#exo god au

[stainandscribble]

Our Love is a Tempest

Pairing: Junmyeon X OC(female)

Genre: Junmyeon God AU; Soulmate AU; angst; fluff; one shot; junmyeon-centric?

Summary: Junmyeon was the God of the Sea, in charge of water, the god of storms and earthquakes. He was prone to anger, like the rest of his creed, and he could be cruel too, but Junmyeon was also a Guardian, who protected his brothers, who knew love towards his family. He also knew guilt, and maybe it was a mortal who would teach him forgiveness and moving on. Fate could be cruel, he knew that, but he would also learn that fate could be kind. 

 Warning: Mentions of death/drowning (OC is a mortician/undertaker)

A/N: This is inspired in part by Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. In the same universe as HONEY (EXO Yixing) and Flower (SVT Wonwoo).  It had been a while, but I’m back! :)  Let me know if you want a part 2 

Word Count: 13.8k

Aeons had passed since Junmyeon and his ten brothers came into being. Their predecessors were ancient Gods, jealous, violent and unforgiving. On Earth, they had been named the Titans by the ancient Greeks, and that was as close to the truth as they got. Yixing never revealed the full truth of their reign and their demise to his poets and his oracles. As the God of Oracles and the Arts he was tasked with keeping Junmyeon and the rest a mystery so that the full extent of their powers remained unknown. They never wanted to be worshipped, not the way the Titans had been, with blood and violence and fear in the hearts of mortals. Gods were often cruel, but they were not evil. Humans had named him Poseidon, Neptune, Morskoi, Aegir. All false names, ones they could comprehend and understand. His brothers hailed him Suho, The Guardian, one who watched over them and protected them. He was the strongest God among the eleven, but the mortals didn’t know that, and they would never find out.

It had been centuries since Junmyeon stepped onto Earth or muddled personally in human affairs, and he wished his brothers would follow suit. Fate, it seemed, had different plans for them. Gods needed love, the Fates had told him as they tied knots into the golden thread of life that belonged to Jongdae, the God of Thunder. His brother, although smaller in stature than some of the others, was quick to anger like the rest of them. Gods took time to learn, and it was time that Jongdae learned what love was.

Junmyeon remembered coming from the Sea to Olympus, to find the sky black and loud, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed above him. He could feel Jongdae’s fury, one that was unrivalled by any other God. He felt the same fury in his heart. How dare the Fates choose for them, how dare they tie their life lines as if they were mortal?

The three Fates had called them to Olympus as witnesses.

“Gods take time to learn.” The youngest of the three had spoken, looking directly into Junmyeon’s dark eyes, filled with fury, deep like the oceans over which he resided.

“Learn to love.” The middle Fate spoke, her gentle motherly hand grasped Jongdae’s. In slow motion, Junmyeon watched his brother fall to his knees, the King of the Sky reduced to a kneeling terrified man. Junmyeon would never forget the look in Jongdae’s eyes, the terror that fell over him and silenced the sky and quietened the rage was etched into his memory forever.

“Your time has started.” The oldest crone had croaked out, her hands pulling the knot tight, so that it would never be undone.

That was how their fate was sealed, starting with their most volatile brother.

Now, hundreds of years later, he was handing a golden ring, almost the same he had given Jongdae, to Yixing. His brothers watched, surprise filled their gazes as Yixing curled his hand around the little golden band, forged down below in the depths of the Sea. Yixing had learned too. Warmth had replaced rage, and the sun shone a little brighter over Olympus. None of his brothers could tell, but Junmyeon felt lighter, as if a weight lifted off his shoulders, as if he could breathe a little more air. His brother was happy, and Junmyeon could never fault him for that.

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Olympus was a fortress built of white marble, a castle hidden from mortal eyes within the clouds, often shrouded in storms. Above it the vastness of the universe spread into infinities as an intricate dance of light and colour, a composition more beautiful than anything on earth, incomprehensible even to the Gods that called Olympus their home.

Baekhyun and Jongdae stood on top of the fortress walls, gazing at the sky as it turned dark with nightfall. Although Jongdae saw nothing but the sky, he waited patiently for his brother. Baekhyun was entranced, unable to keep his eyes away from whatever scenario he was currently witnessing in his mind. The God of Love often stood gazing at nothing, his presence far away from his form, looking down at the fates of mortals, overseeing falling in love as was his duty.

“Who do you see?” Jongdae asked, leaning against the white marble edge as his eyes scanned the sky, watching as moonlight broke through the thick blankets of clouds that surrounded them. His fingers played with his wedding ring, the one that Junmyeon gave to him when he received their blessing and married his wife.

“Junmyeon.” Baekhyun’s voice was a whisper, but it was loud enough for Jongdae to hear and the name had sent a chill up his spine. He recognised that feeling as fear. His hands ceased their motions and he turned to look at the God of Love.

“What?” Jongdae’s eyes were filled with fear, the same fear that Junmyeon had witnessed in his own centuries ago, when the Fates had made them all watch as they tied knots in the golden string of his fate.

“Junmyeon will learn.” Baekhyun spoke, his voice sure now, steady. His gaze had locked with his brother’s and when their dark eyes met, thunder began raging on Olympus, the same kind that raged during the first Tying.

“He will love a mortal? Give up his rage?” The God of Thunder and Lightning had seemed unconvinced by the latter. He knew Junmyeon would love. No one could deny fate, not even them, but the image of his elder, the one who ruled over them and protected them, giving up his rage and letting go of the storm was absurd. Junmyeon didn’t know how to do that.

“The sea rages regardless, so does the sky.” Baekhyun responded, pointing an accusing finger at Jongdae, and then at the clouds around them when another flash of lightning passed right by his nose.

“Will he love her?” Jongdae looked over at his brother, his fingers still twirling the golden band on his ring finger.

“I doubt the Fates have seen anything akin to this.” Baekhyun answered. He had a familiar twinkle in his eyes. The God of Love was fortunate to witness the greatest love stories as they happened and the displeasure of watching the greatest tragedies too. This twinkle, not quite jovial, and not quite the shine of unshed tears, was simply content. There was a light at the end of this story, and that gave Jongdae enough assurance to put trust in his elder.

“What is she like?” Jongdae prodded.

“She is a mortician.” Baekhyun spoke, playing with the hem of his sleeve.

“She’s like Zitao then?” Jongdae tried to joke, his voice surprisingly light-hearted compared to the look in his chocolate eyes. Baekhyun laughed weakly, the sound hollow in his chest. Zitao was the God of the Underworld, the one in charge of death. He was tall, imposing, but also often the most understanding and merciful. He saw more death than all his other brothers and that made him gentler than some. Baekhyun knew Zitao was reasonable and kind, and he hoped the woman his brother would love would also be accepting.

“Water is a deceitful thing, it gives life, it shapes the earth,” Jongdae sighed, looking out into the dark clouds, feeling the electricity in the air, but before he could finish his thought Baekhyun cut in. His sombre eyes gazed into his brothers as his lips formed into a thin line and lightning flashed behind him.

“It drowns its victims.”

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Down below the water, deep within the Sea, Junmyeon ruled as King, as one of three brothers who ruled their own realms. His Sea was not the same as mortal oceans. It was an ancient realm between Olympus and the Underworld, deep and unforgiving, where everything answered to him. His realm existed just as he existed; as an in-between; a mediator. In a bubble of air at the very centre of this ancient depths, Junmyeon had built his palace, and in the deep trenches of the sea, he placed his forge. Marble halls filled with green plants, both those that grew on land and those that filled the floors of the endless ocean. Thanks to Junmyeon’s powers the kelps, seagrass and waterwheels that decorated the halls moved as if submerged in water. They danced along to the currents outside. The God of the Sea had a peaceful home, and an empty one too. Children had not graced these halls since the early days of Jongdae’s marriage centuries ago, and all his workers busied about not really paying him much attention. Everyone had their own life. Junmyeon liked it that way. This was also why he was currently pacing the main hall, stormy eyes mimicking sea currents as they gazed pointedly at the Fates that decided to visit him.

“Your time has come.” The youngest one said, twirling his golden thread between her fingers. She looked him right in the eyes, but her youthful amusement did not match his expression. He was angry, ready to create floods, ready to drown.

“My time will never come.” He had said, his eyes not meeting the three women. Although his voice carried anger, he was afraid that the ancient beings would be able to see beyond the rage. The idea that they could see his bitterness and somewhere even deeper than that, his longing, was a frightening thought.

“You cannot deny Fate. You cannot deceive us.” The oldest spoke, her croaky voice bouncing off his ears unpleasantly as it raised the hairs at the back of his neck.

“She will be miserable without you.” The middle one spoke, her voice calm and gentle, it would have reminded Junmyeon of a mother if he had one. Her voice was soothing, like a balm over a wound. Maybe, if she had continued speaking Junmyeon would have lost his will, maybe he would allow his walls and reservations come crashing down. He did not. His wounds were too deep and his walls built too high. There was no gate in them either. No Trojan horse could break him from the inside.

“Not for long.” His curt reply was icy like the blue waters of antarctica, and as he spat out his response, he could see the currents of the sea pick up ferocity in the way his plants swayed and rippled. Mortal lives were short. Even if Junmyeon never stepped foot on earth, her misery would not last long.

“You will forget how to live without her.” The youngest Fate chastised, pointing an accusatory finger with her free hand.

“You will forget how to love without her.” She added when Junmyeon did not move.

“Even your brothers.” She spoke, and although that shook him a little, Junmyeon was the Leader of the Gods, a King among them, he would not break the façade of calm fury he had assumed.

“You are already starting to.” The oldest Fate accused, her eyes falling on to the Guardian, but even her gaze could not break him.

He clenched his jaw and put his hands behind his back. Out of the scrutiny of the Fates, he let his hands shake a little, their faint trembling was a chip in his honour, a sign that they were right, that he was breaking. More than that, it was a sign that Junmyeon, the Guardian of the Gods, was breakable. Heavens forbid anyone, mortal or otherwise, found out.

“I am not.” He continued, staring right at the oldest Fate, his eyes black like a storm.

“You cannot deceive us.” She spoke and the middle Fate twisted the golden thread in her fingers and with that small movement, she sent Junmyeon to his knees.

