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osarina · 8 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking.

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side.

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics.

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction.

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk.

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately.

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you.

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk.

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there.

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is.

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge.

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt.

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple.

He smiles.

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route.

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants.

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is.

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to.

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest.

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.”

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him.

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs.

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent.

God, he’s gorgeous.

You hate him.

You’ve missed him.

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can.

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs.

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.”

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago.

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective.

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?”

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions.

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him.

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace.

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time.

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying.

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch.

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs.

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did.

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work.

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk.

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes.

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything.

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t.

“I know,” he murmurs.

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly.

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses.

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #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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vampiresbloodx · 2 months ago

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Only you.

pairings: Agatha Harkness x Reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, slight fluff, angst, hurt but with comfort, reader has chronic illness, death mentioned, slight violence, mind control, spoilers if you haven't seen Wandavision or Agatha all along, kind of canon, witch!reader, reader struggles a lot, Agatha is obsessed with them, g!n!reader, reader has a vagina, dry humping, degration kink, rough sex, oral sex, top!agatha, bottom!reader, lesbian agatha harkness my beloved.

a/n: first fic I've posted in months, god I miss writing long oneshots, the inspiration is to the fact that I'm obsessed with this milf.

Agatha Harkness had always admired you. From afar, there was no real reason why, unlike most of her motives, she’d always want one thing and one thing only; power. You on the other hand gave her something else much fun.

She was always going to be obsessed with power. That’s just who she is and who everybody else knows. But she likes to think you know her differently, maybe even better. She couldn’t wrap her head around it when she first met you, of course, your arrival in westview was unexpected. With others not hearing of your name in a while, where you have been, what you have been up to. She knew you liked to keep to yourself, it was a skill really. Especially in the witch world.

Yes, it added more energy to those names everyone admires or fears away from, for instance, every witch in history and till this day has heard of the scarlet witch. They've heard very little of you, but your name does travel around.

Since the Salem times.

Maybe you just didn't like the attention yourself, you were a silent one. Despite your magic.

Agatha knows that every witches magic reflects who they truly are on the inside. Just no one would expect it from you.

Obviously, she had checked the most obvious place, Westview. But there was no sight of you, she would have sensed your energy anyway, she just couldn’t feel you anywhere.

After finally returning back to her true self, not the “agnes” from the last three wasted years of her life. Her first thought was wanting to find you.

She used to feel you everywhere, now, it was just a memory.

She wasn’t going to allow that to happen. She knew her mind had been twisted and you wouldn’t have gone that far.

So why couldn’t she feel you?

Agatha started to panic from the worst case scenarios that could have happened to you while she wasn’t keeping an eye on you. Did Wanda do something? No, this doesn’t seem like something she’d do without a good reason. Unlike her, you actually made an attempt to be close to Wanda, to try and be her friend, you were casted the role as her best friend, it only made sense.

She hated that. Watching how friendly the two of you were, how you always were laughing around the other witch, how happy you looked. She wasn’t blind to how Wanda was very touchy with you either.

It made her sick.

If only she had the one book that made her feel more powerful than anything else in this world and it didn’t fall into the hands of her.

But was the dark hold really going to save her?

Why was she thinking so little anyways? Probably the side effects to what Wanda did to her.

She didn’t like it.

She needed to find you.

She had to.

There wasn’t really any reason to explain herself, just her feeling.

Sometime, somewhere in Salem, 1600s.

Your body ached.

Everywhere there was pain.

Constant, irritable pain. You couldn’t do anything. There was not much to do when you were bedridden most of your life since you were a kid. You didn’t exactly have the luckiest childhood, where you got to experience going to school, having friends, making memories, first love, first kisses. No. it was just seeing doctor after doctor.

You got sick easily compared to most children, there was never any reason behind it. Some thought it was the usual with the body changing, puberty, growth, but it was more than that. It wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to live like this.

Then one day, it got better.

You were still young, you had just turned 18. A big time for people your age. You were becoming an adult. And finally, for once you could breathe fresh air without feeling any sort of pain.

And of course, that was the year the Salem witch trials began.

On your birthday, you were to be trailed.

Then to be dead.

Somewhere, sometime, in modern world.

Times have changed.

There were no burning witches, no more trails, it was even considered more accepted. Instead now, they had guns, more firepower than before.

You’d much prefer the bullet to the head than being burned alive any day.

It was quick and effective. Well, if used right.

You should be dead. Even after your trial, you shouldn’t still be alive. Maybe you should consider being more “positive” . It's kind of hard to when you spend most of your youth in bed.

Now things were different for you, which should be a good thing, but it didn’t feel so. You worked, had your own place to call home, didn’t really bother making any friends, you didn’t care if people thought you were strange to be a loner at your age, you liked that.

Even so, you don’t even know your age. You know you were once 18, then you made it to your twenties or something, and then it all stopped. You didn’t have the ageing effect everyone else got. Witches aren’t immortal beings, though, we possess the power to live longer than humans, we still age, and look “older.”

You still looked like you could be a damn college student. And yet you didn’t feel like you were at all.

God, you were born centuries ago. You can’t even remember your birthday. You usually have to make one up to please those around you, so they don’t have another excuse to make you look even weird.

You didn’t really understand what the big deal was.

Sure, now, there were real life superheroes, straight out of the comics, captain america, Iron man, the black widow, Thor, whoever else there was, there were too many of them.

You wondered why witches didn’t also get this much attention as well. Hell, you could literally move things with your mind, okay, so can some special people with abilities, but they weren’t witches.

They weren’t born with the ability blessed to know witchcraft. Sure, it can be easily accessible, but only you yourself knows that part of you.

It was all rather complicated stuff really.

In all of your time being alive, there weren't that many people who moved you, not quite like her.

There wasn't just one her.

These women who impacted your life more than you could have imagined, changed it for the better or for the worse, you wouldn’t know. The names that were carved into your skin, so you could never forget.

You wouldn’t be able to anyways.

You never spoke of their names out loud, fearing that they would pop up at any moment, you knew that possibility would be low, still, you couldn’t help but wonder.

The connections you shared with them is what you miss the most. And their touch.

You sometimes still see her. Either walking outside of where you worked, in a crowd, in the train, in your apartment, staring at you.

Just in a blink of an eye, a flash of hair the color of scarlet would pass by, then hair dark as night.

It was a never ending torment.

You couldn’t get rid of them.

Even if you had the choice you wouldn’t.

It would probably kill you if you tried.

Westview, 2023.

When you arrived, it was late. Most of the residents of this town would have gone to bed already, not you. You wanted to introduce yourself, the new neighbour moving in, this town didn’t seem that bad, everyone so far was nice to you, welcoming.

Then you finally met her.

She came to you first, already expecting your arrival. You were surprised when you opened your door and it revealed a woman standing in front of you. And she was absolutely gorgeous.

“Hi! I’m Wanda, welcome to Westview!” she greeted with a bright smile, your heart immediately warmed at the sight, the sound of her voice soothed you, you felt so relaxed around her, like you already trusted her.

It was your turn to introduce yourself, you did so, shyly.

“What a beautiful name” she complimented with a chuckle, enjoying how flustered you easily got as you avoided her gaze, how you fidgeted with your fingers together.

“May I come in? I made chocolate chip cookies for my boys, I seemed to have made too many, I always go overboard with my baking. Here, try some, I hope you like them!” she grinned, handing you the container of freshly made cookies that made your stomach growl with hunger.

They were even wrapped in a cute pink bow.

You wondered how someone so perfect could exist and breathe the same air as you at the same time, you even questioned if she was really and truly real. But when she leaned in for a hug, you couldn’t resist, and you knew she felt real.

You didn't mean to end up in Westview, and yet here you are.

Wrapped around a certain witch's finger, who wants you all to herself, while she watches, from afar.

Shortly after meeting Wanda, you met Agnes.

Though you felt like you already knew her. From somewhere, sometime, you weren’t sure. She looked familiar. You didn’t get this feeling when you had met everyone else, so why was she different?

You soon found out why.

Not very long when chaos struck.

You were running, out of breath, you forgot why you were running in the first place. Were you chasing something or was something coming after you? No. You were heading somewhere. The town that was Westview, now turned to shit, as above you, far from your view, two witches fought. All you could think about was one thing only; fuck the dark hold.

Fuck whoever created that stupid overly powerful book. It had ruined everything for you, it ruined the ones you loved.

You couldn’t even do anything about it.

It was so powerful that someone like you couldn't withstand it.

And it was crushing everything you loved.

You wish you could burn it.

It turned the one witch who saved you all those centuries ago into something twisted, dark. She wasn’t always like that, not the woman you first met and knew, fell in love with, who saved you. Who would walk through hell just to get to you. She will still do that, just she doesn't feel the same to you anymore.

In her eyes, you still saw the soft Agatha hidden behind all that darkness. Her heart was tainted, you weren’t sure if you liked this Agatha now or the one you met, you can’t help but fall more in love with her.

And she knows it.

When she heard you cry out in pain, being thrown by the scarlet witch’s power, she stopped. You were her weakness. Wanda saw that.

How her eyes immediately went to you, how your body was in pain, as you groaned out. You were no match for the scarlet witch, so what the hell were you doing? She didn’t think too much of that, her main focus was Wanda, still she kept her eyes on you.

Only you.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, there was a loud ringing noise, she couldn’t focus, her breathing turned ragged, out of her own stubbornness, She flew to you, in front of you, you saw an angel, she was far from one.

She cupped your face, it sent a chill down your spine as you let out a shudder, wanting more of her, to be closer, as you slowly moved your body towards her, the best you can with whatever energy you had left inside you.

“No” she whispered, forcing your body to not move, you only managed to look up and see her face despite your vision going blurry, you were so so tired. “I want to make this right, I need to, for you, it’s all I ever want, I need just you, I shouldn’t have left you by yourself, it was cruel, a mistake, but I knew we’d always find each other again. From the vow we made all those centuries ago, now, close your eyes, I’ll make it right, rest, you’ll see me soon” and then she kissed you.

You felt yourself break out in a sob, this made you hate her, made you angry, as you watched her walk away, you couldn’t do anything.

Then everything went black.

Sometime in 2024.

Now you can breathe again.

Just a bit.

You have always felt like you were suffocating, or drowning underwater, begging, grasping for air. Your lungs tightening, your throat closing, you couldn’t scream, make a sound, it was the worst torture you’ve experinced. Until you had to watch your lover get erased and completely forget about your entire existence.

You would have preferred getting killed.

But the scarlet witch didn’t show mercy like that.

Even if you begged her.

You wished it was you who had their memory erased, but you remember every single thing that happened. How you got to Westview, when everything turned to shit, it was already going bad from the start, you saw reality break in front of you and everyone else.

You remembered waking up, Wanda was gone, so were her boys and Vision, and you had met Monica, who helped you off the ground in the first place, she was nice, you were grateful she didn’t suspect you to be working with the Scarlet Witch.

Even then you found she was trying to help her, instead of imprisoning her, she wanted to help everyone.

When you had asked her of Agatha, she was quiet.

“She’s… Agnes now. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know why she even apologised to you, knowing Agatha could have quite literally killed her if she wanted to, maybe she felt pity for you, how she saw it in your eyes of you felt for the witch.

Despite it all.

Now you were living quite nicely, the apartment building of where you rented your place wasn’t too loud even during the day, at night, you like to go on walks, enjoying the lack of people around, your neighbour had protested to you going out by yourself but you preferred it that way. You worked in a cute book shop just a few streets from your place, everyday you wake up at the same time, sometime sleeping in longer if you wanted to, as you always went out and got your favourite coffee, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. you’d come back home, slipping out of your work clothes and into something much more comfortable and outside there would be a beautiful sunset.

As you sit at your desk, drinking a cup of coffee, writing down your day in your journal, keeping track of everything that’s happened, adding down stuff you needed to get from the market, what you wanted to cook, or bake.

Then there was a sudden knock at your door.

Weird.

You weren’t expecting anyone coming over, unless it was your neighbour, who often was a bit nosy but she was relatively nice.

Letting out a sigh as you’d hope they would have walked away if you didn’t answer the first knock, but then there was another, it sounded urgent, strange. As you stood up, placing your cup down as you walked towards the door, putting on a smile, you opened it.

The air was knocked out of you in a heartbeat, before your eyes, you couldn’t believe who you were seeing, after all these years, how, why? You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“Agatha?” you whispered, not wanting to say the name outloud in fear of her disappearing.

She bent down on her knees, her hand reaching out as you grabbed it, your hands shook, she stared into your gaze, helping you stand up.

“How did you… is it really you?” you asked with a gasp, she smiled, walking into your apartment, stepping closer to you as she didn’t let go of your hand. “How did you find me?.”

“My precious kitten, I'll always find you.”

Your heart skipped a beat hearing her voice again, it was real, she was real, her touch, her voice, everything.

You wanted to know how, but you didn’t care. She knew that, she saw it in your eyes, how much hunger there was inside them, your skin felt like it was on fire, you needed her.

“Kiss me” you whimpered, she closed the door behind her using her foot, as she grinned.

Agatha pulled you in closer, you smelt her scent, lavender, she always loved lavender. So did you. It became your favourite. You felt her hands grip your waits, as her lips kissed yours, you moaned, wrapping your arms around her neck. She groaned into the kiss, sending a chill down your spine.

She pushed you against the wall, her lips leaving yours as she kissed down your neck, sucking hard on your skin,causing your body to shudder, leaving a visible mark. You wanted more. You whined, pushing yourself into her more, she chuckled.

“Needy.”

You huffed, “you like it.”

“Touche.”

Her lips found yours again as she hummed, she was enjoying this, teasing you, your Agatha hasn’t changed not one bit. You felt her knee pressed in between your thighs, with the little clothing you wore to bed, you were grateful, moaning as you ground yourself on her leg. She chuckled, her nails digging into you to keep you still as you fucked yourself on her.

“So innocent, yet you fuck like a whore” she grinned, kissing along your jawline, her tongue licking your skin, as your head fell into her neck, you were getting close, she knew this, she wasn’t a stranger to how your body reacted around her, it was building up inside you, fast. You cried out as you came, embarrassingly quick, but she didn’t seem to care, as she lifted you up, you thought she would have used her magic, like she would have done, but you soon realised she didn’t have any.

Agatha didn’t let that stop her from getting what she wants, yeah, she feels more useless and powerful, weak, around you she gained a little of that power back, you made her feel powerful, beautiful.

She pushes you onto the bed, making you lay down on your back, her hands quickly pulling at your clothes as she rips it off, revealing your bare chest, as she admires you, you shy away. It's been a long time since she looked at you like that.

“Gorgeous, you’re so beautiful” she murmured softly, your cheeks heated up as you bit down on your bottom lip. You let her pull down your panties, she moaned at the sight, how wet you already were, practically soaking, your wetness dripping down your inner thigh.

She licked her lips hungrily, she felt like she was a starving dog, about to devour. She kissed up your thighs, using her hand to spread them more wide for her, she stared up at you, you watched her eyes darkened, you missed this, you missed her.

Your hands found their way to her hair, still felt so soft, you always loved running your hands through her hair, she pretended not to like it, but you saw the way she’d lean into you more, asking you to do it again without saying it outloud, she loved it.

Her tongue licked up your cunt, making you gasp as you gripped harder, she kept going, still fucking with you, even now, with her head in between your thighs. You enjoyed it. You didn’t want her to stop as you pressed your legs against her head, forcing her to stay there as she wrapped her mouth around your clit, earning a moan from you as more came out as she sucked on it, she didn’t let go until she made you come as many times as she wanted you to, she loved the way you tasted, how sweet it was on her tongue, as she consumed you.

Your body went limp as you had to practically beg for agatha to stop, you’d reach your limit, and she broke through. She pulled herself away with a wicked grin, your wetness all over her chin, as she leaned into you, kissing you, you tasted yourself on her lips.

You wanted more.

You grabbed agatha by her hips as you moved the both of you so that you were now on top, she smiled, giving a small laugh.

She reached up and cupped your face, her eyes set on you. “Is it your turn for a taste?” she whispered.

You didn’t answer, with a flick of your wrist, she was naked, as you went down on her, kissing along her skin, biting her, wanting to make her cry out.

You won’t stop until you’ve consumed every part of her.

#agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness angst #agatha harkness x you #Agatha harkness imagine #Kathryn hahn

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frownyalfred · 3 months ago

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I am trying very, very hard right now not to write the "Ra's reveals Bruce is a killer to the Batkids" fic because I've already cranked out like 20k this week, but if you're looking for somewhere to start I've added some bullet points of how I think it could go down:

Ra's strolls into the Cave and is promptly tackled by the Batkids and thrown in some kind of restraints

This is fine with Ra's, he wants to talk with Bruce but he's content to wait around with the kiddos until his Detective shows up

Jason, Dick, and Tim are all present (by some small miracle Damian is out with Bruce on patrol)

Ra's decides to spend this time taunting and fucking with them one by one, because he already took Tim's spleen so emotional terrorism is his only option at this point

The Batkids have all been trained by Bruce so they know Ra's is full of shit and don't jump at any of his taunts

Ra's decides to change gears and digs his verbal fingers into Jason's recent blow-up fight with Bruce (how does he know about this? doesn't really matter, he just does)

Jason "no one insults Bruce except me" Todd doesn't bite and tells Ra's to butt the fuck out of his business

Ra's gleefully informs Jason, and the other Batkids, that Bruce is a bit of hypocrite, being so strict with him about killing. Considering he's got hundreds if not thousands of deaths on his conscience, at the end of the day

Jason is stunned into silence. Dick and Tim are shaking their heads. Ra's finally gets a reaction and doubles down

Ra's suggests that maybe that rule was formed out of guilt, and how much more useful and powerful Bruce was under his training with the League, how less burdened with mortality he was

Ra's tells Jason he should be proud, to be unburdened like Bruce once was, and to not fall into the trap of agonizing over rightful killing

....that's about when Bruce shows up, Damian in tow

Instead of interrogating Ra's as to why he's waltzing into the Cave, Bruce has to field three horrified looks from Dick, Tim and Jason

Jason points at Ra's, who's smiling, and asks, in the most simple of terms, if it's true. if what he said was true.

