#chapter thirty-seven

[longagoitwastuesday]

I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

[followtheechoes]

just watched the riverdale finale. keep in mind that I watched season 1 and the first couple episodes of season 2 and then abandoned ship. I do not know character names for new characters. I'm also kind of curious if the gang exists anymore and if so what place they have in the 1950s timeline

[janexromantic]

they did it. they really did it. they pulled the endless summer card on us. i'm out.

[s4sharkteeth]

wolfgang is slowly turning into the group leader isn’t he….that’s not good

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[renee-writer]

April 15th Chapter Thirty-seven

AO3

They stumble back into the trenches, muddy and bloody. All, to a man, have wide staring eyes, shell shocked. The hands, holding tight to their rifles, tremble. The first battle has begun.

 

William, Jamie, and Ian, are still in one piece. They are in the same unit and crouch together in the bloody mud.

 

“I thought it would be like shooting a buck. It isn’t. They don’t die right away, either. The screams! They haunt our dreams, even when we can sleep.”

 

Brian reads the letter from his eldest son. Mary received one, asking after the children, telling her that they are alright. He gets the ones they can’t write to their wives.

 

He folds it with trembling hands. It joins the others in an old cigar box. One day, when he is much older, Willie will be able to read them. He and Fergus, Wee Ian, Quinton. His grandsons will know why their father’s are the way they are. Or, no how they used to be.

 

He shakes his head. No, they will return. Scarred and battered but home.  He lowers his head and once again prays for them.

 

Claire folds the letter after reading it to the children. Her hands rest on her huge baby bump. At six months, it shouldn’t be this big. She has a strong feeling that she is having twins. This is a concern she has yet to share with her husband. He has enough going on. If two arrive, then she will tell him.

 

“Da da bye bye?” Faith questions. They are doing all they can to keep his memory alive in her. Her brothers talk about him all the time. Mainly when playing soldiers.

 

“Daddy and our uncles are off fighting the bad men.” Quinton answers.

 

“Aye Faith, he is going bang bang.” Fergus places his fingers out, in pretend guns and makes shooting noises.

 

“Daddy and your uncle’s will be back.” Claire adds, frowning at her boys. They both lower their heads. She is glad that Jamie and the others are heroes to them. It is just being reminded of the horrors they are going through isn’t easy.

 

She knows that herself and Mary and Jenny are only getting the cleaned up version of what they are experiencing. Her father-in-law looks increasingly wane every time the post comes. They are sharing with him the worst of it.

 

“Fergus and Quinton, go write letters to your daddy.”

 

They turn and go to do it. She places Faith in her shrinking lap and starts to rock her. Her eyes are far away.

 

“Oh, oh, owe!” she screams as the pains of child birth wash over her.

 

The screams of dying men surround him. Even so, he hears Claire, as if she was right beside him. He knows the baby is coming.

 

“Just a bit more. The baby is almost here.” The midwife sooths. She clings to Jenny and Mary. Each have one of her hands as she presses the baby out.

 

Ian let’s out an unholy scream beside him. He drops and Jamie falls down beside him. It is his leg. It is gone.

 

“A strong lad.” She announces, lifting the baby up. Jenny moves to assist, taken her new nephew in hand, so the midwife can deliver his sibling.

 

Jamie pulls his belt off, fashioning a tourniquet while screaming for the medics. “You stay with me Ian! Do you hear me! Stay, Jenny and those babies need you. Medic!”

 

“Ian!” Jenny feels faint and finds a seat holding the baby fast.

 

“Henry after his late grandpa.” Claire says between breaths, believing Jenny was naming the baby.

 

“Do you have a name for another lad?” The midwife asks, “For Master Henry has a baby brother.”

 

While Claire lays, cradling her newest sons, Jenny explains that she believes something happened to Ian.

 

“We shall pray.” Mary declares. Always a devote woman, with her husband and brothers -in -law in the middle of a war, her prayers have increased. As the mistress of the house, she leads her family in morning devotions and evening prayers.

 

He is gathered into a MASH tent. Jamie prays as he continues to fight. He prays for both Ian and Claire.

 

“John,” she announces, “It is a form of Ian and honors Jamie’s  good mate. Henry Lambert and John Brian. That is their names.”

[thenerdsofcolor]

NOC Exclusive Clip: Archie Questions What He Wants in the Last 'Riverdale' Musical Episode

NOC Exclusive Clip: Archie Questions What He Wants in the Last 'Riverdale' Musical Episode @CW_Riverdale #Riverdale @TheCW @warnerbrostv #ArchietheMusical #NowLeavingRiverdale @ArchieComics

It’s almost time for the final Riverdale musical episode and this one is centered on the one and only Archie Andrews. “Chapter One Hundred Thirty-One: Archie the Musical” airs this Wednesday at 9 PM and The Nerds of Color has an exclusive sneak peek featuring KJ Apa, Casey Cott, Karl Walcott, and Nicholas Barasch. Continue reading Untitled

[isabellafoster13]

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rufus' Rescue

Midnight peeked from behind a tree at an unassuming, most likely abandoned, house that sat in the middle of a forest. He furrowed his brow as he asked the mages who were hiding among the vegetation with him, "we're sure that this is the right location?" His voice was low, careful not to make too much noise in case there was a hidden person who was on the lookout.

Lucy answered, her voice also low, "yeah, it definitely is. Sirius couldn't be wrong." She reached up with one hand and adjusted Rufus' hat, which she had rested upon her head.

Midnight nodded and glanced at Freed, who was finishing up the runes that Lucy had instructed him to put up. Insurance that Terra, Lust, and Nyx won't be able to easily escape. He then turned back to look at the house again. His eyes roamed over the outside, trying to deduce what part of the house Rufus could be being kept in.

It didn't take long for him to spot a small window that sat at the base of the house's exterior. A basement. It was a typical place to keep a captive, but also the easiest place.

"Have you thought of a plan, Lucy?" Freed asked as he returned to where they were hiding.

Midnight heard her hum in thought before she asked him, "Midnight, do have any guesses as to where in the house they could be keeping Rufus?"

Midnight looked over at her before he looked back at the house. He reached out a hand and pointed at the small window that he had spotted. "My guess would be the basement."

Lucy's eyes quickly locked onto the window. She nodded and requipped a silver key into her hand. Midnight and Freed watched as she stood up and stepped backward, away from the tree that she was hiding behind. She raised her key and softly called out, "Open! Gate of the Fly: Musca!"

In an instant, a young man in a fly costume appeared in front of Lucy, sitting with his legs crisscrossed and his chin resting on top of the knuckles of his hand, which were balled into fists while his arms were propped up in the sides of his knees. He grinned up at Lucy and asked, rather loudly, "what'd ya need?"

Midnight gave a slight grimace at his loud tone while Lucy shushed him. She then instructed him, "I need you to turn into a fly and go into that to find out who is where inside."

Musca stood up and brushed the dirt off of his costume before he questioned, his voice now low, and grin still on his face, "how many people am I looking for?"

"Four. Three celestial wizards and one of our friends."

Musca flashed a thumbs-up before he shifted into a fly and flew toward the house. Midnight watched until he wasn't able to see the spirit any longer. He then looked over at Lucy and asked, "what are we going to do with the celestial wizards if we catch them?"

Lucy glanced at him before she looked down at the ground, seeming to be thinking. It was a question that Midnight hadn't realized that he was wondering, but now that he thought about it, he didn't think they had ever talked about the topic, nor had he been told what the plan was.

Freed looked at Lucy with a furrowed brow. "Yeah, what are we going to do with them? None of the books I looked through have any information on them, and Mest hasn't heard of them, so it's possible that the Magic Council doesn't know about them. That could make turning them in difficult."

Lucy nodded as she continued to stare at the ground. Eventually, she sighed and answered, "let's just focus on saving Rufus. Getting him back safely should be our first priority."

Midnight nodded, but he was still slightly concerned with what they were supposed to do with Terra, Lust, and Nyx. It wouldn't be easy to detain and transport them to be imprisoned. While he was on that train of thought, he also couldn't recall them ever learning how the three celestial wizards' mission was possible.

He looked over at Lucy again, asking, "how are they even able to take over the Celestial Spirit World?"

It was Freed who responded, his tone a little on the harsh side, "I don't think that talking this much is a good idea. We can figure all of that out when we capture them."

Midnight suppressed a glare at the other man's tone while Lucy turned to Freed and soothed as she place a hand on his shoulder, "his questions are understandable, I'm curious too. Try not to be harsh, please."

A light dusting of pink appeared on Freed's cheeks as he softly replied, "right, I apologize." It was clearly directed toward Lucy rather than toward Midnight. However, that wasn't what bothered Midnight. A feeling of irritation swirled in his gut as he grimaced at the sight of the blush on Freed's face.

He turned his head away, to look back at the house. He still didn't understand why it irritated him so much when Lucy would be so affectionate toward Freed or Rufus, before his capture, resulting in either man blushing lightly. There was something about the occasional display that would make him want to steal away Lucy's attention, even though he never responded much better than Freed and Rufus whenever Lucy would focus her attention on him, praising him for any sort of accomplishment.

It especially frustrated him that he had yet to figure out why he felt this way about Lucy. Recently, he's found himself watching her more than he used to. Without realizing it, he would end up staring at her with a warmth on his face and in his heart, along with a fluttering feeling in his gut, as he watches her do anything, typically admiring her newest keys.

Speaking of, has he, Freed, and Rufus given Lucy any of the keys that they collected at la Cour de Velours? He knew that he hadn't given her the two keys that he collected, having forgotten about doing so due to Rufus' capture. He wouldn't be surprised if Freed was the same way and Rufus most likely didn't either due to having been captured.

He turned back to look at Lucy again. She was staring intently at the house, one of her hands resting on her opposite arm as she, seemingly absentmindedly, picked at non-existent lint on her blue shirt sleeve. He quickly found himself staring at her again, but couldn't find it in himself to care very much about how weird it might look. So, he doesn't look away. Instead, he observes how the freshly risen sun shines down on Lucy's golden hair, making it glow beautifully. Her dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, something that, as he's noticed, was a common thing that happened whenever it was sunny outside.

A sudden sharp, but incredibly brief, pain snapped his attention away from Lucy and over to Freed, who had silently moved to stand just behind him. The green-haired man gave him a silent glare, which was clearly a warning that he should stop staring at Lucy. Midnight returned the glare, continuing the sort of standoff until Lucy spoke excitedly, yet still softly, "Musca! He's back!"

Midnight and Freed watched as Lucy walked past them to speak with her spirit, who returned to his more human form to give his report. The fly costume-clad young man gave a large grin as he chirped, "your blonde friend is in the basement!"

Lucy asked, concern lacing her voice, "did he appear to be hurt?"

Musca shook his head. "Not really. He's tied up, though."

"What about the celestial wizards?"

"Two of them seem to be preparing to leave. The other one is gonna stay, I guess."

Lucy nodded and hummed in thought. "Who are probably leaving?"

"The chick and a guy with blue hair."

Lucy thanked Musca and dismissed him back to his realm. When she turned back to face her two friends, Midnight questioned, "what's the plan now?"

Lucy answered, "we should get to Rufus first. Terra and Lust would know that we're here once they discover the runes that Freed set up, so we need to release him before they get to us before we can get to him. We also need to deal with Nyx, but I'm sure that the three of us can take care of him just fine."

She walked back to the tree that she was previously hidden behind and peered at the house. A few moments of silence followed before she spoke again, "we should wait for Terra and Lust to leave. Once they do, we can go in from different entrances." She turned around to look at her guildmate. "Freed, how many doors did you see?"

"Three. The front door, back door, and a side door." Freed wasted no time in listing off the entrances to the house that he had seen while setting up his runes.

Lucy nodded. "I'll go in from the door opposite of the one that Terra and Lust exit from. While I look for Rufus, Freed, you'll look for Nyx and try to capture him. Midnight, you'll stay outside and go after Terra and Lust."

Midnight nodded along with Freed, agreeing with the plan. The three then turned back to the house to wait for Terra and Lust to exit the house. Midnight tapped his fingers against the tree that he leaned against, feeling unusually restless. Well, he supposed that uneasy would be a better word. He wasn't sure why he was feeling this way, but really irritated him and he itched for Terra and Lust to finally come out of the house so that they could get on with the dual rescue and capture plan.

It took several minutes of tense waiting, but eventually, Terra and Lust finally exited the house through the front door, making their way toward a part of Freed's rune wall. Lucy then nodded toward the two men and the trio set out to their assigned jobs: Lucy to find Rufus, Freed to capture Nyx, and Midnight to capture Terra and Lust.

Midnight quietly but swiftly made his way in the direction that Terra and Lust had walked in. As he got closer, he readied himself for a fight. As confident as he was in his ability to fight, he couldn't exactly deny that he was nervous about this confrontation. He had no idea what other forms of magic these two were capable of using, or which spirits they had. Going by what Lucy had said about when she, Sorano, and Yukino were captured, Terra knew Sleep Magic. The chances of her knowing other types, or Lust knowing other types, were higher than Midnight was comfortable with.

His train of thought was abruptly cut off when he bumped into Freed's wall of runes, the enchanted writing a glowing purple upon contact. He groaned as he rubbed his dully pained nose. He hissed a curse under his breath and looked around, searching for the two mages he had gone after.

Where were Terra and Lust? They should be here. Did they walk in a different direction? Why would they? His movements were silent, so they couldn't have heard him. Did they go back to the house after finding the wall of runes? He would have surely heard them making their way back if they did.

"Looking for us?"

Midnight whipped around to find a pink-haired woman standing several feet in front of him, a smirk on her face. Next to her, a blue-haired man stood with three silver keys in his hand. Midnight looked back at Terra, his eyes narrowed in a glare, and shifted his tensed body into a fighting stance.

Terra only continued to smirk, her body eerily relaxed. It unsettled Midnight, just a little. His instincts, honed from a lifetime of fighting, told him that there was something more here, something that he was missing. The smirk on the woman's face was too smug, too sure of herself, too...knowing.

Midnight continued to watch her closely, his brain working to figure out what it was that he was missing. When Terra's eyes flicked to the rune wall behind him several times, he chanced a quick look behind himself, his body's stance not changing. His eyes widened and his body froze when he saw the runes glow a purple color before disappearing entirely, clearly deactivated.

Midnight looked back at the duo in front of him. It was then that the realization hit him.

These three celestial wizards knew that they were there and what they were planning.

As soon as the realization struck him, Midnight was enveloped by flames. He screamed as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, the flames that lapped at his exposed skin burned painfully, but didn't leave any marks.

Seemingly as quickly as they came, the flames died out and Midnight was left on his hand and knees, his eyes stinging with tears as his whole body stung, his clothes smoking a little, as well. His breathing came out in gasps as he looked around for the two celestial wizards, or for the celestial spirit who attacked him from above, but he found nobody in sight.

He cursed under his breath as he pulled himself to his feet, his slightly singed clothes rubbing against his still burning skin painfully. He was able to catch a small glimpse of blue hair disappearing in the direction that lead away from the house. Tempted to give chase, he reluctantly decided to instead make his way as quickly to the house as his pained body would allow him. He knew that he wouldn't fair well in a fight with those two, and Lucy didn't need to deal with two injured men.

He eventually made his way out of the trees and looked up to find that Lucy and Freed were standing in front of the house, seeming to be talking, while Rufus sat on the front steps, what looked like a book in his hands.

Midnight made his way to them. Upon noticing him, Lucy wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, causing him to grimace with a pained groan. Lucy jumped away with a slightly panicky tone, "sorry! Sorry!"

Midnight waved her off and asked, "anybody hurt?"

Freed answered, "my scuffle with one of that man's spirits will certainly leave me with a few painful bruises, but besides that, I'm unharmed. Lucy, too, isn't hurt, and Rufus, rather surprisingly, isn't injured."

Midnight looked down at the blonde man, his iconic hat now firmly on his head. A small wave of relief washed over him upon seeing that Rufus was, indeed, not injured. His attention went back to Lucy when she spoke, "Rufus found something big." There was a delighted smile on her face, something that Midnight hadn't seen in some time and, unexpectedly, missed a lot.

He looked back at Rufus and asked, "that book?"

Rufus nodded and stood up. "This is a book of Celestial Spirit Magic spells. It contains the spell that will allow a celestial wizard to take over the Celestial Spirit World."

Midnight's eyes widened at that. He stepped closer to peer at the book. "How?"

Rufus tipped the book closer to him, allowing him to read the page. When he stepped away, his curiosity partially satisfied, he looked at Lucy and asked, "what's the plan now?"

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Freed, "hold on a moment." All three mages looked at the rune mage. His sea-green gaze was set on Rufus. "How did you find this book? And this spell? You were tied up in the basement, weren't you?"

Midnight nodded. "That's a good question." He looked at Rufus. "How did you?"

Rufus closed the book and tucked it under an arm. "This is going to be difficult to believe, but yesterday, Nyx told me about the spell and gave me this book."

Midnight narrowed his eyes at him. It wasn't in suspicion toward Rufus, he knew that the Sabertooth mage wouldn't do anything traitorous, rather, it was in suspicion of the fact that one of the celestial wizards they were combating had, seemingly, freely given up such important information.

It seemed that Lucy, too, was suspicious. "Are you sure that he can be trusted, Rufus?"

Rufus sighed, looking down at the ground for a few moments before he finally looked at the three of them and answered seriously, "look, I understand why you'd be hesitant to trust him, but I spoke with him about it. He came to me with this information, I didn't need to push. He was insistent about wanting to help us. Furthermore, he let me go when he saw that you were coming."

Lucy questioned, a surprised tone in her voice, "that's why I ran into you on my way to the basement? I thought that you had gotten yourself free."

Rufus shook his head. "Nyx had let me go. He wanted to speak with you. He's sworn up and down several times that he wants to help us."

Midnight couldn't believe what he was hearing. He shook his head. "You can't honestly believe his word. Have you forgotten who we're fighting?"

Rufus countered, "I understand your concerns, but what if he is being honest? If we can team up with him, then it would most definitely give us a great advantage. I'd say that it's worth the risk."

Midnight could only disagree. They didn't need to know anything about their enemy, they just needed to know what they were planning. Now that they had this book, they could more easily figure out how to stop those three celestial wizards. He looked to Lucy, prepared to urge her against the idea, but wanting to listen to her initial response first.

Lucy stared at the ground for a few moments longer before she looked back up and answered, "let's find a place to stay in the town before we make a final decision. I don't want to stay here for much longer, in case they come back."

With that, the small group set off toward the nearby town, an argument almost certainly waiting to happen.

[slytherinslut0]

Mattheo Riddle-Beg For Me

In the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, you, a brilliant Ravenclaw scholar known for your unwavering dedication to academics, found yourself in an unexpected battle of wits with the notorious bad boy of Slytherin, Mattheo Riddle.

Assigned as his tutor, you clashed fiercely due to his reckless attitude, a sharp contrast to your meticulous, by-the-book approach to life. Despite his smart remarks and arrogant charm, you stood your ground, unfazed by his attempts to break your resolve.

However, one day, during a particularly tense tutoring session, Mattheo had finally had enough, and nothing was ever the same.

Can this secret, toxic situationship blossom into something more? Or will you two forever be secret enemies turned lovers, destined to crash and burn.

CHAPTERS->

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this story so far. I’d never have dreamed it would be so popular, and that I’d meet some of the most amazing, supportive people ever while writing it. You all mean the world to me and I love you endlessly. Hopefully this makes it easier to find all the chapters:) xoxo

🩵Find my master list here.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light: Part 3 [Plug!Az]

SUMMARY: A run in with the cops is another reminder of the horrors Azriel faced through his childhood. Maybe one day he'll open up about it, but not today. Today, he's solely focussed on helping you out of a bad trip. (8.2k)

WARNINGS: swearing, reoccurring themes of use of recreational drugs (weed), greening out, teasing, flirting, kissing, dirty talk, use of toys hehe, slapping/spanking, spitting, dom!Az, mentions of Az's abusive childhood.