He clutched at his heart, eyes falling shut as the pain in his heart spread through his ribcage. The knot that twined around his heart pulled, twisting the muscle, bending it out of shape. Behind his closed eyelids, Junmyeon watched his life, the empty halls of his palace, the fear and dejection in Jongdae’s eyes when he didn’t approve of his wife, the same look that graced Yixing’s face as it appeared before him. He knew his brothers had held their breath when he gave Yixing his wedding ring, he didn’t think it bothered him that much. Until now. Slowly, by denying their fate and their happiness, he was being unfair. His shortcoming and his burdens were not theirs to bare. His guilt was his alone.

They had stopped their frequent visits, reduced them to merely a few times a year. He knew Baekhyun was giving him the cold shoulder since he refused to bend to Fate, refused to accept it, and inadvertently refused his brothers greatest gift, the gift of Love. He was hurting them, just as he was hurting himself, and now, as his life twisted in the Fate’s fingertips, he was painfully aware of that. Even that though, no matter how hard it was to know, could not erase the image of tsunamis devouring the land, nor make him forget of sinking ships and the screams of those drowning under the force of the waves.

Once the pain subsided and he could open his eyes, Junmyeon saw the wrinkled face of the oldest Fate staring down at him, her eyes dark like the death she spun into their threads.

“As Gods can be cruel, so can we.” She spoke and for a brief moment the sea fell silent, all tides ceased their courses, and Junmyeon could hear the echoes of his own heart as it beat against the confines of his ribs.

“So I’ve been learning.” He grunted, rising onto his feet on wobbling legs, trying to dust off his dark blue suit.

“Where do I go?” He asked, his voice hoarse in his throat. He licked his lips in an attempt to moisten them, but to no avail as the cracks burned from his saliva.

“Forward. Your legs know where to find her, it is your destiny.” The middle Fate spoke, but just as before, it was not enough to calm his nerves. Before he could compose himself properly they were gone.

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Jongdae had kept repeating one phrase over the last few centuries.

“You cannot fight Fate.” He would always say, mostly as he looked out into the sky around Olympus while twirling the unbreakable golden band on his ring finger. He said it to his wife on their wedding day, he told his children that when he was putting them to bed. Jongdae whispered those words to Junmyeon when he was stubborn. Now, Junmyeon was muttering them to himself in anger as he cut flowers and put them in the right buckets of the flower shop he was working at. Pretending to be mortal was not a favourite past time of his and although he was grateful that Kyungsoo provided him with a human life and a job, he would rather not have ever set foot here. He did his job flawlessly, out of respect for the nature that Kyungsoo was the God of, and out of respect for Baekhyun, to whom he promised to try and find love. His usually mischievous brother ended up crying into his shoulder as he gave Junmyeon his blessings, but he didn’t mind. A few drops of water would never harm him, but they did make this decision easier.

The bell at the door chimed, rousing Junmyeon from his task. He peaked out from behind the stand, his eyes landing on a mortal woman. She wore a black dress with sheer back tights, black heels and her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. A single silver hairpin gleamed in her hair in the shape of a water lily. Her eyes, blue and deep like ocean depths fell onto Junmyeon. She gave him a small smile, trying to be polite as she walked through the shop and to where he was standing, currently tending to a bucket of white chrysanthemums.

“How may I help?” Junmyeon asked, putting the pair of scissors he was holding away onto the counter behind him. His heart, which had been still during the last few centuries, was currently beating faster than it had ever beaten before, his blood, red and hot, pumped through his arteries with a force he could feel beneath his skin.

“Hello, I’m here to collect an order for Haven Family Funeral Home.” Her voice was even, unwavering. She gazed straight into his eyes, her deep blue a match for his deep brown, both filled with the force of a storm.

“The wreaths, and the white lilies?” He asked, remembering that there was only one delivery today, and that it was for a local funeral home. Kyungsoo had told him to be respectful to their workers as the community respected them.

“Yes.” The woman nodded, and Junmyeon’s breath caught in his throat, the oxygen not reaching his lungs as they burned for air. Even Gods had to breathe, but she was making it extremely hard for him right now. She smelled like fresh linen and dust, a strange mixture, but one he could understand. Zitao smelled of dust too, there was something about being in a place that meant endings that made it feel stagnant, as if no one and no thing wanted to move, because moving on was hard. No one wanted to do the hard things, no one wanted to say goodbye, but fate and life didn’t care what one wanted. Death came for all and Fate was inescapable.

“I’ll be right back.” He said, before disappearing at the back of the shop. There, once he was away from the eyes of the mortal woman, he fell. Onto his knees, onto the wooden floor, a God reduced to a man in pain. His heart banged against his ribs like an animal in a cage way too small for its size. It wanted to grow, extend beyond Junmyeon’s understanding. The muscle that stayed silent for millennia was now breaking free and his mind was reeling. It was on that very floor, somewhere on Earth, surrounded by gardening equipment, that the King of the Sea, the God of Water started the hardest lesson of his life.

After a moment, reluctantly, Junmyeon picked himself off the floor, dusting his black suit trousers, to pick up the wreaths and lilies the woman was waiting for. When he came out from the back room, Junmyeon was pale as a sheet, but his cheeks coloured a vibrant red as his heart continued its pounding.

“I’ll take them to your car.” He told her, trying to be nice, trying to make a good first impression. It took him only one look to know you were the one he was destined for. The golden thread of his life had twisted around his heart, locking it in place, forcing warmth to bloom in the cold cavity of his chest.

“Thank you,” She replied, looking into his eyes before they fell down onto the nametag attached to his shirt. “Junmyeon.”

The way her tongue twisted around the syllables and the way the sound resonated through him made his heart skip a beat and he wondered, when Baekhyun named his cherubs, did they too, feel such warmth when their names fell from his lips?

He walked behind her as she led him to her car and opened the boot for him. Once he placed the green wreaths and while lilies into the car, laying them flat so that they wouldn’t get squashed during the ride, he straightened and his eyes caught the black mark on the mortal’s wrist. The black ink spelled out the Chinese character for water, shui. His symbol, unbeknownst to her, stained her skin out of her own will. Fates apparently did have a sense of humour, or maybe they truly picked out the perfect person for him. Junmyeon shook his head, reminding himself she wasn’t his. She was mortal, she would live here and die here, and Junmyeon could not bring himself to take her away. Mortals had lives here, people they loved, people that loved them. They had pets and plants and dreams, and none of them involved him. They shouldn’t. He didn’t want to take her away from a life, her life, one she seemed content with, even if it was just on the surface. Junmyeon wasn’t that cruel.

“Shui?” He asked, the word falling from his lips, familiar like the back of his hand, like the very essence of his being.

“It means water.” She said, for lack of better response. They were both aware he knew the meaning but allowed her to say it anyway.

“I know.” He nodded, his eyes now scanning her face, subtly falling onto the curves of her lips, red like the blood pumping in her arteries. Red like the blood that was made up of water, water that called to him, that knew him.

“May I ask why?” He asked, no longer trying to keep his distance. Curiosity killed the cat, or so the tale went and Junmyeon was not impervious to its allure. Curiosity was what got him here, along with Baekhyun’s tears that soaked his shirt.

“Water is the beginning of life, the very possibility of living. It’s a good thing.” The woman answered, her hand rubbing along the strokes of the character, the black ink made more vivid under her fingertips.

“Is it?” Junmyeon asked. Was water truly this wonderful, worthy of tattooing the word onto your skin? Was it truly this life-giving, when it could also take it away, when it could destroy? Junmyeon was well acquainted with its darker side, familiar with the rage boiling under his skin.

“Living?” She asked, her incredulous eyes boring into his. A kind smile stretched her lips gently, without quite reaching her eyes.

He nodded, his eyes falling onto the pavement. He didn’t want her to see the storm that raged in his irises, the brown mixing with black, crashing against each other like waves. His inner turmoil was not meant for mortal eyes.

“I think so.” She replied, and although she never reached out and touched him, he felt comforted. The mortals didn’t hate him, because they didn’t know of him, didn’t know he was the one responsible for sinking ships and raging hurricanes.

“Are you a regular?” He asked. He promised Baekhyun he would try his best, and Junmyeon kept his promises.

“I am.”

“See you soon then.” He smiled, and she smiled back, her hands holding onto her car keys, reminding him he couldn’t keep her waiting.

“Same time next week.” She told him, swaying on the balls of her feet.

“I’m Evangeline by the way.” She introduced herself, sticking a hand out for him to shake. Kyungsoo had told him it was a greeting, so he extended his own hand, clasping her small one in his larger one, allowing her to shake it twice, a smile decorated her lips. This time it reached her eyes, and he though they were like still water, reflecting the storm in his.

“I’m Junmyeon, but you already know that.” He smiled, his own smile was weak, but Junmyeon had meant it, and he hoped she would understand. Her hand was warm in his, making his heart skip a beat in its attempt to escape his ribs to be closer to her. He watched her leave and once she did, Junmyeon could not help the rain that fell onto his cheeks like hot tears. As she left, the God of Water began his first lesson in love; falling.

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Exactly a week had passed. Seven days, Junmyeon had waited for the mortal woman to return to the florist, where Kyungsoo had given him a mortal life, all so that he could appease the Fates, all so that he wouldn’t break the promises he made to Baekhyun. All seven days were wasted on looking after the flowers. He cut the stems to equal lengths and he changed the water in the buckets. Junmyeon wondered what the mortal woman was doing. Evangeline was a mortician. He looked at death the same way Zitao did. Every day, he faced what all his other brothers were reluctant to. Every day Zitao did the gruelling work of judging souls, bringing peace to the suffering, easing the pains of the sick and hungry, bringing those whose strings had been cut into his realm, giving their souls a new home. Zitao did it all without complaint, did it all because he was kind, because he understood death, was familiar with endings. He wondered whether Evangeline was like that too. Was she kind? Did she know death like the back of her hand, looking it in the eyes day after day, unfaltering, with the same kind eyes she offered Junmyeon when they met? He knew she was strong. Not even Gods could look at death and carry on living.

Seven days Suho, the King of Sea, waited for a mortal woman who lived with death, and finally on the seventh day, just as he cut the last of the roses to equal length, the bell at the door chimed and she entered, clad in all black with her hair in a tight bun with a silver water lily pin keeping it together. This time, black leather gloves adorned her hands hiding the tattoo of water away from Junmyeon’s prying eyes. She had given him the same small smile as before, but her eyes shone like precious stones in the shop lights, tiredness danced in them like gentle currents. Junmyeon smiled back, his smile brighter than before, as he left all he was doing and grabbed the order of white lilies from behind the counter.

