargain in return. Something big and shiny but worth hardly anything in the long run. But then you remember the timing. The lack of minutes and hours and days you may have left. Already you’re running on borrowed time and you can tell that Astarion’s desperate. Struggling to come to terms with the fact that at the end of all this, he might not get the ending you both believe he deserves.

Because of this, instead of denying you merely nod your head, making quick eye contact just as Raphael finishes his tale, using the short moment of silence to pivot the conversation.

“Now, enough about all that,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “Let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

When his gaze hits Astarion’s face it’s as if the whole party turns defensive. Narrowing their eyes, their bodies instinctively lean towards Astarion, making sure it’s known that any sort of threat will not go unnoticed.

It makes Astarion puff up triumphantly as he clears his throat, glancing back at all of you with hidden thanks before returning his attention to Raphael. “I do. I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?”

“Yes.”

Chuckling darkly, you see Raphael shift. “If this has anything to do with you wanting to taste my blood, I can assure you vampling it’s hardly worth it.”

As you roll your eyes, Astarion scoffs. “This is serious, devil,” he retorts, a rather crisp bite to his tone despite who he’s talking to. “I have this scar —this eyesore of a creation carved rather deeply into my back. Someone wrote it all in Infernal and considering I’m neither devil nor demon I obviously can’t read the damned thing.”

Instead of responding, all Raphael does is hum. Low and slow, he takes his time mulling over Astarion’s words, stroking his chin most likely for dramatics as he paces the path, making you frown.

“Can you help him or not, Raphael?”

When you speak, he looks at you with offence. As if interrupting his thought process is a fate worse than death, prompting you to swallow in regret, trying not to look scared. Even though that’s exactly what you are.

Considering you don’t trust him in the slightest, watching Astarion so easily ask for this devil’s aid makes you anything but calm. In your mind, you can feel the anxiety brewing like a storm. Threatening to strike you down at a moment’s notice as this hellish creature disguised as nothing more than just a man, scolds you for your lack of patience.

“It’s something very important to your master,” he then says, smirking at Astarion —pulling him in with tempting words and more theatrics. “But what is it? A love letter perhaps? A warning of your impending room? A contract of ownership maybe?”

Every example he lists off makes you more and more uncomfortable, your stomach churning at the prospect of Astarion’s scars meaning anything at all.

“I could give you all the gory details. For a price, of course.”

As expected, Astarion sighs and looks towards you, searching your face for signs of reluctance only to find support.

“And what’s your price?”

Without hesitation, he tells you he wants the aforementioned creature dead. Slain on sight so that he no longer has to think about it. To which Astarion looks at him a bit confused, wondering how such a simple task could be deemed worth its weight in information. Especially when taking into account all the slaying you’ve all done already.

“Really? That’s your price?”

Raphael nods —humming again but this time in acknowledgement. “You slay the best and I tell you all about those beautifully crafted etchings. Sound good?”

It doesn’t. Not in the slightest. But regardless Astarion merely nods, prompting Raphael to finish his end of the conversation, telling you he’ll be in touch before evaporating into a thick fog of smoke.

As soon as he’s gone you can feel the breath returning to your chest. All the past anxieties slipping into something a bit more manageable as you reach for Astarion’s arm, earning yourself a look of frustration that everyone else opts to ignore.

“You okay?”

You see him swallow as he looks away, turning his attention to the entrance of the mausoleum you now find yourselves in front of. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, but are you okay?”

It’s obvious then he doesn’t know how to answer. Now that he’s one step closer to finding out the truth of this thing that’s haunted him for so long, you can tell he’s nervous. Apprehensive in a way that has him debating whether or not he truly wants to know. You can see it plainly in his eyes —the way they dart around in circles, searching for something neither of you has the answers to.

Sensing this, the rest of the party moves ahead silently, glancing at you from afar as they stop at the run-down building’s entrance, allowing you a moment to yourselves.

“It’s a lot to take in,” you remind him then, squeezing his arm.

Beneath your touch he tenses, signalling you to pull away as quickly as you can, fearing he may not like it.

“There’s always something in the way, isn’t there?” he grumbles, gritting his teeth in frustration.

Sighing, you nod your head. “Unfortunately.”

“I mean, honestly, you’d think for once the universe would allow me a moment of goddamn peace but no, I have to work for it —to become a slave and do the bidding of someone else yet again!”

His frustrations are rational. Justifiable even, when you take into account all that he’s suffered. After everything, he deserves to be thrown some kind of bone. Even one as little as this, and more than anything you wish you could do that for him.

Instead of merely supporting him on yet another perilous journey to earn the bare minimum you wish you could give him everything. The key to his past —the gift of his future. If you could, anything and everything under the sun would be plucked from its rightful place and put into his open hand without a second thought. You’d will the stars to fall without warning if he wanted them. Lasso the moon and drag it down just so he could see it clearer each night. Hell, you’d even rip the sky itself down if it meant you could prove to him just how much he deserves.

