Tags fem beast chuuya x fem beast dazai, obsession, attempted suicide, eventual smut, tags will be updated as the fic is updated
Summary Chuuya could always read Dazai better than she thinks. When Dazai starts moving the organization in an unclear direction, she starts getting suspicious. Her worst nightmare comes true when she realizes what Dazai means to do--- kill herself and leave Chuuya behind. Chuuya takes it upon herself to make sure Dazai never tries that again.
A/N I WAS going to do this all in one go and post it at once but since its a new style ive never written in before and its a kind offff long story im just going to post it in parts!! if you hate it pls dont tell me i actually like this new writing style it just takes SOOOOO long. Also we might have to ignore that the beast world falls apart if 3 people know the truth just for the sake of fem skk
Dazai Osamu is not a woman to be trusted—-even with herself. Chuuya knows it better than anyone. Countless times, she has found her washed up on shore after trying to drown herself in a river, or in a frenzied state after ingesting whatever drugs she could get her bony fingers on. The images of Dazai—- breath faint, pulse weak, with blood soaking her clothing after another attempt—- will forever haunt her.
So, when the brunette starts mumbling about 'phases' and a 'master plan', she grows uneasy. Every time she asks for an explanation, she's met with a stiff smile—- one that doesn't meet her void-like eyes. "Don't worry about it Chuuya, dogs don't need to comprehend their masters' intentions to follow their orders," she taunts. It's a distraction. Chuuya knows that. She's goading her on, hoping the fight distracts her so she'll stop prying. It should not work as well as it does.
The secretive planning never stops, and Chuuya's questions never get answered. Nevertheless, she stays by her side.
Assassination attempts are plentiful. Much more than when they were still lower ranked teenagers, new to the mafia. Dazai has no self-preservation instinct—- that obligation falls to her second-in-command instead. When the White Reaper waltzes into her office after taking care of a mercenary group attempting to take the Boss' head, the ginger takes her place beside Dazai. Her eyes roam over Atsushi, pausing on the spiky collar he had been gifted by none other than the bandaged freak. The blades attached to the inside dig into his esophagus—- serving as a reminder of his position and helping control his ability through anguish.
Chuuya's choker tightens around her own throat.
He walks in as if he owns the place, chin up, and her blood boils. "Lower your head, captain. You're in the presence of the Boss," she barks out, voice like razors. The effect is instant. Jumbled apologies erupt from his mouth, sight drawn to the floor. Dazai's grin is forced. The black of her iris grows even darker still. The muscles of her face are controlled to project a perfect, calm demeanor in the aftermath of an intended extermination.
"It's fine, Chuuya. Good work, Atsushi. I'm glad you made it back safely," she assures. Only Chuuya catches the slight waver in her speech. Neck veiled tightly in pristine white bandages, her trachea bobs against the strips—- swallowing hard. A concerned wrinkle intensifies between the executive's eyebrows.
"Th-Thank you… very much, Dazai," he stumbles with his head still held low.
"Scuse me, errand boy? You got a death wish? You address her as 'Boss.'" Red glows over the silhouette of Atsushi's body. Pristine black flooring crackles and sinks. A crater forms with the boy right at the center. Tiny blades of tile dig into the soles of his boots, courtesy of the ginger woman currently enraged at his disrespect.
Sighing and crossing her legs, Dazai relaxes into her obsidian throne. "Come on, Chuuya. It's fine." Her long, dark hair is flipped back, and she brushes off her subordinate with a wave of her wrapped hand. "Anyway, I want to talk with him alone, so go wait outside." Gloved fingers curl into fists, ready to break someone's, anyone's, face in.
"The hell?! Why?!" Her booming voice echoes through the oppressive, unlit, noiseless room. "What's gotten into you? He ain't an executive or your secretary. The kids just an ordinary grunt. Hell, the fact that he's even getting to see you makes this a special case as is." Sinking further into the grim sea of despair, a distant harpoon lodges itself in her back.
"What makes you say that? I trust Atsushi." Dazai tilts her head up, lips pouting around each syllable—- as though she really could not comprehend the problem.
"Trust don't mean shit. What if he's being controlled by someone's skill or if someone planted a bomb on him? Wouldn't be the first time something like that happened, so there's no way I'm leavin' you alone with him. I won't allow it." An itch under her skin urges her to drag the brunette closer, to guard like she's supposed to. Perhaps if she feels the realness of Chuuya—- her sturdy disposition and the desire to ensure her safety—- she would change her mind.
