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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

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You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar

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golden-cherry · 22 days

Text

deal - cl16 (29/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow.

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his.

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms.

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you.

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke.

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself.

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment.

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway.

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that.

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again.

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy.

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality.

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all.

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before.

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that.

"Yes," he breathes without sound.

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point.

But that spark had gone out.

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?"

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid.

He didn't look at Joris.

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything.

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm.

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed.

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about.

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend.

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him.

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him.

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running.

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head.

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours.

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock.

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice.

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his.

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction.

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers.

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fluff

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fyorina · 24 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 ICARION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere.

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building.

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting.

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you.

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry.

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself.

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt.

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady.

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?”

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard.

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade.

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him.

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white.

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe.

He thinks he might throw up.

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak.

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity.

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai.

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below.

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this.

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly.

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?”

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to.

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved.

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him.

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you?

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful.

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up.

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you.

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him.

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving.

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him.

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again.

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to.

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him.

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care.

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him.

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him.

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side.

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again.

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?”

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do.

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye.

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention.

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with:

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something.

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips.

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible.

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time.

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock.

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you.

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it.

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away.

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins.

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible.

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it.

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this.

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge.

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you.

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again.

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

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

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emphistic · 2 months

Text

Alexithymia

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: this is part of my Boy Nextdoor Series, reader and sukuna are in highschool, and they have yet to start dating,

Synopsis: When someone just won't leave you alone, Sukuna decides to take matters into his own hands.

A/N: I'm trying something new: writing from Sukuna's pov, this took me way longer than it should have

Taglist: @starlets-things

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

Sukuna couldn't stand this new guy — Luke.

Luke has been following you around campus all day, like a lost puppy. Sukuna knew better; Sukuna knew that this was all just an act — that sooner or later, Luke would try to get in your pants.

He's seen this happen to you before. It resulted in his shirt being stained with your tears as you cried in his arms.

Sukuna wondered why this made him so mad, why the ache in his heart increased, why you — the smartest in the class — couldn't even realize what you were doing to him.

Usually, you and Sukuna walk to class together. Actually, scratch that. You and Sukuna always walk to class together. But that almost changed today.

Sukuna told you that he had to use the bathroom, and to just wait outside for him — which is what you did. But when Sukuna finished his business and came outside, expecting to see you — which he he did; he did see you — but he didn't see just you. A blonde boy; Luke, was also there, attempting to look cool by leaning against the locker, and he was talking to you.

The pink-haired teen could've sworn that smoke came out from his ears at the sight before him. That Luke boy was taking up all of your attention that you didn't even notice that Sukuna had finished up in the restroom.

Sukuna approached you from behind, and put a firm hand on your shoulder, making you jolt in surprise before realizing it was just Sukuna.

"Oh, hey, 'Kuna! We were just talking about you," your cheery voice lightened Sukuna's mood just a bit, "this is Luke. He's new — just moved here from [insert city]. That's where you lived before moving here, right?"

Sukuna grunted in reply.

"See, you guys already have something in common."

Bless your sweet heart for trying.

Luke avoided Sukuna's eyes, "Uh, haha, yeah. Anyways, about what I asked you earlier—"

"What did you ask her about?" Sukuna asked, raising a brow.

"He was offering to walk me to class. Um, so about that—"

"Sorry, Kid. I'm already walking her to class. Besides, it's better that way. We have Chemistry together. Wouldn't wanna be late to your first class, Bud."

"Sorry, what? I'm in the same year as you. I am not a kid."

"Oh, my bad. I just assumed your age there. I was going off of your short stature."

You turned around to swat at Sukuna's arm, "Don't be mean. He's not even short, you're just a giant compared to everyone else."

Sukuna rolled his eyes, and took your arm, dragging you off to class and away from this wannabe.

"Hey, what's your problem? He was literally trying to be nice, like, I know we walk together but you could've at least told him that in a nicer way."

"My problem, is that that boy won't leave you alone. Can't he just take the hint that we're busy, and he's wasting our time?" Sukuna tightened his grip on your arm, and picked up his pace, you had to practically sprint to match his speed.

"Are you serious right now, Sukuna? He is not wasting my time. He's just being nice."

Nice? Were you that oblivious? Sukuna would show you what being nice really was.

The pink-haired teen groaned, "Again with that word, huh?"

And with that, the two of you guys enter the lab without another word.

You were fuming, why was Sukuna making this a whole ordeal? What does he have against Luke? (These questions were better left unanswered.)

Lunch wasn't any better. Sukuna sat across from you, as per usual, with your guys' friend groups as well. Only difference was a fly buzzing in your ear. Not literally, of course. But someone very much like it.

"So," Luke began — with his mouth full of food (to which you mentally gagged), "you free, this afternoon? I have this assignment and I'm sorta confused about it. I heard you're quite the smartie pants." You cringed at his words, again.

"I . . . actually—"

"If you're confused, just ask your teacher. It's really not that difficult," Sukuna quipped.

This time, you didn't scold Sukuna. After all, Luke was being an absolute pain in your ass.

Luke frowned, finally closing his mouth.

Thank the heavens, you sighed.

Sukuna noticed your relief, and smirked. He was glad you finally saw past Luke's façade.

Eventually, the bell rang, and most people started to throw away their trash and exit the cafeteria, you and Sukuna included.

You stood on your tippy toes in order to whisper in his ear, "I see why you were annoyed earlier. Hopefully Luke doesn't have the same class as us."

Today the universe was on your side, because guess who came waltzing into your English class? That's right, the annoying fly from earlier.

Sukuna facepalmed in disbelief, while you shrunk in your seat — hoping that Luke wouldn't notice you and the pink-haired boy sitting in the back, nonetheless, the empty desk right beside you.

Spoiler alert, none of your wishes were granted. Nada.

Luke practically skipped to his seat, and sat down on your right. All the while, your teacher droned on with her lesson.

You messily jotted down notes, and daydreamed for the majority of class.

Sukuna seethed with anger as he watched Luke slowly — but surely — edge his chair closer and closer to yours. You, on the other hand, seemed to not even notice the blonde's actions.

"—so, kids, I will be assigning a group project worth 35% of your grade. It will be due—"

Luke immediately put his arm around your shoulder, "Let's work together. It'll be super fun, you can come over to my house, tonight!"

Something in Sukuna snapped, he saw red. If he was a volcano, he would surely be erupting right now, "That's just too bad, Blondie. 'Cause she's working with me." Sukuna put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his chest.

Luke's expression twisted into looking utterly appalled by Sukuna. However, the pink-haired teen remained stoic.

"Whatever." He muttered, under his breath, before storming off to elsewhere.

Luke turned to you, to see how you would react, but you avoided his gaze. "Sorry, Luke. I'm sure there's someone else you can work with?"

Luke scoffed.

You turned to Sukuna and gently rubbed his arm in a coaxing manner, "Don't hurt him. Please."

Sukuna sighed — a long, deep sigh.

The rest of the day went by quickly, you and Sukuna forgot about Luke — almost as if he never even happened. You packed up your stuff and began the usual walk home.

You laughed, "Well, I'm friends with you. So I guess you could say I like ugly things."

Sukuna made small talk with you, his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

Jazz music played from nearby cafes, and bookstores. He noticed your gaze lingering on some windows. You stared especially long at a plushie of a hideous beast (Sukuna's way of saying animal).

Sukuna scoffed, "You seriously into that ugly shit?"

Sukuna rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. You made a mental note of him not denying the word "friends".

A fortnight had passed — since your meeting with Luke, and as you liked to call it; 'twas the season of love.

Unlike you, Sukuna frowned when he saw what day it was — the 14th of February. He groaned, and fell back asleep with an arm over his eyes.

The only reason Sukuna even made it to school was that you wouldn't stop spamming his phone with calls.

You had to practically drag him onto campus.

It was funny though, every class you entered, there was at least someone who gave you chocolates, or flowers, or both! Sukuna stifled many sneezes on that day, poor baby. Actually — not really.

You weren't the only one with many admirers, you see. Sukuna had many girls (guys as well) come up to him during class, during break, even when he was in the bathroom there were people trying to barge in.

Your day was going really well, well . . . until the end of school. Sukuna was about to head out through the school gates, when he noticed you weren't by his side anymore. His head whipped around to see none other than that blondie by your side.

Sukuna sighed, loudly. He thought he was finally free from this annoyance, but guess not.

"—I got you these chocolates, Y/N. Happy Valentine's Day!" Luke smiled.

You took the heart shaped box into your arms, "Thanks, Luke. I . . . appreciate it!" You struggled to find the words.

"Of course. I mean, a girl as beautiful as you deserves only the best, right?" Luke saw Sukuna standing just a few feet away from you, and sped up his speech, "A-anyways, bye, Y/N." The blonde boy sprinted away, almost tripping every few steps.

You sighed, and walked back towards Sukuna. He recognized the chocolates as a cheap brand from some drug store he visited to buy his grandpa's meds.

He looked at the box and rolled his eyes.

"Haven't we tried these chocolates before already? I thought you hated them," Sukuna scoffed.

You nodded, "It's not his fault. He just didn't know."

"Sure."

That same evening, you came over to Sukuna's house for your guys' weekly movie night. You had brought the chocolates you received at school and you shared them with Sukuna — he also had the chocolates he received.

A rom com played on the TV in Sukuna's room, the both of you were comfortably seated on his bed. You had your knees up to your chest, and a blanket wrapped around your whole body. Sukuna was different; he sat cross-legged, with only a pillow on his lap.

Then, he remembered.

"I'll be right back." The pink-haired teen abruptly stood up, temporarily blocking the screen with his tall figure, and stalked away to his closet. He slid the doors open and took out an Amazon box.

He presented it to you, and you asked, cocking your head to the side, "What's this?"

"Ignore the box, I had nothing else to put it in." He gestured for you to hurry up and open it. And that's what you did. Sukuna remained standing, near the bed.

"I love it! Thanks a bunch!" You got up to your knees to reach Sukuna's face — you were still a little too short, so you pulled him down — and kissed him on the cheek, right as the couple on the screen kissed as well.

Your eyes instantly lit up, a wide smile on your face.

"Aww, 'Kuna! You didn't have to." Inside the Amazon box was a pack of chocolates — that you actually liked — and the plushie you were staring at while walking home from school one day.

Sukuna looked taken aback, shocked, but not displeased — quite the opposite, really. He didn't know having a girl kiss him would feel so, so . . . what? He didn't know the right word for it. He didn't have the right word for it.

He turned around, concealing his reddening face, "It was no big deal, I just wanted to use you to get me something back for White Day."

You giggled, seeing the tips of his ears turning pink. He was lying, and you knew that.

When Sukuna finally calmed his pounding heart, he turned back around and sat on the bed next to you.

You could clearly see a stamp of your lip gloss stained onto his pale cheek, and you giggled again.

God, since when was your laughter like music from Heaven? Sukuna thought.

His heart was racing, again.

The night ended with you showering Sukuna with kisses all over his face, except for his lips. The movie was long forgotten.

Sukuna loved it. He loved the feeling of your lips all over him. He loved the ecstasy, the bliss, after it all. He loved you.

You set one of the shots as your wallpaper and another as your profile for Sukuna on your phone.

It's safe to say that you could not stop laughing at seeing his stained face. Seeing him covered in your kiss marks made you kiss him even more.

You took a picture of him, pictures actually. Enough pictures to fill up a 365 paged book. And you even got to capture a picture of him smiling, very different from the usual scowl on his face.

"Anyways," you started, after ceasing your attacks, "wanna get lunch some time? Heard there's a new place that just opened up."

Sukuna nodded, without a beat of hesitation.

Because if this was how he died, — you as the cause, with your kisses littered all over him — he wouldn't pull away from your grasps for even a second.