Bruce stares at Ra's for a long moment, not saying anything. His face is blank. His fingers curl and uncurl, the only sign of his distress. After an uncomfortable silence, he admits, yes.

It's not guilt, strangely, but resignation.

Anyway that's as far as I got before my next meeting, feel free to steal ANY of this if you'd like to write it! Because I will not be writing it...god willing...

#thoughts #fic ideas #adopt this fic idea #batfamily #ra's al ghul #the league of assassins #bruce wayne #dc #batman #myfic #theresurrectionist #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne

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envy-of-the-apple · 10 months ago

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Dark!Naga!SatoSugu x reader

Top of the Food Chain

I've always wanted to continue my naga!mha fic but considering i dont write for deku+co anymore, i decided to move my au a couple fandoms over:D 1.8k wc

Part two , Part three

(Warnings: animal deaths, blood, obsession, dark content, slight gun threat but not rlly, polyamory, gender ambigious!reader)

Despite being here for nearly a week, you still don't think Satoru understood how delicate you are.

He's overbearing, in that sense. Constantly poking and prodding and squeezing until your lungs give and you're forced to squeak. You can't blame him for not understanding. He's an animal, after all. Inhuman. Despite his skin and hair, the scales coating his tail give away just how different he is. He was probably born fighting, kicking, and screeching his way through the foliage, hunting, chewing, and biting.

He's not like you when all you knew when you were younger was coddling and softness. You can see it in his scars, and bruises, and marks.

Luckily, for you, Suguru had an inkling that you weren't made for sharp claws.

It's not a fight, you can tell when they're fighting, it's more like a warning? A minor disagreement. Suguru hisses at the other naga, scrunching up his face, showing his teeth. Satoru is quick to respond, but a little more playful. Fortunately for you, the black-haired male seems to win the argument. Satoru's coils loosen around you. Air stops fighting its way to get into your lungs.

You finally go lax in his hold. Satoru seems to enjoy that, dipping his head to bury his face into the base of his neck. The first few times he did that, you were afraid he was trying to bite off your jugular. Now, you think it's just another way he can soak up your body heat.

Maybe you've been here for longer than a week. At this point, you couldn't really tell. Hope that you'd be found was starting to slowly fizzle away. The explosion had been massive. The ship had sunk in a matter of minutes. With a disaster that huge, you doubt anyone would still be looking for survivors. Especially on an uncharted island, where myth had turned into reality.

Satoru had been the one you'd woken up to. Washed ashore, barely conscious. You were half-certain he was planning on eating you with the way he held your leg, watching your muscles bend and turn. In his defense, he must have thought you were dead. Your shrill scream quickly convinced him otherwise.

It was barely a fight. More or less, a pathetic kidnapping as he grabbed your body, slinging it over his shoulder. You've never remembered screaming and crying so loudly before, convinced you were about to be eaten. Suguru probably heard you before he saw you.

Satoru's mate was a little less impressed with you. Back then, they didn't bother learning your tongue, speaking in hisses and snarls, unaware of your misery. Suguru's frown was glued on his face, but the naga never let you run away, always keeping a hand or a tail on you at all times. It was a rough first day; you didn't know they weren't interested in eating you until they tried to feed you.

Things were much different back then Nowadays, they are a lot more considerate of yourself and your soft body. You think you've come to an understanding with these strange creatures.

Suguru was the nicest out of the two. In that, you mean the least rough. Compared to his counterpart, he's a bit smaller, but that's not saying there's any real difference. If it comes down to it, you are more than certain he'd be able to kill you off as quickly as his mate. You thought he hated you, at first. Now, you think he has a hard time showing blatant affection. His touches typically come in the dead of night, when you're barely conscious. A clawed finger gently raking over your soft skin. Large hands sculpting your face.

Satoru's eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. Glittering like blue sapphires. You had a feeling they weren't just for show. Time and time again he's proven that he can see better than Suguru could. He smiles a lot more, but you're starting to wonder if that expression translates across species. He can speak your tongue slightly better than Suguru could. It most likely has to do with his insistence on staying with you. The more time you spend with him, the more you have to say 'No' 'Don't touch there' 'Stop'.

In the rare times you manage to escape their hold, you like watching them interact with each other. They often sunbathe for hours, lazing around hot rocks to soak in the heat. They like touching each other. Sometimes it's aggressive, like when Satoru chomps on Suguru's neck and you're suddenly much more aware of how careful he is with you. Other times it's: soft, unintentional, meaningless. Languid cuddling when you are finally able to braid Suguru's hair.

At this point, you've surmised they won't eat you. At least, not for the moment. You don't exactly know what they think of you. Do they have the concept of pets in their worldview? Maybe that's the closest thing you can place yourself as, at least in their eyes. They must think you're helpless. To them, you have no claws, no fangs, no venom. They probably don't know you come from a species that's hunted others to extinction and currently burning down the planet. You must be the first time they've ever seen your kind, stripped away from your weapons, when you're the least dangerous.

"You should be more scared of me, you know," you once whispered to Suguru in the dead of night.

He was dozing off, blearily keeping his eyes open to stare at your moving lips. There was a grunt behind you, and Satoru tightened his arms across your waist. Greedy for affection, even in his sleep.

"Humans are terrifying," you said, reaching out to touch, "top of the food chain."

Suguru had smiled at that. You found yourself smiling back.

"You're lucky I didn't have a gun on me. You probably don't even know what that is." It's dark humor to press two fingers into his forehead. Your way of coping maybe.

Or perhaps your actions prove that humans will always desire to be violent, no matter how perilous their fight may be.

"Bang." He leans into your touch, unafraid. Oblivious to the threat that you are.

You're guessing Satoru only let you go because of the food Suguru brought.

You're able to feel the ground again as he glides over to Suguru having just come back from a successful hunt. The carcass of the largest deer you've ever seen is slung across his back. The smell of blood already makes you nauseous.

You think Suguru had been the most panicked when you refused to eat, clicking and cooing while he tried to force-feed you the bloody leg of a bear. Back then, your communication was even worse than it was now. You were smeared in crimson by the time he relented. Practically dripping in it.

Now, Suguru knows you have different tastes than them. You're not a big fan of raw. The fish and the handful of berries are more than enough to sate you as you gather the items he's given in your hands.

"Thank you," you say. You reach out, touching his face with warm fingers. He purrs into your touch. You smile. It's the least gratitude you can give him. After all, he's not asking for much. If they hadn't found you, you would have been dead long ago, or at least, significantly less weaker. It's the least you can do.

For a moment, you delude yourself into thinking they were your pets. It'd certainly be easy too. They have little to no regard for personal boundaries, much like dogs. They're more animalistic than they are human.

It's funny to think of these monsters as lovable pets.

"Thank you," Suguru repeats. You giggle. It's not like they actually understand you. It's simple mimicry. Like talking to a parrot.

"Thank you!" Satoru chirps, never one to be left out. He pushes his mate out of the way, eager for your pets as well. Suguru hisses, but doesn't argue. You've learned they like to be scratched right there on the bottoms of their chins.

Suguru's less obvious, but Satoru has no desire to pretend. He melts into you, practically slumping his weight into your weak hold. It's a little adorable actually. You give a little laugh. He seems even more pleased at that.

They're fun to be around, but this can't last. You belong with other humans, far far away from this island. So far, you hadn't seen any boats in the horizon, but you hope one would come by soon. A plane would be even better. Close enough to give you hope. Maybe if you built a big enough fire, it'd reach someone eye.

Hopefully, in just a few weeks, these creatures will be a very cherished memory.

You frown when Satoru reaches over to grasp at your food, the meat specifically. You glare, moving away from his hold. He titters in clear disappointment. You hate seeing him sad but you already have so few food sources. It's best to conserve whatever you get.

"No," you pointedly tell him, "It's mine. Mine."

His frown deepens, and he opens his jaws to let his fangs pop out.

"Mine," you repeat.

He leans back, huffing. You laugh because you know his expression is more out of frustration than any actual anger. Again, animals. You pet his head in apology, before turning away. You'd have to start a tiny fire to start cooking. Raw fish is edible, but it's hardly desirable.

A hand grabs yours, clawed, the grip is tight around your frail skin. When you look back, Satoru is staring at you. Eyes wide. Eager.

"Mine," he says, but it's more like he's testing the word. Tasting it on his lips.

You scoff, unamused. "That's my arm. Not yours."

Satoru smiles. Sharp teeth. You suddenly remember he's a carnivore.

He's slow when he draws you in, practically dragging you into his arms. You're used to his spontaneous hugs, tight and suffocating. You can't fight him off, so you typically wait until Suguru has enough of his behavior and drags him off you.

"Mine," Satoru repeats. Alarm bells ring in your head but it's easy to brush them off. It's mimicry. They can't understand. It's like talking to a parrot.

You feel the weight of the other naga at your back. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you against Satoru's chest. You stiffen when Suguru's fangs lightly graze up your neck. Never quite punctures, but is terrifyingly close.

"Mine," Suguru says into your skin.

You laugh again, but it comes out less hesitant. More airy. Amid their hold, a sudden thought comes to you.

If you weren't at the top of the food chain anymore, then who was?

#yandere #dark content #yandere jjk #non con touching #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #dark gojo satoru #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #animal death #language barriers #polygamous relationship #Top of the Food Chain #yandere satosugu #dark satosugu #naga satosugu

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bbydoll18xx · 7 months ago

Text

Plotting and Scheming

Paige Bueckers x reader

When UConn’s wbb team gets tired of Paige’s pining, they concoct a plan to get you into her arms.

Themes: Mutual pining, slight angst, fluff

Word count: 3.3k

I've gotten a lot of love on my other three little fics, so I hope this one is okay, as well. Let me know if you guys have anything specific you'd like me to write!

Here we go!

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You sat on the sidelines of UConn’s basketball court, admiring the girls fiercely practicing. It was still early in the season, but the dream of winning the NCAA championship kept their grit going.

Having met several of the girls on the team early in your college career, the women’s basketball team had adopted you as one of their own. As a nursing student, you were deemed ‘the fixer of boo-boos’ and you were often around to tend to their cuts and scrapes or to answer their ridiculous medical questions.

That’s where it had all started, and you couldn’t believe where you had ended up because of it.

Your eyes bounced back and forth, following the balls and the whipping ponytails. You always felt so much pride watching them; they were your girls.

Your gaze finds Paige, as it always tends to, and you are mesmerized. She runs, throwing the ball from half court and making it into the basket effortlessly. Without thinking, you stand up, whooping and clapping rambunctiously. She makes eye contact with you, sending you a wink and blowing you a kiss dramatically. Your stomach lurches at the display of affection towards you, and you blush, causing you to glance around making sure no one saw.

Your feelings for the tall blonde had only grown as you got to know her throughout the last several years. She made you feel giddy, like a child with a school crush. As much as you enjoyed being her friend, you had wanted something more for a long time now.

You’d never admit that though. To anyone.

The other girls had spent countless hours trying to get you to admit your feelings for Paige. You held firm, though, vehemently denying any pull or attraction. They would over analyze every interaction between the two of you, and they loved the way your cheeks would bloom with pink from Paige’s compliments and affections.

In fact, they were absolutely sure that the reason you broke up with your douchebag ex-boyfriend, Zach, was because of your feelings for Paige.

They did not need to know that was actually the case, thank you very much.

It had been on the forefront of your thoughts for weeks before the night where everything had finally exploded.

You had dragged Zach along to the bar where the basketball team was partying it up, hoping your man would distract you from the longingness you felt for your friend. You felt such a pull towards Paige, and it fucking terrified you.

You had walked into the bar with Zach, his hand around your waist possessively. The touch reminded you of the last time you and Paige had gone out drinking together. Trying to ignore how you wished it was slimmer and more feminine, you had allowed Zach to lead you towards where the team had gathered in a circle.

The girls cheered as they saw you approach, thrusting a drink into your hand, encouraging you to catch up to their drunkenness. You glanced around, trying to find Paige in the crowd.

“Well look who it is,” you heard from behind you. Whipping your head around, you were met with the familiar smirk of your favorite blonde.

“Paige!” you exclaimed, running up to give her a hug, eliciting an eye roll from your boyfriend. You pretended you didn’t see it to keep the peace. You melted into Paige’s embrace, feeling more comfortable in the moment than you had in days.

“K, Bueckers, you can get your grimy hands off my fuckin’ girlfriend,” Zach had sniped, walking away. Pretending as if the man did not even exist, Paige had looked down at you with a wide grin. It was getting harder to overlook her effect on both you and your relationship.

The rudeness and nastiness directed at Paige had immediately sent you over the edge.

‘How fucking dare he talk to my girl like that,’ you had thought.

In a sudden fury, you stomped over to him, already busy staring lewdly at some girl who was dancing provocatively in front of him.

“You can fuck off. Paige can put her hands on me any time she’d like. We’re through. Kiss my ass!” you spat. You spun on your heel and marched back towards the team feeling lighter than you had in months.

“Let's do shots!” you screamed, missing the fond look Paige was giving you.

You snap out of your daydream as you see Paige sauntering over to you where you sat in the bleachers.

“Enjoying the show, huh?” she questions smugly.

Feeling generous, you nod with a genuine smile. “You guys are doing so great already. You’re gonna go far this season; I can feel it.” The candor of your words causes Paige to beam.

“Listen, we’re all getting drinks tonight at Ted’s. You gonna come with us?”

“Oh I don't know, I've got homework and stuff…” you trail off, trying to find a suitable excuse.

Paige all but pouts. “The girls really want you there. They all told me,” she says knowingly. As if she had planned it, Azzi, KK, and Nika walk over to join you two, all sweaty from practice.

KK all but jumps on you, causing you to groan under the sudden weight of her body being thrown against you.

“Y’all, please convince this one over here to join us tonight,” Paige pleads, turning back toward you with wide eyes.

You giggle as the girls all jump in, interrupting each other in an attempt to persuade you to come out with them.

You cut them off, trying to stop the cacophony that was echoing off the walls of the gym.

“I would love to come, but I really have a lot of work to catch up on,” you reason. “If I finish up early, I’ll text you, Paige.”

Paige nods at this, but you don’t miss the glum look that flits across her face. You sigh half-heartedly, suddenly feeling guilty. You hated making excuses. It was just so hard sometimes, liking her.

“Have fun, guys,” you wave before making your exit from the arena.

As you walk back to your dorm, you feel the pit in your stomach grow larger, enveloping you. Of course you wanted to spend time with Paige, but pining mixed with alcohol and the sensual music of a bar would cause cracks in the hard foundation of your skillful indifference.

You had been perfecting it since freshman year, but with the way Paige had you feeling lately, you knew it wouldn’t take much for everything to come crashing down.

Walking through your door and sitting at your computer, you get to work, trying to distract yourself. After reviewing your notes for the tenth time and finishing your nursing care plan, you glance at the clock.

Fuck.

It was only 10:30. The girls would probably just be arriving at the bar now, and you really wanted to go meet up with them.

‘Screw it,” you think. You are going to get drunk tonight, and you’re gonna look hot. You whip out your phone and send a quick text to Paige. Your heart races as she instantly responds. You needed to get your shit in order. Your emotions could not get the best of you tonight.

Over at Ted’s, Paige’s bored expression had quickly turned into an excited grin, causing her teammates to exchange looks of interest.

“What’s got you smiling like that, P?” asks Nika.

“More like who,” smirks KK, glancing at Paige’s phone at your text.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Paige grumbles, trying to hide her blush with her drink.

“Oh c’mon, Paige, this crush is getting ridiculous. Just tell the damn girl you like her,” Azzi demands. “We’re all getting tired of watching you pine over her.”

“Pine?” sputters Paige. “I’m hardly pining. If anything, I’m just admiring…” she trails off.

“Sure, P,” KK drawls sarcastically. “Nothing like admiring your friend’s ass.”

The other girls snort derisively. KK was not at all off base with that observation.

“Whatever, I need another drink,” grumbles Paige. “Gotta be drunk when my friend shows up.”

Paige walks off, and the second her teammates lose sight of her, they circle up to discuss.

“Jesus, we really need to do something to fix this shit,” Ice says firmly.

“For real, this is straight embarrassing now!” KK agrees loudly.

Azzi contemplates for a second, before a smirk slides onto her face. “I know what we can do. The only way to get Paige to make a move is to make her super jealous. We can all take turns flirting, and boom! We’ll have two happy lovebirds before we even know it!”

The ploy causes the other girls to laugh hysterically, reveling in the idea of a jealous Paige.

“Sounds perfect!” Nika laughs. “Paige is gonna hate us, but she will be fine once she finally admits her feelings.”

The rest of the girls agree, sipping their drinks and taking great pleasure in what would be coming.

About an hour later, you walk into the bar feeling incredibly anxious. You were confident in the way you looked; tight jeans with rips that allowed the smooth flesh of your upper thigh to peak out, and a top that showed off your curves deliciously. Lips glossy and hair blown out, you were alluring, wanting all eyes on you tonight. You figured if you got hit on enough, you could distract yourself from Paige’s enticement. Little did you know it’d be at the hands of her own teammates.

You stretched your neck, scouring the bar for the basketball team. Considering their height, they were easy to spot. Flouncing over, you are greeted with the loud, drunken cheers of your favorite girls.

You giggle at their enthusiasm, suddenly feeling more at ease. You look around, trying to spot the long blonde hair and the wide smile that constantly occupies your consciousness.

“Where’s P?” you ask casually, trying to avoid any suspicion. This causes the faces of the aforementioned teammates to exchange sly glances that immediately have you worried.

“Oh, she's just over by the bar talking to some brunette,” Nika responds, attempting to gauge your reaction. Luckily, you had been training for this over the last several years.

Did it fucking hurt? Sure, it was like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a fucking knife, but no biggie. You could handle it.

“Cool,” you mumble, staying aloof. “I’m gonna grab a drink...”

Your reaction causes the girls to hoot with laughter once you’re out of reach.

“This is so mean. I feel bad,” mutters Caroline. “I thought we were only going to make Paige jealous…”

“It’s more fun this way. It’s like a secret mission!” KK exclaims. “Getting both of them jealous is fuckin’ perfect.”