A simper, all teeth and no warmth, stretches unnaturally over Dazai's gaunt face. "You won't 'allow it'? I'm not asking for permission, Chuuya." She leans in the rest of the short distance between their faces. Chills coalesce in the small area of the ginger's lips where the other shushes her with a freezing finger—- like a dog being muzzled by its owner. "You're an executive, and I'm the Boss. And in the Mafia, orders must be followed at all costs. We must respect the chain of command."
Conceding, her head bows. Despite wanting to mask the sour taste in her mouth, the soft tissue of her face twists. It's an expression Dazai has seen many times—- usually from people indebted to them, made to bite the curb. "Is that how it is? Then do what you want." Sparkling patent leather shoes punish the ground beneath them. Small shocks of gravitons pulse below the slabs of inky tile, much like a heartbeat, stemming from her departing form. "I won't forgive you if you kill the Boss, underling. Because I'm going to kill her one day." Her words float in the air, a lingering smoke that clings to the White Reaper's consciousness—- through this, he remembers to heed her warning.
Hinges screech out in torment, struggling to hold up the weight of grandiose, solid wooden doors. The entrance shuts with a soft clink. Chuuya doesn't look back as her shoulder makes contact with a wall in the hallway. What must they be saying to necessitate keeping her out? The Boss' office is the most secure place in Yokohama. Forty stories high— looking down at the rest of the city below—- it is easily the most formidable, intimidating memorandum of the Port Mafia's power. Intruders never make it past the first floor. Nothing can get in, nothing can get out—- even secrets.
Strategies and schemes are trapped within the office's four black walls unless ordered by the Boss. So why the hushed whispers when Chuuya isn't in the room? There is no way Atsushi of all people is more dependable than her. Yet, Dazai chose him. Bewilderment strikes her, knocking a hard blow to the back of her head. Betrayed and humiliated, her vision goes white.
Unrelated cases start to blend together, landing her in a strange spell, where everything looks and sounds normal, but there is this awful, debilitating phantom of familiarity resonating in her bones. When she thinks, really thinks, about the events in the past few weeks—- the mentions of phases and master plans, the secrets she is now excluded from, the subsequent war on the Detective Agency—- it's all so erratic. Nothing sounds like her. They are reckless, spiteful reactions more than they are well thought out blueprints. And if there's one thing Dazai is, it's thorough.
When a strange boy, scraggy and riled like a feral cat, breaks into their headquarters, Chuuya defers to Dazai. Waiting and willing for orders that never come. The kid rips through the explosion-proof flooring, clawing up level after level—- raven black fabric protrudes from him, shooting every which way, soaring him to the top via demon wings. Still, a command never leaves the Boss' voice box. Deja vu keeps her tethered to her enclosure on the 40th floor. Vibrations award the solid foundations of the skyscraper with swirling debris and broken glass.
The air is thick and hard to take full gulps of breath from, usual billowing wind stills. Her lungs expand and contract as dramatically as they can, but she is left craving more oxygen. Neither of them moves. Neither makes a sound. Shrieking cries and gunshots ring through their ear canals, to the recesses of her brain, taking root in her subconscious. Its a horrible howl of misery from her men—- one she won't be able to forgive Dazai for sitting and watching. And like a puppy, Chuuya waits.
A blank eye scrutinizes the door. Bandages frayed at the edges scratch minute rosy scars into her flesh. With time the blood that rose will settle, and she'll be left the same as she once was again—- sickly pale and barren. Some marks, however, run deeper. They carve into flesh like its paper, branding a person forever as its bounty. Healed but never gone. Fingers twitching, Chuuya wonders what it would feel like to run her battle-roughened hands over those. There must be hundreds, discolored and coating her skin like varnish.
Floating up out of her seat, Dazai finally addresses her. "I'm heading out. Don't wait for me." Something awful curls in the executive's ribcage. A feeling of wrong. Something is just off. The other avoids looking back. Its deliberate—- she's stiff, back tense in an artificial way.