A/N: firstly, I want to massively apologise for not updating this in sooo long. Life has been busy and I've been reading so much lately that writing slipped my mind. To make up for it, there is some filthy smut in this chapter and I am hoping to be a bit more consistent with the next updates. Thank you for being so patient and I hope you enjoy!!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When Azriel was a young boy, he dreamt of becoming a guitarist. It didn’t matter to him then if he was famous or not. Just so long as he was good enough to be able to replicate famous rifts with his own spin, and create his own music, too. 

For his fifth birthday, his mother bought him a children’s guitar, complete with the plastic pics and a leather strap with his initials etched into the fine fabric. He knew, even at that age, that the gift had cost his mother a small fortune. But she didn’t care how much it set her back. The look of pure shock and excitement on her boy's face was worth every single penny she spent. 

He could still remember the untold amounts of sleep he would forfeit to learn a new chord or finally string more than three together at once. By seven years old, he could recreate the first half of Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd—albeit choppy and slightly out of time—and memorise the chords by heart. 

His half-brothers had never liked that about Azriel. His talent and passion for music and the guitar. Even at the ages of five and four, they did not like Azriel. More often than not, they’d plant broken vases and stained cushions for their parents to find, and blame them on Azriel. They knew their father would take away his guitar for a few days to a week as punishment. 

But even then, a week wasn’t long enough. Their hatred for Azriel stemmed long before his love for guitar had grown. From the moment his half-brothers learned how to talk, Az was on the daggered end of their spiteful tongue and manipulative masterminds. As young as he was, Azriel wasn’t blind to the cause of it. He wasn’t blind to his step-father’s hatred for him, that he then instilled in his own blood sons. 

Being what they called a ‘blood traitor’ would always be their main justification for what they did. Azriel had never admitted to anyone the second reason his brothers set his hands alight. But the other thought behind it—the more vicious and calculated thought—was to burn not just his hands, but his dreams, too. 

For months after the incident, Azriel’s hands remained bandaged. He could hardly use them for everyday tasks like dressing and washing and eating. And when they had finally healed enough for the bandages to be permanently removed, he couldn’t play his beloved guitar. 

The strings were too harsh on his sensitive skin. It hurt so much just pressing down on the chords on the neck, let alone pinching the pic for longer than thirty seconds at a time. Azriel had to learn how to play all over again, covered in blisters and burnt flesh. And then his marred skin began to harden and callous and every strum was more painful than before. 

He often wondered if this would still be his life path had the burning never happened. If he would have still met Rhys and Cass, if he would still be selling drugs. He knew he wouldn’t be this well-off financially, but at what cost? What did all of this money mean when it was just him? When he wouldn’t be able to fulfil his biggest dream in life? 

He mostly thought about it all in times like this, when he was spontaneously pulled over by the cops for what they called a “random stop and search”, though they had never given a plausible cause for it. And today would be no different. 

“You stalking me again, Reynolds?” Az asked in a rugged tone as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. 

Officer Reynolds, one of the few officers that continuously pulled Az over and searched his vehicle, leaned against the open window with his arms crossed. His blue eyes gleamed with hope of catching something on him this time, though Az knew Reynolds would walk away with another few grey hairs to add to his collection. 

Reynolds was a strange looking man. Not in his features, but in the glint of his eyes and the disturbing tug of his lips whenever he offered a grim smile. He radiated nothing but offsetting energy, one that stunk of noncy behaviour and less than ethical tendencies. 

His iced eyes darted quickly across Azriel’s lap and the passenger's seat, coming up short and settling his gaze on the man again. 

“Random stop and search, nothing personal.” He grinned that awful smile but Azriel paid no mind to it. “Step out of the car, licence and registration.” Azriel was already reaching into the glovebox for his paperwork before Reynolds could even speak. 

He handed them over, opening the door as the officer stepped away, and stood with his hands on the hood of his Mustang. Azriel knew the drill. He’d been patted down and had his car searched more times than he could count in the past six months alone. 

And each and every time, Reynolds always came up short. 

“Got any weapons in the vehicle?” 

Azriel rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder as Reynolds began to pat down his stomach and thighs. “Do I look like the type that needs a weapon?” 

A dry chuckle slipped from the officers lips as he patted harder down Azriel’s calves and ankles before turning to his full—albeit short—height. “What about narcotics? Any drugs that I should be aware of?” 

Az grunted with another roll of his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Officer Reynolds didn’t offer a response. Instead, he bent his body into the driver's side of the Mustang and began stifling through every nook and cranny that his swollen hands could reach. 

Azriel’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited and waited for the search to end. They wouldn’t find a damn thing, especially because of the new addition Azriel had recently added to his modded car. 

But that knowledge of the secret compartment didn’t stop his muscles from tensing just slightly when Reynolds wrapped his puffed fingers around the foot mat and peeled it up. 

Azriel’s stash was well hidden; wrapped and locked in an extended box beneath his footwell that managed to also keep the scent out. He knew it was a matter of time before they started bringing a K9 with them on their searches, so Azriel had to be prepared for that well in advance. 

Especially with how strong the new strain smelt. 

With a huff, Reynolds haphazardly threw the foot mat back down and struggled to clamber out of the car. And just like Azriel suspected, he came up short. 

Reynolds handed him back his paperwork and rested his hands back on his belt, fingers itching for his baton to give Az a taste of the frustration he caused him. Azriel didn’t so much as bat an eye at it. He knew Reynolds wouldn’t touch him. Not if he wanted to keep both his stumpy legs in use. 

“You know, this is getting pretty old. How do I go about filing a harassment charge?” 

Reynolds scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

//

If there was one thing Az liked about having his brothers home, it was the lack of talking his mind did. There was no silence for his brain and thoughts to gang up on him, to have him question every thought and decision he’d ever made. 

Music and guitar usually helped to quiet those demons—the shadows that he had no control over—but the frustration from his earlier encounter with Reynolds had the desire for playing at the bottom of his list. 

Instead, he settled for Nesta’s demand to braid her hair. She knew him better than she let the others know. Since they first met years ago, he became the brother she never had, that she never knew she needed. She was quick to learn his quirks and mannerisms; what they meant and how he felt. 

And he learnt the same for her. 

“You’re doing it too loose,” Nesta huffed, picking at her nails from her seat on the carpet between Azriel’s parted thighs. He huffed, flexing his fingers and undoing the braid. 

“Last time you told me it was too tight and it gave you a migraine,” he retorted back with an exasperated huff.

They argued like real siblings, too. 

“Just do it a little looser than last time.”

Azriel split her hair into three sections once more and slowly started to braid, overlapping the sections and tugging a bit tighter than his previous attempt. Nesta hummed in approval.

They didn’t pay much mind to the others. Rhys and Feyre were cuddled on the loveseat opposite them, Cassian on their left with a bulky pair of headphones on his head as he smashed the buttons of the gaming remote beneath his fingers. 

He was growing frustrated that he was losing, but it didn’t help that his hands were so massive that the pad of his thumb was big enough to press all the buttons at once. 

“Hey, Az… there’s this girl I know…” Azriel’s grunt cut Feyre off before she could say anything else. He tied Nesta’s braid and tapped her shoulders, signally he was done. 

“Not this again, Fey,” he groaned. 

A sheepish smile sat on her full lips, a gentle tint of pink blushing the apples of her cheeks. “I really think you guys would get along, though. She’s super laid back and so gorgeous.” 

Nesta moved from between Az’s thighs on the ground and clambered back onto the sofa, reaching for her tumbler of gin and tonic. Azriel was used to this, to Feyre trying to set him up. Each time, he’d always shut her advances down, but that never stopped her.

Feyre considered it a challenge, and she wouldn’t stop until Azriel agreed to go on a date. Just once, and she’d back off. She was fairly confident that one date would be all it would take for Azriel to fall for her mysterious friend. 

“I don’t need to be set up,” he spoke, finality in his tone. 

Rhys cocked a brow at how quickly Az dismissed his girlfriend but said nothing. He knew Feyre could get a bit too much with it sometimes, but Rhys himself still had hopes that maybe one day, Az would bite the bullet and just agree. 

But Azriel had no plans to do that. He didn't want to be set up on a blind date, and he most certainly did not need nor want his friends involving themselves in his love life—or lack thereof. It wasn’t that he struggled with girls, Mother, no. Not once in his life did Azriel ever have a shortage of pussy.

If he wanted it, he would get it. On his own. Without his brother's girlfriend’s self-involvement. 

His phone chimed from his back pocket, and not bothering another glance at Feyre, Azriel retrieved it to read over the message. 

You: you weren’t kidding. This shit is strongggg x

His heart rate quickened as he read the text again and again. Azriel hadn’t heard from for three days—since that kiss—and now he was reminiscing on the taste of your mouth on his. 

Azriel: I did warn you

You: maybe next time you could write a reminder on my baggie?

A grin stretched across the expanse of his lips, eyes glittering at how quickly you responded. The act didn’t go unmissed by Nesta, who grinned against her staw and wiggled her toes against the side of Azriel’s thigh. She knew that face—that look. 

“Azzy doesn’t want to get set up because he already has a crush on someone.” 

All eyes snapped to Azriel and Nesta at her words, eyes so wide they almost bulged from their heads. They all knew Az was a ladies man, that although he kept his sex life private, he was well endowed in that aspect. But what they had never really seen was Azriel with a crush. 

With someone who was more than a booty call or a fling.

Az narrowed his eyes at Nesta, a hard expression removing his previous smile. The phone in his hand began to vibrate and a quick glance at it had your number filling the screen through an incoming call. 

His heart stammered. 

“I don’t have a crush. It’s just a client.” He stood from the couch, his scarred thumb hovering over the answer button. 

Nesta grinned maniacally, taking another sip of her gin. “A lady client?” Azriel’s response was a pillow launched at Nesta’s face before leaving his family and shutting himself away in his bedroom. 

Az took a deep breath then swiped his screen to accept the call. “Hey,” he greeted, bringing the phone to his ear. “You doing okay?” 

There was a pregnant pause for a moment before your airy laugh breathed down the line and Azriel’s throat began to close up at the sound. “I think I’ve greened out a little,” you giggled, almost painfully. “Everything is spinning and heavy and when I close my eyes, I get seasick… is that normal?” 

Az pursed his lips, biting back his own smile. The fact that you’d managed to text full sentences and then call him suggested you hadn’t greened out too badly. And by the light self-deprecating laugh at your own situation, he knew you weren’t falling in too deep of a hole. 

“It should pass soon, it shouldn't get worse than how you feel now. Where are you?” 

“I’m at home so I’m okay. I just didn’t know what was the best thing to help.” 

Azriel shouldn’t have let your words affect him the way they did. They shouldn’t have warmed his heart and sent it soaring in his chest. But in your slightly vulnerable predicament, out of everyone that smoked in your life and would understand, it was him that you called for advice. 

Not your friends, not your ex. Him. 

“Honestly? Food and water.”

Another pause of silence had Azriel thinking a bit too much again. If you were calling him for advice, this was likely your first time greening out, and he wondered if you’d even be able to handle making yourself food alone. 

After a moment of consideration, he spoke again. “Want me to stop by?” 

Azriel could hear your soft breath through the call. “Isn’t that crossing a line?” you asked in a gentle voice. 

He frowned, brows pinched. “What line?” 

“I’m your client, you’re my plug,” you reminded him, and something about it sent a sour taste to the back of his throat. 

“You’re my friend,” he offered. 

He wondered if you considered that or not, and by the pause of silence once more, he got his answer. 

“I am?” The soft tone of your question hurt him more than it should’ve. It shouldn’t have hurt him at all. 

“Am I not yours?” 

You were considering it, though. In your book, he was definitely your friend. He’d comforted you just a few nights ago after the fiasco with your sister's secret wedding, had bought you food and then… He’d kissed you. Or had you kissed him? 

You supposed he was your friend, but you didn’t think you meant anything more to him than being just another client. Clearly, you were wrong. 

“Yeah… I guess you are.” 

The corners of Azriel's lips tugged upward slightly. “Great, so send me your address and I’ll stop by with some food.”

Perhaps you should’ve told him no, that it truly wasn’t necessary and you could just pick at a couple of leftover cookies you’d baked yesterday. But you didn’t. You wanted to see him again, wondered so desperately if that kiss had meant anything at all… if it would happen again. 

“I have a spare set of keys in a security lock outside. The code is 4369, let yourself in.” 

// 

You didn’t know how much time you had to try and sort yourself out before Azriel would arrive. But as hard as you tried, every time you raised your head you were met with an onslaught of nausea and dizziness. 

You spent around five minutes attempting to regulate your breathing to rid those feelings, but your body remained stomach down on the couch with your face squished against a pillow. 

If you could stomach the feeling of your eyes being closed for longer than five seconds at a time, you probably could’ve fallen asleep. But alas, the sound of a key entering the lock of your front door had your eyes widening a little further and heart stammering against your ribs. 

“Knock, knock.” Azriel’s voice dripped with honey as he spoke into the expanse of your open plan living-kitchen area. 

Though you couldn’t see him from your position, you could hear the faint rusting of a takeout bag in his hand as he closed the door quietly and kicked off his shoes at the door. 

You didn’t need to call out to him for Az to see you. Sprawled on the sofa, just off to his left, he grinned comically, ignoring the unfamiliar swell in his chest. His feet padded closer to the couch, settling the food on the coffee table and the smell of hot, fried chicken wafted through your senses. 

Azriel helping you sit up and handing you the same meal you ordered the last time you saw one another was a bit of a blur. But the second the food hit your tongue and your tastebuds exploded in delight, the nausea slowly dwindled from your senses. 

“You are my saviour,” you moaned around the food, eyes fluttering closed and none the wiser to Azriel’s growing blush. 

Sat in comfortable silence, Azriel didn’t want you to focus on anything other than feeling yourself again. Within a few minutes, you’d both finished your food and your face didn’t seem so sunken and pasty. 

Now, you looked wonderfully blitzed, skin a little brighter than before and a sparkling sheen to your bloodshot eyes. Yeah, you were out of the woods, your body warm and relaxed. 

“You feeling okay?” he finally managed to ask, shoving the last fry between his lips as you nodded at his question. 

“I feel perfectly baked now.” 

A laugh spluttered from his lips at your words as he wiped his scarred hands clean on a paper napkin. For the first time in the past twenty minutes, Az allowed his eyes to gaze across the expanse of your rather cosy living room. 

Soft, golden lighting that warmed the room, plants of varying shapes and colours tucked into every corner and crevice available. Mismatched furniture and draping vines. 

It was cute, all of it. Very you. The wall facing the couch was hidden beneath tall bookcases that were filled to the brim with every type of book he could imagine. Even with squinted eyes, he could make out a few familiar authors amongst your shelves. 

“Have you read all of those?” He threw his gaze to you, wonder and slight adoration in his eyes, though you were sure you imagined the latter. 

“Mhm,” you hummed around your drink. “Some more times than I can remember.” 

You watched him stand from the couch, his tall frame approaching your collection. He was dressed in black again – his simple jeans and sweater combo – and his hair was perfectly tousled and swept down his forehead. 

Eyes on him, his finger traced the spines of your beloved possessions, settling on one in particular that made your breath still in your chest. Azriel gently pulled it off the shelf, hazel eyes examining the near-pristine cover. 

“Careful,” your soft voice warned him. “It’s worth three grand.” 

Azriel’s eyes almost bulged from his head as he turned to you with the most bewildered expression you’d ever seen. It took every ounce of control not to burst into laughter. 

“What?”

“It’s 134 years old. I restored it the best I could. You should’ve seen it when I found it.” 

Azriel’s brows pulled into a confused frown. “Restored it?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I do for work.” 

When his frown didn’t ease, you cleared your throat to continue. “I work between an auction and a museum in the city. I find the old books and restore them, then sell them through the auction, or they go to the museum.” 

His once furrowed brows raised, his eyes darting back to the book in his hand as if he was inspecting the eighth wonder of the world. Azriel finally turned back to you with a smile that borderlined a smirk. 

“That’s actually pretty cool.” 

A satisfied yet sheepish smile found its way to your lips, cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. Azriel slid the book back onto the shelf and continued his observations. 

If you were being honest, it was a little too intimate for your liking. No one in your life had ever taken such interest in your books, not your friends or past lovers. It wasn’t like your love for books was much of a secret, but no one had taken the time to get to know them. 

To know your books was to know you. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Azriel was the person to do so. In the short time you’d known him, you realised he was full of surprises.

“What about you?” Your voice greeted his ears softly as you cleaned up the trash from your food. Azriel casted barely a look over his shoulder, eyes caught on your limited edition fantasy book set. A part of you begged to take Azriel’s attention off them. “What do you do for work?” 

That seemed to earn his full attention, causing him to turn to face you fully. With an amused smirk, he followed you a few feet into the open kitchen. “You know what I do for work.” 

Ah. 

“You don’t have anything…legal…to keep on the books?” 

He tried to hide his amusement at your words, but to no avail. Azriel’s smirk only grew and he found himself wondering if his answer might make you think differently of him. 

“If you wanna talk…legalities…then I’m an investor in the stock market.” 

It was your turn to hold the raised eyebrows – a look that Azriel was quick to mirror. “What?” He asked. “You don’t think I could work in stocks?” 

“Do you?” You pressed. 

Azriel’s grin widened slightly. “I do. And I’ll have you know that I’m very good at it.” 

You didn’t want nor need to know any more. You weren’t about to outright ask how much money he had, and if he told you out of his own desire, you were certain it would only make you feel like pure shit. 

Your apartment and belongings weren’t much but they were yours. Everything you had, you worked for. You could do without knowing how many thousands he had sitting pretty in his bank. 

Azriel noticed that distant look in your eyes and took a seat at your island. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable. And if he was being perfectly honest, it was appallingly refreshing to speak with a woman about his side-hustle without them swooning or prying for more details. 

And it appeared that it was only now that either of you were realising how different things were the last time you saw one another. When your lips pressed against his and he kissed you back with just as much want and vigour. 

As if remembering that searing moment, your face and chest began to warm. You were quick to turn away from him, needing a moment to compose yourself and the tight feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

You tried desperately to ignore the ache between your thighs at the memory, instead opting to focus your attention on the half empty box of cookies on the counter. Flipping the lid, you offered one to Azriel who took it without much prompting. 

“Tell me if I’m crossing a line, but if you make enough money investing in stocks, why do you still deal?” 

Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed as he took a bite out of the chocolate chip cookie, and you found your eyes zeroed in on the way his plump lips moved and his broad shoulders slacked slightly. 

His eyes opened to focus on yours. “These are incredible.” You offered a smile, waiting. “Dealing is what got me the money to be able to invest. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at it, but I lost a lot to get where I am. Dealing is steady income for now. It’s not something I plan to do forever.”

You didn’t probe any further, satisfied with the answer he provided and not wanting to push your luck. Your eyes were drawn to his mouth again, flashes of memories littering your mind as your body warmed once more. 

Clearing your throat, you desperately tried to blink away the haziness he seemed to make you feel. 

“You can smoke out on the balcony, if you want.” 

Azriel finished the last of his cookie and leaned forward on the counter. “I didn’t bring anything.” 

Your head tilted slightly to the half-smoked joint on your counter, stubbed out and back in your open tin. “Smoke the rest of that. It’s too strong for me and I know your tolerance is higher than mine.”

Azriel laughed; hearty and rich and deep. It tickled up your spine and reached around your neck and jaw to tug the corners of your lips into a smile. The effect he had on you was growing to be a slight problem. 

“You wanna come? Fresh air will help.” 

He watched you pinch the joint and lighter from your tin and lead him through to your bedroom. It was decorated similarly to the rest of your apartment–twinkling fairy lights and books and plants–and out on the small balcony, you’d managed to cram a rattan loveseat and table with vines wrapped around the short iron guard rail. 

“Here.” You handed him the joint and lighter. “I’ll be back out, I’m just going to change.” 

Azriel sparked up the joint between his lips, taking a long drag as you returned to your room. The smoke hit the back of his throat sharply, almost knocking him sideways. Even he hadn’t smoked a joint this packed and strong in a while. It was no wonder you’d had a wobble with it. 

He took a seat on the rattan furniture, admiring the little view your balcony offered. The summer air kissed his skin, even as late as the evening was. The warmth of it had him shrugging off his sweater and throwing it over the table, taking another deep pull. 