As you walk over to the bar, you see Paige talking to a girl. She is smiling in a way that had your stomach doing somersaults, and your face screws up into a look of annoyance. Attempting to ignore the obnoxious giggles of the girl Paige was wooing, you flag down the bartender and order a double of your favorite drink. Lord knows you would need the extra alcohol tonight.

You look around apprehensively, trying to move time forward with your brain. Your sobriety, in addition to the crammed bar, had you feeling panicked. You needed to get away from Paige before you combusted from jealousy.

Thanking the bartender, who finally slides your drink towards you, you head back to the basketball team, eventually catching Paige's attention.

Pretending you didn’t see your blonde best friend, you bring your straw to your lips in a seductive manner, catching it with your tongue and relishing in the way the alcohol begins to cloud your inhibitions.

Paige trails behind you, desperately trying to avoid staring at your jean-clad ass.

KK doesn’t miss this. Neither does Ice. They share shit-eating grins, making mocking faces towards Paige, who flips them off in return, a look of embarrassment covering her face.

You finally turn around, giving up your bit of pretend indifference.

“Oh hey, P,” you say breezily. “Didn’t see you behind me.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi is already wrapping her free hand around your waist, bringing her closer to you. She says, “I missed you. C’mon, let’s go dance.”

The blonde’s eyes narrow, but Azzi is already leading you towards the brightly colored dance floor before she could respond to you.

“The fuck?” Paige mumbles under her breath as the rest of the team exchanges deranged giggles at her shock.

The truth was that Paige was terrible at sharing. Especially you. Even before she wanted anything more than a friendship with you, Paige slightly resented anyone who took away your time and attention from her.

The signs were so clear. So fucking clear.

Half of the girls follow you to the dance floor, leaving the others to stay with a pouting Paige. Her reaction to Azzi’s contact gives you the tiniest amount of hope, and it gives you a second wind of confidence.

You dance with the girls, slightly confused at their antics. You were close with all of them, but the touching and incessant compliments had your head spinning.

What the hell was going on?

Paige was usually the one clinging to you, wanting to make you blush and giggle. Tonight she was acting like a wounded puppy. Her face continuously flashing between a clenched jaw of annoyance and straight bitterness.

Your attempts to avoid looking at her were futile. This did not go unnoticed by the team, who looked like they were enjoying your longingness way too much.

You look up at Azzi, begging her with your eyes to tell you what was going on with Paige tonight.

“Why is she acting like this?” you ask no one in particular, just trying to deduce the weird energy that had accompanied the entire night. The girls shrug and avoid the question altogether, carrying on with their laughing and gyrating.

You sigh, exhausted from the game they were clearly playing. You needed more alcohol or it was going to be a rough night; you were too sober to deal with this.

“C’mon, shake those hips,” an evidently very drunk Nika, whispers in your ear with a smirk. She brings a hand down to rest on your waist, the other trailing down your back…lower and lower. You look at her, slightly shocked at the affection. Before Nika’s hand could even reach your ass, you feel yourself being ripped away from her by a swearing Paige.

“What the actual fuck, dude?” Paige all but yells at her Croatian teammate, her eyes wild with anger and her jaw clenched with an impressive amount of control.

Nika just laughs at Paige’s overreaction, along with every other girl on the team.

“What’s wrong, P?” Azzi asks with a mocking tone. “Pissed that someone other than you touched your girl?”

Paige’s voice falters as she responds, “she’s not my girl…just don’t want her to be uncomfortable or whatever…”

Hearing Azzi refer to you as Paige’s girl made your head spin. What the fuck does that mean?

Your head quickly bounces between a smirking Nika, an uncomfortable-looking Paige, and the rest of the team, who were trying and failing, to hold in their laughter.

“I’m confused…” you trail off in a quiet attempt to get some answers.

A few seconds of silence pass before KK breaks it. “Girl boo, just talk to Paige. And use protection.”

Excuse me, what?

The girls vacate the area, leaving you and the blonde staring at each other, both afraid to make the first move.

“Let’s walk back to my apartment. We can talk there,” Paige finally mutters.

You let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Things felt vulnerable. Like one wrong move and everything would come crashing down into oblivion. You didn't want your relationship with Paige to be ruined; your one-sided crush already disrupting the delicate balance of it all.

The ten minute walk back to Paige’s felt like years. The air was heavy, constricting your entire being. You held back a sob as the dread seeped into your soul. You couldn’t let Paige see you cry; it was embarrassing enough knowing that she probably already knew of your feelings.

You would get through this. Just let her let you down easy and then you could escape.

As you mentally plan the funeral for your friendship, Paige reaches for your hand, cold from the bitter chill of the night. Your reflexes are quick, wanting to rip it away from her in an attempt to guard the tiniest bit of pride left in you, but you still.

Nevertheless, you wanted her. And even worse, you needed her. So you allow her to gently take your hand, interlacing your fingers and rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin soothingly.

It felt so intimate, and the tears in your eyes threatened to spill over your cheeks once more. You glance up, feeling relief as you spot the parking lot of the apartment building.

As you enter Paige’s room, you look around, trying to memorize everything that made up your friend. ‘This’ll probably be the last time I’ll be here,’ you think solemnly, gazing at the purple comforter thrown haphazardly over the unmade bed. No more giddy nights spent pressed against the blonde, praying she can’t feel the thumping of your heart as she cuddles you.

You sit on the bed warily, readying yourself for the rejection from your most favorite person in the entire world.

Paige can tell you’re anxious. You unconsciously pick at your fingernails, and your bottom lip is already swollen from being habitually bitten.

She sits beside you, placing a hand over yours again, as if she thinks it belongs there for some reason. In your version of the story, it did. Everything that was yours belonged to Paige.

“I have to tell you something. And I'm really not sure how you’ll react…” Paige trails off, hesitant of how to approach the situation. She clears her throat and continues, “I have feelings for you. I know you probably don’t feel the same, but it’s fine. And the girls knew tonight and were messin’ with me. They thought if they made me jealous enough, I’d do somethin’ about my feelings. And I guess they were kinda right.”

Upon hearing the long winded confession, your ears start ringing and your heart feels as if it might actually combust.

She has feelings for you?

You pinch your thigh, slightly wincing at the pain before your face slides into an elated grin. This was actually real.

She has feelings for you.

Paige searches your face for some sort of guess on how you were reacting to her maundering. With the alcohol still in your system and the shock of her words still reverberating through you, you could do nothing except launch yourself at her gorgeous mouth.

She squeals, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden movement before realizing that the pining she had been doing the last several years was in fact mutual.

Your lips collide, fuckin’ finally, in a kiss that could only be described as heavenly. It was passionate and slow, deliberately savoring the feel and taste of what had been only daydreams for a very long time.

Ultimately needing to break away for some air, you gaze at each other, reveling in the idea that the pain and heartbreak of years of pining and jealousy was no longer. It was peaceful. It made sense to you, though. Paige was your peace, and you were hers.

Laying down together, you whisper fondly, “I love your teammates so much. Even if their methods are a bit crazy, they really do mean well.”

Paige chuckles in reply. “We are so getting them back for that little stunt, though, right?”

“Of course,” you hum. “Two can play at that game.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #mutual pining #angst with a happy ending #friends to lovers #paige x reader #paige

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 months ago

Note

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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teaspacebar · 3 months ago

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, ��You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

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underthetree845 · 4 months ago

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chuuya taking his hat off to hide when he kisses his partner 🤭

Hello saturn lovely! Sorry this took me so long to finish TwT I love the prompt, but as you know writer's block hit me kinda hard the second semester of school so over the summer I've been trying to get back into the swing of posting once in a while!

Hope you enjoy <3 thank you for the request! _

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

Nakahara Chuuya/Reader (oneshot request)

cws: fem! reader, established relationship, bungou stray dogs s5 spoilers, meursault arc spoilers, fluff, hurt/comfort kinda? there was a little hurt, reuniting, airport reunion, ada dazai, reader cries about 2.5k words summary: Chuuya disappeared on a business trip for three whole days with no explanation- and no one would tell you why. Now he's returned to japan and back in your arms. a/n: This is my last fic for the summer before school starts aaa qwq I'm glad I was able to finish it before the semester starts though! *sigh* am I really incapable of writing something like this without accidentally creating so much plot? Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3 divider credit: (x) (x) ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ Chuuya had never considered himself to be a very possessive man; or a possessive boyfriend, for that matter. Protective, sure, but how could anyone expect him not to be? He understood, probably better than most, the risks that came with even so much as associating with a person in his position. It made Chuuya’s stomach churn unpleasantly to even imagine putting you in any sort of danger, so he used his position (along with the power and assets that came with it) to take certain preventative measures. The penthouse you shared was equipped with state of the art security, a technological system truly fit for an executive of the Port Mafia. Additionally, in case you ever needed to travel long distances without him, Chuuya often kept a trusted chauffeur on call. This individual also happened to be a professionally trained underground bodyguard of his personal selection. Even so, Chuuya knew you had a good head on your shoulders. He trusted that you would try to keep yourself out of trouble, or call for him at the first sign of it. It didn’t matter if he was on the road, halfway through a private meeting, or in the middle of pummeling down an enemy organization. Chuuya had always been a man with his priorities set straight. Not even Mori’s notifications were set to come through on silent mode. Coming home to you at the end of the day, allowing you to soothe away the crease between his brows, your voice uttering sweet nothings against the shell of his ear. You had become his lifeline, irreversibly carved your name into every cell of his body. He’d do anything to erase your pain, and it was making his heart break more than anything to know that he was the cause of the salty tears now streaming over your lash line. Chuuya did his best to hold back an ‘oof’ when you threw your frame into his own, burying your sobs in the crook of his neck. He was immediately overwhelmed with the scent of your perfume, the familiar feeling of your body against his own, the softness of the sweater you wore, and the glimmer that never seemed to escape your eyes. The red colored contacts from earlier had given Chuuya one hell of a headache, which only added to the pressure from taking off and being stuck in one of the mafia’s smallest private jets with the most insufferable jackass he’d ever met and some hair dye obsessed casino manager passed out on one of the couches. Chuuya’s gloved fingers almost trembled as they gripped the fabric of your shirt. He lifted a hand to cradle the back of your head while the other remained planted firmly on your lower back.

Sakaguchi Ango, if Chuuya remembered correctly, stood a few yards away. He simply observed the situation from afar, as if he dared not insert himself into the scene. A government agent whom Dazai used to maintain his connection with the outside world. Ango stood with one hand folded neatly over the other behind his back, the faint ghost of a smile residing behind his glasses as he watched Dazai reunite with his fellow agency members. The brunette walked on a crutch, but the uncharacteristically tired look in his eyes brightened ever so slightly when he was swarmed by his coworkers. Chuuya continued to hold you close, patiently waiting for your sobs to die down enough for you to be able to speak coherently. He loosened his grip slightly, removing one of his leather gloves behind your back and bringing that same hand up to cup your face. A whisper of your name left his lips, and your teary eyes finally refocused to meet the warmth of his own. “Chuuya… how could you just leave?” your voice cracked; he could see the hurt in your eyes. Guilt crept into his chest, eyebrows knitting together as you subconsciously leaned into his palm. This was exactly the sort of thing Chuuya promised himself he’d never do. You were the absolute number one priority in his life. There was no doubt in his mind; he didn’t want there to be any doubt in yours either. “I know, Doll, ‘m sorry, it was never my intention…” he muttered, allowing you to rest your hands on his chest. “I know that’s a shit excuse, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” A beat of silence passed, the indistinct chatter of the agency fell on deaf ears as you zoned in on the man in front of you. His breath, the way his eyes searched your expression, how you could once again feel the warmth of his skin against your own. “You’re not hurt, are you?” your voice was pricked with concern, hands gentle as you cupped his jaw and turned his head from side to side. Chuuya let out a breath, fondness flickering in his irises at your concern. “Barely a scratch,” he murmured, and you seemed to accept his answer. “Chuuya,” you started, and his gaze locked onto yours. He voiced your name in response. “I need you to promise me something, please?” “Anything.”

You bit your lip. Your mind told you it was a selfish request. You understood, probably better than most, how unpredictable your boyfriend’s line of work could be. But you had accepted it as an adequate price to pay for his love when the two of you started seeing each other, even more so when you moved in together. He was yours, you believed it with every fiber of your being. Chuuya had told enough stories of his old work partner for you to gather that the two had never exactly been the chummiest of pals. So the fact that they cooperated for this mission must’ve meant that it couldn’t have been a minor dilemma. You understood why Chuuya made the decision he did, and that it was probably just as difficult on him. Albeit, that didn’t make your feelings any less real. Your heart reminded you of the unconditional love and comfort that Chuuya always offered you. You knew he’d never intentionally hurt your feelings, especially not without talking it out and making up for it in some way afterward. “Doll…?” he barely breathed, giving you all the space you needed to voice what was on your mind. You took a deep breath. “Don’t… please don’t scare me like that again,” your voice wavered as you spoke, “Everything on the news is scary. And every time I watch it all I can think about is the fact that you’re out there.” You took a moment to glance at the group of Armed Detective Agency members on the airport runway to your left. One of the so-called terrorists you heard about on the news stood amongst the group about ten feet away from where you watched. The world was confusing, and scary, but there was a certain security in your heart that told you as long as you had Chuuya by your side, everything would be okay. “First you’re leaving before sunrise and staying out late on special missions, and I get it, I really do…” you felt a lump beginning to form in your throat, threatening to make you choke over your words, “but then you just leave on a business trip to Europe without so much as a ‘goodbye, I’ll be home soon’? And I have to find out from a call from your boss? I didn’t- I still don’t understand what’s happening. Do you know how scared I was? That I might not ever see you again?” Chuuya’s thumb swiped away the teardrop that ran down your cheek, his eyes trailing over your expression. “You’re right, it’s not fair… I don’t think I could ever apologize enough,” he began, his hold on you tightening slightly, “All that I can ask is for you to understand. I can explain everything to you when we get home. And I promise, I’ll do my best to not leave you in the dark so suddenly. It was an urgent mission, but it must have been scary. You’ll never have to feel like that again, not if I can help it.” Chuuya’s face softened, the corners of your lips curving up slightly at his sincerity as he cupped your cheek. “Shit… you deserve so much better.” You stood there for a moment, just breathing. Soaking in each other’s presence as your heartbeat gradually fell back to its usual pace.

“My my, Slug, is this the lovely lady you were so eager to get back to?” a voice chimed from your left, and you turned your head to face the man at the same time Chuuya snapped his head in that direction. Your boyfriend clicked his teeth, pressing your body closer to his own. “What’s it to you, huh, Dazai?” Chuuya was clearly trying to suppress his irritation. He was doing especially well, considering the fact that he had been holed up next to Dazai on an airplane for the past fourteen hours. “I’m just trying to acquaint myself,” the man went on, a grin playing on his lips despite Chuuya’s glare, “As a responsible owner, I should at least make sure my dog is in good hands.” You tilted your head slightly, and Chuuya sucked in a breath. “You’re treading on some pretty thin ice, Mackerel,” he growled through gritted teeth, “Watch what you say around my girl.” The taller man only took a step forward, his eyes glittering in amusement, a sharp contrast to the hollowed out, almost dead look he carried earlier. “Oh? Holding back your more vulgar language around the lady?” Dazai hummed with mild intrigue, “Perhaps my dog is being well taken care of.” You simply stood and watched with intrigue, the interaction clearly more complex than distinguishable at first glance. Despite their constant verbal jabs and ostentatious insults toward each other, there was a sense of familiarity between the two that was almost palpable to you. They bounced off each other, knowing exactly which buttons to press and which ones to avoid. It was probably a welcome change of tone in contrast to what they had just been through. Your gaze flickered between the two once more, and you couldn’t help but notice how the tension in Chuuya’s shoulders had been released. “Dazai-san?” your voice was level, and both of the men fell silent to give you their attention. You looked at your beloved, then to his ex-partner, then Chuuya, then Dazai again. Mirth swam in your eyes. “I want to thank you for making sure Chuuya was able to return home safely today. Truly, I cannot thank you enough.” You gave a slight bow of your head, and Chuuya looked like he wanted to protest. For once, Dazai didn’t immediately produce a response; he fell silent at your sentiment. This time, a gentler smile curved onto his lips. “Please spare me, Miss,” Dazai began, “Truth be told, I don’t believe I could have made it out without Chuuya’s help either.” The redhead raised his eyebrows. "I'm passing him into your capable hands now. I trust you’ll take good care of him?” Dazai seemed satisfied with the chuckle that slipped from your throat. “You have nothing to worry about,” you replied, “And I trust that your detective agency will treat you well?” “They always have.” Chuuya let out a breath, sharing a look with his partner before turning to face a black passenger vehicle that had pulled up a short distance away. Tinted windows that prevented anyone outside from peeking in; glass, body, and tires that were all bulletproof. It was one of the mafia’s.