“More white lilies.” He informed her, watching as Evangeline walked over to where he was standing. Today, she was wearing a black coat over a white button up with a slim black tie. It was evident she had acted as a funeral attendant today. Her shoulders slumped lightly, and Junmyeon could see she was tired.

“Thank you.” She responded, giving him a small smile as she took the flowers from him. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a shock of electrifying warmth up his arm. The hair on her arms rose, her heart beating a little faster at their proximity. It was no secret Junmyeon was handsome, but more than that, Junmyeon seemed serious, and she had never thought that was a bad trait. Serious often went hand in hand with honest, and she wanted honesty above all else. Real love could not be built on lies.

“Would you like to get coffee later?” He asked, trying his best to be brave, trying to keep his promises.

“Sure.” Evangeline answered, her eyes gazing into his, “I finish at five.”

“So do I. I know a good coffee place.” He smiled.

“I’ll take your word for it.” She answered, the lilies in her hands were a stark contrast against her dark clothes as she held them closer to her chest, trying to keep her heart steady.

“See you later, Evangeline.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and despite the sudden chill that travelled up her spine, she could hear the fear in his voice, see the uncertainty brewing like a storm in his eyes as they darkened.

“Goodbye Junmyeon.” She whispered, unafraid. She had no reason to be.

He watched her retreating figure leave the store, and once she was out of his sight, Junmyeon slumped against the counter, his hand clutching his chest, where his heart resided.

As soon as the door closed, as soon as she was out of his sight, Junmyeon ran. He ran to the back of the shop, straight into Kyungsoo’s office, where he was currently playing with the leaves of a spider plant. When he noticed his brother at the door, he stopped, motioning for Junmyeon to sit. Suho’s wide eyes brewed with a storm, his shoulders rolling like a hurricane across land. With wild eyes, the Guardian of the Gods asked for his help, turning to the God of Harvest and the Earth for guidance. Junmyeon had always considered Kyungsoo as reasonable, someone who could provide solutions.

“So you are going for coffee?” His brother asked, his large owl-like eyes gazed at him gleaming with mirth.

“Is that bad?” Junmyeon asked. He had never been on a mortal date. At least not a modern one. All of his brothers had once taken human lovers, ones they lusted over, ones they toyed with. Never ones they loved. Love was not a feeling they felt towards humanity, love was reserved for the bonds of family and loyalty between them. That was all.

“No, that’s actually very good.” Kyungsoo spoke, his hands fiddling again with the green narrow leaves of the spider plant.

“How do you know?” Junmyeon narrowed his eyes at his younger brother.

“Baekhyun’s little messengers come to me too often.” He sighed, eyes distant as he thought about all the times Baekhyun’s love messengers forced their way into his office, trying to appease him with cups of herbal tea.

“They like you because you don’t tease them.” Junmyeon patted him on his back, fully aware that the younger gods teased them endlessly.

“Never mind that. Think about what you should do after this coffee.” Kyungsoo straightened up, his plush lips now set in a straight line, his bright eyes darkened into a serious expression.

“Like what?”

“Like a real mortal date.” Kyungsoo clarified, looking pointedly at his elder.

“I’m not a mortal.” Junmyeon’s eyes darkened, the hurricane in them picked up ferocity.

“You don’t want another date?” Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow, disbelief painting his usually stoic features.

“I don’t want to muddle in mortal lives.” Now, with the Fates muddling into the affairs of gods and mortals, love was something else, something more. Junmyeon did not appreciate the Fates trying to make him mellow, he had given up enough rage, he had taken on responsibilities that made his shoulders bow with their weight. Why could it not be carefree Chanyeol who caused fires, or Baekhyun who had dreamed of it since the birth of humanity? Why could it not be Kyungsoo, with his big eyes and earth-stained fingers, who had spent more time among mortals than the rest of them? Why did it have to Suho?

“As Gods can be cruel, so can we.” He recalled the Fates’ words, remembered the chill that went up his spine, the ghost of which was now crawling the ladder of his vertebrae so it could settle against his skull, ring like a bell in his ears.

“Our pasts are long gone, mortals don’t believe in them anymore. Or in us.” Kyungsoo’s wistful voice rumbled in baritone through the room, and Junmyeon could have sworn that his brother made the room shake.

“It’s time Junmyeon.” He spoke, his voice deep like the earth and warm as his eyes looked at his brother. His hand went to hold Junmyeon’s, and that gesture, bold in comparison to the gentle affection Kyungsoo usually preferred, was reassuring. Maybe that was what a mother’s embrace felt like, Junmyeon wondered. He allowed himself the liberty to squeeze back. Finally, Junmyeon had found the rock upon which his waves could crash, and he was glad it had been Kyungsoo who caught him, who was steady so that he could break.

“What should I do?” He asked, and Kyungsoo didn’t waste many words, for it was not his nature. His answer was short, but it was enough.

“Fall.”

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The coffee shop in front of which they met looked more like a greenhouse than a place serving food. Green areca palms were tall, spreading their thin leaves wide. Ficus plants stood like little trees beside the expensive brown leather couches in front of low dark wood tables. Small potted plants stood on windowsills and on plant stands in white ceramic pots. It was a pretty shop, one that Evangeline could see herself sitting in for hours.

Junmyeon smiled at the woman sitting in front of him. He could feel the strings around his heart pull and tug, trying to force him closer in an attempt to break the distance between them. The tugging was futile, as Junmyeon decided to keep his distance, watching as Evangeline’s red painted lips pressed against the white cup filled with espresso. Her black blouse was untied, the silk ribbons that would have been a bow before, now hung loosely exposing her collarbones and the expanse of her neck.

“This is a nice coffee shop.” She spoke, looking around at the plants surrounding their table.

“I didn’t lie.” Junmyeon smiled, his storm filled eyes never left her face, and his heart calmed when she caught his eyes. If he was filled with a storm, she was the opposite. Like calm waters, her eyes washed over him, surveying his relaxed form, watching as his fingers tapped ancient rhythms into his thigh.

“You didn’t.” She admitted. Her smile was bright, her eyes did not weaver from his as she held his gaze.

Junmyeon had ordered himself a cappuccino. He knew about coffee thanks to his brother’s Minseok’s love for the human beverage. It only took Minseok one trip to Venice, sometime in the 17th century, before he was in love and Jongdae’s wife once told Junmyeon that Minseok looked at a cup of coffee the same way Jongdae looked at her. Junmyeon wondered if the Fates would pair Minseok with the heir of Lavazza.

“How long have you worked at the funeral home?” He asked, wanting to know more about the mortal. If Fate wanted this, who was he to fight? If Fate dictated his, could Junmyeon truly resist? Jongdae and Yixing couldn’t escape, and he had a feeling neither could he.

“I’ve worked as an embalmer for three years now. I spent a year at the crematory.” She took a sip out of her cup.

“All for the same funeral home?” Junmyeon was intrigued. He had tried to avoid death, spent the last three thousand years as far away as possible. He kept his rage simmering, or at least tried to. Gods were volatile, and when they burst mortals suffered.

“Yeah. I like my co-workers and their values.” Evangeline nodded, eyes staring at him as he relaxed into the couch.

“Have you been a florist for a long time?” She asked in return, and Junmyeon had to remember that this was an exchange, ironically a one-sided exchange. Every word that came out of his mouth was a half-truth, a white lie to not give away much about himself.

He felt his heart constrict and the air leave his lungs, the familiar discomfort of guilt crawled its way languidly out of his stomach where he had buried it.

“A fair bit. I stopped counting how long.” He answered. Looking nonchalant and confident, he smiled at the woman in front of him. His arm rested on the plush leather armrest whilst his other hand played with the white ceramic of his coffee cup.

“Well, you must either love it or hate it then.” Evangeline laughed. Junmyeon had looked so serious, his eyes lost somewhere far away. She reasoned that if she had loved doing something, she would stop counting too. In the case that she hated every day of work, no longer counting would have been a reprieve. How could you continue living a life you hated if you knew how long you still have left? She didn’t want to even consider such a life. Evangeline was fortunate.

“How so?” Junmyeon asked, focusing on her, watching as she leaned closer towards the table, closer towards him. Among the warm tones of roasted coffee he could smell jasmine flowers, sweet and fragrant as they hung in the air. He wanted to continue breathing it in, wondering what he smelled like to mortals.

“You don’t strike me as someone old enough to stop counting years spent in industry.” Evangeline smiled, allowing Junmyeon to catch her eyes. He held her in his stare. The dark in his eyes was endless, and she felt herself tip over the edge of this unknown abyss.

“Why not?” Junmyeon’s voice was low and she felt the low rumble course through her.

“I believe I have lived long enough for numbers to be arbitrary.” He tilted his head, not breaking eye contact. He found he like the way she looked at him, her eyes swimming with questions and her lips trying to curl around unspoken words as she contemplated which ones should be voiced.

“How old are you?”

“How old do I look?” He smiled. Junmyeon could not guess how old he looked to mortals. Many things had changed since he came down to Earth. Civilisations rose and fell, people changed too, they changed clothes, the way they cut their hair, the way they spoke. Everything was different.

“You look about my age.” Evangeline answered, her eyes falling onto Junmyeon’s face. His strong brows and serious eyes told her he was mature, but his gentle features and golden skin didn’t show the effects of time on his complexion. She thought he was handsome, but she would not date to say it out loud.

“I’m thirty-one.” Junmyeon lied, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He and Kyungsoo worked out a suitable mortal age for him before he came down to Earth, something old enough to allow for maturity and young enough to not attract scrutiny.

“I’m twenty-eight.” Evangeline answered, and Junmyeon could hardly comprehend how young she was compared to him. She was so young, she had seen so little compared to his brothers.

Twenty-eight years was a spec of dust in the lives of the Gods. He had lived four thousand years and half of that he spent living in chaos.

“I think I would like to know you better.” He told her sincerely. It was one of the only whole truths that passed his lips this evening and it felt good not lying to her.

“I like that too.”