If Azriel was honest, he was quite thankful for the moments reprieve from your presence. He needed to take a second to calm himself down. Az couldn’t remember the last time he partook in something like this with someone who wasn’t his brothers or their girls. 

This was more of a common thing with Nesta, smoking and eating together. Never Feyre, she always preferred a glass of wine, and occasionally Mor would smoke with him when she was passing through town. Never a random girl, never a new friend. 

But that moment's reprieve was ripped away far too quickly, because you were sauntering back onto the balcony and stealing the breath right from Azriel’s smoked lungs. 

He was fucked. Comepletly and utterly fucked. He’d never seen you look so relaxed, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of mismatched socks. Your hair was thrown up lazily and stray pieces fell out to frame your face. 

Your legs, however, he couldn’t stop gawking. Soft skin and a whole lot of thigh. Azriel forced his gaze to your face again as you took a seat beside him on the loveseat, leaning your back on the armrest and bringing your knees up to your chest. 

Mother above, he could feel his cock begin to strain in his pants, his eyes begging to sweep your body once more to see what lay between your slightly parted legs. From his peripheral vision, he could see you cross your ankles, effectively shielding yourself.

But Azriel was good at reading people, and by the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes grew more hooded by the second, he was more than certain you knew what you were doing and the affects your actions had on him. 

He took another pull of the joint. “You weren’t kidding,” he mumbled, “this shit is strong.” A bubbly laugh fell from your lips at the way his eyes squinted when the drug settled into his lungs. 

“I did warn you.” 

Azriel offered it to you, watching your inner turmoil as you weighed out your options until pinching it from his fingers. “One pull will be enough to keep me buzzed for the night.” 

He watched your lips thin as they clamped down on the roach. He watched your chest rise as your lungs filled with the thick tar until you pulled the joint from your lips and exhaled slowly. You handed it back to him, cutting yourself off completely for the night. 

Azriel took it between two pinched fingers, keeping his eyes on your slightly flushed face as he took another few drags before stuffing the cherry out in the ashtray. His gaze found purchase on your lips again as he mirrored your position on the loveseat, though Az didn’t tuck his knees to his chest. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” He asked. 

You blinked at him, head tilted slightly to the left. “Talk about what?”

The way his taunting smirk grew made you shift uncomfortably. You had an inkling as to what he meant, but you hoped if you played dumb, he would drop it. Clearly not. 

“About the last time we saw each other.”

Yup. There it is. 

That familiar warmth spread across your face and chest again in waves of anxiety and embarrassment. You couldn’t handle this type of conversation right now. You were mortified enough as it was, you didn’t need to reminisce about your stupid mistake, nor the way he kissed you back as though his life depended on it. 

You let out a long sigh. “I was kind of hoping you’d forgotten about it.” 

Azriel quirked a brow. “Forget about it?” he asked. “You expected me to forget a kiss like that?” 

It felt like all the air had been completely sucked from your lungs. You could hardly breathe, struggling to string a coherent reply together. Azriel continued to smirk at you, bathing in the way he clearly made you feel. Like he was getting off on your flustered state. 

The state he put you in. 

“It’s been replaying in my head for days.” Azriel’s admission sent your mind into a frenzy. You had no idea what to do with that information or how it was supposed to make you feel. 

What you did know, was that familiar burning in the pit of your stomach, that daunting ache between your clenched thighs. And the way Azriel's eyes darkened and slowly traced the silhouette of your figure, you got the hint he felt the same way, too. 

“Yeah?” Your words came out as barely a whisper, lashes fluttering as the weed you’d just smoked began to settle into your bloodstream. 

Azriel inched a hand tentatively toward your ankle, the tips of his scarred fingers brushing against your cotton socks. The touch had your body keening for more, your legs twitching as he slowly wrapped a large hand around your lower leg. 

“Yeah,” he replied, almost breathless. 

He was testing the waters, desperate to get a feeler as to what you wanted from this interaction. Azriel watched you closely, cataloguing every response your body gave his touch. How goosebumps broke across the silky skin of your legs, how your cheeks flushed slightly and lashes fluttered at him. 

“Is that all you’ve been thinking about?” Your husky voice finally broke through the silence. Az raised a brow at your boldness. “Or do you let your mind wander to what else could’ve happened?” 

If it weren’t for the stifling warmth in the air, Azriel was sure he would’ve come in his pants from your words alone. Because he knew that meant you’d been letting your mind wander to something more. 

You allowed him to gently tug your leg down, resting the back of your calf across his thigh. Your covered cunt was surely exposed, but Az didn’t look. Not yet. A sneaky peek wouldn’t be enough to satiate the appetite he had grown for you. 

He needed to bathe and bask and bury himself in your scent. Mould his body to body, meld his soul to your soul. Even then, he would never be able to feel you as closely as he craved. 

“You want me to tell you what places my mind has wandered to?” His eyes were glued to your mouth, watching as your tongue slid out to wet your lips before tugging the bottom one between your teeth. 

It was with a surge of complete arousal and haziness that had you uttering, “I want you to show me.” 

Azriel’s lips were on yours not a moment later when he surged forward to trap your small frame beneath his large one on the loveseat. You could barely make sense of where you ended and Azriel began. 

His scarred hands cupped your face, his tongue massaging hotly against your own. Your legs had wrapped around his waist, ankles locked across his back to keep him close to you. 

It was unlike any kiss you’d experienced before. Passion and need and desire. Pure want and carnage. Like nothing could ever stop him from tasting you again. Like he was savouring every single piece of you. 

“If you want me to show you…” he muttered against your lips, “I suggest you let me take you inside.” 

You pulled away just enough for your noses to bump and make out a blurry picture of him before you. Swollen lips, mussed up hair that you hadn’t realised you’d been running your fingers through. 

“Worried someone might see?” You panted in a teasing tone. 

His eyes shadowed impossibly darker. “I don’t like to share.” 

Squirming beneath his thick body, your fingernails scraped across his broad shoulders, scratching at the cotton of his t-shirt. “It’s not sharing if they’re just watching.” 

Azriel nipped your bottom lip. “Well, I’m a greedy man, and I don’t want anyone else watching you come on my cock but me.”

A breathless moan tumbled off your tongue like hot honey, your eyes fluttering closed at the words he spoke. You hoped this was just the tip of the iceberg with him. Prayed that he was as filthy as he was gorgeous. 

Without another second to get lost in your thoughts, Azriel was gripping your hips, lifting you as he stood. Your legs around his waist tightened as your arms snaked to circle his neck. 

Even in the dark, he moved swiftly, settling your body onto your mattress without missing a beat. He crawled back between your thighs, the moonlight kissing his tanned skin through the cracks of your window. 

His lips were on yours again, searing and eager. Azriel poured every ounce of need and desire into it, massaging your tongue and licking against the roof of your mouth. He tasted like the cookies you’d baked, a hint of smoke and a tang of bud. 

It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. 

Your fingers tugged at the curled tendrils on the nape of his neck, ushering him impossibly closer. His body flattened atop yours, the grooves of his abs pressing deliciously against your stomach and chest. 

Gods, he was solid. Built like a fucking Greek God and your fingers itched to trace the delicate intricacies of his golden skin. 

“Azriel,” you panted against his lips. “If you don’t touch me right now I’m going to burst into flames.” 

A dry chuckle left his throat as he dragged his mouth across your jaw and down to your neck; kissing and licking and sucking. He nipped at a sensitive spot, begrudgingly tugging himself off your frame. 

Sitting on his knees between your open thighs, he was a fucking sight. His chest heaved as he took a breath, his eyes dark and hair an unruly mess. Excitement was getting the better of you. So much so that when his scarred fingers looped in the neck of his shirt and tugged it up, you all but foamed at the fucking mouth. 

An unexplainable sound squeaked from the back of your throat. He was fucking beautiful. His skin was flawless, abdomen toned with divots of muscle, and dark ink of swirls that adored his chest. 

You could physically feel your arousal seep from your cunt, could feel your clit throb in desperate need for him. You could hardly breathe, your lungs almost crushed by his sheer beauty. 

You could stare at him forever. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” His rugged voice broke you from your trance. You blinked at him. Once, twice. 

Gone was the flirtatious Azriel who once made you blush from teasing. Gone was the light warmth in his smile and cheeky glimmer in his eyes. 

The Azriel before you was cold now. Calculated. He oozed power and dominance and your pussy clenched in anticipation of the pleasure he might inflict on you. 

The Azriel before you held all the control. And you’d gladly surrender whatever you had left to offer. 

“Yes,” you whimpered in response. 

He didn’t reply. Not with words. Azriel’s large palms flattened on your inner thighs as he pried your legs further apart. The calluses of his marred fingers scratched at your silky skin as they inched closer and closer to your core. 

His fingertips grazed at the soaked fabric of your panties. “Look at you, pretty girl.” 

Your lashes fluttered closed, lips parted open, head rolled back. Gods, you wanted his voice on a loop in your brain for the rest of eternity. If he was going to continue talking, you wouldn’t last long. 

“Look at your dripping little cunt.”

You couldn’t hold in the whimper, nor the way you clenched on nothing—so desperate to be filled by him. 

“I’m going to take my time with you.” You knew it wasn’t a threat, but Christ did it sound like one. You were far too pent up to be touched in any way that wasn’t with a cock buried deep inside you. 

Foreplay could come next time, you’d let him spend hours devouring you if that was what he truly wanted. Not now, not when you were borderline going to sob. 

“Fuck me, Az.”

He stilled, eyes on you as his hands halted on your inner thighs. “Please,” you whimpered, “I need you to fuck me. You can do what you want to me next time.” 

Azriel cocked a brow, the familiar hint of him returning to his face for a brief moment. “You promise?” 

Neither of you allowed yourselves longer than a few brief moments to bask in the vow of a next time. Not when he ghosted his fingers across your cunt and you nodded your head quickly, desperately. 

“There’s condoms in the drawer.” Your words came out a breathless pant as Azriel’s toned body leaned over yours. He rifled through your nightstand, blindly reaching for a foil packet when his fingers grazed against something else. Something silicone.

His eyes found yours in the night, a mischievous glint that darkened his honeyed hazel iris’. Your lips parted. “What?” 

From your angle, you couldn’t see what he held in his hands. Not until Azriel leaned back on his knees between your parted thighs, and the moonlight bounced off the hot pink toy in his palm. 

Oh, fuck. 

Without breaking your gaze, Az gently stroked the tip of the six inch object against your panty-covered cunt. You were soaking through the fabric, your thighs trembling on either side of his legs. 

There was no way this was happening. No way he was going to–

“I think I wanna fuck you with this instead.” 

You couldn’t argue with him, couldn’t even muster a single word to leave your lips. No one had used a sex toy on you before, much less a fucking dildo. And yet here Azriel was, eager to please you in the dirtiest ways possible. Even if it denied him his own pleasure. 

“Az—“ 

He held his free hand in the air. 

“Let’s call it a compromise.” His tone suggested there was no room for argument. You clamped your lips shut and continued to take deep, ragged breaths through your nose. 

“If you’re a good girl with this toy, I’ll reward you with my cock later.” 

Later. As in, he wasn’t planning on making you come just once…

You nodded once more, vigorously. 

If it was down to Azriel he would’ve tied you up and taken his time with you anyway. He would’ve told you not to be a spoiled brat and to take whatever he gave you like a good girl. 

But he couldn’t do that, not yet. 

He couldn’t deprive you of the one thing you desperately wanted. But he could take away the thing to cause the most pleasure. Replace his cock with a toy. Watch you come all over it. And then ruin you until you creamed all over him and sobbed from overstimulating. 

Azriel’s cock leapt in the tight confinements of his pants. He was desperate to free himself, touch himself. Have you touch him. He’d imagined the feeling of your lips around his dick for days, let his mind wander to what you’d look like on your knees for him. 

He needed to be patient, he’d be able to stuff your throat full soon enough. He was sure of it. Then he’d let you sit on his tongue and suffocate him until you were both seeing stars. 

“Please, baby.” 

Your pleading voice broke him from his trance and Azriel wrapped two fingers around your panties and pulled them to the side, baring yourself to him. 

And what a sight you were. 

Swollen and soaked. Your pussy glistened under the moonlight, your hips rolling lazily as if trying to chase the touches he wouldn’t grant you. Az wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your warmth and stay there all fucking night. 

But he didn’t touch you, at least not with his own body and skin. Azriel motioned the toy to your heat, teasingly sliding through your slick folds to collect your arousal. You jolted at the sensation, shuddering beneath his touch. 

Azriel leaned over your body, one arm supporting his weight beside your head, the other coaxing the toy through your head, nudging the head against your pulsing clit. 

“You’re gonna keep your eyes on me, and you’re gonna imagine it’s my cock fucking your tight little pussy.” Your chest arched into his, nipples pearled beneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt. 

“Do you understand?” There he was again, that dominant and overpowering Azriel you saw just moments ago. 

You nodded, lips blubbering slightly. “Yes.” 

He cooed you softly, his head dipping down enough to brush his nose against yours. Azriel lined the dildo to your entrance, teasing your hole deliciously before gently pushing through your tightness. 

Your lips parted, brows knit as your body grew taut. His honey gaze dripped into yours, melding you to him as Azriel rolled his hips to mirror what he would do if he was the one fucking you. 

“Such a good girl, taking that cock.” 

Your eyes fluttered closed at his praise, head rolling back into the pillow until his weight shifted above you and a briefly sharp sting met the side of your cheek. Your eyes flew open again, wide and confused. 

Azriel looked down at you, his hand now gripping either side of your cheeks, his gaze much darker than before. 

“I told you to keep your pretty eyes on me.” And then he sheathed the toy deep in your cunt. 

A shriek of pleasure tore through your throat, hands reaching for the warm skin of Azriel’s shoulders. Your nails dragged across the muscles that rippled beneath your touch, scratching at the surface with a cry. 

“Fuck!” 

Azriel began with slow thrusts, allowing you a few brief moments to accumulate to the intrusion. Not much time, but enough. Because after the fourth thrust, he picked up the pace. 

The noises were obscene, your high pitched cries and moans and the squelching of the toy that fucked your sopping cunt. 

Everything was too intense to comprehend. The fullness you felt, the lack of control you possessed. And the way his eyes bore into yours, as though he was claiming your soul to melt with his own. He was hauntingly beautiful, even in his dark demeanour. 

In your hazy state, it looked like even the shadows curled around his figure. As though he was their master, too. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he praised. “Taking that cock like a good little girl.” 

His voice dripped with sex and arousal, and when he shifted his hips once more, you could feel the thick and solid bulge of his length in his trousers. You wanted nothing more than to feel it, taste it. 

You clamped tightly around the toy, dragging scratches and marks down Azriel’s golden skin. “Please let me come.” You had never begged to come before, had never even asked. But you felt no shame in pleading to the God above you for your release. 

You’d give him anything he wanted. 

Azriel’s own breath grew shaky, unready. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. You listened and complied immediately, eager to please him. 

He leaned closer, pinching your face harder before spitting into your mouth, onto your awaiting tongue. Then he was kissing you, biting you, claiming you. 

Your entire body felt like it burst into flames, hot fire licking at you from the inside out. You couldn’t breathe. Your entire being completely locked and consumed as you came around the toy with a frantic sob of his name. 

Azriel couldn’t cope, couldn’t handle the sound of his name on your lips as you came around something that wasn’t him. Every ounce of self control was crumbling down at the sight of you—of your eyes still fixed on his, your jaw slack and your supple body arching to meet his. 

He’d never seen anything so fucking sinful yet heavenly at the same time. Never felt so connected to someone without even touching them. He couldn’t take it, needed to touch you, feel you, taste you. 

Az pulled the toy from your pussy, dragging it up between your bodies as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. He held it to your mouth, and without command, your tongue swirled around the length of it, tasting your own release with your eyes still boring into his soul. 

And now he had an even more vivid image of what you’d look like sucking his cock. 

Before Azriel could get a taste for himself, that cursed blaring of his phone broke through the heaving silence. He didn’t hear it at first, not until it stole your attention from him. 

“You’re phone,” you muttered breathlessly, barely coherent. 

Azriel dropped the toy to the side of the bed, his hands gentle on your body and face now. “Ignore it,” he breathed softly. 

His lips met yours in a taunting kiss, one so stark opposite to the way he’d treated you just moments ago. The versatility of this man was going to give you whiplash. 

But the phone blared again. And again. And suddenly, neither of you could ignore it anymore. His forehead rested against yours, a frustrated sigh tumbling off his lips. 

“You should go.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to. 

“You don’t wanna come with me? Do some drop-offs?” He was tempting you, desperately wanting to spend more time in your presence, especially if it potentially ended like this again. 

You hummed, considering it. But your body was spent and the idea of being in his car and not being able to have your hands all over him at any moment you pleased sounded like torture. 

“Next time?” You posed it as a question, though the hope in Azriel’s eyes proved that he was more than happy to not only fuck you again, but to spend time with you, too. 

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He nosed at your cheek, planting a teasing open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, nosing back up to your ear. “You look fucking breathtaking when you come.” 

Your eyes fluttered closed when he pulled away, your thighs trembling as he knelt and then clambered off your bed. Azriel watched your spent body for a moment, the way your thighs rubbed together as you squirmed, no doubt still horny. 

It pained him to leave you like that, wanting more. But if he didn’t leave now, he likely never would. And that wasn’t something he could afford to do right now. 

So without another word, he bent down to press a kiss to your mouth, and then he left—still high on both the drugs and you. 

Thank you for reading and I apologise again for such a massively long wait for this chapter!!

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PLEASE NOTE MY TAG LISTS ARE NOW CLOSED. THEY GOT FAR TOO LONG AND IT'S A STRUGGLE TO KEEP UP EVERY TIME SOMEONE ELSE IS ADDED. IF YOU'D LIKE TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN NEW CHAPTERS A POSTED, PLEASE TURN MY POST NOTIFICATIONS ON <3

[cocomere]

my nano at this point last year:

my nano this year:

hmm. Starting to suspect that like 5x intersecting zoomies might have played a part in how much I was writing last November.

[bbina]

between the lines masterlist

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS.ᐟ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

ᯓ★ PAIRING.ᐟ park wonbin x reader

ᯓ★ GENRE.ᐟ fluff, angst, crack | 𖡎 – written portions

ᯓ★ STATUS.ᐟ completed.

ᯓ★ TAGLIST.ᐟ closed (limit)

ᯓ★ NOTES.ᐟ first riize smau! bbina is cooking with this one i fear... this fic will contain nsfw themes somewhere along the way and some kys jokes, etc. happy reading! also if you want to be added to the taglist make sure your blog is visible for me to be able to tag you

˗ˏˋ ★ CHAPTERS ★ ˎˊ˗ ☆ INTRODUCTION ☆ ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ do what you must ☆ TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 last minute rain checks ☆ THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ national museum of korea ☆ FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 campfire ☆ FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ chemistry ☆ SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 first day on the job ☆ SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ shock factor ☆ EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 yet ☆ NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ soft launch ☆ TEN ⊹₊ ⋆ thanks for the support ☆ ELEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 pillow talk ☆ TWELVE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 count your days ☆ THIRTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ wasn't part of the plan ☆ FOURTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 why does it matter ☆ FIFTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ just be with me ☆ SIXTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ seoul bound ☆ SEVENTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ more than welcome ☆ EIGHTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 trust me ☆ NINETEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ newly improved fake boyfriend 2.0 ☆ TWENTY ⊹₊ ⋆ only my girl ☆ TWENTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ next date ☆ TWENTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 for my eyes only ☆ TWENTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ care package ☆ TWENTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ too early ☆ TWENTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ not like this ☆ TWENTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ two months later ☆ TWENTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 long way home ☆ TWENTY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 thank you ☆ TWENTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ fake idgafer ☆ THIRTY ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 boundaries ☆ THIRTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ could've had it all ☆ THIRTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ out of habit ☆ THIRTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 time ☆ THIRTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ deja vu ☆ THIRTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ operation: ynbin ☆ THIRTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ it's bad for the both of them ☆ THIRTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ stories write themselves ☆ THIRY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 ulsan ☆ THIRTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 drunken words ☆ FOURTY ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 sober thoughts ☆ FOURTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ disappointed ☆ FOURTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 afternoon bliss (M) ☆ FOURTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 we are so back ☆ FOURTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ what are we ☆ FOURTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 wouldn't have it in any other way ☆ FOURTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ new boyfriend lore ☆ FOURTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ texting and driving ☆ FOURTY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 dior her ☆ FOURTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 you’re all i’ll ever want and need ☆ FIFTY ⊹₊ ⋆ between the lines

⋆.˚—̳͟͞͞★ asks | lore | official playlist ₊⊹

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'D MEET THE SEA UNDER THE SUNLIGHT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai knows. he knows who you are. he knows what you do. and not only does he know, but in typical dazai fashion, he decides to make it fully your problem. now you're stuck between a rock and a hard place trying to figure out what to do with him—the answer should be obvious, you just can't accept it. but time is ticking and you're treading a thin rope, if you make the smallest mistake...