“C’mon Dollface, we should get going. Don’t wanna be here when the press shows up, and the boss is probably dying for me to give him a call,” Chuuya nodded his head in the direction of the car; you brought your hand up to give a small wave to Dazai and the handful of agency members further away who glanced in your direction. You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in, allowing your head to rest on Chuuya’s shoulder as you made your way to the car. You felt like you could finally breathe properly again. The door unlocked with a quiet click. Chuuya swung open the door of the vehicle with his non gloved hand and stepped aside to allow you to enter first. “...Chuu?” you started quietly, taking a step closer to where he stood. “Hm?” he raised an eyebrow. You placed your hands loosely on the back of his neck, fingers intertwined; Chuuya responded by resting his hands on your hips, listening intently. You could have held more of a grudge. He disappeared overnight without a word, and no one would tell you why. You’d been on edge for three days straight. Hardly even sleeping through the night as you kept up with the news almost obsessively, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. To be able to hold Chuuya close again so easily felt almost surreal. A soft smile creeped into your expression, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you tilted your head to the side. Chuuya’s breath stilled. “I’m just…” you paused for a moment, your voice pouring with sincerity, “I’m really glad you’re back, and that you’re safe.” Chuuya paused for another moment, studying you carefully as an equally tender look came to his face. He glanced to the side for a moment, and let out a disgruntled huff upon discovering that Dazai’s head was still tilted in your direction; he kept a curious eye on the situation from several meters away. Your boyfriend pursed his lips for a moment before snaking one of his hands further around your waist. He plucked his pork pie hat off the crown of his head, and before you had the chance to realize what was going on, you were already being gracefully tilted backwards, forcing your hands to grip onto the lapel of Chuuya’s jacket for support. Everything seemed to still the moment he slotted his lips into yours, holding his hat up to act as a shield from certain prying eyes. You didn’t hesitate to pull him in closer, your lashes fluttering shut as you savored what you felt like you had been missing for an eternity. Chuuya’s eyes were shut in concentration, his heart thrumming with delight at the familiar sensation of your lips molded against his own. Chuuya didn’t pull away until you were both light-headed from the lack of air. Cheeks flooded with warmth, looking at each other as if you were the only two people in the entire world. “I missed you so fucking much, you know that?” Chuuya’s voice was low as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. The two of you stood straight, lingering in each other’s embrace for a moment longer. Chuuya lightly tossed his hat inside the car and once more gestured with his arm out for you to enter first. The satisfied smile on his lips morphed into one of slight perplexion when you didn’t show a reaction, raising your fingertips to brush over your lips. “Chuuya?” you questioned, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He replied with your name, all the more puzzled when you let out an incredulous chuckle. “Since when are your teeth so sharp?”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ a/n: Thank you so much for reading! Have a day/night/morning/evening as lovely as yourself. tagging: @judasgot-it (I noticed that I wrote down that I agreed to tag you for chuuya fics but I can't seem to remember why?? TwT please tell me if this is incorrect! Thank you <3)

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lavandulawrites · 3 months ago

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This is my first request and I'm not sure how to do it but ever since Delico's Nursery came out I've been begging for someone to write about them and I've been wanting to read something about Gerhard and Angelico, maybe one where the reader is Angelico's mom and She tries to make Gerhard's attitude a little softer with Angelico, or where the reader spends a day with Angelico, anyway, if you read this, I appreciate it and you don't need to take the ideas here into account as long as you do something about them. I'm happy. Hahaha I don't know how to end that so I hope you're okay :)))

A Good Father

Gerhard Fra x reader

It’s kinda sad how I’m the only one who has written Delico’s Nursery fanfic here on Tumblr:,) we desperately need more fics!! (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Synopsis: you (Gerhard’s wife) try to change Gerhard’s behaviour towards his son.

Your husband was a busy man who was as prideful as a lion. He prioritised his duties before his own son. You understood very well that his duties were important, but you saw yourself sick of his negligence of his three year old.

“Gerhard! Come here” you called out to your husband.

It didn’t take long before you heard his boots against the hardwood floors. A blond head picked in the door way. “What is it, [Name]?” his deep voice soft. He had always been so kind to you. It had surprised you at first how soft he was deep down.

“How was it at Dali’s? Did Angelico have fun?” you ask as you take a sip of your apple cinnamon tea.

The tall vampire huffed. “It was exhausting. I still don’t get why he thinks raising our children together why working on that case is a good idea”. He took a seat at the table. “I suppose he had fun… He behaved rather well.”

“That’s good. I trust that you spent some time with him and didn’t leave all the responsibility to Dali?” you rose your brow at him in a stern manner.

Gerhard swallowed as he leaned slightly back in his chair. “I played a little bit with him. But that is fitting for a nobleman.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes which earned a glare from the blond man. “Your role as a father is to spend time with your son.”

“He needs his father to be there for him. You will regret it when you’re older, you know. He is three years old for gods sake!” you raised your voice in frustration.

Gerhard remained silent after you finished your reprimand. He rubbed his forehead. “I get what you mean but-”

“No. You don’t get what I mean do you? If you did, you would already be spending time with Angelico” you were getting tired of his attitude and stubbornness.

His eyes found yours before he looked away. After staying silent for a moment he opened his mouth. “Okay fine, I will from now on out spend more time with Angelico.”

You pulled the corner of your lips up into a smile. “Good! I can promise you, it won’t take long before you find playing with him fun” you rose to your feet and rounded the table. You leaned down and kissed Gerhard softly on the lips. “You will turn out to be a wonderful dad. I’m sure of it.”

#delico’s nursery #delico's nursery fanfiction #delico's nursery fanfic #delico's nursery x reader #gerhard fra #gerhard fra x reader

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago

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Hi Bunny,

I've been following your page for awhile and was wondering if I could order some John Price Lemon slices and beer brownies on the house??

I adore your stories and writing style, and you are in fact someone's girlfriends favorite author 😌

Hope your day is wonderful n thank you ♥︎

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i know i've been horribly lacking at call of duty bakery fics! but with call of duty i'll get an idea in my head that is seperate than the bakery fics. i still deeply love my boys (and esp john price), so i'll try to be more on top of the call of duty fics because so many of you have been so sweet with your prompts <3 (also john price would totally love beer brownies just as a dessert, lol)

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." + beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog." + on the house (matcha latte: collars/bondage)

cw: smut/pwp, dom!price, sub!reader, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (20s/40s), wife!reader, wife/domestic kink, carpet sex, oral sex, pet names (puppy, baby girl)

price liked being the man of the house. while most times your relationship was an equal affair. price admired you like flowers did the sun. he'd never hurt his baby girl, even with the age gap that would make some gawk at. a man in his near fifties with a woman who was just out of university. plus, he made her a stay-at-home wife within three months of dating?

there had to be something else going on. even your parents were a little shocked at the news. but neither of you cared, you were happy. and since your parents wouldn't let you move in with such an older man, the only thing to do was to get married. and now every night price got to be the man of the house and have his lovely girl serve him.

after dinner was served you were on your knees in front of him while he watched television. it was hard for him to focus on the game while your nose was nestled against his dark pubic hair. his grip on the can of beer was tight, any tighter and he'd crush the thing in his palm.

he was so much bigger than you, stronger than you. there was a weight to him that could leave you pinned under him. he was so strong and masculine that you couldn't help yourself but be enthralled by him. you continued to pleasure him orally, but occasionally you made small noises which was accompanied by your thighs rubbing together.

"i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." he said as he took you by the head of the head and made you look at him. you panted heavily and looked at him with a lustful expression across your features. poor little wifey got too excited.

price chuckled and patted your cheek a roughly, "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog." he laughed a little, "maybe i should get the collar out, since you like being my puppy so badly." you whined in response and price pulled away to tuck himself back in his jeans. when he got up, he looked down at you and said, "you stay put, i don't need you getting in trouble, baby girl." then left for the bedroom.

you waited patiently and felt heat curl in your gut. you liked price like this, domineering. when he used his age, height, size against you. when he made you feel small in the best ways. when he returned you could see the green collar in his hands.

it wasn't a neon green, but rather a rich forest green. you swallowed and shifted a little in your spot. when he sat down on the couch with a 'huff' he patted his thigh so you'd climb onto his lap. you did without question and he placed the pretty collar around your neck. then his hand was on your bare thigh, he got to see you naked up close. after dinner you stripped down to give your husband dessert.

"pretty little thing." he said, his voice hot. you squirmed a little at his hands on you. on between your legs and the other supporting your back. he made a vow to love and protect you. even when you panted heavily from his touches.

his calloused fingertips grazed across your wet cunt and he dipped his head against your neck where he laid kisses across the heated skin.

"john."

"i got ya, sweetheart. my little pet." he teased your clit a little and you shuddered. he pulled you closer to him and teased your clit a little more before he said, "get on your hands and knees, beautiful. your mouth isn't enough tonight."

you scurried off, you were naked save for the ankle socks with little bows on them and the pretty green collar. you got onto the carpet and rested your face against your arms with your hips raised. price took one last swig of his beer before he got up and rubbed himself through his jeans. you looked at your husband, coyly, "like this?"

"i've trained you so well." he said as got down on the carpet. while a this age, it was hard to do it on the floor. but, he knew it was either that or up against the couch. the latter would only cause more pain in price's bad knee.

"thank you." you blushed, heat rose in your cheeks as you felt his pointer and middle finger touch your achy cunt again. your back arched. then you heard the clatter of his belt being fully taken off.

"this is how a wife should greet her husband every night. give him a fully belly and you walk away with a full cunt. ya like when i make a mess of her, don't ya?" he watched your back arch from his words. he got his cock out of his jeans and rubbed the slick head up against your pussy, "been missin' her. had to finish myself off in the washroom at work because i was thinkin' about it."

price hated to admit it, but he loved the differences between you two. he kept his pretty wife happy at home, and maybe soon you'd have some company with a pet or a baby. price wasn't getting any younger, about time he used the last of his swimmers for something good.

he pushed his cock into you with ease and watched your tense up. it was really hot. in his honest opinion, you looked beyond beautiful. he was glad he got a ring on you as soon as he did because if anyone else tried to get their hands on you. that would be a problem. you whimpered and clawed into the cream carpet.

you knew your knees were going to be raw by the time your husband was done with you. but, you'd happily accept it regardless.

his pace was steady, on the faster side but every thrust had a force that made your toes curled. you loved your big, hairy husband. you adored how he made you feel, how he could easily move and twist you to his liking. he was dominant and strong, he never wanted his wife to worry.

"that's a good girl, my good little puppy. hearin' your little noises right now." he groaned, "you're a beautiful little thing. you know exactly how to get me goin'. lettin' my fuck you until you see stars." his pace picked up and you gasped into the floor.

"john." you arched your back. your body craved your husband. more than most else. you were never a party girl, but even if you were, your drug of choice would be having your husband, the cervix bully, make you cum time and time again.

it was slightly price's fault why you never went to parties. when he was home from deployment, he wanted to savour every moment with you. hard to go out with friends on a friday when price had you in a full nelson on his bed with his cock hitting just the right places. price didn't need boys sniffing around what was his. not that you'd give them the time of day. he held onto your hips tightly and pushed you further into the carpet as his cock dragged against your softest areas.

he said, "so pretty under me. you take me so well." you could feel your heartbeat in the back of your head as he continued to push up right against you. the feeling was erotic, as were the sounds of your sweet moans, "pretty in your collar. maybe i should've just gotten you a collar instead of a ring. a nice leash as well to make sure that you didn't go runnin' off. be a proper pup for me." he groaned as he continued to fuck you.

his motor mouth made heat wash over you. it was hot in a way that made you want to cry out for more. poor mrs. price, must be such a shame to get fucked into a state of bliss by your domineering, stronger husband.

it wasn't long before you could feel the sparks in your brain as you panted heavily against the carpet. your knees were rubbed raw as were your forearms. thankfully not carpet burn on your face (this time). you panted heavily before you let out a sweet noise, your attempt to tell your lover you were cumming. your cunt tightened around his cock, which only spurred your husband to move faster.

"that's it, that's my baby girl." he groaned as he rammed his cock as fast as he could. he could hear your soft, post-orgasm moans. your back arched a little more before they dropped. which meant price had to hold onto them to get at the right angle of your pussy, "my good little wife."

a few more heavy thrusts and price finished inside of you. trusting you to keep the boys safe.he gripped onto your hips and really pushed into you as he tensed up. he then relaxed and felt his heart hammering in his chest as he slowly pulled out.

a string of cum connected his cock to your pussy. really a match made in heavy. he licked his lips before he slowly got up with a bit of help from the coffee table. he wasn't the spry young man that he used to be. but you loved that about him, your burly old man.

not that you'd say that to him.

your hips dropped as you laid on the floor for a moment. achy and feeling euphoric at the same time. it was cute in price's eyes, after he got his cock back into his jeans once more. he picked up his wife and held you in his arms. he kissed your heated cheeks while you wrapped a leg around his waist for support.

"i got ya, baby girl. now let's get the wife to bed before i get hungry again." he knew you were on another planet right now. you held onto your husband tightly until he tucked you naked into bed, with the covers pulled up to your chin.

"what about the dinner dishes?" you asked.

price patted your cheek, "don't worry about them, beautiful. i can handle them." then let you rest with the familiar collar around your throat. <3

321 notes · View notes

jnnul · 6 months ago

Text

mr. brawn and ms. brain

sum: you hate athletes. eunseok is an athlete. eunseok is in love with you. it doesn't take a genius to see that there's an issue with this equation. after a one-sided love for the past three years, eunseok is saved when the two of you are partnered to work on an english project together. which means that eunseok's first step of getting you to fall in love with him is done. next step: get you to give him the time of day... word count: 9.6k a/n: hehe i've been working on this for so long i can't believe it's finally out lol i hope that you all enjoy reading this as much as i loved writing this! <3 someone teach me how to make visually pleasing banners. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback warnings: mentions of reader's insecurities, sungchan being a horrible/amazing friend, simp eunseok, uhh love :D

EUNSEOK SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT TRYING TO WRAP HIS MIND AROUND YOUR SHEER GENIUS WAS A BAD IDEA. you were just so much smarter than him; he didn't know why he thought that he could even comprehend the meaning behind your actions anymore.

at least, this is what song eunseok gathers from your animated gestures and anger stained tone as you continue to motion at eunseok semi-offensively.

he's only half-listening (he's perfected the art of the blank stare) and you know that he's not listening too. but eunseok figures that if yelling at him to your heart's content is what would make you feel better, then he was glad to be your not-really listening ear.

"...and you know that i can't do it all on my own!" you yell finally, your distress coming to a climax. eunseok winces when your voice reaches a decibel he didn't know to be humanly possible. your chest is heaving and eunseok, from this, is now well aware that you're upset the fact you had to work on the partner project by yourself last night.

but he didn't know how else to explain to you that he had a soccer match last night that he couldn't just skip out to work on the project - even if it was a project that would more or less determine his grade in the class.

your arms are crossed against your torso, eyebrows furrowed as you wait for eunseok to say something. he's sat in front of you, looking akin to a statue, while you're standing up, glaring down at him and from this angle, eunseok is once again reminded of just why he lets you get away with saying pretty much anything to him.

eunseok is so incredibly in love with you that it takes every fiber of his being from telling you that any time the two of you were together. which was less often than he wanted but more often than you had had in the past so he was willing to take the wins he could get at this point.

"so you want me to the work on the project, that's it, right?" he says slowly and you damn near want to strangle him in that moment. you knew that eunseok wasn't dumb and that he had only sat through your entire lecture because you weren't going to let him hear the end of it anyway but would it kill him to at least pretend like he was remorseful?

"yes," you say finally, with an exasperated sigh. "i just want you to work on the project with me."

the corner of eunseok's lips twitch imperceptibly upwards in a soft smile before it disappears, bringing him back to his much more familiar bored expression. i just want you to work on the project with me.

that had to mean something, right? you wouldn't add the 'with me' without any particular reason, right? you actually meant to indicate something with that 'with me', right?

in all honesty, you're hadn't thought of what you were saying all that hard and had just said everything that came to mind in an attempt to rid yourself of your anger and eunseok knows that as well.

he's been in love with you for long enough to know that you didn't actually mean anything when he formed these delusions on his own but he couldn't help himself.

eunseok has loved you since the moment he saw you sitting inside the classroom, earbuds in your ears as you flipped through your notebook filled with notes while he was outside on the soccer field, squinting up at you against the relentless sun, three years ago.

he wasn't sure what it was. at first, he was sure that it was just the chase. the classic 'unattainable' trope where he was only attracted to you because of the challenge that you presented to him.

but it was strange.

eunseok wasn't a really big fan of cheesy clichés or overplayed poetry about something that he was sure didn't exist anymore but everything had changed when he saw you.

your looks, face, beauty - none of that seemed to be what clicked within him. the moment that you turned your head to peer out the window, your eyes landing on his, it was like his entire soul was breathing a sigh of relief.

if eunseok was any less of a realist, he would've genuinely believed that the two of you were soul tied lovers from previous lives.

the only issue was that eunseok was pretty sure his soulmate would give him the time of day. which you pretty much refused to do. it was like you were allergic to his type or something.

you kept to yourself in general, and didn't really have many friends but at the very least, you were friendly enough to those around you. no one really had anything bad to say about you bar the fact that you never allowed anyone to overtake you on your throne seated comfortably as number one in the whole school.

except for eunseok's friends. they all knew about eunseok's hopeless love for you and for the life of them could not understand why. you barely glanced in his direction in general, and seemed to always glare at any round object that could be used for a sport - and those who carried said offending objects.

which naturally meant that eunseok and the rest of his friends (all of whom unfortunately played some sport or another) were blacklisted by you.

he'd been curious at first why you had so much prejudice against sports and then one time, had seen you be forced to run laps around the field. needless to say, after he saw you nearly trip and fall on your face at least four times in one lap, he was vaguely aware of what prompted you to stay as far away from such activities as possible.

in fact, eunseok was relatively sure that he was going to have to graduate high school without ever actually having a proper conversation. until the fateful day that your english professor had assigned you and eunseok to work on the same project together for a final grade.

it was a simple research paper, but both of you had to submit outlines and drafts that showed how much you each contributed to the project, as well as how much of the project was done with each other - all of which contributed to your grade.

eunseok had thought that this was it! this would be his in!

he was wrong. to be honest, eunseok could count on one hand the number of conversations he'd had with you after starting work on the project together. and could count without any fingers the number of those conversations that were about anything other than project division.

which is why, when you're standing here, arms crossed against your heaving chest and looking at him with those eyes, eunseok has nothing running in his mind other than just how much he wants you to know what he feels.

"eunseok! are you even listening to me anymore?" you ask, waving a hand in his face. eunseok blinks before clearing his throat. he reaches out a long arm to pull out a chair in the desk next to his and indicates for you to sit down on it.

you eye the chair warily before sitting down, folding your skirt underneath your thighs as you sit gingerly, as if you were expecting it to explode.

the sight would normally make eunseok just roll his eyes for anyone else but with you, it makes him smile.

"okay, i'm sorry. with the game last night, i forgot to my part for the draft due friday. but i promise, i'm still going to make it up to you and finish all of the stuff i needed to do as soon as possible," eunseok says. you watch him for a moment before nodding and moving to get up out of the chair as eunseok rushes to come up with some reasoning to get you to stay with him a little longer.