#sukuna fluff #jjk x you #sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #sukuna is such a sweetheart #so ooc once again

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aragornsrockcollection · 2 years

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Hello I’m here to talk about an opinion that isn’t so much unpopular because people don’t like it, but because it is splitting hairs and basically an argument based in semantics that sane people reasonably do not waste their time caring about it.

I am neither sane nor reasonable and therefore think about this a lot, and get ready to pull out a soapbox and type the Text Wall of China any time I hear people offhandedly contradict this opinion, and so I have come here today to die on this molehill, and write the over-long post of my dreams, because fuck it, it’s my blog.

Drumroll please:

Sauron is not The Lord of the Rings

The Lord of the Rings is the main antagonist though, so furthermore,

Sauron is not the main antagonist of The Lord of the Rings

I internally go insane every time someone says “Sauron, the eponymous Lord of the Rings” or “The antagonist never actually appears in Lord of the Rings” or uses Lord of the Rings as an penultimate example of having a flat ‘evil for evil’s sake’ villain. This is mostly in YouTube videos so I’m not calling out anyone here.

So who is the Lord of the Rings? Where do I get this shit? Why should anyone care?

I will tell you in far too much detail under this cut, because I told you I was gonna be extra about it and this is already long enough to inflict on my followers without their consent.

First and foremost, Frodo is not the Lord of the Rings either. Let’s get that out of the way. Gandalf explicitly tells us that in Many Meetings (the first chapter in Rivendell in Fellowship), when Pippin greets a newly awakened Frodo with quintessential Fool of a Took™️ swagger.

‘Hurray!’ cried Pippin, springing up. ‘Here is our noble cousin! Make way for Frodo, Lord of the Ring!’

‘Hush!’ Said Gandalf from the shadows at the back of the porch. ‘Evil things do not come into this valley; but all the same we should not name them. The Lord of the Ring is not Frodo, but the master of the Dark Tower of Mordor, whose power is again stretching out over the world! We are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is getting dark.’

So that’s my theory busted right off the bat! Gandalf straight up tells us the Lord of the Ring is Sauron (‘the master of the Dark Tower of Mordor’ which is Sauron).

But I already told you, this is a hair-splitting semantics-based theory! He said Sauron was the Lord of the Ring. Not the Lord of the RingS. Yes, this whole theory revolves around a single letter difference between the title of the series and Gandalf’s statement, WHAT OF IT?

But in all seriousness. Tolkien was a linguist. There was no way this choice was not deliberate, not on something so important to the narrative. And there is a very important difference between what he is referring to when he uses ‘The Ring” singular, and “The Rings” plural. The Ring that Frodo carried to Mordor has it’s singular nature highly emphasized by the language that surrounds it. THE definite article Ring, the ONE Ring. Just the One. Singular Singular Singular.

The Rings (plural) refers to the rings of power which Celebrimbor wrought, with Sauron’s help, but Sauron is objectively not the Lord of those rings. Not the three Elven ones at least, which he never touched and only suspects the location of. Without his One Ring he has no power over the Three, and a big problem with him regaining his Ring is that he would gain power over those rings, the ringbearers, and the safe realms that had been wrought with them, basically crippling those with the power to resist him.

Him NOT having the Ring, and therefore NOT having lordship over all the rings, is a pretty major plot point. Like, it’s not a reach to say Sauron not having the Ring is what drives the entire story. And he is NOT the Lord of the Rings without it.

And he never gains it, so is the whole series named after Sauron’s aspirations, that the main characters are trying to prevent? I mean, from an angle yes. But also no.

Because while Pippin and Gandalf’s exchange is the closest we come in the text to seeing the title, let me show you the only place within the covers that “The Lord of the Rings” is presented, at least in my beat up third hand 70’s edition. It may not be formatted like this in other editions, but I still think it says something about how we are supposed to read the title:

[Image ID: Masking tape can clearly be seen holding together my poor abused copy of Fellowship, open to the title page. THE LORD OF THE RINGS is written across the top of the page in all caps, directly below it is the Ring Poem, as if The Lord of the Rings is a the title not only of the series but of the poem. /.End ID]

The One Ring is the Lord of the Rings, not Sauron, who is the Lord of the Ring.

“What?” Say imaginary naysayers in my head, “How can a Ring be a Lord? And why does this matter, if Sauron is the Lord of the Ring, doesn’t that make him the Lord of the Rings by proxy? Why are you wasting your and my time making an argument about this?”

I’m glad you asked imaginary naysayer, let me speak to your first point. How can a ring be a Lord? Well, like any good first time speechwriter, I’ve turned to Miriam Webster, and asked it to define a word we already know, in this case ‘lord.’

[Image ID: Screenshot of the Miriam Webster definition of ‘lord.’ The ones that are relevant are 1: One having power and authority over others. 1a: A ruler by hereditary right or preeminence to whom service and obedience are due. And 1f: One that has achieved mastery or that exercises leadership or great power in some area /.End ID]

In the poem, it is the Ring that is spoken of as ruling, not Sauron. Sauron is actually listed in the same position as all the others who receive rings, “The Dark Lord on his Dark Throne” occupying the same place in the sentence structure as the “the Elven-kings under the sky” and “the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone” and “Mortal Men doomed to die.” It is the One Ring, not Sauron, who rules them all, fulfilling our first definition “A ruler by hereditary right or preeminence.” In this case it would be by right of preeminence, or superiority. The One Ring outclasses the other rings and thus dominates them, binding them to obedience and service. Gandalf calls it “the Master-Ring” when it is first revealed for what it is in Bag-End with the words appearing from the flame.

The Ring has it’s own will too. It’s repeatedly stated to be in control of Gollum when Gandalf is first telling us about it. I’m literally so spoiled for quotes about this that I was paralyzed with indecisiveness over what to use but let’s keep it simple with this one. It’s from Gandalf explaining why Gollum didn’t have the Ring allowing Bilbo to come upon it in the chapter “Shadows of the Past” from Fellowship:

‘It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things. The Ring left him.’

So if Sauron is the Lord of the Ring, and the Ring is the Lord of the Rings, isn’t he Lord of the Rings by proxy? Yes, when he has the Ring. But also being the ruler of a lord doesn’t make the title of that lord your title, if that makes sense. People don’t call Aragorn the Prince of Ithilien, that’s Faramir’s title, Aragorn is King of the Reunited Kingdoms, he rules Ithilien, sure, but by proxy. Ithilien reports to Faramir who reports to Aragorn (I should be calling him Elessar since I’m talking about him as king, but whatever). If Aragorn lost the ability to contact Faramir or Ithilian, he would still theoretically be king there but he would have no practical control, just like Sauron with the Rings of Power.

Why does this matter? It mostly doesn’t. It does not change anything practically in the story at all.

But it matters to me, because it might help change perspective on the antagonist of LotR. It’s the Ring. Sauron is a force in the world, one the Ring is closely allied with, and from whom many of the obstacles come, but the entity that our protagonist is really fighting on every page is the Ring.

If Gandalf were the main character, or Aragorn, or almost anyone else on Middle Earth, Sauron would be the Primary Antagonist. But they are not. Frodo is the Primary Protagonist, and his struggle is NOT against Sauron, it is against the Ring.

If destroying the Ring had not destroyed Sauron, would Frodo have kept fighting in this war? NO! He had his task, and once it was done he was done, even if the world ended afterwards. Everything is driven by the Ring. The threat to the Shire comes from the presence of the Ring, so Frodo takes the Ring to Rivendell. The danger of the Ring is not neutralized by it being brought to Rivendell, so he continues his journey to destroy it once and for all. He doesn’t fight Sauron, he fights the Ring. He fights with himself to keep going in spite of the despair it levels on him, the poisonous words it whispers in his ear, the physical toll it takes on his body. He fights Boromir and Sam (not to the extent he does in the movie, but still a bit) and Gollum over the Ring. He negotiates with Faramir over the Ring.

And the Ring is SUCH a more interesting and nuanced villain to struggle with than Sauron. Sauron is representative of a force in the world. He controls events but never appears, because he acts as the source of all evil, it’s representation on earth (at least now Melkor is in the Void), but it is far more interesting to watch the effect he has on others than deal directly with a character that is so obviously in the wrong in every way. Making Sauron a physical character in LotR is like making the Devil a present character in basically any piece of media that deals with evil.

Evil at its purest isn’t that interesting, because it contains no conflict. Leaving Sauron as an offscreen player leaves us to see characters that are not pure evil struggle with that conflict.

The fascinating thing about the Ring is that it has no power outside of what you give it. But given enough time even the best people, like Frodo, will end up losing themselves to it, as it whispers in your ear with your own voice.

I want to go ballistic when people point to LotR and say it has a one dimensional villain. EVERYONE’S OWN VIOLENCE, DESPAIR AND THIRST FOR POWER IS THE VILLAIN OF LORD OF THE RINGS! Brought to the fore by a small unassuming golden trinket which just happens to also be the titular Lord of the Rings.

Honestly “The Ring is the Villain of LotR change my mind” should be its own big long post with lots of quotes and shit, the fact that the Ring is The Lord of the Rings just being a small point in it.

But unless you are a specific type of interested in story structure and stuff none of this is at all meaningful and it really, really doesn’t matter, so I’m gonna go.

Thanks for coming with me on this dumb journey.

#tolkien #jirt #lotr #lord of the rings #the one ring #Sauron #jrr tolkien #Frodo #story structure #long post… even for me!#hot take #Gandalf #look #I’m sorry ok #this is so inconsequential and I say this as someone who likes meta

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disneyprincemuke · 5 months

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the grid princess x everyone

alternatively: everyone ships her with everyone except logan on that one twitter thread

in which everyone seems to ship her with everyone but her actual secret boyfriend

(series masterlist)

logan looks up from his phone. he turns his head, looking down at the girl who's turned away from him under the blankets next to him. "my brother?"

"i just think it's funny because i had a crush on him before i had a crush on you," she smiles, turning to face him. she inches slightly closer to him and lifts the phone up to show the picture to him again. "we look cute together."

"i think you look cutest with me," logan huffs, sliding down slightly to meet her eyes. "agree?"

"duh," she giggles, pouting her lips out to land a kiss on his lips. she puts her phone down between them.

a small smile stretches her lips when he maintains his furrowed eyebrows and his frown. "aw, baby. you're not taking that twitter thread seriously, are you?" she laughs.

she props herself up on the bed to tower over his body, pinching his nose gently. logan just shoots her a glare before turning his body to face the other side of her bed. "shut up."

"aw, logan!" she laughs. she drops her weight on the side of his body, hanging her head to the side to get a look at his face. "baby, don't be jealous!"

"it's just stupid," logan insists, closing his eyes to avoid her teasing smile and bright eyes. "you're my girlfriend - why would they think you look cute with somebody else?"

"they don't know that i'm your girlfriend," she whispers, her hand coming to caress his cheek with her fingers. "they don't know that you're in my bed right now instead of being in yours. they don't even know that we're wearing matching pyjamas right now!"

"you made me wear matching pyjamas."

"i know you like it," she teases, craning her neck to press her lips to his cheek. she lets it linger before pulling away. "feel better?"

"only a little because you're right - i'm in your bed. not charles," he grins, turning back to face her. he lifts his arms to engulf her in his arms, putting all of his weight on her smaller body. "can't believe i had to compete with someone sculpted by the gods and won."

"compete?" she cries, trying to wrestle the whole six-foot man off her body. "there was no competition! i'm going for charles the next time he's single!"

"no, you can't! i'll have you locked in my dungeon by then," he groans, rolling away from her body to lie on his back. "you're all mine!"

"me in your dungeon? more like you'll be in my dungeon because no way i'm letting you back at the bahamas with your girls," she scoffs, nose scrunched as she rests her chin on his stomach. "stupid."

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial #disneyprincemuke vr

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queenof3ferrets · 7 months

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I don’t think people realize how deep Vil’s character goes. Like-REALLY realize it.

I am an aspiring writer, and I would say I have quite the keen eye so when I see people talking bad about Vil—-I get confused.

