#crazy this has only been two weeks it feels like it’s been sixteen years

[thominyourside]

I have such an undying gratitude to everyone that’s been helping me through this when they didn’t have to at all

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 Part Two

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You and Joel go to a Shibari class together; an innocent date, or is it?

TW: age gap (Joel 45/reader 22), reader does have some descriptors so more of an OC. Reader has longer hair and Joel can lift her. Mutual pining, kissing. Spoiler triggers below the cut in red.

WC: 8.2k

AN: Ok fiiiiiinnnneeeeee I couldn't wait any longer and I left you all on kind of a cliffhanger. As always, thank you to my lovely @lotusbxtch for reading and encouraging and helping me grow. Thanks @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69 and @joelmillerisapunk for being my lil cheerleaders. @for-a-longlongtime thanks for stoping me from working on that bull rider series LOL. Ok, enjoy this slowly because I haven't even STARTED chapter 6 yet, so I doubt it will be out until late October. Dividers and banners by the oh so talented @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: complete sensory deprivation (tied down, blind folded and has hearing blocked), multiple orgasms, denial

Joel

Joel has tried to keep his distance since referring to tonight as a date. He left another large tip for your clean this week and then made sure he was as busy as possible to stop himself from going home to see you. As he coaxed you into drinking the orange juice and the water he kept hearing “it’s a date” over and over again in his mind, and he’d cringe internally. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you had leaped out of that bed and ran home. The thought of you wanting him in that way is ridiculous. Not only because he’s over twice your age, but you came to him for help with building self confidence and for an escape, and then he went and said something so fucking stupid. 

He shakes his head and pulls up his emails, trying to distract himself for what feels like the one hundredth time. Of course he wants to date you, he’d be crazy not to, but he can’t blur those lines. Furthermore, even if there was the slightest chance that you felt the same way he can’t risk breaking your heart the way he’s broken so many others.

She’s going to break yours, old man. Not the other way around.

Wednesday has been absolutely crawling. Time almost mocking him with how slow it’s ticking by. As he goes over the list of tonight's guests, Tess knocks on his small office door at the club.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down in the arm chair across from the desk. “You coming tonight?”

“Of course. Looks like a good turn out. Did the instructor make it in ok?”

“Cap picked her up from the airport yesterday and got her all settled at the hotel. Do you think you’re going to need me tonight?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow at her. He’s known Tess since she was ten. Her and Tommy are the same age, Joel being two years their senior. Aside from a few months when Tess and Tommy were sixteen, the three of them have been inseparable ever since. Tess was usually the undeclared leader of the group due to her bossy nature, but she kept the Miller brothers out of trouble most of the time. 

“What’s wrong, Tess?”

“Nothin’,” she crosses her arms across her chest. “I am the planner, you and Tommy are the personality. I’m fine to stay behind the scenes for this one.”

“You’ve been acting strange since the poker night.”

She rolls her eyes at him. She’s probably the only person ballsy enough to do that to Joel besides Tommy, but Joel’s almost convinced his little brother is more dumb than ballsy. “I’m fine, Joel. The staff is all in good morale, and that’s my department. Remember?”

Joel just stares as she continues, lowering her voice to mock his. “I need you to be the people person. Hire them, train them. I’m not patient enough because I’m a big scary dom who will just want to spank them for not listening. I also can’t plan anything because I have a man brain.”

“Hilarious,” Joel deadpans as Tess laughs at her own jokes. “I’m being serious though, are you sure you're ok?”

“Yes, you don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m actually a little gutted I’m gonna miss it. Tommy told me there’s been a very pretty young lady hanging around you lately.”

Joel puts his reading glasses on with one hand and pointing to his door with the other. “Out.”

You

Joel referring to tonight as a date has been on loop for the last few days. He has this amazing way of shutting off your brain and then leaving you with so many new questions. Either way, when a few more college letters came over the last few days you convinced yourself that right before leaving for the shibari-demonstration-slash-date was the best time to open them. 

Odette and Jamie sit on the couch across from you as you slide open the first letter. The thick eggshell parchment stamped with the Yale logo pops open easily. You close your eyes as you open the paper, the only sound in the room is the thundering of your heart behind your ribs. 

You peel your eyes open and read out loud. “We regret to inform you that you have not…” your voice falls off, fingers shaking as you put it back in the envelope.

“Hey, we expected a few no’s,” Jamie says gently, always the optimist.

Odette takes the other approach, “Their fucking loss, bunch of stuffy old cunts! Next!”

You laugh at the juxtaposition of your friends' responses and reach for the Harvard letter. “We regret to inform you…”

“Keep going babe,” Jamie says softly.

You pick up the bright white Columbia letter. “We regret to inform you…fuck.” You feel the defeat start to creep in, like thick morning fog. It’s suffocating, choking all the happiness and excitement you had for tonight. 

“What the fuck is wrong with these schools!” Odette says, snatching the letters up so she can check for herself. “Do the Toronto one, Canadians are supposed to be nice.”

“I can’t open anymore,” you say as your head falls back into the sofa. The fog starts to spread through your body, shutting you down inch by inch. You know you have to open the rest. You’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what they say if you don’t finish them. “You do it, Jamie.”

She shuffles in her seat uncomfortably. She’s not the kind of girl who likes to disappoint others; she's bright and happy but at this moment she’s the only person that you can take bad news from. As if she can read your thoughts, she grabs the University of Toronto letter. The sound of the envelope popping open slices through you. She clears her throat as she opens the paper and then reads aloud the same sentence you did. The letters from Duke and Notre Dame follow the same painful routine. With each rejection your stomach swirls, nausea building on top of self doubt and anxiety. 

Six out of the eight universities you applied to have turned you down; Berkeley and the University of Austin are your only chances left at reaching your dreams. The silence in the small rental unit has you on edge, so much so that when your phone vibrates beside you you jump. A sunset beach photo from your last trip to California is the background from a text from Cap telling you he’ll be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes. 

“I gotta finish getting ready,” you say, dragging yourself to the bathroom to touch up any makeup and brush your teeth.

“Babe?” Jamie says, following you down the hall. “You wanna stay here instead of going to that mixer?”

The reminder of the lie sends a new wave of nausea through you. Tonight you became a law school reject and an even bigger liar. Don’t forget that you’re also falling in love with an unattainable man, says the glittery pink box. You mentally lift a single finger in its direction, it usually doesn’t turn on you like that. 

“I need the distraction.” You say, deciding that that’s not really a lie.

Your friends look at you with sadness in their eyes and even though you’re sad too, you wish you could tell them about Mister Miller and the club. You know they’d be excited about whatever this thing is and it would really help to have someone to decipher all the moments that live in your mind.

“It’s a date”.

When you walk through the large door from the lobby and into the club, you’re welcomed by a completely different atmosphere. It’s not all dim lights and sexy music like it normally is; instead the overhead lights are on and all the people are dressed in regular clothing or athletic wear and not the sexy outfits they’d normally pick to come here. Joel is no exception, dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. You catch the glint of his gold ring while he’s engrossed in deep conversation with a blue and purple haired woman along the edge of the dance floor. As if you’re his due north or the other side of his magnet, after just seconds of being in the same room as him, his eyes collide with yours. He mouths an ‘excuse me’ at the woman without looking away from and his long legs eat up the distance between the two of you. He meets you just before the bar and immediately wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to the nape of your neck, silently guiding your forehead to his strong chest.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You love how easily he can read you, but you hate that this is the second time this week that he’s seeing you like this. You know you have moments of weakness, but you don’t let anyone see that and you DEFINITELY don’t inconvenience others with your weakness. 

“Hasn’t been my best day, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t want to dump all of this on him now, not when he looked so excited when you said you’d attend tonight. 

“Ok, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it though. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” His lips come to the crown of your head and you breathe him in letting his ash and leather scent break down your walls. 

“I didn’t get in,” you mumble and he holds you tighter for a brief second before his hand moves to your chin and tilts up to meet your gaze.

“All of them?” he asks gently but something akin to anger flares in eyes for just a second. 

“Six of them. I haven’t heard from two.” His thumb feels like heaven as it runs along your jaw.

From across the club the blue and purple haired woman, who is now on the stage, claps her hands. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Starr. If you and your brave partners could start making your way to the floor, we can get started right away!”

“Do you want to leave?” Joel says, his warm coffee and chocolate eyes dancing around yours. No one looks at you like that; no one ever asks what you want. This is one of those looks that you wish you could talk to your friends about.

“No,” you say truthfully. “I want to be here with you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave without me. Do you want to go somewhere else together?”

You step back and grab his hand, his fingers thread through yours as if you do this everyday, as if this is normal, and you pull him towards the floor. He stands behind you, an arm wrapped protectively around your middle, similar to how he did the first time you went through the voyeur room. Starr introduces herself and her wife and then begins explaining rope safety and terminology like rigger and rope bunny, before launching into a step by step on tying a beautiful star harness across her wifes clothed chest. The two women hand ropes to the person who will be doing the rigging and as the rope lands in Joel’s hand your pussy flutters at the realization that you’re about to become Mister Miller’s rope bunny. You knew that coming here tonight, even if it did include lying to your friends, would help you feel better. The disappointment of being rejected is slowly replaced with an excited anticipation of learning something new with a man who has done nothing but choose you since laid your eyes on each other.

Starr projects step by step instructions up on the back wall of the stage and Joel clears his throat behind you as he begins. The sound of the rope running through his hands as he folds it in half sends a shiver up your spine. You try to distract yourself by clipping your hair up and out of the way. 

“Arms up,” he rasps, and places a light kiss on the soft curve of your neck as he wraps the rope around your ribcage, just below your breasts. You purposely wore a tight t-shirt and leggings tonight. If anyone asks, you’ll say you just assumed it would be easier to be in something form fitting rather than loose, but the truth is that you did some research on Shibari classes and it was recommended to wear clothing that was tight to the body. As he walks around you to make the first diagonal cross of your chest he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You lock your eyes with his as he loops back up, crossing the rope over your other shoulder and walks behind you. “Yes, at least not yet.” 

“Alright,” he says softly, pulling the rope back through the first band he made. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Your daughter. Your wife. The guitars and books of lyrics. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you like me or do you like like me? How do you feel about an age gap romance? Your brain races with a million things you could ask, and maybe would ask on a date. However, this is anything but a date, right? A dom and sub don’t date, there are strict rules. He tells you what to do, you do it. You don’t date.

The silence between you two feels like it’s lasted forever, you flinch as you ask the first thing you can think of. “How old are you?”

“Almost forty five. It says that on my profile, sweet girl. For someone who likes research…” His voice trails off. Is he flirting?

“I refuse to look at it in case you try to pawn me off to Tommy again,” you tease. You bite your cheek to hold in all the questions you want to ask as he chuckles behind you. You lift your arms as per the next slide and he brings the rope up towards your armpit as you settle on a neutral topic. “Baseball,” you say flatly.

Joel laughs silently as he walks around your body, the rope coming across to your other armpit and he’s behind you again. “Baseball?”

“Ya, it’s America’s favourite pastime.” Joel's fingers feel warm through the fabric of your shirt as he continues to work the ropes. 

“Ok, so what do you want to discuss about baseball?” He wanders in front of you again, following the instructions perfectly.

You shrug a little, lifting your arms again as you follow along with the slides. “Did you ever play?”

Starr circles around the two of you, “Great job, Joel. You ok, honey? Not too tight anywhere?”

You shake your head no and then you and Joel get lost in each other again. “Yes, I played for most of my childhood. I was pretty good too.”

You chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

“What?” he says, half laughing.

“Seems like Joel Miller is good at everything,” you say lightly, almost in admiration. He’s behind you again, feeding the ropes through themselves. The back looks beautifully intricate, and you can see other couples getting frustrated before either Starr or her wife comes and helps them. You continue, “Let me guess, you were like a big all-star pitcher or something?”

“No,” he answers.

“What position did you play then?” You glance down at your chest at the star shape across your chest, the rope scrapes gently on the exposed skin of your neck with the movement. It’s stunning, exactly as the demonstration and the picture. Yep, Joel Miller is good at everything. 

A new voice joins your conversation, “Best first baseman the school has ever seen.”

You crane your neck over your right shoulder towards the source; Tommy. You clench your molars when you see him with Jade; the beautiful icy blonde woman that Joel had tied to his desk the first time you met him. Joel shifts uncomfortably as she flutters her lashes at him. “As I was saying,” Joel huffs in his brother's direction before turning his attention back to you. “I played first base and Tommy was the back catcher. Our mom pretty much put us in any sport she could afford to keep us out of trouble.” 

“That’s kind of fascinating,” you say, looking back towards the stage and trying to get back into the safe little bubble you and Joel have created. 

“I dunno about that, sweet girl.”

The combination of him using that nickname and the feeling of his fingers on your body cause another shiver to roll up your spine, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again. It’s so easy to get lost with Joel, every ounce of that fog from earlier has dissipated. He’s like the warm morning sun, chasing away all the thick haze that coated you in the darkness. “I think this is a safe nickname space only, Sweet Cheeks.”

He swats your bum gently eliciting a giggle to pass your lips before getting back to weaving the rope in and out along your spine. “Careful. Now why is it kind of fascinating?”

“I mean, Tommy played at home plate, you played at first base.”

“I don’t know where you’re going here, Freckles.”

You smile over your shoulder at Joel. “Well, don’t you see the connection? You don’t have sex with your subs, Tommy does. He goes to home plate, you stay at first base.”

Joel arches an eyebrow at you as you flash him a cheeky smile and then he lets out a laugh. A real laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his stomach. His big beautiful smile draws up his cheeks causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. The sound is almost enough to make you weak at the knees. “I swear to god, Freckles, I love the way your brain works.”

The rest of the group finishes off their harnesses and Starr begins the next part, explaining now how to tie the arms around the biceps and secure them to the harness. They hand out the ropes again and you reach behind yourself to criss cross your arms and grasp your opposite elbows. Just as Joel begins folding the rope over in his hands, Jade speaks.

“She sort of hit the nail on the head with that one, Mister Miller.” Envy flares in your eyes as she steps towards Joel, leaning into him. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

You glance towards Joel, expecting to see him looking angry but his soft eyes meet you with guilt written all over his face. You watch his throat as he swallows hard and the happy, sparkly bubble you built bursts and the fog returns. Your heart drops to your feet, it was too good to be true, you knew it was too good to be true and he almost had you fooled. You don’t think, you just act, you need to get away from this space and all these people as bile rises in your throat.

Your feet feel heavy as you walk quickly toward the voyeur room, slipping past the closed sign that's propped up outside the curtain that conceals it. Darkness surrounds you, the rope harness feels like it’s smothering you as you try to take deep calming breaths. A flash of light from the otherside of the curtain fills the room as someone follows.

“Go away, Joel.” You say quietly, trying to force air past the lump growing in your throat. 

“It’s Tommy.” He says, flicking on a dim light and noting the way you’re pulling at the rope closest to your throat. “Let me untie you so you don’t hurt yourself.”

You step back, a wall slamming down around you. Tommy raises his hands, “Please, just let me untie you so you can breathe.”

You spin slowly, giving your back to him and he approaches. His fingers pulling and working the ropes and the irony of him removing knots as you start to mentally tie yourself up in them is enough to make you nauseous. You retreat into your mind, looking for that stupid box. I fucking told you! You practically scream at the shadow you know it’s hiding in.

“Try to slow your breathing for me,” Tommy says softly as the rope begins to loosen and fall away from your body. Tonight felt too normal, too comfortable. You started to feel like maybe Joel was feeling the same way you do, but now you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face with yet another reminder that you are not enough. Six out eight universities and the man you completely misread. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” It doesn’t come out self deprecating or angrily. Just as if you’re stating a fact, similar to how you’d say you like the colour green. 

“No, this is on me.” The rope falls away from your body and you step away, spinning to face Tommy. “I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to bring her here tonight. I assumed Joel had ended it before they were in Europe.”

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. Even though you can see the rope in Tommy’s hands, it still feels like it’s around your throat.

You wander towards the nearest couch. All those pictures, all those flirty texts and she was there the entire time? You hear your mothers voice again, ‘You might be the smartest one in this town but the real world is going to eat you up and spit you out.’ Nothing has felt more true, especially today. Six schools rejected you, selecting smarter shinier applicants and now the same thing is happening with Joel. You knew you didn’t hold a candle to her, he wanted you to go with Tommy so he could keep her, didn’t he?

‘It’s only you.’ His desperate voice from the day in his office comes out of the shadows of your mind. But it’s not only you. If he didn’t end it with her then it’s her too. You’re constantly in competitions that you have no business being in. 

“No, not ‘they’. Not like that. They were there for different things, not together,” Tommy’s voice has a hint of panic. “...I’m really fucking this night up, aren’t I?”

Just then, Joel and Jade come through the curtain. “Sweet girl….”

“No,” you say, cutting him off with a wave of your hand. You want to yell and scream and ask him what was with all that “it’s only you” bullshit.

“Baby, please, just listen to me.” Joel kneels in front of you and you stand up. His hands come to either side of the couch, keeping you there. “Please?”

You can feel his eyes on you but you keep staring straight ahead, the curtains of all the rental rooms are drawn shut. “Please just go, Joel.”

Jade steps into your line of vision and you can feel the jealousy twisting at your stomach. She’s fucking beautiful. Long icy blonde hair that looks silky to touch, slender limbs and a perfectly symmetrical face. Her make up is done to perfection, and to top it all off she was kissed by an angel in the breast department. 

“I’m sorry. I left the country a few days after I saw you for your birthday celebration. I went to Germany to get married and I wasn’t coming back.” Her eyes go soft for a second as she looks down at her bare left ring finger and then back to you. “Clearly I didn’t do either of those things. I haven’t spoken to Joel and I just assumed our regular time slots still stood.”

Even without looking down, you know Joel hasn’t looked away. From the moment you met him, you’ve been able to feel his gaze on you. It’s one of the things you like so much about him, the way he looks at you. You feel warm and seen, and most importantly, safe in his gaze.

Tommy clears his throat gently and you glance his way. “Ending things with a sub is tricky. It has to be done in person. I know Joel better than anyone else, he ended things with everyone else. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me for this, but he’s crazy about you and he’s only ever looked at one other person the way he looks at you.”

“Tommy,” Jade's voice cracks as she says his name. “I think you should untie me so I can leave. I really am sorry, to all of you.”

You watch the two of them disappear back into the main area of the club before you finally allow yourself to look down at Joel. His eyes are big and soft, he looks so vulnerable. Is this real though? When you think about how easily he can slide on his dominant mask you aren’t sure what you can and can’t trust, and that’s really fucking horrible considering trust is the most important thing between a sub and dom. He could be lying, he gains blow jobs and doing whatever else he wants to your body by keeping this up. 

But what does Tommy gain from telling you what he just did? Tommy has no skin in the game here.

Joel  

His heart is flying wildly behind his chest, blood coursing through his ears. He never thought he was going to see Jade again. Neither of them talked about it really, but after that session that you walked in on she canceled the next one and told him she was moving to be with her fiance in Germany and was getting married. He continues to look up at you; the ever growing pinch in his neck be damned, he’s not looking away. Even at this angle you manage to take his breath away. It feels like hours have gone by when you finally speak.

“I thought it was only me,” it comes out as a whisper and immediately shatters the little bits that were left of his composure. 

“It is, sweet girl. I promise you it is.”

“I want to believe you,” your voice is so calm. He doesn’t deserve you being calm right now. Or does he? You came into this very methodical. Maybe these are just sub-dom transactions to you.

“What can I do?” He says hopefully. “I’ll do anything you need, sweet girl.”

You let out a shaky breath and he can see the wall building behind your eyes, that fun goofy girl who isn’t afraid to crack a joke is slowly locking herself away. He prepares himself for you to tell him this is over, or that you need time. He reminds himself that this was always going to end in heartbreak for him, so may as well get it over with now instead of when he’s fully in love with you, before he’s learned how those warm walls of your pussy feel against his cock. Because there really will be no coming back from that if that happens.

As he tightens the muscles in his core, physically preparing for the metaphorical blow to the gut he watches your long lashes flutter shut and when you open your eyes again the wall is gone. The shimmering pools of the eyes he’s enamored by are back and relief washes over him. 

“Nothing, Mister Miller,” your voice is saccharine sweet. “Trust is the most important thing between a sub and their dom. I can’t let my own anxiety ruin this, but I might just be a bit guarded until I’ve calmed all those thoughts.”

He whispers your name, biting back a groan as your hands meet his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, baby girl.”

“I know. So am I. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. It’s just…”

“No, you can be jealous. I told you one thing and -.”

You tug at the strands of his hair and shush him. “I’m not done,” your voice is stern. Joel isn’t used to hearing your tone like that and he suddenly feels his chest swelling with pride. This sweet bubbly person in front of him is morphing into a confident badass. That’s probably the exact tone you’ll use in boardrooms or courtrooms when other lawyers try to talk over you and he can only hope that one day he’ll get to witness that. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous, but I really like the way I feel around you. It’s selfish of me, but I’d like to keep feeling like this for the few months I have left here before I leave for law school.”

Selfish. He lets that word wash over him. The most selfless person he’s ever known is worried about being selfish? No, he thinks, she deserves this. Hearing you say that you’re leaving makes him feel like his chest is caving in on itself. He’ll deal with the inevitable heartbreak when you leave him. He knows those rejection letters were hard on you, but he helped you to feel better and he’s going to hold on to that and give you that for as long as he possibly can. 

Your fingers release his hair and he watches you walk the few steps to where the rope Tommy untied for you lays on the floor. He licks his lips as you bend to pick it up, eyes trailing over the delicious curves of your ass. “It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You turn, walking back towards where he’s kneeling and holding the ropes out to him you say, “Is the workshop over?”

He stands up, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the rope. Electricity tingles up his forearms at the feel of your soft skin. Your body is so close to his that he can feel your soft warmth radiating against him. You being at this proximity immediately put him at ease.

“No, there’s a bodysuit tutorial right now,” he says. You nod, stepping around him. Suddenly, Joel grabs your elbow to stop you, lowering his lips to your ear, and lowering his voice to that gravelly tone he knows you love, he rasps, “I should punish you for letting another dom untie what’s mine.”

You smirk up at him, “I’d like to see you try, Sweet Cheeks.”

You

Joel works silently around you and you lose yourself for a bit in the events that unfolded tonight. Joel has knelt in front of you before, but never like that. The sad, helpless look in his eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders. He was submitting to you, and when your fingers met his scalp, he leaned into your touch. The way his body melted at your touch was intoxicating. He wasn’t Mister Miller in that room tonight, he was Joel, and the dichotomy of this man is astounding. 

After about thirty minutes of Joel twisting, turning and pulling he has your upper half tied into a zigzagged bodysuit of rope. Joel steps in front of you and bends slightly to reach between your legs. When he brings the rope between your thighs and as he feeds it through the bottom of the chest piece, the seam of your leggings brushes against your clit. You jolt at the contact, your cheeks flushing crimson as Joel's eyes meet yours in a flash of onyx and honey. He begins shaping the bottom part of the bodysuit, bent in front of you the entire time and locking eyes with yours every time he tugs the ropes into place. 

You glance nervously around the room to see if anyone else is having the same reaction. You expected this night to be fun and silly, the way a date should be. And it was for a while, but now it’s taken a very erotic turn. The blush of your cheeks warms down your chest and neck as you hold off on what could be a very vocal orgasm in front of a room of people who you don’t necessarily want to witness it.

Joel finally finishes the body suit and moves to stand behind you, his patchy facial hair brushes the shell of your ear as he whispers, his voice full of gravel, “Hands behind your back, my sweet girl. We aren’t done.”

A shiver races up your spine and your arms fly back. “So eager,” Joel says softly, grazing his teeth along the lobe of your ear, adding gasoline to the small fire that’s been building between your thighs.  

You’re sure the arm restraints only take about three minutes to complete, but it feels like hours. The three knots that lay around your wrists, forearms, and biceps keep your posture nice and tall, and your breasts pushed up through the body suit. Once he’s finished, Joel spins you to face him, and that rope works its way in between the lips of your now absolutely soaked pussy. You squeeze your thighs together, the soft expression on his face only intensifying the growing ache. He’s such a fucking tease, you think, and now he’s looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. Finally, his dark brown eyes settle on yours and he gives you a closed lip smile.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“I jus’ thought that I’d go all caveman seein’ you like this,” he steps into you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tugging on the rope near your waist, which jiggles the rope that has you on edge. Joel’s voice lowers, this next part just for you to hear. “But you just look so beautiful.”

He tugs up on the rope and pleasure courses through you as you gasp quietly. He gives you that sexy smirk that makes that dimple carve into his cheek. 

Yep, he’s a fucking tease. The little box says, confirming your thoughts. 

“You like that, sweet girl?”

He tugs again and your forehead falls to his chest. “Please, Mister Miller,” you whisper into his expensive cotton t-shirt. 

Starr interrupts the two of you, but you can’t peel yourself away from Joel right now. The slightest move of that rope might make you explode. “Well, based on that reaction I’d say you tied it just right, Joel.”

“Thank you for coming, Starr. I’m sure we’ll host one of these again soon. Tommy is by the bar, he can help you kick everyone out.”

“Joel,” she says, a slight hint of amusement in her now hushed voice. “Your rope bunny is on the verge of having an orgasm, go.”

With that he hoists you over his shoulder and walks towards the door that leads to the private rooms. “Fuckfuck, I’m gonna -” you whisper into his broad back and squeeze your thighs tighter as Joel walks. 

The second the door shuts, separating you from the others Joel puts you on your feet and jiggles the rope around your waist. “Come, baby.”

You fall into him for support, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you up as stars blur your vision. “That feel good, my little rope bunny?” 

“Yes - oh god, yes.” Your arms pull at the ropes restraining them behind your back and you can’t hold it anymore. Your orgasm practically slams through you as you gasp and moan into Joel's broad chest. “Fuck, Mister Miller.”

 “You’re so beautiful when you let go for me. I’ll never get sick of watching you like this.” He continues to work the rope as your high crests and your legs start to go weak and boneless below you.

“I can’t…p-please Mis - Fuck.” Joel lifts your lax and quivering body over his shoulder again and makes his way to his room, placing you at the foot of the bed, spinning you and pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he commands and you listen, moving your feet to be shoulder width apart. He wraps two cuffs around your ankles, and attaches them to the bottom of the bed posts before doing the same to the ropes around your arms. You’re trapped, stuck bent over the end of the bed and even though you’re fully clothed under all of these ropes, this is easily the hottest thing you’ve ever done. “Fuck me. How are you so goddamn sexy even when you’re fully clothed.”

You hear Joel’s footsteps around the room, gathering whatever he has decided to use on you tonight before you can feel him behind you. “Sweet girl, I do believe I read that you would be interested in sensory deprivation. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

“Do I have your consent to blindfold you and then have you listen to music in noise canceling headphones?”

Fire erupts in your stomach, your core pulsing at the thought of him doing whatever he wants to you. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A silky black blind fold slips over your head, Joel's large body covering your back. “What’s your safeword?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Stegosaurus.” Just once you’d like that to not leave your lips in the whiny, desperate tone it does when he asks you that question. 

“Good girl,” he praises before the plush headphones cover your ears. All you see is black, all you hear is soft decorative piano music, and all you feel is the warmth of Joel over your buzzing skin. There’s not a single thought in your mind, everything is silent. This is what you need and you start to worry that you’ll become addicted to the way Joel makes you feel everything while thinking nothing. 

The warmth of his body disappears from you and you whimper at the loss. Your eyes clench closed as if that will help you be able to find him. A thin, pulsing vibrator hits the back of your thigh and you jump. Joel's large hands rubs your opposite hip and every muscle relaxes under his touch. The vibrator pulses softly as he moves it up your thigh, tickling along your hip, and then down the other leg. You can’t hear the sounds that you’re making but you’re sure they’re desperate, needy gasps.

After teasing your arms Joel slips something small and hard between your body and the rope that’s been torturously teasing at your clit before you feel him pull away. You adjust so your forehead is resting on the mattress before it dips with the weight of him sitting beside your head. His warm fingers wrap around your neck and he kneads the muscles.

“Mmmm, thank you Mister Miller,” you hum. 

Whatever Joel slipped against your clit comes to life, a dull vibration that is sure to be your undoing has you attempting to arch your back, but you can’t move. Your breathing quickens, short little puffs of air passing your lips. 

“I’m gonna come,” you murmur quietly, or at least you think it’s quiet since you can’t hear yourself or anything else. Joel’s strong fingers continue the delicious swirling patterns up and down the sides of your neck as you begin to shake. “Oh god - I’m so close!”

Just as you’re about to slam head first into another orgasm the vibrating stops and Joel’s fingers disappear from your skin. “No,” and this time you know it wasn’t a whisper or a whimper.

The mattress jostles and then you feel Joel behind you again. A hand comes to one of yours, coaxing it out of the fist you’ve apparently clenched before doing the same to the other. The vibrating starts stronger this time and both his hands come to yours, his thumbs massaging at your palms. It doesn’t take long this time before you’re right on that edge again.

“Fuck, Mister Miller. Puh-please don’t stop!” Your legs start the familiar shake that happens right when you’re about to tip over the edge and he doesn’t follow your wishes. The hand massage stops, quickly followed by the vibrator being switched off. You groan in frustration and he lays a quick, sharp spank over your legging clad right ass cheek. “Hnnng - sorry.”

You can’t be certain, but based on the warm puffs hitting your core you’re pretty sure he’s knelt down behind you. The vibrator comes to life again, stronger than the last two times and his hands work at massaging the muscles along the back of your thighs. This is torture; wonderful euphoric torture and as much as you want it end, you also don’t ever want him to stop making you feel this way. 

You let your eyes flutter open behind the blindfold, it’s still just as dark but you see that little pink sparkly box. The one that’s overflowing with emotion for Joel. You should push it back into the shadows or light it on fire, but instead you let it come out of the shadows completely. You see your hands reaching for the lid just as the white hot pleasure in your core gets close to the breaking point.

“Please please…Mister Miller - fuck!” You whimper and whine as it begins to burn hotter and then it’s gone and it feels like the air is being sucked forcefully out of your lungs. 

“Nonono, I can’t. Please, I need you..” Joel's large body is across your back in a second. The hard bulge in pants pressing against your ass and the memory of how good he felt and tasted in your mouth the last time has saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow hard as one of the padded ear pieces is lifted from your ear.

Joel’s voice is deep and gruff as he says, “What do you need, my sweet girl?”

The little box of feelings vibrates at him calling you his and you kick it back into the shadows. “I need to come, Mister Miller.”

“That right? How bad?” He says teasingly before placing a feather light kiss on that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“So bad. Please, it hurts, Mister Miller.” You are pouting into the fluffy sheets, a completely whiny mess, and you realize that you’re always a mess for him. Be it a horny or depraved one, a whiny or a pouty one, he doesn’t care and if anything you think he likes it that way, likes you that way. “I want to hear you. I miss your dirty talk, please, baby!”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I should spank you until you can’t sit tomorrow for calling me anything but Mister Miller. You know that, right?” 

“I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, just please. Please!”

He whips the headphones off of you and the vibrator hits at an intensity you have never felt before. Your pornographic scream fills the room. His large body above yours intensifies everything that was already killing you.

“That what you need, huh?”

You cry out and try to say yes but you’re sure it’s all just an incoherent mix of sounds at this point. 

“God damn, baby girl. You should see yourself right now. All tied up in knots that I made. The way your leggings hug the curves of your hips and soft, creamy thighs. You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

Tears start to flow behind your blindfold as the pleasure almost becomes too much, you haven’t come yet, and at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll survive it if you do. You have half a mind to ask Joel if an orgasm can physically split you in two because that is how you feel right now. 

“I’m - oh god - I’m…” You try to form the words but you can’t. 

One of Joel’s hands slips between his front and your tied up arms, his hand wrapping tightly around yours. His lips come to your ear as whispers. “I got you, sweet girl, just let go for me.”

“Need to see you,” you say between gasps of air and the pleasure begins to burn in your. 

Joel peels the blind fold off. You blink him into focus, his warm eyes searching your face. “Let go, you’re ok.”

As per usual, it’s his words that seem to be that final push and you let your orgasm consume you. It starts as a cold spark, a shiver up your spine and then heat flushes through every since cell in your body. You moan and writhe beneath Joel who whispers your praises like a prayer. Talking you through the intensity of the feeling. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’re sure your panties, leggings and the rope are ruined.

“I can’t!” You gasp and Joel slows the vibration to help you ride out the decresendo of your orgasm. As the jolts of your body slow, he follows suit; the vibrator going to a dull blip and eventually nothing. Joel's thumb traces soothing patterns on the hand he’s still holding between your bodies. You take a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“Are you ok, angel?” he asks quietly and goosebumps somehow spread along your too hot body.

“Better than ok,” you say with a small smile.

Joel’s lips meet yours, soft and pliant and so full of passion. Your eyes shut as you part your lips for him and when your tongue strokes gently against his he lets out a small whimper that causes your pulse to leap. Mentally, you grab a bigger box, stuffing it with the realization that you’re falling for this man. But you will deal with that later, right now you just need to let yourself have something that is for, well… yourself.

Joel 

He breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t want to. Even though he knows that by breaking this kiss it’s only going to mean you going home sooner.  “I need to get you out of these ropes and get some sugar into you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as his nimble fingers work to undo your restraints, then the intricate knots that bind your arms, and lastly the bodysuit. He really did think you looked stunning all tied up. He didn’t plan for this night to go the way it did, but when he saw the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes glazed over he couldn’t resist giving you what he knew you needed. He stays close, one hand protectively on your hip as you crawl onto the bed. Once he has you seated, he pulls a fuzzy grey blanket out from a basket beside the night stand and then opens the small fridge to grab you an orange juice and water.

He cracks the top of the orange juice. “Drink this for me, please.”

He watches your eyes do a quick half roll but you don’t fight him, fingers just barely grazing his as you take the juice from him. “I had fun tonight,” you say between sips as he walks to grab the coconut oil. 

Joel stands beside you. “So did I, sweetheart. Arm, please.”

You take the orange juice in your left hand and give him your right. Both of you watch as he puts oil on the few pink marks the ropes left behind. “Do you think I should change my safeword?”

He lifts one eyebrow at you and as he tends to your other arm says, “Why do you ask that.”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, originally that little dinosaur on your coffee maker seemed so out of place. It intrigued me. Your home is beautiful, but the parts you let people see don’t give away any hints about you, except for that little dinosaur. But now that I know the whole story, it just seems too special of an item to be tied to what we do.”

“I don’t think we need to change it. You’re right, that little stegosaurus is special to me.” He sits sideways on the bed, grabbing the empty orange juice container and handing you the water. His jaw flexes once before he continues, “But so are you. I love that you felt a connection to that part of me. Ultimately, it’s your safe word, sweet girl, so you can make it anything you want, but I think it’s perfect for us.”

The soft look in your eyes as he speaks is almost enough to kill him, and when your lips twitch up ever so slightly at his words he knows he’s done for. He shouldn’t fall for you, especially since he’s sure there’s no way you’d ever feel the same way, but he can’t not fall for you.

Your name passes his lips with a nervous tremble, because he knows that what he’s about to say next is going to be his undoing. If you say yes to this next thing, if he continues spending actual time with you, he’s done.

“Ya?” you say before sucking your bottom lip through your teeth.

“Friday night is the five year anniversary party for the club. It’s a black tie event for all the VIP guests. Would you like to accompany me?”

He watches as your eyes land on your lap, your lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile. When your gaze floats back up to his, your eyes give you away. Try as you might to hide your expressions with him; he'll always know when you’re happy based on the glitter of your eyes.

“I’d really like that, Mister Miller.”

His forehead meets yours. “This might be a Sweet Cheeks moment.”

Thank you soooo much for reading! Remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for future chapters xo.

Next Chapter

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“... You said you have a brother?” 

You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive. 

If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.

He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.

“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”

God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.

It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard. 

It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.

He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.

He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.  

Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.

“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”

Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-

The incident with Verlaine.

No.

Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.

Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.

Everyone but him.

His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.

You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow

Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this. 

The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?

It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…

“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”

Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.

What other pieces is he missing?

Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have? 

Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that. 

And…

Oh.

Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.

But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t. 

He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.

It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.

That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.

“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.

“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.

The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.

Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.

“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.

He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.

“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.

“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.

“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.

He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.

“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.

You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect. 

“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”

“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”

He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.

God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.

“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”

He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”

“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.

“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”

You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. 

Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.

When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink. 

You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.

“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway. 

In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.

“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.

You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before. 

“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”

His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”

“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”

Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.

God, what has he done?

He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state. 

“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you. 

He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.

“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response. 

“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign. 

Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.

He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.

Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.

Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”

He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.

Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-

Oh.

Oh.

Dazai has made a fatal mistake.

His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-

You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.

Shit.

His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.

He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.

Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.

It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.

Just do it.

His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-

“How could I accept any of this?”

Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.

You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly. 

First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe. 

He was fifteen. It had been too much.

It’s still too much.

His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.

Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.

The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.

He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.

For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.

He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.

He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-

His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe. 

But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own. 

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-

“How could I accept any of this?”

“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”

Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.

“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”

Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”

“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”

“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.

“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”

He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.

“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”

“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”

“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”

“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”

Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”

Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.

“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”

Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.

You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that. 

Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.

“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”

Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way. 

He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.

“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.

“Ask away,” he says.

“Do you think there are other universes out there?”

Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?” 

This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips. 

Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”

Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.

“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”

You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.

“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”

“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”

“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.

Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”

You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”

Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”

Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.

“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”

“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.

Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.

It doesn’t.

After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”

Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already. 

“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?” 

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”

Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.

“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”

Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.

As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”

“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”

“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”

“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”

No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.

Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake. 

“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you. 

“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”

“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.

It’s happening.

It’s happening.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.

Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”

At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”

If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself. 

“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”

Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.

“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds

Dazai follows her gaze.

On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.

Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next. 

Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.

He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.

Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.

Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery. 

With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.

Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.

Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”

“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”

Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.

“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”

Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.

“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.

You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for. 

“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.

“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you. 

You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”

“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.

You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”

“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.

“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.” 

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”

You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”

“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”

You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.

“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?��

“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”

“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.

“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”

“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”

“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”

“Only one?”

“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”

“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”

“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”

Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.

“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”

“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.

You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.

“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.

You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.

Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.

“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.

The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches. 

One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away. 

Another second passes, another step forward. 

A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.

A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side. 

A fifth second passes, and you’re gone. 

His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.

One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.

Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him. 

A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.

Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.

Chuuya knows that this is his fault.

The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city. 

Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it. 

You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.

A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.

Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.

“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”

Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.

Or, maybe that’s a lie.

He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you. 

He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence. 

You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky. 

Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.

“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”

Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.

“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”

How the hell does that work? 

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.

Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.

He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.

“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face. 

Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”

How far? 

Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.

Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way. 

Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.

“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”

Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.

“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”

You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.

As if he’s given up.

“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”

“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”

Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.

Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.

Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.

And if you’re wrong? 

Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”

Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.

If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?

It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.

“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there. 

(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)

Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.

Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.

A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”

What then, Chuuya?

Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability. 

Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.

For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.

And they do it. 

Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.

He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head. 

What then, Chuuya?

Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions. 

Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.

Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse. 

Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.

Onto you, and onto Dazai.

You thought that you would be scared of dying.

Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.

Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.

Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed. 

You couldn’t force that choice on him.

Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.

The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.

Osamu… 

You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.

Maybe in the next life.

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.

Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.

“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to. 

Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-

But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough. 

“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?” 

Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.

“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.

They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.

But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.

Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.

And then-

And then Dazai sees it.

Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.

He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.

Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.

The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.

Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.

One voice rises above the whispering crowds.

“What the fuck?”

Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.

Ah, he realizes. Iceman.

Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-

To the sight of you.

Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-

You look so dead.

Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.

How did this happen?

He’d-

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?

The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate. 

It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.

It was Dazai.

Dazai is the reason you die in every universe. 

The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.

The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.

Fate. 

Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.

The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-

“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”

Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.

And now-

Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.

“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”

He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.

Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.

Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”

Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.

Iceman has never been a good brother. 

He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child. 

He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.

He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.

He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.

He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.

He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.

He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.

The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.

And for what?

Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.

And for what?

It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.

Two and a half weeks since your death.

Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.

He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark. 

The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone. 

Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.

Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.

He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.

His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company. 

Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.

His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.

But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.

“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”

Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.

“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”

The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone. 

Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.

“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”

“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.

He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.

“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”

“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”

“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”

Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.

So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you. 

You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.

He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.

Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.

Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”

“…oss. Boss.”

Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-

For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment. 

In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.

Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters. 

By dawn, it’ll be time.

But one major obstacle remains. 

Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.

“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”

“We’ve captured Gogol.”

Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”

Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-

Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.

But now…

From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.

“Dazai.”

Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.

He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.

But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.

Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.

“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”

Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.

“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”

Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”

Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.

He just wants to be with you.

Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”

Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder. 

“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?” 

Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.

“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.

Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?” 

“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”

Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.

Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again. 

We can watch one last sunrise together.

“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”

Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?” 

The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”

Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”

Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.

This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.

Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”

Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed. 

“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”

Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”

Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”

Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”

Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.

“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”

The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.

“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”

Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do. 

Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.

Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.

He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.

“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”

“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”

“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest. 

Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.

He’ll get to be with you.

Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right. 

I promise.

GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(

some notes to share with u guys:

fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.

THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.

uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything

ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a

badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.

in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.

also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.

anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me

(。♡ ‿ ♡。)

[lowkeychenle]

And Then It Was [ZCL] (M)

Description: After your marriage with Chenle was arranged by your parents for a company merger, things with him aren't quite like you expect. In your life full of obligations, he's determined to finally give you the ability to make your own choices. Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst (arranged marriage!au, rich families using their children as business mergers yk) Content Warnings: Rich, generational family trauma, family secrets, reader in her men suck era, explicit, protected sex, mentions of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy in the fic), reader feels obligated to have children, explicit, unprotected sex, use of the pet names 'baby' and 'darling', dirty talk, oral (f receiving) Word Count: 28.2k Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (features Jeno, Jisung, Jaemin, and Mark, but mostly Jeno and Jisung! (sorry idk where Renjun and Haechan are in this fic?????)) A/N: Y'all tumblr really f'in hates me because it was so difficult to format this fic? like it did not want to let me put the whole thing on here. So if the last section is oddly formatted, that's why and I'msosorry :'( (p.s. thank you so much for 700 followers!!!)

Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :) Taglist: @midmourn @nominsgirl @winwinscvnt @bugcattie @sleepyvic @chenlesfeetpic @tolerable-tears @yutaswh0re @bitchzitschimi @velvtcherie @leefullsun @pnkified @valerieluvsyu @defzcl

Chenle’s hand grips yours loosely, resting between the two of you right on the crack between the couch cushions. All of this is a formality, down to the smile plastered on your face. It started out simple, like something out of a movie, honestly, but even movies have to roll the end credits at some point.

“So, tell us the story of how you met,” the interviewer begins, crossing her legs as she looks at you in complete interest.

“We’ve known each other for ages,” Chenle says.

Lie. You’ve known of each other for ages. You’re only here with an oversized ring on your finger to complete your family’s merger with Chenle’s. What big news that was, two heirs of two of the biggest companies around the world falling in love. If only that were true in the slightest.

“Wow, way to make it sound romantic.” You laugh, reaching across to push his arm—gently, of course. “He makes it so lackluster. But to be completely transparent, it wasn’t…anything crazy. We did meet years ago, and we’ve been friends since then. Gosh, probably since we were sixteen?”

“Fifteen,” Chenle corrects you and sends an award winning smile your way. You’d be inclined to believe him if everything wasn’t scripted.

“He always has been a little more detail-oriented than me.”

The interview drags. You and Chenle were officially married just over a month ago, and while you know it’s your owed duty to your family, you wish optics weren’t so important. After all, legally binding yourself to secure a company was one thing, but physically binding yourself to a man you barely know? You wouldn’t dream of it. Even holding his hand feels odd, not to mention his palms are sweaty.

Your honeymoon had ended shortly before the interview. You’d been gone for four weeks, and it was the last bit of privacy you’d have when it comes to your ‘relationship’ with Chenle. You got to know him enough to where you’d be comfortable sharing an oversized house with him, but there were still a lot of mysteries between you two—mysteries you were sure would never get solved. There are a lot of good things about Chenle. He’s smarter than most people you’ve met, he knows how to make jokes and take them, he’s nice to look at, to hold a conversation with, but you don’t love him. You’d been of the mind that you wanted to marry for love since you were young, but some things are overshadowed by your duties. By money.

“There aren’t many people in this world that don’t just…immediately bow down to powerful men. It was…interesting to say the least, because throughout my entire life I’d always just been given respect. From the moment I met (Y/N), I knew I’d have to work for it. For her respect, I mean. She’s just as confident and much more intelligent than any other man I’ve ever worked with.” Chenle squeezes your hand.

That wasn’t in the script. It’s almost enough to have you break character and forget your next line. “Is that so?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles.

“Tried and true,” he replies with ease. “You really are extraordinary, you know.”

Can’t script a blush rising to your cheeks. It’s something about the way he makes direct eye contact with you that has your face burning.

Grinning, he turns back to the interviewer. “I have a lot of things to be grateful for in life. Truly, I do. I’m very fortunate for all of the good my family has done for me and for having things set up for me from the start. One thing I never could’ve imagined was that it could get better. Meeting her changed my life, and if I had to, I’d give everything else to keep her next to me.”

That time, your smile does fall, but you quickly catch yourself. Your heart picks up its pace in your chest, but you know it’s all part of the script. It has to be. He’d never give up his money, his family, his lifestyle for something as simple as you. You desperately want to pull your hand away, but you’ll wait until the cameras stop rolling.

As soon as you and Chenle are behind the tinted windows of his car, you drop his hand and scoot all the way over to have some semblance of peace. None of this truly makes sense to you. You’re much too young to be worried about your marriage to another person equally as young as you, yet you can’t help but mull over each word that left his mouth today.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Of course.” You pull your phone out of your purse and scroll through your social media with a sigh.

The driver pulls away from the spot, and after a few minutes, you look over to find Chenle watching you.

“What?”

“Is that it?” He clasps his hands together in his lap.

You scoff. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we to keep acting while we’re alone, too? It’s exhausting.”

“You don’t even want to…try to keep getting to know each other? You’re just done?” He pauses, tongue wetting his lips. “We’re here for the long haul, (Y/N). We signed a legally binding contract. Divorce isn’t an option ever. We may as well try and—”

“All due respect, Chenle, I’d rather not know you. What happens if I do, and then I hate everything about you? Ignorance is bliss. Why risk hating you when I can just tolerate you instead?”

“Is it the hate you don’t want to risk?” His question catches you off guard, the confidence laced in his tone sending sparks of irritation through you.

“Are you insinuating that you think I could fall in love with you?”

“There’s no insinuation. I’ll tell you with full certainty that you would.” Chenle’s dark eyes narrow, and he shifts in his seat. “You fear failure. But a marriage failure would be easier if you’re not in love, right? No feelings to cloud your logical judgment.”

“For such a smart man, that was an incredibly stupid statement.” You scoff, setting your phone in your lap. “This is a job, not a marriage.”

“Not according to our sealed certificate.”

“Burn it for all I care. I’m not here for you. I’m here for my family, so I could’ve been married off to anyone. Don’t think that means I’ll allow you to control me. What’s mine is still mine. If I choose to see someone outside the marriage, that’s my own choice.”

“Ah.” He inhales slowly. “You’re already in love.”

“Wrong again.”

“Then why is that the first thing you say?”

“Because I have a duty to you. An obligation. But that does not mean you’re obligated to my heart.” You look straight forward, refusing to acknowledge the heat of his stare boring into your side.

“At least make sure you’re using protection.” He clicks his tongue.

“That was also in the contract. Didn’t you read it?” You tap your foot. “‘Extramarital relations require usage of effective birth control methods, and I may not bear another man’s child.’”

“I’m sorry, what?” He gapes at you. “Are you serious right now?”

When you laugh, his eyebrows furrow deeply.

“What’s funny?”

“No, no, I just forgot. You’re the man. You’re expected to stray from the marriage because you obviously don’t have everything life can offer. It’s okay for you to get someone else pregnant because you don’t have to physically have the child. Ridiculous.”

“And you think that’s my intention? Seriously?”

“It’s an expectation in every arranged marriage, I assume.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t care what you do, Chenle. Just act like you respect me at least.”

“Okay, now hold on.” He scratches his forehead, his thought process basically written out across his face. “You were the one that mentioned extramarital relationships. I was never going to suggest it because I’d never do something like that. I don’t care what our…relationship is like, it’s still a marriage. You’re my wife, whether we like it or not, and I’m not going to do anything that would undermine you or the legacy you’ve already created. Regardless of what you believe, I do respect you. Honestly.”

“I…” you trail off, swallowing roughly. “I’d prefer silence for the rest of the drive.”

Chenle runs his tongue over his teeth, but he nods.

“Do we have to share a room?” you ask as you take your earrings out. Placing them on the vanity in front of you, you stare at Chenle through the mirror, watching as he removes his suit jacket and tie.

“We don’t have to do anything.” Chenle shakes his head and untucks his shirt from his pants. “If that’s what you want, I’ll stay in another room.”

“What?” You frown. “This is your house. You should keep the master bedroom.”

“Stop thinking like that,” he says, working on his buttons. “It’s yours now, too.”

He stops halfway down, grabbing his shirt and sweatpants to change into.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice seems different, almost cold. Distant.

“Chenle,” you call out, turning in your chair to face him directly.

He sighs, stops, and looks back at you. “Yeah?”

“Before you go, can we…get something out of the way?”

“More things.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, but eventually nods and takes a few steps closer. “By all means.”

This time, it’s your palms that are sweating. You grip the armrest and flounder for the words you want to say. It’s rare for you to get flustered or shy with anyone, so acting this way in front of him has heat rising to your cheeks.

“We’re expected to have children,” you finally spit out. “Heirs. We carry two legacies on our backs.”

He shifts on his feet, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he glances away from you. “This is what you want to get out of the way?”

“I…I just think it’s a good idea for us to put our…expectations out there early.”

“About sex or babies?”

“The only reason we’d ever…is to have babies.” You try to maintain your strong facade, but the conversation makes you more nervous than you’d care to admit.

“Right, because thinking that you’re sleeping with me out of obligation is incredibly sexy.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “We don’t even have to have sex to get you pregnant, you know. There are other options. Do you even actually want children? Or is that purely out of obligation as well?”

“Everything I do is out of obligation.”

“Not anymore.” He walks closer, resting his hand on the edge of the vanity. “You’re my wife now. You do what you want, and you do it for you. No one else. Understood?”

You stand up, obliterating the minuscule distance between the two of you. Your chest almost brushes his, and you’re nearly distracted by his half-unbuttoned shirt. Tilting your head, you scan over his face.

“You’re saying there’s not anything you want from me?”

“Wanting and demanding are two very different things.” He doesn’t back down, his impenetrable gaze locked on yours.

“And what is it that you want?”

“For someone who doesn’t care, you sure are inquisitive,” Chenle remarks.

“Don’t let my level of interest stop you.”

His eyes narrow. “How long have we known each other?”

“I can tell you our first real conversation was just over six months ago. We were informed of this…situation.” You sigh. “Why?”

“I was relieved to find out it was you.” He gulps. “To know that you are someone I’m…attracted to. That we could maybe one day have something real in the wake of this…joke of an arrangement.”

“Relieved?”

“Yes.” He nods without hesitation. “And that is what I want. A real life, real love, real family. And while everything else may not be ideal, I’d never force you to give me any of those things. As I’ve said, you’re free to make your own choices. Whether they include me or not.”

His voice is soft, barely carrying over to you from his spot mere inches away. Your heart pounds in your chest from his proximity, his words, him. You don’t want to risk anything, and the consequences far outweigh the rewards of a relationship like this.

“Good.” You nod. “I’ll remember that.”

“I expect nothing less.” He takes a step back, unintentionally shattering the tension between the two of you. “Have a good night, (Y/N).”

But for some reason, once he closes the door behind him and leaves you alone in this giant, extravagant bedroom, you truly wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I mean, is that a bad thing?” Jisung’s voice carries through the phone, shuffling around with documents in the background.

Your cousin always did have trouble seeing things from your side. You sigh. “It is a bad thing. Why can’t he just be a normal man? I’m not going to beg anyone to impregnate me, if that’s what he’s waiting for—”

“(Y/N),” he says, tone laced with disbelief. “After that whole conversation, that’s what you got out of that? That he wants you to beg him?”

“What else am I supposed to get?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you study yourself in the mirror. Despite the stress as of late, you still seem miraculously put together.

“That he actually cares about you. And wants something real.”

“Then his family picked his wife incorrectly,” you insist. “I’m here because I was told to be. And why risk a lifetime of unhappiness and hate when we could just…tolerate each other?”

“Not everything has to be—”

“You were supposed to be on my side for this.” Your chest deflates, and you put him on speaker to apply your lipstick and put your earrings in.

“I’m always on your side, even if you think I’m not. I’ve met Chenle, too. You could’ve been much worse off for a company merger.”

“Right, so I should be grateful?” You snort. “Grateful that my husband doesn’t want to have—”

“Insufferable,” your cousin cuts you off. “You’re insufferable. The whole world is not out to get you. In the position you’re in, you need every single ally you can get. Chenle especially. He’s one of the most powerful men in the country. Imagine what that could do for you.”

“Yes, because powerful men are so enticing for me.” You roll your eyes.

“You don’t have to love him. Nobody expects that of you, but you can at least be friends with him.” Jisung clicks his tongue. “Give him a shot, okay? He’s not an asshole, and from what you’ve told me, he seems to be trying with you.”

You tap your fingers on the vanity. “I have a business meeting with him and his board. Guess I’ll see you in a few.”

“That you will. Talk to you soon.”

As the line cuts, you head out of Chenle’s—your—room, and head down the hall and out the door. Today is a new day, and the first way to present your dominance to your husband is to talk business. You’ve always been good at keeping your composure. While the buildings for your family’s company and Chenle’s were on opposite sides of town, the merger gave you unlimited access to both. Chenle was his own respective CEO, while your father still held the technical title at yours.

COO had been sitting in your pocket for years, and your father told you the only way he’d relinquish his CEO title onto you is if you married. And produced an heir without any public miscommunication. Essentially, your heir would, under no uncertain circumstances, be conceived and birthed in a conventional way.

You’re the last one to arrive in the conference room. The walls are mostly windows, overlooking the bustling city below you. You inhale deeply at the sight, and Chenle looks up at you, standing as soon as he finds you in the room. The rest of the board follows suit, and you almost scowl at the realization that the only open seat is right next to your husband. You don’t recognize any of them since this is solely for Chenle, but he insisted you were to be included on all business discussions from the moment you were married.

You stand next to Chenle, staring down at the five men around you. “Sit. Standing on my behalf is a waste of time.”

All of them listen to you, Chenle included, leaving you the lone pillar in a room full of money.

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

You don’t ever apologize for being late. Some things are out of your control. Sitting, you move your chair closer to the table. Chenle leans in, close enough for his lips to brush your ear. “I told you to just drive with me.”

You turn to him, unintentionally scanning over his face while he’s so close, and give him a small, fake smile. “And I told you I travel alone.”

It’s the first time you see annoyance pull at his brows. The only thing it does for you is make you give yourself a mental tally mark. Winning is your strong suit.

“Late on the first day isn’t a good look,” the man in the back on the right says. “It’s almost as if it’s not important to you.”

“First day?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t been involved from the moment I signed a wedding certificate.”

“That’s hardly an excuse—”

“Jaemin,” Chenle interrupts him. “It won’t happen again. Leave it alone.”

Anger bubbles in your stomach as you watch the man at the end—Jaemin—immediately back down. Your words weren’t enough, but the second Chenle opens his mouth, the argument’s over? With the group of men, you talk financials from last quarter. You follow along easily thanks to the binder of data Chenle provided you with. Stopping on the fourth page, you frown.

Leaning over to Chenle, you nudge his shoulder. When you point at the page, his eyes follow. You turn your head to whisper in his ear, “This charge isn’t itemized. Little amounts may be fine, but a $143,000 charge with no itemization from one of your departments can’t be normal.”

“You’ve got sharp eyes,” he mutters, almost appreciatively.

“Obligations make you that way,” you return, brushing your hair back as you lean against your chair. Chenle’s button-up sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the tip of his pen tapping on the table as he listens to Jisung talk.

Chenle’s smart not to bring anything up just yet, as he’s likely to do more research before asking his team what is going on with something like that. You cross your legs and listen intently, but most of it is beyond your scope in his company, anyway.

“You’ll also have to decide on new positions as well.” Another man speaks up from beside your cousin.

“And what positions are those, Mark?” Chenle asks.

“COO and CFO nominations for the board to vote.”

“There isn’t any need for nominations for COO.” Chenle frowns.

“Why’s that?” One of the men, Jeno, follows up.

“Isn’t it obvious? The only person qualified for such a role is my wife.” Chenle crosses his arms over his chest, but this time, you can’t stop your outward reaction. Your jaw drops as all eyes fall on you, and you give him an incredulous look.

“Are you serious?”

“Why is this a surprise?” he inquires, gaze meeting yours.

It’s a surprise because nowhere in your signed contract did it say you were entitled to a position of power at his company.

“(Y/N) is an excellent candidate. She’s done great things at my uncle’s company,” Jisung butts in, nodding at you. “If it were up to a vote, she’d have mine.”

“We’ll reconvene for the vote. I have several candidates for CFO listed in the binders you received today, so you may vote on those as well.” Chenle pauses. 

You don’t realize your leg bouncing up and down until his palm presses against your knee. The movement is undetectable to everyone else, but it makes every ounce of air dissipate from your lungs. You calm down in an instant, no matter how much you hate to say it, and you clench your fists together in your lap.

“For now, my wife and I are going home,” he continues. “Have a good and productive day today.”

Everyone stands as he does, and you stare at him briefly when he extends his arm out to you. In that split second, you make eye contact with Jisung, who nods in encouragement. You let out a nearly invisible sigh, but you wrap your fingers around the crook of his elbow and allow him to lead you from the room. Once you’re far enough away from everyone, he still doesn’t let you go, a somewhat proud half-smile on his face. “After you pointed out that discrepancy, I almost switched gears and made you CFO instead.”

“You’ll learn quite fast that numbers aren’t really my strong suit.” You don’t even attempt to remove your grip on him. “My attention to detail makes up for the…lack of numerical intelligence.”

“I hope I didn’t take you too off-guard.” He opens the door to the building, disconnecting your arms to place his hand on the small of your back to guide you.

“Please.” You chuckle and shake your head. “You? Take me off-guard?”

“Competitive, too, huh?” He raises an eyebrow at you as he glances around at the different people with cameras surrounding you. Whether to keep you away from them or to keep up appearances, his hand slides from your back to your hip, gently pulling you closer to his side.

“Let’s just say I stopped being invited to family game night,” you admit.

Once the two of you make it to the car, you barely realize you’re disobeying your own rule of traveling alone. He grasps your hand to help you into the backseat, ignoring the flashing lights behind him as he watches you slide over.

He gets in after you, closing the door with a huff. “That’ll be a headline tomorrow.”

“You helping me into the car?”

“You smiled at me.”

“We’re married.”

“Nobody believes it.” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

After a moment of your silence, he reaches over to grab your hand. You surprise even yourself when you allow him.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your problem. And it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks.”

“Don’t apologize.” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter, Chenle. We’ll get our…obligations out of the way, and then you can find the love you claim you want.”

His jaw tightens as he looks forward, his grip on you loosening. “Right.”

“Why?” you ask. “Why is that what you want? With me, or with anyone.”

“Love is good for you.” He shrugs. “To have someone who actually cares for you more than themselves just because they want to. Ever since I was young, I wanted to marry for love, but I’d always understood it wasn’t in the cards for me. But I figured I’d at least be able to try. With whoever it was, at least I’d be able to try to be a proper husband.”

There’s much more complexity behind Chenle than what you initially gave him credit for. You figured he’d be the typical CEO, a man high on power who will do everything and anything to not only keep it, but to grow his influence. The version of him you see now doesn’t support that original thought, but you have a hard time believing it.

“Life is already dull and loveless as it is. Rich families don’t exactly enjoy time with their relatives. I figured you, of all people, would understand where I’m coming from in that aspect.” He fidgets with his wedding band. “I don’t want to bring children into a world where they won’t be loved.”

“You think I wouldn’t love my own children?” you ask.

“That’s not what I said.” He glances at you. “Children deserve a complete family. One with parents who not only love them, but each other. I didn’t have that growing up, and I refuse to put anyone else through it.”

“I see.” You understand his point all too well, but you don’t see the big deal. Even if you two were in love and had children, wouldn’t you still have nannies and cooks and all of the things that you had as a child?

“Again, I’m not forcing you into anything. So, you don’t have to try with me if you don’t want to. But I’m not searching for it somewhere else. Since we…are obligated to have children, I wouldn’t put them through a situation where they view their father as a cheater. When I signed that contract and the marriage certificate, I signed my life away to you. Sure, it wasn’t in a traditional way or necessarily…by choice, but we’re here.”

“Wow, you sure know how to woo a woman.”

“You’ve made your stance clear. All I ask is that whoever you…” he trails off and scoffs. “Whoever you decide to be with, you keep them away from any future children. And we’ll never force them into a marriage like this.”

“You want our children to marry for love?”

“Of course, I do.” He nods.

“Chenle, I…”

This time, you reach over to him to stop his excessive movement. The second your fingers wrap around his wrist, he stops.

“I think the same way you do. Hopefully, we respect each other enough not to be caught. Publicly or by children.”

“So, you really…There’s no chance? Of anything real between us?”

Your heart comes to a dead-stop in your chest, and the word ‘no’ hangs on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to actually say it. It’s one simple syllable, but it’s so heavy in your mouth, you fear opening it will wreak havoc.

“I…I don’t know,” you reply, gulping.

He turns his hand so your palms are touching, and then he squeezes you gently. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind. It’s okay to let yourself have things you want, too. Not everything has to be an obligation.”

Before you can speak, the driver is opening the door for you and Chenle to get out. The two of you make your way into the house, but you’re honestly not sure where to go from here. You head upstairs toward the master bedroom to take off your dress.

“(Y/N),” Chenle calls, stopping you in your tracks. He continues, “I have to get clothes to change into. They’re still all in the master, but I’ll have the staff move them by the end of the week.”

You wet your lips. Standing on the third stair makes you taller than him, and he looks up at you with only kindness behind his brown eyes. You want to hate him. Or to only tolerate him. But through the moments of kindness, you know he’s the type of man you could be friends with. You could—

You stop that thought before it completes. “It’s your house. Do whatever you need to.”

He joins you on the third step and leans closer to you. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” You tilt your head.

“Remember that everything I have is yours, too. This house belongs to you just as much as it belongs to me. As much as you hate to think so, I know you, (Y/N). The ball is in your court. You make the decisions around here, whether it’s what color the walls are or twenty kids running around the hallways. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

You gape at him, face red as he leans away from you and continues up the stairs without looking back at you. Once he’s far enough away, you clear your throat and pat your cheeks. Regaining your composure, you follow him up and find him working on the buttons of his shirt, his tie discarded on the bed.

“Does this bother you?” he asks. “I can go.”

“What makes you think it bothers me?”

“You’re staring.”

You head over to the closet instead of responding to him, more than ready to put pants on instead of the dress that’s much too tight for comfort. Once you’ve picked out your new clothes, you stay where you’re at and reach behind you for the zipper. After a few moments of struggling with it, you finally give up and decide to use your resources.

“Chenle?” you call out.

When he appears in the doorway, his shirt is absent, and you were pretty sure he’d been wearing a belt before. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the frame, awaiting you to tell him what you need. You don’t have to actually speak. Instead, you turn your back to him and pull your hair over your shoulder. He hums behind you, keeping a respectable amount of distance before he grips the zipper.

“What did you do before me?” he asks, hesitant to pull it down.

“Staff.” You shrug. “But I mostly wore things I knew I’d be able to—”

The familiar sound and the rush of cool air against your heated skin as he reveals more of you has your breath catching in your throat. You cut yourself off, immediately reaching up to hold the dress to your chest.

“I’m a very accommodating man, (Y/N).” His voice sinks into every inch of you. “If you need something, tell me. I’m your husband. It’s quite literally my job to ensure you’re happy, darling.”

The heat radiating from his bare skin so close to yours has every thought in your brain flying away. Logically, there’d be nothing wrong with giving in to your temptation. It’d been a long time since anyone had touched you, and the man behind you is your husband. Physical attraction had nothing to do with emotions or feelings, so it was okay. One thing you’d never be able to deny is how he’s one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. Your parents could’ve chosen much, much worse for you.

His voice centimeters from your ear startles you out of your trance. He says, “I wonder what you’re thinking about. You seem a bit distracted.”

“Wouldn’t you love to know.”

“Truly.”

“I need to change.”

“Do you?” He trails a finger up your spine. “You’re so soft. What an odd comparison to that steel wall you’re forcing yourself to keep up.”

“I think you’re forgetting your own boundaries.” You clench your fist into the fabric of your dress. “This wouldn’t be real.”

“What even is this?” His breath fans across your neck, and you’re sure you feel the sublest brush of his lips on your skin. “Tell me where you think this is going. After all, I’m helping you with your dress like a good husband.”

“My dress was dealt with minutes ago.”

“Darling.” He tsks. “If your dress was dealt with already, it would be long, long gone.”

Even like this, you refuse to let him win. If this were to be the extent of your relationship with Chenle, you’d be fine with that. You crave satisfaction, and you also know this is a means to an end. This may be the key to giving your family those fucking heirs they want so badly. In a bold move, you release your grip on the fabric and allow it to crumple at your feet.

“What?” You tilt your head, grinning when his breathing halts. “Are you the only one who can deliver?”

He places his hand on your hip. “Can I touch you here?”

“Mhm,” you inhale sharply when he squeezes, trying your best not to roll back against him.

“Here?” he whispers, splaying his fingers out along your stomach.

“What’s your goal?” you ask, looking back at him over your shoulder. “You seem like you want something from me.”

His face is much too close to yours, but for some reason, it does little to bother you. When his lips part, you don’t mean to squirm in his touch. His eyes sweep over your expression, his touch edging just a little further downward until he can play with the lace hem of your panties.

“I’ve told you what I want already.” His gaze locks on your mouth. “Everything. I want it all.”

You gulp, unable to speak for fear of making a fool of yourself.

“What about me makes this hard for you?” he asks.

Despite the softness of his voice, your proximity to him means you see the hint of hurt swimming around in his dark irises. The heat of his bare skin on yours has everything inside you awakening, but you can’t give him what he wants.

“The choice is yours.” He takes a deep breath. “Going forward, the choice is always yours to make. I’m yours in any way you want me.”

The atmosphere around you is so warm, charged, you can’t help the way you struggle to breathe. You lean closer to him, and when your lips brush his, his grip around you tightens. Before he’s able to initiate a real kiss, a knock sounds on the bedroom door.

“Mr. Zhong, you have a visitor.”

“God damn it,” he curses under his breath, annoyance replacing whatever vulnerability you’d just seen. Stepping away from you, he grabs a shirt for you and hands it to you.

You accept it quickly, embarrassment flooding through your system as reality sets in and you realize what you’d done. He stops in the doorway, stealing one more glance at you before he runs his fingers through his hair and walks out.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, patting your cheeks.

Your skin where he touched you suddenly feels much too cold, and you give yourself a few moments to calm down as you search for a pair of pants to put on. You pick your dress up off the floor and put it with your dirty laundry. You tie your hair up to get yourself to cool down, and then you follow Chenle out to see who saved you from making a decision you wouldn’t be able to come back from.

“You came all the way here to deliver a report?” Chenle’s voice cuts through the air before you’re able to see him, and you hear the agitation flooding through it.

You round the corner and stop at the top of the stairs, finding Chenle in the foyer with one of the men from the meeting earlier standing right inside the doorway with a binder. He’d slipped his shirt back on, retucked it, and even rolled his sleeves up. His hands are deep in his pockets.

“It couldn’t wait,” the man says.

“There are plenty of things that can’t wait in this world, and they wait anyway, Jeno.” Chenle shifts on his feet. “But you’re here, so give it to me.”

Jeno hands Chenle the binder, and he opens it. At the realization of what it is, the latter’s eyes close.

“You’re telling me that this has been going on for years?”

“Before you were even CEO, yes.” Jeno nods.

“My father knows about this?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What is your father supposed to know about?” you ask, finally making your presence known as you make your way down the stairs.

Chenle turns to you, his jaw clenching as his gaze travels on its own accord. “The amount you pointed out earlier. It’s not just one payment. There’s…an entire binder full of payments to someone that aren’t accounted for. That’s $143,000 a quarter, for longer than I’ve even been able to—”

“Should she really be involved in this?” Jeno grabs Chenle’s arm.

“She’s the COO of the company.” Chenle frowns at the other man. “And she’s my wife. If this is going on, it affects her, too.”

The other man releases him, and you join Chenle at his side. At this point, even pressing your arm against his is far too much contact for you, yet you crave it all the same.

“It’s new for them,” you remind your husband. “They’re not used to me yet. They’ll learn in due time.”

“Right.”

You hold your hand out for the reports, and he gives it to you. You flip through, noting the dates corresponding with the payments.

“I wouldn’t bring it up to your father,” you mention.

“What?” Chenle recoils. “Why not?”

“These charges have been happening for years,” you point out. “There’s a chance he might know about them. That he could be the one—”

“That’s impossible,” Chenle interrupts you, his posture immediately straightening out as he stands rigid.

“It’s not.” You keep your voice soft in an attempt to neutralize the situation, and you reach for his wrist. “All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t rule anyone out. We need to keep this within a circle while we do research. No one else can know that this has even been caught.”

As soon as your fingers wrap around him, the tension in his body melts away. He lets out a sigh, wets his lips, and nods. “You’re right. We’ll look into it.” He turns to Jeno. “No one can know about this. This stays between the three of us.”

“Of course,” Jeno confirms. “I’ll leave you with that information now. Have a good night, you two.”

“Thanks,” Chenle says.

Jeno leaves, the echo of the door closing behind him leaving you and Chenle draped in an awkward silence. You place the binder on the table on the glass table, turning to face your husband.

“Are you alright?” Chenle asks.

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gives you a pointed look, one that tells you he’s in no way wanting to beat around the bush. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m…okay, yes. Maybe a little flustered, but I didn’t…hate what happened, if that’s what you’re asking.” You avoid his gaze, rolling your eyes as you stare off past him to the ornate details of the front door.

“We’re married,” he points out.

“Yes, I’m acutely aware of that fact, thank you.” Your fingers find the band of your wedding ring.

He pauses, but his gaze leaves goosebumps all over your body as he trails over you. “It’s clear we’re…attracted to each other. And you’re still sure you’d rather not attempt a real relationship.”

“We’ve talked about this.” You glance around, like the staff overhearing is the most embarrassing thing you’ll deal with.

“Not enough.”

“What else could we possibly add to that?”

“I don’t want us to tolerate each other, (Y/N). At the very least, we should try to be friends.” He takes a step closer to you.

You’ve been confronted by a lot of men in your life. There have been even more men who doubted your abilities, but none of them had ever intimidated you. Chenle, standing in front of you with a determined look on his face, intimidates you. A part of you—no matter how small it may be—knows he’s everything he says he is and more. He could give you the life you’ve always wanted, but you’re sure you don’t deserve it. Not until you’ve fulfilled your portion of the contract and take your place as CEO. Only then can you allow yourself to let go.

“Do you want me?” he asks. “In any way?”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him honestly. “But I do.”

“When we were on our honeymoon, or the semblance of whatever that was, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how we were forced into this arrangement, yet none of it…None of it feels wrong. You may not have paid me much attention beforehand, but for years before we were ever to be married, I’ve admired you. Your willpower and the way you hold your own. The independence you have. Your autonomy. I envy you.”

“Why? Why envy me?”

“Look at yourself.” Chenle puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to look into the floor-length mirrors against the wall. “I’m not talking about how beautiful you are, even though that’s definitely an added bonus. I mean the utter tenacity you have flowing through your veins. The way you can command attention the second you walk into a room. How you’re unafraid to put men with decades of more experience in their places. You are…unapologetically yourself. This life, one of business, is significantly easier for me as a man, yet you’ve absolutely bulldozed everyone in your way.”

“Chenle—”

“I’m not done.” He taps his fingers against you.

Seeing him standing behind you in these mirrors is making your heart race, your brain jolting with electricity, and inexplicable thoughts running around your mind. He looks good like this. He watches you fondly, the admiration in his gaze evident.

“But you’re honest, too. With your intentions and with the way you want to live your life. I wish you’d give me the chance to prove how things could be, but like I said before, these choices are yours alone. Don’t get that confused with me not wanting to try. Because I’ll keep trying as long as you want me in…whatever way.”

You turn to him, craning your neck to look at him with your hands flat on his chest. “I’m beginning to think you’re crazy.”

“If trying to give my wife the life she deserves is crazy, then I’ll gladly claim that title.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Something tells me you might come around someday.”

“I wish you saw things the way I do,” you mutter.

“I think the same way. But as much as I understand your fears, they shouldn’t hinder you in your life. You’re allowed to explore all aspects. Business. Joy. Intimacy. Love.”

“And you’re an expert on intimacy?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Expert might be a strong word, but I won’t ever lie to you. I’ve been in love in the past and gotten hurt because of it. But every heartbreak is worth it if it leads you to the person you were made for.” His hands slide to your hips, fingertips barely applying any pressure. “If we find we’re not good for each other, I’d let you go. You’re bound to me in a legal sense only. Paper. It means nothing unless we make it mean something.”

“You…scare me,” you breathe out. “This scares me.”

“We’re doing something right, then.” He lets out a short chuckle. “But I like this. Being close to you. Knowing that we’d be so much better as a team than as roommates.”

“I’ve always worked alone.”

“Does that mean you’ve never been in love?”

You shake your head. “Never. I don’t give myself the time to feel things like that.”

“So, feel.” His finger brushes below your chin, angling you so your eyes meet his. “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

“I—”

“Don’t think. Feel.”

“I…I’m nervous. You can’t be real. I’ve only been burned in the past, but it feels like you’d…just keep me warm. I don’t know if I want that.” You gulp past the unexplainable lump in your throat. “It’s…overwhelming.”

“What can I do to help you?” Chenle asks. “Whatever you need. Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

“You.” Your voice almost refuses to work. “I want you, but I…I need time to see if that’s really it or if I’m tricking myself in order to fulfill these stupid obligations set for me.”

“Which obligations?”

“Heirs.” You avert your gaze, but he gently pulls you right back.

“Take whatever time you need. I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to push you into any situations like that.” He reaches up and plays with a strand of your hair. “But there are…plenty of ways to explore that side of our relationship without pregnancy being a risk. Or a reward, if that’s what you view it as.”

Your face burns. Never before has a man made you blush.

“With that in the open, does removing the pregnancy factor make you want me any less?”

You contemplate. While you’d love to say that portion of your contract was the last thing on your mind, you thought of it frequently. But thoughts of what he’s mentioning has your insides twisting and turning in every way, with or without heirs being involved. When he touched you earlier, his hands on your bare skin, that genuinely wasn’t a thought. You want him for personal gain, but not in the way you originally assumed.

“Never less,” you murmur. The warmth around you becomes unbearable, yet you still find yourself shivering. “I think we need to come back to this at a different time.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, allowing cool air to rush over you. Grabbing the binder from the table, he gestures for you to follow him into his office. “Shall we move on to some numbers, then?”

Finally, you laugh shortly. “Yeah. Yes, that sounds good.”

After two hours of studying the documents, spreadsheets, and all the other information Jeno brought for Chenle, the two of you have gotten as far as discovering the payments were sent to the same bank account. Stress is written across his face, and eventually, you slide the binder away from him.

“You’re going to run yourself into the ground,” you scold him. “It’s time for a break.”

“What time is it?” he asks, massaging his forehead.

“Almost 8pm.” You lean back in your chair and cross your legs.

His lips part in shock, and he checks his watch. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t even…you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Neither have you,” you point out.

“We’ve already established that you’re more important.” He lets out a sigh, partially filled with frustration. “You know what? Why don’t you get changed and we’ll go out?”

“Together?” Your eyes widen.

“We’re married. It’d be weird if we went by ourselves.”

“Right, of course. Um, anything in particular I should wear?”

“The choice is yours.” He grins, and like it’s the easiest thing in the world, robs all of the oxygen from your lungs. You realize then that you don’t see him smile much, but the pang in your heart can only mean you want to see it over and over again.

“Okay.” You nod and stand. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You sure you don’t want to pick?” you offer one last time.

“While that would honestly be an honor, darling, I’m trying to prove a point here.” He lifts himself to his feet and reaches across the desk to close the binder. “I could use a drink.”

You give him a small smile before you exit his office. Once he’s out of sight, you practically bound up the stairs. You’d been on dates before, sure, but this feels different. You know better than to let yourself look too far ahead, so once you’re in your closet, you want to make sure you wear something nice. You pick a dress you’re sure you can get yourself out of. Unlike your outfit from earlier, this one isn’t as tight to your figure, and the soft color matches you well. For business meetings, you only wear black. Wearing bright colors hasn’t ever brought you success, but you figure you can wear the purple for a date with your husband.

A date. Is it a date?

That part of it doesn’t matter. This dress makes you feel good about yourself, truly. Disgust immediately sends a shiver down your spine when you realize you’re beginning to ponder how Chenle will perceive you. He’s a man. You could wear a trash bag and he’d think you did something revolutionary. Brushing the skirt of your dress off, you grab a pair of heels, slide them on, and head back down the stairs. He waits by the door, his suit jacket back on and buttoned in the middle. He turns at the sound of your shoes on the floor, and he freezes in his spot.

“What?” you inquire.

“I just…I’ve never seen you in that color before.” He clears his throat, but his cheeks tinge with a light, barely noticeable pink. “You…it suits you well.”

“Thank you.” Before you attempt to leave the door, he grabs your jacket from the rack and drapes it over your shoulders.

“It’s cold, darling,” he mutters, making sure the fabric is secure on your shoulders.

“You don’t think it ruins the outfit?”

“Not a chance. Jacket or not, it’s my favorite of yours.”

“Relax with the compliments. You’re making me blush.” You brush your fingertips against his shoulder and exit the house.

“My hard work is paying off. Good to know.” He closes the door behind him and guides you to the car with his hand on the small of your back. “I’ll stop with the compliments if you ever stop deserving them. Which I doubt will happen, by the way.”

The drive is thirty minutes, and the city is still bustling by the time Chenle is helping you out of the car. His palm against yours makes your stomach flip, and you’re beginning to hate this effect he has on you. It seems like it hit you out of nowhere, and you’d prefer if it were to sink back into the depths of hell where it came from in the first place. But before you know it, you’re a glass and a half deep of wine, you’ve eaten enough pasta to get you through the night, and Chenle’s in the exact same boat you’re in. Between the two of you, you’ve finished a bottle, and it seems as if your husband is debating ordering another one.