Hours later, when it was time to finally part, they had looked once more in each other’s eyes, his a dark raging tempest; hers a brewing storm. Slowly, as if not to frighten him, Evangeline approached his towering figure, and pressed her lips into Junmyeon’s. The kiss was warm, and Junmyeon stood there as if carved out of marble, unmoving. Before he could react, reciprocate the small gesture, Evangeline had pulled away. Her bright red lips curved into a little smile and she waved him goodbye before disappearing into the crowd of mortals mingling about the street. Junmyeon watched her go, like a splash of black ink rolling through clear water until it diffused into nothing.

As Evangeline walked, she could not help but breathe deeply, not able to get the smell of sea breeze out of her nose, like the seaside after a storm. She turned her head to look back, catching Junmyeon’s eyes for one more second. Her blood rushed through her ears, imitating the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

-----------

Days passed in pleasant monotone. The new routine Junmyeon had built was broken only by occasional messages from Evangeline. The moment Junmyeon set foot on Earth Kyungsoo handed him a mobile phone and told him to figure it out. It had taken three of Baekhyun’s love messengers and a storm rolling towards the country and crushing against the southern shore for Junmyeon to learn to call and text. He still had no idea about what the Cherubs, as Baekhyun had decided to affectionately call them, referred to as Internet and he was not keen on learning either. Kyungsoo had mentioned that he does not use it either and since then Junmyeon refused help with it.

Evangeline soon learnt that Junmyeon was a lot more confident answering calls than texting. He had even taken the initiative to ask her on a date. He never mentioned where they were going, so just in case she had eaten before she left. They met in city centre, just outside the main government administrative building.

“What are we doing today?” She asked, looking up at the man as he led her through the streets.

“We are going to an Aquarium.” He answered and Evangeline could not help but feel relief at the idea.

“Right.” She nodded, falling in step with him as he lead the way to the large modern structure across the bridge.

“Do you like marine animals?” Evangeline asked, wondering why he would suggest such a unorthodox place. She was not complaining though, she had not been to the aquarium since she was little. It would be nice to visit it again.

“I love all marine life.” Junmyeon smiled, looking over at her. His eyes held a warmth in them that she hadn’t seen before. The serious, heavy atmosphere that usually surrounded Junmyeon and all of their conversations was gone. Evangeline could have sworn the man was practically gliding across the pavement, his legs light and his spirits lifted.

Once they had made it inside, Junmyeon had taken the liberty to hold her hand. Sometime after purchasing tickets he managed to slip his fingers through hers, intertwining their hands. His large hand was warm and comforting against her palm. A part of Junmyeon wanted to break all the glass here and let these fish and marine mammals and other creatures, all equally dear to him, all necessary, back to where they belonged. He knew it was unfeasible. Humans had an aptitude for destroying things, one that could rival the Gods, one that did affect the reals which they ruled. Humans had destroyed the habitats these living creatures belonged in, or they were in the process of destroying them. Humans knew like no other creature on Earth how to lay waste to ruin. They were masters of the craft. Some cared. Some looked at these creatures and felt the same rage simmer in their blood as him, some did all they could to preserve these creatures. Some of these humans even worked here. Junmyeon wanted to burst at the seams with rage, but the small hand clutching onto his was an anchor. It kept him in place, it reminded him why he didn’t meddle despite his desires, even the righteous ones.

Evangeline watched him from the corner of her eyes. When she saw another deep breath find a home in Junmyeon’s lungs she let her thumb caress the back of his hand, rubbing soothing circles over the smooth skin. Her eyes fell onto the brightly coloured fish in their tanks and she watched with awe as they swam between the vegetation.

“What is this?” She asked, pointing at the yellow fish, coloured like sunflower petals.

“Who.” Junmyeon corrected her, forgetting for a moment that he was pretending to be mortal. He had become comfortable by her side, Evangeline still rubbed circles at the back of his hand and each one was sending currents of electricity through his nerves, casing his blood to rush faster through his veins.

“That’s a Yellow Tang.” He pointed at the same small yellow fish she had.

“That’s a butterfly fish.” He pointed at another one as it swam to the front. It had stayed in front of Evangeline and Junmyeon had to remember to blink as he peered at the little fellow. She’s mine. He scrunched up his nose and the Yellow Tang swam away to hide behind some growing seaweed. There were benefits to being the God of the Sea and one of them was stopping marine life from ogling your girlfriend. What a life he was living.

“And this one is a Gobie.” He pointed at another fish as it swam towards them, passing Junmyeon to once more stay in Evangeline’s line of sight. Junmyeon shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s a clown fish, and the other one is Royal Blue Tang.” They passed onto another tank now and Junmyeon’s heart skipped a beat when Evangeline jumped excitedly as she peered into the green vegetation. From between the greenery swaying lightly in the currents generated by the water filter peeked a few little orange fish, their white stripes lined with black. Three deep blue fish, slightly bigger than them swam in front of the glass, waving their yellow fins and swaying their yellow tails.

“It’s Nemo and Dory.” Evangeline pointed at the Clown fish and then at the Royal Blue Tang. Junmyeon watched her, not understanding what she meant.

“Who?” He asked, eyebrows raised and wondering how she could possibly know their names.

“Have you never seen Finding Nemo?” She had looked at him with wide eyes, not believing what she heard. Junmyeon was tuck like a deer in the headlines. This was one these mortal things he didn’t understand and doubted he ever would.

“Finding who?” He repeated, still as confused as before. Evangeline straightened up, looking him in the eyes she smiled.

“I know what we are doing next.” She announced, before moving to the next tank.

Two hours passed in complete comfort as Junmyeon wondered the aquarium, Evangeline’s hand leaving his only in the small giftshop at the end of their trip. She had went and bought something small when he wasn’t looking, before taking his hand again.

“I got this for you.” She opened the little gift envelope, before taking out something small and shiny.

“Thank you.” Junmyeon took it from her. It seemed so small between his fingers. A small enamel badge gleamed in his hand, it was a little Royal Blue Tang.

“May I?” Evangeline asked, taking the little pin from between his fingers. Her fingers brushed against his and a current shot through their fingers, making their hearts beat faster. The golden thread keeping his heart prisoner tightened around the muscle, reminding him of the fate that bound them together.

“Of course.” He managed to tell her, his eyes creasing into half moons as he smiled, his cheeks rounding. She smiled back, fingers threading through his navy suit jacket to attach the little fish to the collar. Evangeline smoothed out the non-existent creases with her hands. Before she could retreat them, Junmyeon caught one of her hands in his, threading his fingers through hers. Joined this way, the continued walking.

-----------

The few days between their meetings had given Junmyeon time to resume his duties as a god. He allowed the tides to bash against the shores with new strength, waves beating against sand and rock and land, carving out new shapes and paths in their wake, creating and destroying all at once. Suho spun the typhoons and derechos away from the sea and towards the land, letting rain and sea water carve into the islands and continents. Nature had to run its course, whether people liked it or not, whether Junmyeon wanted it or not. Balance was essential. Balance was their friend and foe and duty. Junmyeon relished in the sound of waves crashing against the shore, he breathed in the fresh air, filled with storms and violence. His deep eyes, matching the dark waters crashing into land, scanned the horizon, his hair was tussled by the winds as he took in the force of his power, finally feeling what mortals knew since the beginning of their creed.

Electrifying, that was the way she would have described him had she been present. Magnetic and terrifying would also work if Evangeline could look into his eyes right now. Their softness was gone, replaced with something hard and serious. Duty or power, or maybe both, had made him harsh again, and it was this harshness, like a typhoon, that welcomed her when she visited the flower shop.

"Is everything alright?" The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could think, and her hands had reached for him out of their own volition, gentle in the way they cradled his cheek.

"I suppose so." Junmyeon spoke, his voice thunderous and cacophonous like crashing tides. He let his arms fall around Evangeline's waist, firm and sure in their hold. Junmyeon was meant to be the secure brother, the one sure of his standing, the one whose decisions are always executed, his words final. He had made his decision among the crashing hurricanes. Love was a force equal to his own, and he would not fight it. Evangeline was kind and mortal, but she would endure his love. She had seen death and continued living, continued being kind. That was more than Junmyeon could say for himself. He would give up his rage. He would transform it.

"You look different." She whispered, eyes falling from his hardened eyes to pursed lips.

"How so?" He looked down, feeling his true form peak through the mortal disguise.

"Like you're angry." She whispered again. It was quieter than before, more unsure.

"I'm not angry." He told her, turning his head enough to lay a kiss on her open palm as it still pressed against his cheek. The smooth skin was warm against him, comforting.

"Let me buy you dinner." He offered. Evangeline nodded her head, her perfectly red lips stretching into a smile. Junmyeon thought she would make a beautiful bride, dressed in white instead of black, holding flowers meant for the living. Reluctantly, he gave her white lilies and watched her walk out of the shop. Duty called, and Junmyeon understood very well what it meant to answer it. Love was a duty too, he thought, and Junmyeon was no longer afraid.

Later in the week they ended up in Evangeline’s home, curled up on the sofa as Finding Nemo played from her tv.

“These fish talk?” Junmyeon asked, eyeing the screen as the two clownfish, a dad and his son, argued about swimming.

“It’s an animation.” Evangeline laughed, watching as Junmyeon refused to take his eyes off the screen, gaze trailing behind the bright orange little fish as Nemo made his way to school for the first time.

“They are not real?” Junmyeon sounded incredulous. She wondered if he was one of those weird types whose parents never allowed cartoons.

“Are humans really that evil? Why do they take these creatures from their homes?” Junmyeon had cuddled up to her as the film progressed, angry at the way humans had separated the family. He had always known humans were cruel like that, but watching it on screen as it unfolded, knowing that the mortals knew what they were doing, was unbearable.

“Humans tend to take the things they think are pretty for themselves.” Evangeline answered him, her fingers running through Junmyeon's dark hair. His head had fallen into her lap and she enjoyed the comfort they have settled into.

“I can’t say I don’t understand, but I think by now they should know better.” He spoke, and she nodded along.

“We should.”

The film passed in silence. Junmyeon ended up too invested in it to speak, and when Nemo and his dad finally reunited, Evangeline could feel something wet soak through her pyjama bottoms.

“He finally found him.” Junmyeon whispered. She could see him wipe away a stray tear from his eyes with his sleeve.

“Do you want a hug?” She asked, stopping the gentle movement of her fingers through his hair to allow him to sit up.