Unfortunately, though, you’re not nearly powerful enough to do anything like that, so instead you merely set the lantern down on the ground and offer your hand. Palm up into the air, you shove it between you with a sombre smile, watching Astarion glance between it and your face, inevitably taking it.

“I don’t need your pity, you know.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Fine, your sympathies then.”

“Alright.”

A part of you knows he’s being stubborn just to guard himself. A tactic he often uses so that his vulnerabilities may remain hidden. It’s something you’re often guilty of yourself —avoiding conflicts in the form of jokes or comments said only to distract.

Unfortunately, because of this, it means that you can see right through him. As you move your other hand to flip over his, trailing patterns across the lines of his palm, you can feel the fear that strikes his heart. The thoughts inside his head pulsating with all the potentials of where this newfound information can lead you.

Neither of you know, but it’s apparent then that regardless of what it is, it easily has the ability to change the trajectory of everything. Depending on the severity, the more unwilling you know Astarion will be to continue with the group. If it’s dire, more than likely, he’ll try to venture off on his own to solve the issue. Especially if it results in enacting some form of revenge.

Because despite his growing fondness for the group you find yourselves in, he’s still Astarion at his core. And you know that means there’s an inherent selfishness that sits dormant, waiting for the right moment to abandon the world to get what he wants.

You don’t blame him for it. Not after everything he’s been through. Not after countless years of seduction and starvation and a solitude meant only for the dead. At the bare minimum, he deserves the chance to erase all of that in the form of raw revenge. Whether it’s through betrayal or murder or whatever may linger in between.

Regardless of all that, he deserves closure. Even in its impurest form, he’s earned the right to do whatever the fuck he wants because it’s his choice. His decision. If he wants to leave —to abandon the party for greater things, so be it. You won’t stop him. However, you will offer him your hand.

“I’m with you. Whatever happens.”

As you speak, you continue to stroke his hand, repeating the routes of your index finger over and over again until you can feel him relax in your palm. Until you know that the frustrations that he feels are pushing themselves to the back of his mind, making way for your presence.

“It’s rather foolish of you, you know.”

You raise your brow at him.

“To fall for a vampire. To promise him things you may not be able to fulfill.”

Despite knowing he’s right you merely smile and look back down at his hand. “I never claimed to be smart, did I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

You move your thumb across his palm, gripping it gently with your other hand as you pull it up to your face. “I’m pretty good with a sword though,” you offer, kissing the centre, feeling it curl around your chin, his own thumb trail past your cheek.

“I know, I’ve seen you.”

“So you’re aware of my talents.”

He snorts and leans in without another word, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that has you humming against him until suddenly it’s over far quicker than you’d like.

“You know, the plan was never to have this happen.”

His hand remains firmly on your chin. Thumbing your bottom lip it pushes it down to reveal your teeth before springing back up when he moves his digit elsewhere.

“Have what happen?”

“This,” he says. “Us. We —I was meant to merely seduce you. Manipulate you into trusting me so that you’d never turn on me.”

There’s an awkward pause that quickly fills with nervous laughter. Ripping through his throat, it’s there and gone before you can even react to it, making you swallow hard as he continues his confession, telling you how easy it was supposed to be. How instinctive it felt to flirt with the idea of you while you fully fell for his charms.

“All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you,” he tells you, earnestly —looking at you with eyes so heavily filled with guilt that, as he confesses further, all you can do is stand there, panicking. Praying to whatever Gods may hear you that at the end of this, he doesn’t retract all the words he previously said just to spare you from helping him accomplish the impossible.

“I swear if you—“

“That’s where my plan fell apart, you know,” he cuts you off, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “When I realized how incredible you are. How caring and funny and—and smart you are. I didn’t stand a chance. Not with the way you take the time to listen. Or the way you defend my honour even though I never ask. Or how you have the ability to make me smile when all I want to do is scream.”

All you can feel is the breath of his words hitting your face. The sensation of air pluming across your skin, forcing you to blink and breathe and carry on as silently as possible.

“You deserve to have the kind of love you selflessly offer me every day.”

Slowly, his hands move to cup either side of your face, pulling you further in despite how close you already are.

“I want to give you that —to give you something real. But I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to do that.”

There’s a part of you that feels like you’re shattering then, hearing those last few words, unaware of the implication. Considering it’s such an open statement, as you remain still beneath his touch, trying to explore his face for clues, the only thing you can think of is the worst. How instead of loving you, he’ll leave and die by Cazador’s hand. How as a result you’ll be one member short and fall to the Absolute. How everything will have been for nothing.

Breathing hard, you assume his next few words will be the worst words you’ll ever hear, so when he eventually opens his mouth, preparing to speak further, you can’t help but close your eyes.

“Being close to someone —experiencing intimacy— it’s something I did to lure people in for him, so it’s tainted in a way. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing, despite what we have being different,” he confesses, forcing your eyes to reopen and see the almost wild look in his eyes.

“I don’t know how to be with someone else. How to offer them what they need —how to let them in the way I know I should. No matter how hard I try.”

At that point, it feels like he’s searching for answers. Begging for you to tell him what to do next —knowing it’s all he’s ever known.