"So that's it, huh?" The wood groans when Dazai pushes it aside. "You're just gonna let our people die? Right now, there's some kid destroying everything, and you're going out?" Her questions are met with silence. A dying ember buried within Chuuya's diaphragm reignites. "Why the hell did you even take the job?! We would've been better off if you'd kicked the bucket."
The brunette stops in her tracks but still doesn't glance back. "If you have a problem with the way I do things, maybe you can try being the Boss instead." Voice hauntingly empty, her fingers fidget and tap against the door. The gauze stretches and relaxes around her limbs with every movement. "I'm sure you'd do a better job," usually a line like that would've had some underlying meaning, a mocking tone and a joke about a dog trying to be its own master accompanying it—- but now it sounds sincere, almost wretched with how feebly its whispered out.
"Hey, wait-" Dazai makes it out of the room and down the hall before Chuuya can finish her sentence. The black-haired boy is still in the building wreaking havoc, but she can't concentrate on that. searching through every room in the building—- even the Boss' favorite hiding spot in the vent above the break room—- is a fruitless endeavor. She's gone. Chuuya has wasted the last hour and a half looking for that giant waste of bandages and she's not even here.
There are pieces of broken glass everywhere, scattered around the concrete, sparkling like glitter at some kind of fucked up party for murderers. Splotches of cherry stain the semi-porous ground, penetrating the bottomless depths. Her men's blood is what fuels this city. The fight has evidently made its way up to the rooftop, but Chuuya can't find it in herself to leave their bodies scattered here alone. Dead men deserve dignity too.
Occasionally, between paying her respects and covering their maimed, broken bodies, she scans the terrace from the bottom. The blue glimmer of the White Reaper's ability is clear as day, even from here. If she squints, it nearly looks like Dazai's.
Dazai.
She could be anywhere now.
Dead, ashen faces all peek up at her. The periwinkle of their lips is sickening. Every bit of them is arctic now. They were full of life just hours before. This is the end Dazai wants. For years, all she could think of, is to be one of these revolting corpses. Eating away at her esophagus, bile raises in Chuuya's throat at the thought of it. Swallowing it down, she glares at the top of the office building. When I go, I hope I go out just as beautifully. The line loops around her brain unceasingly.
Dazai always plans things out, down to every meticulous, seemingly insignificant detail. Even as she's being irresponsible, it's always a front. So why? Why is she keeping secrets? What are the phases and master plans for? Why did she declare war on the agency?
The struggle has stopped. There's no dazzling ruby or brilliant sapphire light shining down on her anymore. Wind twirls up her ponytail. lifting it high in the air. It almost blinds her, creating some sort of pseudo blindfold over her pupils. Yokohama has grown noiseless. Something that faintly reminds her of sage and sea salt wafts through her nostrils. Dazai.
Surely looking like a woman gone mad, Chuuya's head swivels hysterically. Embarrassingly, even she thinks she looks like a dog after being separated from its owner. A budding ache springs up in her vertebrae, but still no sign of the other woman. Just then, she glimpses up again. A flash of long, dark, unkempt hair makes her stomach sink to the pits of hell.
No.
An epiphany shoots through her temples, blooming within the cavity of her skull like a hollow point bullet. It's devastating. The pulse rushing behind her ear canal goes bizarrely quiet. A high-pitched beep, one reminiscent of a dog whistle, disorients her vision. The usual buzz of neurons talking to each other shifts into something bloodcurdling and mute.
So that's her "master plan".
She's going to kill herself.
Dazai feels she's done all she needs, and now she's going to jump. Just like that. After changing the course of Chuuya's life—- soaking her in blood—-she's going to toss her away like a worn-down rag. Time oozes by slowly in thick, heavy glops, coating their bodies in a sticky layer of sluggish fluid, staining everything scarlet.
The moment the brunettes body leans back into empty air, Chuuya’s legs spring into action. She has to save her. has to. Dazai can’t just abandon her like this! Did all those years together mean nothing? Wind pushes up, pulling her clothes up as she falls—- as if trying to stop her from hitting the hard ground. The bandages unravel under the savage lashes and gusts. They stay behind while her body accelerates, reaching up for any way to save themselves.
Dazai is resigned to her fate. Her frigid, raw-boned hands don’t even twitch. Any person would find themselves in a panic at this point. Survival instinct takes over. Secreting adrenal glands make it hard to maintain composure. But she has nothing if not pure self-control and hatred for herself. Glass crunches like bones underneath Chuuya’s shoes. No one even knows what’s happening except her. No one is watching as the Boss plummets to death.