“Yes.” He said, but instead of falling into being the small spoon he cradled her in his arms trailing kisses through her hair. She let him, closing her eyes when his hands came to rub soothing circles over her back.

"There is also Finding Dory." She whispered, eyes twinkling in amusement as Junmyeon stilled.

"Maybe next time." His voice came out a little hoarse, and she laughed lightly, turning to press a kiss against his lips.

----------- 

Mortified. The mortal word felt adequate in describing how Junmyeon was feeling right now. Baekhyun and some of his little love messengers sat at his table at the coffee shop down the street from Kyungsoo's shop. Sipping on his coffee, Baekhyun kept giving him mischievous smiles as he winked at him over the rim of his cup. The love messengers laughed at his predicament, finding his powerlessness amusing.

“You cried watching a children animation?” Baekhyun asked when Junmyeon finished telling his story.

“It was about fish! What could I have done?” The God of Sea tried defending himself. The wellbeing of those who live in the sea was always a touchy subject for him. It was no wonder then, why he had allowed his emotions to show.

“You could have tried to look cool.” One of the love messengers supplemented as he drank his coffee.

“I think it is good he cried.” Another one chimed in. Honestly, Junmyeon didn't know their names that well. A new one was born when Baekhyun felt like it, and Baekhyun expressed his feelings more than any other brother of his did.

“He seems more human that way.” Baekhyun nodded along, his eyes surveying Junmyeon as he allowed some of his godly power to seep through. Rage lit in his eyes. Baekhyun could swear he saw a hurricane swirl in his irises and could hear waves crash when he spoke again.

"I'm not human."

“She’ll like you more now.” Baekhyun chastised. It wasn't like him to scold Junmyeon like that, but sometimes his brothers needed reminders. Love was a gift. A gift from him, and he took his gift giving very seriously.

“She’d like him anyway, its destiny.” Kyungsoo's voice rang out behind them, and the messengers scrambled off their couch to offer space to the Earth God.

“You should kiss her next time.” He said when he sat down, his brown eyes soft but his expression was firm.

“Yeah, snog her.” Baekhyun cheered, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Feel some eros for her, show her some eros.” The god of love raised his eyebrows at him, sending a cheeky wink Suho's way.

“I thought I should be feeling a different type of love.” He spoke, raising his cup to his lips, allowing the hot bitter liquid to slide down his throat. He preferred godly nectar, but down on Earth coffee was sufficient.

“Don’t lecture me about love.” Baekhyun spoke, and the ground beneath them shook with the force of his power. Junmyeon's heart skipped a beat as he was reminded just how much power his brother possessed, even over them- those both angry and immortal.

-----------

Evangeline was kind. He knew that early on. Evangeline was brave and she endured, he knew that too. Evangeline was only mortal, fragile and flawed and empathetic. She was vulnerable. He was witnessing this first hand now.

He found her weeping on the kitchen floor. She had called him twenty minutes prior asking him to come see her. Junmyeon heard the break in her voice and wasted no time. She was still wearing her black coat, her loafers were still on her feet. She had decided to curl into a ball beside the kitchen cabinets.

With slow, deliberate steps, Junmyeon walked across the kitchen, he sunk to his knees beside her and waited.

"Thank you." She whispered when Evangeline looked up. Junmyeon's breath caught in his throat before he moved to sit beside her on the tiled floor. Evangeline rested her head on his shoulder. He took the opportunity to intertwine their fingers, placing her hand in his lap. With slow, deliberate movements he turned his head, and placed a gentle kiss in her hairline, allowing her to burrow into the crook of his neck. Her tears begun to flow again, warm and wet against his skin as they seeped through his shirt. He didn't mind. Water was his domain, water was him; and yet his heart broke that it flowed from her eyes, rendered her small and broken.

"Do you want to tell me what is wrong?" Suho asked, his voice small as he held Evangeline in his arms.

"They drowned." The words came out as a whisper. For a moment, Suho's heart stopped. He knew by now that some days this job was harder than others. He knew that there were days when Evangeline broke down at the smallest thing; completely overwhelmed. This would pass, she knew this too.

"In the sea?" He asked, afraid of looking down at her. He felt her nod. They lived in a seaside town. It was not unusual this time of year, it didn't make it any less tragic.

Guilt ate at him. He had stayed far away from humans for so long, commanded the seas and waters of the Earth from far away. He made his rule impersonal. Now, with her in his arms he was faced once more with the consequences of his powers. Old ghosts came out to haunt him, blame him for tragedies long forgotten. It ate away at him, dulling the hurricanes in his soul, slowing the waves in their path. Was this what the Fates wanted? Was it his turn to confront his ghosts? Fate is cruel, he thought. Fate is cruel, he breathed, and placed a tender kiss in Evangeline's hair, smoothing down the strands with his hand, letting her warm up in his embrace. Like a gentle summer stream, Junmyeon flowed, enveloping her in safety, tenderly.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered.

"I'm so, so sorry." He looked into her eyes, glossy with tears, as his blurred with the images of old ghosts. For a moment he remembered every ship that sunk in his rage, every lover who took their last breath in the murky waters of his kingdom, every echo of prayers sent his way to bring those lost back to shore prayed too late.

"It's not your fault." Evangeline rose from his shoulder, cradling his face in her hands. Junmyeon grabbed onto them like a lifeline, like an anchor he was afraid would rise too fast.

"It is." His tone was serious, darker. Godliness shone through him, waves crashed in his irises.

"I am the god of Water, King of Seas."

"Poseidon." He punctuated every letter.

"Neptune."

"Aegir." his voice was not loud, but it crashed through the space between them like waves against cliff faces. Forceful and final.

"Call me by any name, I have created them all." He whispered, almost ashamed.

"I am water." He spoke. Not once did he waver. He did not smile, his eyes didn't twinkle. His brows set over his features unmoving, his lips were like stone, features unmoving.

"And water drowns its victims." His eyes darkened, and he could no longer hold her hand.

Evangeline pulled away, her head shaking lightly as she searched Junmyeon's eyes for any hint of jest. She couldn't find any.

"No, Junmyeon." Breath caught in her throat and her voice cracked when she said his name.

"I'm sorry." He reached his hand out towards the kitchen sink above them, and with a flick of his wrist the water flowed from the pipes. With another twist of his hand it flew through the air, a thousand droplets filled the air, suspended and still. Light passed through them like through a chandelier. The room filled with golden rays. In any other circumstance Evangeline would have thought the sight to be magical, beautiful. Now she found it horrid, frightening.

The man she loved wasn't a man at all. He was something else, something unknown.

"Get out." The words punctured the air. Junmyeon forgot how to breathe.

"Get out." Evangeline repeated, pushing him away. The sudden touch caught him off guard. He lost all concentration. Thousand droplets fell around them, crashing against tiles and furniture as rain does against pavements.

Soaked, Evangeline shook, her whole body trembling as she made her way to her feet.

Slowly, Junmyeon rose from his seat on the floor. Not wanting to cause her further distress, he avoided her eyes as he walked out of the apartment. The only sound that carried through the air were his shoes against the wet floor.

Once he was in the corridor, out from Evangeline's line of sight, he heard a muffled crash. Silence. Then the sobs.

He took a deep breath, tears clouded his vision, and for the first time in over a thousand years, the God of Water, King of Seas, let himself cry.

With one last step he collapsed outside of his underwater halls, right by the throne surrounded by channels of sea water and crashing waves. Power had carried him to the safely of his home.

"We told you, Raging Tide." The Fates echoed through the Halls.

"To love is to hurt." Their voice rung out, thunderous and eternal as Junmyeon knelt at their feet.

-----------

A day passed by. Then another. Junmyeon had gained a new companion in that time. Fear was a new friend, or maybe a fiend as it stole his sleep and took his will.

He remembered what the Fates had predicted the first time they came to his Halls under the Oceans.

"You will forget how to live without her."

Their words seemed truer now than ever.

Junmyeon's thoughts were broken when his name rung out, bright and clear through the air.

"Suho!" His brother paced through the hall towards him.

"Baekhyun." He greeted, allowing the God of Love to hold him at arms length as he spoke. Baekhyun's usual light smile and twinkling eyes were replaced with worry. His coat was soaked by the roaring tides that crashed through Junmyeon's palace every once in a while. He must have gone down the wrong corridor when he went searching for him.

"Go to her." Baekhyun wasted no time in getting to the point. Junmyeon had promised his brother that he would not reject his greatest gift, but right now, more than ever Junmyeon wanted nothing to do with Love, nor with Fate.

"She does not want me to come." He spoke plainly, placing his hands behind his back as he tried to turn away.

"If you don't go now, you will truly lose her." Baekhyun admonished, making Junmyeon face him properly and look into his eyes.

"I made a mistake." The God of Water spoke. Behind him, Baekhyun could hear another wave crash through the marble halls.

"Then apologise." It was simple, a mortal solution that could remedy everything. Even to gods such as them it was hard. Apologise were difficult, no matter how many aeons one lived.

"There are no words adequate for her." Junmyeon turned his eyes way from the scrutiny of his brother. How could he apoligise? What words should he use. All languages of the Earth, alive or dead, did not have the vocabulary to describe his deep sorrow, to put his guilt into something tangible and explainable.

"You can't know until you try." Baekhyun pressed further, his hands no longer resting on his brother's shoulders. He gripped Junmyeon by the elbow, preventing him from moving away, from fleeing.

"Love hurts." Junmyeon muttered, allowing a new darkness to settle over him.

"Love heals too." Baekhyun spoke, sure of the fact that if his brother tried, he could find the right words. Happiness was so close, Baekhyun could taste it on the tip of his tongue. All Junmyeon needed to do was reach out.

"Go." He nudged Junmyeon one more time. A moment passed, and then Junmyeon's hard eyes settled on his. Junmyeon nodded, wordless and encompassing.

In a blink of an eye, he was gone and Baekhyun gripped empty air where he once stood.

-----------

Evangeline had spent the last two night crying, trying to dry her kitchen and her tears. Still, she found spots of dampness that reminded her that Junmyeon was a god. Junmyeon whom she loved, who she sought out in the night, who slept beside her and who smiled at her over bouquets of white lilies as if they were not meant for funerals.