Because of this, all you do is offer him a smile, reaching up to grab his face back, tentatively feeling the skin through the nerves that shake beneath the pads of your fingers. “So, what happens next?”

“Next?”

You nod, watching his expression change, telling you he doesn’t quite understand the question as he blinks back tears, glancing away while clearing his throat.

“I, uh, I suppose I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve had to decide what I wanted.”

“That’s okay.”

He opens his mouth to respond but all that comes out is a soft crackling of sound, signalling even more uncertainty until he’s pulling away and avoiding your gaze, panicking at the prospect of having to choose. A newfound agitation flowing throughout his features as you attempt to call him back in, whispering his name like a prayer.

At first, he’s completely hostile, pushing air rapidly through his nose as his eyes flicker through the trees. At one point he wobbles from side to side, shifting the weight of his feet so carelessly that you move your hands in front of you, waiting for him to drop.

Thankfully, he doesn’t though. Instead, all he does is ride the hysteria of his emotions, eventually looking to you for the kind of guidance you’re more than willing to give him.

Once again taking his hands —cautiously this time— you etch those same patterns into his hand, using your thumb to trace every line you see, telling him he’s okay. That you’re here and he’s safe and that you love him, despite everything.

Barely above a whisper, you tell him that his feelings are valid. That he’s allowed to take the time to process. That admitting that he loves you doesn’t mean there has to be this automatic shift into something new.

“We can just love each other,” you tell him, smiling. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can take it slow.”

That seems to calm him down enough for him to nod his head and reciprocate the contact of your hands with a short squeeze. Both of which make your heart swell in a sort of sad understanding as you silently offer him a hug, feeling him roughly wrap around you as he tells you he loves you again.

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#go slow #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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yaut-jaknowit · 3 months

Note

Hello!

I love your writing for Gawtin, and I was just wondering if you had the time for a request! Like, Gawtin is mated to a female reader, but the reader is pregnant with a yautja baby? Qui-koy will have a baby sister? Something fluffy and smutty too if you are comfortable! (If you do not have the time I understand, thank you for reading though! ❤️)

-🥹 anon

Baby Sister

Pairing: Gawin (female Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, lactation kink (now you guys know where that question came from), wlw, angst,

Word Count: 6014

Summary: The father died and Gawtin helps take over the care and grows to love them. The brother of the Gawtin dies due to a hunt gone wrong. Reader is pregnant, early pregnant that not even a Yautja could smell it just yet. In the grieving process, the scent hides the pregnancy for some time before Gawtin picks up on it and lets Reader know. Reader takes the news as good, seeing this is the last gift to them from their dead lover. Due to the grievance, Reader searches for something to fill the hole in their heart. Gawtin is there.

Author Note: I'm so glad people love her as much as I do! This had me thinking. I had two different lanes to take. I choose the sadder one. Hopefully the fluff and smut make up for it.

P.s. There is 11 pages here. 11. I say to myself I need to do smaller to get through requests.... I can't. So, I hope the 11 pages of angsy, fluff, and smut make it up to you since it took a while to get to this....

Masterlist

Ao3

He wasn’t coming home. Your home would be void of his presence now. Empty and silent. His laughter would never fill the rooms, the halls anymore. No children would roam the dwelling, running, sprinting.

A happy family.

Broken by his death.

It was a known fact every time he went out on his hunts, he may not return. But Bgiwl… This was Bgiwl. Nothing could take him down. He’s been in your life for a couple of years. Not a single creature he’s faced has dragged him down to meet Cetanu. He’s… he’s too mighty, too strong to be taken down and, and killed.

Nothing could kill him.

Until now.

Gawtin, his sister, had brought the news to you. You’ve met her before when she came over to catch up with Bgiwl or vice versa. She’s stunning, beautifully crafted both by genetics and hard work. The fact she doesn’t have a permanent mate at her side surprised you.

Then, there was Qui-oky. The sweet, adorable child that made you hopefully during all your intercourse with Bgiwl, it would take. It never did. Now, with him gone, you would have nothing of him to live with. You wiped away the tears that had stained your cheeks only for more to wet your cheeks. The tears would not stop, after an hour of the news was broken to you.

During that entire hour of your life, Gawtin stayed by you. Through haze, you can tell she’s struggling to figure out how to support you. The action alone has your broken heart aching even more. You cried a little harder and gripped tighter on her arm. Your head buried into her bicep as she stayed seated at your side, taking the drool, salty tears, and sobbing into her arm. With Gaston’s other hand, she reached over and began to softly pet your head. You sniffled at the action, tiredly coming down from sobbing to your hearts content. The Yautja began to purr a gentle tune that had your eyes beginning to droop. It helped slow down your heartbeat.

A hiccup broke the calm quietness in the room. With your brows furrowed, you glanced over to the origin and found a small form standing at the threshold of another room. Qui-oky.

At first, you smiled through the pain before the battle was lost. Tears poured down your cheeks all over again. The family you wanted with Bgiwl would never come. He’s gone. The only child that’s been able to run through the halls of your home was the child before you. You swallowed down the thick saliva in the back of your throat; struggling to get it down.