Chuuya won’t either.
Driven by instinct, a vermilion incandescence radiates from Dazai’s body. Within half a second, the light explodes into a million tiny fractures like crystals, forming small blades and descending just as easily as the brunette's body. She looks brilliant surrounded by sparkling red. A nebulous memory of the woman, covered in her own blood materializes at the forefront of Chuuya’s cognizance.
No. Not like that. Never like that.
Chuuya would sooner take a bullet to the cranium than willingly watch as the vigor slowly leaks out of the other.
The impact will no doubt be catastrophic, whether or not she catches Dazai. A single second could be the difference between life and death. Her ability did not slow the projectile hurling towards the concrete even a little. Nerves shakily drive the executive forward, arms extended, ready to embrace the devastating load about to be thrust onto her.
A shift takes place in Chuuya's head the moment her arms wrap around the others waist. The momentum from the descent knocks her back, and with practiced dexterity, she lets it. Brown locks of hair cover her sight and are scarfed down her mouth—- much like a gag. Wounded and irritated wails die in the empty, stifling air. Every vertebrae grinds unpleasantly on the ground, covered in glass. It's a miracle her hat doesn't fly off in the process.
By the time they stop billowing on the floor, Dazai pushes herself off the executive. Her hair is messy, sticking up every which way. Gauze doesn't quite manage to stay tied on properly. The pupil of her one visible eye is shrunken. Thin lips are twisted into an icy grimace. Chuuya has never had so much hatred directed towards her.
A gulf has formed in the foundation of the building where she braced herself for collision. The rumpling of clothes is heard as the other gets up feebly. Her shoulders are hunched over, knees bent—- ready for action. Dazai won't go easy. Panic grips Chuuya's revived heart, squeezing every last bit of prudence. Years of training in the mafia have afforded her more than enough knowledge on how to subjugate wild targets. Her palm pulls back, flinging forward like a hound, ready to clamp its fangs down on its prey's throat.
She squirms and thrashes in her grip, blunt nails digging into the ligaments of her wrist. Helpless squeaks die in her esophagus as the clutch tightens, pushing down on the large veins bulging out of her neck. Once her screams go silent, the only thing Chuuya can hear is the ragged breaths ripping through her lungs. Dazai's body lays in a melted heap of expensive, onyx fabric and striking, achromatic bandages, unraveled at the executive's feet.
about the way Sunday showed a slight fondness to reader that she didn’t show others near the beginning, did she ever really question it? or was it something she just never realized?
She definitely didn't realize at first, kind of like how the reader also didn't until later. Not to mention she was also preoccupied with things like Bishop Wood. That's also the reason she didn't punish reader as badly as she could have, she needed to make sure his stay was a nice one, so she used reader to make him feel pampered. Also, when being raised so religious, those kinds of thoughts about something forbidden are kind of repressed, so it's hard to even realize it for yourself even when it's there. I'm not sure if anyone here has read Dracula by Bram Stoker, but I'm obsessed w it rn and in the beginning one of the characters is in denial about him being a monster despite all the signs being there--- that's kind of what happened with Sunday, although its obviously not in such an extreme situation.
im glad someone is looking forward to it hehehe as soon as my next fic is done ill get started on that one again!!! theres a lot left i plan to cover so there will be a lot of chapters incoming !!!
Helloooo idk if you still do requests buttt. Since you know spanish, could I request a fic of reader singing a hispanic song to Him? Like, Reader is hispanic (venezuelanmuejejejrj) and they start playing "Virgen" de Adolescentes and when the part "ya no llores, no me importa tu pasado" reader starts singing It to Dazai ???
𝐋𝐚 𝐋𝐮𝐳 𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐢 𝐕𝐢𝐝𝐚 𖤓
a/n i wasnt sure what language you wanted this is, so i wrote both. (spanish first, english second)
as i wrote this, i got reminiscent of my hometown, ty for that <3
SPANISH VER.
(scroll down to find ENGLISH VER.)
. . .
El viento estaba ligero hoy, y el sol de la tarde bañaba el jardín—y las flores de diferentes colores iluminaban.
La brisa suave movía las sabanas de lino blanco, que habías colgado hace un rato; se movían como las mareas del mar—el mismo que no estaba tan lejos de aquí.