You hide a laugh with another sip from your glass and shake your head. “I cannot believe we’re this out of order.”

“The order doesn’t matter as long as the end result is desirable. Isn’t that true?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Mm, I’ve always been an order of operations girl. Everything has to happen in the exact right way.” You set your drink down and rest your head on your palm.

“I just realized I know…nothing about your past. Please, tell me what the younger version of you was like. What kind of trouble did you get into?”

“Wow, what makes you assume I got into trouble?” you tease him, unable to fight your smile.

He sucks in a deep breath and pats his legs. “God, I’m not sure. It couldn’t be the way you never take no for an answer or how you absolutely run over everyone in your way.”

“I’ll have you know that I am a very composed human.” You run your tongue over your teeth.

“I’d expect nothing less, to be honest.” He gives you a soft smile. “And for the record, I enjoy those qualities. There aren’t many people in this world that would be unafraid of calling me out if I’m doing something wrong.”

“You mean earlier.”

“I mean in general, but that does apply, yes.”

“I only want to be a balance for you.” You look down at the red liquid in your cup. “We’re meant to complement each other now, yeah?”

“I think we were the most strategic pair…ever.” Chenle nods.

“Can I be honest with you?” You take another sip.

“Absolutely.”

“You asked me earlier what about you makes this situation hard. Or what about you makes it hard for me to…let go of certain views.” You clear your throat, dreading the conversation more than you’d care to admit. “I feel like it’s…because a part of me knows the greatness we’d be capable of together. But I’ve worked hard to build my own greatness, and I can almost guarantee the second this becomes real, my greatness becomes ours.”

“Ah.” He purses his lips. “I won’t lie to you. There will be people that see it that way. But by being married to me, those people already exist.”

“I’m not talking about other people. I don’t care about them or their opinions.” You finish off your glass.

“You…you mean me?” His eyes widen in shock.

“That is a fear I have.”

He flounders for a second, and he scrambles for words for the first time all day. “I’m sorry, I just…I’m not sure if there’s anything I can say to make this better. I…(Y/N), I know my promises probably don’t mean much to you at this point, but I’d never discount you like that. Or take credit for anything you’ve done. How can I make that clearer?”

“It’s not your issue to correct.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s mine. And I don’t say it to make you feel responsible, but as a forewarning, I guess. Being a woman and working my way to the top just to have…this thrust upon me is a little redundant.”

“You never wanted to marry in the first place.” It’s not a question.

“That’s correct.”

He blows out a long breath and looks down at his hands, twisting the wedding band on his finger. “You never saw this in the cards for you.”

“I knew I’d eventually have to marry for company purposes. My father would never let himself die before he knows I’ve carried on his line.” You snort and shake your head. “But I figured all of these types of marriages were the same. People signed their paperwork and barely acknowledged each other unless it was to reproduce.”

Chenle lets out a laugh. “Your word choice is interesting.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” You cover your mouth as you join him in laughter. “I just never thought you’d be…you.”

“I live to prove to you that you can have everything. We can be happy, have a real family, and still be at the top of our field. Both independently and together.”

Fortunately for the both of you, Chenle doesn’t order the second bottle of wine. Instead, he pays the bill and leads you from the restaurant with his arm wrapped around your waist. He opens the car door for you, and as you place your hand in his to enter, he squeezes your hand gently. Once you get home, the two of you separate at the top of the stairs, him heading off to a spare room down the hall while you step into the room that technically belongs to him. You change without interrupt, your silk nightgown soft on your skin as you climb into bed.

You stare up at the ceiling, tracing along it with your eyes as if you were drawing a map. Where the destinations were you had yet to figure out, but you imagined a whole new world up there, one where you didn’t have to have this wall up. One where you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for a shred of respect you more than deserve. One where you didn’t have to be scared of what Chenle was trying to offer you.

You sigh, clutching the blanket to your chest. The wine has since settled in your system, yet your blood still runs warm. The map on the ceiling becomes mountains, oceans, continents. It forms real shapes, real geography in your mind, but you find the destination right in the middle is where you truly want to be. When you look at your phone, the time is already past 2 a.m., and you’re not anywhere near tired. You’re startled by the knock. You shuffle out of bed, crossing your arms over your chest as you crack the door open slightly.

Chenle stands there, hands buried deep in his sweatpants. His eyes sweep over you as you open the door wider.

“You’re up,” he comments.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You shrug. “You’re up. And here.”

“I was hoping I could talk to you.” He pauses. “I can’t stop thinking, and I just really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Your heart skips a beat. As much as you hate it, warmth spreads through your entire being at the thought of his first idea being you.

“This is your room, Chenle. I’m not going to tell you you can’t come in your own bedroom.” You step back to give him space to walk in, but he stays put outside, staring at you as if he’s seeing straight into your soul. You give him a pointed look, but give in. “Yes, it’s okay for you to come in here. I’d prefer company as well.”

He shuffles past you, tiredness clearly weighing down as the bottoms of his feet slide across the hardwood floor. You watch him closely, admiring him. Quickly, you realize that he fits into any room he walks in. He belongs anywhere and everywhere, and within moments, he makes you feel something you’ve only ever been able to provide for yourself until this moment—safe.

“Sorry,” he whispers with a sigh. “I need to stop thinking.”

“Trust me, I get it. Me too.” You stand with your arms still crossed over your chest and you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I shouldn’t bore you.” He waves you off and sits on the edge of his bed. “How are you adjusting?”

“I’m okay. I’m not complaining about my accommodations.” You move and sit next to him, putting your hand on his knee. “You won’t bore me. If something’s bothering you, I want to try and help.”

His eyes sparkle even in the dark. The landscapes of the map you drew reflect in his gaze, and you swear you see every mountain, every body of water, entire worlds forming in his irises. How have you never seen this before? Why are you seeing it now?

“The payments,” he murmurs. “The idea that my father might know about them. Might be facilitating them. It’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

“When I said that, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You reach over and grab his hand. “We just need to take precaution when it comes to situations like this. If it is him and he knows we’re onto him, it might be…a bigger issue than it needs to be.”

“I know that. I guess it’s the idea that he’d be capable of something like that.” Chenle stares down at the way your thumb traces against his skin.

“You look up to him.”

“I did. I do. A lot, actually, so this seems so…backwards. That’s a lot of money per quarter, you know? I could only imagine what it’s going towards.” He turns his hand around so your palms are touching, and he gently intertwines your fingers. “Sorry, I should’ve asked if this was okay.”

“It’s more than okay. Don’t worry about me. Keep talking.”

“My parents never really loved each other. They grew to love their life together, but not each other. And despite that, I had a decent time growing up. They were good parents to me, and that’s what truly matters at the end of the day, but it makes me wonder if they’re…not these great people I’ve made them out to be in my head.” He lets out a short chuckle. “This sounds pathetic.”

“Hey.” Before you realize what you’re doing, you reach up to cup his cheek and bring his gaze back to yours. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not pathetic. These are valid concerns, and if you’ve been lied to for this long, you have every right to be upset.”

You’re so distracted by him, you barely even recognize the softness of his face. Your thumb runs gently along his cheekbone, and you watch as the frown fades from his features. Something you can’t recognize forms behind his irises, yet it still feels familiar. How do you explain how the normal beat of your heart hurts? How do you tell him that seeing him upset like this feels like needles running along your skin?

“My father would tell me I was foolish for hoping for love,” Chenle whispers. “He said it was a waste of time, since any man as busy as we are just isn't suited for it. For families.”

“If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve agreed with him.” You squeeze his hand and give him a small smile.

“Something changed?” he asked.

“I don’t think that way anymore,” you admit. “Now, I’ve realized it’s about the amount of effort someone is willing to put in. It has nothing to do with time. We make time for those we care about.”

He leans into your touch as his eyes flutter shut. You admire the angelic glow the stars leave on his skin, and despite how tired he is, he’s still so fucking beautiful. Your throat dries at the sight, and you hate how it feels like your insides are at war.

“I like this,” he tells you. “Being with you like this.”

“Me, too.” You smile, even though he can’t see you. “You should try and sleep though. You’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

His chest visibly deflates, and he places his hand on top of yours to pull it away from his face. “Of course. I…I’ll get going.”

You recoil, but you don’t let go of his other hand. “Oh. Is that what you want?” Nerves crawl around in your stomach. You figured he’d stay with you tonight, in his own bed. That maybe the two of you would learn to be better comforted by each other’s presence.

“You’re tired, and I’m keeping you up. I was inconsiderate.” He clears his throat.

“No, no,” you quickly interject. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m only worried about you, so I was hoping you’d stay with me.”

“In here?” he asks.

You nod. “Yes. If it were my choice, you’d stay.”

“Damn, you got me there.” He delivers a tired grin and ultimately agrees. “I’d love that, (Y/N). Truly.”

You let him settle in beneath the comforter first, and he lifts it to allow you room to slide in next to him. Neither of you say anything else, but things seem to fall together naturally. He opens his arms, you push yourself against his chest, and then he wraps you up tightly in his warm embrace. He smells faintly of cologne, a soft, woody scent that engulfs you pleasantly. Despite the way you failed to fall asleep earlier, you struggle to remember a time you’d ever fallen into your dream world faster.

When you wake without Chenle in the morning, you’re sure you dreamed the last portion of the night. That is, until you see that it’s almost 10 am. You gasp and launch yourself out of bed. You never sleep in this late, so you quickly dress yourself and get ready for the day. Chenle’s side of the bed is mussed, so you determine it was, indeed, not a dream, and you make sure you look as presentable as your normal standard before you go downstairs to find where your husband disappeared to. The smell of breakfast emanates from the kitchen, so you naturally gravitate that way. When you step into the room, you’re taken aback by the company present. Not just your own parents, but Chenle’s as well. Your husband stands at the end of the table, clearly stressed with all of the people in your kitchen. He notices you first and breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of you.

“Wow,” you say as you approach Chenle and stand next to him. “Were we expecting everyone today?”

“Nope.” He chuckles and, much to apparently both of your surprises, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Everyone showed up an hour or so ago.”

Through the burning of your cheeks, your gaze shoots up to his and you lower your voice. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked really comfortable.” He shrugs.

“(Y/N), Chenle was just telling us that you’re accepting the COO position at his company,” your mother butts in. Of course, business talk immediately.

“Yes, we—”

“Isn’t that a little early? And don’t you have enough responsibilities as COO of my company?” your father grumbles, and you already start to shrink into yourself in his presence.

“She’s more than capable,” Chenle defends you. “If I didn’t think she could handle it, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t interrupt their family discussions, Chenle, that’s rude,” his mother scolds him.

“This marriage was a merger, was it not?” Chenle raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that technically make our families interconnected now?”

“We’ll consider them officially connected when she’s had her first child.” Your father points his finger at you. “Speaking of which, what’s taking so long?”

Your jaw drops, and you shift uncomfortably. It’s one thing to talk about your husband getting you pregnant with your own father, but him being so comfortable spitting things out like that in front of Chenle’s parents as well has you feeling queasy.

“We’ve been married for two months.”

“Your mother was pregnant after three weeks.”

“I don’t really want to hear about you impregnating my mother—”

“You’re making excuses, (Y/N), you know what’s on the line here.” Your father tsks at you, sipping from his water glass.

“Sir, all due respect, but it’s not like we knew each other very well. We’re both still getting comfortable with each other. And we’re young. We have plenty of time to have children.” As soon as the words leave Chenle’s mouth, you reach over and grasp his hand. It’s not visible below the table, but he squeezes you in reassurance.

“And what happens if she were to die tomorrow? My bloodline dies with her?” Your father narrows his eyes at Chenle. Your heart sinks in your chest, and you scratch your forehead.

“Even if she were to be pregnant, if she died tomorrow there wouldn’t be an heir either way,” your husband replies.

“Is there a reason we’re having such a lovely family reunion?” you butt in, hoping to curve their conversation.

“Do we need a reason to visit our daughter?” your mother asks.

“Typically, yes.” You shrug. “You never show up unannounced.”

“Oh, I take it they haven’t seen the tabloids,” Chenle’s father mentions.

You stand from your spot and pull your phone out of your pocket to check. You hear Chenle whisper something to the group before he pushes his chair back to join you. Despite the anxiety crawling up your spine, the warmth of him right behind you calms you.

“They came here because there’s a couple articles of people being shocked that we like each other?” you hiss, tossing your phone on the counter.

“Breathe,” Chenle tells you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “They’ll eventually leave us alone, but we’ve got to placate them for now.”

“Placate them?” You turn to him and raise your eyebrow. “You exchanged words with my father.”

“He said stupid things.” Chenle shrugs.

You chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, but you said the people are surprised we like each other, so I’m assuming you enjoy how ridiculous I am.” He bites back a grin when he sees you blush.

“God, you’ve got to stop doing that.” You push gently at his chest and walk back to your parents and your in-laws.

“I’m not sure this is really something that should have blame assigned,” Chenle’s mother says. “I’ve seen married couples go years without children.”

You curse under your breath. Of course, this is still the topic of conversation.

“That’s not how it works in this family. Heirs come first immediately after marriage.” Your mother sips from a champagne flute.

“Well, that’s hardly Chenle’s fault—”

“He’s a man. How hard is it to impregnate a woman?” Your mother scoffs. “Please, she’s not ugly by any means.”

“Mother, dear God,” you snap. “Why in the world are we still talking about this?”

“I’m sorry, are you questioning my son’s…viability?” Chenle’s father narrows his eyes.

You want to combust into flames right then and there. The immediate assumption that the reason behind you not being with child yet is that Chenle simply can’t get it up. How fucking great.

“I’m just saying, there were other men contending for a contract that were more than willing—”

“That’s enough,” you shout.

You have four shocked faces staring at you, and you feel Chenle go rigid behind you.

“I am beyond tired of this conversation already. We’ve only been married for two months, and that’s just not enough time. I barely even knew him when I married him, and we’re trying to do this the normal way. As normally as we can.” You pause. “I’m the one that wants to wait. And it is a want, not a necessity, so neither of us are…sexually dysfunctional.”

Chenle holds back a laugh behind you, but four sets of eyes are still on you. And while it’s technically not the truth—as you’ve stated multiple times you’d be okay with having an heir quickly—you’d rather this portion of it fall on you than on him. Your parents would lose their minds.

“And let’s not forget that (Y/N) is a human with a career that’s just as important as mine,” your husband adds. “Having a child at this time could put her back immensely after all the hard work she’s put in. If she wants to wait, nobody should have a say in that other than her.”

With every word coming out of Chenle’s mouth, he gets more and more attractive to you. You wish today had been a simple morning, truly. One where you’d wake up with him next to you and he’d hold you for however long the two of you could stand to stay still for.

“You should be happy we’re trying to do this properly.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Love is a waste of time in a business arrangement.” Your father sets his empty water glass on the table.

“I agree. It’s better to get the obligations out of the way first, and then worry about trying to create something real,” Chenle’s father agrees.

“Right, because that worked out so well for you,” Chenle says.

Today was going to be a long, long day.

Your parents and in-laws stayed for another hour, and then they (thankfully) willingly left on their own accord. As soon as Chenle closes the door behind his parents, you sigh in relief and slump your back against the counter. He approaches you without a word, and almost like it’s instinct, you wrap your arms around him. Running his fingers through your hair, he holds you as close as he can.

“I’m sorry my parents implied you’re impotent,” you mutter, and you and Chenle burst into laughter at the same time.

“Wow. Clearly the only two options for an explanation as to why you’re not pregnant within two months are impotency or your husband not finding you attractive. Which, for the record, neither of those are an issue.”

“Gross. But thanks, I think?” You lean back slightly to look at him and find him smiling at you.

“Just being honest. If I was impotent, I would’ve told you before we married for business purposes. And if you don’t know how attractive you are at this point, that would be one of the world’s biggest mysteries.” He pulls you to him until your chest presses against his. “But, since I was so rudely torn away from my beautiful wife this morning by our nosy, no fucking good parents dropping in like we’re fifteen years old, I wanted to thank you for last night. Since I couldn’t earlier.”

“Thank me?” You frown and tilt your head.

“I needed that. I didn’t even know it, but I needed it,” Chenle tells you.

“Of course,” you murmur. “You never have to be alone for those moments.”

“Just for those moments?” He fakes a pout. “Does that mean I have to go back to my own room?”

You give him a pointed look, and then pretend to be lost in thought momentarily. “Pretty sure that’s only when you make me mad. I guess married couples argue and then the wives send the husbands to the couch. But in this case, there’s an extra bedroom. Or twenty.”

“Can I…can I try something?” he asks, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Close your eyes,” he mutters.

If he was anyone else, you’d be asking a million questions. But this is Chenle, and you’ve grown to realize he’s exactly who he said he is. You trust him inexplicably.

“Wow,” he says. “Not even a sarcastic comment. I think I’m winning you over.”

You open one eye, push at his shoulder, and then close it again. You’re more than tempted to open them again when his hands cup your cheeks. His thumbs caress your skin, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Your heart races in anticipation as you await his next move, craving whatever it is he wants to give you. You gasp quietly when you feel his lips brush yours, and your body tenses.

“Relax,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

You don’t give him the opportunity to finish closing the distance between you two. You do it for him. Pushing yourself forward, you seal the kiss with him quickly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close to you. He curses against you, and you follow suit when he wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you onto the counter. For a brief moment, he pulls away from you, chest heaving as he pants.

“Chenle.” You hate that it comes out as a whimper, but you love the way he reacts to it.

He kisses you again, harder this time while one of his hands tangles in your hair and the other sits on your thigh where the hem of your dress is. Instinctively, to make your dress ride up your legs more, you lift one and hike it up around his waist. The fabric slips past his fingertips, now resting much higher than it was before. You pull him closer until he’s right up against the lace of your panties.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly, digging his nails into your skin. “You’d better think this through, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but heat floods your core. You need him.

“Please,” you whisper to him, watching as his eyes darken right in front of you. When you let your hand travel down his body, you smirk at how his length hardens further beneath your touch.

“Shit.” His hips unintentionally thrust into your hand. “Fuck, we should stop.”

You drop your head against his shoulder, retracting your hand away from him. “Well, impotency definitely won’t be a problem.”

He kisses up your neck. “Sorry. I don’t want to get carried away. Or even more carried away, I guess.”

“Look at me.” You wait for him to listen to you. “You don’t have to hold back if you don’t want to. Your desires are just as important as mine.”

“Before we…do anything, I need to make sure I have condoms.” He clears his throat and removes your leg from around his waist.

“Wait, what?” You frown and lean away from him. “What do we need those for?”

“Are you serious?” He takes a step back.

“Well, yeah. We’re married. We need to have children, why would we use condoms?” You run your fingers through your hair.

He sighs and runs his hands down his face. “We talked about this. I was under the impression that we were figuring this out first and then worrying about how and when we’d have children.”

“We can’t do both at the same time?”

“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want kids yet?” He tilts his head at you and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I understand that’s part of the deal and why we’re even married in the first place, but I don’t want to even risk having kids if I don’t know it’s really me you want.”

Embarrassment floods through you, and you slide off the counter and send him back a few more paces. You pull your dress down and grimace at the thought of being in a position like that.

“After everything we’ve talked about and the time we’ve spent together, you really think that’s not true? You think I don’t want you?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. All of this is confusing. And then our parents are here pressuring you into having a kid, and you’re—”

“Oh, my God.” Your jaw drops, and you brush off your skirt. “You’re literally the one who kissed me. And then you put me on—God forbid I ask a simple question, right? That must mean I’m trying to jump your bones to get my way.”

“(Y/N), that’s not what I said—”

“Maybe not, but that’s sure as hell what you meant. And here I am, like a fucking idiot, letting you touch me when you think that fucking low of me.” You clench your fists at your side, and you’re unaccustomed to the way your heart twists so hard in your chest. “God, fuck you.”

You turn away from him and stomp off, painfully aware of your over-exaggeration. The logical side of you begs you to calm down, since both of your concerns are valid, but the side of you you’re experiencing for the first time is stronger than what you’re accustomed to. When you make it upstairs and to your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and force yourself to breathe. Chenle’s assumption hurt you. It’s as simple as that. You’ve let yourself like him, and now he has this power over you. With a simple miscommunication, it feels like everything is falling apart before it even begins.

You blink rapidly to stop the tears from welling in your eyes, and eventually, you’re more annoyed by your reaction than by the actual situation. The door creaks open, and Chenle walking in makes relief flood through your veins. He moves over to you and sits down next to you, reaching over to grab your hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod and lean into his chest, craving his comfort. He sighs, wraps his arms around you tightly, and strokes your hair. With your ear pressed against him, you hear how his heart beats just as hard as yours.

“I think we both got a little carried away there,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I got so upset.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He kisses the top of your head. “It’s never my intention to hurt you. Or to make you regret anything we do.”

You sit there in silence, appreciating the comfort he gives you simply by being next to you.

“I was…I don’t know. Embarrassed, I think.” You chuckle at yourself, but you don’t find it funny at all. “That you would think I’d just…do that without being truthful to you. I’ve had a lot of men assume things about me throughout my entire life. Because of my success, it’s either from my father handing it to me or because I slept my way to the top. So, I’m sure you can see why I had trouble comprehending that as anything else.”

“And I hope you know that’s not what I was thinking at all. I know how much of an influence your parents have had on you. All I ever want to do is make sure you’re making your choices for you. I never communicated that I would want to use condoms if we started sleeping together because I didn’t really assume we’d get there.” He squeezes you closer to him and takes a deep breath.

“I’m also sorry for yelling at you.” You scrunch your nose up and look at him. “That was…really weird.”

“Weird?” A small smile pulls at his lips.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before. And it’s scary that you have that kind of power over me, even if I know you wouldn’t use it against me intentionally.”

“Learning how to manage those feelings will come with the territory. Have some faith in me, alright? I’m not saying things just to bring you down.” He tilts your head up, his gaze scanning over your face. “I want you to be happy. Obviously, bonus points if I’m a part of that happiness.”

“You are.”

“Good. You deserve only good things in life, and I need to make sure you get them.”

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, gently working your mouths together. You sigh into him and tangle your fingers in his hair. Everything about this feels good. It has warmth spreading in your chest from knowing someone in this world cares for you beyond what you can give them. You know he wants you, but you also know he’s going to have your best interest in mind.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. “We’ll learn each other, darling. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.”

Whether intentionally or not, you and Chenle keep your distance from each other for a couple days. Today, however, you’ve no choice but to be around each other later for the board meeting, where they’ll vote on the CFO position. And your COO position, but Chenle made it very clear that the vote was simply a formality. You choose a black dress, zip it up, put your earrings in, and head downstairs, where your husband waits for you by the door. He looks at you as you stop on the bottom step, a loud clack coming from your heel.

“Yes?” You tilt your head at him.

“Are those earrings new?” He buttons his suit jacket.

“Not new.” You shake your head. “I just haven’t worn them since we married.”

“Right.” He walks over to you and offers you his arm. “Do you like receiving new things?”

You loop yours through his and allow him to guide you toward the door. “I guess that would depend on the context of receiving.”

“If I buy things for you, will they be well received?” he asks.

“You think you know me well enough to buy me things I’d enjoy?” You bite back a smile as he leads you outside and to the car.

With his hand on the small of your back, he helps you into the backseat before following. “I think I’d figure it out fairly quickly. I’m a smart man.”

“They…would be received. Maybe not well, but received nonetheless.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, relaxing against the seat. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I can’t make it too easy for you.” You purse your lips, and without much thought, you scoot closer to him and place your hand on his.

“I don’t think easy is the right word for most things when it comes to you.” He laughs, turning his smile toward you.

“Most things?”

“Being with you is easy. Or around you, I should say. You’re pleasant company. Easy to have an intellectual conversation with, easy to relax around. Those are the easy things.”

“Wow.” You bite back your grin. “You sure know how to woo a woman.”

“Not just any woman,” he interjects. “My wife.”

“Your wife.” It’s the first time you’ve called yourself that out loud, and it has a weird, unrecognizable feeling sprouting in your stomach.

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it seems like you’re coming around a little bit.” He nudges you gently. “I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I’ve missed you the past few days. After the other day, I wanted to give you space in case you didn’t want to see me, but I should’ve thought to ask you.”

He stares down at where your hands are connected, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

You fight the urge to touch his face again. “I…I’ve missed you, too, I think.”

“You think?” Humor laces in his tone.

“I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to be around someone like this before.” You shrug, heat gathering in your cheeks. “Forgive me while I navigate whatever’s going on inside my brain.”

“I want to know everything you’re thinking,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Every joke, unimportant sentence, emotion, process. I want to know you.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his without a single thought in your head, but he reciprocates with ease. Almost as if he’s not taken off-guard in the slightest.

“I could get used to that,” he says against your lips. “No more silence, okay? I don’t want to be away from you.”

“No more silence,” you agree.

When the two of you pull away from each other, your eyes widen at the sight of your lipstick on his lips. You grab his arm to stop him from getting out of the car and use your thumb to wipe the excess away.

“Made a mess, did you?” He grabs your wrist to stop you. “You don’t want anyone to see that you like me that much?”

A grin follows his words, and he grabs his handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No one can know I actually have a heart,” you interject, watching as he wipes his mouth.

“Alright.” He puts his hand on your knee and squeezes. “Are you ready?”

If there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s the overwhelming attraction you have for Chenle. You take him in for a moment, the dark sweep of his hair parted to reveal his forehead, the way he grips you, the way he watches you as if you’re the only person in the world to exist.

“Before we go,” you start, chuckling quietly at yourself for the question you’re about to ask him. “Did…did you ever get condoms?”

His lips part in shock, and he blinks and flounders for words for a solid few seconds before he clears his throat. “I…I mean, I did, but not because I thought we would—it was just a precaution, you know?”

“Do I make you, Zhong Chenle, so nervous that you’re stuttering right now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pats your thigh. “Absolutely, you do.”

You silently thank whoever made this car for the partition between the driver and you and Chenle. “I could do so many other things to you that are so much better.” You gently touch his tie, wrapping your fingers around the fabric and pulling on it to bring him closer to you.

“I truly have no doubt that’s true.” He wets his lips. “If we don’t get out of this car in the next ten seconds, I’m having the driver fucking turn us around. We can’t miss the vote.”

“I guess receiving the title of COO is a little more important than banging my husband.”

“Fuck, I need to get out right now.” He glances up at the ceiling and throws the door open without any more hesitation. Like usual, he turns and offers you his hand.

You take it gratefully, and you loop your arm through his once your feet are safely on the ground. While you follow his lead, you realize something that has the gears in your brain turning. Chenle is the only man you’ve ever accepted guidance from. As miniscule as it seems to allow him to walk you inside, you can’t deny how you’d willingly follow him wherever he may go.

The vote does go off without a hitch, and not even half an hour after you receive your title, you’re in an office plugging away at whatever work needs to be done. Unfortunately, you’re awfully distracted by the thought of Chenle by himself down the hall. A knock on the glass door jolts you out of your thoughts. You see Jeno standing there with a file in his hands. You beckon for him to come in, and he gestures at the seat as if to ask you if he can sit.

“Please.” You nod, folding your hands together. “Did you need something?”

The man hands you the file. “We were able to trace the owner of the bank account, and an address associated with it. I…I figured it’d be best to leave this information with you, given that this could be sensitive information.”

You open it, glancing through the charges. “It started with a different bank account and name.”

“It did. Payments were originally made to a Liu Shuye, and just over two years ago, the bank account switched to a Liu Sujia.” Jeno pauses and takes a deep breath. “I think it’d be better for you to do this portion of it on your own.”

“They have different surnames.” You tap your pen on your desk. “And you’ve never heard of this person before today?”

“Not once.”

“Very well.” You sigh and close the folder, gaze meeting Jeno’s. “Thank you. I’ll look into this further and determine at what point Chenle needs to be involved. For now, Jeno, keep this between us.”

“Of course.” Jeno nods and stands. With a quick bow of his head, he moves to the door. “He’s a good man, (Y/N). Chenle, I mean. But he feels too easily, so tread carefully with whatever you find.”

“I will.”

Once Jeno departs, you cross your arms over your chest and stare down at the information delivered. These payments were made for years, so you’re unsure of how this could relate to Chenle in specific, but you feel an overwhelming resolve to make sure whatever this is doesn’t hurt him.

Chenle came to get you from your office at almost 7pm. He refused to let you work any longer and insisted he had to take you home. Your mind has been turning since Jeno brought you the documents, but you leave them buried in your desk and lay your head on Chenle’s shoulder for the duration of the car ride home. Once you're inside the house, Chenle takes your jacket off your shoulders and hangs it. You turn to him and grab his hand.

“Come to bed with me?” you ask.

“Of course.” He gives you the softest smile, and as you walk up the stairs, he follows closely behind you.

The two of you step inside his room. Chenle closes the door and then wraps his arms around your waist and tugs your back to his chest. He buries his head in your neck, a hum escaping past his lips.

“Are you tired?” you ask him, reaching up to play with his hair.

“No,” he mumbles. “I just want to be close to you. It’s been a long day, and you make me feel better.”

“Is that so?” You face him and tilt your head.

“I was scared to fall for you, too,” he whispers. “For anyone, but especially you. I know the reasons we’re here are vastly different from a conventional marriage, but I already wanted you before all of this.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you realize his use of past tense. He was scared. Does that mean he already has fallen for you?

“C’mere,” you mutter. “We can be closer.”

“Are you sure?” He cups your cheeks, thumbing your skin. “I know we’ve gone back and forth a couple times, but I need you to know you don’t have to do anything for me. Ever.”

“Kiss me, Chenle.”

All events of the day are forgotten as soon as his lips are on yours. His hands explore along your back, fingers clenching onto the fabric of your dress as he inhales shakily. When he pulls away, it’s only for a second, as if he can’t stop himself from going back for more.

“Please tell me this means something to you.” He gulps, his words punctuated by kisses as he turns you around and walks you backward. “That I’m not crazy for wanting you the way I do.”

As the back of your knees make contact with the bed, you grip onto his shoulders, breathless from the passion behind his kiss. “You’re not crazy. It’s terrifying how fast you’ve become all I think about. Your smile and your laugh and the passion you carry. This means everything to me.”

His eyes sparkle in the lamp-lit room, a warmth dancing around in them you’ve never seen from anyone before. He finds the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down.

“I hope you truly know how fucking exquisite you are,” Chenle murmurs, removing the fabric from your body and returning his touch to your back to explore your bare skin. “I don’t want to fight these feelings anymore.”

“Do something about it, then.”

The heat radiating from him keeps the chill of the air in the room off of your skin, and after he guides your back down on the mattress, he haphazardly tosses his suit jacket away. You scoot back to give him more space, and he climbs on top of you. You part your legs further, nearly gasping when he takes his spot between them, pressing against you as if he were made to fill that space. As he takes your lips with his own, you work on the buttons of his shirt. Your hands shake, making it difficult, but he doesn’t mention it. He keeps kissing you like he’ll die of thirst the second he pulls away.

You finally get the last one, and he sits up briefly to rid himself of the extra material. Before it’s even completely removed, you reach down for his belt. He stares at your hands as you unbuckle it, but you don’t have time to slide it off him. When his mouth crashes into yours again, you lift your hips up.

A quiet, needy sigh passes through his lips. “God, I fucking need you so bad.”

“I’m yours,” you tell him. “Show me how much you need me.”

He grinds down against you, and his hard length slides against the wet spot in your lace panties. That time, you do gasp. It’s been much too long since you allowed yourself pleasure by another’s hand, and you crave that closeness with Chenle.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, voice rough.

“Please.” You nod. “Touch me wherever you want.”

He curses under his breath, but he presses his lips to yours once more, then along your jawline, down your neck, and paying attention to the valley between your breasts. He squeezes the right one, rubbing his thumb against your nipple through the somewhat thick material.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He nips at your skin, and you already know he’ll leave marks on you. Pausing, he takes a deep breath. “You—you’ve done this before, right?”

“Done what?”

“Sex.”

“I have. Why?”

“No, I just…you said you’d never been in love before and I didn’t want to just assume that you—”

“Just keep going.” You blush, but he listens to your command without hesitation.

When his mouth continues downward, leaving a trail of his saliva on your stomach until he reaches the hem of your panties. He tongues along the band, his eyes flicking up to yours.

“Good God,” you whisper, the urge between your legs becoming far too much for comfort. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my fill.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs.

When his thumb brushes your clit through your panties, your hips jolt. You curse, grasping onto the sheets as you prepare yourself for whatever he has planned. He smirks at your reaction, and as he pulls at your underwear, you lift up to urge him to move faster. He wraps his arms around your legs, his hands pressing your hips down into the mattress. Even though he opens his mouth to speak to you, his eyes don’t leave your glistening core.

“You can stop me if you change your mind. Just tell me.” He gulps, wetting his lips like he’s struggling to hold back.

“I won’t change my mind,” you reassure him.

“But you need to know it’s always an option.” He squeezes you gently, and without awaiting your response, he slides his tongue from your entrance to your clit.

No matter how embarrassing it is, you can’t stop the whimper escaping you. His tongue flicks your clit one, two, three times as he digs his nails into your skin. Pleasure isn’t entirely foreign to you, but you’re sure it’s the way your soul has begun craving Chenle’s that makes this so much better than anything else you’ve experienced. His grip on you keeps you from squirming too much, but you try regardless. As he steadily moves over your clit, your back arches off the mattress. Whines leave your mouth as you run your fingers through Chenle’s hair in encouragement.

He takes your sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking to add pressure, only to release it and start all over again. You lift yourself on your elbows to watch him, all while practically pushing his head further between your legs. His eyes are closed, and seeing his lips work on your core has to be one of the most erotic things you’ve ever witnessed.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, the vibrations against your entrance sending shivers up and down your spine.

You feel yourself approaching the edge. Your body tenses, but your high won’t take you. Cursing quietly, you lift your hips in an attempt to figure out why the hell you can’t get out of your head. Chenle pulls away from your core, pressing kisses to your inner thigh. “Relax, darling. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

“Please just…” You drop your head back on the mattress and let out a defeated breath. “I want all of you.”

He leans over to the bedside table and grabs a condom, trailing his lips up your body once more until he reaches your neck. His teeth graze your skin. “You can trust me, (Y/N). I’ll take care of you.”

“I do,” you mutter, running your fingers through his hair. “I swear I do.”

“It’s not me you have to convince.” He nips your collarbone. “We don’t have to keep going if you’re not ready.”

You shake your head. “I’m ready. I want you.”

“Okay.” He nods, pulling back to meet your gaze. His features are soft, nothing short of adoration in his eyes. “Try not to think about it too much. Just feel.”

“I’ve never been good at that.” You chuckle and grin at him.

“I’ll show you how, baby. I’ve got you.”

You crane upwards to kiss him, and he meets you in the middle. Tasting yourself on his tongue has you sighing into him, and you push at his pants in hopes that he’ll take the hint. He pauses to rid himself of the rest of his clothing, and then slides his hands beneath you to unclasp your bra. You arch your back to give him more space, and soon enough, nothing separates you from your husband anymore.

“You’re sure?” he asks you again, grabbing the wrapper once more.

“I want you,” you confirm.

Despite the confidence you usually feel, something here feels more…vulnerable than you’ve ever been. Your heart flutters in your chest as he opens the condom and slides it on, and you spread your legs further as he climbs over you again. No man has ever made you nervous before, even in similar situations, but something with him is different. You care about him. You want him to feel good, too, and you crave his promises of taking care of you.

“Need you to relax,” he whispers, peppering kisses on your jawline as he lines himself up with your soaked entrance. “Close your eyes, darling, just let yourself feel.”

You tilt your head back to give him better access to your neck, and you listen to him. Through the darkness, you see the world you drew on his ceiling, the one with beautiful landscapes, overarching mountains, fresh, clean streams, and you sigh in content. The middle of the map, the location you craved to be in, is right here. With him. His breath catches in his throat as he slides inside you, his length stretching you. He gulps and rests his head on your shoulder as he attempts to steady himself. You tangle your fingers in his hair, combing through the midnight strands. After both of you calm down from the initial overwhelming movement, you wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles together, tugging him up to kiss you. His lips work softly on yours, and he slowly grinds against you. He pulls out until only the tip is inside, and as he pushes back in, he moans into your mouth. Your body shudders at the sound.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says, chest pressed to yours. “How do I make you feel?”

“Chenle, I—” You blush despite the situation.

“You don’t have to be shy with me, baby. Let me help you.” He repeats his previous movement, and you watch as his eyes flutter from the pleasure. “I can tell you how it feels for me.”

You nod. “Please.”

The pace he sets is slow but has electricity coursing through your veins anyway. He continues to pull out almost all the way, just to allow you to experience the entirety of his length rubbing against your inner walls.

He gulps, pressing his lips to your ear. “You’re divine, darling. You’re squeezing me so tight, I could stay here forever. It’s like you were fucking made for me, soaked and so fucking warm, baby, you take me so well.”

Everything he does is like a lightning strike, every fiber in your muscles breaking down as you yearn for this completion. You know you’ll never be able to stay away from him. Even if you don’t finish, this journey is just as good as the destination.

“Feels like I’m on fire,” you whisper. Thankfully, your eyes are closed, or he’d see them roll back. “You’re everywhere and it’s still not enough.”

He picks up his pace a bit, and a moan tumbles from your lips. He holds himself up on one of his elbows, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“That’s it.” He kisses you, gently biting at your bottom lip as he pulls away. “I could never have enough of you. Need you always. Forever.”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, and despite the pleasure clouding your brain, you allow those words to sink in through your skin and bones, deeper still until they reach your soul. There, they repeat over and over again until they’re permanently tattooed upon every recognizable piece of yourself. The hand on your thigh skirts downwards, his palm pressing on your abdomen as his thumb brushes your clit. You jolt and whine, digging your nails into his shoulders. He curses, but doesn’t let up. As the knot forms in your stomach, you open your eyes to watch Chenle, his face scrunched in pleasure as your walls flutter around him as your high approaches. He doesn’t look away from you, and as you lift your hips to match his thrusts, his fist clenches the sheets next to your head.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, his thumb never faltering in pace as he rocks his hips against yours. “You’re so perfect, darling. Gonna let me feel you cum?”

Between the slide of his length inside you and the pressure on your sensitive bud, you’re dazed at best. You nod, gripping onto him.

“I’m so close,” you whimper. “God, I want it so bad.”

Chenle adjusts his hips, and the next time he thrusts in, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars. You’ve never unraveled like this before, but your body shakes as overwhelming pleasure takes over, your vision spotting as you cry out and grip onto your husband. Your toes curl as he quickens his pace, and it doesn’t take much longer for him to press himself as deep as he can to finish in the condom. His body slumps on top of yours, his chest heaving as he presses his lips across your hot skin.

“(Y/N)...” he says between pants. “Oh, my God.”

You let out a breathless giggle. “I didn’t do any of the work.”

“Promise you, just you being here is more than enough for me.” He kisses your cheek and gently removes your legs from his waist. “I’ll be right back.”

You stop yourself from whining at the loss of him inside you, but as he goes to dispose of the condom, you get yourself clothes to put on. You slide a new pair of panties on before setting your silk pajama set on the bed.

Chenle’s arm wraps around your waist, and he presses his back to your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.” You chuckle. “What should I be doing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He presses a kiss to the base of your neck. “Supposed to be naked in bed and waiting for me.”

“Ah, is that so?” You pretend to be in thought, tapping your fingers on his wrist.