The female at your side gave your head a couple more pats before lifting herself to her feet. All the warmth was stolen back. You whined but stayed planted on the couch, unable to find it within yourself to leave this spot. She strolled over to Oky and bent at the waist to scoop him up. The child chirped at his mother and happily grasped at his mother’s face. Gawtin twitched her mandibles in reaction and tried to deter him. Qui’oky bonked his head to her temple in a love tap then pulled back, expectedly looking at her purple eyes. All he got was a deadpanned look from her.

Then, the little bugger twisted his upper body to look at you. You down casted your gaze to the ground and curled tighter into a ball on the cushions.

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Qui’oky nearly toppled over if it wasn’t for Gawtin’s hold, outstretching his arms towards you. You feel yourself tense, unsure if you were in the mood to handle the child. He wasn’t little for a one-year-old in terms for humans. He’s already walking and talking, though the majority of it is gibberish. But he’s much further along than any kid on earth. Would your kids be like him?

Fresh, hot tears stung your eyes at that internal question. You turned your head to the side to hide the fact you were going to cry again. A thick lump returned to your throat, blocking any words from being voiced. There are no children. There never be children.

The sobs couldn’t be held back. A process stating all over again.

Days turned to weeks. Those weeks, your sadness still dragged on, pulled by your very own strength as you struggled to find your footing. Yet, every step of the way, Gawtin was right there with you. She held your hand the entire time, guiding you through the hours of the days and when the days turned weeks.

Later in your time Gawtin, you were curled up in her lap, head resting on her midriff. Such a minute little thing compared to the giant she is. She offered you comfort whenever you asked. Sometimes, you didn’t need to even use words. Just a look and she have you pressed against her.

Qui’oky is such a sweetheart. For the most part. As a kid, he still gets up to no good, learning the ropes of his world. He likes to figure out how soft human skin is, at your expense. There’s been a few added scars to you body from him alone.

Your fingers were slotted between her thick digits. Today was a lazy day. If there was a reason to be moving, that be your only motivation to be up. With your ear pressed to her chest, you felt and heard the rhythm of her heartbeat. Strong, loud. She was here, she was staying. She only went out to hunt for food and gather water every other day. You needed this. You needed her.

Her thumb rubbed along the back of your hand, engulfing the entire thing. The motion soothing and nearly lulling you into a slight slumber.

It’s been hard to sleep, even with time passing at the rate it has been. Yet, you believed every day that she allowed you to rest in her bed gave you a better night. A little less dead, a little less drowning.

The rubbing stopped and pulled you from your nearly unconscious state. You whined and tilted your head up to see if she would continue. Her chest filled deeply. Instantly, you began to grow nervous and pulled off of her midriff. “What’s wrong?” Those words falling your from lips immediately. Something was off.

Her free hand came up and cupped your chin to ensure you were looking her in her purple, piercing gaze. “When is the last time you have bled?” is her first question. Instead of answering you.

Bled? Like, a cut? Or… or that.

“You oomans bleed for their cycle. When is the last time you have bled?” Again? Why was she so pushy about it? But, her words confirmed your suspicions. You gave a week a shrug.

“I don’t know… it’s been a couple of months at least. I, I haven’t been paying much attention to it since,” you trailed off, unable to say those damning words. “But probably before… then. All this stress can through off the cycle.” It was the truth. You didn’t think about tracking it, especially after. There was no point. You had no one to have a child with. Those thoughts were bitter in the back of your mind.

Gawtin pushed you back to give her enough room to place her mouth to the crook of your neck. You shuttered at the feeling of her forked tongue slithering out and tasting your skin. “H-hey! What are you doing?” You wanted to be in the loop at all times, needing to be in control of the situation. Especially after everything came crashing down on you.

“You’re pregnant.” You blinked rapidly and jerked your head back. Then anger overcame the shock. You tore yourself from her lap and pointed firmly up at her.

“Don’t play games with me. Don’t!” you raised your voice at her. Hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes and blurry your voice. “I’ve not been near a male since then. It’s impossible!”

She followed suit and rose to her own feet, towering over you. You barely reached her waist. Her actions showed neutrality but your fear of angering rose to take control. Your feet stumbled back but caught the corner of a coffee table. As you fell back, a massive hand wrapped around your wrist and swiftly pulled you back to your trembling legs. All you could do in the moment was stand there, submissively lowering your head. You didn’t want her to be mad at you.

Her calloused hand returned to your cheek. “I do not lie. I smell the hormones, taste them even. Perhaps your sorrow overshadowed the scent but I can now smell it as clear as day. You are pregnant,” she assured and held you there, not allowing you a chance to even bolt from the truth.

The first thing you start to do is sob. It should be from happiness, relief but that’s not what you felt. The sorrow that filled you to the brim. Even as your knees give out, unable to hold you up, Gawtin scoops you up into her arms and hold you close. Her scent consuming everything. She sat back down on the couch and cradled you to her chest. A purr erupting from her sternum and vibrated across your skin.