El lino blanco llenaban el aire con ese aroma de jabón, una frescura que Dazai ha escogido cuando fueron a la tienda juntos.
Desde donde tú estabas; zacate recién cortada y fino, árboles en el fondo, y el tendedero de ropa que, literalmente era una cuerda enganchada por un parte del tejado, que llegaba hasta una de las ramas de los mismos árboles—observabas a Dazai.
Estaba concentrado, enrollado, quitando las hierbas de las rosas que ustedes han plantado hace tiempo.
Se veía relajado—a veces se limpiaba el sudor de la frente con las mangas remangadas sobre su brazo.
Y un mechón de su cabello castaño, volviendo a caer sobre su frente de nuevo.
Tu misma te sonreíste a ver esto, casi riéndote un poco.
Pero te volteaste en tiempo, esperando que el no hubiera escuchado tu risa, y mejor terminaste de tender la última sábana que faltaba
Después de un rato, entraste a la casa por unos minutos.
En la cocina, había un pequeño radio vieja, que te acuerdas que era de Kunikida, pero Dazai se la roba.
Una canción suave tocaba. Lente con una melodía de diferentes instrumentos.
Dirías, que era de esas canciones que por supuesto, pegaban a tu alma.
Estabas preparando café , y mientras esperabas a que la cafetería terminara, empezaste a jugar con los botones del radio.
Llegando a una canción que conocías.
Con dos tazas en las manos, saliste al jardín, siguiendo el mismo ritmo de la musica.
Al salir, viste que Dazai se había sentado en el banco de madera, una que tenían bajo la sombra de un árbol grande.
Se limpiaba la tierra de sus manos con un trapo, y al verte salir con el café, caminando a su dirección—una sonrisa apareció en su rostro.
Pero a su sopresa, te acercaste por detrás mejor que sentarte a lado de el.
Pusiste la taza con cuidado sobre una mesita pequeña que estaba junto al banco.
Luego te inclinaste sobre el banco, y en cambio rodeaste sus hombros con tus brazos.
Dazai se tensó por una fracción de segundo, pero luego se relajo al sentirte.
Sus manos subió para cubrir las tuyas, que descansaban sobre su pecho.
Apoyaste la cabeza sobre la suya, dejando que tu cabello cayera ligeramente sobre él, mientras q mirabas el cielo.
“En que piensas?” Pregunto Dazai, inclinando la cabeza mas para mírate.
La luz del sol, que se filtraba a través de las hojas se reflejaba en sus ojos mientras te miraba.
Volviste a mirarlo, y una pequeña sonrisa apareció en tu rostro.“Nada~ Pero si te traje café, mi jardinero.” Le dijiste, sin soltarlo.
Dazai soltó una risita suave.
Te agarro la mano, jalando un poco para guiarte, para que te sentaras a su lado. “-Y la música?”
“Shh…” Lo hiciste callar, disfrutando del silencio que siguió.
Te acomodaste en su abrazo, recordándote contra él mientras él hacía lo mismo. Tarareabas (?) el mismo ritmo de la canción que sonaba, escuchándola apenas desde la ventana de la cocina.
Comenzabas a murmurar las palabras en voz baja,“Hm?” Alzaste tu cabeza, al verlo que estaba a tu lado y sonreíste mientras comenzabas a cantarle lo mismo lo que decía la canción “—Ya no llores, no me importa…tu pasado”
“—Si yo te amo.” Terminó la letra de la canción
Te reíste un poco, antes de continuar con la canción.“—Si la vida tenía, tantas cosas bella~”
”Lo eres tú, para mi.” Te respondió, sus dedos acercándote a tu cara, levantando tu cabeza hacia él, inclinándose para darte un beso.
”...Solo lo dices por que amo esta canción.” Le dijiste, tomándole a la pequeña taza verde en tus manos.
El sonrió, tranquilamente, y tomo su taza de cafe de la mesa. “Entonces, a mi me gusta esa canción tanto entonces. Me gusta mucho…”
Se quedaron allí sentados, lado a lado. Compartiendo el calor del día, mientras las sábanas blancas bailaban en el fondo y la voz del radio seguía llenando el aire con canciones de promesas dulces.
“En tus besos encuentro, el calor que me brindaba.”