She stood at the sink, watching water drip from the tap, remembering the way Junmyeon moved, the way he commanded it, the way it fell like torrential rain around them. She hung her head, trying not to think about him. Maybe if she forgot him she could live on. Maybe she could pretend he never existed in the first place.

A knock on the kitchen door startled her out of her thoughts. Evangeline turned, afraid that someone had gotten in without her permission.

Instead of a stranger, her eyes landed on a stoic man, his brows dark and heavy over his eyes. For the first time she noticed the way Junmyeon's eyes swirled like hurricanes. Despite the distance between them, she could see the crashing of tides over his face.

"I'm sorry." He spoke first. She stood still, afraid that if she moves away he will disappear like an apparition and if she moves closer she will never be able to let go.

"It wasn't the right time to unleash this on you." He continued, his voice deep and heavy as it crashed against her.

"You were having a hard time and it was unfair of me."

"Unfair of you?" She finally spoke. Despite her broken tone her words rang out clearly. For a moment Junmyeon looked away.

"I allowed my own guilt to take precedence." He clarified. Slowly, like he did that night, he walked towards her, giving her time to move away or to stop him. Evangeline did neither. her hands crossed over in front of her, but she didn't stop him.

"I am the one who controls tides and currents. I should take blame for when people die in my domain." Junmyeon spoke. He had been responsible for a long time, guilt ridden and detached all at the same time. People blamed him whether he was at fault or not, and he didn't doubt Evangeline would too. She knew the truth of what he was now.

"Just because you control water does not mean everything that happens in it is your fault." Her voice was quiet, but she looked into his eyes regardless.

"Did you know they drowned?" She asked after a moment.

"No." Junmyeon told the truth. He could control the tides, he could crash waves and aid migrations and lost ships but Junmyeon was not omniscient.

"Then how can you blame yourself?" It was so simple. So mortal. He didn't know it happened, he didn't cause it. So why would he feel guilty?

Slowly, as if not to scare him, Evangeline reached out, her palm cradled his face, stroking gently along his cheek bone. Her touch was warm, reassuring.

Something slipped off of Junmyeon, the hurricanes in his eyes changed into the glistening waters of calm cerulean seas.

He placed his hand over hers, before lowering his face to hers. Gently, slowly, they closed the gap between them. His lips were warm against hers, moving in careful, practised tandem as they drew the breath from her lungs, filling her with something hotter. Junmyeon's hands traversed the planes of her back, firm and solid against her. He pulled her closer, until no space between them remained. Evangeline's hands found their way around his waist. Their lips parted ways only for a moment.

"I love you." Junmyeon whispered against the skin of her cheek, before finding his way to her lips again. He didn't need an answer. The flutters of her heart against his were enough.

-----------

Since Evangeline found out Junmyeon was the God of Water, Junmyeon had become more keen in taking her out by the sea. Today he had taken her to the cliffs. They had strolled the lush green hills, covered in wild grass and purple flowers that somehow resisted the sea breeze and the salt in the air. They had walked hand in hand along the rocky beaches, watching waves crash and break against the shore. Now, they stood shoeless on a rock jutting out into the sea, a part of the low side of the cliff face as it joined the sea.

She truly had not meant to do that. In fact, she had wanted to do anything but that. She wasn’t much of a swimmer, and she had never dived in her life so slipping and falling off the rock and into the sea below was unnatural. She hit the waves, her whole body felt like it was covered in pins and needles. The coldness bit at her skin in the form of thousands of tiny teeth and her lungs burned as she tried her best to not breathe in the water. The salt burned her eyes, turning her vision skewed and blurry. Down here, there was no sound. No noise penetrated the wall of water all around her, and it was as if the sea had decided to drag her down, further and further into it’s depths, slowly.

Junmyeon’s reaction was almost instant. He let go of their shoes and jumped in after her, commanding the sea to let her go. The sea didn’t listen. Water was Junmyeon, and Junmyeon was water, and the sea desired her the same way he did. It’s desire was deadlier, it’s hold on her was the very opposite of Junmyeon’s. Cold fingers dug into her, clawing at her to stay, to be one with the sea bed. Junmyeon disapproved. He followed her trail, watching in the darkness as his love thrashed about and then slowly lost the will to fight as the current dragged her. The water whispered, pleaded for her to stay.

Junmyeon knew she was still human, mortal and fragile. Humans could not breathe underwater, could not survive the temperatures of the depths. Not without aid, not in normal clothes and without apparatuses that allowed them to breathe.

With one final command, Junmyeon called for the sea to leave her. This time it listened. The current around her stilled, keeping her in place, before pushing her towards him and towards the surface. It was arduous. Time seemed to slow down and seconds turned into whole eternities and lifetimes as he waited for her to be back in his arms.

Junmyeon gripped her, in the darkness of the sea, he fought the currents, bringing their mouths together, breathing air into her lungs as the tides carried them to shore, against nature but not against their master.

“I thought the Sea would never let you go." He spoke finally when Evangeline stopped coughing. She was still shaking from the cold and the ordeal, but she was alive, and her lungs were full of air. Crisp, sweet air.

"I thought so too." She whispered, falling into Junmyeon's waiting arms. He held her closed, warming her up with his body as he tried to ease her trembling.

"How can the soulmate to the God of Water not know how to swim?" He asked her, eyes incredulous and brows furrowed.

"Call it Fate." Evangeline managed to joke, but Junmyeon pulled her in closer, peppering kisses along her wet hair. The sun began shining again, its warm rays falling on their tangled bodies as they lay on the rocky beach.

"Fate indeed." Junmyeon whispered, looking up at the sky, wondering if his brothers were looking down at him now, whether it was Jongdae pulling the clouds apart to make space for Yixing's sun.

-----------

They left the beach soaked and trembling, but the whole ordeal had left Junmyeon with an idea. He didn't bother taking Evangeline back to her car. He didn't take her to the nearest village inn or grocery store. Instead, he pulled power, and in one step Evangeline found herself in his Halls under the primordial Oceans.

Evangeline's eyes roamed the marble halls, the flowers engraved in the walls that glistened from their mother-of-pearl linings. The rays of Olympus sun that reached them regardless of depths broke into rainbow shards on the walls and floors as they hit the crystal chandeliers with opal embellishments. Seaweeds swayed as if underwater and other sea plants lined the halls. the soft sound of flowing water came from the channels that turned the floors into an unending maze. Every once in a while Evangeline heard the great crashing of tides as they swept through distant rooms.

"Welcome to my home." Junmyeon spoke, leading her through the grandeur into his private rooms. There, he handed her clean dry clothes. One of his old tunics and a pair of soft cotton trousers. He handed her a towel as well.

Evangeline smiled and went to change behind a screen in the corner of the room.

"It's beautiful here, Myeon." She said once was dressed.

"Thank you. It's all yours." He watched her from his bed, the huge four-poster was covered in deep blue fabrics. Here in the depths Evangeline could see Junmyeon's godliness better. He seemed to glow with power, eyes shining and hair askew as if ruffled by sea breeze.

"My home is your home. Remember that." He told her, and she came closer to sit beside him. All this time they would meet in her home. Being here was foreign, strange. Only now she truly understood the scope of his power, the seriousness of their predicament. He was ancient, powerful and responsible for things she could not begin to understand. She was a mortal. her life a speck of dust compared to his, her responsibilities paled in comparison. She wondered, for the first time, whether this could even work.

"Will you tell me more," She finally asked, taking Junmyeon's hand in hers, she looked into his eyes and took a deep breath "About yourself and your family."

Junmyeon watched Evangeline with piercing eyes. He nodded, intertwining her fingers with his.

“ Gods feel lust, but we don’t fall in love. At least not the way humans do. The Fates saw that as a flaw, and my brother Baekhyun, the God of Love, agreed. He wanted to give his brothers what he gave to mortals, a type of happiness I suppose.”

He gave Evangeline a tight-lipped smile and she squeezed his hand.

"So the Fates and Baekhyun made a deal. They would tie soulmate knots into our lifelines, knots that cannot be undone. There was a caveat. The Fates wanted us to submit to their judgement, so there is no way to untie the knot without killing us."

"So you just accept Fate?" Evangeline was bewildered, her eyes Searched Junmyeon's face for any hint of hesitation or anger.

"Everyone accepts fate. We just happen to know about it. There are no exceptions in this universe. We just happen to be aware of it." Junmyeon let out a laugh, his lips falling into Evangeline's hairline. She still smelled like the sea, like him.

“So the myths?” She enquired, thinking back to high school, to learning about their marriages and conquests and romances.

“What myths? Of all the demigods? Of all of our lovers?” Junmyeon laughed again, smile bright and shoulders shaking gleefully, his eyes fell on Evangeline, his fingers smoothing over the furrow in her brows.

“Partially true. The time between ancient Greeks and the Crusades was a bit of a wild ride. We were ruled by chaos before I decided to be the responsible brother. Our children didn’t live long, they were volatile, unstable. They all died young. ” There was a small hint of regret in his voice, although he was never a proper parent before he felt hurt and grief for his children. Some things were inevitable if you lived this long.

“As my brothers run amok, Minseok and I looked at the death and destruction we caused and felt guilt, promised to never set foot on Earth again. I stayed clear of mortal affairs since.” He spoke, leaning back to take a good look at his soulmate. He felt the golden rope tied around his heart twist and tighten, reminding him of who they were and their destiny.

“Why me?” She asked, her voice small and unsure, and Junmyeon said the phrase he had heard over and over.

“Fates can be cruel.”

"Cruel?" He realised too late that this might have been the wrong choice of wording. Hurt flashed across Evangeline's face, marring her brows, twisting her lips. Her eyes flashed with sadness, but Junmyeon was quick to remedy that.

"Meddlesome." He corrected himself.

"Fate meddles, churns and spins our lives in ways we don't want." Junmyeon twisted their intertwined hands, pressed her palm to where his heart was, beating for her, twisting and churning as fate intended.

"It teaches us, that maybe the things we don't want, our fears and our rage, are only temporary. They harms us rather than protects us." He remembered his rage and his guilt, and the way she eased it, made it bearable.

“Do you really love me?” Evangeline asked, her eyes looking at him, waiting for him to look away, expecting him to do so.

“Yes.” Junmyeon was not a man who wavered or swayed. He would not turn away.