The next thing you realize was waking up, face cleaned and body well rested. Confused as all can be, you slip out of the bed you’ve grown to know. Must’ve been a bad dread. You rubbed at your eyes and strolled into the kitchen.

An unfamiliar form stood in the living room. You immediately paused; muscles locked tight, ready to hide back away into the safety of Gawtin’s room. Expect, two sets of eyes found you first. Gawtin lifted her upper mandibles at you then motioned with a hand to come closer. You swallowed nervous and took the long route to stop just shy of Gawtin’s side.

Before Gawtin, another female stood in the main area of the living room. Face neutral and at ease. You can see by her scales she’s seen plenty of battles herself. For your own safety and assurance, you used Gawtin’s body as a shield. You kept a steely gaze on the new Yautja but didn’t dare step away from her.

Gawtin called your name and guided you from behind her to stand before her. “This is Fourta. She is the head medic for our village. I have requested her presence due to your pregnancy.” Your eyes widened. It wasn’t a bad dream. You gnawed on your bottom lip, the only thing holding back a sob.

Fourta gave a slight dip of her massive head. Her dark sea green blue scales shimmering in the low light. She’s from the sea clans. You recognized her form from times Bgiwl has taken you over to the coastal clans for supplies. What was she doing here? Your eyes narrowed again on her frame. She acted indifferent and stepped closer.

You tensed and stumbled backwards into Gawtin’s legs. The imposing female at your back placed her hands on your shoulder to hold you there. You swallowed nervously again and kept your gaze on her.

The sea green Yautja stopped her movements and knelt down to get closer to your level. It felt like someone trying to calm a terrified, stray puppy. You continuous eyed her. “I will not injure you, ooman. It goes against my oath as a medic. Yautja or not, you’re safe in my care,” she spoke in a soft voice that called to you like wind through the sails.

“I must check your vitals and ensure you are physically sound to carry this pregnancy through. There’s only been two recorded counts of a ooman carrying a hybrid. With little data, we have to be careful every step of the way. For both of your safeties.” The way she spoke, confident in her ability but also not cocky to show off.

A doctor, patient relationship to make this pregnancy as smooth as possible.

Yesterday wasn’t a dream. You were pregnant. This was Bgiwl’s last gift to you. Over your dead body would you let this fail.

Your head leveled out. You steeled your nerves with a full chest of air and stepped into her reach. Gawtin’s arms slipped off of your shoulders. “Okay, okay. I will allow for you to check me out but-“

“But anything that goes against her command, you will have to face me,” Gawtin interrupted and ate up the space you created between the two of you. Her heat washed over your back, blanketing you in a safety net. Her hands returned to your shoulders. Your body filled with confidence, head held up high and shoulders squared.

Fourta stilled and looked at the two of you before dipping her massive head. “Yes, of course, Gawtin.” Then, she stood back up. “Whenever you’re ready, I will begin my examination. At your speed and comfort.”

The new Yautja was true to her word, more so with the shadow of Gawtin being casted over her. Fourta was smaller than Gawtin by five inches, both by size and bulk. Gawtin was a hefty creature, yet not the largest Yautja out of the village. Fourta had a thinner body which is normal for the coastal clans, chest deep for the need for bigger lungs. Her arms having a slight fin on the outer sides to help with swimming.

A coastal Yautja wouldn’t dare to mess with a jungle Yautja in their own land and vice versa.

Once you were done with being poked and prodded, Fourta gave you more news. Three months. Three months along. Three missed periods you believed from the stress. Which, if you weren’t pregnant, you believed it still wouldn’t be working properly from everything you endured. So you don’t have a reason to worry at first.

Until now.

She left, leaving Gawtin with all the data they have about a hybrid pregnancy and birth. Information Gawtin would share with you at a later time. It was time to lax, to keep yourself calm during the duration of your pregnancy.

A way Gawtin knew was by drawing you a bath in her massive tub that could easily fit three female Yautjas comfortably. With soap and scents from a flower similar to lavender.

The clothing that was both a mixture from her and Bgiwl was pulled off of you and folded to the side. She didn’t even allow for you to take another step towards the tub. You were scooped off the ground and carried into the water. The perfect temperature for your body and newly growing baby.

Gawtin sat down on a ledge hidden under the water with you in her lap. You straddled her wide waist, arms surrounding her torso. The water drew away the tension in your body until you were lax against her. She rubbed the length of your spine, filling the curve of the bone. You groaned and tilted your head up. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you muttered and put your face on her sternum.

Claws zipped down your spine and drew a shutter from you. “I will be here for you.” Your eyes clenched shut, feeling the familiar burn of tears all over again. He said the same thing and looked where you are now.

“How’s this going to work? I-I’ve never be-en pregnant befo-re. I’ve never had a ch-ild before. I don’t know what I’m doing!” The hands left your back to cup your face and force your head up at her. “And-and without him! What am I go-ing to-to do?!” Your mewls and blubbering started again in full force. Your view blurred by the fresh set of tears staining your face. “I-I could die!”