"although, are you sure you're going to be able to finish the section by yourself? i had some issues with the first half of pride and prejudice because of the characterization and the time period," you say, although the last half of your thought seems to be much more reluctant than the first half, as if you didn't want to admit that you had any academic weaknesses to eunseok.

but eunseok barely pays it any mind, jumping on the opportunity as soon as he recognizes it. "oh...yeah, honestly i don't know if i can do it by myself. since we both have access to the late night study room anyway, do you wanna finish it together tonight?"

eunseok watches as the gears turn in your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you debate the possibilities in your mind. and even as you do, he tries to control the erratic beating of his heart at the chance of spending so much time with you.

if he could explain his feelings to anyone, which eunseok was not gifted with the vocabulary of attempting to do so, he was sure that they would ask if he was ripped straight from the novel the two of you were assigned to work on.

to be honest, eunseok thinks as he rests his temple against the heel of his palm, watching as you pull out a timetable and consult it with utmost seriousness, even he found it kinda silly.

well, not silly as in his crush on you was dumb per se (although, there were times where he realized just how unfounded his feelings truly were). more silly like i didn't even know these kinds of feelings could still exist in people.

silly like how a child discovering the world for the first time might be - awkward in their gait but curiosity shining brightly in their eyes, learning how to be human for the first time.

he knows that his whole 'true love' or 'soulmate' semantics were not for the weak of heart - and most definitely not for those who were too embroiled in the 'love' of today's day and age. but he couldn't bring himself to care.

it made him want to be a better person for you. to be the man that you would glance at in more than just passing. to be worthy of your love.

"alright. i'm scheduled for an english tutoring session but i'll ask them to meet me tomorrow instead. maybe i can use some of the stuff that we learn during our project," you say with a sigh, crossing out some of the timings written in your schedule and rearranging them.

eunseok's eyebrows furrow. "you take tutoring lessons? oh, like a private tutor?"

you eye eunseok strangely, as if you weren't sure if he was making a joke or not.

"no...i teach people. i tutor for english, mathematics, and some other subjects as well. it's how i'm adding to my resumé." the chair makes an awful noise when you push it back to stand up.

"oh," eunseok says. resumé? for what? college admissions? god, he really needed to start getting ready for that. his csat score was not high enough for him to even dream about getting into a good enough school for you to recognize him.

or, you know, secure brighter future in such a competitive job market. but that was mostly secondary.

"yeah. so..." you trail off awkwardly, toeing the ground with your arms behind your back. the sight of you being awkward or unsure of yourself was foreign to eunseok but nonetheless endearing.

"yeah. so i'll see you tonight then? after classes end?" eunseok prompts you and you seem to snap out of whatever reverie your mind was in.

"mhm." it's absent-minded and almost an afterthought, as you make your way out of the classroom, pausing at the door to look at him before leaving.

+++

classes end a couple of hours later, and eunseok is left waiting anxiously in the study rooms.

you'd agreed to meet after classes but eunseok realizes that he'd never asked for a specific time or your number to communicate with you, meaning that he'd been stuck in the study rooms for the past hour, unsure if and when you were going to show up.

eunseok had been productive with his time, of course. he'd tucked away the soccer ball he'd brought to school into one of the lockers in the back and popped a breath mint. not for any particular reason, but he didn't want you to think of him in the stereotypical 'jock who doesn't partake in hygiene'.

he'd even tried to make progress on the pride and prejudice chapters he'd been assigned (by you) to write about, only to give up three sentences in.

the one thing that eunseok had done incorrectly, however, was drinking too much water. see, eunseok had a strange habit of chugging water every time he got nervous. needless to say, about an hour of sheer anxiety of when you were going to show up made him down the whole waterbottle.

which was not good because now, eunseok had to relieve himself and you were still nowhere to be seen. and he couldn't just go use the restroom and come back because he was pretty sure you'd just leave and assume that he bailed on you if he left his post in the study rooms.

eunseok paces around the room, hoping that time would move faster if he moved faster (time-space was in same dimension after all, so technically...). he's taken about twenty-three laps around the study room when he finally hears the door click open and you enter the study room somewhat cautiously, looking worse for wear.

"I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!" eunseok manages to holler before sprinting out of the study room, not wanting to look back and see your undoubtedly bewildered face as he makes a mad dash for the men's restrooms.

it's not until eunseok finally relieves himself, washing his hands in the sink that was lower than his hips that he realizes what he'd just done.

eunseok berates himself more than once or twice in the bathroom, pacing back and forth once more when he realizes just how much of an idiot he must've looked like as he sprinted out of the room like a crazy man.

"it's ok. it's ok! having to use the restroom is natural! everyone needs to! it's not like y/n doesn't, right? don't worry, you look fine. you're so hot, she'll forget it happened."

you didn't forget. when eunseok slinked back into the study room, you can barely keep the silly smile off your face, trying your best to look understanding and apologetic instead.

"i'm - i'm so sorry for coming late eunseok. i heard there was soccer practice today so i figured you'd be late and decided to help mrs. kim with creating the study set for the upcoming math test," you explain, unable to keep the lighthearted giggle out of your voice.

eunseok offers an embarrassed half-grin as he waves you off.

"don't worry, i wasn't waiting long. i just got here too. uh, i asked coach to cancel practice since both captains wouldn't be able to make it," eunseok says, looking busily through his backpack in an effort to prevent you from looking at his red face.

"you asked the coach to cancel practice?" you ask incredulously and eunseok tries his best to act nonchalant.

"yeah. i mean, you're right after all. academics are more important than sports - it's not like i plan on going pro or anything so i figured that i should sit down and make some headway on this project," eunseok says with a shrug, and it brings him a strange sense of satisfaction when you glance at him as though you were suddenly looking at him for the first time.

"you don't plan on playing in college? i mean i've heard that you're good enough for it," you say, and you sound genuinely curious, rearranging the books in front of you.

"i mean i plan on playing in college but i can't exactly get into college just on sports. i'm not that good. i still need to have good grades and scores to get in," eunseok says and you frown, deep in thought, but eunseok can tell that it's not in a bad or malicious way.

"i'd never thought you would care that much about school," you say softly and eunseok can't help but shoot you a lopsided grin.

"we're not all just dumb jocks, y/n," he responds, his voice just as soft and he realizes just how much he likes the taste of your name on his tongue.

"yeah. i guess so," you say finally, offering him a small smile.

eunseok thinks he can die happy when he sees it.

+++

the two of you don't become best friends over the next couple weeks. in fact, you still don't have too many conversations with him other than about the project, but it's more than eunseok has been awarded with before.

you talk to him in between classes now, when you see him in the hallways, and ask him about soccer practice. eunseok always blushes, casting his eyes towards the windows so that he had something to look at other than your intelligent and probing eyes.

he even sees you wave at him during soccer practice, when you're headed out early for tutoring and eunseok nearly dies of heart attack, tripping over himself as he rushes to wave back.

wonbin didn't let him live that down for a full week after the incident occurred, laughing and waving in exaggerated motions every time he saw eunseok.

he even went as far as going up to you and asking you to come to one of the upcoming soccer matches, all in the name of good fun.

eunseok had had to literally tackle wonbin to the floor in order to keep him from spilling any vital information ("please come to the soccer match because our captain has been crushing on you since his first year and we can't see him like this anymore.") but it was clear that the message came through incorrectly.

"you don't want me to come to your match that much? i thought we were better friends than that, eunseok," you said with a frown, and eunseok had to scramble to his feet, kicking wonbin with his foot.

"no - no! it's not that. i do really want you to come to our soccer match. but i kinda wanted to be the one to ask you. you know, because you're so busy all the time and i thought you might say yes if i asked rather than this idiot," eunseok had explained, tripping over his words in an attempt to make sure that he didn't hurt your emotions.

you'd stared up at him, your face unreadable. that was the one thing that eunseok didn't like about you - he could never truly predict exactly what you were thinking unless you said it out loud. you were infamous for your poker face and it made eunseok incredibly nervous.

little did he know that that was the exact reason that eunseok made you nervous.

"i'll come if i have time," you had said simply, turning on your heel to flounce away.

"you're an idiot but goddamnit, i love you wonbin," eunseok had said, descending onto the right wing to tackle him to the floor once more with a hug.

"alright! i get it! get off of me, cap!" wonbin said, pawing at eunseok's arms to relieve himself from the bearhug he was trapped in. he'd just laughed, wrapping his arms around wonbin even tighter.

which brought eunseok to his current predicament.

not only had you come to the match, but you'd brought some of your friends with you. eunseok doesn't really recognize any of them but by the way that you're laughing as you're talking to them, eunseok figures that that you must be pretty close.

"if you could stop staring at the love of your life and finish warm-up drills, that would be great, cap," wonbin says and eunseok shivers, startled by the right wing's sudden presence.

"yeah. uh, team! keep up the drills for just two more minutes before debriefing," eunseok yells, finally forcing his head away from your direction to face his team.

"i invited her because i wanted to give you a chance to impress yourself in front of her. don't make this rare opportunity into a mess," wonbin suggests with a smirk, saluting to eunseok as he ran to sungchan to finish the last few drills with him.

"that brat. and he still wants to be captain next year," eunseok grumbles under his breath, begrudgingly joining the rest of the team. as much as he hated to admit it, wonbin was right.

getting you to come to this match was already more than eunseok had ever had in the past; there was no way that he was going to let himself fuck this up. that would be so incredibly embarrassing.

"alright!" eunseok shouts, clapping his hands and waiting for the team to huddle around him. "i don't need to remind anyone that just because our team has been doing well, we still need to play at our best, right? you all know how to play soccer so just do what you've been doing and don't let it get to your head. good and bad plays both."

he extends his hand out to the center of their huddle, and the rest of the team also extends their hands, chanting their school's soccer cheer before dispersing to discard any extra gear or possessions.

eunseok looks one last time to where you were sitting, just as a quick 'good luck glance' and he's startled to see you already staring back at him. you cock your head and smile slightly, offering him a thumbs up and eunseok feels as though he'd already won the match.

"seok, i've got an idea," sungchan, eunseok's fellow captain and one of his closest friend says, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"what bullshit are you stirring up now?" eunseok says, his voice flat and unimpressed. sungchan grabs his chest where his heart was, as though he'd been shot, dramatically stumbling backwards.

"here i am, offering to relieve you of your pining and you say i'm stirring up bullshit," sungchan gasps. eunseok rolls his eyes, grabbing sungchan's jersey to pull him forward.

"what? match is starting soon," eunseok says, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

"i'll make a bet with you," sungchan says. "if i score more goals than you do, you have to ask out y/n. but if you score more goals than i do, then you don't have to."

"this feels like a stupid bet. i'm not doing it," eunseok says, but he can already feel himself being swayed. he'd liked you for so long - at this point, he was just looking for the slightest push in the right direction to ask you out.

"alright fine. you don't have to. y/n's pretty cute, honestly, and she's hella smart too. so i'll make you a different deal. if i score more goals, i ask her out. if you score more goals, i won't ask her out," sungchan says, a devilish smile on his face.

eunseok's eyes look as though they'd burn sungchan to smithereens if they could but sungchan barely shivers, offering him a shit-eating grin and turning to blow a kiss to you.

"what the fuck? i should've known that you were up to something stupid," eunseok growls. "why the hell would you ask her out?"

"it's only an issue if i score more goals than you, right?" sungchan says, jogging backwards to join the team again, never breaking eye contact with eunseok.

eunseok knew that sungchan was a loyal friend and there was no way in hell that he was going to ask you out - even as a joke or as a push to get eunseok to confess his feelings - but eunseok was pissed. the idea of someone else confessing to you before he ever did made him see red.

the team barely sees eunseok the whole match. which is strange, because he's in for the entire match, but they barely even see him, his red uniform appearing as streaks up and down the field. he scores goal after goal, running towards the goalpost at speeds they'd never see the usually laidback captain move at.

and sungchan was no better than him. although his heart wasn't in it nearly as much, sungchan was hot on eunseok's heels, the two of them on opposite ends of the field and being the two people that the team relied on the most the entire match, carrying the entire team to victory.

which is why when the scoreboard reads 5 - 0, the team is shocked, but sungchan just has that stupid grin on his face. not only had eunseok scored one more goal than sungchan, he'd also gone mad, ensuring that the opposing team didn't score a single goal.

"what the hell did you do to cap?" wonbin asks sungchan, and the older boy just nods in your general direction.

"gave him the push he's been needing," he says, smirking with satisfaction when he sees eunseok jogging over to where you were sitting, after shaking hands with the opposing team and thanking the referees.

"thanks for coming, y/n," eunseok says, out of breath and sweaty when he reaches to where you were sitting. "i honestly didn't think you were coming - since sports aren't really your thing."

"i promised i would come, didn't i?" you quip, and a shy smile overtakes your face, making eunseok having to use every single ounce of his willpower to keep from squealing at how cute he found you. your friends slowly start to file out to leave the two of you standing there - you in the bleachers and him on the field.

"hm, yeah, you did." eunseok's face turns contemplative and for some reason, you rush to fill the silence, in a way that you'd never felt compelled to do with anyone else before.

"i have to admit...i had more fun than i thought," you say, choking on the words as you get them out. eunseok's eyebrows ascend into his hairline - which would be hilarious if you weren't the reason that they were doing so.

"you had fun? y/n l/n? having fun? that too, at a soccer match?" eunseok says incredulously, throwing his hands on his chest dramatically. "well, i'll be!"

you roll your eyes, but you can't help the silly smile you can feel start to form on your lips.

"i can have fun, you know. i'm not always studying and boring everyone. even at soccer games where all i see is a ball go up and down and i have no clue what's happening. i think you did well, though, since everyone was chattering a lot about your performance," you say, adding the last part to appease eunseok for inviting you.

"i don't care about what people say," eunseok says easily, waving his hand in the air as if to physically rid himself of the thought of other people disturbing his mental wellbeing.

"y/n! you have to get going; your tutoring starts soon and mrs. im is always super mad when anyone's the slightest second late!" one of your friends calls out, coming closer to physically drag you away from eunseok if need be.

even his ugliest stare doesn't work on discouraging them from approaching the two of you and eunseok figures that he should work on a mean glare instead of a blank stare; the latter wasn't helping as much anymore now that everyone just assumed that's what his natural face looked like.

"alright, alright. i'm coming," you say, stepping down the stairs of the bleachers carefully, tripping on the last step. eunseok's arm shoots out before he can even think of what he's doing, catching you as you fall.

"thank you," you say breathlessly, and suddenly, eunseok worries that you can hear the erratic beating of his heart from just how close you were to each other, your chests quite nearly touching.

"you wanna hang out some time? maybe prove that the academic queen, school topper, ms. brain knows how to have some fun?" eunseok asks, and he can feel the blood rushing throughout his body as his adrenaline is at an all-time high.

he doesn't think that he was nearly this nervous or that his heart was even pumping this hard during this match. but now, as he's looking down at the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in eighteen years of life, he can't help but feel weak in the knees and just a little too stupidly hopeful.

"i'm sorry eunseok. i'm pretty busy nowadays. especially with new people that i've been tutoring. i don't even have too much time to study myself; i don't think i can afford to take too many breaks now," you explain, somewhat sorry and somewhat sullen.

eunseok tries to keep the heartbreak from showing on his face and he nods, almost too excitedly.

"oh yeah, i get it! no worries! i mean, you are the number one student in the school! you've gotta keep those grades up!" his voice sounds fake even to his own ears and your friend winces apologetically but you don't even seem phased, flashing him a sweet smile.

"we'll 'hang out' when we work on the project next monday though right?" you ask, and eunseok nods, a plastic smile on his face.

"yeah, of course," he says, and for some reason, he can't help but wonder if you knew just how great you were at letting people down. eunseok knew that you were beautiful but no one had ever dared to ask you out, for fear of the fact that they would come second to your academics.

it's hard to ask someone out when you know what the answer is.

"well, i'll get going now then. mrs. im seems like a real tiger mom and i have my first tutoring session with her son today," you say, wrapping your sweater a little bit tighter around your body as you wave goodbye, retreating into the foggy afternoon.

"how did it go, cap?" wonbin asks, a knowing grin on his face, ready to tease/congratulate his captain on his definite success in asking you out.

eunseok doesn't even turn away from watching your figure until he's just staring at empty space and fog before saying, "tell the team we're running laps."

wonbin balks, looking in your direction to see if you'd come to save them. "but we won, cap!"

"no, sungchan and i won. the team is running laps," eunseok grinds out and wonbin immediately retreats backwards, understanding the situation a bit too clearly.

he sets off into a sprint and the team is quick to follow when they see the confusing expression on their captain's face. there was a mix of shame, heartbreak, confusion, guilt, and even some anger on his face and the team was just going to have to take the brunt of his emotions for now. he had a valid point, after all.

you were none the wiser about the soccer team's struggles until your friend, kim minjeong, looks back to see her friend, park wonbin, running in repeated circles before the fog starts to cover the soccer field. she shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweater before shaking her head.

"you know that eunseok was asking you out, right?" she asks and you scoff, pushing her slightly.

"you're insane minjeong. i think that jekyll and hyde is finally getting to you," you jest slightly, referencing her english project. "why the hell would eunseok ask me out?"

"because he wants to spend time with you? because you're a fun person when people get to know you? because he likes you, i don't know!" minjeong exclaims, stopping dead in her tracks and throwing her hands up.

"no, that can't be true," you say, but when you turn to look at what minjeong was looking at, you find that your eyes search the field until they lock with eunseok's eyes, which are trained on you and he cocks his head, causing you to shiver and face forward.

"are you sure?" minjeong asks, looking back and forth between you and eunseok as you march forward determinedly.

"i'm sure. there's no way that eunseok likes me."