AUTHOR'S NOTES: part four my children. my eye procedure went well! i've been resting all day, i prob won't be active very much until monday/tuesday, so i'lll queue a few reblogs of this ... i say that, but i also don't know if ill be able to stop myself from responding to comments HAHAH i just love talking to u guys about it so much i cant help it. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: i didnt get the chance to proofread this one bc of the procedure so don't crucify me if the grammar is awful </3 i have a doctor's pass </3

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

It takes Dazai Osamu approximately two days, seven hours and fifty-three minutes to get his hands on proof of your affiliation with the Port Mafia. He supposes it was due to luck—the timing of when he got confirmation of his suspicions—but Dazai thinks it’s also due to his ability to think quickly if he does say so himself. 

He stares at the file that Katai emailed him, a lump in his throat that he can’t seem to push away, unsure if he wants to open it and be forced with physical evidence of who you are and what you do. He doesn’t even know why he’s so hesitant, he already knows. He already knows so he shouldn’t be hesitant… but if he already knows, then why does he need to see the proof? What is this going to do for him? What is he going to do with this information? Nothing, the answer is nothing, so then why-

Katai: Can you quit holding that date from four years ago over my head now?

Dazai: no ^.^

Katai: Of course not. Whatever. Dazai, I don’t know what you’re doing but you need to stop digging into this—it’s dangerous. And I don’t want to be involved.

Dazai shuts his phone off immediately. 

He hovers the cursor over the video file on his laptop, chewing the inside of his cheek—the supposed footage from whatever happened behind Tokyo’s City Hall last night. With his heart tight in his chest and the image of your smile burned behind his eyelids, he clicks on the file.

Two days after the event, you and Chuuya are sitting in Mori’s office getting the talk down of a lifetime. Mori has been going on for thirty minutes already and you’re sick of his voice. You don’t know how it’s your fault that the Shimazaki-kai decided to try to take you out while you were in Tokyo but evidently it is.

“I don’t see how this is an issue, boss,” Chuuya finally says, voice strained. “The Sun and Steel are already on top of the situation, Noriko was livid when she realized that they tried to assassinate one of us while we were in Tokyo under the Sun and Steel’s protection.”

“You don’t see how this is an issue,” Mori repeats slowly, voice nothing short of mocking. Usually, he at least tries to mask his annoyance—you and Chuuya share a concerned look with one another. “You don’t see how it’s an issue that we’ve caused this conflict to escalate to the point of the Shimazaki-kai being willing to go to war with the Sun and Steel if it means the mere chance of getting rid of one of us?”

“Okay,” Chuuya mutters. “Well, when you say it like that…”

“And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’, little hime,” Mori says coolly, leveling his calculating gaze onto you. You don’t flinch beneath it, meeting it head on as you raise your chin. “This all stems from your reckless decision to attack the Inagawa-kai.”

“She didn’t have a choice.” Chuuya jumps to your defense, frowning. “They attacked her at the ports. That was a declaration of war in itself.”

You almost wince at the ridiculing look Mori directs toward Chuuya, voice amused as he speaks. “Is that what she told you?”

Chuuya gives you a questioning look but you don’t give Mori anymore time to stir the pot. You don’t need Chuuya knowing that your decision was driven by Dazai of all people—he’s already angry enough about the situation with the civilian. 

“And here I thought you were going to… what was it you said? ‘Clean up my mess?’” you say snidely, drawing Mori’s attention back to you. “Perhaps the real reason the Yakuza syndicates are so willing to challenge our authority is not because of my decision but rather because of the incapability perceived in our boss.” 

Chuuya’s eyes shoot open and Mori raises his brows, entirely unperturbed by your comment. 

“To think all it would take for you to start biting back…” Mori trails off, unbearably amused and clearly referring to Dazai, making you stiffen. “How fascinating. You’ve kept up this ruse longer than I expected. I think this is the first time you’ve managed to surprise me, little hime.” 

Your expression twists as you look away, ignoring the lost look Chuuya gives you, clearly irritated because he doesn’t know what’s going on. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you take the welcome distraction eagerly, hoping to find an excuse to get out of this wretched meeting.

Klaus: your civilian boy is at your tower

You: What?

Klaus: *one image attached*

You stare down at your phone in shock, desperately trying to ignore the curious looks Mori and Chuuya are sending your way.

What the fuck?

Dazai tilts his head to the side, giving the three boys standing in front of him a simpering smile. One of them—the emo one with black hair and white tips—bares his teeth at Dazai like a feral dog, the one in the middle—Dazai recognizes him as Klaus, the boy with you that day at the ports—gives him an irritable look, while the one standing in the back—a nervous looking boy with choppy silver hair and a black collar—lets out a pathetic noise in the back of his throat.

“She’s gonna be so fucking mad at you,” Klaus tells him, voice harsh. His Japanese is broken and accented but understandable for the most part. “She’s gonna fucking-”

He shifts into a foreign language mid-sentence—German, maybe—so Dazai doesn’t know what he’s saying but he’s sure it’s nothing good. He keeps up the overly confident facade, even if he does start to doubt himself internally.

Shit, he thinks to himself, smile fraying at the edges, what is he doing?

Dazai definitely did not think this through and it’s way too late for him to back down now. After watching the video and seeing you with the gravity manipulator, seeing the brief battle in the alley behind the Tokyo city hall, Dazai pretty much blackmailed Katai into using the CCTV cameras between both cities to follow you back to Yokohama to see what building you live in. In retrospect, maybe that’s a little creepy, but he just watched you and the gravity manipulator kill a whole crew of people so he thinks stalking you a bit isn’t too bad in comparison.

“Who do you think you are?” the black-haired one says, voice tight and pitched. His jaw is clenched tight and he takes half a step forward but pauses when he sees the sharp look of warning that Klaus gives him.

He thinks maybe he is stupid. Ango used to rattle him around and yell at him for doing stupid things back before Odasaku died but he thinks this might take the cake for the stupidest thing Dazai has ever done. Standing outside a building owned by the Mafia, antagonizing three mafiosos, waiting here to demand a conversation with someone who is likely their boss. Ango might’ve been right when he said that Dazai has no functioning brain cells.

“None of your business,” Dazai replies with a sweet smile, almost giggling at the way the boy bears his teeth again, even more livid than before.

“You-”

“Stop.”

All three boys go rigid at the sound of your voice and even Dazai stiffens at the cold tone. He forces himself to turn his head to the side, eyes falling upon you as you make your way toward the four of them. The suit you’re wearing today is different—usually he’s seen you wear black on black, but today you’re wearing a burgundy button-up under your suit jacket. You look beautiful—always do, Dazai thinks wistfully—but Dazai finds himself swallowing thickly instead, not used to the blank look you cast over him before you turn your attention over to the three boys.

Ouch, Dazai thinks, not really knowing what he expected but it still hurts to be dismissed like that.

“Klaus, go wipe the cameras around headquarters—wherever he might have passed through,” you say. “Akutagawa, Atsushi, if anyone finds out about this…”

The two boys that Dazai doesn’t recognize share a look with one another, odd expressions spreading across their faces before they nod. All three scamper off without another word, the silver-haired boy giving Dazai a short, worried look that puts Dazai on edge before leaving. You don’t look at him. Rather, you stride right past him toward the building.

Dazai swallows thickly before following after you. You don’t say a word as you lead him to the tall, black building and Dazai wants to say something but his words get caught in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. Dazai always has something to say but he doesn’t right now and that scares him because he needs to figure out what he’s going to say to you when the two of you finally get up to your apartment.

“Hey, I know you’re a mafia executive because I had my hacker friend get me CCTV tapes from the Tokyo City Hall and I saw you and that short ginger with the tacky hat murder a bunch of guys. Plus, I had him stalk you so I could figure out where you live.”

Yeah, right.

Dazai shivers at the rush of cool air that hits him as he enters the building with you, watches the way the doorman gives him a curious look before inclining his head to you. You give the older man a pointed look before nodding your head to one of the corners of the room and the elevator—Dazai doesn’t know what you’re getting at but he obviously does from the way says:

“Of course, hime.”

You don’t say anything still, leading him toward the elevator and holding it open so he can step past and stand inside. You follow after him, clicking the button to the top floor of the building before scanning a keycard.

How awkward.

Dazai almost wants to crawl out of his own skin, toss himself right out of the glass elevator looking over the city. You don’t even look at him—you keep your gaze trained forward, lips curled down, not even sparing Dazai the briefest glance as the elevator starts to move up. 

Maybe this was a mistake, Dazai starts to think, twiddling with his fingers as he keeps sparing short glances in your direction. He still doesn’t even know what he wants to come from this—shouldn’t the proof of your affiliation with the Mafia have been enough to send him running? He should’ve taken it as reason to stop reaching out to you, gone back to life before you but-

But life before you was dark. 

His throat spasms as he swallows. Life before you was dark. Life before you was him dragging himself out of bed every day trying to convince himself that he couldn’t let himself die until he fulfilled Odasaku’s final request. Life before you was him fighting depressive episode after depressive episode with alcohol and sex, preferring pain to the emptiness he seemed to constantly be plagued with because at least that meant he could feel something. 

He doesn’t want to go back to that—you’re the first person who's actually seen him since Odasaku died. The first person to make him feel as if he’s worth something. He doesn’t give a shit about about what you do, he doesn’t want to go back to life without you.

He glances over at you again, catching the eerily blank expression on your face as you stare ahead. Three words spill from his lips before he can stop them.

“Are you mad?” His voice wavers over the question; he feels pathetic. Feels like a kid tugging at his mother’s shirt after he did something wrong.

You finally look at him though, turn your head slowly toward him as if you don’t even want to believe he actually asked that. Dazai doesn’t know if it’s progress or not because the expression on your face is nothing short of livid.

“Okay,” he says quietly, averting his gaze back to the glass of the elevator.

God, how many floors is this building? The ride to the top floor is taking an agonizingly long amount of time. He doesn’t know if it’s because the elevator itself is slow or if it’s because the building is just that tall or if it just seems longer because of Dazai’s own turmoil—either way, it leaves Dazai miserable.

He really needs to figure out what he’s going to say to you. He should have figured it out before coming here but Dazai just got too antsy with the information Katai gave him on hand and he found himself making his way over here before he could double guess himself.

He doesn’t think you’ll appreciate him using Katai to get the evidence of your position in the Mafia—plus, it could put him in danger and Dazai doesn’t want that. He thinks maybe he’ll pin the blame on his professor—you don’t seem to like him anyway, so you might take it at face value. If you don’t, he’ll have to figure something else out to protect Katai but Dazai has always been a quick thinker so he has faith that he’ll think of something. 

 If he’s lucky, you’ll lead the conversation and he’ll be able to reflect off of you after seeing where your head's at. That would be the best case scenario.

After what feels like an eternity, the elevator finally bings, signaling that it has finally reached the top floor of the building. You step out before him, hardly even looking at him as you stride into your apartment. Dazai follows after, a bit more hesitantly.

His breath catches as his gaze twists around the massive space—floor to ceiling windows line the walls looking over the city, black couches set up in front of the TV and expensive decor littering the room, there’s a kitchen off to the right and a staircase leading up to a second level. 

What types of apartments have staircases? Dazai thinks, distressed, finally looking back at you. 

You’ve crossed the room—almost like you’ve wanted to put as much distance as possible between you and him, which is a thought that kind of hurts because he’s been yearning for your presence since you left his apartment the morning you were supposed to leave for abroad. Your expression is entirely unreadable and Dazai doesn’t really know how to feel about that because he can’t figure out how to approach this now. 

“You know, originally I was interested in you because I thought you were a lot smarter than you made yourself out to be,” you say, voice dry. Dazai nearly cheers, realizing that he did, in fact, get the best case scenario—he listens intently, mind racing as he tries to figure out what route he should take with you. “I was clearly wrong.”

Dazai pouts. “My bella thinks I’m stupid,” he sighs dramatically but his lashes flutter as he averts his gaze when you don’t find any amusement in his words, readjusting his plan. His theatrical lilt falls flat when he adds, “Maybe I am.”

“I don’t think there’s a maybe,” you correct, unamused. “What do you know and what do you want?” 

Dazai is almost taken aback by your tone—cold and flat, very transactional. Maybe he should have taken the lead because he doesn’t know what you mean and he doesn’t like your tone. He watches as you fish through your pocket to find a cigarette and lighter, sticking it between your lips to light it. You look up at him, raising your eyebrows.

“What?” he asks, voice a bit weak.

“What do you know and what do you want? I think they’re pretty simple questions,” you say sardonically. “I have a general idea of what you know already—if you’re here, you have more than whatever that cunt Ui has on me—and I promise you that no amount of money the Ivory Eagle will offer you can compare to what I’ll give you. Plus, I’ll have to kill you if you go to it with them so I think that’s pretty convincing in itself. I want to know exactly what you know so I can figure out how much they’d pay you for the information. I figure you want money, that’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t…” Dazai trails off, a bit lost. He’s still not sure why he came here but he knows it’s not for money and honestly, he thinks he’s a little hurt that you assumed that, can feel the sting in his chest and the lump in his throat.

The smile you give him is cool, you tilt your head to the side and look at him. “Come on, Dazai, you don’t have to keep up with the act. You got close to me to get evidence for Ui, that’s obvious; probably realized it would be more worthwhile trying to get money from me to keep you quiet because they’ve barely got enough money to keep their shitty journalism house running. Honestly, I should probably just-”

“No,” Dazai forces out, interrupting you, lips parted and throat swollen—this is not going well. “That’s not-that’s not true. I didn’t get close to you to get evidence, I didn’t even know until the other day.”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Dazai?” you ask, expression tight. “Because I’m not. As soon as you slipped up and said his name at the event, I realized. You think we don’t know everything that goes on in this city? About that shitty journalist group trying to expose us?” 

“I didn’t slip up,” Dazai says, voice more shrill than he intended it to be. His mind falls flat at every corner as he tries to figure out how to salvage this. “I didn’t slip up because I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It wasn’t-this wasn’t some grand scheme, I like you-” (he didn’t mean to say that) “I mean-it’s just-I don’t-”

Dazai feels flustered. He feels flustered and he’s stumbling over words in a way that he hasn’t in years, unable to get out a single coherent sentence because his mind is all over the place. Shit, he thought he was going to have to defend himself from having Katai stalk you so he could figure this out and find you; he didn’t think he’d have to defend himself because you thought everything from day one was some grand scheme to expose you as a mafioso.

You clearly don’t believe him from the way you roll your eyes and it makes Dazai’s distress spike exponentially. 

“Then pray tell, Dazai, why are you here? You’re here for something, obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to show up here of all places to dangle over my head that you know who I am.”

The words slip from his lips before he can stop them.

“I wanted you to stop ignoring me,” he says, arms instinctively curling around his body as he stares at you, feeling more than a bit vulnerable at the blank look you give him in response to his words.

“You… want to make me stop ignoring you by… blackmailing me?”

“... Yes?”

The sigh you let out is long. Instead of responding, you take a drag of your cigarette, tilting your head back against the wall you’re leaning on to look up at the ceiling. Dazai stares at you, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits for your response.

“What do you have on me?” you finally ask, taking a few steps forward to put the cigarette out on an ashtray before raising your eyebrows and tilting your head to the side. “Well? I know you must have more than the location of this building.”

Dazai hesitates before he says, “Footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall.”

Your expression doesn’t betray you as you press, “Footage of what?”

“You and the ginger with the ugly hat,” Dazai answers, trying not to smile at the way you clearly have to hide your amusement at his snide comment. 

“What are we doing in the footage?” you ask. “What makes it condemning?”

“… He splattered six guys against the wall.” 

You sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dazai. You saw that and still came here? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dazai gives you a weak smile “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, there are a lot of things wrong with me,” he tells you, echoing the words from your second meeting with him, hoping they make you lighten up.

They do.

He watches as you let out another breath, tense shoulders relaxing, suddenly looking a lot more tired as you look away from him.

“I missed you,” he adds quietly, fingers running along the hem of his sweater. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment to kiss a guy like you did and then ghost him.”

“It was to keep you out of this life, Dazai,” you say tiredly. “I mean-shit, Dazai. I don’t know what you want me to do, I don’t even trust you right now, you could have a fucking wire on you for all I know and-”

“I could strip for you,” Dazai offers, lips curling up in a flirtatious smile as he flutters his lashes at you. “I’ll give you a show.”

You’re not amused.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Dazai. This is your life.”

“Well, my life has been one giant joke up until I met you so forgive me if I don’t care,” Dazai says, voice unintentionally rising in response to your words because who are you to decide on his behalf to cut him off because his life is in danger. That’s a decision for him to make. “You can’t just make those decisions for me.”

Dazai thinks he prefers the anger that crosses over your face to the tiredness and emptiness. His breath catches when he sees the way your jaw tightens and the way your eyes get fired up.

“It doesn’t just affect you, Dazai,” you hiss. “If you get pulled into this and something happens to you, that’s on me.”

Dazai’s heart jumps at the implications of your words, nails digging into his palms.

“And how does that affect you?” Dazai presses, the desperation that hangs off of his words so glaring that Dazai almost wants to curl in on himself. He wants to hear you say it, wants you to alleviate all of the thoughts threatening to consume him since you left his apartment that morning—wants to hear you say that you care, that he does mean something to you.

Your expression becomes closed off again as you realize what he wants you to say and Dazai swallows thickly, gaze searching your face for answers.

“You know how it affects me,” you finally respond as you look away. “You know, Dazai.”

It has nothing to do with what I want, you said at the event when he asked why you didn’t tell him why you didn’t want to be with him. The conflict on your face when you said things were too complicated to explain. The anger when you realized Professor Ui had purposely put him in danger trying to get evidence to condemn the Sun and Steel.

“I want you to say it,” he says hoarsely.

You don’t reply for a moment, watching him with an expression that’s impossible for him to decipher. Your brows are furrowed and your lips are pressed together tight, but the look in your eyes—there’s so much emotion in them that Dazai thinks he could get lost in them, it nearly leaves him breathless.

“You are actually the bane of my existence, Dazai Osamu,” you finally say, shoulders slumping as you look away again. Not exactly what he wanted to hear but he thinks that’s as good of an admission that he’s going to get right now.

“And the object of all of your desires?” Dazai prods with a teasing smile.

Your gaze cuts back toward him. “Did you just quote Bridgerton at me?” you ask, voice riddled with disbelief.

Embarrassed, Dazai flushes and then he hits you back with: “You watched Bridgerton?”

Instead of responding, seemingly equally embarrassed by the callout as Dazai is, you scowl at him and shake your head but your voice is lighter now when you speak—if only barely. “Honestly, Dazai, what did you think you were going to get out of this by coming here? I could have killed you. I should kill you. Coming to the headquarters of the Port Mafia to blackmail one of its executives with evidence threatening to expose them-”

“I didn’t threaten to expose you,” Dazai protests, prancing a bit more into your apartment. Now that he’s not as stressed, he can actually admire your apartment—apartment, is this even an apartment? He runs his fingers along the pristine black marble of the bar separating your kitchen from the living room, ignoring the way your eyes follow him. “I just…”

“You threatened to expose me,” you interrupt dryly. “You implied it.”

“I did not,” Dazai complains. “It’s not my fault you took it that way.”