As you opened your mouth to rant once more, a thumb brushed over your lips and silenced you. You looked up at Gawtin expectingly. “My brother chose you for a reason. Permant mates are not something we fool around with. He saw the potential in you. Though, he has gone to meet Cetanu, you are not alone in this.” When you tried to dip your head to curl into a ball, she followed your head with hers while keeping her grip firm.

“Each step through this pregnancy, I will be here for you. Along the way, the entire way. You will not be alone,” she stated with no room for an argument. You whimpered, cried slowly turning into hiccups. You raised your arms and placed them on her chest, water dripped off of your elbows.

“G-Gawtin,” you stuttered her name, doubt and hope both swirling inside of your eyes while gaze at her. Slowly, the green Yautja leaned forward and rested her forehead to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and enjoyed to the peace brought to this moment. “Thank you.”

All she did was hum and began to purr. Even though you knew the position couldn’t be good for her back, she stayed for as long as you wanted. Her hands holding your face, forehead to forehead. A little spark burning to life in the ashes.

Your belly grew, your ankles were swollen almost all the time, and your breasts ached so badly. All of this affected your back. At times, you cursed your lost mate for the predicament he put you in without him being here to help you. As time continued on, you wouldn’t trade Gawtin for anyone else. Her knowledge of pregnancy, though alien, was extremely helpful.

Every week, you got a checkup from Fourta, taking what was necessary and making sure you were well. And you were. Well, besides the constant body aches but Gawtin let you know that’s okay. Every time, she would run you a bath to relieve aches and pains. Every time, your eyes would sparkle while looking at her.

Qui’oky, as if sensing your discomfort at the current moment, waddled over to you. He does this adorable little run, hands nearly up to his arm pits and head slightly bowed. Like a little bull charging towards you.

At nearly two years old, twenty-two months, he stood a head taller than your knee. His hands slapped against your thigh as he stopped, chest to your leg. Oky doesn’t speak English just yet but you were teaching him a little every time he was willing to sit down. Yautja children rarely ever stop. Always on the move, testing their limits about everything.

This was a precursor to your new life. You were thankful that Gawtin was allowing you time around Oky and learning the ropes before it becomes a real deal.

The child at your feet chirped again to gain your full attention. With how round your belly has gotten, you weren’t able to lean forward. Instead, you tilted your head. “What’s wrong, little Oky?” you cooed to the toddler and offered a hand to him. He clicked at you in a mixture of baby talk and true Yautja. You were able to pick up a couple bits and pieces but it was hard to truly understand him.

He gave a huff then ran away from you, doing that precious run. Your shoulders shook with laughter at his antics. If he was trying to cheer you up, he sure did it.

Your hand rested on your profound belly and softly rubbed the stretched skin. Fourta was slightly concerned on how big your stomach had stretched to accommodate your growing kid. She first thought it was twins, but a quick scan only showed one heartbeat. Big and mighty. Just like their father.

Her biggest concern was the birthing process. Despite every Yautja striving for a vaginal birth, for the safety of you and your child, a Cesarean section would be the best option for you.

Of course, it’s up to you if you would like to process down this road. Getting cut open and your baby pulled out doesn’t fit with your dread of birthing them. You wanted to hold them, cradle them close, be the first one they see. And the healing process afterwards. Everything would be left to Gawtin, more than usual. At least for a month, you would be useless. You had time to think. Every second was used.

A shadow cast over your form. With a hum, you titled your head up and was met with the gaze of Gawtin. There stood your goddess adorned in casual clothing nearly like your own, except the bra holding up your grown breasts. More stretch marks lined the skin there. Your body sensed as if your baby was large and needed a heavy supply.

In her arms was Qui’oky, a moss green blob with short, maroon tresses. He began to blabber nonsense to his mother. She responded as if she understood every word that fell from his mandibles. Then, Gawtin lowered herself to her haunches, still holding her little one. One of her hands rested on your knee. “Would you like for me to run you a bath?” she questioned, eyes soft as they gazed at you.

You smiled at her. “If you can peel me off of this couch, then I will happily accept your offer,” you jestered with a light laugh. Her own upper mandibles raised at your comment.

“Your wish is my command.” The green giant offered her arm for you to grapple onto. To which, you did with a firm grasp. As she stood back up, she pulled you along for the ride, eyes observing your entire movement. Once you were settled back on your feet, she guided you carefully to the bathroom, taking every stride at your pace.

If you were to ever move from this place, you would demand a tub like this to be in place. It was larger than an average hot tub, which was perfect for both you and Gawtin to fit in comfortably. The nudeness of the two of has long been a forgotten bother. Bgiwl drove the disgust and terror out of your system long before you met Gawtin. Gawtin has helped further.

Though before, you were grossed out by all your stretch marks appearing, they were a sign your baby was growing healthy and strong. Same with how large your belly has gotten. Your growing child was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

Gawtin settled you on a ledge under the water. The perfect temperature to fight off the ever-growing soreness that has woven its way into your very bones. “I will return,” she explained before spinning on her heel and taking her leave. You were saddened to see her go.