“Mhm. Don’t you know bare skin-to-skin contact promotes good bonding?” He pulls you away from the foot of the bed and guides you back to where he left you. “Bet you’ll sleep better, too.”

The two of you climb into bed together, and despite the way your internal temperature is much too high, you still thrive in the extra warmth of his embrace. You rest your head on his chest, his nails gently scratching up and down your back. He falls asleep first, his steady breathing nearly lulling you as well. You adjust your head on the pillow so you can see the softness of his features, and you allow yourself to reach up and trace along his cheekbone. If anyone had asked you at the beginning if you’d ever thought a moment as intimate as this were possible, you’d quickly tell them no. There was no way you’d ever let yourself be so vulnerable with anyone. Especially not someone who has no obligations to you other than legally marrying you.

But this is more. It’s so much more than a business arrangement, and maybe a part of you has always known that. It wasn’t hating him you were scared of, but loving him.

But here you are. And you’re long past falling.

Your morning is unfortunately hectic in the wake of the events of last night. Of course, you should’ve expected moments of relaxation in your marriage to be nearly non-existent, but neither you nor Chenle wanted to get out of bed. Despite that, today you planned on going to the address listed on the bank account. You roped Jisung in, even though he didn’t know all the details. He’s your cousin, after all, and he wasn’t going to let you do anything potentially dangerous on your own. Although, you’re not sure he could do anything in a ‘dangerous’ situation anyway. He may be physically giant, but he truly acted like a teddy bear.

You and Jisung sit in the backseat while the driver takes you to the house, and you’re flipping through a binder of papers while Jisung is on his phone.

“You know.” He pauses, waiting for your attention. “I stopped by your house last night.”

You turn to him and frown. “You did? How come I didn’t see you?”

“When I arrived, the staff said it would be best not to interrupt you at the time. They didn’t really say why, but I can only imagine. Either you and Chenle were in the process of murdering each other, or you guys are really going all in on the heir making.”

Your face heats up and you scratch your head. “I—I took your advice, is all. We’re kind of trying to figure things out, I think.”

“Uh huh. So the turtleneck isn’t a strategic move?”

“Park Jisung!” You push his shoulder. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“No, of course not.” He bites back his teasing grin. “I’m just saying, it’s good that you’re opening up to him. You guys are pretty much stuck together, so you should at least try to make the best of things.”

“But yes, we are certainly…making the best of things.” You grin to yourself and focus back on your binder.

“So, I can stop hearing your dad complain about no heir news soon?” He rolls his eyes. “That man is truly insufferable.”

You shake your head. “Can’t say the possibility is zero, but we used protection, so probably not. And yes, my father is insufferable. When he came over last time, he implied Chenle was impotent in front of both of his parents.”

“I’m shocked by both—why not try for pregnancy if you’re already sleeping together? And why would you not being pregnant after two months mean Chenle’s impotent?”

“You just live for drama, don’t you?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. “My husband would prefer to only have a family if it’s a real one. Meaning we would love each other. And I don’t question my father’s logic. I’m not sure how he got as far as he has in business when he lacks so much common sense. Like I’m a breeding mule or something.”

“Huh.” Jisung pauses and slumps back against his seat. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Andy. None of this is short of hard work.”

Your driver opens the door, and before Jisung can respond, you’re stepping onto the sidewalk. The house in front of you is in a suburb, an exact replica of everything else around it. It’s not remarkable by any means. For someone making over half a million dollars every year, they sure do still live modestly.

“Don’t say a word,” you warn Jisung. “I’ll handle this.”

“Considering I have no idea what’s going on, I will happily let that happen.”

You stop at the front door, knocking three times. Standing completely rigid, you wait for anyone to answer. Once it opens, you’re confronted by a surprised woman. Her hair is long and black, reaching the center of her back. Brown eyes widen in shock.

“You can’t be here.” She moves to shut the door, but Jisung stops it over your shoulder.

“I’m—”

“You’re Chenle’s wife. I know who you are.” Her jaw tightens. “You need to go.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option. I’m here on company business, because apparently someone decided sending $143,000 a quarter to your bank account was acceptable. You can let me in, or we can make a spectacle out here. It’s your choice.”

The woman, who can’t be too far from your age, blinks through her frustration and opens the door wider for you to step inside. You do, and she gestures to the couch.

“Have a seat. I’ll grab us all some water.” She exits the room, and you and Jisung sit down on the couch.

Despite you being resilient in hiding your nerves from people, Jisung is able to read you like a book. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Jisung warns you quietly. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Right. Only her being familiar enough with my husband to only use his first name. Not a big deal at all.” You clench your fists together.

“You said he had no idea about the payments.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know her.” You shake your head. “He has no idea I’m here.”

Movement catches your attention, and you see eyes peeking around the corner. Your jaw drops before you can stop yourself, and then the small child steps into the open. You grasp onto Jisung’s sleeve, and those conclusions he told you not to jump to? Yeah, you dive into them.

“Who are you?” he asks. He can’t be more than four, and he looks achingly familiar.

“Jisung,” you whisper.

Jisung leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m Jisung. Who are you?”

“My name is Yichen.” He walks over and sits on the coffee table in front of you and your cousin. “I’m almost five.”

“Wow,” Jisung feigns surprise. “You’re getting so old.”

“That’s what my mommy says, too.” He scrunches up his face.

You’re struggling to breathe at this point, and that’s when Sujia decides to come back. She curses under her breath the second she recognizes her child in the room, and she quickly sets the glasses of water down before shooing him back up the stairs. You’re suddenly, painfully aware of Chenle telling you he’s been in love before. Of knowing there are women out there he’s wanted in the same way he’s sure he wants you.

“I think I’m going to puke,” you whisper to Jisung, careful not to let Sujia hear. “You don’t think…?”

Before Jisung can confirm or deny whether your suspicions are valid, Sujia sits across from you on the couch. The first thing you do is look for a ring on her finger, and when you don’t find one, you feel an unmistakable lump form in your throat.

“Why are you here?” she asks. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to. I haven’t told anyone anything, and my son and I are peacefully living far away from everything.”

“That’s the issue. I haven’t the faintest clue who you struck some sort of deal with for this money, nor do I know why. And if you want the payments to continue, you’ll tell me everything.”

“Is there something in specific you’d like to ask?” She frowns.

“What makes you say that?”

“You suddenly look like you’re ready to rip my throat out,” Sujia retorts.

“The child. Is he Chenle’s?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Sujia visibly recoils, eyes widening as she glances between you and Jisung. “You…Are you joking? Of course not. Chenle—dear God, Chenle’s my brother.”

You swear your life flashed before your eyes, and as you drop your head into your hands, you let out a shaky sigh of relief. Your heart still races, but it starts to slow at the news that your husband doesn’t have a secret child.

“I’m sorry, your brother?” Jisung asks. “I wasn’t aware Chenle had any siblings.”

“No one is. That’s why we’re receiving the payments.” She pauses, wetting her lips. “Chenle’s father—our father—met my mother many years ago. I see him quite often, and he’s aware he has a grandchild. I figured he never told Chenle, and this confirms my suspicions. Considering his parents never divorced, I can only assume it’s because she is also unaware.”

“He recently became aware of the payments.” Because of you. “And quite honestly, I don’t think this news will sit well with him.”

“Don’t.” Sujia shakes her head frantically. “Don’t tell him. We…We need that money, okay? And he has full power to take it away from us.”

“Do you know anything about him?” you ask her.

“Just what our father told me.”

“Chenle is exponentially kind. He’d never simply cut ties and leave you to struggle. It’s not like you lied to him by choice.” You take a deep breath and brush your skirt off. “He’s the best man I know. And for that reason, I could never intentionally keep this from him. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Sujia runs her tongue along her teeth.

“And on the off chance he doesn’t continue payments, I will personally make sure you’re okay.”

“You actually care about him.” She tilts her head at you.

“It’s hard not to care for someone like him.” You stand up. “I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. And for thinking your child was my husband’s. Thank you for talking to me. Can we exchange numbers? I can keep you updated on how things go.”

You make haste of retrieving her number, and then you and Jisung leave the house. Once you're back in the car, you let out a long, pent up breath. You tug your fingers through your hair and curse quietly.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks.

“Honestly? I’m okay now that I know this isn’t Chenle’s fuck up.” You nod. “I think I need to pay his father a visit.”

“You’re going to confront…his father?”

“I’m going to confirm the story, obviously. And if it’s true, I’m going to tell him what an incredible fuck up he is.” You turn off the emotions switch, your face going stone cold. “Chenle looks up to that prick.”

When you arrive at his parents’ house, you’re greeted by staff and Chenle’s mother. Jisung opts to stay in the car, and his mother rushes to bring you further into the house.

“Ah, (Y/N), what a pleasant surprise.”

Not if she doesn’t know about the secret child.

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“Chenle requested I bring these files for his father. Is he here?” You smile at her.

“Of course. He’s in his office. It’s down the hall, all the way to the back on the right.” She pats your shoulder.

You bow your head to her in thanks, and then you make your way down the hall. Knocking once, you await his confirmation to walk in. He sits behind the giant desk, glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. You note a lot of Chenle’s features come from him, but you can’t believe how vastly different they truly are.

“(Y/N).” He leans back on his chair. “Was I expecting you?”

“No.” You approach him and drop the paper with her bank account information on it. “Liu Sujia.”

His eyes widen, barely noticeably, and he looks at you. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Did you think no one would notice payments that high to a random bank account? From the company?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. A bank account means nothing. You can’t even be sure I was the one facilitating such payments. Chenle has been CEO for years now, so it’s been under his nose, too—”

“I don’t need your excuses. Or your explanations. You’re not my father, and quite frankly, I don’t care about the state of your family.” You glare at the man in front of you. “But I also spoke with Ms. Liu. She has a child. Your grandson, and Chenle’s nephew. You think he doesn’t deserve to know?”

“If you don’t care about the state of my family, why are you doing this now?”

“Because I care about my family. And the second Chenle married me, he became part of it. And while you may not love your son, I do. I won’t let you lie to him.” The words fall right out without a second thought, and you fight the embarrassment of admitting your feelings to his father before Chenle.

“So, why come here? Why not go right to Chenle?”

“I’m sure he will have his own things to say to you later. I wanted the chance to let you know, objectively, what a selfish asshole you are. Your son idolizes you for the life you built for him. For showing him that a man can be loyal to a wife he may not love, if not for his child’s sake. But you weren’t. Everything he respects you for is a lie, and you’re despicable for being okay with that.”

“How dare you come into my home and talk to me this way?” His eyebrows furrow in anger, and he leans forward, but you don’t even flinch.

“I don’t fear you,” you hiss at him. “You are human, just like everyone else. If you deserve to be scolded like a child, I have no problem being the only one with enough balls to do it. If you lose Chenle because of this, I hope you lie in your fucking grave. I’ll pay people to dance on it.”

You turn your back on him, throwing the door open and stomping down the hallway before you give him the opportunity to say anything else. Sending a smile towards Chenle’s mother, you nod once at her before walking back outside to your car.

Gaining the courage to tell Chenle takes much longer than you’d like. You get back to your office, finding Chenle waiting for you. He smiles at you, one of his genuine, happy ones, and presses a quick kiss to your lips as you approach him.

“I never thought I’d find a time where the CEO’s not busy,” you tease him. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured we could take a break and go get some lunch.” He tugs you closer. “It’s been a long day, and all I want is to be with my wife. Is that so wrong?”

You purse your lips and tilt your head. “Wrong? No. Crazy? Maybe a smidge.”

“Wow, you just called me crazy. That hurt.” He chuckles.

“How about we just order something and eat it here?” you ask. “I have a bunch of stuff to do, but I would love for you to be with me.”

“Of course. What did you want to eat? I’ll tell the secretary to order it.”

“Whatever you’re thinking is good,” you tell him, leaning back on your desk. “I’m not too picky.”

“I’ll be right back.” He kisses your cheek, and when he closes the door behind him, you let out a sigh. It feels like you’re lying to him now, but you couldn’t drop something huge like that on him now.

Not when he was looking at you with such affection. What if you telling him this makes him hate you, too?

When he comes back, he sits across from you and rests his head on his palm. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just acting…different, I don’t know. Is this about last night? Did I do something wrong?” His forehead creases with worry, and your heart sinks in your chest.

“No, no, last night was good. I really liked last night.” You try to fight off the embarrassment at your words, but it doesn’t work very well. The tips of your ears burn.

“Okay.” He reaches across the desk and grabs your hand. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on. As long as I’m not the one making you feel that way, I can wait until you want to talk about it.”

“Chenle,” you whisper, squeezing him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.” You glance down. “For not being what I expected.”

“I want to take care of you. Not because I think you can’t, but because I want to. I can be a safe space for you, and I’d never do anything to harm that image.”

You stand up and walk over to him, grabbing both of his hands. “I think I might be able to let you do that.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this.” He pulls you closer until you’re straddling his lap. “You amaze me every day.”

“We’re at work,” you scold him.

“I don’t see you trying to move,” he teases, palms exploring your back. “I was kinda sad we had to rush this morning. I would’ve loved to just lay there with you for as long as possible.”

You relax on top of him, fighting a smile as you study him closely. “I need to stop wearing lipstick.”

“Why?” he asks. “Do you wanna kiss me again?”

“I want to kiss you a lot.” You nod.

“I can wipe lipstick off.”

“What if mine gets smudged?”

“Tell people to mind their business. We’re newlyweds.” He watches your expression as his hands dip down to grip your ass through your dress. “I think the newlywed era started yesterday. Because all I want to do is be with you. All over you. Inside you.”

“Jesus Christ, Chenle.” You smack his chest. “Composure.”

He grins. “C’mon. You were thinking it, too.”

“We certainly can’t do it here,” you tell him.

“It’s my building.”

You give him a pointed look. “I’m trying to get your employees to respect me. They won’t if they think I’m here simply because I let you screw me on the desk.”

“I gave you the position before I ever even slept with you.”

“They don’t know that.” You roll your eyes and clamber off his lap. “There actually is something I wanted to talk to you about later at home. Are you leaving at a decent time?”

“I figured we’d leave together whenever you were done. If that’s okay.” Chenle clasps his hands together in his lap.

“Perfect.”

Before you do anything else with him, you need to tell him about his father. You just hope you don’t lose your husband in the process.

You bring the binder home with you. On the car ride home, you loop your arm through Chenle’s and rest your head on his shoulder. He can sense your nervous energy and tries to soothe you with a kiss to your head. You and Chenle go upstairs, and you sit on the edge of the bed. He follows suit despite your nerves transferring into him the longer you stay silent.

“I wanted to talk to you about that charge we found.” You put your hand on his knee. “And it’s a lot, okay? So I just want you to listen to me.”

He frowns but nods in response.

“Jeno and Jisung helped me with it. Jeno found out the account belonged to a woman, and there was an address associated with it. Jisung went with me to the house, and when we got there, I met with the woman.” You pause and scratch the top of your head. “She has a little boy. He’s almost five. And to be honest, it was a possibility in my head that you might’ve…I don’t know, accidentally fathered a child, but thankfully, it wasn’t that.”

“(Y/N), who is she?”

“She’s your sister. Your half-sister, I guess.” You gulp, refusing to make eye contact with him. “And the little boy is your nephew.”

“Oh.” His voice shakes uncharacteristically, and he inhales.

“Your dad has been paying her and her mother off for years so you and your mother didn’t find out.” You close your eyes. “And she begged me not to tell you because she’s scared she’ll stop receiving her money. Which I get, honestly, but I couldn’t keep this from you. Not when I know how—”

“(Y/N), please. I need a second.” He drops his head in his palms. His jaw tightens, and he angles his gaze to the ceiling.

“Come here,” you murmur, opening your arms for him. Immediately, he melts into your grasp, resting on your chest as you stroke the top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He grasps the fabric of your dress in his fist as he uses you to ground himself. “The whole time I admired him for being better, he just fucking sucked?”

You can’t tell if it’s anger or sadness that makes his voice shake.

“You’re sure?”

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he tells you. “You didn’t do this.”

“No, I didn’t, but I love you, Chenle. I hate seeing you like this.” You and Chenle both tense up. He lifts his head to look at you, and your heart nearly shatters at the welled up tears in his eyes. You keep looking at him, more than nervous for his response.

“What?” His voice is hoarse, almost like it’s caught in his throat. “What did you say?”

“It’s not important right now, okay? I wasn’t thinking.” Your own tears form, and you try your best to blink them away. “No thinking, just feeling didn’t really work in this situation, huh?”

“You love me?” He cups your cheek and turns you to him. “Do you mean that?”

“Are you kidding me?” You scoff. “Of course, I do.”

You shouldn’t have done that now, given how overwhelmed he is, but it truly slipped out. He stares at you in shock, and when he parts his lips, a tear slips down his cheek. You shake your head, reaching forward and wiping it away with your thumb.

“Don’t cry,” you say. “This is all so much, I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like this, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing. Please.”

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“Darling, at this point, you’re the only one who hasn’t.” He rests his forehead on yours. “And you…you loving me makes all of this worth it. Nobody has that power over me when I have you by my side.”

“I do. I love you.” You sniffle and hold him tighter.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you walk into the room. I love you when you’re a thousand steps ahead of me, and I love you when you’re walking my pace. All the time, without fail and without reprieve.”

Every bit of oxygen is stolen right from your lungs, and all you want to do is scream and cry and punch his father in the face. Such a pathetic man doesn’t deserve a son like Chenle.

“Zhong Chenle, you’ve broken me in all the best ways. That terrible wall, the shell around my heart…I don’t want to face the world alone anymore. I need you with me.” You rub your thumbs along his cheeks, swiping up the next couple tears that fall.

“I will be better than my father. Than yours. We’ll do this the right way, okay?” He inhales sharply.

“I don’t doubt that one bit.” You lean forward and kiss his forehead. “What are you thinking? What do you want to do about all of this?”

“I’d like to meet her. My sister. And my nephew.” He chews the inside of his cheek. “She won’t have to worry about money. We’ll have to stop paying her through the company, but it’ll come out of our personal account. If that’s alright with you.”

“Somehow, I had a feeling you’d say that. Of course, that’s okay with me.”

“Can you set that up please?” he asks softly. “I honestly don’t know how, and she already knows you so…”

“You don’t have to explain. I’ll do it.” You run your fingers through his hair. “You’re the bravest person I know. Not everyone would handle it the way you are.”

“We’ll figure this out, yeah?”

“Between the two of us, there’s not a problem in this world we couldn’t solve.” You kiss the tip of his nose and stand from the bed, holding your hand out to him.

“What?”

“I was thinking we could take a bath. Help each other relax.”

He gives you a tired smile and nods. “That sounds amazing.”

You start the water and put a more-than-appropriate amount of the bubble bath liquid in it. Tying your hair up to prevent it from getting wet, you smile to yourself when you feel Chenle’s hands on your waist.

“Need some help getting this off?” He tugs on your dress.

“I might need help with everything,” you hum, letting your eyes flutter shut as he unzips your dress.

Once it's thrown across the room, you unbutton Chenle’s shirt, pushing it from his shoulders. Soon enough, both of you are beneath water and bubbles, and his arms are locked firmly around your waist. You rest against his chest, allowing the lavender scent to soothe your stress.

“Y’know what we’re missing?” you mumble. “Champagne.”

“I can have someone bring it to us. Just say the word.” He kisses your temple.

You shake your head. “We’re naked.”

“They’re professionals.” He laughs and squeezes you. “And I can have them leave it in the bedroom.”

“Right, and make sure there’s a heart made out of flower petals on the bed.” You roll your eyes.

“You can have anything you desire, (Y/N). You’re my wife. The sky’s truly the limit.” He explores your skin out of curiosity, mapping his way around your body.

You sit up and look over your shoulder at him. “You know what I want?”

He raises his eyebrows in response.

“I want it all.” You grab his hand. “I want you. The good days and the bad ones. Whatever trial comes our way, I want us to figure it out together.”

“Do you…Do you actually want children? Or is that something you feel like you have to do?” he asks.

“Honestly, I don’t know. There was a brief moment when I met Sujia and Yichen that I thought…I thought that he could’ve been yours. I mean, he looks like you a little bit, but he’s your nephew so that’s not weird. When that became a possibility in my head, it hurt. Stung, is more like it. I guess I figured that any children you’d have would be mine as well, and to think there were others you might have—”

“Darling,” he coos, tightening his grip on you. “I promise you, I do not have any secret children. Nor will I ever. You will be very, very aware of any child I have. I don’t want them if it’s not with you.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“That’s good.” You nod and lean back against him once more. “We have time to think about it, right?”

“Take as much time as you need.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You hesitated to have Chenle meet Sujia so quickly. A week passes before you consider reaching out to her, and you know Chenle is waiting for it. She has to be too, at this point, probably worried about whether or not her money supply was going to be cut off. He has yet to confront his father, but you assume that will come with time. For now, you’re curled up next to him in bed, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. Finally, it’s a rest day for you both, and you get to spend the whole day with him uninterrupted.

His fingers run through your hair, a deep breath passing by his lips. “Darling.”

“Hm?” You move closer to him, burying your head in his neck.

“Kiss me?”

You don’t hesitate to do as he asks, humming against his lips as the two of you connect. He shifts to his side to get closer to you, his hand trailing from your hip, down your leg, until he finds the back of your knee. Pulling your leg over his waist, he shuffles closer to you, pressing his body to yours.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, smiling.

“Loving you,” he replies easily, sliding his hand back up to your ass. The thin fabric of your shorts does little to hide the sensation of him squeezing you. You don’t mean to gasp, but you attempt to distract him by tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Tell me what you want.” You pull back to get a good look at him.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he admits. “How fucking good you made me feel.”

“More.”

“You’ve been telling me you love me for a week now and I haven’t been able to hear it when I’m inside you. God, I never thought I’d be like this. It’s only been a week.” He squeezes you harder, pushing his hard length against you.

As he grinds himself slowly into your core, you curse and wrap your arms around him. “Why did you wait this long?” you ask him breathlessly.

“Didn’t wanna push you.” He kisses along your neck, nipping wherever he can reach. “Don’t want you to think this is all I want. Fucking been hard all day, darling. Every time you walked into the fucking room all week, instantly ready to bend you over.”

Your body shudders as you process his words. “Why don’t you lay back? Let me take care of you.”

“I need you so bad,” he groans. “I could cum just hearing you talk like that.”

You push him onto his back and quickly straddle him. Rolling your hips, you curse under your breath as you feel his hard length against your clit.

“Chenle,” you mutter, trailing your hands beneath his shirt. “Do you prefer ass or tits?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“You won’t regret answering.”

“Ass.”

“Perfect. Do you have a condom?” You raise your eyebrows at him.

“They’re in the bedside table—darling, I didn’t prep you yet—”

“You’re not the only one who’s needy,” you interrupt him, quickly moving to grab one of the wrappers. Before you climb on top of him again, you kiss his cheek. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, my love. You don’t have to ask.”

You shove your shorts and panties down, and as you pull at his sweats and boxers, his fists clench at his sides. His length smacks against his stomach, and he wraps his fingers around himself to relieve some of the ache. You didn’t get to see it much the first time, but you take a second to appreciate just how fucking pretty he is. He’s so hard, it’s probably starting to hurt.

He runs his thumb over the tip and gasps. “Baby, please.”

You waste no more time in getting the condom on him, and then you straddle his lap again, but backwards this time. As you quickly sink down on his length, taking him all the way inside, he moans loudly.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He drags his nails down your back until he reaches your ass, and then he grips you tightly with both hands. “You needed me, too, huh? Dripping all over me when I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You brace yourself on the mattress between his legs, and set a fast, steady pace. He moans every time you sink all the way down, and your fingers curl into the sheets. You easily ignore the ache beginning in your thighs when you listen to him and how good you’re making him feel. He spurs you on, his moans slowly turning to higher pitched whines.

“Can we—fuck, can we try something?” Chenle asks, gripping your hips to hold you still.

“Whatever you need.” You shakily lift yourself off of him, and he quickly moves from below you. He removes his shirt before aiding you in doing the same.

He guides you to arch your back, your face pressed into the mattress as your walls clench around nothing. His tip catches on your clit, and your body jolts, but you grip onto the sheets instead.

“Gonna fuck you good, darling. Wanna hear you the whole time, got it?” His voice sends needles of pleasure pricking into your spine, and you know you can ignore everything else once he’s buried inside you.

“Yes.” You nod. Your fingers curl into the sheets as he slides in. The angle has you seeing stars, and your mouth falls open at the sensation.

His hands squeeze your ass as he starts slowly, the rub of him against your walls making your legs tremble already. You worry briefly about being too distracted, but as reaches around you to put his hand between your legs, all thoughts besides the way he feels completely obliterate. He rubs your clit in pace with his thrusts, his breathing uneven as he works your body as if he’s touched you for years. You barely recognize yourself when your moans slip past your lips. You’ve never let go like this before, and through your daze, you push yourself back against him. He tentatively smacks your ass, light enough to make you crave the contact. You can’t breathe as you curse.

“Again,” you whine, your entire being on the brink of collapse. “More.”

“Earn it, baby,” he commands. “You know what I want to hear.”

You let out a shuddering breath as his tip nudges that spot inside you. “Fuck, I love you. I need more.”

He smacks you harder this time, and the loud, needy moan that pours from your lips gets distorted by the way he starts to slam his hips against you. His fingers speed up on your clit, and you’re already teetering on the edge. Sounds of your arousal emanate around the room, mixing with both of your moans. His skin clapping against yours has every muscle in your body craving the release you know is so, so close.

As your high smashes into you like a tidal wave, the pleasure is so overwhelming, you cry out and clench onto the sheets. Chenle curses as his thrusts begin to falter, but you barely hear him. You’re much too sensitive, and you whimper as his fingers still work your bud. Without warning, he pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, attempting to push back, but he grips your hips and flips you onto your back. Gasping at the sudden movement, you grab for him as he climbs over you.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“I need to see you, darling.” He inhales sharply as he pushes back inside you. “And kiss you.”

His lips connect with yours as he keeps his steady pace. His chest rubs yours, the heat almost unbearable as your tongues fight for dominance. A groan slipping out of his mouth interrupts your kiss, and next thing you know, he’s as deep as he can get, panting against your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Me too,” you reply, breathless as you run your fingers through his hair. “I love you, too.”

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He peppers kisses anywhere he can reach—your neck, your chest, your shoulders.

You shake your head. “No, I’m just a little surprised. You can tell me when you want me, you know. You don’t have to wait for me to initiate.”

“It’s been…an interesting week, you know?” He pulls out of you, kissing you softly one last time before he goes into the bathroom to get rid of the condom. When he comes back, he lays down on top of you again. “I came twice.”

You recoil, angling your head to look at him. “Just now?”

“Yep. Came when you were on top of me, too,” he hums in content. “And I’ll have you know that’s never happened to me before.”

“Had someone on top of you or finished twice?”

“The second one.” He pauses. “But I—”

“You don’t have to explain.” You snort. “I have a past, too.”

“That’s good. Don’t wanna move,” he mumbles, pushing his head further into your neck.

You laugh. “Don’t, then.”

Chenle falls asleep fairly quickly, and you kiss his forehead before wiggling out from under him. You grab a new pair of panties and slide them on before grabbing one of his button-downs. It’s much too late for any of the staff to be out and about, so you grab your phone and head to the kitchen. When you look at the screen, the worry settles back in the pit of your stomach. Sujia had texted you forty-five minutes ago, asking you for an update on the situation. After a week, you think Chenle has probably had at least a little bit of time to come to terms with everything. You text her back to let her know Chenle wants to meet her, and then you get your water. You don’t want Chenle to ever feel hurt like that again, but it’s not going to just disappear. You know better than that. But it doesn’t change how seeing him so upset broke you to pieces, too. If you could, you’d ruin anything that even tried.

He was right all along.

Being in love doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It makes you stronger. Gives you a purpose other than what is required of you when you’re from certain bloodlines. From the beginning, you were sure Chenle would never—could never—mean anything to you, and even though he told you otherwise, you had to find out for yourself. You’d start wars for him. You’d do anything to make sure he was okay, because at the end of the day, he truly is the only person to love you without conditions involved. He cares for you not because he has to, not because he’s forced to, but because he wants to. Because he chooses to. You refill the glass for Chenle and head back upstairs. When you open the door, he stirs, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he turns and sits up.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair.

“Water.” You hold the glass up and set it next to him on the bedside table. Standing at the edge of the bed, you look at him, unable to fight the small smile forming.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“You’re just…” You chuckle and shake your head. “Shut up. You’re just really cute like this.”

He holds his arm out to you. “Pinch me. I’m pretty sure I’m still dreaming.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.” You smack at his wrist.

He tugs gently on the bottom hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “I like this on you.”

“It was the first thing I found.” Embarrassment climbs through you. “Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“What part of that sounded like I wanted you to ask?” He snorts. “You’re always welcome to anything here. You should know that by now. But you’ve been away from me for way too long. C’mere.”

He opens his arms for you, and you chuckle and climb into bed next to him. When he lays on his side, he tugs you to follow suit. You listen to him, staring into his eyes while his thumb rubs on your hip through the white fabric.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For trying with me. Not running away. Letting me love you. The list is honestly endless.” He kisses your forehead. “Not to mention I really would’ve fucking lost my mind with all of that stuff last week if you hadn’t been there.”

“Speaking of.” You shuffle closer to him. “She wants to meet you. And I really think you should do it, because at the end of the day, she’s your sister, you know?”

Chenle hesitates, thousands of emotions crossing through his gaze like a storm. “You’re right. You can set it up for whenever, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Chenle.” You intertwine your fingers with his. “And I want you to know that, no matter how you’re feeling, you can tell me. I want to help you process.”

“I’ll be okay, darling. Truly. It’ll just take some time getting used to it. I do think it’ll be nice to have a sibling, although she’ll probably hate me for…I don’t know. Being legitimate?”

You laugh, burying your head in his neck. “You’re not taking her money away, so I doubt she’ll hate you.”

He hums quietly, sleep still heavy in his voice as he pulls you flush against him. “I shouldn’t be able to love you this much yet. Slow down, would you?”

“You, of all people, should know that those words do not exist in my vocabulary.” You close your eyes and breathe him in. “I love you, too.”

Sujia sets the day for the upcoming Saturday, and so while the days pass, you witness Chenle slowly lose his mind. He’s not upset at Sujia at all, but he obviously is with his father. It’s an incredibly large secret to keep from your family, so he has every right to those feelings. The entire car ride to her house, he’s squeezing your hand so hard, you fear he’ll cut the circulation off. His leg bounces restlessly, and the frown hasn’t left his face once today. The driver opens the door, and you get out first to at least attempt to lessen your husband’s nerves. You’re unfortunately aware of the straggle of photographers waiting for the two of you. While you’re not sure how they found out about this, you’re not worried about them in the slightest.

Once Chenle’s on his feet, you loop your arm in his. “Be calm. There are cameras, so at least wait until we get inside to freak out.” “Yes, ma’am.” He sends you a sly grin. The two of you approach the door, and you knock. Sujia opens the door quickly, ushering the two of you inside to prevent herself from being seen. Chenle removes his sunglasses, and you take them from him to put in your purse.

“(Y/N), it’s nice to see you again,” Sujia greets you. You nod at her. “Likewise.” “Chenle, you’re a little more intimidating in person.” She clasps her hands together. “Are you guys thirsty? I’ll get some water.” “Actually,” you say, patting Chenle’s arm. “Why don’t you two get your sibling introductions out of the way, and I’ll just play with Yichen. He’s my nephew, too, after all. And I’m pretty sure I scared him last time.” The two of them both flounder for words, neither of them wanting to be without you in a moment like this.

“It’ll be okay. Seriously. Neither of you bite, and Sujia, he’s actually really sweet. He just looks like he hates everything.” “As you can see, my wife is my biggest fan.” He presses his lips into a thin line as he fakes a glare. “Anyway.” You smile at Sujia. “I assume the child is upstairs?” “Yes, but if you want him to not be scared of you, you may want to refer to him by his name or something other than ‘the child.’” She scratches the top of her head.

“God, there is so much I could learn from you.” You separate from Chenle’s side and head for the stairs. Much to your pleasant surprise, your nephew…in-law? is already stomping down the stairs. “Oh.” The kid purses his lips. “You’re back.” “I am.” You nod and scrunch your nose up. “I figured while your mommy talks to my husband, we could…I don’t know. Play a game or something? Do kids do that?” “You’re weird.” Yichen grimaces. “But you’re nicer this time than you were last time. So yeah, we can play with the Switch.” You don’t end up actually playing, but you do watch Yichen’s game with interest. Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you analyze the process he uses when he plays every round.

“You’re smart,” you comment. “My mommy tells me that, too.” He nods, seemingly unaffected by your compliment. You pause for a moment. “Does your mom…compliment you a lot?” “Uh, I don’t know.” Yichen doesn’t start the next round, but turns to look at you. “Does your mommy compliment you a lot?” You laugh. “Yeah, no. Definitely not." “Are you—”

“Yichen,” Sujia calls out. “Can you turn the game off please? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Without a second thought, he turns the Switch off and yells to his mom to tell her he’s ready. He sits next to you on the couch, folding his hands together in his lap. You’ve met a lot of children in your day, but you never imagined one could be so well-behaved. You see the panicked look on Chenle’s face as he walks in. A laugh almost erupts from you, but you hold it back. The man is meeting his nephew for the first time and can’t seem to shake the nerves away. You can only imagine what it’ll be like when he meets his own child. You tense the second that thought crosses your mind.

When?

A legitimate chill runs down your spine, and then you realize how close Chenle has gotten. He squats down in front of Yichen, and Sujia leans against the archway into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Chenle starts. “I’m your uncle. And you’re my nephew.” “Oh, wow.” You really didn’t think it could get any worse than you. “Do you know her?” Yichen nods his head towards you. Chenle smiles. “Yeah. That’s my wife. So that makes her your aunt.” “She said her mommy doesn’t compliment her.” His eyes widen. “Is she a bad person?” Your husband lets out an exaggerated gasp. “No way. She’s the best person I know.” “How?” “Well, she told me about you and your mommy when nobody else did. She’s really, really smart and, c’mon, she’s gorgeous. What else could I want in a wife?” Chenle grins, sending a quick glance your way. “I guess you’re right.” Yichen shrugs. “Do you wanna play a game with me?” “Absolutely.” He nods in response. You stand to give Chenle room, touching his shoulder lightly as you go to stand by Sujia. Leaning on the wall next to her, you quickly realize attempting to take your eyes off of your husband is futile. “He likes kids, huh?” Sujia asks. “He really likes family,” you reply.

“Do you want children?” “Oh.” You chuckle to yourself and fold your arms over your chest. “I’m not sure. But we…don’t really have a choice. We signed a contract and heirs are part of the deal.” “I’m sorry, but I really don’t envy you,” she tells you. “At the end of the day, it’s not that bad, though.” “So, you and Chenle actually love each other.” She hums, tapping her foot. “I feel like that’s rare for people in your positions.” “It is,” you agree. “And honestly, had it been up to me at the beginning, we wouldn’t even be…friendly. We’d be tolerating each other.” "Wow, he fought for you.” Humor laces in Sujia’s voice. “Well, I told him that I’d rather tolerate him than learn one day that I might hate him instead. He was entirely right when he said it wasn’t the hate I was scared of. It was love. Of relying on someone else.” “At least you can rest assured that he would be a good father.”

You don’t respond for a moment, watching Chenle interact with his nephew. They must win something in the game, because they dramatically high five each other. The smile on Chenle’s face is wide, and your heart flutters as a result.

“Yeah.” You fight your own grin. “Yeah, he really will.”

You and Chenle are at Sujia’s for hours. It’s clear the two of them are similar, and thankfully, your husband seems to enjoy having a family member other than the ones who have disappointed him. Yichen warms up to you both, and by the time you’re leaving, he’s hugging you both goodbye and asking when you’ll be back. Chenle is still smiling as he leads you back to the car.

“That went a lot better than you thought, huh?” You ask as he helps you into the backseat.

“I don’t know what I thought.” He shakes his head. “But it’s cool not to be an only child. Even if it’s unconventional, you know? And that little kid is freakin’ cool.”

You lean on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re making the best out of this situation.”

“Actually, do you mind if we make one more stop?”

“Of course not. Where to?”

“I think it’s time I had a conversation with my father.” He pats your leg. “And I could really use your support.”

“Chenle.” You tilt your head at him. “If you don’t know by now that I would follow you anywhere, you’re not as smart as I originally thought. We may have to reconsider this whole thing.”

He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, holding back his laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that contract is pretty air tight.”

“Damn.” You roll your eyes and kiss his cheek. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest.” He lifts your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “Can’t even joke about that one.”

Chenle isn’t even nervous as the two of you approach his father’s office. He grips your hand tightly, but his resolve has never been stronger. Despite him doing this on his own, you feel an odd swell of pride deep in your chest. You’re so proud of the man he’s always been, and how he only ever wants to be better. His father already knows what’s going on the second he sees you both. At that point, Chenle releases your hand and drops his folder on the desk.

“What’s this?” his father inquires.

“A lawsuit,” Chenle replies nonchalantly.

You almost gasp in shock. And while you shouldn’t be enjoying the awkward tinge in the atmosphere, you feel like you need a bag of popcorn right now.

“I’m sorry?” He recoils in shock.

“You seem to forget that when I became CEO, you no longer had any claim to the company’s profits. And if I did my math correctly, which I did, $143,000 a quarter is roughly $572,000 a year, which is a grand total of $2,288,000 from the four years I’ve been seated in the CEO position.”

“Chenle, you have no right—”

“You don’t tell me what I have the right to do, actually.” Chenle buttons up his suit jacket. “So, you’ll be paying me back the money you owe me. That you stole from me to protect your little secret from getting out. But that must really suck, because you actually delivered a handwritten apology letter to Sujia and to your wife and your mistress and me and the employees at the company that’ll be announced in about ten minutes. To the whole world.”

“Your mother cannot know about this. Whatever you’ve done, you reverse it immediately.” The angry expression on his face does nothing but make Chenle grin.

“Your secret’s out, Dad. Crazy how you had two children and never learned how to be an actual father.” Chenle brushes himself out and points at the folder on the desk. “I’d read that. You might wanna think twice before fighting it.”

“You’ll understand one day,” his father replies. “There’s more to life than marriage, and it’s only a matter of time before you—”

“I will never be like you.” The smile immediately falls from his face. “I love my wife, and I’m not a fucking coward. I don’t need a second family because the first one wasn’t good enough for me. This is the last time you’ll hear from me. And you won’t be receiving any money from my company again. I hope you’re happy with yourself.” 

Your heart pounds in your chest, your lips parted in shock as you realize what’s happening. Your husband turns his back on his father, gently holds out his hand to you, and shoots one last ice cold glare over his shoulder as he leads you out of the room.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you laugh in disbelief. “Chenle, holy shit.”

“Dude, my adrenaline is fucking crazy right now.” He chuckles and blows out a deep breath. “That was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life.”

“This might be terrible to say, but I am…so attracted to you right now.” You blush as you squeeze his arm.

“So, nothing but good things today.” He helps you into the car.

Once he shuts the door behind him, you climb onto his lap and kiss him. He groans in surprise, his hands immediately finding their place on your ass.

“What? You like when I put people in their places?” he teases you, leaning forward to barely brush his lips on yours.

“There were a lot of things I liked from today.” You unbutton the first button on his shirt. “It was…very hot of you to absolutely destroy a man like that. You held your ground and…I don’t know. The tone of your voice was sexy.”