“It’s not lust I’m feeling. Eros is different. Eros is shallow, fleeting.” He remembered that kind of love. The gods had been hungry, left wanting more; never satiated. Junmyeon remembered the way it settled into his stomach like a monster in its pit. The lair had been shallow, and it did not make a home of it for long. This was different. It was terrifying and exhilarating and full of contradictions. This was the kind of love that would last, one that would never starve and never waver and never fade. It was a love that would require devotion and compromise and he was ready for both.

"This love is Pragma. A love built on duty and compromise and growth. This is a love that we had not been bestowed before."

“I feel like I’m drowning without you.” Junmyeon's breath fanned over Evangeline's face like a warm breeze.

“You can’t drown.” She whispered, remembering what had transpired earlier. He smiled lightly, but his eyes followed her with inhuman gravity.

“Without you, my lungs don’t feel like breathing.”

“Without you, nothing matters. Not the sea, not Olympus, not immortality.” Junmyeon took her other hand, holding both to where his heart thrummed and breath made home in his lungs.

“Fate is cruel, I know that. But Fate is absolute, and you cannot run from it. I tried.” He continued, watching as Evangeline gazed up at him, her breath in sync with his.

“You love me?” She asked again. Disbelief coloured her voice, as if she could not fathom the fact that a being such as him could feel such passion for her. Junmyeon put her musings to rest.

“I love you.” He repeated. He would repeat it as many time as he needed to, until those words made a home in his mouth, until they were engraved in the tissues and sinew of her heart; until her mortal red thread turned golden and godly.

“I love you too.” Evangeline's voice was clear as crystal when it rung through the halls, through the Seas and through him, tugging at his heart, pulling at his lifeline, twisting the knots in it until they were shapeless and impossible to untangle.

“What now?” She asked, and Junmyeon wasted no time to kiss her.

“Whatever you want.” He whispered against her lips.

“I don’t want to take you away from your life. I don’t want you to have to choose between me or the ones you love.” He confessed. Mortals had families, lives they needed to live. They were not made for immortality.

“You’re the one I love.” She looked hi  in the eyes, falling into the hurricane that swirled there, now slow and careful rather than destructing.

“Marry me.” Junmyeon stated. With gleeful eyes he watched as Evangeline moved her face away from his, completely taken aback.

“Excuse me?” She asked, knowing full well that even at their age, marriage after nine months of knowing each other was not the best idea. It was quite a terrible idea actually.

“Not now, when you're ready.” Junmyeon clarified, eyes still sparkling as he resumed peppering kisses all over her face.

“You said I’m mortal.” She looked at him confused again, and he caressed her cheek.

“Not if you marry me. Once our threads become tied, yours will turn to gold, you will become a goddess.” Junmyeon remembered Yixing and Idalia. It was a grand wedding. Olympus was decked in gold, flowers bloomed in every crevice and the sun shone so bright, so perfectly that Junmyeon himself could not believe his eyes. He remembered Jongdae and his bride, their wedding brightened by lightning and decked in diamonds and silver and plants so emerald he thought they were jewels. He remembered the unbreakable golden bands created in his forge for these occasions. Who would forge his wedding rings? Kyungsoo who would pull them from the earth? Yixing who would weave them from sunlight? Chanyeol, who would craft them in a supernova or the heart of a volcano? Either way they would be eternal and final and binding.

“Goddess of what?” Evangeline kissed one corner of his mouth, and then the other.

“Seaweed? Clown fish? Does it matter?” He muttered, not really knowing what would happen. It was the Fates, after all that made these kind of decisions. In this, he was powerless.

“Junmyeon!” She smacked his chest lightly and he laughed. The noise carried, cacophonous and full through the water as pure joy bubbled in his chest.

“ Calm seas. The Goddess of calm seas.” He proposed, his smile never faltering. If he had his way she would rule the world, but balance was hard to break and calmness easy to seek. 

Evangeline kissed his lips, hands now threading through his hair. He caressed her cheeks, fitting his mouth to hers.

Just this once, Junmyeon thought, just this once; Fate had been kind.

[greatgoddyke]

some bobbles (+ two unfinished things)

[a-space-lizard]

Being neck-deep in a magnus archives hyperfixation while also going back to writing destiny fics featuring the exo stranger before her name reveal (and thus referring to her as The Stranger) is a bit of mental whiplash

[xerceii]

God’s Eye - PART 1 & 2

Pairing: Chanyeol/OC

Genre: Fantasy, Action, romance

TW/Warnings: 18+ included some gore, a scene with vomit, violence, murder, smut in future chapters, multiple sexual conversations, religious talk relating to God and the devil

Plot: Ahn Jung is a 25 year old office worker who underwent eye transplant surgery, she never thought that the donor would be a demon.

Note:

Testing to see if I want to start posting fics on tumblr again or continue linking to other sites 🤔 so here’s part 1 and 2 combined to test the waters

Click here for master post

___________

The faint beeping of the machine was the only sound she could hear for a while. It kept a slow rhythmic pace that mimicked her heart rate. It was insufferable. The endless sound reminded her that she was alive yet couldn't do anything but wait. Leaving her to her own thoughts... or so she thought-

Ahn could see images behind closed lids. They were fast and few but she saw them. Flashes of fire, of an old city she didn't recognize and even faces. Faces so beautiful she wondered exactly where this place was?

But... she could see.

Finally she was told to sit up. Ahn sat up and felt the bandages around her eyes loosen and unwrap. The doctor told her specific instructions which she didn't hear... No, she was too busy being nervous. Her heart pounded and her hands started clamming. What if her body rejected the donor? What if something had gone wrong and she can see even less than before? Or what if she looked funny now? They had told her the eye color would change. She didn't want that. She was Ahn, the girl with the pretty brown eyes that let everyone know it was okay to approach her.

That let everyone know she wouldn't judge them. She'd want to be their friend. Soft brown eyes like the color of Christmas pine trees, or fallen autumn leaves. That's the way her mom had described them. She always loved that description. It made her feel as if just by looking into her eyes.... You could smell cinnamon and taste eggnog.

You couldn't now.

The sound of cameras clicking brought her out of her depressing trance. The bandages were off, glasses immediately placed on her eyes.

"I wanted to see them!" Her mother whined.

"You can later on." The doctor explained. "After a while she'll be able to wear clear glasses, but she'll need an eye shield for now."

"Did they actually change?"

"Yes." The doctor sounded almost embarrassed to admit it as if he had any way of stopping that process. Obviously he didn't. "They're a clear blue now."

Her parents gasped and she gripped the bedsheets.

Oh well.

It wouldn't look good on her but at least she's going to have better vision now.

Ahn looked around the room. The glasses dimmed the lighting and it was still a bit blurry but she could tell there was a difference. A huge one actually. Things were their actual distance, the outline of everything could be seen and faces- everyone's faces were distinct, though the blurriness would take it away every so often. It had worked though. It made her hopeful. It brought her back to normal. Ahn jumped up and everyone panicked fearing she might fall over.

"I'm fine." Her hand raised to stop anyone from grabbing her. "Better than fine actually, It worked!"

"You'll be a bit sore for the next few days. You should take it easy."

She nodded and stretched. Ahn didn't know how long she had been under the knife but her body definitely did. It was cramped and stiff in all the worst areas. She needed to move her legs, start walking or running or whatever. Letting out a groan, she smiled at everyone who was looking at her. Which was everyone in the room. "I'll be fine, I just want to get out of here. I'm good to leave right?"

"Technically yes." The doctor frowned. "As long as you follow the instructions."

She nodded not really knowing any of them. "I will! I'll get a paper for them though, right?"

He nodded and she didn't need to hear anymore. Ahn walked out of the hospital room in her gown, happy to just get out of there. She hated standing still, she hated doing nothing. It was weird but she wanted to dance. Her socks slid against the hospital's smooth white floor. It wasn't exactly dancing but it was the most she could do without being labeled crazy.

Ahn took the stairs, even skipping some of the last ones and jumping off. This was going to be great, she could finally see better which meant Requiem might take her back... hopefully. If she talked to Baekhyun, he might let her.

Leaving through the exit doors, Ahn walked up to the receptionist desk. "Ahn Jung."

"Just Ahn?" The woman at the front desk looked at her weirdly. Ahn nodded, not wanting to explain that her parents became lazy trying to name her and settled on a last name for a first name. It was a never-ending fight between them. While the computer clicked away looking for her information, Ahn suddenly felt light headed. Maybe she had pushed herself too far.

Her eyes hurt too.

"Ma'am are you okay?"

What?

"Ahn!" She heard her mother somewhere very far away.

Nope. She was right beside her on the ground. When did she even fall?

Shit. Shit. Shit. Everyone was rushing towards her. Her eyes closed and they felt a little better. A flash of the city from before lit behind her eyes. This time she saw walls that once were probably cream in color, the intricate roof work and paint all destroyed. The sky above was red and loomed over her like some kind of warning. It was terrifying but she kept looking at the image. Her body was picked up.

"She'll have to stay a couple more hours just in case." Her doctor explained.

No...

She couldn't keep doing nothing. Ahn couldn't keep laying down. It was torture. "I'll be fine-" she groaned. "I can't keep laying down! How long was it anyways? A day? Two days!?"

"Dramatic as always Ahn." Her mother shook her head. "The surgery was only an hour."

Oh.

She felt her face flush at the embarrassment at that and let herself be carried back towards her room. Her head tilted back and she opened her eyes slowly. There was a crowd watching her, but one in particular stood out. A tall man with pink hair and a ridiculous fuzzy pink coat. That wasn't what stood out though, it was his expression, he was glaring at her. He looked like he was close to throwing the chair next to him at her. His brows were furrowed and his eyes wide.

Damn what did I do? She thought, closing her eyes. Maybe it wasn't towards her. She heard the ding of the elevator and the doors closing. Her feet twitched wanting to walk again.

Go to sleep...

it'll make time go by faster.

So she did. From the mix of pain and embarrassment, Ahn was able to fall asleep during the elevator ride.

                                 ______

When she awoke it was nighttime. Ahn didn't know until she took off the stupid eye covers and replaced them with her tinted glasses. She had been strapped down so she would be forced to sleep upright. They hadn't done it hard enough to make it impossible to move, just so her sleeping form wouldn't shift around.

Tugging on one end undid the straps on her arms, they quickly fell to the side. Putting on the glasses, she looked around.