When she returned the room, it was without Oky. Every step she took towards the tub, a piece of clothing was stripped from her body. At the edge, she was fully naked like yourself. Gawtin carefully lowered herself into the calming waters. Then, the Yautja picked you up from your spot, took it as her own, and deposited you in her lap.

This time, you have your back to her torso, head leaned back to expose your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut as you go lax against the other mother. Her hands rested on your hips, thumbs running over the newly created bumps. There wasn’t enough coconut butter to save your body from the marks it has received. You reached above your head and carded your hands together behind her neck. The Yautja purred slightly and ran her hand up your side, gaining a shutter from you.

“There’s never enough words for me to show you my appreciation,” you uttered softly. Without her, you would be completely lost, even before learning about this pregnancy.

Bgiwl’s death still hurts, it forever will. But that hole he left was slowly being healed by Gawtin. Her presence, her words. Everything about her was healing. She filled what needed to be complete. You needed her more than she would ever know.

With your eyes shut, you felt her head shake. “There is no need.” That earned a huff from you. The hand petting your side left the skin there to softly grasp at your throat. Her thumb rubbed along your pulse, feeling it flutter like bird wings. “I told you in the beginning, I would be here for you. I am a Yautja of my word. I will stay. Through thick and thin.”

A whine built up in the back of your throat, eyes opening to stare at the blank ceiling. You shifted in her lap, still in slight discomfort. It was one growing for a while but you didn’t know how to relieve it. Your hands trembled, on the verge of rubbing at your tender breasts but stilled before making yourself a fool. You couldn’t do that in front of her!

Yet, the discomfort never vanished. It only grew worse even in the warm water shrouding you. You groaned and body your head with shame, doing everything in your power not to rub at them.

Your body was picked up and turned around to be chest to chest Gawtin. Green hands cupped your face and forced your head up again. You wouldn’t met her eyes. Not with the heat blazing to life beneath your cheeks.

“Your breasts, they hurt. Do they not?” Gawtin asked, as if reading your mind. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded to the best of your ability. She understood. Gawtin hummed and let a hand drift down to rest on top of your collarbone. “If you consent, I can help relieve you of the pressure. My own would ache before the suckling came. My second to last one was the worse. A giant suckling too. Needed every last drop.”

The palm of her hand was incredibly warm against your skin that it was making it hard to say no. You should. You really should. No one’s touched you since… since Bgiwl. And this… this would damn you.

“What would that entail?” you returned, eyes wide and finally meeting hers. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment within them. Just understanding and something else you couldn’t pick up on.

Her hand didn’t move but her claws flexed, creating indents in your feeble skin. “I would help push the milk out. You are in pain from the pressure build up.” You knew she wouldn’t dumb it down. Most Yautjas don’t beat around the bush and just get it out. No reason too. It wastes precious time, especially in a hunt.

Your eyes still jumped wide. “Like-like a cow?!” Her explanation did make sense but… it felt wrong to do that. Yet, to ease your pain? The pressure was bothersome that just rubbing or using hot water couldn’t solve.

“I do not know what that is. Would you like me to?” Gawtin still offered to you, letting you have the chance to deny her. It was all up to you.

You gnawed at your bottom lip then glanced down at your swollen breasts. It sounded both alien and heaven sent to have her relieve you of this annoying pain. You pushed down your nerves then raised your head to find her purple irises. “Okay. Just, just be gentle. They really hurt,” you relented, inhaling a shaky breath.

“If you are worried about waste, if you would like, I can bottle it up?” Gawtin offered as well. That got you thinking. Yet, if your body is producing this much before you have given birth, you will be fine. You shook your head in denial. “Okay. Remember, you control this. If you want me to stop, say so. It is your choice after all.” You could help the way your body nearly sagged against her due to her words. She was a blanket of safety you’ve been craving for a long time now.

“Please.”

A calloused but softened from water hand first engulfed the entirety of one of your swollen breasts. You flinched at first but we’re swift to nodded your head to encourage her. Your bottom lip was trapped between dull teeth, eyes fluttering shut in reaction. The hand still on your face pinched your chin. “Open your eyes, pretty little thing. Need to see those eyes.”

Instantly, the room felt ten times hotter.

“Keep-keep going,” you begged with a shaky voice that didn’t portray confidence, but it was enough.

The first squeeze had you choking on your own breath. Your nipples highly sensitive. Beads of white milk dribbled out and rolled down the curve of your under boob. “Oh, fuck.” She ate up your noises like sweet treats. Some beads collected on her hand. She released her hold and brought her hand up. With her long, skinny tongue, she licked off the milk. You watched the way her pupils widened, turning black before her eyes.

Before you had a chance, Gawtin picked you up and placed you on the tubs ledge. She stood between you open legs, head closer to your chest. “Let me taste you. You won’t be in pain anymore.” If you didn’t know better, she was begging. She wouldn’t ever admit being as prideful as she is. All you could do was nod your head rapidly.

This time, both hands found their spot on your breasts. One squeezed again. You found her shoulders to be your anchor and groaned. The giant leaned her head in, tongue darting out and licking up a stripe to catch the drop. The roughness of her tongue laved over your nipple. You moan, legs spreading wider to accommodate her size. She was more than happy to eat what space you offered to her.