“My God, am I learning things about you today.”

“If it helps you, I’m also learning things about myself, so.”

“Mm, please tell me what else you’ve got hidden up your sleeve.” He squeezes your ass gently, pushing you closer so you feel him hardening in his pants.

“I think…we should throw every single condom away. Permanently. We’ll have an endless amount of babies for you to play games with. Of course, you’ll also have to tell them I’m gorgeous, but—”

“You’re serious.” His jaw drops, hope sparking behind his eyes. “Darling, you better not be joking about something like that.”

You shake your head. “I’m not joking. You were on to something when you said you wanted everything. A real life, a real love, a real family. Why don’t we have it all?”

“Right now? You want kids now?”

“If we’re gonna have twenty, we really have to start now, otherwise I’m gonna be too old—”

He cuts you off with an earth-shattering kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His fingers tangle in your hair, and you giggle into his mouth. The only thing that separates the two of you is the door opening.You gasp and climb off his lap, clearing your throat and fanning your cheeks from the embarrassment of getting caught. Your husband grips your hand and pulls you towards the house, and you can’t stop the profuse laughter escaping you as he apparently decides you’re walking too slowly and hoists you over his shoulder.

“Oh my God, Chenle, put me down.” You can barely speak through your laughs.

He only listens to you once the two of you are inside and he’s able to set you on the kitchen island.

“If you’re doubting it even a little bit, darling, you’d better tell me now.” He kisses down your neck. “Because I don’t care how fucking long it takes, we’re not stopping tonight until I get you pregnant.”

“You’re crazy.” You push his shoulder. “You have no way of knowing if you’ll—”

“Baby, don’t ruin my fun. Tell me if you really want this.”

“I do, Chenle.” You cup his cheeks, smiling at him. “I want it with you. They all need to look like you. I want at least one boy and one girl, and they’ll be best friends because—”

He kisses you again, groaning as he slides his hand beneath the skirt of your dress. “Keep talking.”

“Um, I just really think you’d be a good dad,” you say, lifting your hips so he can pull your panties down. “And, uh, you’ve proven how much family means to you, so it makes me feel safe. I—shit.”

He presses two fingers to your clit, and your body jolts. Chuckling, he traces along your pulse with his lips. “How are you so wet already?”

“Well.” You let out another breathless laugh as you grind your hips to match his pace. “It so helps that my husband is the hottest fucking man in this universe.”

“You think so highly of me,” he hums, teeth grazing your ear lobe.

“You’re cruel for this, you know.” You rock upward, and your head lolls forward. “Teasing after you clearly feel how badly I want you is just…so rude.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive me.” He moves down to your entrance and thrusts two of his fingers inside you.

You cry out, holding onto his shoulders. With a frustrated groan, you push his jacket off of him. He curls his fingers and pumps faster, thumb returning to your clit.

“Fuck, Chenle, wait.” You smack at his wrist. Even though you don’t want him to stop, you want more. He stops immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“What? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” You kiss him hard. “I need you inside me right fucking now.”

“First of all, you just scared me.” He tsks as he unbuttons his pants. “You need my cock so bad you can’t fucking take what I give you?”

Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. You shudder at his tone, shuffling closer to the edge of the counter. He pushes his pants and boxers down to the middle of his thighs, and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s hard, tip leaking precum as he spreads your legs further. The fabric of your skirt prevents him from having enough room, and the dark look in his eyes sends another burst of wetness to your core.

“Love how these skirts look on you but fucking hate how I can’t fuck you in it.” He taps your hip, and you lift yourself up so he can unzip it and tug it down quickly.

You barely even pay attention to what his doing when he pulls your ankles up to the edge of the counter and spreads your thighs apart until they begin to ache.

“Now, isn’t that a fucking view.” He wets his lips as he wraps his fingers around his cock. Thrusting into his fist a couple times, he uses his other hand to tease your clit.

“Chenle, please.” You gasp, tugging him closer.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby, I can see it.” He drags his tip along your entrance, pushing in just enough to watch the head of his cock stretch you open. He’s entranced by the way you take him so easily, his eyes focused on where the two of you connect.

Your pleasure intensifies simply by watching him so drunk on you, just appreciating the way you take him. You feel every vein in your body buzzing, and you can’t help it but to push your hand between your legs and rub your throbbing bud while he’s entranced.

“You have no fucking patience,” he hisses, grabbing your wrist and pushing it away. You whine at the loss, but his glare stops you. “I’m trying to enjoy my wife’s pussy, but she’s just so fucking needy, isn’t she?”

“Oh, God.” You grip onto the edge of the counter.

“Watch how easily you take me.” He flicks your clit. “Look.”

You let your gaze travel downward until you see his cock positioned outside your hole. Instantly, the room gets much hotter. You struggle to breathe, anticipating the stretch he gives you. His tip is covered in your arousal, but the rest of his cock has yet to feel you.

“Fuck me, Chenle,” you mutter almost incoherently. “I wanna watch.”

He finally obliges, nudging the tip between your folds again before sinking inside. He moves so slowly, you want to cry. You need more, and the stretch wreaks havoc on you when you’re watching. Every time he’d fill you up another inch, he’d pull out until his tip is barely caught inside you, and then sink in just one more inch. You’re losing your fucking mind, but you can’t take your eyes away from where he pleasures you. Finally, he bottoms out, the position of your thighs allowing him to press all the way against you, his pelvis hitting your overly sensitive clit.

“Are you ready?” he asks. “I need to fuck you.”

“You know I’m ready,” you reply, dazed from the pleasure of him seated so deeply in you.

He starts a steady pace, both of you still staring at the way you stretch to accommodate him.

“You feel so fucking good like this, darling.” He thrusts harder. “Nothing between us this time.”

You cry out when his tip hits your cervix. Your legs start to shake from how far they’re spread, but all you’re focusing on is the way your arousal shines on his cock when he’s pulling out of you. You feel every inch of him, and the way he rubs against your walls is so different without the condom. You’re fucking delirious, and every time he presses all the way inside you, the pressure on your clit has you getting closer and closer.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he groans, moving his hand down between the two of you quickly. His thumb glides over your most sensitive area, and you can no longer hold back your sounds.

“Fuck,” you cry out, legs shaking as your orgasm lingers so, so close.

“Cum for me.” He slams into you. “Not gonna fill you up ‘til you cum, darling.”

You tip and tilt over the edge, convulsing as your high hits you hard. Chenle keeps rubbing you, thrusts picking up speed as he fucks you through your euphoria. He crashes his lips to yours as he spurts inside you, covering your inner walls with white as he pants. Your whole body shakes as you hold onto him tightly. Both of you are covered in sweat, but it does little to bother either of you.

“How does it keep getting better?” you ask. “You have that effect on me.” He shrugs, chuckling as he guides your legs around his waist. “And I wasn’t kidding. We’re not done yet.” “My insides are gonna be mush.” “What if I’m gentle next time?” He kisses along your neck. “If I fuck you with your legs up, apparently it’s more likely to happen that way.” “Insatiable.” You pull back to kiss his lips. “You’re lucky I am, too. Take me upstairs.”

You don’t make it all the way upstairs. Not at first. He decides he has to take you on the couch, up against the wall next to the staircase, the desk in his office, and then your bed. By the end of the night, you’re absolutely exhausted, but you’ve never felt so fucking good in your life. And for someone who thought you could never have it all, you realize just how damn close you are to having a perfect life when you have Chenle by your side.

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 15

[chap fourteen] | [all chapters here] | [chap sixteen]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers, smut & nsfw themes

Author's Note | Yes it has been nearly 2 months since I've posted, this chapter was giving me a hard time 😭 But I finally fought off the writer's block, and now we're only a few more chapters away from the end!

WC | 5.9k

Chapter Fifteen

“I can’t believe I let you drag me into this.” You grumbled as Eddie guided you through the school hallways, to which he gave you a dazzlingly mocking smile. That self-satisfied grin was practically ear-to-ear as he looked down at you, his face alight with such glee that you briefly felt the temptation to smack the look away in retaliation.

“You didn’t have to come along.” Eddie answered with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you pulled a face at him; you were always amused by Eddie’s antics, even the ones that annoyed you, such as this.

“You say that, but I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” You countered smartly. Eddie’s grip on your hand tightened a little just to torment you.

“One night of D&D for one night at a Halloween party, I think that sounds fair enough. And I came up with a very special campaign just for you, princess, it would be a shame if you missed it.”

He gave you a taunting, perhaps even flirtatious look, and you couldn’t help your surprise - was he just saying that, or had he actually created a campaign simply because he was counting on you being there? Regardless, he made a good point, although you abhorred to admit it.

Yesterday afternoon, you’d overheard some of your peers excitedly talking about a Halloween party coming up next week, and it caught your attention - you loved parties and you loved Halloween too much not to become curious.

So, you eavesdropped, getting what details you could. The party was hosted by Chance Hunter, whose family was very well known for their parties - it started with his oldest brother back when he was still in school, and the tradition continued with the middle brother and finally Chance. For the past ten years, everyone at Hawkins High knew a party at the Hunter house meant getting absolutely trashed and totally fucked up.

You’d had your own share of wild memories from past parties hosted by Chance - not good memories necessarily, but undeniably chaotic ones. Getting into spats with people after drinking too much, trying coke for the first time - parties hosted by the Hunters were total mayhem, and yet you all kept going back for more like a bunch of sadists.

So, having heard all the details about the party coming up next week, you insisted to Eddie that the two of you had to go, that he had to experience at least one party at the Hunters’ before he graduated. And he was not wholly eager to go to a high school party, although you insisted it wasn’t like any shit he’d probably seen before. It took some back-and-forth for you to get him to agree, but only if you came to a session with the Hellfire Club; you had laughed at the idea before you realized that he was being deathly serious. You were half-tempted to say the party wasn’t worth it, but then Eddie seemed to look actually disappointed, so you begrudgingly agreed so that you didn't hurt his feelings too much.

This god damn crush was going to be the death of you.

Thus, here you were, entering the drama room to the sight of everyone else already sitting around a table, a bit of a sneer on your face as they looked back at you with surprised confusion. You could practically feel how large Eddie’s smile was as he dragged you across the room, eagerly pulling up a chair for you, although the seat was dwarfed in comparison to the stupid throne at the head of the table; if this weren’t the theatre room, you’d wonder why the fuck Eddie had a throne in the first place.

“How’d you convince her to come here?” Grant asked with a laugh, to which you glared; the group of boys was starting to grow accustomed to your presence and, unfortunately, that meant they also weren’t quite as scared of you as they once were. Nor were you quite as annoyed by them as you used to be.

“Much persuasion.” Eddie responded in a comedic, low voice, as if he were already getting into character as Dungeon Master; the title made you burst out laughing when he first said it, to which you received a sharp glare.

Really, Eddie didn’t think you’d agree to come along when he first mentioned this - he threw out the Dungeons and Dragons suggestion because he figured you’d say “no,” that you’d rather skip a good party than be even a spectator to his hobby. Considering what happened at the last party you two attended together, Eddie was initially anxious about what could happen should you go to another; he enjoyed kissing you far too much, and he worried that if given another opportunity to do so, he’d have a much harder time keeping himself together.

Prior to that party at Rick’s place, Eddie already knew he was royally screwed - his crush on you had developed so damn quickly that it nearly gave him whiplash. Despite the fact that you were mean just for the sake of it, that you were frigid half the time, that you were stubborn and willing to fight with him… Eddie had still managed to fall for you like a total sap.

From that first “date” when you two actually found things to laugh about together, Eddie was already growing charmed by you, and even at the time he knew that was a dangerous thing. And as the weeks carried on, it only became easier for Eddie to see you as his - you actually went to his band’s gigs, you were open to trying new things with him, you willingly apologized to him despite it clearly being a near impossible task for you. Eddie knew better than to catch feelings for you, but in the span of only a few short weeks he was head over heels.

And really, he’d always thought you were gorgeous, which didn’t help the situation any - Eddie shouldn’t have let your pretty face get to him, but he just couldn’t help himself. 

He noticed you from the first moment you sat down at the desk in front of him in history class back in ‘82; you collapsed into the seat with an annoyed huff at something, flipping your hair so that it fell onto the notebook that he was doodling in. Your carelessness had irked Eddie, especially because you always seemed to be invading his space - an irony, considering that he learned later of your disdain for being touched. Your hair or your elbow were always on his desk. Sure, he could’ve said something to you about it, but he had found enjoyment in the scent of your shampoo and the way your elbow would accidentally nudge his hand, prompting you to jump a little and quickly yank your arm to your side.

Hell, the one time Eddie walked into the classroom to find you sitting on his desk while caught up in conversation, it made him nervous; although he’d built this reputation for himself of being a freak willing to say and do anything, he couldn’t find it in his power to ask you to simply move. You were so cold, hence the nickname bestowed upon you by peers, and he found that quality to be both terrifying and hypnotizing at the same time.

Then there was that day when you accidentally knocked over your bag when the bell rang, and Eddie immediately jumped to help collect your scattered belongings without a second thought. While others stepped around the two of you, you watched in surprise as the resident freak picked up pens and erasers, a stray tube of lipstick in a color that was now discontinued. It was the first time Eddie got to see your genuine smile, and he was riding that high for the rest of the week. It had only lasted for a split second because your friends were calling you to hurry up, but you gave him that dazzling smile, not even saying a word as you then breezed past him and out the door.

Back then, Eddie had enough wherewithal to avoid ever developing feelings for you - you were bitchy, you had an attitude problem, and you were prone to rudeness constantly. You made it easy for him, in that respect - he could look at your pretty face all he wanted, but feel no desire to get to know you any better. So what if you had an amazing smile and he loved the smell of your hair? Eddie didn’t need to get hung up on a popular girl with seemingly no redeeming qualities.

Following that school year, Eddie figured it was just a crush-by-proximity - you two hadn’t had a class together after that, so he never saw you and, therefore, never really thought about you. And so it stayed that way, until this year - when he saw you sitting in math class on that first day of school, he was briefly reminded of the sweet smell of your shampoo, of that smile that he’d never seen on your face again. But that was that, or so Eddie thought.

Seeing you, the ice princess, waiting for him at the picnic table on that fateful day was nearly startling to him; he’d already guessed that the note in his locker was from some preppy chick if the handwriting was any indicator, but for whatever damn reason you hadn’t even crossed his mind. You made him feel nervous immediately, although he was never going to let that on. No, he played up his confidence and his antics, keeping you on your toes so that he wouldn’t feel so damn anxious around you and your cruel stare.

Hell, before that meeting at the picnic tables, he’d never really taken notice of the charming sound of your voice or the pretty color of your eyes, but then those things immediately became all he could think about. Eddie knew he shouldn’t have agreed to your crazy idea, but for whatever damn reason, he couldn’t turn you down; even then, a part of him wanted to give you everything he possibly could, as crazy as that was.

Like an idiot, he tried to set out rules for himself, much like your attempts to create rules for the fake relationship:

Don’t let all the pretend dating get to his head

Keep his distance whenever possible

No spending time with you unnecessarily

Don’t get stupidly jealous of your ex

Follow your lead

It seemed simple enough, and yet Eddie managed to break all of his rules in rapid succession, one right after the other. He should’ve known things wouldn’t go according to plan, that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated and that he was just a means to an end.

But then Rick’s party happened, and you threw Eddie and his entire perspective for a goddamn loop. Leading up to that, he already knew things were different between you two, but he couldn’t have predicted that you’d drunkenly kiss him, let alone with the fervor in which you did it. Shit, that night made his head spin, and foolishly he thought maybe that kiss had meant something, that maybe you’d admit that you were secretly harboring feelings for him, too.

Considering the kind of whirlwind that life had been since then, Eddie couldn’t even venture to guess if there was actually something going on between the two of you or not. Clearly you were friends, clearly you’d come to depend on his companionship, but he couldn’t possibly fathom that you actually liked him in the same way he liked you.

Yet you'd get nervous when he looked at you a certain way, or you’d avert your gaze when he said something suggestive; you’d get a particular look on your face when Eddie was being serious about a subject, or you’d bite your lip if you two locked eyes for too long. How was he supposed to interpret it when you’d grow tense at his touch, or when he’d lean in too close and your eyes would go wide?

And, fuck, Eddie hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that day when you looked as if you were going to drool over the goddamn ketchup on his fingers. That look on your face had taken up permanent residence in his head, making his alone time all the more torturous when he tried in vain not to think about you.

Eddie couldn’t resist laying it on extra trick following that, flirting with you more blatantly just to see how you’d react. Clearly, he made you nervous, but he couldn’t quite tell why - was the flirting a good thing or a bad thing, did you love it or loathe it?

Could he have just asked you directly what you were feeling? Yes, Eddie supposed he could, but he wasn’t particularly brave enough for that potentially cruel rejection.

Sure, whatever may or may not be going on between the two of you was odd, ridiculous even, but Eddie would much rather deal with that than risk losing it by asking you the all too simple question. He could handle a whole year of this tension so long as it meant spending time with you, so Eddie chose not to have that potentially fatal discussion.

And so, you two were in something of a limbo, stuck in a way that the both of you had come to accept, silly as it may be.

Once Eddie was settled into his throne (which you still rolled your eyes at), he reminded everyone of where they left off in their adventure, the recap confusing you as an unwilling spectator.

 “Now, gentlemen, if you remember our last meeting, you were all left penniless following a camp raid, and the party is in desperate need of funds in order to continue this quest.” Eddie looked eagerly around the group, a wicked smile on his lips as he settled his gaze on you; you gave him a suspicious look, suddenly nervous about why exactly he was staring at you like that.

He returned his animated face to the group around the table, “Luckily, you're only about a day’s trek from the Ten Towns Valley of Icewind Dale; you have enough supplies to make that journey, but you won’t make it any further without funds and the proper equipment. It might be in your best interest to visit the tyrannical Ice King who rules this realm - there’s rumor he’s willing to pay a handsome fee for those daring enough to accept the quest he has in store.”

As the group began to excitedly talk amongst themselves about what this side quest may be, you stared at Eddie with intrigue, to which he simply gave you a giddy look. He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Excited yet?”

“For what?” You questioned, although you already knew this had something to do with the “special” campaign he claimed to have come up with. But instead of answering you, Eddie winked with a charming smile, looking back at the club with faux seriousness.

“Well, what’s the party’s decision?”

The group all exclaimed, voices overlapping as they agreed to visit this Ice King character.

At that moment, you realized what Eddie may be implying with that title, and you quickly shot him a look; as if he could read your mind, his smile grew larger with anticipation. As you two stared at one another, you narrowed your eyes even as you resisted an amused grin, challenging him to explain to you what was going on, but Eddie wouldn’t budge.

It felt like a whirlwind trying to keep up with all the chatter and excitement amongst the boys, your eyes bouncing around the room as they talked over each other, asked Eddie questions, and laughed at jokes that went over your head. Within only a few minutes, you were growing more confused and, thus, more annoyed, and so you tried to find something to keep you preoccupied - you fussed with your nails, flipped through a book, anything to distract you while you were stuck sitting here in the middle of this silly game.

The boys hollered and howled together as they speculated what the quest might be, as they debated how the story might unfold. On occasion, your ears would perk up when Eddie would put on some voice while the group went on their “journey,” but you’d just as quickly become disengaged again.

Eventually something significant must have happened, because abruptly Eddie grabbed the fold-out chair you sat in and dragged it closer to him, causing you to yelp in surprise; the sharp sound of the chair legs whining against the floor made the entire room yell in annoyance and frustration. You gave Eddie a glare, your face knotted as if your ears were ringing, but he seemed entirely unphased as he threw his arm around you; for good measure, you half-heartedly smacked him in the chest as you continued glowering.

“Brave explorers,” Eddie began in a deeper voice, going so far as to change his cadence, clearly becoming a different character, “I, the Ice King, ask but a simple task of you - rescue my daughter, the Ice Princess, who has been kidnapped by my rival. Bring her home safe and sound, and I will pay you a hefty fee.”

Eddie squeezed your shoulder eagerly as the boys once again began to talk amongst themselves, meanwhile you gave him a charmed look, leaning into his side, “Really, the Ice Princess? How creative.”

He leaned in close, his face so close that you could feel his breath against your skin, making your heart skip, “Hey, I’ve got something up my sleeve, don’t worry your pretty little head over the details.”

Luckily, Eddie looked back at the group before he could see the embarrassment that washed across your face at his indirect compliment.

Dustin resolutely spoke for the party, “We will gladly save the Ice Princess from your enemy’s clutches, sire.”

Eddie nodded at him, “Very well. The last known location of Princess…”

When he trailed off, everyone looked at you, causing you to pull a face and glance at Eddie; he, too, had an expectant look in his eyes, “What?”

“Well, the princess needs a name.”

“Then give her my name.” You said it as if that were obvious, your tone biting albeit confused; but everyone simply snickered at the suggestion.

Eddie shook his head teasingly, “Not in D&D; you pick something.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, “Gladys.”

The group laughed again, although this time clearly in amusement at your humor. Eddie, however, narrowed his eyes at you challengingly, perhaps a little disappointed that you weren’t playing along, “Come on, something more interesting than that.”

You sighed again while glaring at him smally; it’s not that you were wholly averse to being here during their game, but you hadn’t realized you were expected to participate. You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing that there was no point in being stubborn just for the sake of it. And the look on Eddie’s face didn’t help the matter, as despite his own obstinate expression, his eyes seemed all too hopeful that you’d engage with this game. So, you mulled it over for a moment, Eddie watching your face far too attentively in anticipation.

“Fine. Elvira.” You smiled proudly, feeling all too pleased with yourself when Eddie’s eyes lit up at your answer.

“Elvira?” He leaned towards you flirtatiously, “So, you’re the Ice Princess and the Mistress of the Dark?”

“As if you didn’t already know.” You countered playfully, forgetting the rest of the group for a moment.

Eddie gave you one more teasing wink before looking you up and down, then returned his attention to the group. His eyes practically made you melt, and you quickly had to pull yourself together, “So, Princess Elvira was seen being escorted through Luskan by a known hand of the Rebel Prince, so it is believed that he’s taken her prisoner. Do whatever it takes to return the princess back home.”

And so, the game commenced, although you were quickly left in a state of semi-interested confusion yet again - clearly, Princess Elvira wasn’t too significant for the time being, as you were left to entertain yourself as the group engaged with their quest.

Eventually, you huffed, growing antsy as if in need of something - anything - to keep you occupied as you simply sat here. Beside you, Eddie shot you a glance, feeling your languor radiating outward; teasingly, he pinched at your arm, promptly receiving another small smack from you in retaliation.

“Am I supposed to do anything?” You asked smally while leaning towards him, causing Eddie to smirk.

“What, don’t tell me you’re suddenly interested in playing.” He teased as Lucas paused to debate some move he was going to make, though you had no context for what exactly the party was meant to be doing at this moment.

“No, but I’m just sitting here doing nothing.” You answered in a bratty tone. Foolishly, you hadn’t counted on Eddie being so engaged with the group that he couldn’t keep you entertained - you should have figured as much, and yet, you’d grown so accustomed to his attention that it was suddenly strange to not have it.

That was one more thing for you to not read into.

“Darn.” Eddie mocked, and your expression deadpanned, causing him to grin widely. The group drew his attention back just as he looked like he was about to say something more; you watched as his face shifted, getting back into character, and you couldn’t help but smile at it despite your annoyance.

As Eddie narrated whatever scenario the group had just found themselves in, you tried to pay a little more attention, at least in an effort to satiate your boredom - there was something about a snowy mountain pass and an encounter with soldiers of the Rebel Prince.

While the story continued on, you slowly found yourself becoming gripped by it, watching as Eddie verbally guided the group through treacherous landscapes and harrowing enemy encounters; you were beginning to understand, at least to some extent, what Dungeons & Dragons was about.

Sure, the skill checks and abilities and dice rolls were still confusing as ever to you, but the basics were becoming clear - everyone had a character and a role, and they had to rely on Eddie to reveal the story and information to them. That must have been part of the fun, you figured.

And although you weren’t participating, you found that you were also coming to enjoy this - watching Eddie speak in a variety of voices, jumping out of his seat with excitement and histrionically throwing his arms around. Much like when he played guitar, you could see that he was in his element, that his passion and focus had a way of bringing a smile to your face despite a part of you still finding this game to be completely dorky. Yet again, Eddie found a way to charm you, but at the moment you were far too amused to be annoyed by that.

Eventually, Eddie’s narration brought the group to what must have been the climax of the journey - the party had burst into the Keep of the Rebel Prince, prepared to confront him regarding the kidnapping of Princess Elvira. For this, Eddie sunk down into his seat, his posture taking on one of snarky confidence - this must have been for the prince’s characterization. With a smirk, he began in a voice not quite his own.

“So, you’ve found me, gentlemen.” Eddie’s eyes shined eagerly, as if this is what he’d been waiting for the entire time, “I suspected the Ice King would send someone soon enough.”

“We know that you’ve taken the princess prisoner.” Dustin spoke up eagerly, equally as excited as Eddie for whatever was to come next, “And we plan to kill you and take her back!”

Eddie laughed theatrically, and although it was ridiculous that he was doing all this for a simple tabletop game, you couldn’t help but watch him in anticipation, “You will not be killing me nor will you be taking her back, not unless she has anything to say about it.”

Collectively, you all looked at Eddie with expressions full of confusion and curiosity, wondering what he could possibly mean by that. And, clearly, he was absolutely eating this up - you could see just how much Eddie thrilled in the suspense and tension that was building.

“Your dear Ice Princess is going nowhere, you see, because she’s fallen in love with me.”

All at once, the boys began to eagerly talk over one another, delight and surprise amplifying their volume as they tried to make sense of this plot twist. As they conferred with one another, Eddie returned his gaze to you, his eyes alight at the surprise that had crossed your face as you stared back at him, although there was something within his expression that almost seemed to be assessing you.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Mike spoke up, everyone giving Eddie suspicious looks, “How do we know that you haven’t cast some spell on her.”

In a near threatening manner, Eddie leaned forward with an over the top look of menace, daring the group to doubt him, “From the moment I first laid eyes upon her, I was captivated by the princess. I was drawn to her like a magnet, and by some stroke of luck, she was drawn to me as well.”

“Or so you say.” Jeff challenged rousingly.

Eddie looked at you from the corner of his eye, and perhaps you were misreading it, but there was something uncharacteristically guarded about his expression; he quickly looked back to the boys before you could read further into it, “The princess asked that I help her run away from the cruelty of her father, and how could I refuse her all that she asked for? As the Ice King’s rival, she and I both knew he’d never approve of what had grown between us, so we staged the princess’s kidnapping, despite knowing he’d still come after us.”

The corner of your mouth turned up at the obvious parallel, Eddie drawing inspiration from the secret that this entire relationship between you two was a sham. But just as quickly as it amused you, it also made you tense, silly as that may be - sure, he was in character, but something about the Rebel Prince’s confession of love for the princess spiked your nerves.

You realized amidst your reverie that Eddie was looking at you once more, although the moment you made eye contact he looked away. That avoidance only added to your nerves, another wave of anxiety fluttered inside you, but you simply watched on as he, and the rest of the group, continued.

“For the princess, I’d do anything.” Eddie continued, his tone serious enough that you’d believe him if this wasn’t just a game, “Kill for her, die for her - and I’m willing to take on each and every one of you if that’s what it comes to.”

The group quickly conferred, deciding what their course of action should be now that this shocking information was revealed. All the while, you continued staring at Eddie with wonder, wishing that his fictional little story hadn’t made you feel something, that it hadn’t made you begin to question and wonder at things. He refrained from gazing back at you, furthering your curiosity.

“We want to hear from the princess.” Gareth finally spoke up for everyone; Eddie tilted his head playfully in response, “If what you say is true, we want her to confirm it. And then we’ll decide whether or not we fight you.”

An eager smile spread wide across Eddie’s lips as he went on to describe the way a set of doors opened to reveal Princess Elvira, detailing how she entered the room with a calm, graceful, hypnotic demeanor. Eventually, he and the boys all looked back at you expectantly, and you realized with a start that you were now expected to finally participate, to speak for this character that barely existed within the scope of the story.

You looked between them all with trepidation, eyes practically imploring Eddie to help you figure out what the hell you were supposed to do. Now that you were on the spot, all pondering about Eddie had come to a halt, your mind immediately drawing a blank.

“Oh, come on, don’t chicken out now just when things are getting good.” Dustin lambasted excitedly, drawing a glare out of you as everyone shared a small laugh, “Well? Is the princess being manipulated, or does she actually have feelings for the Rebel Prince?”

You pulled a bit of a hesitant face before sighing, returning your eyes to Eddie as if seeking assistance, as if you needed help forming whatever sentences he wanted to keep the narrative rolling. He was finally able to actually look you in the eye again, simply nod before falling back into character.

“Well, princess, what do you say?”

For another moment you chewed the inside of your cheek before starting tentatively, voice unsure and plain; you held Eddie’s gaze hesitantly, “It’s… true. The Rebel Prince and I are… in love?”

You couldn’t help but huff out a confused laugh at how strange it felt to now be involved in the boys’ dorky little game. And it felt even stranger to allude to love between you and Eddie, even if it were through your characters; you nearly felt a chill on the nerves it made you feel.

“I don’t find that very convincing.” Grant teased as if he were trying to rally the party against the Rebel Prince’s supposed lie. Your jaw tightened a little at the challenge, and so you continued while looking from Eddie to him, growing nervous as if you - not Princess Elvira - were the one being interrogated.

“Everything he said is the truth,” You tried again, hoping that by looking away from Eddie you would somehow keep your cool. Why were you feeling butterflies in your stomach? It’s not as if you were admitting your feelings for Eddie, you reminded yourself. You attempted to swallow your nerves while figuring out what to say next, trying to find this character within yourself, “My father is heartless and hateful, it was suffocating. The Prince is kind and caring and a far cry from all the bad things people have called him… how could I not fall for him?”

There was a shared look of approval from the group - clearly, they were now pleased with this surprise narrative that Eddie had put together and pleased with your participation. As they huddled together once again, you glanced over at Eddie nervously; there was a faint smile on his lips and a light in his eyes that you couldn’t place, that made you anxious in combination with the not-confession you just made.

“As you boys can see, all your efforts were for nothing.” Eddie said to the group condescendingly, which once more seemed to rally them to argue, “So, either you leave us in peace, or I’ll be forced to strike you down.”

And so commenced another bout of debate and dice rolls, the boys deciding to fight in an effort to get their reward rather than show sympathy to the prince and princess. By their skills and luck, the characters eventually defeated the Rebel Prince, choosing to take him prisoner, intent on dragging both he and the princess back to the Ice King.

But then Eddie called it a night, deciding that the Hellfire Club would pick this narrative back up next week considering how long they’d already been at it. You were simultaneously glad and disappointed - you’d just begun to understand the game, to be a part of it, but you’d also been growing tired as the evening wore on.

So, once everything was wrapped up and put back in its place, you all exited the school together, the night air colder than you’d expected, which made you shiver. Being late October, you knew that you had to start dressing more appropriately for the weather, but you weren’t quite ready to give up your short skirts and thin shirts quite yet. You were willing to freeze your ass off just a little for the sake of fashion, shallow as that may sound; and, you simply hated wearing pants and layers.

Seeing the way you shivered and tightened your arms at your side, Eddie slipped off his jacket without hesitation, draping it over your shoulders. Nervously, you gave him a thankful look, hoping he didn’t catch the way you inhaled the scent of leather and cigarettes and musk. 

Eventually, everyone had parted ways, and you were comfortably situated in Eddie’s passenger seat with your knees tucked under you. As had become habit, you watched Eddie as he drove, studying the way the streetlights hit the planes of his face, smiling at the way his hands drummed along to the music against the steering wheel.

“So, what you think?” He asked with a quick glance at you.

“Pretty dorky.” You responded, although you quickly added, “But… fun.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that for me?” Eddie teased with a mischievous grin pointing at his ear in emphasis; you rolled your eyes, “Did the ice princess just say she had fun playing D&D with a bunch of nerds?”

“Shut up.” You countered half-heartedly, sharing a smile with him.

“Does that mean you want to come next week?”

Your brow furrowed a little, “We’ll be at the Halloween party.”

Eddie waved a hand, “We’ll go after, I’ll make it short.”

You sighed through your nose in consideration; if you went to more Hellfire Club sessions, would you just be sitting there idly as much as you were tonight? How could you participate? Would they even want you to? Did you actually want to?

“Fine… but don’t get used to it.” The simple response brought another bright smile to Eddie’s face.

“Oh, you’ll be begging to go in no time, I guarantee it.”

“I’m sure you’d love to see me beg.” You didn’t think the words through until they’d already spilled out of your mouth, causing your eyes to immediately widen and your shoulders to tense. Beside you, you could see the way Eddie’s own expression faltered, clearly catching the accidental innuendo, too. Fumbling over yourself for a moment, you tried to put on your best disinterested tone, as if you were none the wiser of the implications in your previous statement, “As if that would ever happen, though.”

Eddie blew air between his lips, also trying to play off that brief instance of tension, laughing falsely, “Yeah, yeah, that’s not happening.”

You could feel a shiver of anxiety all throughout your body, wondering what Eddie thought of what you just said, wondering why D&D felt a little too candid when you finally had the chance to speak. You had to have been blowing this out of proportion, your nerves simply getting the better of you - yeah, it was just this stupid crush of yours making you second guess things, making you overreact. There was no way Eddie was confessing anything to you back there, and you weren’t exactly confessing anything to him either.

Shit, you really had to keep yourself in check, because this crush was seriously getting out of hand.

.

.

@3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @adelalaaa @adversary713 @avalon-wolf

@costellation-hunter @daisy-munson @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie

@delilaaahhh @dreamerjj @eddiernunson @em0220 @feralgoblinbabe

@frogtape @fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @graciehams @kellsck

@kthomps914 @littlexdeaths @lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00

@maskofmirrors @mewchiili @miaajaade @miss-celestial-being @mmmunson

@moonisu @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @nxrdamp @rach5ive

@rcailleachcola @sapphire4082 @sav12321 @seatbacksandtraytables @sheneedsrocknroll92

@steeldaisies @stormgrl19 @swiftsgirlfriend @teethvenom @tvserie-s-world

@twihard28 @welcometohellsock @whats-my-question @xxsxdghxstxx

[madamechrissy]

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- medical procedures mentioned (nothing too graphic) slight scare about reader's health, emotional, married sex, breeding kink, cunnilingus, blow job, overstim, explicit sex

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Gojo Satoru is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.) Finished fic

Epilogue II - Masterlist - Playlist

Final Epilogue

“So… it’s been fourteen hours and no dilation. And the baby's heart rate is really high, so is yours, mom.” Comes the doctor’s voice, a sweet woman you’d had all of your pregnancy. Your heart drops at that. “We need to do a Cesarean.”

“Caesar who!?” Comes Gojo’s voice, panicking as he sits next to you, holding your hand with a death grip.

“Satoru… God. It’s a C-section.” Shoko's voice came in, as she, Suguru and Masako all sat there in the chairs across the room, as Gojo’s blue eyes went wide.

“Like… cut her open!?” He glares at the doctor, and you touch his face gently, smiling up at him.

“Satoru, the baby is most important. Gotta get her out safely.” You murmur to him, he blinks at that, looking into your eyes, and you see his jaw clench, his eyes glimmering with emotion.

“They’re safe, Satoru, I had one with you.” Masako comes up then, brushing Satoru’s silky white hair back, which was messy from the hours he’d been by your side, all night, all day.

“I don’t want her to… what if…” He stands then, pacing, and Suguru comes up to him, patting his shoulder.

“Hey, she needs you there with her. It’ll be fine, you got this.” Satoru buries his face in his hand, and Shoko comes up to him then too.

“They’re very common, don’t worry. Great doctors here. She’ll be fine.” Masako caresses your cheek as they talk to Satoru, and you feel your tummy clench tight then, crying silently.

“Are you okay, darling?” She asks, and you shake your head.

“Pain… bad.” Is all you manage, you’d been in some pain but since the epidural you had been decent, but now?

Satoru runs to you then, and you see tears glistening on his pale cheeks, as he puts a hand on your swollen tummy. “Baby girl, you okay?”

“Hurts…” Is all you manage, and then the Doctor comes back in.

“Your contractions are going crazy, and the heart rates. We are all prepped to take you back.” She comes and holds your hand, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll make sure you get your baby girl soon.”

“It’s because you’re too big and tall. Dick.” You whisper out, crying in pain, and he laughs, emotionally, kissing your forehead.

“You’re too tiny, can’t even pop a kid out.” You glare, then you both snort in laughter, until the pain and pressure is too much, and you hiss.

“Only one person can come back, are you going with her, Dad?” The doctor asks Satoru, and he nods eagerly.

“Of course I am.”

“Don’t faint, Satoru.” Shoko shouts, he sticks his tongue out, and they begin to suit him up in sterile gear.

Suguru comes up and brushes your sweaty hair back, holding your hand tightly as Gojo gets ready. “You’ll do fine, love. Promise.”

“Thank you so much for being here, Suguru.”

“Of course, that’s my godchild there.” He carefully touches your tummy, his dark eyes growing dreamy then.

“Thinking about having one of your own?” You tease quietly, and watch his cheeks turn pink a bit.

“Yeah, maybe I am.”

“You two would be great parents, promise. I better be the godmother, though.” He smirks, leaning down and planting a kiss on your forehead.

“ Of course you will be. We’re talking about it for now. But… I’m pretty active in making it happen.”

You giggle, then gasp in pain, and Satoru is back with you two. Suguru puts an arm around Satoru then. “You got this, both of you.”

Shoko and Masako come and kiss you too. “I’m having a smoke, I’ll be back to see this baby!”

“I’m going out too. I need to update my girl.” Suguru says, and you nod. Masako just smiles.

“I’m grabbing coffee. See you two soon.” She hugs Satoru tightly, and then you all are getting carted into the bright operating room.

“It’s freezing…” You whisper, as they pump you more, and then your entire lower body is numb, a white curtain placed up. You start to panic somewhat, your chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Baby girl, I’m right here. Look at me.” You stare up at Satoru, covered in a blue smock and latex gloves, he holds your hand tightly, a hand that’s going numb. “It’s all going to be okay, promise.”

“I’m scared, Satoru.” You whisper, tears falling, he kisses you sweetly, as several doctors and nurses surround you, metal clanking, instruments being used. You’re panicking but he’s cupping your face.

“I am too.” He admits, tears making those beautiful eyes you love glisten. “We’ll be scared together?”

You nod, choking on a sob then. “Do you want to take a look, Mr. Gojo?”

Gojo panics. “Oh no… what if I pass out!? And miss the baby!”

You giggle at that, and he glares. “Don’t wanna see my insides?” You whisper, he rolls his eyes.

“Already fucked em up-”

“Ahem. Mr. Gojo?” He winces, looking back at your face.

“Okay but if I pass out, adrenaline me or something.” You giggle again, as he still holds your hand as he stands, peaking over the curtain. “Oh shit!”

“Oh god… what!?” You tense, and he peeks back at you, grinning with his shimmery white teeth.

“I’m seeing all of you. Like all your insides!”

“Toru…”

“Oooh, that’s what part doc?”

“Intestines here. This is her liver.”

“All the way up there!?”

“Babies push organs up. And here… is the uterus.”

“Holy fuck, the baby is in there!”

You lay behind the curtain, blinking up and feeling odd hints of things, but you’re mostly numb, then…

“Gonna feel some pressure hunnie.” The nurse says next to you, and you nod, as Gojo peeks back at you.