YES he seems harsh and pushy. And YES he doesn’t seem to act very nice around people sometimes and he acts cocky 24/7.

But there’s a difference between cocky and knowing your worth. Vil KNOWS his worth. And he isn’t just going to hide it because someone says so. Or because it’s easier to be modest and quiet.

And it’s what Vil is constantly encouraging others to do: to not hide.

But Vil also knows how harsh the world is. An actor can be one of the most hated people in the world because they’re constantly being filmed and people jump on their mistakes like lions hunting a limping giraffe.

So he KNOWS that a glass heart will get someone nowhere.

It’s why he acts so tough. And it’s why he gives tough love to others. If he never teaches his dorm members how to survive they’ll roll over and get killed the moment they step onto the field.

Hence, his harsh actions with Epel.

When Epel cries and storms off, Vil doesn’t scold him for it. He tells Epel to show him if he can hold his ground with his words. And how beauty is a weapon to be wielded well.

Vil scolds Epel when he calls dancing ‘feminine’ or ‘girly’ because he knows that mindset will get the boy nowhere. Vil knows beauty isn’t limited only to the female spectrum and tries to get others to see it as well.

It’s why Vil is so annoyed when Epel skips his routine but also because having a routine and ACTUALLY sticking to it is the hardest thing for some people. And Vil talks about this. (When you log in for the day and you get a reward, Vil LITERALLY talks about how routine and effort is the hardest part about beauty) and if you do keep up the effort it gives rewards.

But Vil also knows not all effort is repaid kindly.

That’s the whole reason he overblotted, basically. He felt inferior because no one saw him put in as much effort as he himself did, and people have the gall to scold him for it. That, or they overlook him for something they thought was better(Neige).

When I write, I don’t EVER want to hear someone I TRUSTED say that my work was second best to another author or that my way of writing was wrong and I should have to change it. Because I put time and effort into writing and it’s something I’m proud of. I put my soul into my writing and it honestly really hurts when someone does the exact things I mentioned before. And I’m sure Vil felt the same way.

Not to mention Vil has been through rough things in his childhood. Other children wanted to hurt him because of his talent for acting just because he played a part in a series too well and they couldn’t tell the difference. Adults never thought he could be a hero because he was too perfect and self-confident. Adults wanted someone like Neige to be the hero because he looked pretty and acted kind. (Basic protagonist things)

And Vil hated it. He gained traumas at a young age because other people alienated him. He grew to hate Neige because in the people’s eyes he was perfect and beautiful. And he grew obsessed with beauty because he didn’t think he was good enough for the hero roll.

His overblot was overdue at this point. Sure his actions should not be immediately forgiven, just like all the other overblotters actions, but they’re NEVER entirely to blame.

Because all of the boys who overblot were victims too. Not just Yuu or the others. They were hurting themselves just as much as others were.

And I hate it when someone like Vil is seen as a overly harsh person. Or someone like Leona who is only seen as lazy. There is so much more to them than that.

Vil respects people.

Vil sees how hard the people around him work.

Vil tries his best to show others their beauty in his way.

Vil knows that gems need to be polished from rocks before they can be embedded into a crown. But the work put in to get the gems ready is rough and long. And sometimes it looks harsh.

Vil learned his lesson after his overblot. There is no need to hang it over his head like blackmail. The same goes for the other overblot characters.

Riddle learned his lesson.

Leona learned his lesson.

Azul learned his lesson.

Jamil learned his lesson.

Vil learned his lesson.

Idia and Ortho learned their lessons.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #vil schoenheit #i love leona with my heart and omg seeing his being mischaracterized is like #Vil is so misunderstood it drives me insane #I think I rambled for way too long here

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lustfulslxt · 17 days

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1949 ⭑ Matt Sturniolo

Prologue

summary : you move back home with your brother and click with his friends, though the tension is high with matt and it turns into something more

warnings : brothers best friend trope, slow burn, tension, sneaky relationship, swearing, eventual smut, slight traumatic past relationship with reader’s mother, and probably some other stuff

a/n : hiii! so, this is my first actual series.. idk how long it will be, it really just depends on how you guys like it. i appreciate feedback always xx

1.1k words

—

The world around you seems to fade away, a dull buzzing echoing in your ears. Your eyes burn with seemingly invisible tears as you stare off into the distance, a somber expression overtaking your features. You fail to process the chatter and movement occurring around you, too preoccupied by the overwhelming change you’re currently forced to endure.

You swallow the lump in your throat and close your eyes, trying to gather yourself and your spiraling thoughts. You have never been good with change, and only once before have you been put in an all too similar predicament.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your head to gaze out of the window. White, fluffy clouds hang just beneath you, showcasing a dark city sparkling with various lights. Taking in the new area, you’re immediately brought back to how this all started.

Life has been anything but fulfilling. Ever since you were younger, you had been craving the love you get with family. However, your mother had deprived you of it.

You used to be happy, back when you were just a little girl. Your parents, you, and your brother, Nate, all lived together as one big happy family. At least once a week, the four of you would go out and do something fun with each other — whether it be the zoo, an amusement park, shopping, a picnic — it was always something to ensure you spent time together and encourage a healthy development.

You didn’t have a worry in the world, until it all came crashing down. Next thing you knew, you were on a flight to Nevada.

You were ripped from your dad and brother at such a young age, for reasons still unknown to this day. A big part of you despised your mother for taking you from your family, especially when she was incapable of giving you the love you needed as a child.

You cried and begged her to tell you what was going on, but she was adamant about you staying in a child’s place, and that this was better for the two of you. Any time you kept up with the questions and concerns, it was as if she turned into a whole other person. She’d become very aggressive, and so, to avoid her wrath, you just stopped altogether.

You were forced to start a new school, make new friends, and completely forget about your family back in Boston. Of course, that was easier said than done.

You’d cry yourself to sleep every single night, wanting nothing more than to get back on the plane and go home, even if it meant going without your mother.

She changed. She became something you didn’t recognize. The soft, caring, and loving mom you once had was overtaken by a cold, mean, and almost lifeless exterior. The relationship between both of you dwindled into nothing but resentment and bitterness.

Growing up without your father was hard. He was always so good to you, being everything you ever needed as a dad. He was a good man to your family, neighbors, and anyone he ever came across. You’re unsure of what happened between him and your mom, but you couldn’t see him as anything other than what he’s been.

Losing Nate was by far the hardest. He was your best friend, your other half. The two of you were as thick as thieves, always at each other’s hips. You shared everything with each other, there wasn’t a single secret between you. You turned to him for everything, and he was always so supportive and understanding, even at your young age. You were never as happy and full of life as you were when you were with him. Being without him was unbearable. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if there was an invisible lifeline keeping you connected, and being ripped away to Nevada severed it.

You often wondered if he still thinks about you. Was it as hard for him as it was for you? Did he move on with ease? Did he find new friends to replace you? Does he have a new sibling?

You’ve wanted so bad to reach out to them, to tell them you miss them and you’re sorry, but your mother always made it impossible. She did any and everything she could to prevent you from contacting them.

However, with the sudden turn of events, you’re now all alone on a plane, flying back to a place that holds sentimental memories, and you’re unsure of what it’s going to bring you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, US Air welcomes you to Boston, Massachusetts. The local time is 6:47 PM—” Is spoken over the intercom, causing a dreaded feeling to brew in your stomach.

You’re beyond nervous, and your mind is racing with overwhelming thoughts. Do they hate you? Do they blame you for mom leaving? Do they even want you to come back? Should you have stayed in Nevada on your own? Do they even know why you’re coming back?

You seem to be moving on autopilot, because the next thing you know, you’re at bag pick up to receive your luggage, and the atmosphere is filled with a loud environment. Your heart is thumping quickly in your chest, your body ridded with anxiety. You’re unsure of what to even do with yourself at this point.

“Y/N?”

You freeze in place, eyes wide as goosebumps line your skin. You can practically feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The uneasy feeling in your stomach worsens, and you’re actually terrified to turn around.

But you do.

“It’s you.” The same voice repeats.

You’re met with two people, and though it’s been quite some time, you recognize them instantly. Your breath catches in your throat, and tears well up in your eyes as you take them in.

“Oh my god.” Your dad cries as Nate rushes to you.

Your body is hit with a strong force as Nate yanks you into a hug. You suddenly snap out of it and reciprocate the hug, squeezing for dear life. Your dad is instantly joining, the three of you rocking back and forth as you cry.

It doesn’t feel real. This moment is what you’ve dreamed of almost every night since you’ve been gone. You’ve longed for this. Your heart has been so heavy for years on end, and this is exactly what you needed for that weight to lift.

“Oh my god, it’s really you.” Nate whispers, cradling you into his arms. “You’re really here.”

“It’s me.” You choke out through tears, “I’m here.”

—

taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @strnlsblog @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @matt444nixi @sturniololol @evieolo @dlyansworld @luv2matt @nmegamett20 @angelic-sturniolos111

#lustfulslxt #joss speaks #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #the sturniolos #matt sturniolo #imagine #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x me #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #brothers best friend #oc #series

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thedeathwitchescats · 7 months

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Okay, review time!! If you are one of the oddballs who thinks you cant be critical of something you love I suggest you stop reading now before I ruffle your feathers. Iron flame, second in the empyrean series. I am gonna start with what I was not a fan of and then go into the shit I adored.

1) what in the actual fuck was the pacing of this book?? I can tell you what, it was non existent. There was none. Where I thought there was a lot of filler in the last book there was none in this one. We got snap shots of conversations and then *boom* more plot flew at you. The timeline of this book greatly suffered for it i think bc we end only a couple weeks, if that, after threshing, which happens sometimes in October. This book was actually so wild with times.

2) while it was a spectacular cliff hanger, xaden becoming venin pisses me off. Especially if Rebecca yarros isnt going to have him tell violet. Like if that small tid bit of a conversation we got wasnt him telling vi that he was venin then the entire romantic conflict of this book was rendered pointless and their going to be having the same fucking fight for the rest of the series and at rhat point I give up.

3) I understand that the revolution is trying to take down basgaith and make the world better or whatever the fuck but can someone actually formulate a real plan for me?? Because I feel like their mission is just, giving violet and xaden something to be pissed at each other about.

4) the entirety of cats character. I get that she was set up as a spin on the typical jealous ex. Like having her be bitter about xaden picking violet over her but OH WAIT it wasnt actually about the man it was about the crown, oohh not like other girls. Im a writer too I see the point. I dont care. I think it was trashy. If you wanted her to be a bitter spiteful ex then have her be a bitter spiteful ex, the whole crown thing was shallow.

OKAY haters your time is up now onto the shit that made my heart hurt with joy and sadness

1) xadens arc in this book. I really liked that he went from "transparency is never gonna happen" to losing his fucking mind over violet and giving her everything. I love feral men and he qualifies. I think his arc was really well done and i liked it.

2) I appericiate that violet stuck to her guns for this book. She wouldnt let xaden off without a fight and I loved that. She made him bow and scrape and I was eating it up. It was spectacular.

3) the throne room scene. Violet on the throne. "Im making a temporary point not a lasting vow of maschocism" xaden being feral.

4) that gets its own point actually, just xaden being completely feral this entire book healed a part of my soul.

5) andarna's little speech at the end where she was like "I waited for you violet" made me ugly cry. That was just so hopelessly good I loved it. Andarna in general heals my heart but that part was just *chefs kiss*

6) tarin being completely and utterly ready to eat people this entire book. Just, at every turn "I want lunch their pissing me off " was spectacular

7) every scene their squad was in. Rihannon, violet, sawyer and ridoc are my roman empire. Their bond is so amazing. The fact that they launched a rescue mission for violet. Rihannon being ready to kill xaden at every turn. Ridoc being so platonically and adorably in love with violet. Just- augh happy cries happy cries. I love it all. Their so special tbh.

8) I love xaden actually, just, the whole book every scene hes in lives in my brain.