You roll your eyes. “What were you thinking, Dazai?” you ask again.

Dazai gives you a sweet smile. “I’m thinking that you’re going to take me out on a date.”

You don’t know why you’re even entertaining him.

Three days later, you’re outside Dazai’s apartment complex waiting for him to get back from his classes. You’d have gone to the campus itself but you don’t feel like having to beg Albatross or Iceman to get into the campus cameras to wipe the footage of you being there, especially knowing that it’ll get right back to Chuuya who is still under the belief that you’re no longer talking to Dazai.

You scowl as you look down at your phone, checking the time again. He should’ve been back ten minutes ago—you told him you were here waiting. Your reservation is in thirty minutes and he still has to change, you glance over your shoulder as a group of college students make their way toward the complex. You hardly stop yourself from rolling your eyes, you’d figured that the complex would be popular with the kids attending YNU—that’s why you ended up buying it—but you really don’t want to interact with any of them. 

You can feel them looking at you too—fuck, you should have just stayed in your car. From the corner of your eye, you can see them exchange curious looks with one another. One of the boys nudges another, clearly beckoning him to go try to talk to you and you will strength from the gods-

You hear your name fall from familiar lips, quiet and unsure, and the unpleasant expression that you know must be on your face melts away. You let your head fall to the side over your shoulder, gaze focusing on Dazai—he’s dressed casually in a brown sweater and cream pants, school books tucked to his chest and backpack hanging off of his shoulders. He looks surprised at the sight of you so you raise your eyebrows.

“You’re late, I texted you,” you say simply as he approaches you, glancing at the car and then to you curiously.

“My phone died,” he replies sheepishly, a bit of light returning to his eyes as he comes closer to you. Warmth starts to spread through your chest when you see how the corners of his lips twitch up, fingers absently thrumming against his books. “Where are we going?” 

“You’re getting changed,” you reply, nodding to the suit hanging in the passenger seat of he car, “and then-”

“Yo, Dazai-kun!”

Your eye twitches at the interruption, gaze twisting to the side to fall on one of the boys from that group you’d been dreading walking over before Dazai arrived. You notice him stiffen, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face when he hears his name being called. So, you sigh, motion for him to go into the car and grab the suit as you turn your attention to the group of approaching college students.

“We’re busy,” you say with a tight smile, tone short and perfunctory but trying to be polite. 

Your eyes sweep over the one who spoke up—he’s dressed nice, slacks and a button up, tailored neatly to his body, but there’s something so distasteful about him that you can’t help the way your lip curls up in disgust. Maybe it’s because of the way Dazai looks so uncomfortable.

The man looks entirely unperturbed by your blatant dismissal, giving you a charming smile. “I’m Yoshimura Hiro—me and Daz-”

Irritated, you glance one last time at Dazai, seeing that he got the suit out of the car and shut the door. You lock the car and without another word, press your hand against Dazai’s lower back to urge him forward, walking away from the small group without another word.

Dazai can hardly muffle the snort that escapes his lips as soon as the two of you make it into the building. His eyes have regained that brightness that they’d lost when his classmates approached you, a smile curving at his lips.

“That was so rude,” he says with a grin.

“We have a reservation to make,” you tell him dryly. “I said we were busy.”

“Still, you didn’t even wait for him to finish introducing himself.”

“Would you have preferred I had?” you ask, glancing at him as he unlocks his apartment, watching as his smile falters as he shakes his head. “Why don’t you get along with them?”

Dazai shrugs but he seems a bit more awkward now as you step into his apartment. He tosses his books onto the coffee table and shrugs his backpack off onto the couch. You lean against the wall as you wait for him to respond, noting that his apartment is much cleaner than the last time you were here.

“They don’t like me,” he corrects absently, fiddling with a mug on his coffee table before bringing it over to the kitchen. “Most people don’t.”

There’s a silent question lingering at the end of the sentence—you know it, even if you couldn’t tell from the way the words hang, you can see it in the way his eyes draw over to you. Maybe he wants reassurance of some kind that you do like him, that you’re not just doing this because of the blackmail, but the words die on the tip of your tongue.

Instead, you say, “Go get changed. We’re running late already.”

Dazai looks disappointed by your words—you can see it in the way his shoulders slump and his lashes lower, the corner of his lips tightening—but he lets out a dramatic sigh, muttering something under his breath before going into his bathroom to change.

Luckily, it only takes him a few minutes to get changed into the suit. He comes out as he’s still buttoning up the waistcoat—jacket slung over his shoulder. Your eyes drop down to his slim waist, eyes lingering at how neatly the vest clings to it.

Kido really did a good job, you think, having to drag your eyes back up to his face as he finally shrugs the jacket on and looks back up at you.

“You look nice,” you compliment, watching as his cheeks flush just a shade darker. “I didn’t have time to change after my meeting. If I’d known you were going to be ten minutes late, I would’ve.” 

Dazai promptly scowls at you. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have waited until the last second to tell me. What if I already had plans?” he complains, but then adds, “… I think you look beautiful.”

“I wear this outfit everyday,” you dismiss, ignoring the way your chest flutters.

“I know,” he admits quietly. “You look beautiful everyday.”

Oh.

“We should go!” Dazai says suddenly, a bit too loudly to be casual. “We’re running late, aren’t we?” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah,” you say. “Come on, let’s go.” 

The walk back to your car is quiet—the students you’d left there are gone, thank god. You can feel Dazai looking at you every few seconds as if he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to say it. You have half a mind to just tell him to spit it out but you still find yourself a bit flustered so you just let it be until you’re in the car.

“Where are we going anyway?” Dazai finally asks as you pull out of the complex, twisting in the passenger seat to look at you. His eyes look almost golden beneath the rays of the sun, soft and excited, you can’t help the way your gaze lingers before you force yourself to focus on the road.

“You said you wanted to go to that restaurant by your campus, didn’t you?” you ask, tilting your head to the side to raise your eyebrows before looking forward again. “Taking you there.”

“The rooftop restaurant looking over the park?” Dazai splutters, eyes widening. “You remembered that? It’s so expensive, I-”

You don’t even acknowledge the last thing he was saying. Instead, you give him a squinty look before asking, “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Dazai’s lips part as he stares at you like he’s trying to say something but can’t bring himself to. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you, it makes your heart twist in on itself. It’s too intense, too close to lo-

You don’t even let yourself finish that sentence, focusing back on the road as you change the subject. “They import crabs from the Beagle Channel in southern Argentina—best quality in the world, much better than that canned shit you eat every day.”

“What do you have against canned crab?” Dazai complains, leaning his head against the window. “You hate me. How did you even get a reservation at this place? They’re booked out like ten months in advance, we talked three days ago.”

You give Dazai a heavy side eye that he understands instantly from how he rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath that you don’t quite catch.

“What was that?” you ask, giving him a pointed smile.

“Nothing,” he scowls.

You smile to yourself, focusing on driving again. The restaurant isn’t far from his complex so you get there pretty quickly. Dazai is quiet for most of the rest of the ride aside from the occasional comment about his classes. He bitches about his engineering class and all of the irritating freshman boys that he’s taking it with because it’s a 101 class, tells you vaguely about how he’s on a roll for one of his projects for his poetry workshop, explains the plot of the book he’s reading for his creative writing class, and he notably does not mention anything about his journalism class—you don’t know if it’s because he’s too awkward to bring it up or what, but you’re grateful for it because the last thing you want to do is think about him working with Ui Koutarou to expose you as a mafia executive. You still don’t even entirely believe this isn’t some whole big scheme they concocted together.

You let the car roll to a stop in front of the tower the restaurant is in, leaving it running as you put it in park and nod for Dazai to get out. You get out yourself, grabbing the keys and tossing them over to the valet with a quick thanks before leading Dazai into the building.

He looks almost wonderstruck as he steps into the tower, brown eyes wide and glittering as he looks at all of the expensive decor in the lobby of the tower. You have to physically guide him forward, arm slipping around his waist to get him moving in the direction of the elevator, but as soon as you come in contact with him, he goes rigid. Your brows furrow, about to pull your arm back but before you can, he presses his palm against the back of your hand, holding your arm in place for a quick second. You can’t help the smile that twitches to your lips when his arm drops back to his side and you catch the pretty flush staining his cheeks as he pointedly looks away.

You lead him into the elevator, catching the pout that pushes at his lips when your arm leaves his waist and you’re going to tease him for it but then you catch the oddly intense look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he replies, throat bobbing as if considering what to say. “It’s just… no one has ever done this for me before.”

“It’s just dinner, Dazai,” you tell him, voice quiet as you look away, missing the way his expression drops at your words.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though he sounds strained now so you give him a concerned look that he tries to play off with a smile that’s too frayed at the edges for comfort. You’re about to call him out on it but you don’t get the chance because the elevator doors slide open to the restaurant on the top floor before you can.

A familiar face stands on the other side of the elevator, delighted at the sight of you. “Hime,” the owner of the restaurant greets as you step out of the elevator with Dazai, reaching out to clasp one of your hands with both of his. “I almost didn’t believe it when they said you called to see if we could get you a table tonight. It’s been so long.”

“Ah, Yoshida-san, you’ll have to forgive me,” you say with an easy smile. “You know how busy work can get.”

“Of course, of course,” Yoshida replies, glancing at Dazai and inclining his head to him. “This must be your date. Come, I’ll seat the two of you.”

Dazai looks a bit out of his depth, the smile on his face strained and an unsure look in his eyes so you reach out to hook your arm into his, leading him through the restaurant as you make idle talk with Yoshida. You’re pleased when he brings you to a table near the window with a view over the whole park and the distant bay. 

Yoshida bows his head down to the two of you and lets you get settled, you take a seat but then give Dazai an odd look when he just stands there with a contemplative expression. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he suddenly moves to grab the chair opposite you.

He drags the chair from his side of the table all the way to yours. The legs scrape the floor so loudly that it draws the attention of all of the other patrons of the restaurant. You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief, but Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return. He’s entirely unperturbed, plopping the chair down right next to yours and taking a seat in it. He rests his elbow on the table, propping his chin on his hand and watching you with an indescribable look in his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” you tell him but there’s no heat to your words as the corners of your lips tug up.

“You love me anyway,” Dazai coos, gaze flickering down to your lips briefly before settling back on your eyes.

When a soft, pleased smile spreads across Dazai’s face as he leans in to nudge his shoulder against yours, you have to actively remind yourself that you’re only doing this because of the blackmail. 

Dazai is already lounging on your couch when you get up to your apartment. You don’t seem to notice him—you’re clearly unhappy about something, lips twisted down and brows furrowed as you talk to someone on your phone. It’s not until Dazai peeks his head up above the back of the couch to look at you do you finally catch sight of the movement, eyes flickering to the side to focus on him.

“Thanks, Tolstoy, I’ll let you know if I need him. I appreciate it,” you say before letting the phone drop from your ear and ending the call. 

For a horrifying second, your expression doesn’t change and all of those insecurities that he can’t push away—that you really are only doing this because of the video, that he’s forcing himself on you instead of giving you an excuse to actually be with him that goes above the fears that are haunting you. But then, you sigh and your shoulders slump. You toss your jacket onto the other couch before sitting with him on the one he’s sitting on, knees knocking against his.

“Hi,” Dazai says with a small smile, itching to shift closer to you but hardly refraining. “You’re late today.”

“You’re early,” you reply dryly but there’s a fond curl to the corners of your lips that makes Dazai feel nice and warm. “You know, I think you’ve been at my apartment more than yours the past week.”

Dazai’s smile becomes simpering. “Why would I stay in my small, dirty apartment when I could stay in your nice one?” he asks, watching as you roll yours. “Anyway, you love it when I’m here. Your apartment would be so lonely and boring without me.”

“It would be something alright,” you agree half-heartedly, leaning your head against the back of the couch and letting your eyes slide shut.

Dazai’s smile falters as soon as your gaze leaves him, an uncomfortable and unwelcome feeling spreading through his chest. Is he being too much? He has been spending a lot of time at your apartment but it’s because whenever he’s alone, his own thoughts threaten to consume him. They whisper too loudly about how you’d never be doing this without the blackmail, about how he’s so desperate to not be alone that he’d stoop to forcing you to hang out with him. They’re quieter when he’s here, even when you’re not, so he’s been spending as much time as possible in your apartment, doing his schoolwork and watching TV while he waits for you to come back.

“Long day?” Dazai finally asks to draw himself out of his own thoughts, watching as you look back over at him.

“Mhm,” you agree, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “Lots of meetings. All with people I don’t like.”

You’ve become a bit more open over the past week—you still don’t tell him anything of importance, of course, but you’re at least not avoiding just about every topic that edges somewhat close to your ‘business’. He still feels like he doesn’t know you as well as he should and he hasn’t tried to push that anymore since the night you showed up at his apartment. He wants to try to push again but he’s just worried that he’s going to take it too far and he’ll mess it up.

He supposes he should at least try to feel it out though.

“Can I ask something?” he asks after a moment, almost wincing when you immediately cast him a suspicious look.

“The last time you asked me that, you were trying to figure out if I was in the Mafia,” you say doubtfully and Dazai’s throat goes dry as you lean back against the arm of the couch and extend your legs outward onto his lap. Hesitantly, he drops his hand onto your ankle, grip becoming more firm when you don’t instantly pull away.

“Well, we’ve already figured that out,” Dazai says with a sweet smile but then lets the smile drop as he adds more seriously, “I just want to get to know you better.”

You sigh, watching him carefully for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead,” you say. “Ask.”

“What’s your ability?”

Instantly, you sigh and look away. Dazai’s heart drops and his lips part to say something else but he doesn’t know what.

“I can’t, Dazai,” you finally tell him and Dazai tries not to be disappointed but he can’t help the way his lashes lower. “It’s not-you shouldn’t even know I have an ability. Only a handful of people know. It’s literally the most confidential secret in the-I can’t.”

“But I already know you have one,” Dazai presses, his tone coming across as far too close to a whine considering the look you give him. “What’s the harm in telling me what it is?” 

“Dazai,” you say, voice becoming more edged. “You don’t understand what people would do to get intel on my ability—I’m not going to-”

“I just want to know you,” Dazai interrupts, words drawn out and throat tight. “I just-I want to know you.”

You stare at him for a moment and Dazai’s grip on your ankle tightens, expression dropping. Just as he’s about to drawback and give up, you sigh and look away from him.

“I can mess around with people’s minds,” you finally tell him, voice quiet. Dazai’s eyes widen, head snapping toward you as he waits for you to continue. “I can… induce different types of mental and physical states in the brain and mind.”

“Like… Emma Frost?” Dazai asks, squinting. You give him an odd look so he amends, “Like mind control?” 

“No,” you answer. “I can’t… control minds. I can like… induce short term changes in emotions and sensations. I’m not directly manipulating them but putting them into a state and letting them work with it. They can either snap themselves out of it or make it stronger.”

“... I see,” Dazai says slowly. “So, you can make someone happy but if something makes them sad after, it’ll snap them out of it?”

“Pretty much,” you hum but there’s a weird look on your face that tells Dazai that maybe you’re not saying everything. “Some emotions are easier than others. Happiness is more… fragile, harder to sustain in a target. Fear is much more… a lot like a parasite—once you put it in someone’s head, almost everyone will start to spiral. It’s much harder to break out of.”

“The mindkiller,” Dazai notes, quoting one of his favorite books, a bit of morbid curiosity spiking, wanting to know how he would fare.

You give him an amused look. “Now, you’re quoting Dune? Quite the broad taste in media.”

“You’ve read Dune, too?” Dazai gapes. “You must be my soulmate.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Ridiculously cute,” Dazai counters immediately, smile twitching at his lips when he sees the fond expression on your face.

Then, naturally, he makes a mistake. 

“Can you use it on me?” Dazai asks, leaning forward a bit. When you give him a sharp, alarmed look, he quickly fumbles out, “Not like anything big. I just want to see what it’s like. Just something sma-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No,” you say loudly, making Dazai draw back, hand falling from your ankle to rest on the couch next to him. You pull your legs off of his lap and sit up straight, turning your body away from him. “Just no, Dazai. Don’t ask me that again.”

“I didn’t mean-” Dazai starts to apologize but he’s flustered, not having expected a response like that from you. He fucked up. Again. Just as he was making progress. Again. “I don’t-”

“I can’t turn off my ability,” you tell him quietly after a moment. “It’s… always going to some extent. Making people around me more at ease so they feel more comfortable talking to me. I don’t like using it to its full extent if I don’t have to, not on people I consider friends at least. I never know if people… I don’t know who wants to be around me for me and who’s just influenced by my ability.”

Oh.

Dazai shifts closer to you, there’s an unreadable expression on your face as you stare ahead. He hesitates for a second before reaching out and grabbing your hand, forcing you to look at him.

“I want you for you,” Dazai stresses. When you start to shake your head and look away, he repeats, “I do. I-”

“You wouldn’t know, Dazai,” you say, voice tight. “That’s the issue, you wouldn’t know.”

“I would know,” Dazai tells you, squeezing your hand. “I would know, I want you. I do.”

You don’t respond to him this time, staring ahead and Dazai doesn’t know what to do because you look sad. You look lost in your own thoughts, consumed by whatever is running through your head. It’s familiar—the same way he probably looks whenever he lets the parasites in his brain start eating away, sending him down a dangerous spiral.

He wants to draw you out of it. 

More than that, he wants to kiss you again. Desperately. 

He’s yearned for it since that night in his apartment, spent long nights alone and aching for your company when he thought you were abroad. For days, he could feel his lips tingling with the ghost of yours still brushing against them, could feel the weight of your body on his hips, grounding him when he thought he would finally be consumed by the emptiness that perpetually plagues him. He thinks maybe he can draw you out in the same way you always do for him. 

He wants to kiss you, and he’s about to lean in to do just that, breath catching in the back of his throat as his body becomes prickly with nerves.

You turn your head away before he can, rising to your feet and making your way to your bedroom, leaving him damningly alone in the living room of your apartment. 

He lets out a shaky breath, staring down at his lap, a cold and unsure feeling taking root in his chest.

Dazai has become a constant presence in your life. 

At first, it caused you nothing but stress—you constantly feared that him showing up to your apartment would lead to unwelcome eyes learning of his existence but he’s been very careful entering and leaving the building, and Klaus has been on top of the cameras. You think it’s been around a week and a half, maybe two weeks since Dazai first confronted you about everything and in that week and a half (maybe two weeks), you don’t think a single day has gone by without you coming home to find Dazai curled up on your couch or hunched over your kitchen table.

Today is no different.

Your head is pounding when you make it up to your apartment, you’d spent two hours arguing with Chuuya over how to approach the issue with Shimazaki-kai. The Sun and Steel are struggling against them in Tokyo and Mishima Michiko had come to Yokohama personally to request assistance from the Port Mafia in routing them from Shibuya-ku. You don’t want to send Chuuya there—it’s only a matter of time before the Guild shows up in Yokohama to try to take the weretiger and you’ll need Chuuya here when they do. You can’t risk sending him off now.

But Chuuya wants to go there now—says that it’s a bad look that the Port Mafia started this conflict and is now leaving the Sun and Steel to suffer the consequences. And he’s right, but the Guild is more pressing than the Shimazaki-kai.

 It’s not often that the two of you disagree on tactical decisions, but when you do, the disagreements are stressful and explosive. Both of you are bullheaded and both of you are convinced that your decision is the correct one—and Lippmann wasn’t here to force you guys to settle down so it just became more and more heated until you finally stormed off.

You pause when you enter your apartment and hear a choppy tune being played on the piano in your living room—something you vaguely recognize as the beginning of Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude even with the many mistakes being made. Your stress and frustration slips away as you catch sight of Dazai sitting at the piano bench, so focused on the sheet music in front of him that he doesn’t even notice your arrival.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you quietly make your way over to him, watching as he pauses in the song and sighs, clearly frustrated by his mistakes. You take the opportunity to slide your hand across his shoulder blades; he jumps beneath your touch, eyes widening as he twists his neck to look up at you, cheeks flushing. 

“I didn’t know you played,” you say absently. “If you want, I can have the spare room on this floor made into a music room for you.”