+++

you were sure that eunseok didn't like you. that was what you had told minjeong and ning yizhuo, another one of your good friends, when the two of them had confronted you again later. that's the truth, as far as you're aware.

that's what made the most sense too; why the hell would the ace soccer captain be any level of interested in a person who spent all of their time studying and tutoring? someone who was known to be a reserved and kind enough person but a complete hardass when it came to their academics?

yizhuo's words echo in your mind as you sit on your bed, having completed your nightly routine of taking your vitamins and doing your skincare.

he'd never ask you if he wasn't interested.

you hated when she was right. especially when it meant that you were wrong about something. most especially because it meant that you were being emotionally unaware of something.

you stare at your phone, as if staring at it long enough would produce the answers you're searching for - the same thing you'd been doing for the past half hour. you know that you should go to sleep soon; you didn't have any tutoring tomorrow but you were planning on using the time to study, not having had much time over the weekdays to study.

but almost against your own reason and will, your arm reaches for your phone and types out a message recklessly, pressing send before your brain has the time to catch up to the antics of your foolish heart.

you: you wanna go to the arcade with me tomorrow?

you gasp at your own message, scandalized by your sudden initiative and something so out of character for you. you couldn't remember the last time you'd spent more than a couple minutes doing something fun.

actually, that was a lie. you'd just gone to eunseok's game. and you'd had fun. it was something about him that made you want to set down your pens and embrace life. or something else cheesy like that.

your heart jumps when eunseok's response comes, not even a minute after you'd sent the initial message.

song eunseok: i'd lvoe to. song eunseok: **love song eunseok: no tutoring tomorrow?

you type out a response, looking up to check the time on the desktop computer, catching a glimpse of your reflection. why the hell were you smiling?

you: not tomorrow. they canceled since they're going to busan for the weekend. song eunseok: ohhh i see. song eunseok: then let's do it! 1pm? you: sounds good. you: :)

you cast your phone aside on your nightstand, not bothering to read whatever messages eunseok had sent afterwards, instead drifting off into a somewhat peaceful and somewhat anticipatory sleep as you dreamt of the next day.

+++

you're uncharacteristically nervous, knee bouncing as you check your watch for the time for the third time in the past thirty seconds. much to your dismay, it was still very much 12:45 PM.

never had you been this nervous on the day of an important exam or a recital for violin. mostly because those were things that came somewhat easily to you - practice, practice, practice and you would succeed in any task given to you.

but friends? specifically friends who asked you on dates (according to yizhuo and minjeong, that's what this was)? you were somewhere between absolutely lost and crazy scared.

it's just eunseok, you have to breathe and remind yourself. just song eunseok. the stoic soccer team captain. your english project partner. the one that you've been getting a little too influenced by lately.

you consider turning around and heading home to safer territories (textbooks) and bailing on eunseok but before you can put your escape plan into action, the bane of your existence and cause for your issues appears in your vision, jogging over to you with the classic blank face that you've grown used to.

the shit-eating grin on his face that grows when he sees you already sitting on the bench outside the arcade is something that you're not used to, however, and it makes you blush at the implication.

"i'm a very punctual person," you say as soon as eunseok is in earshot, your ego smarting.

"i never said anything," eunseok retorts and you just harrumph, crossing your arms over your chest. "besides, i thought i'd definitely get here before you. you know, to practice."

your eyebrows knit together as you try to decipher the meaning behind his words. "to practice? practice what?"

eunseok's smile grows a little more bashful and sincere as he turns to face the arcade, unable to face you. "practice showing you that i'm worth wasting your saturday afternoon on instead of studying."

you fumble for words, leaping to your feet and marching into the arcade. "i'm not wasting my saturday afternoon on you! i'm - i'm showing you that i can be fun!"

eunseok just watches you enter the arcade, a dopey expression on his face and he jogs to follow you inside, slinging an arm around you in a casual motion that neither him nor you were expecting.

"you're plenty of fun, y/n. you have nothing to prove." eunseok's voice is soft and sweet above your head, and a little too sincere for you to pass over his words nonchalantly. you step just the slightest bit closer into his embrace, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by him and his grip, previously loose and lax so that you could push him off whenever, grows just the tightest bit stronger.

"that sounds like someone who's scared of getting their ass kicked in dance dance revolution."

"oh hell no. you're on, miss school topper."

+++

as much as you hate to admit it, you have an incredible time with eunseok at the arcade. although you don't live up to your own expectations of your performance at arcade games (you chalk it up to lack of practice), eunseok exceeds your expectations.

even games that he says that he's never attempted before come to him easily, and he beats you at every single one of them, even with handicaps such as shooting with one hand for the basketball game or closing his eyes and playing whack a mole.

it's somewhat damaging to your street cred (not that you were banking on any street cred, to be honest) but eunseok manages soothe your ego by winning you three plushies at the claw machine (which he was also good at; you were starting to think that he was ai). two of them were matching so you hand him one of them, saying that it could be a good way to remember this afternoon together.

"i don't think i forget this afternoon," eunseok says when you hand him the plushie.

"hm?" you ask, somewhat distracted by the cute plushies in your arms.

"nothing," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "what do you say we go get some coffee? there's a really nice café nearby here."

"oh yeah, lets go. i love memories café; i study there all the time," you say, hugging the plushies to your chest.

"really? one of my friends works there! you should've told me before; i would've gotten you free coffee this whole time," eunseok exclaims, waving goodbye to the arcade employee that he'd become rather familiar with after all his visits to their establishment. the employee points to you subtly and gives him a thumbs up to indicate her approval of eunseok's type, and he just fake bows in agreement, walking out the arcade with a silly smile.

"which one? the tall one? i forget his name but he's pretty popular on campus, isn't he?" you say, your voice growing unsure as you try to place him in your memory.

"sungchan?" eunseok asks darkly, a troubled expression on his face. "yeah, he's pretty popular. for being pretty. and popular. and good at a lot of stuff."

"yeah, sungchan! he's the one who works there, isn't he? yizhuo always drags me to go when he's working because she thinks he's cute," you say before turning to eunseok with a gasp. "don't tell anyone i told you that! god, i can't believe i let that slip!"

eunseok chokes out a laugh, shaking his head. "i won't tell anyone, trust me. but, uh, do you think that he's cute? i mean you come to café pretty often right? is it because...because you think he's cute?"

you frown, trying to conjure his face in your mind before shrugging. "nah. i mean i see why people think he's cute but he's not really my type."

eunseok's heart leaps for joy before stopping at the end of your sentence. "uh, you have a type?"

he opens the door to the café for you when you reach it. you enter it, mumbling a quick thanks as you brush past him.

"sure. which teenage girl doesn't?" you quip, not even bothering to read the menu, already sure of what you were going to get.

eunseok scans the café, before groaning internally as his eyes land on his co-captain, flashing sweet smiles to every person that steps up to the register, never failing to make them swoon.

"care to share?" eunseok asks, shielding you from sungchan, wanting to prevent the clash for as long as possible.

"only if you do," you retort, and eunseok's stuck between figuring out how to keep you from seeing sungchan (or realistically, sungchan from seeing you) and how to tell you that you were his type, without actually saying your name.

he's saved and damned at the same time when sungchan calls out his name, and you peek around eunseok's body to see sungchan standing there in all of his tall, beautiful glory.

"sungchan, hey," eunseok says with a grumble, and you look up at him worriedly. he rushes to fix his tone, not wanting you to think that he was a salty or shitty friend.

"i see you've brought a friend," sungchan says smugly, and he extends his hand over the counter for you to shake. "hi! i'm sungchan, eunseok's co-captain."

you accept his hand, shaking it politely. "nice to meet you. eunseok's talked you up a lot. i'm y/n, by the way."

sungchan's eyes dart to eunseok at the mention of his praise, who's still brooding slightly, with a slight smile on his face. "trust me, there's no person at our school who doesn't know our resident number one academic. you haven't given up the throne since the day you stepped in our school."

you blush, trying to shrug casually. "i'm just really lucky to have the opportunities i do."

"intelligent, humble, and beautiful? how'd you get a girl like this to give you the time of day, seok-ie?" sungchan says, and it's like rubbing salt in the wound. sungchan is joking, and eunseok logically knows that he is just teasing him for finally working up the courage to ask you out three years after he developed feelings for you. but for some reason, the sweet smile on your face directed at sungchan instead of him made him upset.

"trust me, i have no clue either. she's pretty much perfect, isn't she?" eunseok says finally, and the sheer sincerity in his voice is enough for you to rip your gaze away from sungchan and to eunseok, who's looking at you with honey dripping from his eyes.

the sweetness in his eyes makes your heart race for some reason and you clear your throat, unable to turn away from eunseok for a good couple seconds before looking at the menu behind sungchan's head.

"well, uh, could i get a vanilla latte please? hot, not iced," you say, hating the quirk in your voice. eunseok's gaze is heavy on your face and he can barely find it in himself to turn away, ordering the same thing as you.

sungchan smirks, entering the order as his eyes dart between you and eunseok, both standing less than a foot apart but unable to look at each other.

"alright. i'll bring it over to your table, then. pro tip, the second floor has the best spot to watch the sunset in thirty minutes," sungchan says. eunseok nods in thanks, pulling out his wallet to offer sungchan a ten thousand won bill to cover your coffee and his own but sungchan just waves him away.

"today's coffee is on me. for the momentous occasion of song eunseok going on a date for the first time in his life," sungchan says and your head whips to see eunseok's reaction.

this was his first date? you think. but he's so popular! and so handsome...how has no one asked him out before?

almost as though sungchan can read your mind, he responds for eunseok. "he's been asked out so many times but he insisted that he was waiting for the one."

sungchan's words barely register in your mind, and your thoughts are still racing when eunseok guides you upstairs and to the table that sungchan had suggested.

"you've been waiting for the one?" you ask with an incredulous tone and eunseok tries his best to play it off casually.

"sungchan just says whatever. it's mostly because i didn't have the time," eunseok explains. and because none of the people who asked me out were you, he thinks, but doesn't voice aloud.

"hm. honestly, before you asked me out, i kinda thought i was going to die single," you admit after a couple moments of silence.

"why would you think that? we're only eighteen! and besides, you're smart, talented at violin, beautiful, and a bunch of other things i can't think of right now. anyone would be lucky to date you," eunseok says indignantly and you smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"if i'm being honest with you, it's all just to cover up my own insecurities. in middle school, i wasn't that smart and i didn't really care about my grades. i had a crush on this kid - i think his name was shotaro? - but he didn't really notice me. i wasn't the smartest kid in the grade, or the prettiest one, or even rich enough to dress up nicely and wear the things i wanted to.

"i don't think he actually cared about any of that stuff but my own insecurities sabotaged me enough to convince myself that he wanted nothing to do with me because i wasn't good enough. so i threw myself into everything i could. violin, academics, working out - everything. i started getting quieter and quieter because i thought that no one would want to listen to what i had to say.

"and the more i did things like that, the more i got used to being like that. i got used to being alone and focusing on my academics and stuff. even minjeong and yizhuo have always been closer to each other than they have been to me. they do fun things without me and that's mostly my fault because i never truly let them in but i don't know. it's hard to remind myself that people want to be my friend.

"especially because everyone thinks that all i think about is stuff like my studies and violin. it's hard to have fun and make memories when there's no one to make memories with. i just wish that i could have days like this, where i go out and have fun and do the things i want to with someone who wants to make memories with me."

you sigh, brushing away the tears that had welled up in your eyes as you had spoke. eunseok is silent the whole time and you finally come to your senses, rushing to lean forward in your chair and explain your sudden outburst of emotions.

"i'm so sorry for talking your ear off! i have no clue what my problem is; i promise i'm not usually so full of myself. i don't know why i'm talking about myself so much - "

eunseok doesn't let you finish. before your brain can even process, eunseok's lips are on your cheek, and your entire body just freezes.

and before you can understand what's happening, eunseok's back in his chair, looking at you as if you were the one who had kissed him, rather than vice versa.

"sorry! i just - i didn't mean to kiss you without your consent. i'm sorry. i just really don't want you to continue berating yourself," eunseok says. "i really like you and it really sucks to know that the one person that you like the most - the person that you wish nothing but the best for - doesn't like themself nearly as much as you do."

he leans forward in his chair, turning his head so that his cheek was facing you.

"you should slap me. i can take it! i deserve it, anyway," eunseok says, squeezing his eyes shut when he feels a breeze descend on his cheek. but instead of the stinging of a slap, it feels as though a soft pillow has touched his cheek.

eunseok opens his eyes to see you leaning over the table to press your lips to his cheek and in his shock, he turns his head and suddenly his lips are on yours and you're kissing in this café.

it's like fireworks explode in eunseok's body, especially when you raise your hand to touch his cheek gently before pulling away, eunseok resting his forehead against yours.

"this is cute and all but do you mind doing this at home? i'm gonna lose my job and maybe my lunch if i have to watch this any longer," says sungchan's smug voice from behind eunseok, and the two of you leap backwards into your respective chairs.

"sorry man," eunseok manages to choke out, and you just hide your face in your hands, too embarrassed to look up.

"don't mind me," sungchan quips, setting down the two cups of coffee and retreating down the stairs, shoulders shaking from trying to hide his laughs.

"this is going to be all over school, isn't it?" you groan, your head letting a resounding thunk when you collapse against the table. eunseok gets up to hunt down and sungchan and swear (read: threaten) him to secrecy but you reach out, catching eunseok's sleeve.

you let go when eunseok stops to look at you, a hot flush on your cheeks. "i don't mind it, honestly. i mean, i was never expecting my first relationship to be such a public one but there's no sense in hiding things right?"

"wait, wait, wait. we're in a relationship? that you're okay with being public with?" eunseok says, and he can see you visibly debate back-peddling and taking back your statement or going forward with conviction.

it seems that you've chosen full throttle when you cross your arms over your chest, leaning on the table. "isn't that what you want too? a relationship? i'm assuming that you wouldn't kiss me if you didn't want me to be something more than a friend to you and i wouldn't kiss you if i wasn't open to exploring being that something more."

eunseok feels as though he's on cloud nine, slinking back into his chair with the satisfaction of a cat with a bowl of cream.

"trust me, there's nothing that i want more than that."

+++

as the two of you had expected, the school is quick to catch onto the budding relationship between you and eunseok and quite frankly, it feels refreshing for you to be associated with something other than excelling your academics.

eunseok breathes fresh air into your life just by his mere presence. he coerces you into coming to his soccer matches, never failing to run into the bleachers to scoop you up in his arms and kiss you like you're the only two people in the world.

the news of the resident ms. brain and mr. brawn dating had spread like wildfire, and an instagram post with eunseok spinning you and kissing you after winning the seoul championships garners over four hundred thousand views, your romance going viral. so viral, in fact, that someone had created an instagram account just to document your relationship - the account had over three thousand followers, as of the last time you checked.

you'd initially thought that the attention that your relationship spun up would cause issues between the two of you but more than anything, it caused you to work through any issues that came up with communication and healthy relationship counseling (sungchan flirting with you until eunseok finally got off his ass and apologized after fucking up - only whenever fights were about stupid things that either of you were too proud to give in about).

and just like that, months passed by within the blink of an eye. the instagram account (you're somewhat sure that park wonbin and kim minjeong were running the account from sheer amount of footage from close up the instagram page featured) posted a video of eunseok playing insanely well at a match after one of the times that sungchan had been called in reinforcements.

eunseok's dream college had extended a soccer scholarship, and he'd committed within twenty fours of receiving the offer and soon after, you committed to the same college.

when various people, eunseok included, asked you why you'd chosen to go to the same school as eunseok, rather than a bigger or more prestigious school (although this school was still top six in the nation), you'd just smiled and leaned into eunseok's embrace.

"i can study and do well anywhere. i can't make memories to cherish and share for the rest of my life if i go anywhere else." is all you say to everyone who asked and eunseok thanks his lucky stars that he'd kissed you that day in the café to be able to hold you and talk about a future with the two of you like this.

and just as fast the last couple months had passed by, a full ten years pass by. the ten years are filled with moments of happiness and sadness, laughs and tears, but filled with life that you wouldn't trade for the world.

and when you and eunseok walk together to the high school reunion held at someone's restaurant, hand in hand, looking the same as you had as stupidly in love teenagers ten years ago, next to no one is suprised.

"look who it is! it's mrs. brawn and mr. brain now," someone calls out, causing all of your classmates to erupt into laughter. the both of you just look at each other and smile, flagging down where sungchan and minjeong are sitting and taking your own seats next to them.

"by the way, eunseok, how'd you get our resident genius to go out with you anyway? or even fall in love hard enough to go to the same college as you?" someone you don't really recognize asks from the other side of the restaurant and the entire restaurant buzzes with excitement, waiting for eunseok's answer.

eunseok smiles and exchanges a look with sungchan, a teasing glint in his eyes. "let's just say that sungchan isn't allowed within ten feet of my wife."

and with that, the restaurant breaks out into cheers and laughter, everyone returning to their conversation, the attention turning to the most eligible bachelor of their grade, jung sungchan.

minjeong leans over to whisper in your ear. "it's a good thing you had a private wedding; i bet half of these people don't know that sungchan was eunseok's best man."

you shrug, laughing freely with everyone else. "half of these people also don't know that you and sungchan have been dating for the past three years."

eunseok's wedding band flashes under the light as he raises his glass to toast to the 'inside joke' that the four of you shared, clinking his beer with the three of you.

"to the bambi boy and the winter girl!"

"to mr. brawn and mrs. brain!"

"i can't believe i graduated from ms. brain to mrs. brain."

"and i can't believe that you and eunseok have been together for eleven years instead of fourteen because eunseok was too much of a pussy to ask you out when he started liking you."

"JUNG SUNGCHAN, I'M GOING TO FLAY YOU!"

"don't skin my fiancé please. you can do whatever you want after the wedding."

"i can't believe my fiancé hates me this much."

"i can't believe these people are our friends."

"i can't believe i finally scored mrs. brain."

#jnnul #eunseok fic #riize fic #eunseok x reader #riize x reader #eunseok scenarios #riize scenarios #riize fluff #riize imagines #eunseok imagines #song eunseok #eunseok fluff

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osarina · 2 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 LOST IN THE DARK (THEN I FOUND YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with a blizzard rocking yokohama, you find yourself seeking refuge in nakahara chuuya's apartment because, somehow, his building is the only one that has working generators... yet you find yourself becoming a bit suspicious (and concerned) when you realize the one person you expected to be there isn't. so you decide to go looking for him yourself, forcing chuuya to come along, and you end up maybe biting off more than you could chew.

wordcount: 8.2k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i don't think any other warnings necessary but lmk if i've missed any

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ughhhhhhh i was not going to post today BUT 1) i remembered that it was ghostienon's birthday yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!) and 2) sophie said she was sad so i forced myself out of bed to edit and format. i hope you guys enjoy the background to how reader and dazai started living with each other ;) i love being able to write them as stupid teens HAHAH if u guys can't tell. we also get some hints as to mori's opinion on her and dazai's growing relatioship in this installment, though that will have its own dedicated fic <.<

“God, it’s fucking cold.” Chuuya shivers, tucked beneath a blanket in his apartment, scowling out the tall windows looking over the city. “When will this storm end? I swear it's never ending."