9) I liked that we saw a small bit of violet being feral this book too. I hope that we get more of that in future books. I want more of violet losing her fucking mind. Hot, badass women covered in blood

10) Liam. Fucking Liam. When violet was kidnapped and Liam was there. Now, do I logically understand that he was a hallucination, yes, do i care?? No. He was a gift from Maleck I will be hearing no critiques on that. It was so fucking sweet and amazing. I love violet and Liam and Liam being dead so horribly breaks my heart. I loved Liam. Liams death lives rent free in my skull.

#i might add more to this later #please #i am begging yall #dont get weird #i am allowed to love this book and have critical opinions abt it #if i start getting threats about my fandom opinions again i might lose my mind #haters get fucked #anyways #i need the third book right now and the fact that i wont get it until next year kills me a little #i loved iron flame #i loved fourth wing #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #violet and xaden #fourth wing #iron flame #book review #iron flame review #🪓

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 10 months

Text

The Danger Zone (Part 2) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 3.1k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Secret Relationship; Angst; Undefined Relationships; Overprotective Family; Background Relationships; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: It's Phoenix and Coyote's wedding. Also known as the day that Jake Seresin reached his limit.

Series Master List

Master List

You slowly smoothed down your dress in the mirror for maybe the thousandth time, convinced that you could see a very noticeable bump there. Penny assured you that even if you had an actual bump now, it wasn’t noticeable, but your brain still fabricated that image. Part of you worried that someone would make a comment about your appearance, but there was nothing that you could do now.

“Are you okay? You look really nervous,” Emma asked, causing you to look away from the mirror.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground as you tried to come up with a white lie to cover your ass. “Just nervous about my speech later. That’s all.”

“You were great at my wedding. I’m sure that you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Emma.”

“Anytime,” Emma replied with a bright smile. Squeezing your hand supportively, she turned to head over to the room that Phoenix was getting ready in. “I’m going to go check on Phoenix. But did you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks, Emma.”

You watched as Emma walked off before slowly turning back to the mirror. Resting your hand over your abdomen, you let out a breath to steady yourself.

After you took the pregnancy tests and probably cried to Penny about it for about a half an hour straight, you knew that you needed some time to process everything before talking about it with anyone else. And then there was the whole subject of Phoenix’s wedding, which you didn’t want to upstage in the slightest.

So, you just kept it to yourself. Well, yourself and Penny.

You went to work in the morning, came home, made yourself dinner or picked something up along the way, and just hibernated. You didn’t go to hang out with anyone else outside of the wedding-related events. You just stayed home and got lost in your thoughts.

Jake texted you every day, but you always made up some lame excuse to get out of whatever plans he tried to set up. The truth was simple—you were terrified of what Jake’s reaction would be. Sure, the two of you had been messing around for several months now—almost a year technically, if you counted all of the months that he was deployed.

But the two of you weren’t together. You weren’t a couple. And you didn’t plan this.

Would Jake even want a kid? Were kids in his life plan at all? Did he even see a slight future with you in order to make it work? Would he dump you on the spot? Would he want to be heavily involved? Would it all go up in flames?

You had no idea. And it wasn’t like you could look at Jake’s childhood for any indication.

He was absolutely tight lipped about his upbringing and you had never been able to crack him. All you knew was that he grew up in Texas and that the slightest mention of his dad got him to shut down. And that was about all you knew about Jake Seresin’s life before the Navy.

It was a recipe for disaster and you were not ready to handle it. So, you avoided him.

And, of course, you were also totally convinced that when you finally sat him down to talk about it, you were going to cry and cause a scene. And that wasn’t taking into account whatever his reaction was going to be. So, you pushed it off. You cared too much for Phoenix and Coyote to even risk interrupting their wedding in the slightest.

But tomorrow, after the wedding was wrapped up, you would tell Jake. You would tell Jake that you were pregnant with his baby.

~~~~~

Jake stared down at his phone for a moment, scrolling through his last few texts to you. He texted you last night after you spent the entirety of the rehearsal dinner avoiding his presence. And Jake just automatically assumed that he did something to upset you, so he sent you a generic apologetic text. But all you responded with was some bullshit about being stressed about the wedding and that was it.

Jake Seresin wasn’t used to being the one who was more attached in a situation-ship.

He never had been. His job and his personality combined ensured that. At a moment’s notice, he could be sent to the other end of the world, which didn’t exactly give him much time to build strong bonds with his partner and inevitably led to strain. And then there was the fact that he was just an asshole who pushed people’s buttons easily.

He had left a long train of relationships—though perhaps he was using that term a little too liberally—in his life that blew up because he was an asshole who ran his mouth when he was pushed to be vulnerable. He had his career to propel him forward and he didn’t need any of the additional bullshit that seemed to come with every relationship, so he just didn’t put up with it.

But this relationship—whatever you wanted to call it—with you wasn’t bullshit. That was real shit. And Jake was growing more and more annoyed that you were dodging his texts and his presence. He was the desperate type, but he really could have used a text back from you. Or just an answer about what he did wrong to piss you off.

Was that really asking too much?

“Why do you look so pissed?” Rooster asked, causing Jake to quickly pick his head up.

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Jake cleared his throat as he turned to face Rooster. He wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing the texts between the two of you. After all, you were saved in his phone as ‘Honey B,’ so it wasn’t like anyone would see your name. And it had been about two weeks since you sent him a sexy photo anyways.

“Nothing. Just want to get this started already,” Hangman lied, adjusting his dress white jacket a bit.

“Right,” Rooster replied, eyeing Hangman curiously for a moment. “Is Javy ready?”

“He’s been ready since like five this morning,” Jake dismissed, glancing back at the room where Javy was by himself. “He wanted to be alone to fix his vows.”

“Again?”

“For the twelfth time,” Jake replied, shaking his head. “He wants to make sure that they’re perfect.”

“Well, Javy’s the type to only get married once. I get where he’s coming from.”

Jake knew that Rooster didn’t intend that as a dig, but he still took it as one. After all, Rooster was setting up to live that picket fence life with a wife and a house and probably a gaggle of kids and a dog or a cat or both. It’d be like a postcard for the perfect family.

And Jake knew that Rooster didn’t think that he was that type to do the same. And Jake also knew that Rooster was probably right about that. And Jake was also pretty sure that him repeatedly hooking up with Rooster’s little sister wouldn’t help Rooster’s image of him. Especially if Rooster ever found out that the first time that they ever hooked up was at Rooster’s wedding.

But he was an asshole, remember?

Rooster was about to add something else when his phone started to buzz. He pulled it out and Jake immediately spotted your name on Rooster’s screen. Ignoring the way that his chest contracted against his will, Hangman listened in as Rooster answered the phone call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Phoenix wanted me to make sure that Javy was alright,” you stated, sounding amused. “I think that she’s worried that he’ll get cold feet.”

“He’s fixing his vows, according to Hangman,” Rooster responded to you.

“Oh,” you replied, in a way that made Jake wince. “Can you just make sure he didn’t climb out the window or anything like that? Please?”

Hangman nodded and walked over to the room that Javy had taken shelter in. Knocking lightly on the door, Jake opened the door to find Javy fixing his suit in the mirror. When he saw Jake standing there, Javy turned and practically radiated pure joy. Hangman turned back to Rooster, who passed along the message to you.

“Great. We’re going to be on time. Don’t be late, Brad Brad.”

“I think that we can handle it,” Bradley assured you, rolling his eyes lightly. “Bye.”

Jake watched Bradley hang up the call, letting a rock settle in his stomach. Pursing his lips together, Jake pushed all of his thoughts about you to the back of his mind and turned to face Coyote, who was already walking over to him.

“You ready?”

“I was born ready,” Javy returned, grabbing Jake’s shoulder with a tight squeeze.

~~~~~

You could feel Jake staring at you through the entire ceremony. You could feel his eyes on you when you walked down the aisle with your bouquet. You could feel his eyes on you when you stepped forward to take Phoenix’s bouquet and fix her dress. You could feel his eyes on you when you stood behind Phoenix, supporting her as she said her vows to Coyote.

And when Coyote and Phoenix walked down the aisle together, hand-in-hand for the first time as a married couple, you and Jake locked eyes across the altar. And the fact that you were standing there with a bouquet and he was in his dress whites and the tiny detail that you were pregnant with his baby was just a little too much for you to take.

Jake offered you his arm, and after swallowing some nervous bile, you looped your arm through his and started walking down the aisle together. You looked out through the crowd and quickly spotted Penny and Maverick. Maverick waved to you before going back to clapping, blissfully unaware of the situation. And Penny shot you a supportive look that you needed to get your breath back into your lungs.

You could do this. You could make it through one more day.

Jake didn’t say anything to you as you walked down the aisle, probably sensing that it wasn’t an appropriate time to discuss your relationship. But once you were out of the view of the crowd, he gently pulled you to the side. Jake called your name softly, causing you to turn to face him properly.

“Look, I know that it’s been crazy and everything, but I was hoping to talk to you about . . . everything,” Jake spoke softly as the rest of the wedding party walked into the atrium behind you. “Please.”

Gripping your bouquet even tighter, you looked around the atrium for prying eyes and listening ears before turning back to Jake, who looked far more desperate for your attention that you were used to seeing him. And that realization made your heart break just a bit more, since you knew that you were the person who did that to him.

But you couldn’t do it. Not today. Not here. Not at the reception. Tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow.

“Tomorrow,” you stated, a bit firmly. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Come on, we’re going to miss them,” Emma encouraged, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

Jake watched you go with a slightly stunned expression, almost as if he was slapped in the face, as you walked away from him like he was just some random guy. But just as soon as you slipped out of his grip, he put up his usual mask when he spotted the wedding crowd starting to file out.