You don’t know why you offer it, but you enjoy the look in his eyes as his gaze focuses on you: big and imploring, full of emotion. It’s a welcome change from the livid expression Chuuya had been casting your way for the past few hours.

“I don’t really,” Dazai says awkwardly. “I was just trying it out.”

“Well, do you like it?” you ask him, taking a seat on the bench next to him, fingers lingering on his lower back.

“I think so,” he tells you after a few moments, lashes fluttering as he looks down at the keys and then back up at you. “I think my mother used to play… I don’t really remember her, but I can vaguely remember a song she used to play.”

There’s an odd look in his eyes as he averts his gaze and you squeeze his side gently before saying, “Maybe the more you play, the more it’ll come back to you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he agrees half-heartedly, looking at you again, more carefully this time. “Are you okay?” 

You pause, not having expected him to catch onto your bad mood so quickly when you were doing your best to hide it, but you finally sigh and shake your head.

“Yeah,” you tell him, motioning for him to get up so the two of you can move over to the much more comfortable couch. “Stressful day. I thought you had class on Wednesdays.”

“It was online today,” Dazai says, propping his arms up on the back of the couch as he sits up. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be back until super late tonight.”

You scoff. “Yeah, until I got into a fight with Chuuya,” you mutter, making your way over to him to sit on the couch with him, looking at the puzzle he has spread out on your coffee table. “Where’d you get this?” 

Dazai gives you a sweet smile. “You left your computer open yesterday, I ordered some things.”

Dazai inches closer to you, there’s an indecipherable expression on his face, lips parted and eyes a bit wide. You can feel his knee nudging yours and you know what he wants. He’s been trying to make subtle moves on you for days but you just… You don’t know. You’re scared.

You’re scared.

You don’t think you’ve felt this way since you were a kid, trapped in that room in the military base on Tokoyami Island desperately trying to understand what your ability was so you wouldn’t be thrown back out into a warzone. Except now, it’s not just your fate on the line—every decision you make, Dazai’s life hinges on it and you’ve been making stupid ones for weeks. Even now, letting him stay at your apartment… Even if you do own all of the cameras, even if Klaus is on top of it, even if Dazai is being careful, it’s only a matter of time before a mistake is made.

You don’t know what you’re still holding out for. Maybe a chance to make him understand what exactly is at stake, break things off with you on his own… Maybe you’re waiting for something else. Your conversation with Tolstoy echoes through your head, his offer of sending Ilya Repin to you for you to utilize as you please.

Ilya Repin. A Crucession in Oakwood. 

Someone who can wipe Dazai’s memories of you so you can send him back off to live a normal life, make him forget he ever met you. It’s not something you want to do, fiddling with people’s minds… you know better than anyone that it’s not something to take lightly. But would it be worth it to ensure he lives? That he doesn’t get drawn any further into your shitshow life? The thought makes your chest ache painfully but if it means he would be safe.

You let out a shaky breath, looking away, and you can feel the disappointment emanating off of him, you can feel his fingers brushing your arm, but before you can say anything to him, you hear your elevator bing.

Someone arriving at your floor.

Your eyes widen as you rise to your feet, you cast Dazai a panicked look. He follows after you, unsure of what he should do. Klaus is across the city—he’s the only one that can come up to your apartment without permission besides-

Besides Chuuya.

Oh shit.

“Go to the kitchen,” you say, voice tight and stressed, you push Dazai forward to get him moving. You cannot let Chuuya know that Dazai is here. “Get to the-”

“Yo.” You hear Chuuya say, voice low and distracted as he steps into your apartment. He’s looking down at a bottle of wine, so you wave your hand at Dazai frantically, shooing him into the kitchen. He shoots you a panicked look before rushing into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to let shit get so heated before.”

“You’re good,” you tell him, careful to keep the strain from your voice as Chuuya finally looks up from the bottle and makes his way over to you. “Takes two, I shouldn’t have been so quick to snap at you.”

“Nah.” Chuuya shakes his head, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’ve been going through shit. The Boss constantly on your ass, having to drop that kid you liked-” shit “-I should’ve let it go instead of pressing. Brought you this.”

Oh, you’re in a bad spot. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as you race to figure out what to do. You have to get Chuuya out of your apartment, but the man knows you so well that it’ll be impossible to do that without raising suspicion. If this were any other day and Dazai Osamu wasn’t hiding in your kitchen, you would be trying to worm more than just a bottle of wine out of Chuuya—probably dinner and a night out to go along with it—but he’ll want to crack open the bottle before going out and your wine glasses are in your kitchen.

Shit.

“An ‘82 Rothschild,” you drawl. “You’re really trying to butter me up.”

Chuuya gives you a smile that makes you feel guilty. “‘Cause I feel like shit,” he mutters and you hardly refrain from wincing because you know he wouldn’t if he knew the truth.

You think you might be the worst person alive. 

“How about we put it in the wine fridge and head out for the night?” you hum, nudging his shoulder. “Didn’t you want to try that new bar by the ports in Naka? The one Lippmann went to with his coworkers? We’ll save the wine for us to celebrate after we wipe out the Shimazaki-kai.” 

A good move. You almost pat yourself on the back for it—Chuuya’s been talking about this bar for weeks, but hasn’t gotten a break from work to actually go check it out. He was livid the other day when he found out Albatross and Iceman went without him. Plus, you implied that you’d give in a little on the argument you were having with him earlier; maybe you won’t send him to Tokyo to help the Sun and Steel but you could probably send Klaus or Akutagawa to ease Chuuya’s stress over the situation.

Please, please, please, please-

“Nah,” Chuuya says, shaking his head. “Maybe another night. I’ll go grab some glasses, find a movie?” 

Oh, fuck me.

“I’ll get them,” you say instead, too quickly from the way Chuuya is instantly casting a suspicious look in your direction so you pivot with: “I picked the last movie. It’s your turn.”

“You hate when I pick movies,” Chuuya says with a frown, studying you carefully before letting his eyes trail over to the kitchen. He’s thinking too hard, you realize, stressed, you need to make him stop before he figures out you don’t want him to go in there because once he realizes that, there’s no shot he won’t be rushing over there. “What’s really going on?” 

“Nothing,” you say easily. “I’m in the mood to trash one of your low budget horror movies.”

Chuuya instantly gives you an offended look and you think, for a moment, that you’ve succeeded. “Well, I’m not in the mood to hear you bitch halfway through the movie, so pick a damn movie.”

Chuuya rises to his feet, putting the bottle of wine down on the coffee table and you want to rip your hair out—why is he so fucking stubborn? You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him, teeth grinding together, and when Chuuya looks back at you, you know that he knows.

“What’s in the kitchen?” Chuuya asks, voice low.

“None of your business,” you reply, jaw tight. “Sit down and let me get the glasses.”’

“I don’t fuckin’ believe you,” Chuuya snaps and rips his wrist from your grasp and storms over to the kitchen. 

You race behind him, only able to watch as everything starts to crumble. You try to grab his wrist again but he slips out from your hold. For a scary second, you genuinely debate using your ability on him just to convince him to stop, to make him leave, but you disregard the thought as soon as it passes through your head, horrified with yourself.

“Chuuya, stop,” you say desperately, a last ditch attempt to make him stop, hoping that maybe when he hears how serious you are about this that he might reconsider, but it’s Chuuya, so of course he doesn’t.

You know it’s over when he freezes in the doorframe of your kitchen, staring into the room like he’s seen a ghost. Dreadfully, you come to stand at his side, looking over his shoulder to see what exactly he’s looking at, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

Dazai sits on the floor, half hiding behind your counter but unable to fully because of his height; his legs are too long to fit behind the counter and his head is peeking above the marble, brown eyes wide as he looks between the two of you. He focuses his attention on Chuuya, who stares at him mutely in disbelief.

Dazai finally says, “Your hat is tackier in person.”

Oh my god.

Chuuya doesn’t even react to the snide comment which you think is testimony to how angry he really is. He drags his gaze from Dazai over to you and you can see the rage swimming in his eyes. You don’t know how to approach this—Chuuya is always unpredictable when he’s angry—so you think maybe you should wait for him to say something first, but that’s also risky because once he’s set off, he’s set off. 

“You lied to me,” Chuuya says, voice low. “I was sitting here feeling guilty and-”

“I didn’t lie to you,” you interrupt, shaking your head, but that only pisses Chuuya off more from the way he shoots a pointed look at Dazai. “I didn’t. I did cut him off, Chuuya. I-”

“He’s sitting on your kitchen floor,” Chuuya’s spits, voice raising as he works himself up. “You let me sit here feeling guilty about this when-”

Chuuya suddenly cuts himself off, eyes widening as he stares at you, and a pit forms in your stomach, realizing he must have just come to another conclusion. Distress begins to pile in your chest because you can’t figure out what to do, frustration because this wasn’t supposed to happen. You want to look over to Dazai but you know it will only serve to piss Chuuya off even more.

“‘Is that what she told you?’” Chuuya whispers Mori’s words from a few weeks ago. “Don’t even tell me that the war with the Inagawa-kai began because of him. You told me they attacked you.”

You grimace, turning your face away and Chuuya lets out a high and reedy laugh, eyes wild with disbelief. You can feel Dazai’s curious eyes on you and you just want to curl in on yourself.

“We went to war with two Yakuza syndicates because of him-”

“We went to war because of what happened with your-” you begin to say, angry at the hypocrisy.

“And she died anyway,” Chuuya shouts, a familiar, eerie red glow beginning to emanate from his hands as he starts to lose control of his ability in his anger. “You couldn’t save her then, what makes you think you can save him now?”

You draw back as if you’d been slapped—you think you might’ve been better off getting slapped than hearing Chuuya say that. You stare at him blankly, watching as he looks over at Dazai, but you can’t bring yourself to follow his gaze.

“It would be more merciful if I just killed him now,” Chuuya says coolly. “Spare him from-”

You only move when he takes a step forward, grabbing his wrist and pressing your forearm hard against his upper chest to shove him into your fridge. Chuuya doesn’t expect you to get physical so his eyes widen as his back hits the fridge, gaze darting back to focus on you. The familiar feeling of the Tainted Sorrow sweeps over your body, coating you in that destructive red glow. 

For a moment, neither of you move.

“We both know you won’t use your ability on me,” you finally say, keeping your voice low. “I’ll fuck up your brain so badly that you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for weeks if you take another step toward him.”

Chuuya doesn’t budge for a second, the tension in the room rising with each passing second. After a few minutes, he finally turns off his ability, taking in a deep breath as he shakes his head and looks away. You step back and Chuuya sighs as he leans against the fridge, forcing himself to look back at you.

“I did cut him off after we talked… ish,” you tell him and Chuuya gives you a flat look. “I did. I ran into him at the ports. One of the kyodai of the Inagawa-kai showed up, saw me with him. Klaus killed him. We had to act before they found out we drew first blood.”

“Oh my god,” Chuuya complains, pressing his hands to his eyes. “You-I had to use Corruption. The entire northern ward-”

“I know, Chuuya,” you say tightly. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I-”

You let out a breath, glancing once at Dazai who’s watching you with an indecipherable expression and then ask Chuuya, “Can we go into the other room?”

Dazai’s head snaps toward you, an offended expression on his face, but you ignore him. “You’re talking about me-” he starts to protest but Chuuya gives him a sharp look that makes Dazai blanch even more, looking to you for support but you look away, missing the way his expression crumbles.

As soon as the two of you are in the other room, Chuuya gives you a hard look, waiting for you to continue.

“I cut him off after what happened at the port and I ran into him again at the event a few weeks ago,” you say quietly. “His professor for one of his classes is a journalist working for the Ivory Eagle, he has three kids—including Dazai—doing his dirty work trying to find proof of the Mori Corporation being a front for the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya stares at you. “What?” he asks blankly.

“Yeah, I know,” you grimace. “Dazai found the proof. He has a video of us from behind the Tokyo City Hall.”

“You’re letting yourself be blackmailed by a college student?” Chuuya demands loudly. You give him a sharp look, but it’s too late, Dazai is already looking into the room with an indecipherable expression on his face, lashes lowering as his gaze falls to the ground. “You’re a fucking mafia executive, are you fucking with me right now?” 

Your eye twitches in frustration, casting one last look in Dazai’s direction, watching the way his brows furrow as he thinks up a storm in that head of his—nothing good, you’re sure, but you can’t do anything about it right now.

“I’m not going to kill him, Chuuya,” you hiss under your breath. “Would you have killed her if she found out?”

Chuuya lets out a heavy breath and looks away, not answering your question but that’s an answer in itself.

“Look,” you continue, glancing at where Dazai had been standing only to realize that he’d walked away. You sigh and lower your voice. “I’m working on something. I just… I need time to figure out how to go about it. I don’t want him in this life either, Chuuya. I’m not that selfish.”

Yes, you are, a distant part of you whispers. Otherwise, you would have handled this as soon as he came to your apartment that first day.

Chuuya shakes his head. “You need to be careful. You have him in our headquarters, in your apartment. Do you know how thin of a line you’re treading? The slightest slip up-”

“I know, Chuuya,” you say, strained. “I know.”

“Figure it out quickly,” Chuuya murmurs. “I’ll do what I can in the meantime to keep the heat off of you. Just… quit fucking around.”

Chuuya gives you a steady look and you know that he knows that you’re using this as an excuse to indulge in Dazai when you shouldn’t be. You can hardly hold his gaze, lashes fluttering as you look down. He reaches out to squeeze your forearm and you turn your head away, trying to figure out what the fuck you’re going to say to Dazai.

“Yeah, I will.”

Dazai pretends like everything is fine.

He’s still sitting cross-legged on your bed when you finally come looking for him, hands in his lap and back straight. You lean against the doorframe, an uncharacteristically soft expression on your face as you look at him—Dazai hates it, because he knows that he’s not going to like whatever you’re about to bring up to him so he decides he needs to evade the conversation in whatever manner possible.

“Did that pipsqueak leave?” Dazai huffs, only finding a bit of consolation in the way your lips curl up into a smile at his insult.

“He did,” you agree, pushing off the doorframe to make your way over to him. Dazai swallows thickly when you take a seat in front of him on the bed. You lean back on your hands, head falling to the side as you observe him. “I didn’t think he was coming over today. We’d just gotten into an argument so things were already tense. I’m sorry that it blew up on you like that.”

Dazai doesn’t want to talk about this, so instead, he smiles and says, “It’s fine. Do you want to watch a movie?” 

Your brow furrows at the way he dismisses your comment—god, he doesn’t want to talk about this. He knows where it’s going to lead, he knows you’re only doing this because of the blackmail and he knew from day one that it wasn’t going to work forever but he’d hoped maybe he’d be able to woo you before then, make you want him for him, want him enough to decide he’s worth the risk. He should’ve known better—he really should have—but he’s not ready to let go just yet.

So, before you can bring it back up again, Dazai forces the smile on his face to come across a little more genuine as he tilts his head and hums, “I found a good horror movie. I’m stealing your pillow to hide behind while we watch.”

Please.

He knows you can see through the sweet smile and honeyed words but he begs you to just pretend you don’t one last time. After what feels like an eternity, you finally sigh, gaze dropping to your lap for a second before you look back up at him and say, “You’re not taking my pillow.”

Dazai doesn’t have to force a smile now, lighting up as he waves your pillow in the air and sings, “Too late!” before darting off the bed and into the other room.

“Dazai!” you call after him loudly and he tosses a smile over his shoulder before disappearing into the other room. He can hear you chasing after him and though his chest does feel a bit lighter, he can’t push away the cold, empty feeling that’s slowly starting to consume him.

[renee-writer]

Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-seven

AO3

The journey is hard, with Claire near term, Charlie dealing with early pregnancy, and all the babies and children. Hard but joyful. For the first time in over a year, there is no fear.

 

Oh, they still keep guard but, the deep terror that accompanied moving before, is gone.

 

“How many more days?” Claire asks one evening.

 

“Two, if we keep moving at this pace. Why?”

 

“I am not sure we are going to make it.” Her hands are on her baby bump. They had discussed waiting until their child was born. But, with the majority suffering from cabin fever and the children going stir crazy, moving immediately seems preferable.

 

“Are you having pains?” He kneels down beside her, his hands going to either side of her bump. The wind picks up around them as they sit in the makeshift tent.

 

“I just feel it will be soon. A mama knows.” She smiles over at their sleeping daughter. A miracle, as Jamie thinks whenever he sees her. She looks like him and his family now, where before she looked like her mama, God’s mercy to spear them all memories of her father. Incredible.

 

“Aye, they do.” He carefully exams her outside before laying her carefully down and doing an internal exam. What he finds, shocks him. “Claire, you are in full labor now.”

 

In fact, she is almost fully dilated. “But I have just felt some pressure.” She argues.

 

“You are going to feel more as you are at nine almost ten.” He calmly says. Inside, he is a mess of nerves. There is a reason doctors are told not to treat their own loved ones. He has no choice.

 

“Oh Lord!” her breath starts coming faster.

 

“Breath baby. Just think, at least you aren’t withering in pain.”

 

She barks out a laugh. He has a point. “Alright, let’s do this.” Her elbows dig deep in the ground, as her body gets in position. Behind her, their first born sleeps in a pile of blankets, completely unaware her life is about to change.

 

Jamie sterilizes his hands and lays a blanket under her and one to the side. His surgical scissors are also close by. He is as ready as he can be.

 

A deep breath as she starts to push, the pressure growing to an unbearable point. She has to push.

 

He places some oil on her bulging perineum, easing their baby out. He swipes the baby’s mouth out and tells his wife to pant. One final push after and he holds their son. The lad looks as startled as his papa. From her question to his birth was only a half hour.

 

“Jamie, what?” She asks.

 

“We have a son. He is a bawl lad.”  He lifts him up to his mama. This one looks like his original sister, all Claire.

 

“Oh my baby! Look at you!”  She is laughing through her tears. “How amazing and thoughtful you are son.”

 

“Aye, but a bit of warning would have been nice.” Jamie says as he delivers the placenta into the blanket and gives it a good look over.

 

“True.” She stares into his eyes as his first home gives the last it can give. Daddy cuts the cord. “So, what do you say Jamie? What shall we name him?”

 

“Mackenzie Alexander.” He announces. She nods.

 

“Perfect. Simply perfect!” She brings wee Mac to her breasts.

[potatomountain]

"Case: It's You" Masterlist

Pairing: Detective Reader x ot8 detective ateez

Genre: enemies to lovers, romance, eventual smut, dark themes, angst.

Synopsis: As a headstrong detective- forced to transfer to another Precinct after pushing your team, and superiors too far- your new unit is less than pleased by your presence. In fact, they are down right hostile, resulting in more time butting heads than doing your job: taking down the organized crime 'gangs' of your city. Once you finally get your foot in the door, into their circle, you realize you bit off more than you can chew- or maybe it was the perfect place for you.

Current Word Count of all chapters combined: 66,406

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five |

Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten |

Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen |

♡15.5- Spinoff bonus |♡

Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty |

Twenty-one | Twenty-two | Twenty-three | Twenty-four | Twenty-five |

Twenty-six | Twenty-seven | Twenty-eight | Twenty-nine | Thirty

If you would like to be added to the taglist, you can apply with this link: form

Big shoutout to my beta readers that are currently the soul motivation for this fic and remind me to edit: @flurrys-creativity @candypop1611 and @daemour

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Faking It | Jeon Jungkook | Chapter Two

Summary: Seeing him again happened sooner than you thought it would but absolutely no one is complaining. Pairing: f!reader (30) x Single Dad Jungkook (33) (Arranged Marriage Slow Burn?) Word Count: 9.8k Warnings: Talking about Jungkook's wife who passed away in childbirth (Doesn't talk about her death but yeah) a/n: Took me three months but we're finally here 😭 And if any of you saw me post this and delete it...no you didn't. I posted it on my reblogs account on accident so sorry if that teased you a bit 😅 Anyways I hope this was worth the wait 😭 p.s. I only read through this once when I completed it so have mercy on me if there are typos

I wake up naturally this morning and it's honestly one of the best feelings in my opinion. Not having to worry about being woken up out of a sound sleep shows me that it's going to be a good day.