“Baby this is really cool.” You snort, shaking your head at him.

“Thought you were scared?”

“Nah… oh my god!” You hear a little whine then, and your eyes fill with hot sticky tears, your heart fluttering with excitement, with love.

“Want to cut the cord, Mr. Gojo?” You wish you could see something, you see Gojo’s spiky white hair for a moment as he bends over.

“Like… right here?”

“Right there. Perfect.” You hear a clip of scissors, and then, a cry, a beautiful little cry.

“Oh my god, she’s so perfect.” You hear Gojo whisper, and then he laughs, looking down at the baby.

“Let me see, let me see!” You whine out, and then Satoru finally brings her around the curtain, your little girl.

“Oh my god…” You can’t sit, you just lay there, as he sits next to you, all wrapped up in a little white thin blanket. She has a beautiful, perfect little face, a head full of dark hair, more like yours, and then she opens her eyes, and… “She has your eyes, Toru, oh look!”

He leans over and looks then, as your baby squints against the bright lights, and her eyes are glittering blue, as brilliant as Satoru’s, if not just a little darker blue. Her perfect cupid's bow of a mouth is opening and closing, and you gently caress her chubby little cheeks.

“Hey, baby girl, you’re here. Welcome to the world.” Gojo murmurs next to you, and your heart is so full you think it will burst, looking at the two loves of your life right in front of you.

“You’re so beautiful. I love you so much already.” You whisper, and your eyes lock with Satoru’s.

“She has your hair, and your nose.” He whispers, tapping her little nose, then yours, kissing you then, tasting your salty tears.

“Your eyes, and your lips.” You whisper back, and your little baby whines a bit, then yawns, closing her eyes again. “I love her so much. So much, it hurts. Ugh, just look at her! It’s our baby , Toru!”

He grins, but his face is streaked with tears, as he holds her back against his chest, carefully caressing her tiny cheek. The sight of Satoru holding your tiny baby in his big arms shatters you further. God you’ve never been so happy, so thrilled… and honestly, as exhausted as you were, you’re full of happiness.

“You’re so tiny and cute, like a little dumpling!” Gojo says, and the nurses coo and giggle too now, along with you. “I’ll call ya dumpling, yes I will.”

“Toru, you’re so cute.” You gently brush a weak hand down his arm. He looks down at you, cheeks flushed with excitement, his face not stopping that grin.

“Gonna spoil the fuck out of you, dumpling. So pretty like your mama, aren’t you sweet girl?”

The nurse chuckles then, looking at the three of you. “She’s definitely got mom’s hair and dad’s eyes, doesn’t she? All right, let’s get her cleaned up and checked out, and we’ll bring her to you soon, okay?”

They take her away, which makes you panic, but then Gojo sits down by you, his eyes still wide. “You did so good, baby girl. Look how beautiful you are, even now.” He brushes your hair back on your damp forehead, pecking your lips. “Saw all your insides now too.”

You laugh, then wince, feeling the doctor tugging and stitching now, you start to feel a little woozy. “Don’t worry, you’re almost done, hunnie. Doing great.”

“Thanks, Doc.” You whisper, and Gojo squeezes your hand tightly, watching you with some concern now.

“Baby, you okay? You’re so pale.”

“I’m… just tired, babe.” Satoru frowns at that.

“She’s losing a little too much blood.” You hear, and your ears are ringing, as Gojo tenses against you.

The room is cold, the lights are so bright, and you’re tired, so tired suddenly. “Mr. Gojo, can you sign for her to have a blood transfusion?”

“What’s wrong!?” He’s panicking, and you’re fading, then he calms himself, nodding, and signs everything quickly, big hand on your forehead, the other holding one of your limp hands, kissing it. “Baby, stay with me, focus. Please.”

You struggle to hold your eyes open. “She may faint, but she’s fine, promise, it’s just taken a lot out of her.” The nurse comes to pat Gojo’s shoulder, and you hear him frantically saying your name, but it’s just an echo almost.

“Transfusion ready. She’ll be fine soon, Mr. Gojo.” You think you hear that, but your head is pulsing, and it takes everything to keep your lidded eyes on your husband’s perfect face, not wanting to scare him.

“Toru…” You whisper, and he’s right on you, foreheads touching, hands cupping your face.

“Beautiful, I love you so much. So much. Please be okay. Please… baby girl, can’t live without you.” His tears fall down your face, dripping hot against your chilled skin, you struggle to speak.

“I’ll be fine, babe… promise. Just… sleepy.” He’s sniffling, face all red, and you want to touch his face, but your arms just fall when you try. “Can I go to sleep for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, of course you can.”

“Don’t leave me, Satoru… please stay.” You’re mumbling now.

“I won’t baby girl. Right by your side.” He kisses you deeply, and you feel warm then, with his love, against the chill of the room, of your body, then the bright lights dim and you feel exhaustion and weakness drag you off.

***

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in a new room, a softer light than the operating room, it’s quiet and dimly lit, warmer. Gojo’s right there as you blink him into focus, in a chair bent awkwardly holding your hand, his head on your bed, sleeping with his mouth open.

You smile, gently brushing his soft white hair back, and see your baby is in a bassinet next to you, wrapped up tight, and she’s snuffling, a bit fussy. You feel a lot better now, a lot warmer, but you look down at yourself, a bunch of tubes and wires attached, making you wince a bit, especially when you start feeling a gnawing pain in your tummy.

You try to sit up, but it’s hard, so you gently shake Gojo awake. “Satoru?” You whisper, and he jolts up, looking down at you, blue eyes wide.

“Baby girl, you’re okay! Thank god!” He leans over and kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth, every inch of your face. You eagerly kiss him back, wrapping your arms weakly around his neck “You scared me so much, fuck…”

“I’m okay, I’m okay, Toru.” You whisper, smiling up at him, seeing a little drool out of his mouth, and bags under his eyes. You wipe him a bit. “How long was I out for? You look exhausted.”

“Six hours.” You blink at that. “Yeah, Shoko, mom and Sugu will be back in the morning, they saw her though! I got pictures.”

You feel emotional then. “I wish I could have…”

“Baby, your body needed rest. It’s fine. Look.” He whips his smart phone out, showing you Shoko holding her, then Sugu, then Masako. All of them looked so happy it made fresh tears fall. “They didn’t wanna leave but, visiting hours and all that, only I could stay.”

“I missed it all.” He sighs, tilting your chin up. “I haven’t even gotten to hold her yet really, I failed at the whole baby having-”

“Shut it, brat. Now.” You sniffle, and he puts his hand gently on your tummy. “You almost died having her, and she is perfect . Perfectly healthy. I almost lost you .”

“Satoru… it wasn’t so serious was it?”

He looks at you, and you see it all over his face. “Your vitals dropped when you fainted, it was… I mean they told me it would be fine, but it was terrifying. Once they got you another transfusion you got stable, and they brought you here, but…”

“I’m so sorry you had to see all that!”

“Sorry? You did everything to have this baby. I’m proud of you.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “I am proud of you. Fucking badass.”

He pecks kisses on your sticky cheeks. “Badass, huh, I fainted!”

“You’re tough, trust me, I saw them… yeah that shit was crazy. Everything was everywhere. How do you feel by the way?”

“Awful. Like someone stabbed me.” He leans over and presses the button attached to you, then you moan, as everything relaxes. “Whass that… Toru?”

“Morphine drip. Press it when it hurts.” He smirks at you then. “Oh fuck, they should hook me up!”

“Hush...” You giggle, then you hear it, the faint little cry, and then look at your baby. “Can I hold her, Toru?”

He nods eagerly, standing up and carefully picking her up, placing her in your arms, which isn’t easy with all the wires, but Satoru is delicate in how he moves them. She’s so light, so tiny, and her eyes open and look at you, those brilliant blue eyes, searching. You stroke her cheek, and she calms immediately.

“I’m so happy you’re in my arms, sweet baby. I love you, I love you so much.” You’re stroking her head, and Satoru watches you with a smile.

“Can I take a pic for everyone? They were really upset when they didn’t see you earlier. Also your brothers have been freaking out.” You nod then, swiping your eyes, and Satoru takes a picture of you and your little baby. “Beautiful girls of mine.”

“Oh I don’t wanna know what I look like.”

“You look beautiful, my sweet girls.” He kisses her, then you gently. “I’m sending these to them, they will be so happy you’re up.”

You nod. “Little Rai, I love you so much.” You whisper to her again, then feel emotional saying the name, gulping.

“Your mom would love her, yeah?” Satoru says softly, and you nod, feeling that ache in your chest. “And your dad.”

“They would, thank you for letting me name her after my mom, Toru.” He shakes his head at that.

“Of course, baby girl. I love it. It’s special.” He kisses you as Rai begins nuzzling into your chest, and you realize she’s looking for something.

“Hungry, little one?” You whisper, and she starts rooting, opening that perfect mouth and you can feel your breasts fill with milk. “Think she’ll latch? I am sure she had bottles.” Satoru leans forward, untying your hospital gown then, and revealing your too full breasts.

“Doc said to try, and if not, you can pump or we can just do the formula.” His eyes go wide as he looks at your breasts. “They’re so huge, holy-”

“Satoru!” He grins, then shakes his head, and you giggle, as you gently cradle Rai in your arms, and she starts rooting until she hits your nipple.

“Look, you’re a natural, baby girl.” Gojo whispers, his eyes on yours, so full of love and amazement then.

You start to laugh, but it turns into a wince as that pain twinges. “It hurts, oh fuck… it hurts.” 

“Doc said it’ll hurt to cough, sneeze, laugh all that. Gotta put a pillow… here.” He takes a pillow and presses it on your tummy. “Hold it there and it’ll help when you need it, until you heal some.”

“Satoru… I fucking love you.” You whisper, and he smirks.

“Of course you do.” You giggle and he presses the pillow. “Is it a little better like that?” You nod. “Good. Look at her, she’s going for it!”

You smile, wincing as she grabs your breast with her little nails, and then bites down with her gums. “Oof! She’s vicious!”

“Like her dad huh.” He sits there with his chin on his hands, and you snort, rolling your eyes, and you look down at her, stroking her downy hair, watching her tiny mouth suckle, and she’s so beautiful.

“Beautiful like her dad.”

“Like her mom.”

You both smile, and he holds her head gently with one big hand, the other brushing your hair back gently. You lean back against the pillows, feeling your strength come back to you with every beat of your heart, with every breath you take for your baby. You look down at her, a perfect little doll, so fragile, so new to the world.

“Thank you, for taking care of her. For staying by my side. I’m so sorry it scared you so much.” He shakes his head, coming to sit next to you on the bed, holding you both close, as he kisses your temple.

“No need to thank me, baby girl, this is my life right here. You and my little dumpling are my everything.”

“Oh, Toru…” Eventually Rai is fast asleep, milk drunk, and you look up at Satoru then. “Can I please… wash up?”

He laughs at that. “Let me call the nurse.”

They let Satoru help you shower, and then when you see yourself…

“I feel like a cow, ugh.”

“You’ll slim down quickly, running around my office yelling at me before the blink of an eye! Back in one of your preppy little business outfits.”

“You’re so positive . Ugh. I love that…” He laughs, washing you gently, as he bends down between your legs, holding your thighs.

“You just almost died having our baby, don’t need you worrying about your appearance right now. You’re always the most beautiful brat to me.” The hot water sprays as he kisses you gently.

“Love you, Toru.”

“Love you, whiny baby.”

You sigh, shaking your head, then let him continue to take care of you. You finally get to put on clothes, and he helps you, pushing your morphine button up as the nurse checks you out, pressing on your tummy and taking your blood pressure. Satoru is by your side, and then when it’s time to rest, he decides to climb in the hospital bed right with you.

“Sleep, baby girl. I’m right here.”

“Thank you, Toru… love you.”

“Love you, little brat. Sweet dreams.”

You fall blissfully asleep in Satoru’s arms, as your baby is in her little bassinet, exhaustion taking over you.

***

Three weeks Later

“Hey, don’t be trying to work damn brat! Not yet.” You turn, baby strapped to your chest as you’re trying to help Satoru fix the crappy presentation he’s attempted, and his desk is such a mess, you gotta clean it.

“Let me help, please, I am more than capable of working again you know.” He glares at you then, coming behind you and pressing on your tummy, now almost flat again, but still a little sore. You wince.

“Shouldn’t be working for two more weeks at earliest. Doctor said so. You hurt, don’t you?” He demands, and you huff.

“No, fine really. At least let me come for like an hour or two a day! You’re so far behind…”

“And it can fucking stay behind. I’m having Kiyotaka take you home, stubborn brat.” You scowl back at him, and then Rai starts whining, and you sigh, brushing her hair back gently.

“Let me help a bit, then I’ll leave for the day, promise.” He scoffs, shaking his head, and for a moment you’re enamored by how good he looks in that suit. Fuck… how long had it been?

“Hey, can I hold the baby? Give you a break?” Shoko knocks on the open door of Gojo’s office, and you nod, smiling gratefully.

“Don’t encourage her, less than a month? She needs to be home.”

“She’s not running on a treadmill, Gojo. Just some office stuff. Maybe she misses her husband?” You blink at that, because fuck that’s true. Gojo had been doing insane overtime to cover for you both, Miwa helped as much as she could but you were the main one that ran his businesses.

“Thank you, Shoko. Here is her bottle and paci. If she goes to the bathroom just bring her to me!”

“Nonsense, gimme that diaper bag. I need a break anyway.” You kiss her cheek, sighing and smiling gratefully. “Let’s show you off, Rai!”

She shuts the door behind herself, leaving you with a fuming Satoru Gojo. “You’re pale, you shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

“I have to get up and do things, it’s how I’ll heal. It’s almost a month now. Two more weeks I’m cleared for… all kinds of things.” You look heatedly up to his blue eyes then, and he pauses, as you step close to him, yanking his blue tie so that he leaned down over you.

“It’s killing me.” He whispers then, hands gripping your ass, lifting you up high, you cry out at it. “I hate not being able to fuck that perfect pussy.”

“I can now, I swear I feel good.” Your hand runs down his crisp business shirt, and you watch his eyes get blown out from desire.

“No, ya can’t yet. I can eat you out though.” You tense at that, rushing wetness between your thighs, throat going dry. “Flip my blinds.”

You tentatively go to push the button, turning back, and he’s there, picking you up in his strong arms, kissing you deeply, and you match it, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss. You all have had no time, even when he’s home, you’re up half the night with the baby, and most day’s you’re both so tired you just pass out.

Plus, you’re not supposed to fuck yet but…

“I need you, Toru.” You whisper, and he groans, picking you up and laying you on his little couch on the other wall, unbuttoning your blouse and moaning as he opens it, seeing your lush breasts.

“Fuck you’re so pretty.” He kisses down one, until he gets to your peak, sucking it and making you cry out, shoving your hand on your mouth, you’re so sensitive. He laps you up, squeezing the other, and it’s squirting milk now. You squeal, mortified.

“Oh shit, sorry…” He grins, licking it up, and moaning.

“It’s so sweet though, lemme clean it up.” He squeezes them again, squishing in his big hands, and laps your nipples up. You cry out, gripping his hair tightly, hips arching up, grinding against his hard thigh in his slacks.

“Fuck… feels s’good, mmh!” You get slick between your thighs, and he groans as he feels your heat, slamming his mouth down on yours.

“So hot for me, aren’t you baby?” You nod, eagerly, and he grips your hips tightly, ones you think are too wide now.

“These hips , fuck you’re sexy.” You melt, as he rids you of any insecurity you could ever have, and then he’s unzipping your skirt, you tremble when he gets you down to your panties, as he kisses down your tummy.

“You don’t have to, it’s okay.” You whisper, so he pauses, looking up and scowling at you.

“You’re beautiful, fucking brat. Got it? Every inch. Here.” He kisses your belly button, which just wasn’t shaped the same, then kisses you where you have little white stretchies on your skin from Rai. “Here. Here. All perfect.”

“You’re perfect. You.”

“And you’re perfect. These are from having my baby. And you look crazy good for just having one, by the way.” He slides off your panties then, your scar already has faded, but you have some skin and… “God you’re so fucking sexy.”

You whimper, and he spreads your thighs, kissing the inner parts, tickling you as his soft white hair falls over his face. You brush it back, gasping. “Mmm, thank you Toru…”

“Don’t thank me till I get this pretty pussy off.” You cover your moan with your hand when he tastes you, for the first time in almost two months, and you’re so sensitive your hips buck up, and you’re soaked already. “So wet for me, you’re still my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck .” He slides his tongue up your slit, and you’re shaking as it hits you, waves of pleasure and desire for your husband, your Satoru. “Yes, I still am. A slut just for you. ”

He groans at that, vibrating against your puffy clit, then he’s devouring you, tongue flicking quick and then slow, fingers pulling your lips apart to lave you up deeper, and you’re so close it’s insane. You start gripping his hair, pulling it, making him moan again, as he sucks your clit into his hot mouth, soft wet tongue flicking it over and over, you start falling apart.

“Cumming… cumming!” You whisper out, and he grabs the fat of your ass, dragging you even closer, lapping up the crazy wetness, sounds in his little office so lewd.

“Cum all over my face, pretty little brat. Now.” He orders, eyes peeking up, though you can barely see him with your breasts these days, but you manage to, and his gorgeous blue eyes as his tongue slides up you?

Fuck.

You fall apart, gushing all over his perfect, pretty face, pain twinging in your tummy just a bit from the pressure, but it’s so good you can’t take it. You’re holding onto his shoulders, gripping tight as he drinks you in, licking you through your orgasm until you’re dangerously close to another. You feel yourself tensing, that pressure coming back again.

“Ngh, t’much… Toruu !” You’re whining, nonsensically, and you see him rubbing his cock over his slacks, making you even more turned on, you bite your lip, and see stars as he gets you to cum on him again, crying out.

“So fucking wet, yummy little cunt.” He laps you up, smacking kisses on your clit, on your lips, you struggle to gain composure, whining and dragging him up, kissing him and tasting your essence on his full lips.

“Fuck me, Toru, please .” You beg, and he groans, shaking his head, making you pout. “Please, just go gentle. I know you want to.”

“No, brat. Too much too soon. I’ll eat you out more-”

“Want you in me .” He sighs, shaking his head again as you kiss, as you reach down over his pants and rub his hard length.

“GIve it a little longer, like a few days even. I’m worried about hurting you.”

“Let me suck you off.” He blinks at that, cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be fine, just let me take care of you for once. You do enough for us okay?” He kisses your hand then. “Like when’s the last time you did your nails? Or did anything for just yourself?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Exactly. You go out with one of the girls and do your nails tomorrow. And if you do, and you relax, then I’ll fuck you this weekend.”

“You’re pushing self care on me?” He grins, nodding, and you feel emotion prick your eyes. “Fine, that sounds nice… but on one condition. Let’s go on a date this weekend?”

“A date?” You nod. “Okay but who’s watching Rai?”

“Hmm…” There is a knock on the door, and Satoru helps you get dressed quickly, lapping your nipples one more time with a grin before buttoning you up.

“Come on in.” Nanami walks in, holding Rai in his arms, and you melt at the sight, he’s so huge and so gentle. Rai is giggling and reaching for his face. You and Satoru grin at each other then.

“I was gonna ask you guys, need a sitter?” You jump up, running to Nanami and hugging him and Rai. He awkwardly pats your back.

“You are a lifesaver, Nanami Kento. I was just saying we really need a night alone!”

“Of course, I don’t mind at all. But I asked because my wife really has been wanting to babysit her. She saw a pic of me and Rai just now and lost it.” You grin at that, Nanami’s wife was newly pregnant now.

“Of course, good practice too.” Satoru comes and puts his big hand on your back, burning your skin. “You all can come stay at our place for the night? Friday if that works?”

“Absolutely. She’s going crazy over this baby you know. She’s only a couple months along but she’s lapping up anything baby related.” You laugh at that, caressing Rai’s head.

“You’re good with her too. You all will be great.”

“Will your girl do her nails with this brat tomorrow too?” Gojo asks, ruffling your hair and making you glare. Nanami smiles down at you.

“She was just saying she needs to. Of course. She misses you.” You sigh, you had been hopelessly stuck in the house with the baby.

“First time she’s put the baby down I feel like. She gives me no attention.” Gojo pouts, and you and Nanami roll your eyes.

“You’ll be fine, Gojo.” Nanami winks at you, letting you know he understands. “You all will babysit for us too I’m sure.”

“Of course we would!”

“I’d totally make your baby eat candy.”

“Gojo!” You both hiss at him, and Gojo just grins.

***

That Friday

“Here are her bottles, her paci, here’s her favorite blanket! Oh, and here is her favorite stuffie. And she loves to watch this and this! I read this to her… and here are her diapers, wipes, powder, cream-”

“Babe, relax, they’ll figure it all out.” Satoru comes out then, dressed in a dark blue dress shirt and slacks, looking gorgeous with his hair slicked up all spiky, a smirk on those sexy lips as he looks up and down your body. “Oh fuck you look way too hot in that dress.”

“I… thank you but my hips…” You blush and he glares at you, then looks at Nanami and his wife.

“Girl, you look gorgeous . I hope to look this good.” Nanami’s wife comes up to you, tiny delicate hands on your hips now. “They’re hot!”

“See, they’re hot.” You’re flushing, and Nanami comes up and gently puts a hand on your back too.

“You look beautiful, and I promise, we like hips, okay?” His wife grins, pinching you just a little bit then.

“I’ll even give you a lap dance again to prove I like em!” You giggle then, and Gojo whistles as he walks around you all.

“I’d love to see that .” Nanami smirks too, hazel eyes glinting.

“I don’t know if I can handle another. We almost died.” You and her look at them then, both laughing softly as you both turn pink.

“Thank you all, I guess I’m getting used to some changes in my body?”

“I’m sure I will too. You’re still tiny though. Like you couldn’t even have her normal because you’re already petite.” She backs away then, tapping your nose.

“And this ass…” Gojo pinches it and you jump a bit. “I think it got so much nicer honestly.”

“I love you guys, ugh.”

“You’ll be hyping me up next, I bet!”

“I sure the hell will!” You hug her again, then Nanami pulls you against his side, hugging you both and sighing.

“Women are so complicated. You all look gorgeous and complain.”

“They’re bratty, that’s all.” Satoru pulls you away and twirls you, and you’re wearing a gorgeous sequined black gown that hugs every curve you have, even the new ones that you think you could learn to love. “Fucking hot as fuck .”

“Thank you, Toru. You all make me feel so good.” You smile at the two of them, who are in each other’s arms, Nanami’s hand on her still flat tummy, they smile over at you as Toru yanks you in for a kiss.

“You look more beautiful than that first night even. Wore something just like this, didn’t you?” Gojo’s murmured words eat you up, you can barely hold it together as he stares down at you.

“The night you bribed me on my birthday for a work thing?” He just grins, and Nanami laughs.

“You were such a dick, Gojo.”

“Yeah, yeah… still a dick honestly.” You shake your head.

“No, you’re really the sweetest. I’m glad I went that night… so glad.” He pulls you close, cupping your face.

“Ready for this date?”

“Let me kiss Rai!” You run up to where she’s fast asleep in a little pink bouncy chair, kissing her little forehead and tucking her in with her fancy soft blanket.

“Go on you two, we got it.” Nanami says, and he and his wife shoo you outside, as Kiyotaka is waiting next to the car. He smiles at you.

“Hey Kiyotaka!” You kiss his cheek.

“Hello, My Lady. Mr. Gojo.” You all slide in the back, and before you know it, you’re on Satoru’s lap, and he’s gripping your ass tight, grinding you on him.

“You look so sexy, fuck.” His glossy lips are parted as he’s under you in the dark car, streetlights reflecting everywhere.

“I want you in me.” You whine, and he groans, slipping a hand down between your thighs, already slick, shoving two fingers up into your aching hole, you gasp at that, and he pulls one out, groaning.

“You’re stupid tight.” He crooks that one finger, so thick, and as it hits your spot your head lolls to the side. “Hear how wet you are, baby.”

You can hear it, that squelching sound when he pushes past your little gummy entrance, finding that spot, and you can barely see, vision going dark. “Mnh, yes, please, fuckk…”

“Pretty little slut.” You practically purr at his dirty words, fuck he almost never says that anymore. His pupils dilate and his lips part as he watches you, exhaling and using his free hand to grip your hip.

“Toru… need you…” He moans, kissing you deeply, arching that finger up and repeatedly pressing that spot.

“Oh, so desperate for daddy’s cock, huh brat?” You just moan, nodding, not even bothering to try to play shy or anything. “Soaking my fucking hand.”

“Please, please.” He laughs softly, thumb hitting your clit now, and you’re grinding shamelessly against his big hand, his long fingers.

“Can’t wait for the date? That needy ?” You huff, and he yanks you against him, easing his finger out and pressing you on his hard bulge.

“Lemme suck you then.” He exhales, and you get on your knees in the big back seat, looking up at him as he brushes your hair back.

“Fuck I’m lucky. Beautiful thing, so thirsty for it too.” You grind against his leg as you pull his cock out, slapping against his dress shirt, one you lift so you can look at his chiseled torso. His cock is already leaking precum out of the pink tip, and you lick it up, making him his. “F-fuckk, baby…”

“Yummy.” You whisper, sucking him then, as he cries out, nearly whimpering when you roll your tongue on the ridge of him, before shoving him down your throat, choking on him.

“Baby… fuck! Mmm…” He can’t stop his moans, as he’s gently wrapping your hair into a fist. “That throat, so tight… taking me so well.”

You eat up his praise, sucking him more then, and you feel him thickening, before he yanks you off, looking down on you with drunk eyes. “Cum in my throat, please Toru… wanna taste it.”

“Why are you so fucking hot!?” You just giggle, but he sighs then, brushing a thumb down your lip. “I wanna fuck you so bad… I miss this pussy.”

“Fuck my throat-”

“We’re here Mr. Gojo, Mrs. Gojo.” You flush, and he chuckles, adjusting himself and then pulling you up gently, fixing your skirt and your hair.

“This is… fun. So fun.” You say, eyes lit up, and he smiles down at you, caressing your face, his snowy white lashes low on his seductive eyes.

“It is fun. We needed this. Now, more fun.” You giggle, and follow him out of the car then, gasping when you see where you all were.

“Oh my god! Your boat!” He’s grinning wide, and you jump up and down, kissing him and pulling him to you.

“I thought what’s more perfect, than the place I fell in love with you.” You’re emotional as you pull him down for a kiss, and then you eagerly follow him up onto the planks of his boat, his big hand gripping yours.

“I feel like we haven’t been on here in forever.” You lean against the railing, the wind blowing your hair gently in the night. Satoru comes behind you, his hard cock on the small of your back, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You remember falling off?” You giggle.

“Of course I do! Oh god… you rescued me.” He laughs, leaning more, hands on the railing on top of yours.

“You need to learn to swim, brat.”

“I know, I know! Ugh. Maybe this summer?”

“I’ll teach you.” He kisses down your cheek, and you sigh, desire thrumming through your skin everywhere he touches. “We gotta teach Rai early too.”

“I know! That’s why I want to learn. Ugh, should we check on her?”

“Nah, Nanami and Foxy got it.” You giggle as he uses the stripper name Nanami’s wife used to use.

“We’re so blessed, we have so many amazing friends.”

“I’m blessed, have a beautiful baby, and beautiful wife. With such nice titties too.” He grabs them then, squeezing them in his hands.

“Hey, Toru…”

“Yes baby?”

“With C sections, you can only do it three times. Like max. So I can probably only have one or two more kids. Does that upset you?”

“Fuck no. You could have no more and I’d understand. That was a really rough experience.” You tremble, looking up at him, as the boat starts to sail in the night, as the moon and stars are rising, illuminating his face.

“They say scheduled are way easier. So I definitely want at least one or two more… but I know-”

“That I want a baseball team?” You nod, and he sighs. “Two or three kids is plenty, even this one is perfect. Whatever happens, I couldn’t be happier that we have her. You’re not any less because you gotta get cut open. Fuck, more badass.”

“Toru…” You turn then, leaning against the rail and looking up at him, as the wind blows that soft white hair, as his bright blue eyes glitter in the moonlight. Your hands cup his face, thumbs on his perfect high cheekbones. “I do want another baby. Having Rai has made me so happy. Maybe not for a little but… I do.”

“Good, because I wanna breed that perfect pussy.” His tone changes, from sweet to a damn growl, and it hits your pussy hard. “Got you wet, so fuckin easy.”

“Such a dick.” He moans as you all kiss, as he grips your ass, yanking it onto his thigh again.

“Want a drink and some dinner, brat? Or only this cock?”

“Honestly, the dick… but we can eat. And drink.” You both laugh, as he leads you to the little dining area, the one with just one table for you two.

One of the two men in tuxedos comes and sets down plates, yummy salmon, veggies and rice, along with a fancy bottle of wine in a chiller. The boat rocks gently as he pulls your seat out for you. You smile up at him.

“Thank you, Sir.” He winks, and then you sit down, the candles on the table flickering as the light from the moon kisses everything with silver. Satoru pours you a glass of white wine, which you sip then, feeling the warmth spread through your throat as he takes a seat across from you.

He's still dressed in that sexy, smug damn look, and you can feel his eyes roving over every inch of your body, making you blush. “Fuck you’re so yummy.”

“You make me feel that way.” He moans, hand sliding up your thigh, where it’s bare at the slit of your dress.

“Just wanna eat you.” You giggle, and then go to cut up your meat, but he pauses you, doing it for you.  "Let me feed you," he whispers, and you feel your tummy clench, as he puts the piece on his fork.

He pops it in your mouth and you chew, tasting the yummy lemon and butter fish. “It’s so good! Ugh, thank you.”

“Of course.” He kisses your hand then, peeking at your nails. “You got baby blue just for me?”

“Of course.” You repeat. He kisses your knuckles, then you grab his fork, cutting him a piece. “Your turn.”

“Yes mommy.” You snort, rolling your eyes, as he takes the bite off your fork, as seductively as any human being could. You feel that desire from earlier pooling now, and sip your wine greedily, hoping it can satiate you for just a moment. “I’ve wanted you so bad…”

“Yeah?” He nods. “Me too… it’s been torture huh?”

“Fucking torture. Could have fucked you like day five.”

“Day five!”

“Yeah, you bent over all sexy with your tits out, I had to go jerk off in the shower after.”

“Oh gosh! Well I’ve had to masturbate in the shower too.”

“You brat! How dare you!”

“What?”

“I’d have gotten you off!”

“You seemed so exhausted after work-” you say, but he is glaring at you now. “What?”

“I would have been eating you out this whole time. I thought you were too nervous or sore…”

“No, I’m good actually. Like… a lot better. Fuck all I can think about is how hot you look in your suits.” You run a hand down his chest then, and he exhales, sliding his hand up your dress then, finding your soaked little pussy with ease, making you pant and whine.

“Let me make it up to you.” He bends down, in the middle of the boat, right out in the open night, kissing up your thighs hungrily. You cry out, leaning back in the little wooden chair, eagerly putting your leg on his shoulder as he demands.

“Fuck… yes, please.” You just whimper those words, and he grins up at you, as you brush his hair back.

“As the lady commands.” He dives down then, greedily sucking up the wetness that’s already seeping out of your tight entrance. “Best dessert ever.”

You giggle, but it’s cut off as he slides his tongue inside you then, and your walls clench down around the talented muscle, you arch your hips up for more, as his kisses grow hungry against your cunt now. He’s slipping his tongue up, drinking every bit of you that gushes, and you feel so dizzy, your vision blurring as he gets you close so damn fast.

“Mnh… s’good, f-fuckk Toru…” You are mumbling, and he’s groaning, flicking faster as his hands grip your thighs.

“Let me drink this all up baby. I’ll clean it s’good.” He’s mumbling, looking up at you with pussy drunk eyes, lidded and sexy as he swipes that tongue up your slit.

You scream then, bucking up, uncaring of the two random workers. They’d heard you all before anyway. Gojo pays them enough. “Cumming! Mnh!”

“Good girl.” At that you start pulsing, cum pouring down your lips and all over Gojo’s face, his lips, his chin, and you hear him slurping it all up, as your legs are trembling around his face.

“Oh my god…” You can barely think or speak, gasping for breath, then he stands, stooping over and bending down.

“Hang on to me, brat.” You do as he says, eagerly, and he’s carrying you down into the cabin, kissing you deeply, over and over. You eagerly lap your desire off his face, trembling when he strips your dress off, leaving you naked. “Oh… fuck… you’re so beautiful.”

You feel tears fall, and he tilts your chin up. “Thank you…”

“I’m just telling the truth. Should be thanking you, fuck… I remember seeing you naked here the first time. I couldn’t get it out of my head, your perfect little body.” You’re whining out, undressing him with shaky hands.

“I remember waking up next to you, looking at you sleeping. You were so pretty, so peaceful. So perfect.”

“You kissed me like a perv.”

“Shut it! Ah!” He’s got you on the bed then, hard and hot on your soft inner thigh, and you raise your hips up, arching your head back.

“That was our first night together.” He whispers, bringing back those memories from just last year.

“It was, you cuddled me for the first time ever. Best cuddler too.” He smirks, preening under your praise, sliding hands down to cup your lush breasts.

“Of course I am. Best at everything. Fucking too.”

“Yeah you are… but I need a reminder.” You stick your tongue through your teeth, and he raises a perfect brow.

“You challenging me brat?” You nod, and then gasp, as with a growl, he sinks into you, filling you up, stretching you in the most delicious way. 

“Fuck! Toru!” You cry out then, your eyes rolling back in your head as he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm in your soppy little cunt.

“This what you wanted, baby?” You nod, eagerly.

“Yes, yes.” You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he fucks into you with his huge cock, his strokes growing deeper, harder, reaching up to grab your hands, entwining his as he studies you.

“Fuck you’re pretty.” He slams his lips down, as the weight of him presses on you, his tip hitting your cervix then as he goes balls deep, and you both moan. “Can you take me fucking you good, baby? I can’t hold back.”

“I can do it. Promise.”

He caresses your face for a moment. “If anything hurts… just let me know, okay? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.”

“Promise, promise. Please.” He moans then, and grabs your hips, slamming you hard on his length, all the way. You scream at it, as you’re pulsing around him, so close from just that.

His teeth are clenched, his cheeks all pink and flushed, brows drawn together. “Fuck you feel so good wrapped on my cock. I missed this.”

“I miss you. S’much ngh!” He’s slamming steady against your cervix now, hand sliding up your chest, squeezing a breast and pinching it, hips snapping as he fucks you harder.

“Can we get these legs up baby?”

“Kinda?” He laughs, breathy, then presses them up some, spreading them wide and then starting to rail your pussy, and you can just hear you sucking him in. He leans back and watches.

“Look at her taking me so good, making my cock dissapear.” His words edge you on, and soon you’re slippery, clutching the sheets of the bed desperately, leaning your ass up for even more. “Oh… fuck….”

“Fuck!” You both moan out at the same time, as his tip is kissing that cervix, so sensitive you’re cumming then, all over his cock, squeezing him so tight.

“Oh my god.” He’s whining again, and the sound is so hot, his pretty face so flushed, eyes so drunk, you yank him down on you, taking his hand and putting it on your throat.

“Please, Toru, choke me. Like your little slut.”

“I’ve died and gone to heaven!?” You both laugh, breathy, but he leans down, pressing his weight on the backs of your thighs, then he’s choking you, squeezing your throat on each side, pressure perfect. “You like it baby don’t you? Me squeezing this pretty neck?”

You nod into his grip, which tightens, then you’re cumming again, orgasm washing over you as he pounds your cunt, and she takes it so good, your mind gets fuzzy as he squeezes tighter. “Mnh!”

“Like she’s made for my cock.” He whispers, and your eyes roll back in your head involuntarily, drool pooling out the side of your mouth as your tongue just hangs out, pathetic. “Cum on this cock again, lemme feel her.”

You do as he commands, because how couldn’t you? Screaming out, but it’s just a whisper, until your vision blackens, and he lets you go, letting you greedily suck in air, leaning forward and laying on top of you. He kisses your lips, tongue sliding in, and it’s messy, just like your cunt dripping down his cock, down the bed. Teeth and tongues and lips.

“Imma put another baby in you, little brat. Fuckin want it?” He purrs those damn words, shoving in hard, your legs over his elbows now. You nod, eagerly, and he licks his lips then, groaning and looking at you.

“Please, put one in me. Cum in me, please.” He huffs a breath then, rythym jerky, reaching down between your bodies and rubbing your little clit then. You scream out at the stimulation, shivering under him, pressure in your tummy building.

“Cum with me, pretty. Milk this cock with that perfect pussy.” You fall with him, cunt pulsing around his cock, as it twitches, and then fills you, as Satoru holds your face tightly, slamming his lips and drinking your cries, as you drink his moans.

“Mnh, s’much! Ah… s’much yes…” You whisper between kisses, as he pumps so much hot load into you, it’s ridiculous.

“Fill that tummy full of me. Take it all, brat.” You just cling to him, as he fucks into you, pumping all that cum more, though your pussy is pushing so much of it out around him, mixed with your wetness.

You’re shaking, struggling for breath, tears hitting your eyes as he keeps pushing, overstimulating you both. “Fuck… never go this long again!”

He laughs, brushing your hair back with one hand as you cling to his bare shoulders, the other hand leaving your clit to grip your waist. “Okay, so next time we’ll only wait two weeks?”

“Yeah at best. And fuck me the whole pregnancy.”

“You’re the one that whined!”

“Well, shit. Yeah.” You both laugh, and soon he’s hard again, still in you, and you blink rapidly. “Again?”

“Oh absolutely again.” He pulls out though, flipping you up on your knees, arching your ass back. “God, your hips and waist like this? Fucking killing me.” His teeth nip your ass cheek, and you shiver, still dripping his cum and yours on the bed, then he’s shoved his cock in you.

“Ah! So big…” You whine out, as he hits deeper like this. He smacks your ass gently, making you wetter, and he fucks in and out with ease, hitting your abused cervix as his balls smack your clit.

“Gonna fill you s’much tonight, brat. Can you take all this cum?” You nod, looking back, and then he yanks your hair, slamming into you over and over, arching your back so you’re up higher, stretched beyond your means.

“All of it. I’ll take all of it, please. Fill me.” He groans loud then, hands gripping your hips hard, and he fucks you into another orgasm, then another…

Then another.

You lose count, as he falls on your back, as his weight is on your back, as he’s drenched in sweat, and so are you. You’re sore, achy, and so is he, as he came again already, and now he’s hard again . Your cunt is wrecked, so full of his cum you can’t take it, but god you want it, you want all of it.

“Another round in you, brat?” He whispers, and you laugh, then gasp when he toys your puffy clit, which twitches under his two fingers, and you’re dripping his cum and yours all over his hand. “Messy little brat, aren’t you? Suck these.”

His fingers are in your mouth, and you’re moaning all over them, drooling, as he slowly and leisurely fucks into you. He’s got you by your throat again, kissing you, and you both cry out into each others mouths, looking at each other with fucked out eyes, and you both moan when he hits that spot that makes you tighten.

“Love you Toru… love you s’much. Mmnh. Love your cock. Love your mouth. Love you.”

“Love you, little brat. So much. Love your pussy, love that throat. Love you. Beautiful.” You cry as he slides in, so sore, but god you want it.

You’ll always want it.

“Forever, Satoru.” He looks at you with those blown out pupils, his blue eyes glittering in the dark.

“You are my forever.”