“—Del amor y la pasión...”
. . .
ENGLISH VER.
The calming wind swayed in the air, and the afternoon sun bathed the garden—illuminating the flowers in different colors
The soft breeze moved through white linen sheets, which you had hung up a few, a while ago; they moved like the tides of the sea—the same sea that wasn't so far from here.
The white linen filled the air with a clean soapy scent; a fresh scent that Dazai chose when you two had gone to the store together.
From where you stood—freshly cut, fine grass, trees in the background, and the clothing line that was, quite literally reaching down to one of the branches of those same trees—you took a quick glance over at Dazai, to see exactly what he was doing.
He seems to be focused, curled up on his knees, taking out the weeds near the roses you two had planted long ago.
Though, he looked relaxed—sometimes wiping the sweat from his forehead with his rolled-up sleeves of his forearm
Sometimes a few strands of his brown hair would continously fall back over his face again.
Seeming frustrated, he huffed a little.
You smiled at yourself, almost laughing a little.
Turning around quickly in time, hoping he hadn't heard your giggling, and instead continued to hang up the last linen sheet.
After a while, you went inside the house for a few minutes.
In the kitchen, stood was a small, old radio, which you remember belonged to Kunikida... but Dazai had stolen it.
Either way, a song played lowly, a bit of static here and there.
Though, it was a gentle kind of song, with a melody of different instruments. You'd argue it was possibly a song that touched your soul.
You had put on a pot of coffee, and while you waited for the cafe to finish, you inched closer to the small radio beside.
Toying with its button until you had come across across a song you knew.
With two cups in your hands, you went out into the garden, following the same pattern of the music that played.
As you stepped outside, you had seen that Dazai had sat down on the wooden bench that was under the shaded patch of grass—right under a large tree that stood tall
He was wiping the dirt from his hands with an old rag, only then when he saw you come out of the house, walking in his direction, did a warm smile spread on his face.
But to his surprise, you approached him from behind rather than sitting beside him.
You carefully placed the cup on a small table that was next to the bench. And lean leaned your upper body over the edge and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
Dazai, jumped a bit at your suddenness, but soon enough relaxed into your embrace.
His hands traveled up to yours, and covered them—holding them closely to his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat.
Leaning in, your hair fell over his, as you looked up to the clear sky. Deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about dear?” Dazai asked, his head coming up to meet with your eyes.
Though, the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the tree, reflecting into some parts of his gaze.
You glanced down at him, nothing behind as a sly smirk spread, “Nothing~ Cant I just bring you coffee and watch the sky with you?” You said, not letting go slightly.
He chuckled softly upon hearing your response, and took your hands over his head, guiding you to sit beside him. “—And the music?”
“Shh…” You hushed him, continuing to enjoy the silence that followed afterwards.
You snuggled into his embrace, as he had done the same.
Humming along to the same melody of the song that was currently playing—faintly, barely being able to hear it from the kitchen window.
Beginning to mumble the words softly, caught Dazai’s attention over to you. “Hm?” You lifted your head up, tracing his face with your finger as you began to sing the same words to him. “—Ya no llores, no me importa…tu pasado”
“—Si yo te amo...” He spoke, finishing the rest of the lyric. Albeit, his pronunciation a bit off, but he had the motive!
You laughed a bit, hand covering slightly your giggle before continuing on with the rest of the song. “—Si la vida tenia, tantas cosas bellas~”
“Bellas? Belladonna~" He butchered the words a bit, thinking you had said something else rather than what the lyrics meant "Youre beautiful to me, you know that...” He said, his fingers resting on your chin, bringing you closer to his face—lifting your face up towards him, and leaving a small peck on your lips.
You shook your head, reaching up from your position, going for the small green tea cup, “…Youre only saying that because you know I love this song.” Taking a small sip of the coffee with a sly look on your face.
He smiled calmly, taking his cup off the little table too. “Is that so? I also like this song too, matter of fact— I happen to love it, a lot.” Dazai kept his gaze on you, never faltering once as his nose nearly brushed yours.
You and Dazai stayed sat there, beside one another.
Sharing the warmth of the sun, as the linen sheets flowed in the background—a calming ambience, especially as the radio continued to surround the place with its love songs of sweet promises.
“In your presence, I find what I search for— and thats something to live for...”
jacobvanloon
dededos
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