He expected you to be a bit skittish, but not that skittish. And that made his mind wander to the worst possible situation.

~~~~~

“One for you and one for you,” Bradley stated, handing you and Emma a glass of champagne each.

After a very awkward photo shoot—at least as far as you and Jake went—everyone moved onto the reception hall for drinks and dinner. But given the information that you found out a few days ago, you stared down at the glass of champagne with a slightly panicked expression. How the hell were you going to spend the whole night dodging alcohol? It was a fucking wedding. A Navy wedding too.

Shit, you didn’t think this through.

“Thank you,” Emma mused, pressing a loving kiss to Bradley’s lips.

“Yeah . . .” you trailed off nervously.

Looking around for somewhere to dump the alcohol, you let out a breath when you spotted Penny and Maverick walking over to you. Penny saw the glass in your hand and nodded discreetly. While the five of you chatted and caught up, Penny switched your glass with her half-empty one.

“Thank you,” you whispered to her, causing her to smile softly.

“Don’t mention it. And you just have to wait for everyone to get through their first few drinks and then no one will notice,” Penny assured you, giving you that maternal support that you desperately needed in that moment. “Worst comes to worst, just dump it.”

“I just need to get through my speech and then I’ll be fine,” you sighed, glancing around the room.

“Ooh, are you looking for Javy’s friend from back home?” Emma asked, causing you to turn to her. “You know, the one who was flirting with you last night?”

“Who?” Bradley questioned, causing Emma to shoot him a look.

“She’s not a teenager. Let her live a little,” Emma scoffed, bumping her husband with her hip before turning back to you. “And I thought that he was really into you.”

“Who is he?” Maverick inquired, earning a look from Penny.

“Oh, don’t you start either. You’re far from a saint yourself, Pete.”

“I’m not looking to meet anyone tonight,” you stated, trying to end the conversation then and there. “Just trying to get through my speech, get a slice of cake, and toss these stupid heels out the window as soon as possible.”

“I have an extra pair of flats in my bag, if you wanted them,” Emma offered, causing you to perk up.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” you joked, dragging her away from your brother.

“Love you too,” Bradley scoffed, shaking his head as he watched the two of you walk off.

The reception got going shortly after that. Phoenix and Coyote made their grand entrance, dinner was served, and then it was time for your speech. Everything went smoothly, since you spent the entire week memorizing it. And then Jake gave his speech, during which you alternated between staring at him with damning intensity and hiding from his gaze in a dizzying cycle.

When the dance floor opened up and everyone started to break into their own separate activities, you slipped away to grab a drink. Ordering a ginger ale, you made your way out onto the back balcony where it was nice and cool. Resting your head in your hands, you took a moment to compose yourself.

You were exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. And now that most of the wedding was done, your mind was only focusing on the inevitable conversation with Jake that was fast approaching whether you wanted to have it or not. Mostly because Jake watched you slip away and took his opportunity to speak with you alone.

“Are you alright?” Jake asked quietly, causing you to pick up your head.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, gripping the railing tightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because for the last week, you’ve been avoiding me,” Jake pointed out, moving to stand beside you. Staring into your eyes, Jake frowned when you immediately broke eye contact. “And now you won’t even look at me.” He called your name, causing you to pick your head up. “What is going on?”

“I can’t talk about it right now,” you stated softly, glancing back into the reception hall. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Why can’t we talk about it today?” Jake countered, causing you to purse your lips. “What’s going on?”

“I . . . it’s not right to talk about it right now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s Javy and Nat’s wedding. It’s not our event,” you pushed back against Jake stubbornly. You would never forgive yourself if you somehow ruined this wedding and you weren’t even going to approach the subject with Jake until after the wedding was all wrapped up. “And I’m not going to cause a scene at their wedding. It’s not fair to them.”

“How are we going to cause a scene? We’re just talking.”

“We’re both tired,” you pointed out, reaching for your ginger ale. “It’s been a long day.”

“Are there any other excuses that you’d like to use?” Jake asked, causing you to turn your head sharply to shoot him a look. “I mean, is there a list that you’re checking off?”

“Are you seriously giving me that attitude right now?” you shot back, standing up for yourself.

“Well, apparently there’s no other way to get a reaction out of you,” Jake returned, causing you to look away from him.

“Why can’t we just talk about it tomorrow?” you replied with a false sense of calm.

“Because after the last couple of days where all you have done is avoid me and dodge my texts, I’m not convinced that you’ll actually talk to me tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m not talking about it right now.”

“Then I guess we’re never going to talk about it then,” he stated, causing you to whirl around.

Jake shot you one last hurt expression before turning and walking off to rejoin the reception. You thought that he was just trying to call your bluff but when he ignored your calls for him to come back, you knew that he was serious.

“Jake,” you called one last time, but he was already gone.

Turning back to the landscape, hot tears started to roll down your cheeks. Did you just ruin everything? Was Jake done with you forever now? Should you have just fucking talked about it? Should you have just yelled it after him when he stormed off?

Feeling another wave of nausea roll over you, you sought refuge in a dark corner of the balcony. Leaning against the wall, you slowly slumped down and let out a quiet, pitiful sob.

Tags (PRETTY PLEASE have your AGE on your blog or message me about it to be tagged--thank you!):

@mrsjobarnes @wishiwasacasualfan

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rogersideup · 3 months

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｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter 2

Wine and Dine

Series masterlist

Previous part: Love You More Next part: Expendable

Word Count: 6,169

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

Steve wasn't quite sure he had ever ran so fast in his entire life. Wearing a heather grey henley, jeans, and some nice shoes, he knew he probably looked ridiculous as he zoomed by people in the hallways like a gust of wind.

After being deployed on the emergency mission for almost 3 weeks now, you were just about to land at the compound. From what he understood from the gossip floating around the compound, and confirming by the report notifications that popped up in the corner of his computer, it was a really bad one.

Agents were dropping like flies, if felt like every few hours one was being sent back to the compound due to injury or a psychological break. He tried multiple times to get the Avengers on the mission to help clear it out faster, it was obviously way too big for the agents to be handling alone.

Every time he tried, Fury shot him down because there already was an avenger on the mission. Though he agreed and trusted whole heartedly that you could handle it, he knew that if he was in your position, single handedly being the only reason why anything was actually getting done under exhaustive conditions, he'd appreciate another member of his team being sent to him

Not even a full minute ago you had called him in hysterics. He could barely understand you through your cries but he could tell just by the sounds slipping past your throat that you were in unbearable pain. It made his heart pound out of his chest as he tried to console you to the point of being able to understand what had happened.

When Commander Bennet realized that the wind had been knocked out of you, he gently grabbed the phone from your hands and spoke to Steve.

"Captain Rogers?" He quested after reading 'Steve' at the top of your phone screen.

"Yeah, hi, what's going on?" Steve asked frantically.

"Agent 306 is not in good shape. We had some sort of biological weapon hit us hard. It was a pale blue, powdery substance that was causing extreme irritation and almost burn like reaction on any exposed skin it touched." Bennett explained.

"But her tact suit covers most of her skin-" Steve vocalized his thoughts.

"She tried to stop the attack before it got worse, jumped on the attacker's back to yank the weapon out of his hand but..." He sighed. "Agent 212..."

"What did Harvey do?" Steve started seething.

"To put it simply, 212 got in her way. She had it and was about to put the whole mission to an end. I'm not sure if he thought he was going to beat her to it or if he wanted to help, but he threw her off and crashed right into her. The attacker grabbed hold of the collar of her tact suit from the back of her neck and poured a pretty large amount of the powder all the way down her back."

"Oh man, how bad is it?" Steve got up, already knowing where this was leading.

"She's in excruciating pain." He put simply. "We have lab techs on board studying the substance. They said that the effects are only extreme irritation, burns, and stinging pain for upwards of 5 hours. We already informed medical, they said there's not much they can do other than shower her and try to manage the pain with ibuprofen. She said she'd rather just do that at home, and she's asking for you now. Any way you could meet us on the runway?"

"Absolutely, what's the ETA?" Steve asked, walking down the hall towards the Jet landing runway.

"Touch down in a minute-thirty."

"I'll be there." Steve said simply before hanging up.

From where he was in the building, he knew making it to the runway was a five minute walk, so he made it a one minute and thirty second run instead.

He pushed through the doors to get outside onto the runway just as the jet wheels had touched down on the tarmac. The second it stopped moving, he practically ripped the door open with his own two hands and waited very impatiently for the rush of agents disembarking before he could get to you.

Harvey didn't get a chance to pass by Steve without receiving a glare from the soldier that sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.

The very second he could, Steve rushed onto the Jet and you were curled up on the floor with your knees to your chest and your face digging into your knee caps. Commander Bennett was at your side trying to comfort you, but you were rocking back and forth to try and manage the pain, and doing your best to muffle your sobs as to not further inconvenience any of the other agents who had to hear you whaling the entire flight home.

Steve sank onto his knees right next to you, and placed a hand on you arm.

"You got it from here, Captain?" Bennett asked.

"Of course." Steve nodded, understanding he had more work to be done.

"Report back to me when you can?" Steve could see the worry in his eyes.

"Yes, sir."

Your commander got up and off the Jet following the other agents, and Steve's heart was still uncomfortably racing around in his chest.

"Hey, Bug." Steve gently squeezed your arm to try and get you to uncurl from your tiny little ball.

"M'sorry to bother you" You cried while lifting your head. Talking through the pain and shortness of air in your lungs was a struggle, but you took a moment and tried your hardest. "It hurts so bad, didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay, you're not a bother to me." He shook his head and got a good look at you.

Your tact suit was covered in smoke and ash, as well as your face. There was a deep scratch along your left cheek bone accompanied by smeared blood, presumably your own, and you jawline on the right side was bruised.

Steve's pounding heart came to a stand still before completely melting into a puddle when you let your forehead fall onto his collarbone. Instinctively, his hand gently cradled the back of your head.

Immediately, you felt safer and calmer in his hold. Letting someone take over your well-being when you had no control was terrifying, but Steve earned your trust more than anyone else in your life ever did. Around him, you knew everything would be okay regardless of the circumstances.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He questioned calmly.

"Feels like I ca-can't breathe" You hiccuped.

"I know, I'm sorry." Steve pouted. "Having the wind knocked out of you is normal sometimes when you're in that much pain. It's one of the worst feelings in the world but it'll go away. Just keep taking big deep breaths, it'll start to fade."

"S...still powder in my suit." You warned him. "Careful."

"Okay, we should get it off of you as soon as we can then." He thought out loud knowing that as long as it was still making contact with your skin, you would never start to feel better. "I'm going to get you out of here and up to your apartment okay?"

"Hurts so bad- feel like I can't move." You explained the best you could, internally panicking.

"Can I carry you?" Steve questioned, wanting to make sure he had your permission.

"What if it gets on you?" You questioned, not wanting him to feel the same pain you were in.

"I'm wearing long sleeves and long pants, it'll be okay." He reassured you. "I don't want to hurt your back even more, so wrap your arms around my neck and I'll hold onto the bottom of your legs."

You were happy to wrap your arms gently around his neck, and your legs around his waist as he carefully lifted you up. Without as much as a second thought, you nestled your face into the crook of his neck and continued to let the presence of your best friend comfort you while you focused on trying to catch your breath.

Steve was so focused on his personal mission to make you feel better that he didn't let his mind even entertain his personal feelings for you anymore. Meanwhile, you had an opposite technique to reign in some pain management. Steve smelled so good that the deep breathing with your face shoved into his neck was now a pleasant experience, and momentarily took your mind off the unbearable pain you were in.

Unfortunately his incredible taste in cologne wasn't enough to completely stop your mental and physical pain by the time he got you into your apartment and gently set you down on your own two feet. He offered you his forearm to keep a hold on to steady yourself, he could tell your muscles were overworked, exhausted, and tightly tense.

Steve could feel the hand you kept hold of him with was shaking, as were your legs, and chattering jaw that you tried your hardest to clench shut.

Single handedly, he worked diligently to remove your personal defense weapons that lived in your leg holsters. Grabbing the gun and dagger, he reached behind him and quickly put them in the weapon safe by the door.