You cum again, and it doesn’t end there, you all devour each other, hungry, thirsty, needy. Whining, moaning, crying. You push each other’s limits, and can never get enough. You will never get enough.

He’s yours forever.

And you’re his.

The End

A/N- This was my first Gojo fic and first JJK fic, I think I've improved a lot since this but I also will always love it.

Other Gojo fics of mine on Tumblr if you like this one :3 :

Take me Home Tonight- Law school AU- Smut/Fluff, Professor and lawyer Gojo

Fractured Desires - angsty Sato/Reader fic with some Sugu/reader as well- heavy smut/explicit

Healing Hearts - Doctor Gojo and intern student, smut and humor, medical

Silent Serenades- Duke Gojo AU, an arranged marriage, angsty asf, slow burn

Kofi link if you wanna support 💗

[kitchenisking]

Sterek Fic Rec

Second night of chunnuka!

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,240, sterek)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Daddy. by Krose_16 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,430, sterek)

Stiles smells like someone else. A certain alpha doesn't like it.

Daddy's Boy by Snare - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,822, sterek)

Stiles has been blushing around him all week, sputtering and cheeks going red. It’s only after a pack meeting when Derek finally sees the soft pink lace peaking out from under his waistband.

you're still you by EvanesDust - (Rating: T, Words: 7,292, sterek)

[excerpt] Stiles takes a deep breath and follows the pull of their bond to the kitchen. He stops short when he sees Derek sitting at the table. His brows are furrowed with worry and his eyes are closed. But that’s not what makes Stiles’s heart skips a beat.

No, it’s the fact that Derek, his thirty-two-year-old husband, looks half his age now. As in literally half his age. There’s no way that the man sitting in front of him is older than sixteen.

“What the fuck?” Stiles blurts out, and Derek’s eyes shoot open, the chair clattering back as he stands as if Stiles surprised him. And that just goes to show that something is seriously wrong because Stiles has only ever been able to do that when Derek’s stressed and lost in thought. “What the hell happened?”

…or the murder husbands fic that’s mostly sweet while bby Derek takes care of his pregnant mate.

Neither Here Nor There by FelOllie - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,083, sterek)

"Yeah." Stiles ran a hand through hair he hadn't washed in days, not since he'd come home from his dad's to find the loft littered with shotgun shells, black blood staining the floor and the heavy scent of wolfsbane cloyingly thick in the air, with Derek nowhere to be found. "We'll get him back. But..."

"What?" Scott asked, crossing the floor to stand before Stiles, lifting a comforting hand to his best friend's shoulder.

Stiles met Scott's eyes, his own orbs glittering with terrified tears. "What if he's just ash by then?"

Bright by thedevilyousay  - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,102, sterek)

"The strongest warlock in all the land uses his power to constantly kidnap the princess. Most people believe it’s because he’s in love with her, but they have it all wrong. He’s in love with the knight who always comes to save her."

or

Allison finally lets out all the air that’s been trapped in her lungs to giggle, a noise she quickly tries to cover with her hand. This is all too much though, honestly. Stiles isn’t even dressed, Derek has no idea that the mage only does this to see him, and she suddenly can’t remember if she took the kettle off the fire in Stiles kitchen before walking out here to greet her Knight. She tries to gather herself before she speaks.

Nothing Gory Means No Glory (but baby please don't bore me) by DefNotForWork - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,537, sterek)

“I don’t like them touching you,” he rumbled. “I don’t want anyone else touching you.” He leaned forward, and Stiles’ eyes went wide, thinking for one crazy second that the wolf might be leaning in for a kiss. He stood, frozen in place as Derek pressed in close, chest to chest, dragging his nose and then his stubbly cheek against the corner of Stiles’ slack, shocked mouth, down over his jaw and then to his neck. Stiles recognized it as scenting, but damn did it feel like so much more.

Or

Stiles puts himself in the way of a succubus, gets munched on, Derek talks about his feelings, and then they find true love. Not strictly in that order.

At Peace by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,801, sterek)

Stiles spies Derek looking adorably soft and can’t help but go to him.

The End is the Beginning by AClosedFicIsNeverRead - (Rating: Mature, Words: 6,496, sterek)

When Chris returned to the living room, rifle in hand, Stiles – God help him – looked so relieved. 

“Thank you,” Stiles sighed. He sat up and closed his eyes, trying to hold himself somewhat still as he waited to die.

Chris clenched his jaw. Raised his rifle. Aimed with tearful eyes. And pulled the trigger. 

- OR - 

The one where Stiles is bitten and left for dead by a rogue Alpha without anyone knowing, becomes increasingly unstable, and asks Chris Argent to put him down. It doesn't go the way he expected it would...

let the tension seep from your bones by To_fill_the_sea - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,510, sterek)

Derek comes home from tracking a rogue alpha that was encroaching on his territory and threatening his town. When he finally fixes the problem and comes back home he finds Stiles crying in the shower. He then does what he can to soothe and help him.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 17/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

                While they travel together most people assume Vi and him are a couple, it helps a lot of the time. They end up sharing a room or bed as they move around. It does make hooking up difficult, but he either resorts to bathroom stalls, or going home with guys after letting Vi do her hard ass security routine where she insists on taking any guys photo before she lets Bradley leave with him. Annoying as fuck but he’s certain he dodges some real bullets because of it. On the rarer instances when he’s hooked up with a woman she’s done the same thing, although it had resulted in more than one awkward proposition for a threesome. He knows Vi doesn’t do casual, but she’s more than happy acting as his wingman, and telling him that in no uncertain terms she doesn’t find him at all attractive and never will.

                Spending nearly every waking moment together for weeks and then months on end helps solidify their relationship. He’s never had a sibling, and while Vi has two sisters, they’re both quite a bit older though, so he can only think that this must be what it’s like. She knows him, has known him, for several years now and even though she never likens their relationship to that of siblings she definitely calls him cousin openly and consistently, treats him like he’s family in a way he can’t imagine having any other way without calling her sister. Cousin. Whatever.

…            …            …

                He wakes up feeling the most well rested he has in ages, muscles pleasantly sore, blankets warm, air conditioning making the room cooler and he takes a moment to just burrow down further beneath the blankets and smiles to himself. This is what everyone wants him to do when they tell him he needs a vacation. If this is what it’s going to be like then he’s going to be much more easily persuaded. He stretches and reaches for his phone, surprised to see it’s after ten. He needs to ring Vi and check in and make sure the restaurant hasn’t fallen down, not that he doesn’t trust those he left in charge, but it’s his, and he’s been gone for a while and it doesn’t always sit right leaving it for so long. However he trusts Vi implicitly and she won’t hold back telling him if he needs to come home, no matter how much she thinks he needs a break.

                “Come up for breath huh?”

                “Hello to you too.”

                “You’re having a sexcation, I’m surprised you’re awake.”

                “Jake’s gone to see his family.”

                “Oh. Right. Of course. I see how it is. You’re bored.”

                “I’m…” he lets out a long calming breath, “I wanted to check in with you. See how it’s going in my absence?”

                “I came back to a pile of ash and am busy filling in the insurance paperwork…”

                “Vi…”

                “Everything is fine. Everyone is fine. We created a well-oiled machine and it’s working exactly as it should. Calm down and enjoy you sexcation…”

                “What if it’s… more than that.”

                “What do you mean?”

                Bradley bites his lip, wonders if he should just blurt out that he’s already asked Jake to consider dating him, having a long distance relationship and trying something, no matter how crazy or difficult it might be. If he tells Vi he’s already done it, she’ll support him, without question. However if he asks her opinion then he’ll also get it, honest and brutal and he’s terrified it might not be supportive but he still wants to hear it.

                “So, I met his sister yesterday. One of his sisters. She invited me to dinner to meet the rest of his family tomorrow night… I really like him.”

                “Yeah. Of course you do. He’s your Cinderfella.”

                “Cinderfella was a fairytale, Jake is… a cocky asshole who adds sauce to everything.”

                “And yet you like him anyway.”

                “I do. I do like him.”

                “Yeah. I could tell. You going to actually do anything about it other than just… sex?”

                “Do you think I should?”

                “I’m not making that decision for you. But… He was learning Italian. Maybe on the off chance that he might one day meet you again. I mean. Slim to zero chances if you were actually Italian, but he was doing it anyway. He makes you laugh. His stupid sauce thing. You think it’s fucking cute and funny. It’s like he’s made you loosen up a bit and that’s… it’s good to see. I want you to be happy and more relaxed and if you have to be with a guy that adds sauce to everything to be happy then I will make sacrifices…”

                “Wow. Big of you.”

                “What is the worst he can say? No, right? Thanks but no thanks?”

                “Yeah.”

                “And what’s the best he can say?”

                “I love you, lets run off to Vegas and get married?” Bradley jokes, because he’s already had the conversation with Jake, and Vi is already pushing him to asking. And Maria had been doing the same, so having family also think that they might work together. Despite the distance and jobs. To try it.

                “Holy shit, you’re thinking about marrying this guy.”

                “What? No I’m not.”

                “You literally just mentioned running off to Vegas to get married!”

                “It was hypothetical!”

                “And if he asked?”

                “I’d… I’d say yes,” Bradley says, but he has to hold back laughter, because he wouldn’t, but god does he want Vi to think he would.

                “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

                “He’s not going to propose marriage Vi.”

                “Well, still more likely than him saying no to whatever it is you’re going to ask him… Bradley. You’ve met his family. Well. A sister. He’s met me, which is as much family as you have and talk to on the East Coast. You’ve shoving several months into two weeks… But do not, under any circumstances run off to fucking Vegas and get married. Aunt Silvia would kill you as soon as she caught wind of it.”

                “Well, I’m not going to ask him,” Bradley says, grinning, because god he loves winding her up.

                “Why not? You have to take a risk sometime…”

                “I’m not going to ask him, because we already talked about it yesterday and we’re… dating. Going to try the whole long distance th-”

                “Mamma Mia! Stronzo!” Vi snaps out, followed by further strings of insults in Italian and Bradley laughs at her annoyance, feels accomplished in a way that only annoying her brings.

                “Yeah yeah, think of me tomorrow when I’m meeting his entire family. For the record, he has five sisters.”

                “Oh… oh that’s beautiful. That’s what I call karma. Stronzo.”

                “Yeah, laugh it up. Can’t be any more intimidating the Nana and Nonna.”

                “True. Think you’ll take him to Italy?”

                “It’s been six days. How about we just… slow it down. Take it easy.”

                “Hmm. From the guy who has already decided to date him and try long distance. And yet I’m the one suggesting crazy shit.”

                Bradley groans, and he knows what he’s going to ask next isn’t going to help at all in terms of making Vi think he’s not rushing into things.

                “His sister clocked me as soon as I walked in by the way. She’s a fan.”

                “And?”

                “Jake has no idea who I am…”

                “Oh… oh shit. That’s not going to work.”

                “He knows my name. But he doesn’t like watching reality TV. He saw one of my recipe books, that Maria owns, and he didn’t even blink. Was just… oh, good for you. You’ve done a cook book.”

                “Okay. So maybe he’s just very chill about it?”

                “Maria thinks he’s oblivious and will remain oblivious.”

                “Maria is…”

                “His sister. She invited me to dinner. To meet everyone else. Said that Jake can be pretty blind to things even when it’s right in front of him. And that she’ll… maybe help him remain in the dark a little?”

                “That’s not a good idea.”

                “Not in a bad way. Just… she’s warning all of Jake’s other sisters, so they don’t make a big deal and are prepared when I turn up. She was not prepared for me to turn up, Jake had been calling me Leo the whole time. I’m lucky she just rolled with it. We’d met at the market as well, so…”

                “He knows your name though right?”

                “Yeah. And Maria calls me Bradley.”

                “Oh. So… he knows you’re a chef, that you’ve done some books and what…?”

                “That I work in a restaurant in New York. But also that I travel a lot for work. Sometimes.”

                “You do travel a lot.”

                “Yep.”

                “Okay. Well, for the record I think you should maybe try and spell it out for him.”

                “It’s kind of nice having him like me for just me…”

                “Leonardo…” Vi says, and he can hear the reproach in her tone. “He already likes you. Don’t think he’s going to care about your very limited claim to fame.”

                “Yeah, but you know people think of me differently when they see the TV version of me, and then meet me in person.”

                “I don’t think Jake is going to be one of them.”

                “Yeah? Why do you think that?”

                “Because of the way he adds sauce to fucking everything. If there was a guy who cared less about what you do for a job I challenge you to find him. Salsa scandalo.”

…            …            …

                “So… want to tell us about him?”

                “Why bother? You’re just going to grill him tomorrow.”

                Again silent looks are exchanged and Jake realizes that maybe Olivia is also an owner of Leo’s cookbook.

                “Are you a fan of his?” Jake asks.

                “I…” she starts, looks to Maria. “Yes.”

                “Great.”

                “Okay, you guys cannot make a big deal or embarrass me, okay?”

                “This is the first person you’ve ever brought home. It’s kind of a big deal.”

                “If you guys screw this up for me, he’ll also be the last guy I ever bring home.”

                “Okay okay, we’ll be on our best behavior. We promise.”

                Jake doesn’t trust that statement at all but it’s not like he has much choice in the matter.

EIGHTEEN

[1d1195]

Half & Half

Here is my new soulmate idea. (New meaning different than my other ones I wrote back in the day.) A tattoo appears on the left ring finger of each person when they turn 16 years old. It’s a black outline, nothing crazy—obviously, it’s on the ring finger. It has to do with how you meet your person. (You’ll see in a second.) It’s vague, there’s not much rhyme or reason.

Q&A (because I feel like there are always questions when it come to soulmate ideas):

Q: Sam, won’t multiple people have the same tattoo? A: Great question. Potentially. It’s irrelevant though for the sake of the story.

Q: How do they know it’s their other half? A: Another good question. The pair of tattoos change to the same color.

Q: Well, Sam, hypothetically, if four people are in the same room and meet their respective half can’t they all have the same color change? How will they know which person they belong with? A: It won’t happen. Q: How do you know? A: Because I wrote it that way.

Q: What happens if you don’t find your soulmate in this universe? A: Then you’ll be sad like Harry.

Q: What do you mean Harry is going to be sad?! A: Warnings: Lots of angst, sad, pining Harry, mentions of death, mentions of sex (pg-13 at most)

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask! (But be warned I'm making this all up on the spot!)

That’s it. That’s all you get. (there will also be like one or two liberties I'm taking with this idea that may have forgot to disclose that you'll read in a few minutes). A black tattoo that marks how you’ll meet your other half. When you meet that person, the pair of tattoos change to the same color. I don’t have a preview for you because this turned into a lengthy foreword. Enjoy :)

How can you miss someone you’ve never met? / Cause I need you now, but I don’t know you yet / But can you find me soon because I’m in my head? / Yeah, I need you now, but I don’t know you yet.

Harry looked at the little tattoo on his ring finger. He’d been staring at it since he was a teen. The morning of his sixteenth birthday to be exact. It was small, the length of his first knuckle to the next and he thought it was a cruel fate that it was a little coffee cup. How was that supposed to narrow his search? Why couldn’t it have been something like Niall’s—a snake? How often did one encounter a snake? That would be easy (and it was for Niall). Or something like Gemma’s—a diploma? There was only a certain number of graduations Gemma anticipated attending.

That was more than twelve years ago he woke up with the taunting little marking. For the first week he drank no less than four cups of coffee a day and had his mum drive him all over town to the different shops in hopes of finding her. Anne took it all in stride knowing how she spent eight hours at the library the first day she saw the book tattoo on her finger when she was Harry’s age. It was just something that needed to be done. The heart wanted, what the heart wanted.

He wished he knew what was on his love’s ring finger. It would have been better if the two markings were paired in the tattoo that appeared on his skin. It wasn’t much help to know it had something to do with their first meeting. It could be anywhere. Harry could have coffee anywhere. After that first week, he decided to relax. He was sixteen. There was plenty of time to meet his soulmate.

But sixteen became seventeen and suddenly he was twenty-eight, no soulmate, and the little coffee cup on his finger mocked him more and more every day. There was therapy or services he could try. People could potentially help, but it just felt so tragic. He wanted to just know. Wanted it to be a natural meeting; the way it was intended. Simply discovering one another exactly how the tattoos indicated they would. None of his friends or family needed help. The many Google searches told him it took a mere average of five years to find their other half.

He had more than doubled that time. Twelve years. The person that he was destined to meet was somewhere out there with who knows what etched on their skin. Maybe they had a coffee cup too. Harry had heard of that. But Niall’s soulmate had a balloon because he had taken his nephew to the little balloon cart after the snake exhibit at the zoo. Both the little outlines on their fingers turned green as they met. It happened. He found her.

Gemma’s soulmate had a camera—someone who happened by at the exact moment they needed someone to take a picture of their family after she graduated. Their outlines turned a brilliant shade of red. They had met. She found him. They could start their lives together.

Anyway, it was unlikely Harry and his other half both had coffee cups.

It wasn’t like Harry had a tragic upbringing that he desperately needed his love at the other end of this tattoo to help him cope through life. He adored his mother and sister. He had a great education. He wasn’t bullied and had a set of good friends. He had a stable job and a good home. If anything, it seemed kind of selfish of him to be so upset he was without his soulmate when everything else was good.

But he longed for his soulmate. All day. Every moment. It ached to his core. He swore his heart was beating for his person, tapping out a rhythm that sounded like a name that he wasn’t allowed to hear. His friends and family were all concerned for his well-being. They couldn’t imagine the heartache Harry was suffering and they wouldn’t wish it on their worst enemy. All-encompassing adoration and love? He had plenty of that to give. He wanted to be at the receiving end of it. A match made in heaven. Or whatever cosmic reality was out there. Harry had watched so many movies and read so many stories depicting the meet-cutes between soulmates. He wanted his.

There were therapies and people to help if you lost your soulmate. These, essentially, were dating sites if you didn’t want to be alone after an untimely passing or something else (although Harry couldn’t imagine a scenario that didn’t include death—what was the something else?). Harry thought about the websites and the grief counseling. Because as he approached his twenty-third birthday, he was getting lonely. All of his friends and acquaintances were paired by then and found the loves of their lives by the time he graduated university—they fell well within the average time. He was jealous, simply put. How could he not be?

“Oh, Harry,” Sarah cooed, kissing his cheek, wrapping her arm around his shoulders as he scrolled through options on his phone. She met Mitch when she was a child—the tattoos and color changing appearing instantaneously. It was extremely rare, but it was effortless: a swing and a slide. Light purple. Another match. One moment blending into the next without pause. They found each other before Harry even had a tattoo on his finger. “You’ll find her. You deserve love more than anyone I know.”

He hoped she was right because he was rapidly losing hope.

Tomorrow was his twenty-ninth birthday after all.

How can you miss someone you’ve never seen? / Oh, tell me are your eyes brown, blue, or green? / And do you like it with sugar and cream? / Or do you take it straight, oh, just like me?

Anne said the same thing as Sarah—but he thought she still had hope because she wanted her son to be happy and that’s what a mum did. She had hope even when Harry didn’t.

Harry had a soft heart. He was sensitive. He wanted to be in love more than he wanted anything else in his life. But he went through the motions. Finishing school, getting a job, and doing his best to get through each day without someone to share it with. He could feel pity oozing from every person he met, and they saw the black ink on his finger. His friends spoke in hushed whispers agreeing to any coffee shop Harry wanted to meet at each weekend.

Each night came with a fitful sleep. A different pair of colored eyes appeared in his dream of someone he didn’t know yet. There were so many dreams of meeting his favorite person. So many good ones. So many bad ones. All of which he woke up heartbroken once more, that he hadn’t met the love of his life.

He graduated with top honors because there weren’t many people in school who didn’t have the other half of their soul by their side. Especially by the end of the four years. It was hard for his friends to go out with him and watch him not find the love he was looking for. Harry wasn’t one for partying excessively—he had plenty of fun times in university with his friends at parties without his other half, that wasn’t something he regretted. But by the time graduation rolled around, the parties got further and few between. His friends didn’t need to go out the way he did. They didn’t have to search anymore.

Harry lost the most hope during his third year. He tried dating people he met at coffee shops and cafes. Dating was a loose term. Harry’s dates with those that lost someone or those that, like him, had given up weren’t all that fruitful for either party. Call him old-fashioned, but if she was out there, he wanted to save every intimate part of himself. A sweep of the lips across a cheek, that was all he could muster. Companionship to stave off the loneliness, that was all he could manage at best. Some were blatant in showing their disappointment. But most usually understood—they’d do anything to get their other half back or to find them.

He prayed to whatever was out there that she felt the same way.

The only solace he had was knowing that maybe, just maybe, she was out there, feeling just as crummy as he was. Not that he wanted the love of his life to feel crummy. At the very least, it would be another thing to tie them together and something to discuss when he finally found her. He kept a list of things he wanted to know. Several lists.

The first list was filled with superficial things—favorites mostly: color, food, movie, etc. Outward things that he wanted to know but really, they were things that anyone who knew the most basic information about her may know. The next list was slightly deeper; things that people only closest to her may know. Things that made her tick. What were her political views? Did she have a good home life? Was she a summer or a winter kind of person? How did she take her coffee--with half and half?

Is that why the coffee cup was there? Did she even like coffee? Has it been a teacup all this time?

The final list was deeper, intimate, things that he wouldn’t anyone to know about himself (or her, if he was honest) except maybe a therapist. Did she suffer her first heartbreak despite knowing she had a soulmate out there? Did she believe in an afterlife or reincarnation? Did she have any regrets or suffer ever?

Had she waited like Harry did?

Part of him hated the idea that she may not have felt the same way regarding intimacy. Maybe she gave that part of her to someone else. Someone she had met at a coffee shop and maybe she thought the tattoo changed color. Sometimes Harry thought his tattoo had changed. He believed it so vehemently. The shade of black looked gray-er one day. Another day it looked sort of navy-blue.

It was wishful thinking because even if it did, he never found who was supposed to be his other half at the time.

But he also believed that even if she did have a difference of opinion on intimacy, he would trust her judgment implicitly. She believed she was doing the right thing at the time and that was enough for Harry.

He woke up on his twenty-ninth birthday the same way he had for the last thirteen years—without a soulmate and a heavy heart.

Cause lately it’s been hard / They’re selling me for parts / And I don’t wanna be modern art

Harry started therapy when he turned twenty-seven. He was feeling very low without anyone to come home to. His therapist was helpful and extremely kind. But Harry could tell by the pink coloring on his ring finger that he had already met his other half. While his directions and ideas to help Harry cope with the grief of not knowing, it wasn’t something he could fully empathize with. Harry fully believed that. It wasn’t his therapist’s fault either—how could Harry blame him for finding his soulmate?

His therapist recommended websites with more successful ratings. His office even had a program that Harry would be perfect for. In fact, if he was interested in it enough, he would be a great candidate to speak to others in similar situations. There was a chance for Harry’s picture to be on a pamphlet to help others like him. He could tell his therapist was excited about the prospect of helping others like Harry. But it would only be another reminder to Harry that he was alone.

Harry found himself balling his hands into fists to keep from screaming.

*

His friends asked if he wanted to do anything for his birthday. For the last seven years they had done a coffee crawl in hopes of Harry finding someone that changed his tattoo for good. But this year Harry wanted to be alone.

“Are you sure?” Mitch asked in disbelief. He could hear the alarm in his voice. He could hear the covered whispers from Sarah behind the scenes. He nodded and Mitch was silent waiting for Harry to say something. But he didn’t speak for a full three minutes. When he did, Mitch wasn’t oblivious to the sniffle he heard and the way Harry’s voice broke.

“M’jus...” he shook his head. “S’fine,” he shrugged and swallowed all the emotions. He looked at that horrible, ugly, little mocking coffee cup. “Jus’...tired,” he told his friend.

“Yeah...sure...,” Mitch nodded. “Let me know if you need something, Harry. Happy birthday.”

It just didn’t feel happy.

Harry spent his birthday sulking in his apartment. He called out sick for three days of work so he could lie in bed, mourning the loss of someone he didn’t even know. On that third day he scheduled an impromptu therapy appointment begging the man to just do something to end Harry’s suffering. He wanted to be in love...he wanted to be loved.

But his therapist could only do so much. It was one big waiting game. One big, cruel terrible game.

*

“Uh...hi...m’name’s Harry,” Harry said into the microphone. He placed the guitar on his knee and brought the microphone closer to his lips. “M’therapist...suggested I sing when m’feeling down; s’been a while since I sang in front of a crowd,” he explained to the quiet group. “A way t’cope. Uh...in case it wasn’t obvious, I haven’t...met m’other half,” he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Been waiting thirteen years and four days.”

A few people had their attention focused on Harry. There were a few quiet interjections of ‘aw.’ A couple gasps of shock. There was one quiet happy birthday toward the front. Harry tuned his guitar for a moment. “I didn’t write this,” he smiled wryly. “But I believe every word of it,” he nodded in affirmation and swallowed. “How can you miss someone you’ve never met?” He began.

As he sang, he focused on the playing and singing the right words. He barely looked at the little crowd of the quiet, late-night cafe. He didn’t tell his friends about this. It was for him only. His next method of coping. When he finished the song there was a smattering of applause and he nodded gratefully, shoving his guitar in its case, before rushing outside. He took heaving breaths, the air from his lips accumulating into a cloud in the space in front of him.

That did not feel cathartic the way his therapist said it would. It was overwhelming and Harry actually thought it was one of the worst things he ever did. He felt like puking and began pacing away from the café stopping a few meters further up the sidewalk trying to console himself and his feelings.

“Excuse me?” Harry’s heart almost burst at the sound of her voice. He turned to the person hurrying up the path to him. His heart leapt but he kept his fingers pressed into the palms of his hand. He was going to leave imprints from his nails pressing into the skin.

She had a scarf draped around her neck and a pair of gloves, no coat. “I didn’t want to miss you! Harry, right?” she asked, shivering against the chilly February air pausing beside him as he looked back at the road in front of them. He gave a half nod. “That was beautiful,” she sounded like a song herself. But Harry had thought he met his soulmate before, he knew better than to get attached to just the sound of someone’s voice. There was one person he met ages ago—he couldn’t even remember what year it was that he was so sure was his soulmate. But when he looked, her tattoo was sky blue...and Harry’s remained black.

Harry also taken many science classes and knew the earth was tilted on its axis. But he was certain it had inexplicably turned upside down the moment he heard her voice.

He was still fearful it was too good to be true.

 He didn’t dare look at his finger.

“I saw you rushing out here—boy, it’s really cold! I...I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she explained as she tilted her chin down to hide below her scarf. If Harry was smart, he would ask to go back inside so she wouldn’t freeze to death. It wasn’t his fault he was a sad, broken man.

Instead, he was speechless, waiting for the inevitable. For her to ask to see his tattoo. He pressed his fingers harder against his own hand. Instead, she bit her lip, her nose turning pink in the frosty temperature. “I brought you some hot chocolate,” she told him. Harry took this moment to realize between her gloved hands she held a coffee cup—or rather, a cup of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate. The same kind of cup that he knew was outlined on his finger. He didn’t take the drink from her. He couldn’t. Even if he wanted to, he was frozen in place.

Instead, he managed to turn his attention to her eyes for the first time. They were so gentle, so kind. There was understanding etched all over her face. Harry just laid it out to a whole group of strangers the hurt he was feeling. He knew she knew. She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t talking. So, she continued. “My tattoo is a guitar...and you were the only person in there with a guitar...so...it’s,” she smiled and shook her head. Like it was an inside joke between them already. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “It’s gold now, this like beautiful, shimmering gold...I didn’t even want to cover it because I want to look at it all the time—and it’s only been about ten minutes like this but—God, it’s so cold out!—but I didn’t want...couldn’t miss you so I didn’t wear a coat—can I see your tattoo?” She rushed, still shivering. The poor girl.

Harry felt lightheaded. She was right here. A guitar. A cup of hot chocolate. It had to be.

Right?

Harry shook his head. “N-no,” he mumbled. The rejection broke her gentle, beautiful features. The poor thing.  Why would he say that?! “M’scared,” he admitted.

She swallowed nervously. Her expression was a little more guarded than when she first stood next to him, but less broken than when Harry outright said no. “I just moved here,” she nodded—complete understanding back on her face. Her teeth were chattering. Harry was horrible to make her suffer like this. “I’ve been looking at this goddamn guitar for eleven years and you should know, I have no musical talents whatsoever. I took so many music classes in high school. I attended every band concert at my college. I haunted my local music store. I—” her voice cracked, and Harry heard the desperation that he had felt for so many years. It ached him to know she felt the same way. Worse than his own pain. He wanted to yank her heart out of her and cradle it, hold it and nurse it back to health. He’d give her the shattered half of what was left of his own heart if that would make her pain go away. She looked at the cup between her hands, tears lining her lashes so beautifully Harry was really starting to believe it was her.

“Baby, I threw a dart at a map,” she whispered. “I couldn’t take it, Harry. I applied for the first job I could find that used my degree in this town. I found an apartment. I packed up and left everyone and everything I ever knew to find my soulmate,” she sniffed. There were no fallen tears, but Harry thought she probably had cried plenty. Harry certainly had. “Everyone I know, thinks I’m crazy,” he knew that feeling very well. “I took the very first flight out possible. So, I’ve been stuck in my old time zone I won’t sleep until tomorrow afternoon. I was tired of unpacking. Tired of being hopeful and I just wanted to get some hot chocolate because it’s so cold, you know? So I went to this café that I Googled—it’s the only place open at eleven at night,” but Harry already knew that. She brought a gloved hand to her lips. Lips that Harry really wanted to kiss. “I know you have two years of waiting on me. I’m sorry about that—I didn’t know we weren’t in the same place, honey. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Like it was her fault. Harry felt so broken that she was taking the blame for it all, but he couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. It wasn’t her fault. These things happened. It just sucked. It sucked the life out of Harry for thirteen years, but Harry remembered eleven years without her just as well. It’s when he started therapy after all. She had suffered too. “Please,” her voice cracked again. “I need to see your tattoo,” she begged.

It was so quiet on that cold street. His chest hurt; his throat ached. It felt like he was trapped in the smallest of rooms, the walls closing on him and pressing him into a cube of pain. He held out his left hand. She rolled her lips into her mouth. Her shoulders were heaving with the greatest weight she had ever carried. Harry wished he could be braver and help her out, but he was so terrified she was wrong. This was the closest break in his search he had ever had and if she was wrong, he thought it would kill him, surely.

She switched the coffee cup to her right hand. With her free one, she slid her gloved index finger over his bare digit. She released a breathy, watery giggle. Another inside joke between the two of them. “Don’t suppose it’s always been gold?” She asked.

Harry knew when his therapist asked what it felt like when he finally met her, he would never be able to describe the moment accurately. He tried to take it all in. The sounds, the smells, the feelings. His eyes were blurred with relieved tears so he couldn’t take in what he saw but he finally looked down at that beautiful tattoo of his. An iridescent, glittering gold. With her teeth she pulled her glove off her hand—his poor love had to be freezing but she didn’t stop—showing Harry how her little guitar outline matched the color of his cup perfectly, sliding her ring finger against his making the first brush of her skin against his the most magical feeling he had ever felt.

So, this is what it felt like to be whole.

In the same moment, she dropped the mug. It shattered to pieces on the cold sidewalk, stained her pale colored shoes in chocolate liquid and soaked her discarded glove. But Harry didn’t even have a second to react to it because her arms were around his neck. Her face was buried in his shoulder. “I thought it was a coffee cup,” he croaked, wrapping his arms around her middle. She giggled some more. It might be his new favorite sound. He pulled her close, feeling the shards of the mug crunching below their shoes. They stayed like that, Harry’s heart thrumming against his ribs, positively ready to jump into her chest to be a whole heart, finally. He squeezed her, crushed him to her, terrified to let her go. He would need a new therapist to cope with this kind of anxiety.

He pushed her back from him and he brought his hands to her cheeks, trying to take in every inch of the beautiful face he longed to see, touch, and feel every night he slept. He never wanted to stop looking at her. He was scared to let go of her for even a second.

Maybe he didn’t need to explain it to his therapist. This moment would just be theirs. A cold street, a broken mug, and two halves of one soul finally found.

He pressed his lips to her forehead then each eyelid, her nose, her cheeks. He tried to kiss every pore on her skin. “I’ve never kissed anyone,” he admitted. Her heart fluttered. “I know s’pathetic,” his lips never stopped the kisses to her face. His voice muffled by her skin. He pressed his lips again and again to the same spaces. It warmed her, he could tell. Her cheeks turned a deep red, but it wasn’t due to the cold.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, and he watched as the tears dripped down her cheeks. Harry had the fleeting thought that meant she hadn’t waited and now that she was finally here, he knew it really didn’t matter. “You really are my soulmate,” she whispered, which proved of course she waited—she was all his.

Harry ran his thumb along her lip and sank his mouth to touch hers. He moaned at the feeling, the warmth, the electricity that ran through her and into him. A completed circuit. Whole. She whimpered again, kissing him back and wrapped her arms around his neck again. He squeezed her close, her toes lifting off the ground.

“Can I take y’home with me, angel?” He begrudgingly pulled away. She quickly nodded, her heart fluttering at the word angel. He didn’t even mean to call her that, it rolled effortlessly off his tongue. “I have...so many questions t’ask you.”

“Please,” she nodded eagerly.

Harry held her left hand because it was without a glove. She was also still without a coat—abandoned in the late-night cafe, but they marched on anyway.

*

But I only got half a heart to give to you. / And I hope it’s enough.

Harry gave her his heaviest sweatshirt and made more tea so he could stay awake and keep her warm. Her jaw still chattered every so often, and they sat in silence for a few moments. Sitting on his bed. Harry had never had a girl in his bed before. He held her hand in both of his. The tea on his bedside table. He was staring at their tattoos. The pair that somehow matched after all his suffering. He thought gold was his new favorite color.

“I have lists,” he whispered. “Of things I want t’know.”

Smiling, that gorgeous smile of hers, she nodded easily. “You can ask me anything,” she promised.

Harry wondered if this was how all soulmates felt. To be heard and seen. This implicit need to be broken open and share every detail they could think of. “I don’t want t’fall sleep,” he murmured. But sleep was winning. He didn’t want it. He found her. He wanted to be awake and ask her all his questions. He wanted to memorize her skin, find every freckle. Wanted to kiss her again and again until he felt like his heart wasn’t half of a lump of muscle anymore. She deserved a whole heart.

She swallowed. “Harry, I’m going to stay,” she promised. It wasn’t distrust he felt. But it was a new ache that he wasn’t sure he could describe. Worry, maybe? That was about as close as he could get to describing it. He was afraid she was a figment, a dream. A really wonderful dream. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, it’s my favorite.”

Breakfast. One favorite down, only a thousand more to go. She gently pushed his shoulder down and she rested her ear on his chest. “Dreamed about your heartbeat,” she murmured. Harry wondered if she heard the way it skipped a beat as she spoke. He kissed the top of her head. “If I’m not right here when you wake up, I’ll be in the kitchen, alright?” He nodded. He hoped she would be here though. Waking up without her attached to him after this crazy, beautiful night might make him a little worse for wear in the morning. Would it be crazy to say he loved her? That was crazy. Whether they were soulmates or not. Despite that he did love her. “I love you,” she whispered. “Always have.”

It wasn’t crazy. Not at all. Not the way she said it. If anything, it made the most sense in the world. “I love you, too,” he felt like crying and if it wasn’t for the clock on his nightstand reading two in the morning, he might have actually cried before he fell asleep.

*

The knocking on the door woke him. So did the near shouts of his name. His love was no longer lying on top of him, but the knocking must have gotten her out of bed. It was nearly nine the next morning, the sun poking through the blinds. It was warm, his bed smelled like her.

He heard his door creak. The gasps. “Who are you?” He heard Sarah ask.

She giggled. “I’m the coffee cup,” even the way she introduced herself was perfect. Maybe he would keep the hot chocolate detail to himself. It seemed that she was willing to do the same by not telling them it wasn’t a coffee cup all these years.

“Oh, fucking finally!” Mitch cheered.

“Princess!” Niall shouted and Harry chose that moment to enter the main room, one of his best friends lifting the sweet girl into a massive hug that made him somehow feel more whole than he ever thought he could. “We’ve been waiting forever for you,” he told her. She simply giggled more, returning his hug.

“Easy, please. I jus' got her,” Harry murmured.

Sarah, seeing Harry finally appeared, threw herself at Harry with a choked half-laugh, half-cry. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered.

Niall and Mitch, being the guitar enthusiasts they were, found her little tattoo unbelievably adorable and nearly unfair they had a snake and a swing. “I quite literally had no idea how I was supposed to find a musician when I can only sing—kind of.”

The boys asked her how it happened last night. Was that why Harry didn’t answer their texts or calls? Niall said he would go back and get her things—her purse, her coat, her phone. He knew the owner and was adamant that her things would be safely in the lost and found. She didn’t even care. They asked where she was from and Harry realized how gentle and guarded her answers were—they weren’t revealing, no long explanations.

She kept glancing at Harry with a knowing smile with every question she answered. It took everything in him to not cry from the fact she was keeping her answers short because she knew Harry would want to know the answers first—would want to ask more.

Sarah was looking at her as if she put the stars in the sky—Harry only knew that look because that’s how he felt as well. “Was...was it worth all that pain?” She asked. “I can’t...I can’t imagine,” she glanced at the little slide on her finger that had been there since she was six years old. She shook her head in disbelief. Sad for Harry

But he nodded anyway. As if for thirteen years he didn’t have the most broken heart known to man. “So very much,” he affirmed giving Sarah a squeeze around the shoulders.

“I was just about to make breakfast; would you like to join us?” She asked the three of them. Harry had never been an us. It was like a magic spell. Every word from her lips was like a soothing little cleanser meant to fix all the broken parts of him.

His friends smiled and looked at Harry for confirmation. If he wanted time alone with her, they would high tail it out of there, totally understandable. Niall was already calling the café to see if he could get her things at the very least.

“Please stay, of course,” he shrugged. “We’ve got forever.” Her expression seemed to melt a little at his words. He saw the way her thumb smoothed the skin over her ring finger.

Mitch and Sarah headed to the kitchen island and took their seats, they were a flurry of calls and messages to their other friends. They wanted to spread the good news and this is what friends did for someone like Harry. He didn't need to tell everyone, he had the love of his life in his arms. Niall was headed back out the door to get her things from the café. He’d be back in fifteen minutes.

Feeling more rested than he had in years, since he dreamed about the pair of eyes that finally matched someone that he knew to be his soulmate, he didn’t feel as broken. She smiled at him, gorgeously. He didn’t think he would ever tire of this new feeling of being whole. “Y’sure y’don’t mind having them?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I love them already.”

Harry knew it would be that way but somehow it was still way too good to be true. “We have all waited a very long time for you,” he reminded her. She wrinkled her nose cutely with a little impish grin. Harry placed his hands on her hips, pulling her toward him as if he had done this every morning for his whole life. “I’ve thought about you a thousand different ways and I don’t think any of them compare t’how you actually are,” he whispered.

She pressed the length of herself against him. Arms around his neck. His arms were like a vice around her waist. Harry’s sweatpants were too long on her, and the sweatshirt was scented with her new favorite smell. The love of her life. Her other half.

“Harry, I’m afraid I only have half a heart left to give you. I was really sad there for a very long time,” she admitted quietly; maybe it wasn't the time to tell him, but she needed to say it while it was on her mind. Sarah and Mitch were fielding messages, quiet giggles and words just over their shoulders while they waited for breakfast.