As I yawn and rub the sleep out of my eyes I hear my phone vibrate on my nightstand, telling me I have a new message. I roll over and reach for it lazily to check and when I read the sender's name I immediately shoot up, causing Salem to dart off the bed. "Sorry Salem" I call after him but then when I go back to read the message my heart is already beating out of my chest.

'Good morning y/n I hope you slept well. How are you?' a simple yet inviting message from the man I just met last night. Who knew waking up to good morning texts would still feel this good at the ripe age of thirty?

'Good morning Jungkook! I slept like a baby, best sleep I've gotten in a while actually. I just woke up so, so far so good. How are you? How's Juni? Did you guys sleep alright?' I send and at a second glance I can see how completely whipped I am for this man already. Why am I rambling on and on about sleep? I could've just said 'I slept well, I hope you did as well' or something like that.

'That's good, I'm glad to hear! Juni and I slept alright. She actually only woke up an hour ago which is unheard of since she's usually knocking on my door at six am. She's been talking about you since she woke up' he sends back and my heart flutters, loving that I've made that big of an impression on her already.

I check the time and see that it's already nine am which is a record time for me to sleep as well since I'm usually up by seven most days. Then again it's not everyday that you get to spend the night with a man like him...

Wait! That's not what I meant!

'She can't stop talking about going shopping for butterflies so I wanted to see if we could set up a time soon. Maybe this weekend if you're free?' he suggests and I have to restrain myself from kicking my feet, just thinking about this man asking to see me again, disguised by his daughter wanting to get butterfly decorations for her room.

'This weekend sounds perfect! I'm free tomorrow as well so either day is fine' I offer up and face palm, scolding myself for being too eager. 'Tomorrow sounds great! Should we meet around eleven? Juni and I would love to take you out to lunch if you'd like. You know, to thank you for the help' he sends and I can't help but think that maybe he's a little nervous too.

'Eleven it is! Should I meet you guys there? There's a shop that I'm sure Juni will love and it'll definitely have what we're looking for!' I send and I can see the bubbles popping up to show that he's typing but they go up and down a couple more times. He'll type for a little and then stop and type again and I can only hope that I didn't say something wrong in suggesting where to go.

When a few minutes go by I decide it's best to get out of bed and get a cup of coffee. That'll wake up my brain a little more and help me hopefully not make as much of a fool of myself while texting him.

I find Salem perched on top of his cat tree, still a little jumpy from me having scared him but I think it's made him playful more than anything as I watch his tail flick back and forth while he watches me walk up to him.

"I'm sorry for scaring you" I apologize again, scratching his between his ears but when I feel my phone vibrating over and over in my hand I jump again making him climb down off his cat tree and scurry under the couch. I sigh and scold myself as a result before taking a look at my phone, seeing an incoming call from Jungkook.

I almost drop it after reading his name but catch and answer before I end up dropping it.

"Hello?" I ask, slightly out of breath from the scare but try to hide it as best as I can. "Hi pretty lady!" I hear Juni call out in the distance, the phone no doubt on speaker phone. "Good morning Juni! How are you little one?" I ask, feeling more at ease talking to her first and my question awards me with a little giggle before she continues.

"I'm good! Daddy says we're going to a special store to pick out the butterflies for my room! Is that right?" she asks, clear excitement laced all throughout her tone. "Yes that's right Juni we are! Does that sound alright to you?" I ask and I can clearly hear how she's jumping from excitement from how punctuated her voice sounds now as she chants "Yes" over and over again.

"I wish we could go right now!" she says, her excitement too difficult to contain at the moment which makes me smile knowing that she wants to go right away. 

"Patience Juni, tomorrow isn't too far away" I hear Jungkook's voice coming through now and it makes my breath hitch, forgetting the fact that he had been there all along. He wasn't kidding when he said that Juni grabs everyone's attention right away. Given the chance I'm sure she would've talked to me for hours if her dad hadn't reminded her.

"That's right Juni, only one more sleep until tomorrow" I say and I can hear a little gasp from the other side. "Does that mean I can go to sleep right now and then we can go?" she asks, not understanding the concept entirely.

"Not unless you want to sleep for twenty four hours silly" he says and I hear a fit of giggles that could only mean that he might've tickled her but after a few seconds it's calmed down.

"How long is twenty four hours?" she asks, a constant roulette of questions gearing up if he doesn't answer this question correctly.

"You know how you woke up yesterday, went to school, came home, played with your toys, got ready, went to meet Ms. y/n, came back home, went to bed and woke up this morning?" he lists off and I can tell she's probably nodded her head all throughout his explanation.

"Yes?" she responds in a questioning tone, waiting for him to get to the point. "Well that's how long twenty four hours is" he responds and I hear jumping again once he's finished before an excited Juni calls out. "Does that mean we get to go see Ms. y/n again when I get home from school?" she asks and my heart melts at her excitement.

"Juni, we're seeing her tomorrow remember. I'm sure Ms. y/n is very busy tonight" he says and I hear a sad "Oh" from her and I contemplate my next words carefully before going for it. "Juni, would it be okay if I talked to your Daddy for a second?" I ask and I can hear her let out a disheartened 'Okay' before Jungkook takes the phone off speaker.

"Hey y/n, sorry she's a little hyper this morning" he says and I smile at his efforts to apologize for Juni's adorable disposition. "No that's okay, I love talking to her! She's a cutie" I say and he hums, "Try living with her" he counters and I smile, knowing that her excitable attitude might get a little tiring sometimes.

"I wanted to ask you if you would like to do something today after Juni gets home from school? Maybe meet you at the park? I forgot to give you Juni's dress last night after I washed it. I have to go back to my parent's house to pick it up anyway and theres a park around the corner. It's your call though. I don't want to go against what you told her" I say, rambling off nervously again but this time over the phone instead of texting and I regret ever offering it in the first place.

Why am I so freaking awkward?

"You sure you don't mind? I could always just get it from you tomorrow? I don't want to inconvenience you or anything" he says, giving me a chance to back out but not saying no to me, giving me a vote of confidence. "I wouldn't have offered if I minded" I say with a smile in my tone and he takes another second to think before giving me his response.

"She gets off at three, does that work for you or should we meet up later?" he asks and my heart skips a beat, knowing that I'll get to see him again so soon. "That sounds great, you can meet me at my parent's house if you'd like? The park isn't too far away so we can leave our cars and walk there" I offer and he takes a couple of seconds to think again before saying anything else.

"Juni, do you wanna go see Ms. y/n after school?" he asks and I can hear her little feet running around this time and repeating her response of ceaseless Yes's again. "Well I guess we'll see you later then. I can bring some food for us to take to the park if you'd like?" he offers and I shake my head before remembering that thankfully he can't see me in my sleepy state.

"No that's okay I got it covered. You already said you guys are taking me to lunch tomorrow so the least I could do is bring us food to share at the park today. Plus, I'm the one who suggested it in the first place" I explain and he chuckles before agreeing.

"Alright, thank you y/n. Should we show up around four then?" he asks, giving them time to make their way over after picking her up from school. "Four sounds perfect, I'll see you then!" I say and he calls Juni over to say goodbye. "Bye Pretty Lady! See you after school!" she giggles. 

I swear I'm never going to tire of her excitable disposition.

"Goodbye Juni! Have a good day and listen to your teachers okay?" and I can hear a faint 'I will' in the background, no doubt from her running off to do something. "Thanks again y/n, I know she's going to be so excited to see you today...we both are" he adds at the end and my heart skips at his confession. "Me too" I say quietly and we finish up our goodbye's before quickly hanging up.

I slowly walk over to the couch as to not scare Salem this time, grab the pillow next to me, put it over my face and scream into it. Although I tried to muffle it I still end up scaring him making him run off to my room, no doubt planning to be wary of me for the rest of the day but that's okay.

I get to see them again, I get to see him again.

I really hope I'm not wrong about thinking that there might actually be something between us already, something about this just feels right. I don't want to rush into this too quickly though since we don't really know much about each other. I want to take things slow and hopefully he does too.

Well...I hope he'll want to take things further but you never know, a man like him is sure to have a lot of options, right? I just don't want to set myself up for heartbreak. Gotta keep it together and not get too vulnerable with him, even if it feels like I should. 

I've already let him in a little, and he's definetly let me in a lot with letting me spend so much time with his daughter but I don't know, I guess only time will tell what's going to happen between us.

If there's going to be an 'us'.

~~~~~

The day drags on as I unconsciously count down the hours until I get to see them again but it seems as though time is standing still.

I've spent most of my day editing the pictures I took for a family friend's wedding since that's usually how I get my clients these days. I know someone who knows someone who needs a photographer and my rates are pretty fairly priced so they tend to hire me.

Going through picture after picture and seeing how happy they look together makes me wonder what it would be like to be truly happy with someone like this. Be so openly and obviously in love that no one can say otherwise.

As time ticks by though my mind wanders off until I realize I only have about an hour to get ready before I have to meet them.

"Shit!" I say aloud and get up to hopefully make myself look presentable enough, luckily I took a shower this morning so we're all set on that front. I still need to figure out something for us to eat while at the park though and if I had paid attention to the time it would've been a brilliant idea.

The only option I have left is to phone a friend.

"Y/n? Is something wrong?" my mom asks, the call on speakerphone while I try to fix my hair. "Well depends on if you can help me or not" I say and I hear her sigh. "Please tell me you didn't end up in jail" she says and I scoff at her obviously sarcastic remarks.

"Very funny mom, but for your information no I did not end up in jail. This is seriously something I need help with though. Are you busy right now?" I ask, hoping and praying her answer is no. "No I'm pretty much free for the rest of the day, why?" she responds and I let out a huge sigh before responding.

"Good! Can you do me a favor and throw together a picnic lunch for three? Well...two and a half" I ask, not wanting to give up who it's for but by her gasp I can tell she already knows. "Are you and Jungkook seeing each other again already?" she asks, and I can tell her eyes are as wide as saucers with her hand over her mouth, her reactions being the same since I was a child.

"Yes" I say, giving a one worded response leaving me turning down the volume on my phone when I hear her squealing. "This is incredible! See I knew you two would hit it off! I can hear the church bells ringing already" she says, jumping to conclusions as she always does.

"Mom can you please get the food ready for me?" I plead, going back to the topic at hand while putting some makeup on, nothing too crazy but not wanting to over or under compensate. "Yes yes of course. Leave it to me!" and before I can say another word she's hanging up the phone. "Well that was easy" I say to myself before going to my closet to pick out what to wear.

As I'm flipping through my options I see Salem come out of the darkness, scaring me half to death leaving me scoffing seconds later, realizing he's given me a taste of my own medicine "Okay I guess I deserved that one huh?" I say to him and he meows in response.

"Okay Salem this one, or this one" I say, placing my options in front of him and he sniffs both before swatting at the one he's chosen. "You don't think a sun dress is too much?" I ask and he meows almost as if he was telling me to trust him and so I laugh and give in.

"I hope Juni likes it" I mumble to myself, quickly throwing it on and rushing to finish getting ready. A few minutes later I'm giving Salem a couple tummy rubs like I always do and rushing out the door, praying that I'll get there on time.

The drive to my parent's house seems like it's taking ten times longer than usual and I'm constantly glancing at the clock, making sure that I won't be late but thankfully I get there with plenty of time to spare.

"Hurry up they'll be here any minute!" my mom says, practically having babysat the door to make sure I arrive first. "Nice to see you too" I mumble, never getting a proper hello from her anymore. "The basket is on the table and I put a blanket in there as well" she says rushing me over to where she's put it and it's at that moment she finally notices my appearance.

"You really like him don't you?" she ask, smugness laced in her tone as her efforts of matchmaking are slowly succeeding. "No! Yes...I don't know" I deny but I backtrack immediately since I really do like him. "I haven't been interested in anyone in years and so I don't want to try too hard but I don't know" I somewhat admit to myself, as well my mom that I'm really starting to warm up to the idea of being with someone again.

"It's okay love, he hasn't been with anyone in a really long time either" she says and I furrow my brow, "How do you know that?".

"Well Mrs. Jeon and I were talking about it last night and it seems like ever since his wife died he's been really closed off to love or the idea of dating again. He's tried a few times but they never went beyond a second or third date" she relays and I nod my head, distracting myself with looking through all of the things she had placed in the basket. 

I try not to let any expression spread across my face since I don't know how to feel. I don't want to say I'm happy that things didn't work out between him and another woman but it's also sad to think about how Jungkook might've felt when his wife passed in such a traumatic way.

"Thank you for telling me but I think I should start learning more about him when he feels comfortable talking to me about it. It's only fair right? I'm sure he hasn't asked too much about me and my past so I guess shouldn't either" I say and walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"But he has" she says when my mouth is full making me spit it into the sink that was thankfully right in front of me. "He what?" I cough, trying to compose myself as I learn this tidbit of information. "He has asked about you. In fact I was on the phone with her right before you got here" I grab a paper towel to dab off whatever water I have left on me but before I'm able to respond we hear the doorbell ringing.

"I'll get it" she say knowingly, giving me another second to calm down before I have to face him. I take a few deep breaths, fix my hair and check my reflection as best as I can in the smudged steel finish on the fridge while listening to my mother greet them at the door.

While Jungkook and my mother exchange a few words I peek around the corner and notice Juni slightly tugging on my mom's pant leg. "Excuse me but where's the pretty lady?" she asks and I have to hold back the coos I want to let out so badly, my heart already a puddle at the sight of her pleading eyes wanting to see me.

"Why don't you go look for her?" she says and when Jungkook looks up his eyes meet mine immediately for just a second but long enough to know my cover is blown. I duck back into the kitchen to hide, convincing myself that he didn't see me when he clearly did. 

"Go on" he says softly when Juni no doubt looks up at him for approval and my mother follows behind her as Juni walks in the completely opposite direction from where I am, my mom trailing behind her, giving no hints and letting her explore on her own.

I assume that Jungkook follows them but when I hear what sound like his footsteps get closer and not further away I tiptoe my way into the pantry, completely mortified that I know now for a fact that he caught me staring at them.

I close the door almost all the way and ten seconds later I watch as his form passes by the little crack in the doorway and I hold my breath as if that might help but there's only one way in and one way out of this kitchen and both him and I know that.

Why did I even hide? What was I thinking? Way to start things off on the right foot.

While I'm busy scolding myself I forget to pay attention and stumble back when he opens the door. "Got ya" he chuckles and I clear my throat, "Yeah I uh, I guess you did" I say, trying to lean back against one of the shelves, stumbling over a box instead but quickly recovering.

"Why are you hiding?" he chuckles, leaning up against the door frame and crossing his arms making me look down and notice how one of them is completely covered in tattoos. I had never specifically been attracted to tattoos before but on him...

I lose track of what he had said and only realize I had left a lull in the conversation when he clears his throat. "Oh I-" I start off but when I hear my mother and Juni's voices in the other room I grab his shirt and pull him in, making him stumble inside, closing the door right away.

It's only when he hits the switch to turn the light on that I realize what I had done.

"I-" I try to apologize but when I look up at him I notice that there's something in the way he's looking at me that I have never seen before, making my words die in my throat. We stand there for what feels like hours but had only been mere moments just observing each other, watching those small changes of expressions and I start to feel dizzy under his gaze. 

The tension between us clear and building but it's only when he opens his mouth to say something that the door is thrown open and we're met with a squeal from Juni. She runs into the closet and grabs onto Jungkook's leg making him stumble forward and as a result pins me against the shelf, his hands resting on either side of me.

It's like the universe is playing some sort of sick and twisted joke on us, constantly putting us in situations like these and yet we had only just become reacquainted with each other last night. 

"I found you!" Juni squeals again, giggles as her cries of victory and she soon pulls on Jungkook's leg to try and separate us. 

"Daddy I wanna play with the pretty lady" Juni pouts and in her efforts of trying to pull him off of me he actually loses his footing and stumbles, our bodies fully flush against each other now, his face just inches away from mine. 

I blink up at him and he does the same to me, both of us frozen and not really knowing what to do. It's only when my mother chimes in and asks Juni to come with her to get a snack that that little bubble that had formed around us had been popped.

"I...sorry... I uh, tripped...you know...with Juni and everything" he says, fumbling his words like a school boy, taking a few steps back to be at a respectful distance again. "Yeah no it's fine. I um, I shouldn't have pulled you in here in the first place" I admit and he smirks, remembering the point that lead us up to the little predicament we're in. 

"Why did you pull me in here?" he smiles, glancing over at where my mom has Juni plopped down on the kitchen counter with a popsicle in her hand. "I take hide and seek very seriously" I explain, me being the one crossing my arms now and he chuckles at my lame excuse for my actions but accepts it anyways. 

"Right" he says and offers me a hand to lead me out which I reluctantly accept.

"Mom she'll spoil her dinner" I say, scolding her with Juni just lost in the flavor and sheer size of it. To be fair it looks adorable in her little hands. "It's alright, a little sugar won't hurt her. Plus we're still going to the park right?" he asks and I look at him and nod. "Right" I agree and lift Juni off the counter to set her on her feet. 

"Hi Miss y/n" she says with a bright smile with her lips and tongue stained a bright shade of red from the cherry flavor. "Hi Juni" I say and fix her little sun dress that she's wearing, it's almost as if we had planned to match and when she notices me straightening out her dress she look at mine and also notices the similarity right away. 

"Look Daddy! Miss y/n and I are matching!" she says with the toothiest grin I've ever seen, her front two teeth standing out just a little bit more making it another cute little trait she shares with her father. Although who knows if she'll keep that once she starts losing her teeth I think to myself and quickly fix her hair as well since it's gotten a bit ruffled in the excitement of it all. 

"That's right baby, you both look so beautiful" he says making my heart skip a beat. When I look over at him he's giving me a similar adoring look he gave Juni just moments ago making it even harder for me to not melt into a puddle. 

I'm beginning to notice that these two really know how to tug on a person's heartstrings, it's almost as if it were as easy as breathing and that's something that's gonna take a while to get used to. 

"Can we go to the park now, please?" Juni asks, her eyes going back and forth between the two of us and when I look over at Jungkook he nods. "Sure, are you ready?" I ask, turning back to Juni and she jumps up and down and chants 'Yes' over and over again like she had done this morning on the phone. 

"Alright let's go" I say and with one hand clutching her popsicle for dear life she uses the other one to grab mine and drag me towards the front door. 

"Juni be careful" Jungkook scolds but I turn back towards him and assure him not to worry and I can see how he relaxes at that. She's a little bouncing ball of sunshine, emphasis on the bouncing since she can hardly sit still most of the time unless she's eating, and even then she's dancing around and smiling happily. I swear if this girl gets any sweeter I'm gonna start getting a toothache.

I let go of Juni's hand while my mother entertains her so we can make sure we have everything before we head out and when I try to turn around to grab my cardigan Jungkooks already grabbing it and holding it out to help me put it on. "Oh! I can-" "I know" he cuts me off but doesn't make any moves to give it to me so I turn my back to him and let him do as he pleases, sliding it up my arms and over my shoulders.

He runs his hands down my arms, no doubt as an excuse to smooth it all out but it causes a slight shiver to run through my system and he let's go, surprised at the reaction. 

"You sure you're gonna be warm enough?" he asks, a hint of amusement laced in his tone making my cheeks heat up but I nod my head and quickly rush over to the table where the basket is so I don't have to face him but he takes it from me as soon as my fingers brush the handle, making our hands touch. 

"I can carry that" I counter and he shakes his head, "No I'll carry it, someone's gotta hold Juni's hand while we walk there" he says, clearly delegating our respective duties and I smile and nod again. "Deal" and at that we're out the door. 

~~~~

"Higher Daddy higher!" Juni squeals while Jungkook pushes her on the swing, his arms no doubt getting a little tired since she's been on it for the past ten minutes now and I can see he's losing momentum with every push. 

"Daddy's tired Juni. Can you swing on your own now? You know, just like I taught you" he suggests and she thinks about it for a second before saying a quick 'Okay' and clumsily moving her legs back and forth to keep the momentum going.

I smile as I watch Jungkook stumble over towards where I've been sitting on the blanket and watching them, adoring their father daughter relationship. "You're so good with her" I praise when he sits down and hand him a cold water bottle which he accepts right away and downs half of it. 