A blizzard has been tearing through the entire Kanagawa prefecture the past two days, and right now, Yokohama is taking the full force of it, has been since three am. The harsh winds knocked the power out hours ago, and none of the building’s generators are working. The easternmost building, the one where you live, was the first to go, so you dragged yourself all the way across to the westernmost building to force your way into Chuuya’s apartment, the only building that’s power was still holding strong by the time you made your decision.

Evidently, you were not the only one that had that idea. Ozaki Kouyou sits primly in a bundle of furs as she reads through mission reports from her subordinates, Hirotsu Ryuro flips through files on an upcoming mission for the Black Lizards, and the Colonel is berating one of his subordinates over a walkie-talkie in the corner of the room. You and Chuuya are huddled on the couch with each other, trying to keep each other warm as you wait for the worst of this to pass.

“Says you,” you say bitterly, burrowed in three of his blankets as you glare at him. “You’re like a furnace, I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

The power in his building had gone out an hour ago, and being on one of the upper floors, his apartment became chilly quickly. Chuuya scowls at you and his hand darts out to press against the back of your neck. You shriek and give him an accusing look at the feeling of his icy fingers against your bare skin, slapping his hand away hard. He snorts, looking thoroughly smug at his actions and you have half a mind to beat him to death with a pillow.

“Better than being out on the streets, hm, boy?” Kouyou says idly, glancing up from her papers, raising her eyebrows.

You watch as Chuuya’s gaze flickers down to the ground, a guilty expression crossing his face. You don’t know much about what happened last year that led to Chuuya joining the Port Mafia—you do know that evidently he’d been monikered ‘King of the Sheep,’ a small organization of teenagers that had stupidly taken to trying to siphon off territory from the Mafia, and he’d been exiled by his kingdom of orphans courtesy of Dazai. You think maybe he’s probably wondering if they’re still out there, trying to wait out this storm in whatever back alleys they can find.

You nudge your shoulder against his, trying to draw him out of his thoughts, and he gives you a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

At least you guys don’t have to worry about any attacks until the storm passes.

The Dragon’s Head Conflict has been raging for a month now, you came back to Yokohama at the start of it and it's only continued to escalate with each passing day. There are so many foreign organizations trying to get footholds in Yokohama for the money that started this conflict, the entire city has become a bloody battlefield. You’ve hardly slept the past few weeks trying to work with Mori to figure out a game plan for handling Strain, the biggest threat of this conflict by far, but it’s hard when the Mafia’s warehouses and ports are getting assaulted day after day.

Chuuya’s been taking on the brunt of the attacks, single-handedly pushing them back, but you know he’s getting tired. You see the exhaustion on his face and the bags beneath his eyes—the storm, as awful as it is, is bringing him a break that he very much needs. And Dazai-

“Dazai.”

You sit up straight, blankets tumbling off of you as your eyes widen. Instantly, you can feel all of the eyes in this room on you.

“What about that bastard?” Chuuya asks irritably.

“Where is he?” you demand. You haven’t seen him since the storm started, don’t know where he is; you don’t even know what building he lives in. You figured that he would have wormed his way into Chuuya’s apartment too when he realized his building lasted the longest with power, but you didn’t even think anything of it until now just because of how cold you were. “Where does he even live, actually?”

A month you’ve been in Yokohama and you’ve never been to Dazai’s apartment. You spend a lot of time with Chuuya up in his, and Dazai usually pops in too whenever you’re there; they come up to yours once in a blue moon. But you’ve never been to his.

“Out in some shipping container in the yards in southern Naka-ku,” Hirotsu answers your question and you turn to look at him, appalled.

“What?” you ask bluntly. “A shipping container?”

“The Boss offered him a nice apartment in the central building,” Kouyou hums. “He refused many times.”

“I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as Mori either,” you say snippily. “He’s out there now? In this storm?”

Kouyou lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug, raising her eyebrows as she finally looks up at you, there’s something chilly in her eyes that you don’t like as she studies you. Chuuya doesn’t meet your eyes when you give him a pressing look.

“Those containers aren’t insulated,” you continue. “He’ll freeze to death.”

Kouyou scoffs. “That boy won’t be killed by something as mundane as the cold,” she says dismissively. “He will be fine.”

You give her a dismayed look. You’re not too close with Dazai, you’ve only known him for a month, and in that time, you haven’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with him besides the occasional invasion of Chuuya’s apartment. The two of you always seem to have missions scheduled at opposite times of each other—whenever you’re free, he’s gone and whenever you’re gone, he’s free. Sometimes, you think Mori does it on purpose, but you don’t know why.

“It’s blizzarding out there,” you argue. “He’s stick and bones in an uninsulated piece of metal that’s probably buried in snow. We can’t just leave him out there.”

“Leave him be,” Kouyou says sharply, and you’re almost taken aback by her tone, giving her a cool look. “Don’t involve yourself with that boy.”

You draw back at the sternness—you and Kouyou have been on good terms, so you don’t really know where this is coming from, and it pisses you off a bit, but that might just be because you’re cold and already irritable.

“Excuse me?” you gape, looking between her and Chuuya, noticing how Chuuya immediately averts his gaze from you. “Chuuya?”

“You heard me, girl,” Kouyou tells you firmly. “Keep away from him.”

“Why?” You’re half convinced you’re not hearing her correctly because what does that even mean. Your voice rises as you become more incensed. “What do you even mean? Chuuya hangs with him all the time-”

“Mori has forced the two of them into a partnership,” Kouyou interrupts. “Chuuya has no choice in the matter. You-”

You bristle, about to rise to your feet, but before you can say anything, Hirotsu speaks up: “Kouyou-san is right, hime. The Boss has that boy on a tight leash for a reason, he does not like anything trying to interfere with it. Even you. Especially you.”

Chuuya gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “The Boss is weird about him,” he agrees quietly, but he does seem distinctly uncomfortable, like a part of him wants to go out searching for Dazai. “You’ve had to have noticed.”

Of course, you have. It’s impossible to miss the way Mori hangs over him. He has Dazai shadow him everywhere he goes, never far out of sight. He’s harsher with Dazai than he was even with you back when he first took you in years ago, has impossibly high expectations and refuses to accept failure from him. You think maybe it’s part of the reason why he’s always so careful to ensure that you’re on missions at opposite times—Dazai has shown interest in you since your arrival in Yokohama, becoming giddy like a kid whenever he runs into you, and Mori already warned you not to distract him.

You rise to your feet, shaking your head. “I’m not leaving him out there to freeze.”

“Girl,” Kouyou says, voice tight, finally looking up from her reports again to give you a stern look. “I won’t say it again-”

“Or what?” you ask coolly. “What is he going to do to me? I’ve known Mori longer than any of you. I know what he’ll do if he doesn’t like what I’m doing, it’s not worth leaving Dazai out there alone, especially in this weather.”

You toss off the blankets and storm over to where you’d hung your jacket up, looking back at Chuuya over your shoulder. “Are you coming?” you ask, annoyed.

Chuuya glances between you and Kouyou nervously before sighing and tossing his own blankets off. “Whatever. You’re bringing him to your apartment. I don’t want his shitty ass here.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I agreed to this,” Chuuya spits out complaints as the two of you trudge off the road through knee deep snow to the slope leading down to the shipping yards. “You’re insane. Dazai would not do this for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to be in this situation,” you scowl, tossing Chuuya a dirty look before your eyes trail across the shipping yard. “Do you know which container is his? They all look the same.”

“That red one out there, I think,” Chuuya says, pointing out across the shipping yard to one of the few containers not falling apart. You grimace, it’s all the way out in the center of the yard in the deepest parts of the snow. Chuuya sees your displeasure and rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You yelp when he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him. The Tainted Sorrow is an ability you’ve become well acquainted with over the past few weeks, but it’s still jarring to feel it wash over you so suddenly. Chuuya gives you a sharp smile when he feels your grip on his arm tighten as he uses his ability to launch the two of you in the air; your stomach lurches at the sudden feeling of weightlessness that spreads through you.

It takes a total of maybe five seconds for him to get the two of you in front of Dazai’s supposed shipping container, and you shiver when the two of you land in the knee deep snow, casting him a dirty look when he keeps himself floating right above it.

“Asshole,” you mutter, ignoring his smug look as you trudge forward to the door of the shipping container. “Dazai! Dazai, are you in there?”

Your voice strains as you shout over the howling wind, grimacing and blinking rapidly at the snow pelting your face. You get no response from inside the container and you give Chuuya a scowl.

“Are you sure this is the right container?” you demand as your fingers enclose around the bitterly cold metal handle.

Chuuya shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I can’t stand you,” you snap as you try and fail to yank open the container, the deep snow preventing it from budging even an inch.

“Here, move,” Chuuya says, coming to stand next to you, finally dropping down into the snow as he nudges you out of the way to use his ability to pull open the heavy, jammed door.

You squint as you look into the dark container—it’s mostly empty and you’re about to turn on Chuuya for having the wrong one before you notice a chair and a desk in the far back corner. The snow spills into the container as soon as Chuuya gets the door open and you yelp as you slide in, nearly slipping to the floor.

Chuuya snorts.

You glare at him, but you have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Dazai,” you call again, frowning when you don’t see him in the container, wondering if you came all the way out here for nothing. Chuuya would kill you. “Do you see him?”

“I’m gonna kill you if we came all the way out here for nothing,” Chuuya says, voicing your thoughts. You wince as he jumps down to stand next to you. “Maybe he went over to those other friends of his? That low ranking guy?”

Maybe, you think, taking a few steps further into the container, eyes straining in the dark to try to make sure he’s not there before facing Chuuya’s wrath and leaving. Just as you’re about to give up, you spot a lump covered by a thin blanket in the corner of the container and you frown. You think at first it’s a pile of dirty clothes until you draw a bit closer and see that it’s moving, a slow and steady rise and fall that could only be Dazai huddled beneath it.

“Dazai?” you repeat again, making your way over to the corner of the container and kneeling next to the lump. Chuuya trails a few steps behind you slowly, pausing when you reach out to snatch the blanket off of the lump. “Jesus, Dazai…”

He’s sleeping beneath the blanket—sleeping or just straight up unconscious, you’re not sure. He looks small curled into a ball in the corner of the container, his skin and lips are paler than usual, breath concerningly slow. You reach out to press your hand against his cheek, feeling how cold and clammy his skin is.

“And you wanted to leave him out here,” you hiss at Chuuya, shooting him an accusing look. To his credit, he does look guilty as he looks down at Dazai, brows twisted and lips curled down, an unreadable look in his bicolored eyes. “Help me get him up.”

Dazai is lighter than you expected—he’s tall and gangly but there’s so little meat to his bones that you can almost lift him up on your own but it’s just awkward because of his height. Chuuya grabs his feet, you grab under his arms; his body is limp, like you’re carrying a corpse and not a living, breathing human being.

“Chuuya, hold on, I’m gonna put him down,” you say before the two of you get to the entrance of his shipping container.

Chuuya grunts as the two of you lower him to the ground, giving you a questioning look. You ignore it, pulling off your thick fur coat and wrapping it around Dazai, trying to warm him up even just a little because you fear that if you bring him out in his thin button-up and slacks, he’s just going to get even more sick.

“You’re gonna freeze,” Chuuya says with a sigh, shaking his head. He pulls off his own jacket and tosses it at you. “I run hot anyway. Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, shrugging it over your shoulders and then looking back down at Dazai. “Ready?”

“Yup,” Chuuya agrees, leaning down to grab Dazai’s feet again.

You grimace as the harsh and bitter winds immediately sting your face, a shiver running down your body. You glance over at Chuuya, whose face is already becoming red with the cold, he looks distinctly uncomfortable although he’s trying to hide it, and you feel a bit guilty. You look to the side, all the way across the shipping container yard up the hill to the road the two of you had come from, all of it covered in several feet of snow.

You realize, a bit dreadfully, that Chuuya will not be able to use his ability while carrying Dazai and you give him an agonized look.

Chuuya looks just as harrowed.

“This is going to suck.”

“Give me your blankets,” Chuuya demands, shivering violently once the two of you get Dazai up to your apartment.

Luckily, the backup generators had come back on while the two of you were out so you didn’t have to walk up literally nearly forty stories to get to your apartment. The heat is still off though, so it’s freezing and you really need to change into something warmer, but you’re more concerned with the boy curled up beneath your covers, still breathing but still also concerningly slow.

“He’s not looking too good,” you say quietly, reaching out to pull the blankets tighter around him. You brush your fingers across his cheekbone, trying to see if he’ll stir at all, but he remains frighteningly still. “Do you think maybe I should call Mori?”

You don’t want to call Mori and you’re pretty sure Dazai wouldn’t want you to call Mori, but you think that if he doesn’t move or show some kind of life in the next ten minutes, you’re going to have to. As much as you don’t want to get the man involved, you want Dazai to die in your bed even less. You sigh as you take a seat at his bedside, pulling out your phone to try to figure out what exactly you should do if he’s hypothermic.

“Yo, I asked for blankets,” Chuuya says irritably, rifling around your clothes closet for blankets. “Where are they?”

“Downstairs,” you say dismissively, “I thought you weren’t staying.”

Chuuya’s shoulders slump as he scowls at you. “Only long enough for you to figure out if he’s gonna live,” he mutters and then storms downstairs to find blankets as you finally find a website that will load so you can figure out what to do with Dazai.

Be gentle. When helping someone with hypothermia, handle them gently. Only move the person as much as is necessary. Don't massage or rub the person. Vigorous or jarring movements may trigger cardiac arrest.

Move the person out of the cold. Move the person to a warm, dry location if possible. If moving is not possible, shield the person from the cold and wind as much as possible. The person should be kept in a flat position if possible.

Remove wet clothing. If the person is wearing wet clothing, remove it. Cut away clothing if necessary to avoid too much movement.

Cover the person with blankets. Use layers of dry blankets or coats to warm the person. Cover the person's head, leaving only the face exposed.

Monitor breathing. A person with severe hypothermia may appear unconscious, with no clear signs of a pulse or breathing. If the person's breathing has stopped or appears dangerously low or shallow, begin CPR right away if you're trained.

Supply warm beverages. If the affected person is alert and able to swallow, give the person a warm, sweet, nonalcoholic, noncaffeinated drink. Warm drinks can help warm the body.

Well, you think, he’s not conscious for a warm drink and Chuuya changed him into a warm pair of your thick sweatshirts and sweatpants. He’s piled under the blankets in your room and he didn’t go into cardiac arrest from the two of you jostling him out of the shipping yard and into your apartment, so you think the only thing really left for you to do is make sure he keeps breathing.

You can do that.

You turn your attention back to Dazai, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look down at him. You shift into a cross-legged position, hesitantly reaching out to touch his cheek. His skin is cold under your touch but your breath hitches when he finally moves on his own; you almost draw your hand back like you’ve been burned when you see his lashes flutter, but you don’t. Your lips part when he unconsciously leans into your touch, a soft puff of air escaping his lips as he shifts into a more comfortable position, pressing his face into your hand.

You’re only snapped back to reality when Chuuya walks back into your bedroom, your fluffy blanket from the couch downstairs pulled entirely around him. He gives you a judgmental look, eyes drawing from where you’d very inconspicuously yanked your hand back into your lap before looking back up to your face and your cheeks heats up.

“I was checking his temperature,” you hiss, lying through your teeth. “Don’t look at me like that when you look like an egg.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he waddles over to you, sitting on the bed next to you as the two of you look over Dazai. “How is he?”

“Alive,” you say with a shrug. “There’s nothing else to really do but make sure he keeps breathing. Give him warm water to drink when he wakes up. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he replies awkwardly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Don’t want to go back so Ane-san can scold me anyway…”

You think it’s more that he feels guilty over wanting to leave Dazai out there while he was suffering but you don’t shatter the facade he’s putting up because if he feels bad, it’ll be easier for you to make him do the things you don’t want to do while he’s here.

“Yeah, she’ll probably be mad,” you agree, glancing down at Dazai again, some of your tension easing when you see that his chest is rising and falling a bit more steadily and much more deeply now. “I’m not happy with her.”

“Why?” Chuuya asks.

“What do you mean why?” you ask. “You know why.”

“She was just trying to look out for you,” Chuuya says with a frown. “She’s right, the Boss gets weird about Dazai. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself but you haven’t been here the past year. I always thought it was weird that he never introduced Dazai to the Flags like he did for me but… I just don’t think he likes it when people get close to Dazai.”

It is weird, you won’t deny that, but it’s not worth leaving him out there to die. Plus… you remember the day you first met him, his excitement at having someone else his age around, his disappointment when he thought you didn’t like him… he’s just a boy, a lonely one at that, and Mori is cruel for trying to keep him isolated.

“I don’t care what Mori wants,” you say tightly.

It’s a lie—the thought of doing something that pisses him off chills you to the bone. Your throat spasms as your mind is drawn back to the warzone he found you in; the way he’d give you small smiles and pats on the head all the while telling you that if you couldn’t get a hold of your ability, he’d send you back where you came from. The thought is cold and haunting, a constant reminder that if you can’t prove your worth to him he’ll discard you like a useless tool, but…

Your gaze drifts back over to Dazai, still shivering from where tucked underneath your blankets, but he looks much more comfortable. Much more at peace. You think again of the way he was so happy to meet you. The way he was so bothered by the thought of you not liking him. The way he constantly tries to seek you out even though Mori ensures that the two of you have opposite mission schedules. The way he so instinctively leaned into your touch.

But maybe just this once you’ll do what you want regardless of Mori’s wishes.

Chuuya gives you a heavy side eye before shaking his head. “Wanna play cards?”

“... Yeah, sure.”

The first time Dazai wakes up, he’s not even coherent.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn't know who you are, and is panicked over something. Chuuya had left hours ago once the two of you were mostly certain that Dazai wouldn’t suddenly die, going back to his apartment to face the wrath of Kouyou for disobeying her. You’re starting to doze off when you feel him jerk up next to you; he thrashes under the covers as he tries to free himself, nearly knocking you off of the bed.