Then he led you to the couch and had you sit down, helping you on the way down. He quickly sank to his knees and his fingers untied the laces on your boots and pulled them off your feet before he got to work on removing all the black leather straps and buckles of the holsters on your legs.

He looked up at you momentarily just to make sure you didn't seem uncomfortable by how he was touching you, but your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly and your mind was so far away it felt like you weren't even in the room with him anymore.

"Relax your jaw, Buggy." Steve caught your attention with a small squeeze to your calf before going at the holster on your thigh.

"But it's chattering" You cried, relaxing it to prove it was rattling.

"That's okay, just let it happen." He reassured you.

You nodded, eyes still squeezed shut with occasional tears slipping past them.

"Let all your muscles relax, keep taking big breaths." His sweet voice guided you, moving on from your left leg to your right. "Remember that this pain is temporary, this is the worst of it right now and you're taking it like a champ. You're doing a good job."

Letting your eyes open, you watched him shove his phone between his shoulder and head, freeing both his hands to continue removing pieces of your suit. Then he started talking, throwing around commands, asking for necessary assistance to make sure your suit is properly cleaned and the hazardous substance would be responsibly handled.

At some point, your eyes closed again and you started feeling faint. He stood up, still on the phone and walked away for a moment then came back with a glass of water for you in one hand, and medicine in the other hoping it could at least help jumpstart the pain management.

Then, you heard something that made your eyes rip open.

"Hey Buck, yeah she's okay - in a lot of pain but she's going to be fine. Hey- can you do me a favor? Can you go into my apartment and grab me a change of clothes? Just a shirt and some sweatpants please? Thank you so much, I'll leave the door unlocked for you. See you soon."

You took in his appearance and realized you had completely destroyed his outfit. Smoke and soot had smeared all over his light grey shirt and the the top of his jeans. There was blood on his shoulder from your face, and wet spots from your tears.

"I'm so sorry." You cried, genuinely feeling bad about it. "I ruined your clothes!"

"I'm not worried about it" He denied your apology. "You're more important than a shirt."

"I'll buy you a new one." You shook your head.

"You have bigger fish to fry at the moment, Bug." Steve said sweetly. "Let's get you in the shower now. The faster this gets washed off of you the better."

Deep down Steve was really concerned about you, but he internalized it as to not freak you out. You seemed weak and unsteady on your own two feet, and your cries were still sad enough to make him want to cry for you.

"Help me up?" You asked, holding out your hands.

He took them without question and helped you off the couch before guiding you to the bathroom and starting the shower for you. Making sure it was not too cold to be uncomfortable, but not too hot to hurt your burns even more, he finally settled on the perfect temperature.

When Steve turned back around to let you know it was good to go, he was going to walk right out and let you shower in peace. That was until you started crying even harder just by trying to unbutton your pants. Every move you made was increasingly uncomfortable, and in that moment you both knew that showering alone wasn't an option.

The hot shocking pain and trauma of the three week long mission alone made letting Steve see you naked feel like just another drop in the bucket. You couldn't even get yourself to pretend to care, all of the insecurities and fears you'd typically have over this flew out of the window when you could see the genuine worry in his sweet blue eyes.

"Do you need help?"

"Can you please stay?"

Both of you asked almost shyly at the same time.

"Yes please."

"Of course"

You talked over each other once again.

Everything you could've possibly been worried about wasn't even a thought in Steve's mind when you asked him to stay. Although his heart warmed over the sentiment that you felt comfortable enough around him to ask in the first place, he wanted to make sure he maintained that same level of trust.

So he took the same approach he took before any training session he knew you were scared of, or any time he had to touch your body.

A simple one word question that he always expected a completely honest response to, it always went a long way.

So before he even helped you begin undressing, he asked it.

"Trust?" He questioned.

Whenever he asked you this, he wanted a percentage out of 100 to gauge how much trust you felt for him in that very moment. Whether he was about to catch you from two stories high, or send you off to do something new, he wanted to make sure you were confident enough in him as your partner. If you ever answered below a 90, that's when he would put a stop to everything and the two of your would talk it through until you felt comfortable and confident enough to execute the plan.

"100" you answered without question, your shaky hands trying their hardest to unzip your shirt.

Only after you responded did he start to undress you. His hands took over the zipper, and swiped it downward. When he helped you tug off the sleeves he was careful to not touch the inside of your suit to not get any of the substance on himself, but once your top was off, he could tell it was all caked onto your skin and no longer dry. "If that changes or you want me to leave at any point, you tell me, okay?"

"Okay." You nodded, feeling a slight relief as the cold air hit your back.

Piece by piece, he helped you get undressed and into the shower. He stood next to you the whole time, and as the water washed off the dirt and grime, he could see the extent of the damage on your back and he internally cringed.

"You poor thing, this looks so painful." Steve pouted. Though you were quite literally fully naked in front of him, he couldn't stop staring at the plane of your back. It was fire engine red, and your skin was definitely angry at the substance.

"Fury is going to be so mad at me." You sniffled, starting to feel like you could talk in complete sentences again.

"Why?" Steve asked, head tilting slightly.

"I should be at the mission debriefing." You explained.

"You we're injured, there are exceptions." Steve denied. "You know who Fury will actually be mad at? Harvey."

Just the mention of his name had your cry growing sadder by the moment. "Can I tell you something as a friend and not as a boss?"

Steve's face softened, and he nodded.

"He did it on purpose." You claimed with confidence as your fingers scrubbed shampoo into your hair. "The whole mission Harv and his friends were doing things to sabotage me and I kept getting hurt. I felt like I was going crazy, and it was already a really bad mission to be on in the first place. I feel so defeated and defenseless right now."

When you admitted that, his eyes went from your back to a big, black and blue bruise the side of his palm right on your rib cage.

"Harvey will be dealt with whether he did it on purpose or accident. He made a really stupid choice that obstructed the mission and got another agent hurt, the best agent we got." Steve explained. "They'll probably open an investigation and pull any footage they have and talk to some other witnesses to get their side of the story. If it's ruled that it was on purpose his punishment will be much worse than if it was an accident."

"They're just going to come after me even harder." You cried. "I don't know what I did so wrong that they decided that they needed to make my life a living hell. I try to be nice to everyone, I participate when I need to, I help them when they need help, and I even do the dirty work so nobody else has to. Everyone still hates me. Nobody cares if I get hurt."

Steve's broken heart impossibly shattered again. "Do you believe us when we tell you it's jealousy? The men here have tiny little ego's. They're fragile and insecure so when they see how great you are, they just want to knock you down any chance they get. It's not your fault."

"I don't feel like I'm the best one here." You finally denied in a moment of vulnerable weakness. You we're already naked, what damage could admitting your true feelings possibly do? "I don't even feel like I'm good at what I do in general."

"You may feel like that right now, but that's not fact. It's far from the truth." Steve denied your accusations against yourself. "You're meant to be an Avenger, we're all confident in that. That mission should've never been delegated to you guys. It should've gone to the Avengers, and even then it would've been hard for us. But I was watching the updates and statistics come through while you were gone. You single handedly held the operation together and led it to success with nothing but your own guidance. You're incredible, you even outperformed the Avengers."

You shook your head in denial before tipping it back and letting the water wash away the soapy lather in your beautiful silky hair. "I should be debriefing but instead I'm crying in the shower I can't even take by myself without being a hazard."

"They have tormented you so much that you believe crying is a sign of weakness." Undertones of disapproval soaked through his tone. "Their words have you believing that you're not good enough for this, yet I don't see any of them being good enough to do half of what you do."

"I don't know how to get it to stop." You sniffled. "If I don't fight back, they keep going. If I do fight back, they come at me twice as hard. If you don't say anything, they think it's okay. If you do yell at them, it just gets worse."

"Join the team." Steve stated simply, reaching out into the shower to swipe some smoke off your face that you missed.

"I'm tired, Stevie." You admitted with a sad cry. "Right now, I don't even know how I'm going to wake up and get myself to work as an agent tomorrow. I don't know how I can do this anymore, let alone be an Avenger."

"Exactly, you're tired and you're hurting." Steve validated. "Emotionally and physically, you're a human with with needs, none of which have been met in a very long time. You had your heart broken, and with no time to recover you had tosee Harvey every day for three weeks, then he hurt you even more. We'll get you some rest, some food, you'll get some time off work to make sure you heal up and recover. I promise you that you'll feel better."

"I sure hope so." You sniffled, washing the rest of the soap off now that you were squeaky clean. "Because right now, my heart is heavy and i feel defeated."

"Then let's take baby steps towards making you feel better, we'll start by making the heaviness a lot lighter." Steve offered you a hand to help you step out of the shower as you turned the water off. A hint of a smile poked through your pouted lips as he wrapped your fluffy towel around your body as carefully as he could as to not hurt your back anymore than it already did.

"Do you have to go back to work?" You asked sadly, not wanting to have to let go of the comfort he always provided you. "I really missed you while I was away."

"It's okay, I'll take the rest of the day off." Steve denied. "I missed you too, I was worried about you."

There was a small knock on the door before Bucky came in, and before either of you could even acknowledge his presence, both of your feet carried you towards him.

Bucky quickly handed Steve the clothes he brought for him, then all his attention was on you.

"Stay with her for a minute, I'm going to change really fast." Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder out of gratitude.

You we're still slowly crying from the pain, and wrapped up in the towel like a little human burrito.

No words needed to be exchanged between you and your friend and he very carefully pulled you against his warm body for a long hug.

After Steve changed into the clothes Bucky brought him and walked back out into the living room to the scene of you being comfortably wrapped up in his arms as the two of you exchanged quiet words he could barely hear, he couldn't help the tiny pang of jealousy. He felt like a teenage boy who had no control over his emotions. He knew it was wrong, so he pushed it down just like he did all his other feelings towards you.

When Bucky noticed Steve was back, he mumbled an apology to you about needing to get back to work, and promised he would come by later to check up on you. And just as fast as he arrived, he left.

Steve helped you get dressed again, which was a struggle. But the two of you worked together to find a loose enough shirt to put on as to not hurt your back, super soft shorts, and definitely no bra to dig into your skin. But he already saw your boobs so there was no harm in that decision.

By the time you climbed into your own bed for the first time in weeks, and Steve got in next to you, a bit of relief washed over you. The tears came to an end and now you were nothing but stray sniffles and a little ball of frustration as you tried your hardest to get comfortable without laying on your back.

Steve wasn't quite sure how it happened, but you ended up half on your side-half on your stomach with your head in his lap and one of your legs hiked up. Once you were comfortable, he pulled up the back of your shirt to let the cool air hit the burn and to make sure the fabric wasn't irritating the area even more.

He could tell you were still in pain, so he comforted you by running his fingers through your hair. You soaked up every moment of the pleasant sensation, it gave you something to focus on other than the pain.

Single-handedly, he grabbed his phone and pulled up your profile on the music streaming app you downloaded onto his phone so you could create playlists together and share music. He picked a playlist you curated of all your favorite soothing songs and played it quietly for you.

Steve knew music was important to you, most of the time you had at least one airpod in your ear and you were always showing him new music. He loved listening to the songs you found good enough to share with him, and he loved sharing the experience of listening to music with you all because he knew it made you happy.

"Do you have a comfort movie or show?" Steve asked. "Or anything you do to help you fall asleep?"

"Yeah, I get into your bed." You mumbled out a joke, feeling completely drained. Your eyes didn't need to be open to know he was smiling.

"The faster we can get you to fall asleep, the better." He noted.

"Are you tired of me already?" You questioned, another joke.

"Absolutely not." Steve denied with a giggle. "If you fall asleep, you can get through a big chunk of the pain with no awareness to it."

"I was just on a mission for three weeks barely getting any sleep. Just give me a minute, I'll sleep like the dead."

"Why weren't you getting any sleep?" Steve questioned, continuing to rub your scalp.