“Jus’ another thing we have in common,” he mumbled into her hair unfazed by her words. “We can share the whole one we make together.”

She sighed with relief and nuzzled her face into the soft shirt he wore. “You’re everything I wanted and more.”

What more could he say? “Me too, angel. Me too.”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

Please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[cowgurrrl]

I’m sorry. I am simply obsessed with rockstar!joel with crackhead twins. There is something about this hot dude in his 50s with a bad back having to raise two wild gremlins who like to gnaw on the table leg!? You know what I mean. Could I please request a cute fic where Joel is just super exhausted and feels like he is maybe not up tot he task, I don’t know maybe the girls are like in their chaos 2 year old stage. After a long day of them not being interested in him at all and him just feeling super insecure he resorts to strumming my girl on his guitar and they are just mesmerized by their dad?! Idk like the music is the moment the turn into sweet little mushy angels again? Sorry that was super long, anyway love yah.

Thank you for the request 🥺🥺 ily2 and I love that a general consensus has been reached that the twins are batshit crazy as toddlers and Sam is just a Perfect Baby Angel

My Girls

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: Joel braves the first of many Sophia and Violet days [1.6k]

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and the foster care system, Joel being a DILF, that’s it

It's debated on what's harder: going from no kids to one kid or one kid to two kids. You honestly don't have a lot of skin in the game when it comes to the question because Sarah and Ellie were teenagers when you met Joel. Even then, Sarah was fourteen when Ellie came into their lives and sixteen by the time the adoption paperwork was approved. You thought going from two to three with the birth of Sam would be hard, and it was, but Sam was an amazing baby. He always wanted to cuddle, followed the rules almost to a fault, and rarely threw tantrums. He's the kid that made you think, "Oh, yeah. We could totally do this again." Sophia and Violet, however, have given you a run for your money from the moment you found out you were having twins, and two years later, they haven't stopped. 

True to form, once the girls turn two, you go back to work. Joel is accommodating because, of course, he is. He realizes you put your career on pause for almost two and a half years (if you count the mandated bed rest your doctor put you on at 32 weeks) and is more than happy to let you go and do your thing. He'd been a single dad with no help to a kid before. What's thirty years and a couple extra littles running around? As it turns out, a lot.

The day you return to set, this time as a director instead of an actor, the girls spend the first hour without you crying. Sam, being six and used to his parents' routine, is seemingly unfazed and continues watching Bluey and munching on his breakfast. Sophia and Violet bang on the door, scream and refuse to let Joel even talk to them, let alone pick them up to comfort them. They fight him the entire way to the car to get Sammy to school on time and then cry even harder because "Bammy's going to school." Joel can normally soothe his girls without any issue, but they didn't sleep well the night before and have been wound up all morning. 

When he got home with them, they demanded a snack, but they had to be different because twins. Then, Sophia collapsed in a heap on the floor because Joel peeled her banana for her instead of letting her do it (rookie mistake). The toddler dramatics sent Daisy into action to remedy the situation, which made Violet scream in protest because she suddenly decided she hates when Daisy licks her or anybody for that matter. Poor Daisy didn't know what to do besides scamper off to her bed and watch Joel struggle with big, sad eyes. Then came the drama of what game to play: Princess Tea Party or Princess Dinosaurs, which caused another explosion of unregulated emotions. By the time noon rolls around, he's staring at his phone as he tries to decide whether or not to call you. 

If there's one thing Joel Miller hates more than admitting defeat, it's seeing his kids upset. Everything he tries to do only upsets the girls more and makes him question his parenting skills. How the fuck did you do this for two years? Sure, the kids had their days, but the only time you ever sent him an SOS at work was when Violet had an asthma attack and ended up in the emergency room. Even then, you got all three kids in the car and to the hospital without help. You're a fucking force when it comes to taking care of the kids, and right now, he feels like the worst dad on the planet. After a quick cry in the pantry, while the girls watched Encanto for the umpteenth time and ate lunch, he takes a deep breath and decides he can handle a few more hours. 

With a little more fuss and frustration, he gets Daisy on a leash and the girls in a stroller and walks them down to the neighborhood playground. The change of scenery and the sunshine put the girls in a much better mood. For a blissful hour, the girls run around and play and giggle without a care in the world. Joel does everything from pushing them on the swings to going down the slide with them to letting them play with Daisy off-leash. They have fun until the dreaded hour of nap time creeps up on them. 

Thankfully, the girls (Daisy included) are tired from their adventures on the playground and start the journey home reluctantly. It's getting them to actually go to sleep that's the issue. Every time he tries to leave their room, one of them calls out the saddest "Daddy" he's ever heard in his entire life, and he turns right back around. And it would be fine if his presence wasn't enough to keep the girls awake. He knows that if the girls don't nap, it will only make the day longer and worse for everyone. He sits on the floor between their two beds and tucks a curl behind Violet's ear.

"C'mon Vi Pie, you guys gotta close your eyes and nap," he says quietly. "What can I do to get you to sleep?"

"Call Mommy?" Violet suggests, and he tsks. 

"Honey, you know Mommy's working, but she loves you, and she's gonna be home real soon, okay?" As he speaks, he can see the tears welling in Violet's big brown eyes and turns to see the same tears in Sophia's identical ones. "No. No, please don't cry. Please. You're gonna break my heart." He begs. "What can I do to get you to stop cryin', huh? Y'know, when you two were babies, I used to just hold the both of you and sway and sing to ya and…" he trails off as his eyes land on Ellie's old guitar resting against the wall of the girls' room. She gave it to them when she got her new one and told them they could use it to practice. They don't really do much more than pull at the strings and turn the tuning knobs, but they'll learn. 

He pulls himself up, his knees cracking as he does, and walks over to where the guitar sits. After some tuning and quiet adjustments, he sits on the edge of Sophia's bed and smiles at the two little girls staring at him with sleepy eyes. "Now, I haven't played this one in a while, so you be nice to your old man, but I used to play this for Sarah all the time when she was y'all's age." He says as his fingers find the chords. The girls are enraptured as Joel plays a quiet rendition of My Girl by The Temptations. He changes the lyrics to "My girls/talkin' bout my girls," and they smile as his southern drawl fills the room with warmth and serenity. 

He notices their eyes getting heavier and their blinks getting a little longer each time, so he continues. "I don't need no money/ fortune or fame/ I got all the riches baby/ one man can claim/ well I guess you'd say/'What can make me feel this way?'/ my girls." He sings softly, his own eyes getting heavy with emotion as he thinks a little too hard about the lyrics. It doesn't help that the girls look just like you when they fall asleep. Joel has to cut himself off with a guitar riff to keep his voice from cracking and disrupting the girls. 

He plays another song or two just to make sure they're fully asleep before he carefully puts the guitar down and tucks his girls in. "Love you, Soph a Loaf," he whispers as he kisses Sophia's head. He repeats his actions at the other bed with a gentle, "Love you, Vi Pie," before tiptoeing out of the room. On the other side of the scribbled-on door sits Daisy with a smile on her face as she looks up at Joel. He smiles back and pets her head. 

"My girls." He sings to her, too, making her lean into his touch lovingly and stick close to him even when he goes back downstairs to let the girls rest. 

"Did you write a new song?" You ask that weekend when all the kids are down for the night, and Joel gives you a confused look.

"Not that I know of. Why?" He asks, and you shrug. 

"The girls asked if they could listen to 'Daddy's new song.'” You say. He chuckles and shakes his head. 

"D'you remember the song I used to sing when you were pregnant with the girls?" 

"Of course I do. It was the only way they'd settle down…" You extend your vowels as the connection sparks in your brain. 

"It was the only way I could get 'em to nap earlier this week. Played it on Ellie's guitar and everythin'." He says simply, and you take a deep breath as you stare at him. He's wearing a shirt Ellie helped design to raise money for kids in foster care, but it's stained with nail polish from when the girls decided he needed a manicure before he could play baseball with Sam in the backyard. He took it all in stride and didn't flinch at any of the insane requests your kids threw at him. You sigh and peel your eyes away from him. 

"It's really not fair how good of a dad you are," you sigh. "It's annoyingly hot." He smiles and kisses your cheek smugly. 

"Sorry." 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[ecargmura]

Oshi No Ko Episode 15 Review - The Shadow Of His Former Self

The first half of the episode ends the GOA and Abiko conflict happily yet there are still more problems as Aqua getting criticized for his lack of emotional acting. It turns out that his trauma from Ai’s death is repressing his emotions. I have to say that the transition from all the GOA-Abiko stuff to focusing back on Aqua was quite intriguing, but it flowed well.

For the first half of the episode, I do like that the weird game of telephone finally comes to an end as Abiko, GOA, Raida and Abiko’s editor are finally on a video chat with each other. If only they had done this sooner, this whole ordeal would’ve resolved earlier and the actors wouldn’t have to crunch the last two weeks of rehearsal for the revised script. Also, props to Raida for wanting the play to succeed to the point that he’d **** an old geezer’s ****—his words, not mine. I also like that he finally manages to convince Abiko to work together with GOA since he told her that the Ping Pong stage play was written by him.

Well, the resolution of this conflict was thanks to Aqua who now has an issue of his own in the form of emotions acting. Since he’s sixteen and he was around four when Ai died in front of him, it’s been twelve years since then. I do like that trauma just doesn’t go away and that he’s been living with regret and guilt for the past twelve years.

I feel like people say Aqua’s edgy, but he’s not. The trauma didn’t make him edgy; it made him empty. From what I can see, he likes helping people resolve their conflicts, even if he denies it. He says that it’s for his revenge plan, but I see it as a way to assuage his guilt from not being able to help Ai during her death. While sabotaging Ruby’s chances of being an idol was sort of jerkish, he did have good intentions as idol agencies are sketchy. He also helped Kana with the Sweet Today issue. He also helped Akane when she was getting hate comments and even tried to help the other members of the dating show cast make a video to let Akane know that she’s loved. He even invited Mem-cho to become an idol to help achieve her dream of becoming one. For this season, he even resolved the issue with Abiko by giving her a ticket for the stage play, which caused her to change her mind about the script and allowing Raida to get through her for good. While the trauma has caused him to become empty, helping people out were happy moments and it did feel as if recalling them has filled up the void in his soul in a way. It sucks that he only thought about happy memories after Kana accidentally triggered his PTSD.

The moment where the shadow of Goro showed up, preventing him from basking in happiness was really crazy. It was animated well and the color choices were a subversion of the usual bright colors Doga Kobo is usually known for. Like I mentioned in my previous review, how much of Aqua is Aqua and how much of him is Goro is still a mystery because when Goro died, he was reborn as Aqua and because the baby retained all of his memories from his previous life, Aqua never really had a chance to be an actual child. However, at the same time, it makes me wonder if Aqua was behaving how he did as a child because he had retained all of Goro’s memories and that made him develop an ego at an early age.

I’m honestly a sucker for sad boys, which is why I like Aqua the most in this show. I also tend to like sad boy x sad boy comforter ships a lot. I usually never had much opinions for Akane, but I do think she was the strongest presence in this episode with the way she actually figures out Aqua and Ruby’s connection with Ai and why he gets PTSD. Her analytical skills are crazy; she could seriously outclass any professional detective if she tried. However, I still do find it a bit…unsettling that Akane is comforting Aqua because she’s still acting the role of Ai but it’s something he needs right now as Aqua’s inner demons cannot be vanquished.

I wonder if Aqua can conquer this hurdle whether it be during rehearsal or during the actual performance. It’d be nice to see Aqua with emotions later on and not someone so consumed with revenge to the point that it’s the only thing fueling the emptiness inside of him. What were your thoughts on this episode?

[jeanniebug623]

🕸️🕷️ Weaving the Web 🕷️🕸️

Chapter 6: The Diagnosis

Spider was bored. But that was the least of his problems…

Two weeks in a hospital room with nothing to do except NOT go crazy. Well, crazy as in not let out his new unpredictable side. Quaritch checked on him daily as well as a very limited staff of doctors. After those two weeks with no sign of Miles, the colonel felt secure enough to reintroduce Ja. The teen didn’t say anything when the team medic came into the room, only readjusted his arms wrapped around his knees and nodded awkwardly as a greeting.

Ja reassured Spider there were no hard feelings and that his presence was purely professional. He wanted to help the boy understand what he was experiencing. Quaritch theorized that Spider would be more comfortable in the presence of the recoms due to his upbringing. Yes, he’d grown up with other humans but those traitors could barely call themselves that due to their loyalties.

”It’s called dissociative identity disorder.” Ja said as he sat at Spider’s bedside. Quaritch stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and gauging the boy’s reaction. The colonel hadn’t even known his genetic predecessor's son was on Pandora and he’d thrown him into the lion’s den without a second thought. A sixteen-year-old boy versus the ruthless might of the RDA. He had to ignore the regret and focus on the present…

”Sounds like a fancy way to say I’m fucked in the head…” Spider said quietly. His voice was sad and empty.

”No, not at all.” Ja reassured him, putting on a small smile for a brief moment before continuing with a more serious tone, “But it is a serious mental health disorder that we can’t ignore. It’s also known as multiple personality disorder. I’m sure you can guess why.”

The colonel felt his brain reeling at the memories of his interactions with Spider’s new personality: Miles. He couldn’t even feel proud that the kid chose that name so proudly. ‘Miles’ was strong, immovable, and highly defensive of Spider. But he was also violent and unpredictable. Miles didn’t care who got in his way; he would destroy anyone he deemed a threat to Spider. But Spider’s safety wasn’t completely in the forefront of Miles’ mind as evident by how he acted without concern for his physical condition.

”So I’m just fucked in multiple ways……awesome.” Spider said, pulling his legs even tighter to his body. So many thoughts rushed through his head. Physically, he felt fine. He’d been in the hospital with lots of rest and solid meals for a couple weeks. He even mentioned a headache, he was quickly rushed to a CT scan and given pain meds soon after. But emotionally? He was terrified. He was still not fully understanding this diagnosis.

”Spider, it’s not about being fucked up.” Quaritch said, his tone equal parts firm and caring. Unlike when Ja spoke and the boy avoided eye contact, he looked up to the colonel when he chimed in. “It’s about knowing and understanding this condition. And acting accordingly.”

”Will it go away?” Spider asked quietly. Quaritch looked at Ja, prompting Spider to do the same. “Like…you can cure it, right, doc?”

Doc was certainly a nicer nickname than ‘wet nurse’ as Miles had called him. Ja wished he had a better answer…

“Spider, I’m sorry. Even with where medical advances are, the brain is still too complex to just ‘cure’.” Ja said, wanting to sound more comforting as the kid visibly deflated and buried his face in his arms. “But the brain is an organ like anything else. Mental health is just as important as physical health. And when you know the problem, it’s easier to control. Do you know what diabetes is, Spider?”

Spider didn’t lift his head up, but he did shake it from side to side in his arms as a ‘no’.

”Diabetes is a condition where a human’s blood sugar level is not properly regulated by their body’s natural process. A medicine called insulin is administered to control it. Modern medicine has discovered ways to permanently control it with implants but not everyone can afford it back on Earth so a lot of people still have to take insulin every day. It doesn’t go away but they can control it.” Ja explained.

”So, is there medicine I can take to control this?” Spider asked, lifting his head a bit and sounding hopeful. Taking medicine every day for the rest of his life sounded like a pain but he would at least be able to live his life. Maybe, escape this circle of hell called Bridgehead City someday. But he wouldn’t feel safe trying to run away…even if he did pull it off, how would he react to his friends? Would he be violent towards them or the science guys or the rest of the Na’vi? That terrified him more than anything…

Ja went quiet and looked to his commanding officer for assistance on this one. The medic had given the entire squad the quick version of what dissociative identity disorder was. The conversation that followed was a free speech conversation but it didn’t go anywhere.

They were on a mission to find Jake Sully. The kid should be left with the medical staff and scientists now. He wasn’t their problem since he hadn’t given them any useful info on the enemy. He was a liability now. Maybe it would be better if the RDA just locked him up for good.

His squad, aside from his old friend Lyle, didn’t understand Quartch’s feelings on the matter. He didn’t have to give his opinion for the corporal to know his bland tone was forced or that the way he ground his teeth while squaring his jaw was very much a ‘human colonel’ cue that he was upset. Even if these squad didn’t have a connection to the kid, they should be respectful that their commanding officer did.

”No, tiger. There’s drugs to control symptoms but not the DID itself.” Quaritch said, those big brown sad eyes looking back at him. It was like looking at a puppy begging for scraps. He leaned forward on the side rails of the bed, creaking under his weight. “But we’re gonna figure this out. Mental health…stuff…it can be handled in its own way. Right, doc?”

”Exactly!” Ja said, finally able to have a genuinely hopeful tone. “YOU are in control, Spider. You are the core identity. ‘Miles’ is an alternate personality.”

”He was always there…wasn’t he?” Spider asked, sounding unsure. Scared even.

He thought back on all the times he was scared or angry as a young child. When he wanted to hit someone or throw something in rage but didn’t due to the consequences.

Ja sighed and shrugged a bit, “I can’t say for sure. I’m sure the trai-…people who raised you kept track of your medical history growing up?”

Spider shrugged and it made Quaritch’s blood start to boil. Did those human traitors not care enough about the humans being born on Pandora to keep track of those things? Their growth, their health? Wouldn’t the kid have at least been a good ‘experiment’ as the first human born on Pandora?

“We only have five months worth of medical records for you in RDA archives.” Ja said.

”What?” Quaritch and Spider said simultaneously.

The good medic opted to look at Quaritch to explain but Spider listened just as attentively.

”Monthly checkups when Paz went in for postpartum care. Despite the backlash from the initial pregnancy announcement, a lot of people changed their tune when Spider was born completely healthy and Paz recovered faster than most new mothers.” Ja explained.

Spider felt a new warmth spread through himself hearing about his mom. She sounded like a tough woman. Made him proud and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

”Paz was an amazing woman.” Quaritch remarked and, though he only knew her reputation, Ja nodded in agreement.

Ja looked back to Spider, “You might have had preexisting signs of this condition. The fact that you can remember when Miles is in control to some degree is even rarer than the condition itself.”

”I can’t say I remember…” Spider said, finally letting one arm loose and put his right hand to the side of his head, fingers slipping in his locs, “…it’s more of a feeling. Like…something’s off. Like I know I did something wrong…”

”You haven’t done ANYTHING wrong, Spider.” Quaritch said firmly, ear pinning back, “You understand me?”

”I bit someone’s face…” Spider said flatly, giving the colonel an unconvinced look. He hadn’t seen the guy who’d made the mistake of trying to fasten a strap across his chest when Miles was on the loose. But he heard plenty of rumors how savage he’d been in the strike. Miles had managed to sink his teeth into the man’s cheek and lower jaw, tearing a flap of flesh off that was barely hanging on when it was stitched back into place.

“I’m not saying bad shit hasn’t happened but you’re not at fault.” Quaritch elaborated. Spider was a feisty one, but he didn’t have the heart to hurt someone for no reason. THAT much Quaritch had learned about the boy in the short few weeks.

”Did all this happen because of that demon machine?” Spider asked suddenly with a growl. He gripped his head a little tighter, closing his eyes. He could feel a headache starting behind his right eye when he thought about the neuroscanner.

”It’s a possibility…” Ja said cautiously, glancing at Quaritch.

It was more than a possibility in Quaritch’s mind, probably in Ja’s too. They’d seen the brain scans after each session in the neuroscanner. They physically saw the changes in brain activity. Ja explained that the scans focused on probing the frontal lobe where memory is stored. However, he also explained that this is the brain’s primary storage for personality traits. If they were forcibly prying into that part of the brain, it was inevitable that cracks would spread.

”Soooo…” Spider started, closing his eyes tightly and turning into his own hand, “You kidnap me…torture me…break my brain…and NOW you want to help me?”

”None of this was planned, kid.” Quaritch said weakly. “I would’ve put an end to it.”

”Before or after the torture?” Spider spat out, moving his left arm down to grip the starchy fabric of the sheets. “Maybe a little torture would’ve been ok? As long as you got what you wanted, right? But you let it go too far and now I’m broken. Useless to you and dangerous to others! Awesome…”

Quaritch stared at the boy, unable to respond. Yes, he’d been on board with the neuroscanner. But not the four sessions he’d been subjected to. He’d been present at two of them, including the last one he’d stopped when his concern for the boy’s wellbeing surpassed following orders. It would be a poor excuse to divert blame and he knew to say he didn’t agree to all the sessions wasn’t enough to make up for the damage done.

”You’re not useless.” Quaritch said instead, “The team still needs to learn what insults you’re spittin’ out in Na’vi.”

Spider scoffed and rolled his eyes.

”I’m workin’ on it, Spider.”

”On what?”

”Gettin’ you back out in the field.”

Spider looked up at Quaritch, a strange look in his eyes. He looked excited at first but tried to hide it. He was worried it was just an empty promise.

”First, I want to get you out of this room. Sound good?” Quaritch asked. Not that he intended to stop challenging Ardmore on this, but he wanted the boy to be in the loop and have some say in it. If he didn’t want to leave the hospital, he’d accept it with grace but still move forward with the next step in his plan…

”I don’t wanna go back to a cell…” Spider said quickly, his voice cracking in an embarrassing way. The hospital room wasn’t exciting but it was better than a prison cell with four plain white walls, a hard metal platform with barely a padded mat to sleep on, and a toilet in the corner for those perverts behind the cameras to watch him use.

”Not a cell, I promise. You’ll stick with me.” Quaritch said. He put on the most reassuring smile he could, even though he still had a massive obstacle in the way of General Ardmore. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, kid.”

This promise was nonnegotiable.

[echowritesstuff]

WIP introduction : Teacups and Ticking Clocks. (TW: mentions of schizophrenia, delusions, narcolepsy and ADHD)

This is my newest WIP (it's literally only a couple days old) but I treasure it with all my heart, honestly I don't know why I just do. Kinda similar to Aurabreak, it's very different to my other WIPs. This time it isn't because of the audience though, it's because of the genre.

Unlike most of my WIPs, Teacups and Ticking Clocks isn't really a fantasy novel, despite being inspired by fantasy. As the name might have suggested, it's a moderen day parody of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Caroll. Also, it isn't by any means a one for one parody, a lot of the stuff has been changed, such as relationships between characters amd the overall story. I also added some extra characters as well ;D

Since it isn't Fantasy, there isn't much world building to cover so I'm probably gonna dive into the characters cause well, I feel like it.

Alicia Lennings (Alice) - Alicia is an 18 year old girl with diagnosed schizophrenia. She lives with her older sister Lori, older brother Garrett and one of his boyfriends Derrick. Her parents work away from home (a different city) so she doesn't see them too often. Alicia currently attends Silver Creek Community College and studies Media Studies, History and Art there. Her, Bianca and Chester often visit Grey's tea shop together. Alicia also has appointments with Dr. Caroll twice a week.

Bianca Harely (White Rabbit) - Bianca is extremely shy, though fiercely protective of those she loves. Like her girlfriend Alicia, she is 18 years old and attends Silver Creek, where she is studying Psychology, English (Literature and Language) and French. She also loves to write poetry, though she would be sooo embarrassed if anyone actually read it. Which is kinda a problem since it's what she's planning on pursuing a career in.

Chester Kade (Cheshire Cat) - Chester may not be the most academically minded but they try their best. They're a little older than the other members of the main trio (19 years old) but are still at college due to having to redo a year. They are ultimate chaotic neutral energy but are always there for their friends. The courses they're studying at Silver Creek are drama, geography and law.

Rosalind Heartman (Queen of hearts) - Rosalind (or Rosa for short) is 18 and attends Silver Creek, like the main trio. She studies food and nutrition, art, film studies and drama. However, she finds them (and almost anyone else who is different ) as far lesser than herself and those few whom she holds in high regards. Rosa often expresses her distain to those around her, especially Alicia, who she often calls crazy and other ableist insults.

Grey Conwell ('Mad' Hatter) - Grey is older than most of the main characters, not by much though, he is 21. Throughout his teenage years, he apprenticed at a small tea house. When he graduated, he ended up buying the shop when it was up for sale. It is now known simply is "Grey's Hat and Tea Emporium" as he also sells hats he creates. Grey has ADHD and like Alicia has sessions with Dr. Caroll, though his are only once weekly. He's also in a polyamorous relationship with Garrett and Derrick.

Mars Harely (March Hare) - Mars is Bianca's younger cousin. He is best friends with Dorine and the two are pretty much inseparable. He doesn't attend Silver Creek College since he only just turned 16 (he goes to the local high school instead) but he does work a couple of weekend shifts at Grey's.

Dorine Abbot (Dormouse) - Dorine is a sixteen year old, who like her friend Mars works part time at Grey's when she is not in school. When Dorine is on shift, there always has to be someone extra working with her, just incase anything happens due to her narcolepsy.

Dr C. Caroll. - Dr Caroll is a psychiatrist originally from a small village in Cheshire. He has many clients, though out of the main cast he works with Alicia, Bianca and Grey (who was the one who first told Alicia of him). He is a kind and gentle man, who is always very patient with his clients.

I think that's pretty much all for now!

Also, now that this monster of a post is done, I can get back to answering asks and tags! :D

[nctstany]

Love Me Now

Pairing: Jaeyong (Jaehyun x Taeyong)

Plot: All Taeyong wants to do is finish his last two years of college in peace but since he’s the son of a famous CEO he must do something he never thought he would do even in his next life time, marry his ‘enemy’.

Genre: Light angst, fluff, angst, smut???, light smut??, language, sexual themes, family problems, *cough cough* daddy issues

Sixteen

The last month was spent in confusion on both ends. They acted normal during it but there was a question that hung in the air and repeated itself in their heads.

Can we be something?

Taeyong ignored the question and Jaehyun was too scared to answer it or even ask. So when they were alone during the last month they tried to act normal. Jaehyun tried having his heart not throb in pain. 

"Just sign here." Taeyong didn't hesitate taking the pen and signing his name quickly. Jaehyun sighed when it was his turn. 

“Cheers to being divorced.” Mr. Lee half smiled and cleared his throat, “It’s not final yet but you two don’t have to live together anymore.”

“Perfect! Guess we are done so I’ll be going.” Taeyong smiled proudly and got up to leave. Jaehyun just stared. 

“Wait.” Mr. Lee had that look that his son hates, “I had my people find Yuta, he will be charged and you two don’t have to worry anymore.”

Taeyong would be lying if he said that he didn't care. Just by that awful man's name alone made him shake. 

“Can I go now? Have to pack.” He didn't wait for an answer just walked out the door, leaving Jaehyun behind. They didn't drive here together like they would usually do. Taeyong insisted to his dad to let him use the car service for once. He made sure to be at the house before the other. He was already half way done with packing, since he started the night before and doesn't have much, when Jaehyun walked in.

“Can we talk?” Jaehyun huffed out as if he ran here. 

“Didn't we already?” Taeyong said coldly, he felt bad acting like this.

"Why are you doing this?" 

Why? 

It was a question that Taeyong studied for all last night, something that Taeyong was prepared for.

"Because that was our agreement."

"Can we……start over?" 

"Okay." Taeyong laughed at the question and became serious again, "We will go back to when the last time we saw each other was graduation."

"Taeyong, please." Taeyong cut off his pleading and groaned, "Why? Why are you trying so hard?" 

Jaehyun huffed out a breath and grabbed Taeyong by the wrist, turning him towards him and came up closer, "Because I love you."

"What?" 

"I love you, Taeyong." 

"Don't say that." 

"I love you." 

Taeyong slapped him and Jaehyun kept his face down but continued, "I love you so much." 

"No you don't." 

"Why don't you believe me?" Taeyong breathed out heavily, "Because you were forced to! We were forced to!" 

"So you're saying if I kissed you right now then we wouldn't feel a thing? We wouldn't feel the same thing?" 

Taeyong didn't hesitate to provide a point and when he kissed the other, he felt the biggest spark. His body wanted to whine when he pulled away. 

"Nothing." 

~~

It has been a week and a half since Taeyong left. Jaehyun has been counting the days as if he was waiting for his day out of prison. He doesn’t know what to do and he has felt that way ever since Taeyong moved back to his apartment.

He just wants to call him to make sure he’s okay and not suffering like himself. He can’t, too scared of the call ending and the grant no answer. Just the thought of it……I hate it. 

He keeps thinking that Taeyong is gonna walk through the door, changing his mind. That he'll tell Jaehyun how much he actually loves him and that he'll never leave again. 

That's just his imagination though. His stupid, crazy, fucking dumb imagination. 

Longing for Taeyong. 

Wanting to touch the other. 

Wanting to kiss him and not regret it. Kissing him felt like heaven. 

The only thing that he does now is drink, he can’t smoke since it reminds him of being on the balcony with Taeyong. So during the whole week he’s been going to the bar, the first time he saw Taeyong be himself. When he realized that he loves him. 

Maybe drinking won’t help me right now. 

“You’ve been a walking corpse for almost two weeks, at least do me a favor and go outside.” Johnny passed him another whiskey on ice and leaned against the bar. 

"I don't want to." Jaehyun downed it in one go and slid back towards him, "Coming here is enough." 

It’s not enough……it’s never enough…… Jaehyun needs to see him again, he needs him again. He sounds desperate at this point……he is at this point. 

“I guess you’re still in love.”

“I can’t do anything about it though, he doesn’t want me.”

Johnny pitted him, showing a side smile and sighing as the other drank himself away. 

“Maybe come here when he’s here just to see him.” Johnny said and Jaehyun’s face lit up but quickly it went away. “No………I can’t.”

“You should……I’ll call you whenever he’s here.”

“I would feel like a stalker if I did that.” That’s going too low. “I can’t, Johnny.” 

He couldn’t, he already told himself that. Taeyong wouldn’t want to see him let alone talk to him. Let’s go back to when the last time we saw each other was at graduation. 

It hurts but it’s what is best. It’s best for Taeyong that’s all what Jaehyun wants, for him to be okay. If Taeyong is okay then he is. 

“There’s a guy and his friends trying to get your attention from across the room.”

Jaehyun turned around with his drink still in his hands. Johnny was right. They are trying heavily to get his attention. Giggling loudly and smiling big, Jaehyun awkwardly smiled back while turning back around.

“Look if you can’t talk to the love of your life then talk to other people. Or suck it up and call Taeyong.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Jaehyun was cold with his response and Johnny was firm, “Go ahead then.”

So he headed towards the group, combing his hair through his fingers. Something that Taeyong always made fun of him for. 

“So I finally got your attention?” The one sitting at the end of the table said tucking his shoulder length hair behind his ear. He has the same ear piercings as Taeyong. 

“I like your piercings.” Jaehyun smiled making the other giggle and whisper into his ear, “I like you~”

They talked and the other flirted but Jaehyun kept this unspoken distance. He’s cute? Looks put together and has a nice voice? But he isn’t my Taeyong………

Jaehyun almost choked on his own spit, it got the rest of the table’s attention and he felt his face heat up.  

“Excuse me, sorry.” He walked away still coughing almost puking but he held it in.

“That went well.” Johnny teased, seeing the whole thing. Jaehyun was able to finally breathe and when he did it was nothing but a pitiful sight. He sighed and gripped his glass, finishing it and sliding it towards Johnny for more.

“I need him.”

[whenjustdancehitsdifferent]

Long essay under the cut

What a year, huh?

I'm going into 2025 with a whopping sixteen confirmed kintypes, 18 if we count the ones where I'm not positive but pretty sure. I think I only gained a couple?? I was already pretty sure about Amber Volakis back in late 2023 but it was in 2024 where I caved and "kinfirmed" so idk if that counts.

It's funny because I confirmed a new kintype just a couple days ago, one last one to end 2024 with a bang. It feels fake that in just a couple months, I'll have been Mihaly for two years - like, holy crap!

It makes me anxious a little, not gonna lie. With the length I've identified as fictionkin, I had two other kintypes that I'd have considered "most dominant". You know how I have all these other kintypes, but Mihaly has been the most important in my life for a while now? Well, there were other kintypes like that for me once.

My first discovered fictionkin - gosh, I don't even wanna name it! It was SO important in my life, just as prominent as Mihaly is to me now. And I spent about three years with that as the dominant shift, until I discovered...well, a new "most prominent" kintype.

When I say a new "most prominent" kintype, I don't know how to explain it. It certainly wasn't the second kintype I ever discovered, but it resonated with me so much. In a crazy way I hadn't felt in ages.

And within weeks, prominent kintype 1 was out the door. I quit everything in that kintype's fandom, deleted everything I'd made for it, just completely forgot about it in favor of the new prominent kintype.

And that new prominent kintype was just as important to me as the last one. And just as important to me as Mihaly is now. I made fan works for it, had tons and tons of strong memories, and was almost always in a shift to it. It felt like my time as having this character as the most important one in my life would never end.

And it stayed that way for about three years, until I discovered Just Dance.

I could never forget realizing I was Just Dance kin. Since then, the Just Dance community has been where I've met so many people, made so many friends, made so much content...and my last most prominent kintype, the one that had been most important in my life before Mihaly? Gone. Almost never shifted again. Quit and later deleted all fanworks, stopped seeking out merch, nothing. Completely out of my life, after three years of being my everything.

So the fact I'm approaching two years as Mihaly is terrifying. Because before I know it, two years will become three years, and then what? I've never had a kintype stay "most prominent" in my life for more than three years at a time. I've always found something else. Right now it doesn't feel like anything could ever change with my relationship to Mihaly, but I would say the same thing about the last two most prominent kintypes too!

It just feels like a big doomsday clock hanging over my head, fear that one day I'll lose all interest in Just Dance. And all the work I've put into the game, put into my art, put into my fics, will mean nothing until I eventually purge them all, looking back on them in embarrassment because I've completely moved onto something else. All the pain from difficult memories, will someday be long forgotten and feel like a bad dream, like a "low point" I refuse to look back on, except the positive memories will start to fade as well. Names, faces, barely even thought about in comparison to how it used to be my entire world. And I have so many friends in this community, and I just don't know what would happen to that if I moved on. It's terrifying.

I don't want to lose interest in Just Dance. I don't want to lose everything this community and these memories have given me. I don't want it to all be gone. I know, even if another kintype takes its place as "most important", I'll still be kin with Mihaly. But there's a difference between just being another kintype on the list, and being in what feels like a near permashift most of the time! It just isn't the same.

Even if it's not really a loss of identity, having it lose importance and prominence and starting to forget memories I haven't thought about and didn't write down over time makes it still feel like one. And I've already gone through that with two other characters from two other games. I still remember all the promises I made to myself about them.

"Of course I'm not abandoning this fic, I just got really into this other thing lately. But I'm coming back to it!"

"I should make something for this new kintype. It won't completely take over everything, but just something to get my memories out..."

"I'm sure I'll go riiiight back to my usual shift, just as soon as the novelty of the new kintype wears off."

Everything I say about my "attachment" to Mihaly, I've said about other characters before.

And with every new kintype, the possibility of basically becoming an entirely different person just starts crawling down my spine. Mihaly is still the most important character in my life, the most prominent kintype on my list. But knowing that could change any time is overwhelming. As I approach two years as Mihaly, I fear that the pattern will continue once I start to hit three. Again, it just feels like a big ticking clock until I don't even know what. I can't possibly predict what.

Logically I know that the timing is probably just a coincidence. It's not like there's really kin gods out there that watch over my identity and send me in the direction of a new media after three years. I could end up staying with Mihaly as most important for years and years and years to come, for all I know.

But the mere possibility that it is somehow magically a pattern, and that in one more year or so I'll never see this blog again? Never update my fics again? Never ask my friends what they think of new maps again? Scary shit.

[sassyandclassy94]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @fictional-at-heart (can always count on sisters to tag you in fun things!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Sixteen

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

109,759

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Once Upon a Time (SwanFire specifically), Masters of the Air, and The Boys in the Boat (I’d love to write for How to Train Your Dragon and Little House on the Prairie but alas! The Plot Idea Farm has been dry for years)

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Secrets, Lies, and Blessings - 42

Tell Me You Didn’t… - 28

What’s In a Name? - 25

Words of Comfort - 25 (Oo, we’ve got a dead heat!)

I’m Not Much of a Talker - 23

Princess Kidnapped! - 20 (this one I still plan to finish but it’s DARK.)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! It takes me a long while sometimes but I do! I want my readers to feel comfortable giving feedback

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angriest ending?

Oh, “A Hero’s Sacrifice” for sure!!! I wrote Graham’s death to fit my medieval AU and… it’s one I’m really proud of and really politely urge you to read👉🏻👈🏻🥹 I cried writing it (I also researched a lot for it… like what happens when you bleed out from the stomach👀 Someone said writing a battle scene is like writing a sex scene and… she was right. Or he, whatever.)

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably “Secrets, Lies, and Blessings”. I mean, Bae and Emma get married at the end and what gets happier than that?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes. I wrote (am writing) a Don x OFC fic and someone invaded my ask box a couple months ago calling it a ‘boring het fic’ with a ‘dime a dozen OFC’. Behind the gray face too of course. Screw you, Nonny. I’m still writing it, and my all time favorite Don x OFC author commented lovely words on it too so😁

I feel like I also had someone come after me once for Princess Kidnapped because it’s anti Hook. Yeah well I gave you plenty of warning in the tags; it’s your own darn fault you didn’t read them, chickie.

9. Do you write smut?

Some. But as a rule of thumb I try to keep it extremely tasteful with zero uses of gross/rude words. I posted two SwanFire ones (one’s restricted) and I’m working on one about Don and Kate (my OFC)

10. Craziest crossover?

I haven’t written a crossover. But if I did? Hmmm… maybe SwanFire and hiccup/astrid?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! Thank goodness.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Actually, yes; there was a German girl who liked my fic so much she asked to translate it on Wattpad. Don’t know if it’s still there though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. I almost did, but we lost touch and I didn’t agree with writing fanfics about ice dancers…🥴

14. All time favorite ship

I think you all know that👀 Emma Swan and Neal ‘Baelfire’ Cassidy from Once Upon a Time

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Well I thought that was going to be Secrets Lies and Blessings but last week I had a crazy random spurt of inspiration… lately I feel like it’s gonna be Princess Kidnapped… it just has to get so… dark before it gets better and I don’t don’t know if I want to put my mind in a place like that (I mean, Hook is told he can do whatever he wants to Emma as long as he keeps her alive🥺 and then the eventual execution I have planned for the end is gonna be… graphic. So yeah. We’ll see if I ever finish that one.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and emotional angst. I really enjoy writing heated arguments. CC Emma and Charming

17. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

No. Just, no.

18. First fandom you wrote in?

Once Upon a Time. I read an awesome SwanFire fic after a rewatch in 2018 and she inspired me to give it a try and I never stopped.

19. Favorite fic you’ve written?

A Hero’s Sacrifice

About to Throw Hands - This one was my first ever request and only fic written with a deadline in mind. My friend Rachael mentioned she was craving a reader fic where Bobby defends the female reader. Lo and behold I have it a try and voila! It turned out better than I expected and she loved it!! A double win!!

There is no 20 - it should be called 19 questions😆

Tags: (let’s see if I can think of all the writers in my notes…) @eviebelieve-y @selkiesstories @strangethings-everywhere @swanfireprincessmydear @okieedokes DARN YOU, MICHAIAH!!!! I CANT TAG YOU AND I CANT THINK OF ANYONE ELSE😡 there are two SwanFire writers who I remember buy can’t remember the correct usernames😕 HELP. Any other writer who sees this (especially my SwanFire writers, please consider yourself tagged by me if you want to do it! You can even say I tagged you!!)