“Dazai,” you gasp, startled. You shift around to try to get him to calm down and nearly end up with a fist to the face. “Jesus, Dazai, chill.”

You grab his hand and try to pin him down to the bed but it only ends with him thrashing harder, eyes wild, more panicked. You let go of his wrist and he scrambles away, tripping off the bed and onto the floor, yanking the blankets with him. You curse as you follow after him, kneeling on the floor next to him as he scuttles back into the corner like a frightened animal.

He looks… terrible, actually. His skin is pale and clammy, you think he must have developed a fever from the cold. He looks half delirious, his visible eye is glazed over and full of fear and your throat tightens as you lift your hands to try to show you mean no harm. Dazai doesn’t calm down, kicks his feet out when you try to get close and you sigh before stopping a few feet away from him.

“Dazai, calm down, it’s just me,” you say quietly.

When he finally starts to calm down, you shift forward to place your hands on his ankles, stopping him from kicking out again if something sets him off. When he doesn’t immediately start thrashing under your touch, you take it as an okay to come closer. Scooting against the floor, you come to sit next to him, pressing your shoulder against his. Dazai instantly is leaning into you, body exhausted, head falling against your shoulder.

“We have to get you back up on the bed,” you tell him but you feel him weakly shake his head from where it’s resting on your shoulder. “We have to, Dazai. You can't stay on the floor.”

“Why are you here?” he croaks out. “... Why am I here? Is this your apartment?”

“You were going to freeze to death out there,” you tell him. “I-”

“But why? Why do you care? I don’t-no one cares so why…” Dazai doesn’t even finish the question, tongue loosened in his half-delirious state. He sounds distressed but more than that he sounds confused, like he can’t understand why you would go out of your way for him. Him.

“C’mon, Dazai, back in bed,” is all you say, voice quiet as you shift into a kneeling position, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stumble back to his feet.

He’s light, but his limbs are awkwardly long so you stumble a bit when he leans his full body weight onto you, nearly tripping over one of his legs as you help him onto the bed. As soon as you get him situated, you reach back over onto the floor to grab the blankets he’d pulled off the bed and tuck him back under them.

His eye tracks you—big and black and empty as you leave his side to grab the chamomile tea you’d brewed when he finally started stirring thirty minutes ago. It’s not as hot now but it’s warm enough.

You sit at his side, shoulder pressed to his and back against the headboard as you lift the mug to his lips. He stares down at the mug for a moment, making no move to drink it, but then he lets his head fall on your shoulder again, pressing his lips to the rim of the mug.

You tilt the mug back, using your other hand to keep his head steady, watching as he takes a few sips before stubbornly turning his head away, pressing his face into your shoulder so that you can’t force him to drink anymore.

“You should take a few more sips,” you tell him quietly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled against your shirt. It’s only when he hears you put the mug back down does he finally lift his face. He still looks entirely out of it, but his gaze still somehow manages to take upon a more accusing look. “Why am I here?”

“I told you why,” you frown, side-eyeing him.

“Why am I really here? Did Mori tell you to come check on me? I don’t need-”

“I came because I wanted to,” you say as you become increasingly more irritated. “I’m not Mori’s lapdog. I do what I want.”

Dazai stares at you, more withdrawn now and an uncertain look in his eye. “But why?” he asks, a bit quieter this time like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would come for him because they wanted to. You almost want to reach down and grab his hand but you refrain. Instead, you knock the side of your head gently against his.

“I told you back when we met that I wanted to know you. Wanted to be your friend,” you say, honestly.

“You didn’t say that,” Dazai accuses, averting his gaze. “That you wanted to be my friend. You didn’t say that.”

“It was kind of implied,” you reply, rolling your eyes and that add a bit more quietly, “I do. I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other.”

Dazai’s entire expression shifts at your words, expression crumbling. Just as suddenly as his expression changes, he throws himself back into a laying position, turning away from you and lifting the covers up above his head to hide himself from you. You stare at him, unsure of how to take his reaction—a rejection? Or maybe he’s just flustered? He murmurs something that you can’t hear because it’s smothered by the layers of blankets on top of him.

“Huh?”

“I said that I’m allowing you to be my friend,” Dazai raises his voice, pitched and wobbly, like he’s trying to make it come across more snooty than it actually does. As if it’s a bother for you to want to be his friend. It’s almost funny but you can’t help the way you roll your eyes again. “Be grateful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say sarcastically, “for gracing me with this most honored title.”

You hear him sniffle and then sneeze beneath the lump of blankets. “It is an honored title. You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes. Again. But you don’t respond this time, resigning to just leaning back against the headboard and grab the book you were starting before you’d started dozing off. You think maybe he might be right—it is an honored title. Dazai doesn’t have many friends, doesn’t let people get too close and certainly doesn’t let them think they mean anything to him. He’s very selective with the people he chooses to associate with.

“The next time you wake up, as your friend, I’m forcing you to eat some soup.”

You hear him grumble but you think he must be too tired to protest because he doesn’t even get any words out before you notice that his breath has evened out beneath the blankets. You sigh and pull them down a bit so that he doesn’t accidentally smother himself to death in his sleep, ignoring the small smile that twitches to your lips as you turn your attention back to your book.

The second time Dazai wakes up, he’s much more alert and entirely more difficult.

“You need to eat something,” you hiss, trying to wrangle Dazai up out of bed. “And you need to drink something, you’ve sweat so much that my sheets are soaked through. You’re going to be dehydrated and then you’re going to feel worse.”

“Go away,” Dazai shrieks, nearly smacking you in the face as he tries to push you away. “Go away, I don’t want your help, just let me go back to the shipping container to die. I don’t-”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” you hiss, taking the pillow he was laying on and whacking him over the head with it hard. Dazai flops back on the bed hard, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. You raise the pillow again threateningly. “Get up and eat soup or I’ll hit you again.”

“You just whacked me with a pillow while I’m dying of fever,” Dazai says, voice riddled with shock. “I can’t believe you just-”

“Eat the soup,” you demand, winding back your arms again as you prepare to hit him again.

Dazai gives the pillow a wary look before sitting up and scooching across the bed to the nightstand, staring at the now lukewarm soup with a contemplative expression. “Do you eat or drink soup? It’s liquid, isn’t it? Wouldn’t I be drinking the soup?”

You stare at him flatly. “There’s carrots in it. You’re eating the carrots, so you’re eating the soup.”

Dazai’s face twists in disgust as soon as the c-word leaves your lips and you know you’ve made a mistake. Everything happens in a split second—you see him look at you from the corner of his eye, you see his gaze dart to the door, and you see his body tense as he prepares to make a break for it.

He doesn’t get more than an inch before you’re bringing the pillow back down on his head, sending him sprawling back down against the mattress with a loud ‘oof.’

“You can’t just beat me until I eat the soup,” Dazai protests loudly, disgruntled as he looks around trying to figure out if he can try to make another break for it, casting the pillow a wary look. Luckily, even if he is more coherent now, his brain and body are still sluggish from the fever. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” you say, and just for good measure, you whack him with it again.

“Stop! I didn’t even move that time,” he cries out. “Now you’re hitting me just to hit me!”

“You’re not eating it fast enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!”

Dazai bristles like an irritated cat as he stares at you, but his shoulders slump as he drags himself back over to the nightstand. You’re almost insulted, honestly, considering you spent an hour trying to figure out how to cook it properly for him, but you simmer down when he lifts the spoon from the bowl.

He blinks suddenly, eyes wide and owlish. “This spoon is large.”

You stare at him. “It’s a soup spoon,” you say flatly.

“Can I keep it?” he asks, twisting it around to look at it more carefully.

“No, Dazai, you can’t keep my spoon.”

Dazai pouts at you but then lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh as he gives the soup one last wary look before taking his first spoonful of soup. For a split second, you watch with bated breath to see his reaction to it, but then his face lights up as he spoons up another mouthful of the soup. You pretend that you’re not entirely pleased and smug that he likes the soup you made him, but you can’t help yourself from making a snide comment.

“So after all of that, you like it,” you say dryly.

Dazai scowls. “I’m just hungry,” he disagrees, but his cheeks are flushed pink. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” you agree blandly.

“It’s true.”

You don’t say anything else after that, staring at the wall as Dazai scarfs down the entire bowl of soup because whenever you look at him, he stops mid-spoonful and waits for you to look away again. You think he’s ridiculous and want to roll your eyes, but you also can’t help the fondness that blooms in you as you pull your knees to your chest and wait for him to finish.

It’s not long before you hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl. When you look over at him, you see the frown on his face as he looks down at the bowl—as if he hadn’t realized that he’d finished all of the soup already. You nudge his shoulder with yours, drawing his attention away from the empty bowl.

“There’s more in the pot if you want it,” you offer, watching as a conflicted expression crosses his face as he looks back down at the bowl. “It’s gonna go to waste if you don’t. I ate earlier.”

Finally, Dazai mutters, “Only because you’re forcing me.”

You give him a flat look but don’t say anything else, taking the bowl from him and making your wait out of the bedroom to the kitchen. It’s been a little over a day since you first got him in your apartment. It’s dark again, the moon high in the sky and stars glittering prettily—you pause at the towering windows in your living room to look up at the sky and you find yourself thinking of Dazai.

Or, of his eyes that is.

When you hear people talk about Dazai, they mostly talk about his mass of terrifying feats. They talk about how he’s sixteen and already in command of one of the Port Mafia’s most elite combat squads, they talk about how he’s sixteen and rivaling the Colonel’s success rate on operations, they talk about how he’s on track to be the next promoted executive whenever there’s another opening. They talk about how his blood is blacker than anyone else in the upper echelon, they talk about how he was born to be one of them. You can never tell if they’re scared of him or if they admire him—probably both, and you think they’re probably more scared than anything.

They also talk about his eyes. Eye. Whatever. Too dark, too emotionless, too dull. Soulless, hollow, creepy. They’re uncomfortable meeting his gaze—they say he’s inhuman, that only a demon could have eyes so hauntingly empty.

You think they’re wrong, they remind you more of the night sky than anything else.

You love the stars.

You sigh as you walk over to the kitchen and pour the rest of the soup into the bowl. You heat it back up in the microwave for a few seconds before bringing it back over to the spare bedroom where Dazai is staying. You think you’ve probably not been gone for more than two minutes, but by the time you’re back, Dazai is curled up beneath the covers again, dozing off.

He doesn’t notice you enter the room and you watch him for a moment, tilting your head to the side as take note of the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes flutter as his eyes droop shut. There’s still sweat beaded on his forehead, a faint flush over his cheeks that proves the fever is still running him down—you find your lips curving up, you think he’s much more pleasant when he doesn’t speak.

He only jerks back awake when you take a few steps closer to him, eyes wild with panic as if he was surprised by your presence. He doesn’t seem to recognize you for a moment but when he does, he visibly relaxes, brows furrowing in confusion as if he didn’t realize he’d started falling asleep.

“You can sleep if you’re tired,” you say as you place the soup down on the nightstand and take a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I can heat up the soup later.”

Dazai stares at you with an unreadable expression, he looks like he wants to ask you something or say something but his lips remain sealed shut. After a few moments, he sits up silently and shifts into a sitting position. Your shoulders brush and his thigh is pressed against yours as he starts to eat the soup carefully again, slower this time.

Too slow, you realize almost a second too late when Dazai’s head lolls to the side and he nearly drops a whole spoonful of soup onto the bed. Luckily, you’re quick enough to grab the bowl and catch the spoon and soup before it hits the sheets. His head drops on your shoulder and that fondness in your chest starts to spread again.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai so at peace before, and yes, it might be because he’s half dead with exhaustion, but you think it’s a welcome difference from the tight expressions you’ve seen from him when you happen to cross paths with him at headquarters. When he’s not Dazai Osamu, but the Demon Prodigy, the Black Wraith, cold and distant, intimidating and cruel, not a sixteen-year-old boy who dislikes carrots and has a fascination with soup spoons. You think back to his refusal to believe that you were helping him of your own free will and you can’t help but frown a bit.

You let him lay on your shoulder for a second longer than necessary before shifting him back into a lying position and tucking him beneath the comforter. You sigh as you take a seat next to him, back against the headboard as you pull out your phone to shoot a text to Chuuya so you can let him know that Dazai is doing better.

You yawn as you think to yourself that you’ll stay a bit longer—watch over Dazai to make sure he doesn’t get worse again before heading back up to your own room… but you find yourself sinking into the mattress, a bit too sleepy and a bit too comfortable…

Dazai feels better the next time he wakes up.

He yawns as he shifts in bed to nuzzle into the thick blankets and soft pillows. He feels warm, comfortable, surrounded by a familiar and pleasant scent that leaves his defenses dangerously low. A bit alarmed by how at ease he feels, Dazai’s eyes fly open, trying to figure out where the fuck he is and why the fuck he feels so good.

He tries to sit up, but there’s a weight pressed against his side that makes him pause, so he turns his head to the side slowly, unsure of what he’s going to find. He freezes when he sees you propped up against the headboard next to him, fast asleep, neck turned at an uncomfortable angle.

“Friends look out for each other.”

At once, the past day or so comes back to him—most of it is a fog but he vividly remembers him waking up a few hours ago and you whacking him around with pillows until he got some soup in him. He finds his lips curling up into an amused smile as he looks down at you, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest that makes him feel almost… Dazai doesn’t dare to admit it. He’s never had someone take care of him like that before.

He sighs as he reaches out to shift you into a more comfortable position. Carefully, laying you down against the mattress and placing your head on the pillow where his had been resting. He pulls the covers over you and watches as you let out a sleepy hum of appreciation, rubbing your face against the pillow before settling back down into a deep sleep.

His hands drop back down to his lap and he stares at you for a moment, wondering if you meant what you said, wondering if you were telling the truth when you told him Mori hadn’t been the one to send you to check on him, wondering if maybe…

Wondering if maybe you really did want to be his friend.

Dazai doesn’t have many friends. He has Oda, but he pretty much forced himself into Oda’s life by almost dying on his doorstep—literally—so he doesn’t think that really counts. Chuuya… well, he pretty much coerces Chuuya into hanging out with him by antagonizing him into video game challenges, so he doesn’t think that really counts either.

Dazai might not have any friends, actually.

He decidedly doesn’t like the emotion spreading through him now. It's light and airy and it clings to his black heart dangerously. It blooms in a way that nothing should be able to bloom in the dark. It’s too… feels too close to hope and Dazai knows better than anyone that hope is a dangerous, dangerous emotion—one that he shouldn’t allow to take root in him unless he wants to be hurt in ways that he’s tried to carefully guard himself from.

He should leave.

He should leave now.

He’s feeling better, there’s no reason for him to stay now that he can move around and think but…

But this bed is so much more comfortable than the floor of his shipping container… The sheets and comforter are warmer than the thin and ripped blanket he uses to cover himself at night… The pillows are so much softer than the clothes he props behind his head as a pillow. Dazai has never slept so well in his entire life—the nights that he is able to sleep are restless and plagued with faces he’d rather forget and voices that haunt him. This is the first time in… well, forever, that he’s been able to sleep peacefully, that he actually feels rested when he wakes up in the morning. The thought of going back to that metal box almost makes his body itch with discomfort.

He’s just so warm and so comfortable and you smell so nice… and Dazai... for the first time in his life, he feels content.

As soon as Dazai is awake, he feels his eyes drooping back shut just as quickly, breath evening out again as he drifts back to sleep.

“So he’s just… living with you now?” Chuuya asks, baffled.

“I mean, I guess so,” you shrug helplessly. “He just… never left after we brought him there that day.”

Never left and brought his few belongings into the spare room he’d been staying in when he was sick, but you don’t add that part. Honestly, you don’t mind that Dazai has usurped your spare room—your apartment is too big for just you to be living in, you don’t mind the company after spending two years alone in Kyoto and Dazai is fun to be around despite the awful movie he picked on Friday and his terrible taste in food.

Plus, you think it’s a bit of a much deserved, subtle rebellion from Mori, who has seemed to do everything in his power to make sure that the two of you never have time to interact with each other. You’re still not quite sure why he seems to be against the idea of you and Dazai becoming friends—probably something to do with a future plan of his, or maybe he really is just worried that you’ll distract Dazai from the carefully constructed path Mori has set him down—but you’ve decided that you like Dazai and you want to be his friend whether Mori likes it or not… which is saying a lot, considering you don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want to impress Mori.

He’s not happy with you—you can tell by the disapproving stares and the disappointed comments that make you want to curl in on yourself, and you have a feeling that as soon as this conflict is over with, he’s going to send you right back to Kyoto, but that’s an issue for you to deal with in the future.

For now, you’ll enjoy not being alone. Not having to watch your back and sleep with one eye open. Having people to rely on.

Having friends.

“And you didn’t tell him to get the fuck out?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” Chuuya demands. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He lived in a shipping container, Chuuya,” you defend yourself, “and I have a spare bedroom, it’s not a big deal.”

Chuuya stares at you for a moment, gaze sharp and accusatory, and then his expression shifts into one of disgust. “No.”

“Excuse me?” you demand, baffled.

“No. No, no, no. No.” Chuuya shakes his head, taking a step away from you. “You need to see a goddamn shrink. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Something wrong with me? What are you even talking about?”

Chuuya doesn’t even respond, looking severely disturbed as he storms off in the opposite direction, leaving you standing there, perplexed and slightly insulted.

“What’s the pipsqueak crying about this time? Is it his height or his terrible taste in clothes?” A familiar voice mocks from behind you.

You brighten a bit at Dazai’s voice, feeling him hanging over your shoulder as he looks over to where Chuuya had left. His cheek brushes yours from how close he is—he has no concept of personal space, you’ve realized in the past few days he’s decided to make himself at home in your apartment, but you don’t really mind.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answer. “Just ran off mid-conversation.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. “Stupid slug is always getting emotional about something,” he says. “Whatever. More popcorn for me. I finished my assignment early. Movie?”

“You’re not picking this one.”

“What? My movie was great.”

“Hah! If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I have another that you’re gonna looooove.”

“You will literally have to tie me down and clamp my eyes open to make me watch another movie of yours, Dazai.”

“...”

“... Stop looking at me like that.”

“...”

“Dazai!”

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

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