"They kept assigning me to sleep next to Harvey no matter how many times I asked them to not do that." You explained. "Completely separate cots and sleeping bags and he still tried to get me to have sex with him every single night we were there. Every time I denied him he'd try to spark an argument then I'd get upset and just lay awake because I couldn't turn my brain off."

"He was trying to sleep with you after a whole day on the battlefield? After he said he could never be with someone like you?" Steve questioned. "Did he not break up with you? Is he not exhausted by the end of the day?"

"You'd think there would be significant logistical issues he would consider before trying to initiate but he didn't let anything get in his way." You agreed with Steve. "I have no plans of ever having sex with him again, and he thinks it's a game. Like I'll crumble and whither away without his dick."

"That sounds like a terrible situation you have to put up with everyday." Steve noted. "If I had to look at any of my ex girlfriends every day at work, let alone be on a mission with them for three weeks I don't think both of us would make it out alive, and they would be the ones surviving every time."

You sleepily giggled at his words. "It is pretty terrible, but I'm hoping he will realize soon that there's better dick to be had elsewhere. I'm horny, but never horny enough to have sex with him ever again."

"Wow, you're so strong." Steve laughed. "That was really philosophical."

"I know right?" Your lazy smile stretched.

"If he's making you lose sleep, that's just more proof he's obstructing agents from reaching the objective." Steve noted.

You hummed in agreement, letting the heaviness in your heart and mind settle and the exhaustion in your body take over.

A few moments of silence passed before Steve broke it, his thoughts becoming too loud to keep to himself. "...I really can't imagine getting it up after a whole 12 hour day of fighting... don't think I could ever do that..."

Your smile reappeared. "That's because you actually do your job and you do it well. Harvey just kind've stands there and pretends to be helping. No person in their right mind would be able to get it up after a real day of battle."

"Wow, so you're finally in the phase of admitting that he's bad at what he does." Steve noted.

"Yeah, well, I'm infuriated that we work ourselves to the point of exhaustion and he's just walking around with the audacity to have a hard dick all the time." You noted. "He deserves a life of erectile disfunction, I deserve the audacity of a post mission stiffy."

"See, this is the kind of fire I've been trying to ignite in you this whole time!" Steve enthused. "Who knew that all it would take was a metaphorical boner?"

"Relax, I'm not hard enough yet to hop over the the Avengers." Your voice was getting raspier and quieter by the second, making Steve melt into a puddle. "Give me a little more time, maybe I'll get there eventually."

"Have you tried viagra?" Steve joked.

"Have you?"

"Is your back feeling any better?"

"Why are you deflecting?" You sleepily smiled.

"Sweet dreams, Bug." He covered your eyes with the palm of his hand. "Hope you feel so much better when you wake up."

You grabbed his wrist and directed his hand to the top of your head before letting it go, and snuggling up in the blankets the very best you could. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, Stevie. I love and appreciate you lots."

"Anytime, I love you more."

You dozed off not to long after, and fell into a sleep so deep that you felt like you had woken up in a whole different world. Your phone was ringing, and there was no longer any light seeping through your bedroom window curtains.

Judging by your door being cracked open with lights pouring through and footsteps walking around, you could tell Steve was still in your apartment. Reaching around blindly for your phone, your hand found it and answered the call.

A smile stretched across Steve's face when he heard your sweet, sleepy voice coming from your room. He could tell you were talking to family, so he waited a while until he could hear the conversation wrapping up to come check on you.

It took about fifteen minutes, but he finally came in and turned the light on as he heard some goodbyes.

"I love you so much, Buddy! I'll come see you this week okay? Maybe in a day or two." Your smile was uncontrollable. "No, I cannot bring iron man with me. Am I not cool enough for you anymore?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at you when you looked up at him with a giggle. You motioned for him to stay quiet, then put it on speaker phone.

A tiny little voice came through, and Steve immediately remembered all of the times you told him about your five year old nephew that lived with your sister not too far from the compound.

“What about Captain America?" He questioned.

"I don't know Captain America!" You denied, looking Steve dead in the eye. You laughed as Steve's jaw dropped in response to your antics.

"Yes you do! Mommy showed me a picture of you and Captain America!" He giggled.

"No, that's not Captain America, that's my friend Steve." You joked.

"That's Captain America's name!" Your nephew defended himself.

"No way, really? That must be a coincidence."

"What is your friend Steve's last name?" He questioned.

"I'm not really sure, I'll have to ask him next time I see him." Steve shook his head at you with a mischievous smile while sitting on the edge of your bed. "What is Captain America's last name?"

"Rogers! How do you not know that!?" The boy laughed over the phone. "Don't you work with these people?!"

"I dunno, maybe you should be an Avenger. You know a lot more about this stuff than I do."

"Okay I'm ending this conversation before my son tries to break into the compound and steal Captain Roger's shield." Your sister took the phone away from the five year old.

"Did you hear that Steve? If your shield goes missing, we have a suspect." You told him.

"Oh god... is Captain Rogers in the room with you right now?" Your sister questioned with a sigh.

"No, she's talking to herself. She's kind've crazy." Steve denied earning a laugh from the other side of the phone.

"Tell me about it! I've had to deal with her all my life!" She laughed. "I'll let you go now, Smalls. I'm glad you're okay, let me know if you need anything. Also feel free to come over whenever you want. You know Luca loves you more than anyone in the world, we would take good care of you if you need it."

"Thank you! And thanks for checking up on me, sorry you got that alert, that must've been scary."

"It's okay, I'm just glad you're alright. Stay safe, I'll see you soon."

"See you soon" you agreed before hanging up.

"You're gaslighting a child?" Steve questioned.

"He knows it's a joke." You denied with a tired giggle. "Luca is obsessed with the Avengers but especially you. If I ever actually admitted to him that were close friends he would lose his mind and never leave us alone."

"But he's so cute! You should bring him to the compound and give him a tour!" He enthused.

"I think he would actually combust." You sat up. "Maybe one day, but my Sister doesn't think he's ready for that yet."

"What's her name?"

"Jane, she's four years older than me." You explained. "She called me in a panic because she's my emergency contact. I think Commander Bennett added an injury report to my file so it sent her an automated phone call that I got hurt in battle. It scared the daylight out of her."

"I don't blame her." Steve shook his head. "Thats one of the worst phone calls to ever receive."

"It really is" you agreed. "What time is it?"

"7:30 pm." He grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. It just feels like a really bad sunburn now." You explained. "I still feel pretty beat up from the mission though."

Steve nodded his head in understanding. "I got an email from Bennett, you were cleared from the roster for the rest of the week. So you'll start work again on Monday. Oh, also, someone from the hazard team came and picked up your suit to clean it. They reported back to be about an hour ago that it wasn't salvageable so weaponry is making you a new one. Should be done by the time you get back to work on Monday."

"Thank you, Stevie, you're the best." You smiled.

"Ugh, I know right?" He joked, back flopping right next to you.

"I take it back." You laughed, gently flicking his head.

"Fine. Next time, call Bucky." Steve joked.

Your laugh got louder and you shook your head. "Bucky would've left me on the Jet floor to beat the shit out of Harvey."

"Exactly my point." Steve settled with amusement.

"Speaking of Bucky, do we know where he is right now?"

"Probably beating the shit out of Harvey"

"You boys are exhausting." You sign smiled.

"But you love it." Steve pointed out, poking your cheek.

"I do." You admitted.

Comfortable silence fell over the two of you, nothing significant was running through your mind, but you could tell Steve's mind was running around one thought and one thought only.

"... You're hungry aren't you?" You questioned rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

"How could you tell?" He turned his head to look at you with a big beaming smile on his face.

"I know you like the back of my hand, Rogers."

He hummed in agreement. "You're hungry too."

"How could you tell?"

"Because your stomach was growling in your slee- I mean... because I know you so well!"

"Food?"

"Food." He agreed.

"Alright, let's go big guy." You pat his shoulder twice. "You saw me naked today so now I get to wine and dine you."

"Bug!" He barked out a laugh, and his cheeks immediately turned a pretty shake of pink. "Don't you even start with me!"

“Oh, and by the way, if you tell anyone you’ve ever seen me naked, I’ll beat you to a pulp faster than any other agent in the compound gets the chance to call me a whore.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Next part: Expendable

Tag list: @saranghaey @firephotogrl74 @selella @talesofadragon @ss28 @nekoannie-chan @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @spikeluv84 @crazyunsexycool @callmissrogers @xxxalicerogersxx @whore-for-chris-evans @em8rin @mulbsstuff @qalijahbydior @awkotaco24 @buckybarnessimpp @nicoline1998enilocin @buckystevelove @rogersbarber @mybuck @ynstark @dbnightingale24

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turtletaubwrites · 6 months

Text

In Over My Head ~ Part 8

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3424

This is part 8 of the Series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Series Link

Summary: You have a really fun morning. Then more truths come flooding out. You might be a little overwhelmed.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Fem!Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Smut, Flirting, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Face Sitting, Consensual Voyeurism, Masturbation, Sanji’s still a perv, Friends with Benefits, Crewmates with Benefits, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, did we really think they couldn’t fight?, this one has a lot of stuff packed in

A/N: This one's a rollercoaster, y'all! I hope you enjoy the ride 💜

“Why are you guys being so fucking weird lately?”

You choked on your coffee at Usopp’s words while Zoro and Sanji froze around you, pausing their breakfast battle for your attention.

“Did Y/N get them sick too?”

“No, Luffy, they’re fine. And shut up, Usopp, I’ll tell you later.”

Your eyes widened at Nami, and she mouthed ‘I’ve got this.’

“Tell him what,” Chopper piped up, glancing around with concern.

“Let’s finish up everyone. I’m sure our hardworking cook needs us out of the kitchen soon.”

Robin’s command eased the awkwardness, and you sighed into your mug.

Zoro left the galley after giving you a nod, his eyes softer than you expected. Remembering his thank you from the night before, you stared after him.

Until a lovely blonde cook stepped in front of you.

“Tell me, gorgeous. Do I have you for the whole day?

“Sanji, I have work to do.”

“You have work to do in here with me, right?”

“Yes,” you gave in, a slow grin moving across your face.

“Perfect! I’ll clear a workspace for you.”

As you left to grab some ingredients, you couldn’t resist an impulse. You’d actually worn a dress today, which you’d hoped Zoro wouldn’t read too much into. You stopped by your room on the way back to drop off something you didn’t think you’d be needing.

Sanji hummed while he prepped for lunch, and it was a pleasant way to work through the morning.

As you were finishing up labeling oils and tinctures to store, Sanji moved behind you, his body radiating heat before he even touched you.

“Looks like you’re about done, beautiful.”

“Same to you. I’m just writing a few…”

His lips touched your neck, and a sigh escaped you as he breathed along your skin.

“Mm.”

You felt his smile against your neck as his fingers traced along your thighs, lifting your dress just slightly.

“Mind if I prep you for our dessert later, darling?”

You arched against him, feeling yourself dripping down your thighs without the panties you’d taken off on the way here.

“Please.”

He pressed gently along your back, and you felt his pleased hum rumble through his chest. His skilled fingers reached around to your front, playfully dragging your dress higher.

Your breath was already ragged as you waited for him to find you.

His fingers felt the wetness on your thighs, and he was already groaning. Then they traced along your folds, no fabric keeping him from you.

Sanji’s arms clenched around you so tight while he thrust against you. You cried out at the sensation of his thick cock aching for you, pressing so hard.

His breathing was heavy while he tried to loosen his grip on you.

“Did you do that for me, angel?”

The need dripping from his voice made you moan.

“I knew I’d be here with you. I thought you might like it.”

Sanji buried his face in your neck, his fingers digging into your thigh.

“Do you like it, Sanji?”

He made a low, whimpering sound as he kissed his way to your ear. Then his fingers found you.

“F-Fuck, Sanji.”

“You are so sweet to me, angel. So perfect. Please let me taste you.”

Your body swayed as his hand played with you so expertly. The thought of more made you tighten around his fingers, and you couldn’t get enough of his eager rutting against your ass every time your body reacted.

“Isn’t - isn’t lunch soon?”

“Just a taste, my sweet. I promise you won’t spoil my appetite.”

“Okay.”

He trailed his hands down your skin as he dropped to his knees, gently guiding your hips to turn around.

His eyes were almost glazed over as looked at you, his mouth hanging slack. Something about how fucking desperate he always was for you made your body twist, you core aching and wet.

“Can I… can I have a look first?”

You weren’t sure what he meant, but you didn’t care at the moment, so you nodded.

He let out a small whimper, then laid on his back.

Your brows furrowed a bit, but he gazed up at you like a kid that just got a new favorite toy.

“You took them off before you came here, sweetheart. Will you show me the gift you unwrapped just for me?”

Grinning at him, you moved closer. What a fucking pervert.

You loved it. The way his mouth hung open, his breath hitching when you agreed. The way his eyes danced up your body, trailing up your legs, hungry for what was waiting for him under your dress. You moved closer to him, and pretended he wasn’t there.