"You think so?" he asks, always unsure of himself but I couldn't think of a more perfect father than him. "I know so. She's lucky to have a loving devoted father like you" I say and he smiles softly, grabing one of the strawberries that my mother had packed for us. 

"You flatter me" he says, a slight blush blooming on his cheeks making me feel almost smitten with him. "It's the truth" I reenforcing what I've said and he shakes his head, finishing off the fruit in his mouth.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not enough, you know? Like there's only so much I could give her" he says and I can tell from how his body language has changed that he's really thinking about how he wishes her mother could be here for her too.

"What was her name?" I ask and he looks at me curiously, not knowing that I'm on the same page as him yet. "Your wife, what was her name?" I say tentatively but when he registers it I quickly backtrack. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me that. I just figured that you might've been well..." I trail off and we sit there in silence watching Juni swing back and forth, back and forth until he decides to speak up. 

"Julie" he says softly, as if it had been years since he had spoken it. "Her name was Julie" he says softly and when I look over at him I can see the melancholy expression he's trying to hide. "That's a beautiful name, did you want Juni's name to sound similar to her's?" I ask, not wanting to make this conversation go dark but knowing that talking about her might cheer him up.

"Well, kinda. We wanted something that combined both of our names. It's silly, I know" he mumbles getting bashful about it. "It's not silly, it's wonderful to see in a way that both you and Juni are still carrying her with you everyday. It's a beautiful way to pay tribute to her" I reassure him and he smiles at me, mouthing a silent thank you. 

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have pried" I apologize again, seeing that it still has him feeling down. "No it's okay, it's nice to talk about her every once in a while. Thank you, for that" him now reassuring me and I nod, both of us left in silence for a while before Juni runs up to us. 

"Daddy what's wrong?" she asks, seeing the clearly deflated Jungkook as she gets closer and it's good to see that instead of brushing it off like it's nothing he doesn't hesitate to tell her how he's feeling. "I'm just a little sad, Ms. y/n and I were just talking about Mommy" he explains and she gets almost a look of understanding which is surprising for someone of her age. 

"Please don't be sad Daddy, remember you said Mommy is always watching over us right?" she say, giving him the talk that he's clearly had with her a time or two. "Right" he say, brightening up just a bit. "And she wouldn't want to see us sad when we think about her right?" she continues, an slightly stern tone creeping up which makes both Jungkook and I smile. "Right" he echos again and she nods her head in agreement. 

"You always tell me to look in the mirror and touch my nose, and my ears and my lips and everything else that you say reminds you of her and you tell me that she'll always be right here with me. So that means when I'm here with you she's here too right?" she asks again and he chuckles. 

"When did you get so smart?" he says, grabbing her and starts tickling her, making her squirm all over the place and when he finally has mercy on her and she catches her breath she answers, "Well I am turning five soon" she says matter-o-factly and I can't help but chuckle at that. "Oh right, how could I forget" he over exaggerates  and she giggles, grabbing his shoulder before leaning in to whisper something. 

"Daddy can we show the pretty lady a picture of Mommy?" she says almost at full volume leaving him flinching back. It's adorable how she still hasn't figured out this whole whispering thing. "Sure baby" he obliges and pulls out his phone, picking out one and handing it to her so she can show it to me. 

She surprises me by plopping down in my lap and putting the phone way too close to my face. "This is my Mommy, her name is Julie" she says proudly and my heart can't help but ache thinking this is the only way she's known her mother. "She's beautiful Juni" I say, putting my hand on top of her hand that's holding the phone and pulling it back so I can see the picture properly. 

"You really do have your mom's nose" I chuckle when I notice the same curved button nose they share leaving me booping her's and making her smile. She scrolls through a couple more photos giving me little bits of commentary that no doubt Jungkook has told her as she grew up and it's when I hear the soft click of a camera that I look back up at him. 

"Sorry, it was too perfect not to" he says, seemly enjoying watching the two of us and I can't help the way my heart skips a beat making me shy all over again. "Can we take some more pictures?" Juni asks, wrapping her little arms around my neck and squishing my face against her's leaving me laughing at how adorable this all is. 

Jungkook obliges and we take picture after picture after picture together until Juni is satisfied and has run off to play again. 

"I didn't even know that you brought that" I say, watching as he fiddles around with the camera, flipping through the photos he just took. "It was on the table right behind the basket" he explains and now that I think about it I do remember seeing the corner of a camera bag sitting next to it. 

He smiles as he looks at the pictures and I lean over to catch a glance at them but he pulls it back out of my reach. "Hey!" I chuckle and she shakes his head. "Not until they're edited" he refuses and I scoff. 

"You're not actually going to edit them are you?" I say, nervous at the thought of him spending hours looking at those pictures. "Why wouldn't I?" he asks as if I had said something confusing. "Well I mean, aren't you busy with work? I doubt you would want to take extra time out of your day to play around with them" I explain and he smiles. 

"Let me take a few more and then I'll let you see them" he says, angling his body so he's facing me. "Did you want me to call Juni back?" I ask but when I try he stops me with another click and I look back at him confused. "I meant of just you" he says simply but I can tell he feels a bit bashful from the way he's started to hide behind the camera. 

"I'm not used to being the one in front of the camera" I say, trying to figure out exactly how to pose but he chuckles and puts the camera down a little to take a good look at me. "I don't see why not, you're beautiful" he says casually as if those words hadn't sent my heart into overdrive. "I-" I start but the words just don't come out, especially when he places the camera down and leans in closer. 

He takes my hand and places it on the blanket so I can lean on it, places the other in my lap, angles my shoulders slightly away from him and takes my chin and softly tilts my head up, making the sunlight peer down on my face through the leaves of the tree we're under. 

"Just relax" he says, acting as if I could possibly relax after he had his hands all over me, posing me just how he wanted. 

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to clear my head and once I start to get that sense of serenity I hear a few soft clicks from his camera, taking picture after picture, him adjusting my pose by hand every time. 

"Daddy!" is the next thing we hear after who knows how long with the sight of Juni running over to us all covered in mud. "Is this your daughter?" a woman who is clearly out of breath says while trailing after Juni. 

"Juni what happened?" I chuckle, seeing that she's as happy as can be with a few smudges of dirt on her face and her dress all muddy. "Her and my son were playing over there and I guess he convinced her to jump in the mud and well..." she says, motioning towards Juni where I'm trying to clean her off as best as I can. 

"I hope she didn't cause you any trouble" Jungkook says, now feeling a bit guilty about the situation since he had taken his eye off her for a second. 

"No, not at all. If anything I should be apologizing for my son. I swear we look away for one second and he's as dirty as can be" she chuckles, finally close to catching her breath. 

"Can you tell the nice lady thank you for bringing you back?" Jungkook tells Juni and she does as she's told and I can see that she has just about as much of an affect on this mom as she does with me. If Jungkook's not careful she can use her cuteness for mass destruction if left unchecked. 

We hear a boy calling out for his mom that looks just like the woman in front of us now with no doubt her husband trailing after him. "Mom, Dad says it's time to go home" he says, his state twice as bad as Juni's. What is it with kids these days and mud? I chuckle to myself and when the boy notices Jungkook and I with Juni he gets a little shy. 

"Oh, hello" he says before he goes and hides behind his mother's leg, "Oh so now you wanna be shy?" his dad teases and snatches him out from his hiding space and whispers no doubt an encouragement for him to apologize. 

"I'm sorry for getting her all dirty. She was just really nice and I wanted to have fun with her" he mumbles and I can see hints of pink peeking through the streaks of dirt on his cheeks just like Juni. 

What did I say? Weapon of mass destruction.

"It's okay sweetie, I'm just glad you had fun" I say, brushing off his apology and when he looks up at me now I can see that his blush deepens and opts to hide behind his Dad's leg this time. "Alright well say goodbye" his mom says and he mumbles a quiet goodbye and gives Juni a shy wave compared to hers being one to match her outgoing and bubbly self.

"Can we play again tomorrow?" Juni asks him and he looks up at his parents for approval. "We usually come here around this time everyday after school so you just have to ask your Mommy and Daddy if you can come again" she says and when I try to deny her claims Jungkook jumps in before I can get a word out. "We'll be here" he says and Juni smiles so wide. 

"See you tomorrow!" she calls out to them and the trio waves goodbye one last time before heading to their car. 

"Mommy and Daddy?" I turn to Jungkook while Juni is busy doing a little happy dance before taking a drink of her juice box. "Well I um, I guess they couldn't help but think we're her parents so it felt best to not correct them" he says while rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink just like the little boy's were when he was looking at Juni. 

"Right, and when they say something tomorrow?" I tease and he clears his throat, no doubt not thinking this whole thing through. "Well I guess there's no harm in faking it?" he says and now I'm the one that's nervous.

"Faking it? You mean you want me to pretend to be Juni's mom? Why?" I ask, flustered by the thought of it. "I'm sorry I guess I didn't think about how you might feel about it. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable" he apologizes but I rush to explain myself.

"I'm not uncomfortable I'm just shocked that you would want to go along with something like that to keep up appearances for people that we hardly know" I say, trying to figure out where his head is at. "Sorry that was a stupid suggestion we don't have to do it if you don't want to" he says and I shake my head.

"I mean I want to, but do you? I mean what about Juni? What's she gonna think?" I ask and watch as she chases a butterfly that has caught her eye. "We can just tell her we're playing pretend" he says and I raise a brow at him. 

"That's the best you got?" I ask and he chuckles nervously. It's funny to see that a tall, strong, handsome man like him is getting so shy about this but I'll play along, I just don't want to confuse Juni. 

"Juni can you come here for a second?" Jungkook calls and she turns and runs over to us right away, looking between the two of us since we're both looking at her with no doubt some very strange expressions. "You like to play pretend right?" he asks and she brightens up at the thought, "It's my favorite thing to do!" she says, twirling around in her very adorable muddy dress. 

"How would you feel if we started playing pretend with Ms. y/n?" he asks and she gets even more excited and does her little chanting of 'Yes' over and over again, a very adorable habit of hers. 

"So this is what we're gonna do, whenever we're out and about with Ms. y/n we're going to pretend like we're a family. You'll be the Baby, I'll be the Daddy and Ms. y/n will be the Mommy, does that sound alright to you?" he asks and she giggles and looks between the two of us, clearly loving the idea. 

"Yes let's do it!" she says, fully confident in her playing pretend skillset. "Alright Juni but there's one little rule" he says and she come in close, knowing that this part is probably a secret. "You can't call her Mommy in front of her parents or grandma and grandpa, got it?" he says and I fully agree with him, we don't need to get their hopes up when we still don't know exactly what we are. 

"Got it! Mommy?" she asks, getting my attention and trying on the name for size and I answer to it right away, somehow feeling almost natural already. "Yes Juni?" I ask, and she looks over at the playground for a second before looking back over at me. "Can I go play for just a little while  longer?" she asks, holding her hands together and giving me the cutest puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. 

"Go ahead" I say and she giggles and rushes off to run around just for a little while longer just like she said. "It suits you" Jungkook says and I look over at him curiously, "What does?" I ask with a tilt of my head. "You being a mom" he says and the words die in my throat. I've always been told I'd be a good mother when the time came but hearing it from him after what we just agreed to do just...

"Thank you" I say, my heart squeezing in a painful but also grateful way and he gives me a smile before he places his hand on my waist for a second to solidify his sincerity before walking a bit closer to the playground to watch Juni. 

I decide to start packing up the stuff we had brought and by the time Juni is dragging her feet back over to me and completely out of breath I've got everything ready to go. "You tired?" I ask and she nods her head, her blinks getting lazy as a clear sign that it's time for bed. 

"Why don't I carry her home...I mean back to my mom's house" I correct myself quickly but I can tell he liked the sound of what I had said, my implication being completely different from what he had imagined. "It's alright, I can carry her, we've got one pretty dress all muddy so I don't think we need another one" he chuckles. 

I pause for a second and pull out the picnic blanket we brought and hold it against myself before picking her up. "Problem solved" I say and he can't help but smile at my solution and quickly takes Juni's shoes off and wipes her feet clean as best as he can before taking the end of the blanket and  tucking it all up so she's practically wrapped up like a burrito. 

"You sure you can cary her? She can get a bit heavy when she's sleepy like this, especially since we've gotta walk for a little bit" he offers and I assure him I'm fine. "What kind of mother would I be if I couldn't carry my child home?" I tease and his eyes widen, clearly having forgotten the little game we're playing.

"How dare I doubt your capabilities as a mother" he chuckles and picks up our stuff, motioning for me to lead the way.

A few minutes go by and we're left in a comfortable silence on our way back to my parent's house and when I decide to speak up he does the same. "I-" "Tha-", "Sorry you go first" "No that's okay you go first" and we toss it back and forth a few more times before he hits me with the age old "Ladies first".

"Thank you for coming tonight and letting me spend some more time with Juni...well and you of course" I say sheepishly and he smiles. "I would hope you like spending time with me since you are my wife after all" he teases and now we've switched personalities. "You know, I think you're getting a little too comfortable with this already" I say and he smiles, playing with his lip piercing that I somehow only noticed right now, the silver glistening from the street lights.

There's so many things I haven't noticed about him yet, or even know about him but somehow everything seems so easy. 

"I mean can you blame me? You fit right in with Juni and I. Honestly better than I thought you would" he mumbles the last part to himself and I have to try my absolute hardest not to literally fall for him. I'm holding his daughter so I would one thousand percent say that now is not the time. 

"What?" I ask, needing clarification but he doesn't give. "Oh nothing" he smiles and picks up the pace, leaving me trailing behind him and right when I go to say something else Juni flinches leaving me slowing down and soothing her back to sleep. "Your Daddy is crazy, you know that?" I whisper to her as if she could hear me but the need to say something was too great. 

A minute or two later we're walking up to my mom's house and I twist my body to give him access to the small purse I brought with us and let him fish out the keys to open the door. 

When my mom hears us come in she goes to give us a no doubt overly exaggerated welcome home but as soon as she sees a very sleepy Juni in my arms she cuts herself off and switches to a hushed tone. 

"Looks like you all had fun" she chuckles and caresses Juni's head for a second, checking to see if she's really asleep and she very much is. "Maybe a little too much fun" Jungkook chuckles, seeing my mother slowly realize how dirty Juni had gotten. 

"She's a cheeky one isn't she?" my mom smiles lovingly and I can't help but wish this whole mom thing with Juni was real. "She is indeed" Jungkook agrees, and hands my mother the picnic basket. 

"Thank you so much for letting me steal your daughter today" Jungkook teases and I can tell that she absolutely loves this. "Honestly you can keep her. I hardly see her anyways" she says, giving Jungkook permission as well as sending a jab my way. 

"Mom" I groan and the both of them smile as if they delighted in my embarrassment. "I just might" he says softly while looking over at me and I can see my mom picking out the wedding venue as we speak, meanwhile I'm wrestling with myself to stay calm. 

We agreed to fake this relationship which means that everything he says is fake...right? I need to separate the real from the delusion but he unfortunately isn't making this any easier.

We say our final goodbyes to my mom and she watches until we walk up to Jungkook's car, no doubt still watching behind the curtain of one of our front windows, spying on us as if her life depended on it. I try to ignore it though because how we end tonight is really important to me. 

"Can I ask you something?" I say after he finishes putting Juni in the car, him closing his car door and walking me over to my car just a few feet away. "Anything" he says while ushering me toward it with a hand on my waist, a slight sign of protection since it's gotten a lot darker than we both realized. 

"When you said I fit in better than you thought I would...and that you might keep me, was that a part of this whole faking it thing we have going?" I ask, wanting to have an open line of communication with him. We're not shy teenagers anymore so as adults I feel like this is something really important to establish. 

"Do you want it to be?" he asks, standing in front of me while I lean against my car door. It still very much being locked as a very clear sign that I don't want this to end. "I mean we just met and..." I say, trailing off because I don't really know what I want. All I know is I like him. I really really like him and his daughter has got me wrapped around her cute little finger. 

"I know, we can take this slow. If this whole husband/wife thing is too much for you we don't have to do it" he offers and I shake my head, "No, no I want to. I just don't want the lines to get too blurry" I explain and he nods his head and leans his hand against the car right next to where I'm standing. 

"Blurry lines aren't a problem for me when it comes to you, it's your call though" he says and if my heart wasn't already racing it surely would've been now. I look up at him and hold my breath when he gets closer my eyes not leaving his and when he lean down I close my eyes, giving into whatever he wants to do to me. 

"Goodnight" he whispers, his warm breath fanning my neck making me lose my sense of reality for a second, wanting to lose myself in him without abandon. I can hardly breathe let alone think straight and he chuckles at that, standing up straight and ghosting his fingers along my jaw before stepping aside, a clear sign for me to get into my car and when I fumble with my keys he takes them and unlocks it and opens the door for me.

I sit down inside and look up at him, indulging myself for a few more seconds. When he hands me my keys he makes our hands touch only for a moment before saying a soft 'Drive safe'. 

When he closes the door for me I finally let out that breath I had desperately been holding back, watching as he walks back to his car with his little Juni still sound asleep.

I watch him pull out of the driveway and decide that even the way he drives is irresistible, giving me a small wave before he goes and while I'm lost in thought I almost jump out of my skin when I hear my phone ringing and my mom's name pops up.

"Mom I really can't talk right now" I say, putting her on speakerphone and starting to car. "Do not give me that y/n I am your mother and set you up with this man so tell me what is going on" she says and I sigh, checking all my mirrors and heading out as well just seconds later. 

"To be honest mom I don't even know. He's showing me very very clear signs that he's interested in me but I can't really say much of anything else at this point" I admit, the realization that the state of our relationship is anything but normal. 

"We just met last night and things are progressing fast, like really fast" I sigh, stopping at a red light, thankfully giving me a second to think. "Well I'd say this is all a good sign. I mean you're both in your thirties honey so adult relationships can progress a lot faster than when you're younger. He's a man that clearly knows what he wants and he wants you. So go for it" she encourages and I take it all in. 

"You're biased because you're my mother and would love to have his parents as your in-laws" I say and she scoffs. "Yes but that's not the point. You would be a fool if you let a man like him walk out of your life" she scolds and I know she's right. 

"I'll do my best to keep an open mind. But please don't talk to his mom yet, or at least not tonight. I don't need both of you losing sleep over this" I warn her but I know she'll do as she pleases no matter what. "You know I can't do that, but I'll do my best" she says and that is the biggest lie she's ever told but I'm not surprised since we dangled this whole thing right in front of her face. 

"You called her already didn't you?" I sigh and she chuckles. "As soon as I closed the door" she admits and I sigh, not the slightest bit surprised. "Alright mom well I gotta go but we'll talk again soon" I say, pulling into my parking spot and turning off the car. 

"Okay well keep me updated" she says and I can't help but roll my eyes. "Between you and Mrs. Jeon I'm sure you can keep each other in the loop" I say, putting my keys in the lock and closing the door behind me when I step into my apartment. "But I gotta go alright, I'll talk to you later" I say once again and hang up as soon as she says goodbye.

"Hi Salem" I sigh, watching as he jumps down from his cat tree and stretches before walking up to me, rubbing against my leg before walking over to his food bowl, clearly requesting the very late dinner I'm giving him. "I'm sorry boy, I guess I gotta get you one of those timed feeders now from the looks of it" I apologize and give him his food right away. 

I put a couple treats into his bowl as well as an apology and make my way back to my room to jump in the shower and think about everything that happened today. 

Jungkook basically admitted that he wants to get to know me better because he clearly feels like he can see a future between us and to be honest I pretty much feel the same way. It could be that we've caught a severe case of puppy love but I think we both know that this could potentially go somewhere. 

I love spending time with him and Juni, granted this is only the second time we've spent time together but still I can't get over the fact of how natural it all felt. Then he goes and pulls this whole pretend to be married business and now he's telling me he doesn't mind if the lines are blurred between us. 

This is all way too much for one day but I can't deny that I'm not enjoying the journey. This is progressing a whole lot faster than I thought it would but that doesn't necessarily mean that's a bad thing. I guess we've both got a whole lot of learning to do. 

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