You slightly knocked out of the moment when her fangs opened close to your teat. She felt your body tense up and stopped before her mouth was too close. “Ease, little ooman. I will not hurt. Just taste.” You took a deep breath in and nodded to allow her to continue. She took it to heart.

With her mouth awaiting, she pinched your boob again. More milk was released with the extra force. She was quick to lick up the spilled milk. “G-Gawtin,” you moaned her name, body growing warmer.

It was onto the next teat. Your hips rutted down on the tiled floor dragging against nothing, not gaining any friction. You released another soft cry, nails digging into her shoulders as more was drawn from your nipples, drinking from you like a spring stream.

She may not be able to suckle. Yet, the way she messaged your swollen breasts, each given the same treatment every passing minute was heaven sent. Your bottom lip growing heavy until you could only pant and writhe in her hold. She drank from you, easing up your pain with gentle caresses.

The longer this drew on, the more clouded your brain grew. It made it hard to think, of anything more than just her sipping away at your milk.

The entirety of your body was on fire. Every nerve a lit anew. You’re buzzing with energy and ready for more. You tilt your head up with a pleasing gaze. “More,” you begged and canted your hips downwards, grinding against nothing but air. All the while, Gawtin watched and consumed in rapture. Your milk sweet on her tongue. She became greedy for more, pushing more out to swallow down her throat. “Please.” You were going to be the death of her.

Her hand not actively pulling your nectar out found its way to your hip, claws biting at your skin. If possible, you shuffled your thighs more open, inviting that hand to find your twitching clit. You knew she had to smell your arousal thick in the air.

A spike of frustration hit you. You snatched her wrist and forced it between your legs to ease the new, growing ache she created. “Touch me.” With the dizzy effect she caused you from just sucking your breasts, you were mindless and acting on instinct for the pleasure building up inside.

Gawtin was quick to act. Her thick digits rubbing circles around your puffy, swollen clit. You moaned out and leaned forward, head resting on her broad shoulders, back arch slightly due to you belly. A combination of water and your growing slick dripped down from the insides of your thighs. It didn’t take long for Gawtin to make you a hot, sticky, sweaty mess in the palm of her hands.

At first, you tried to get on your knees to allow her more access to your slick cunt. Yet, Gawtin forced you onto your back and pinned you there. Her mouth refused to leave its spot latched onto your nipples. Her hand continued to rub tight circles around your clit, drawing out moans. Your hands clawed at the tiled floor, unable to find a lick of purchase anywhere.

Your hips lifted off of the wet floor and grinded down on her hand. She growled in reaction and sent vibrations up your sensitive nipples that had you seeing stars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out, scrambling for an anchor but coming empty handed at Gawtin’s mercy.

All of your muscles locked down tight, more slicky drippling down to stain the floor and your thighs. Gawtin did everything in her power to draw your orgasm out, drowning in the very pleasure you begged for. Gulping down every drop of milk you produce, Gawtin soothed the ache in your breasts.

Your back relaxed to the floor while you laid there as a twitching mess. Your eyes drifted shut, chest heaving with each deep breath. A groan sounded from your drained body. Gawtin purred above you and gave each other your nipples a cleaning lick before pulling off.

“You have given me a taste, Treasure. Now, I will be hungry for more,” she growled while trailing her fangs across your skin up to your ear. You whimpered underneath her, back arching up again.

After caressing the shell of your ear, she pulled back to peered down at your lax form. “How do you feel?” her voice rumbled from deep within her chest. You cracked up your eyes to find her still hovering above you. One of her arms holding her weight by your head.

“Fucking amazing,” you breathed out. She laughed, shoulders shaking with the movement. With her free hand, she caressed with the back of her hand your cheekbone. “Anytime you want to do that, I will not deny you that.”

“Good. Your milk is so sweet and delicious. It would be hard to part with it after gulping it down.” Her free hand slid down to your emptier breasts and gave each a light squeeze.

“God, they feel so sensitive.”

“How long have they ached? I am surprised you had not done anything to relieve the pressure sooner. They were quite full,” she asked and swiped off a bead of milk that had been freed. Her tongue licked it off of her thumb.

All you did was shrug. “Probably for a couple of weeks. To be honest, I didn’t know if I could.” Again, this pregnancy was completely new to you. You didn’t know what you were doing.

“Oh, sweet ooman. From now on, if they ached, just a little bit, let me know.” She leaned down and got into your face. “I will be more than happy to relieve that ache.”

Fuck yourself twice. Your clit throbbed against your will at her words washing over you. To have this massive Yautja more than willing to drink you dry as your will was something you didn’t know you liked. But now, you could check that heavily on your list.

“I will allow free access to them.” A growl pierced the air. One of her mandibles twitched.

“I would not offer that up so freely, little ooman. You do not know what you are giving up.” You looked her straight in the eye.

“Take what you want.” Though, they were softened from the lack of milk, Gawtin found a different spot to drink from.

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