Walking around him, you started to put your tools away. You saw his hand stroking along his length through his slacks, and you wanted to jump on him. But you kept toying with him, letting him have a peek.

When you stepped over his face, letting him see everything, his moan was too much. You could feel strands of your slick stretching between your legs, and you cried out his name.

“Sit on my face, please, beautiful. Fuck, please let me taste that gorgeous pussy.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You’d never done this before, so you hovered, afraid you would crush him.

But Sanji growled against you, pulling your thighs down until you were sure he couldn’t breathe. He fed at you, ravenous and growling, and you caught yourself grinding against his face.

It was so much, and everything building up to it poured through you.

You came into Sanji’s hungry mouth and he ate it up, drinking you in with muffled moans. A knock came at the door, and you launched yourself off of him, gasping as you pushed yourself up to the counter.

Robin poked her head in.

“There you are, Y/N. I was hoping you’d join me after lunch today. I’d love to check in with you. Are you alright?”

You were so grateful that Sanji had picked behind the center island as the spot to taste you. He was teasing along your ankle and calf with one hand while he stayed on the floor, hidden from view.

“Sure, Robin. That sounds great.”

You smiled, still breathless. She smirked at you, glancing at the counter.

You jumped as an arm appeared beside you and waved down at Sanji, and he choked out a laugh before clamping his mouth shut.

“I’d hurry it up, you two. Luffy’s already complaining that he’s starving, and I won’t get in the way of our captain and his meal.”

She winked, and closed the door behind her.

Your knees went weak when you looked down at Sanji. He looked blissed out, face sloppy with your pleasure while he stroked his thick cock through his pants, writhing as he looked up your skirt.

“You are fucking heavenly, darling.”

“And you really are a perv, aren’t you?”

You said it as a joke, but Sanji arched his back at the teasing insult, moaning as his eyes rolled back.

Well, this could be fun.

Sanji clearly enjoyed sticking his hands up your skirt as he wiped away the pleasure that he hadn’t had time to lick off your skin.

You couldn’t stop looking down at his twitching cock, barely contained by his black slacks.

“What are you-“

“Not to worry,” he grinned at you as he reached for his thick apron. You stared as he donned it, watching him place a few large utensils, and a pepper grinder in the front pocket to hide his throbbing cock.

“Are you always hiding that when you’re wearing that apron?”

“Not always.”

His wicked grin made you moan, and he was on you at once, kissing the sound from your lips.

You pushed him gently away, looking him over.

“What happens if I want some pepper?”

He took your hand, gently drawing it to him. He rubbed it along his length behind the pepper grinder while your eyes rolled back in your head.

“A lady always gets what she wants in my kitchen.”

“HEY SANJI! What’s for lunch?”

You both jolted away from each other as Nami pushed her way into the room. Your eyes went wide as you saw the rest of the crew following closely behind, so you rushed to sit next to her.

You couldn’t help but giggle with her, but tried to tamp it down.

You tried to focus on Nami throughout the meal, because the tension at the table was making your skin itch with discomfort.

Robin kept giving you that sly smile of hers. Sanji continued to pamper you, and you ended up sharing the extra goodies he’d gifted you with Luffy. Usopp was quiet, and kept glancing at you, looking away quickly. You narrowed your eyes at Nami, and she gave an unconvincing shrug.

What you noticed most was Zoro. Since Sanji found out about your arrangement, they’d both glued themselves to your side during every meal, trying to outdo each other. Zoro wouldn’t say much, besides making fun of the cook. Instead, he’d lean his body into yours, touching your thighs under the table, even giving you a small smile now and then.

Now he sat across from you looking down at his plate. He didn’t look angry like he had been, which was a good thing. You’d been planning on telling them to stop bombarding you at the table anyway.

But you almost missed his warmth next to you.

Nope! Not doing that.

Closing your eyes, you bit your lip as you turned your face down.

Fuck, what am I doing? I’m in over my head.

As the crew trickled out, Nami and Robin were left with you at the table, while Sanji floated through the kitchen, humming as he cleaned up. You couldn’t help it when your eyes flicked down to the pepper shaker. He caught you, winking as you turned red.

“Well, I’m outta here,” Nami declared with a snort. She shook her head as she walked toward the door, but you stopped her.

“Wait, Nami! What did you say to Usopp?”

“I told him the truth.”

Sanji huffed a laugh while Robin smiled to herself.

“What, really?”

“Yeah, it’s way easier than lying. Besides, he looked way too intimidated to even think about asking if he could join you.”

You gaped at her while Sanji and Robin laughed. Nami blew you a kiss on her way out.

“You’re welcome.”

Robin coaxed you out of the kitchen after you were finally able to laugh with them. Sanji tried to offer you both a variety of extravagant treats, but you shook your head, and told him you’d see him at dinner. You shivered as he bit his bottom lip, and you had to catch up to Robin in the hallway.

“How are things going,” Robin asked as you settled next to her on her loveseat. You blushed when you remembered her teasing you for more details.

“Well?”

You gave in, and couldn’t believe how good it felt to have another person to talk to about this. Gratitude filled you to have two non-men friends on this ship.

Robin was so fun to talk to. She was always poised, even when she asked you for filthy details that made you gasp. She’d chuckle as you blushed, and you’d giggle along with her.

“I’ve been wondering about this arrangement of yours. I think I’d like to see what all the fuss is about myself.”

“Oh uh, of course,” you stuttered, brain shutting off for a moment. You tried to speak again, but your mouth was suddenly dry.

Robin smirked at you, and sent arms through the room to pour you a glass of water. You grabbed the glass, taking a sip, feeling out of place. Everything you thought of to say seemed way too awkward, but you tried.

“Well, I’m sure they’d love to hear that you’re interested. I’m happy to share!”

“Hm, maybe. I’m more interested in sampling what those boys are fighting over.”

Your mouth fell open as you stared at her. Her deep, blue eyes seemed lit from within. Her lovely lips curling at the edges, teasing.

“If you’re open to it, of course.”

“I, uh...”

She let you sputter, taking a sip of her drink until you could form words. Face burning red, you set down your glass to face her fully.

“I would uh, definitely be interested in that.”

“Lovely,” she said letting an arm reach out to trace fingers along your cheek

“When can we have our date?”

“Um, well. I’m seeing Sanji today, and I don’t want to postpone Zoro’s day again tomorrow.”

“Two days then. And who knows? Maybe we’ll have such a good time that I might join your rotation.”

Your mouth opened and closed silently as she leaned close to you. You felt chills along your skin when her vanilla musk scent enveloped you.

“May I kiss you, Y/N?”

You nodded, and her smiling lips tasted yours. She helped you stand, then held your face in her hands, making you dizzy with her gaze again.

“Y/N, I know this is a lot, and you can stop at any time. But I want you to know that it’s okay to have feelings for more than one person. Casual might not work on this boat. But loving more than one crewmate just might. You just have to keep being honest with everyone, especially yourself.”

You were dazed when you left Robin’s quarters, wandering out on deck to try to ground yourself.

This has all got to be a fucking dream. Maybe I’m in a coma or something.

You sat on the deck, watching Usopp practice shooting tangerines at various parts of Luffy’s body while he stretched himself up and down the ship. Usopp got him in the face, and you started laughing.

Then you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, Y/N, it wasn’t that funny!”

“Yeah it was! I got you right in the eye! The great Captain Usopp strikes again!”

At this point you were almost hyperventilating, holding your sides, and gasping as hysterical laughter just kept building.

“Y/N, hey? Are you okay?”

They moved toward you as you continued gasping for air, strained laughter starting to sound more like sobs.

“I’ve got her.”

Zoro’s deep voice was close, and then he was kneeling beside you. His hushed words rolled over you as you kept shaking, starting to feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hey, Needy? Are you okay?”

You managed to look up at him while you gulped for air, as his brows furrowed. You noticed the darkening sky behind him, and started to breathe.

He leaned toward you slowly, smoothing your hair out of your face.

“Why don’t we, uh. Let’s take another break tomorrow, okay? We can just… talk or something. You can show me your plant stuff.”

You choked out another laugh, and he swore.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Needy. I-”

“What did you do to her?”

You sputtered at the rage filled words that followed the scent of cigarette smoke. You fought to sit up, still gasping.

“Why is she crying?”

“I don’t know, cook, isn’t this supposed to be your day?”

“St-Stop, please.”

Zoro swore under his breath as they turned to face you. They both reached for you to help you stand, but you shook your head, pulling yourself up.

Sanji looked like he was seconds away from kicking Zoro’s head off, and Zoro was staring at you, eyes heavy with something like worry, maybe fear.

You wiped your eyes, breathing deep.

“Sanji, Zoro didn’t hurt me or make me cry, he was helping me.”

Sanji’s head twitched while his jaw still looked clenched, but the rage seemed to be slowly falling from him.

You looked back and forth between them and Robin’s words rang like alarms in your head.

It hasn’t even been two weeks since this all started, how am I already feeling this way?

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“Seems like an understatement, Needy.”

Sanji started berating him for belittling you, but you grinned at Zoro’s smug face, laughing at your inside joke.

“Sanji, it’s okay, he’s joking.”

“Your needs aren’t something to be put down my lo-”

“Oh for fucks sake, can you give it a rest for fi-”

“Boys.”

They looked at you silently, and you loved that.

“I’m okay. I think I just needed to get all that out. I’ll let you know if I need to talk or have a break, okay?”

They both agreed, in their opposite ways.

You started to walk past them to head in for dinner, but you turned around before going inside.

“The day after tomorrow we’ll have to take a break. I have a date with Robin.”

You enjoyed that moment way too much. Zoro looked like you’d spoken another language, and Sanji’s face was so red, you thought blood might start gushing from his nose.

Heading inside, you left them on deck, suddenly in a fabulous mood.

Zoro had returned to your side for dinner, and you fought not to lean against his warmth. He stayed back while the rest of the crew headed out, and the tension between the boys skyrocketed.

“She needs a break,” Zoro growled at Sanji, who’d brought his own meal to the table, sitting on your other side.

“I’m aware, Marimo. I’m not the one who uses force.”

Zoro practically flew off his seat, but you gripped his thigh hard and he paused, half standing.

“I realize now that it wasn’t realistic to think you two could stop fighting completely, but I need you to remember that I’m a big girl. I’ll tell you what I need.”

Zoro sat, fists clenched in his lap. A few rare moments of silence passed.

“What do you need, darling?”

Zoro huffed, and you almost laughed.

“Honestly, I’m still figuring that out.”

You were terrified to tell them what you’d been thinking about. What you’d been feeling. But you didn’t want to lie to them. You didn’t want to hold in your own feelings while expecting them to share it all.

Come on, Y/N. Be a big girl.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you stood to sit on the other side of the table so you could look at them both.

“I’ve been struggling with our arrangement as it stands.”

They both looked stricken, and you hurried to reassure them.

“I don’t want it to end. But I’m having trouble with our agreement to stay casual.”

Sanji’s eyes widened hopefully, while Zoro stayed impressively unreadable.

“Robin reminded me that polyamorous relationships can work much the same, as long as we are all communicating, and being honest and respectful with each other.”

Your hands were shaking in your lap, and you felt like crying over your fear of losing them.

“I need you both to take time to think this through. I don’t think I can stay casual about either of you, and I don’t think it would be right of me to pick one of you over the other. I don’t want to risk hurting either of you, or our crew.”

You couldn’t read their faces now, and you struggled to swallow.

“Please take time to think about this. Would you be open to having a relationship with me? And would you be open to that relationship if I was also seeing the other person romantically?”

Sanji started to speak until you shook your head.

“Let’s wait a few days, please. I care about both of you, and I don't want to rush you into a relationship that you wouldn’t feel comfortable with.”

You couldn’t help the tears that stung in your eyes now. You wiped them away, standing slowly.

“Goodnight, boys.”

As you moved to the door they both called for you to stop. You looked toward the ceiling to fight off more tears before turning to see them both standing in front of you.

“Can I… Can I hug you, Y/N?”

The fact that those words came from Zoro made you choke down a small sob, and you moved into his warm embrace. You breathed him in, staggered breaths easing in his arms.

You finally pulled away to see Sanji waiting, his eyes soft. You felt your lip quiver before he held you, his heartbeat racing under your touch.

Your head was swimming as you stepped away, looking them over. I hope this isn’t goodbye. Just goodnight. Please.

“Goodnight.”

This time you didn’t turn back.

Thank you for reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

Part 9

Tag List: @astheni-a | @ferns-fics | @heilee

A/N: Just look what my smutty one shot turned into 🤦🏼 I hope you had a good ride with this one! Apparently I can't write shit without feelings. I tried 😅

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

#One Piece smut #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #Smut #mine #Opla smut #zoro smut #zoro x reader #opla zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro fanfic #zoro fanfiction #sanji smut #sanji x reader #sanji fanfiction #sanji fanfic #x reader #turtletaub fics

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