The hospital room was dark and her parents were gone. They probably decided she was fine enough to spend the night alone. The only light that creeped in was from the moon itself, and all the machines hooked up to her. It was a plain old hospital room, yet why did it look creepier at night? The wooden closet used for storage was opened by an inch and it felt like she was being watched. There was no light outside in the hallway either. Her belongings had been thrown on the visitors chairs so she could dress.

Ahn sat up, untying her feet and hopping down. The floor was cold despite it being summer. The AC cranked up too high. She ran a hand through her tangled hair and walked towards her clothes. It's the same ones she had arrived in today. A pair of jeans and an old T-shirt she didn't mind if it got lost or dirty. It was a T-shirt that had been with her since middle school, also her favorite black sandals. Her hands reached towards her back to take off the hospital gown but stopped.

The closet... it really felt like she was being watched.

Her eyes shifted towards the bed. Maybe she could call a nurse in. Press the button and not be alone anymore. The glasses shifted down to her nose and she had to push them up. No. There's probably no one in there. That'd be two times she'd embarrass herself. The closet door creaked beside her.

Only darkness showed inside. It didn't help that these stupid glasses darkened everything even more. She wanted to take them off, but she shouldn't. Ahn sighed and walked towards the wardrobe. Her hands pressed lightly against the open door.

What if there was someone inside?

Biting her bottom lip, she opened it. If there was someone inside, well her legs were probably faster than theirs. She was good at running and dodging and anything that included movement and physical activity. All those years of sports and dancing would pay off.

The door swung open, hitting the wall in the process. Inside it-

Was nothing.

Just an empty wardrobe with a couple of hangers and towels in case she wanted to shower. Someone must have left them for her and accidentally forgot to close it completely. Ahn gasped in relief, bringing her hand to her chest. Thank god. It would have sucked to have to run from someone at this time of night.

She was suddenly thirsty.

As if fear itself dehydrated her.

Walking towards her bag, she pulled out two dollars and left her room. The hallways were completely dark but at the end of them the vending machines were on. If she turned another corner after them there would be the emergency stairs and the elevators. Civilization. Maybe she could go downstairs and hang out at the cafeteria. No, it was probably closed.... The lobby then, she could people watch and maybe find a nurse or someone to talk to.

Ahn stepped in front of the vending machine looking at her choices. Chips, sodas, water bottles, candy....

Candy. She grinned and put in the first dollar, quickly getting the one that had the most chocolate. Then, got herself a drink. A coke. She needed sweets and junk right now, especially after that scare.

Her items fell and she bent down to grab them from the tray with a loose door. That's when she noticed a pair of pale feet beside her. Ahn looked up to see a boy looking down at her. He was blonde, blue eyed, around her height so not exactly tall for a man. He was pretty though.

"Sorry I didn't mean to stand so close!" He backed up a couple steps away. "I was just curious to see what'd you'd get."

Ahn smiled, taking out her things. "It's fine, I get curious about things like that too." She straightened up showing him her coke and chocolate bar. He nodded, seeming happy that she wasn't rude to him. Ahn moved out of the way so he could get something himself.

He got the same exact things.

"It's better to eat junk food with another person." He grinned. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulders and he was skinny. She could see the bones of his shoulder blades even through his hospital gown. His eyes had dark circles under them and his nose was pretty.

"Cool look you're sporting by the way." He unwrapped his candy and started eating.

"Huh? Oh." Ahn laughed, touching her glasses. "Eye transplant surgery. I got out today but decided to push it and ended up earning myself a couple more hours in this shit hole."

"Transplant?!" He gaped. "Did it hurt?"

Ahn shook her head. "Not really, but they hurt afterwards. They're sore and feel a bit dry."

He nodded. "You have to put in the eye drops. They'll help the recovery."

She sighed and decided to sit down. Her back pressed against the wall while the boy took the spot beside her. The vending machine flickered indicating it was old, and probably only a year away from giving out. Her feet were a lot bigger than his.... Not in length but... the weight of them. Hers looked pretty healthy, while his were as bony as his shoulders.

They looked frail, weak.

"If I'm rude feel free to smack me-" Ahn started. "But why are you here?"

"Me?" The boy asked, drinking from his coke. He leaned his head back as if trying to decide how to tell her. "To put it simply-" His skeletal hand touched his chest. "Heart failure."

"I- that must have been difficult." Ahn frowned. She couldn't imagine herself not being able to move around. To be limited to just the walls of this hospital. Her hands gripped the can of coke. It crackled under the pressure. She had it good. There was no room for complaining. She wanted to kick herself for her antics earlier.

"You know-" The boy laughed quietly. "You're the first person who hadn't told me they're sorry."

"Was that bad?!" She panicked. He shook his head immediately, stopping her from actually doing it.

"No! No. It was nice. It's all I ever heard so... it's a nice change in pace. Yes it is difficult, but an apology won't do anything." He finished his drink and continued snack time by finishing his chocolate. Ahn frowned, not happy with his situation. He seemed like a good guy. People don't deserve this.

"Did you know them?" He asked.

"Know who?"

"Your donor."

She shook her head. "No. It was anonymous. They didn't want their information to be given out." Ahn grabbed the boys empty can and wrapper, standing up, she went to throw them away in the trash can near the vending machine.

"Thanks."

"It's nothing." She waved it away and sat back down. The flickering started again and Ahn decided to finally drink her coke. Pulling the tab, she smiled hearing the click. A fresh coke, they always tasted so good. The fizzy drink touched her tongue and fell down her throat, calming the nerves she still had from the closet incident.

The boy looked at her. Blue eyes seeming to become more lifeless. They were clouded over as if he were in a weird daze. "Do you believe in heaven?"

Ahn stopped drinking. "Maybe?"

"I do." He muttered his voice was now soft and thoughtful. "Heaven and hell. Good and bad."

She looked at him and he held his heart again, blonde locks falling over his eyes. "I want to go to heaven. I don't have much time left but... I want to do everything possible so that I can get into heaven."

"I'm sure you will." She muttered with a mouthful of chocolate. "You seem like a good guy."

"How old are you?" He asked her.

"Twenty five."

"I'm seventeen."

Ouch. He was young. Ahn finished her own food and went to throw them away. When she turned back, the boy was standing. He looked like he was about to fall over. His palm was placed against the wall.

"Do you need help going back to your room?" She hurried towards him.

He shook his head, breaths coming out shallow. "I want to show you my favorite place here. Do you want to come?"

"Sure, but do you think you can make it?"

He nodded. "If you help me I can. It's been a while since I've made a friend. I don't want to go to bed yet."

Ahn smiled at the friend comment, also happy to be using some sort of strength again. She wrapped her arms around the boys and carried half his weight. Which wasn't much. He held on tightly as he told her the directions to go in. First into the elevator and to the top floor, then turn to the right hall, the left led to the rooftop but the right- she didn't know. She had never been here.

There were a couple more rooms up here, mainly the more expensive ones that VIP patients would want. There was also an abandoned desk, some closets for equipment-

"There-" The boy pointed. His breathing had become worse. Ahn made sure to carry more of him now. He definitely wouldn't have been able to make it this far without her. He pointed towards the far end, the last room left. Room 999. They walked up to it and she turned the knob.

It was an old hospital room just like any other. Except the windows were huge here. Most of the walls were windows. The moonlight bathed the entire place in its glow. The floor was cement which was probably one of the reasons it had been abandoned. There was also a bathtub in the middle, it was outdated. Probably from fifty years ago. The hoses and handles had been ripped off but she could see they used to be gold. Whatever hadn't broken off indicated that.

On the ground lay arrangements of different hospital robes and equipment. She almost tripped over a stethoscope.

"Careful-" He told her. "There's abandoned needles here."

Then why would we go here?! She thought, regretting everything. These stupid glasses. They didn't help anything. Ahn took him towards the windows at the farthest end of the room, he gasped, falling to his knees. He pointed north and her eyes widened. From the rooftop you could only see the city. From here, you could see the mountains, the line of trees and the clouds that barely touched them. The moon seemed closer here too. It was beautiful.

Ahn pressed her face towards the glass, taking it all in. So so so beautiful. Why didn't she realize how close the forest was from this hospital? She needed to take a hike down there. Maybe even a run. It would be good if Requiem wanted to shoot some dance videos here too. Maybe this boy can meet them, have some friends before he... she stopped the thought.

"I never did ask you your name." Ahn turned to look down at him. He sat cross legged staring at the entrance of the door. "Gabriel." He whispered.

Biblical. That would explain his need to go to heaven. He was religious. Or raised in a religious household. Ahn nodded. "It's a cool name."

He wasn't paying attention to her anymore. She followed his gaze towards the door.

Her heart dropped.

The blood in her veins ran cold.

Two men in black robes were chaining up the door. Another was putting something in the bathtub. A cross. He was putting a silver cross in the bathtub.

Ahn stood up, putting herself in front of Gabriel. "What the hell are you doing?" Her voice came out more nervous than expected. They ignored her finishing up the door. Ahn looked around, there was no other way to escape. Even breaking the window wouldn't work. It was a long fall and they would die. They were trapping them, and no one traps another person for a good reason. This was bad. Very bad. Every hair of hers stood as if her body was trying to warn her of what she already knew.

"Answer me!" She shrieked at them. They didn't. There was a pipe bar next to her, she was going to defend herself with it but- Ahn took off the glasses, throwing them aside. She needed to see better. It was cloudy but it was better than her original eyesight. She could see everything on the ground, and see in actual color instead of the brownish hue the glasses gave her.

It was risky for her eyes but... they needed to get out of here. Ahn could face the consequences later. "Gabriel-" She whispered. "Can you run?"

Gabriel looked up at her. "No."

Shit.

"Here's what I'll do, I'll try to knock as many as I can down with that pipe over there. I'm strong so it should be easy. You go and unchain the door. If you get it open, run. Go find help. I'll be behind."

Gabriel frowned at her. "You'd protect me?"

Would she? The answer was yes but she was scared to. She had never been put in a situation like this before. Ahn was agile. Good on her feet. She'd give it her all. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself. "On three-" She told him quietly.

The men in black robes all turned to her as if they heard. That's fine. That's fine. Even better. They turned their attention on her and when she got the weapon they'd panic and try to take it from her. They would ignore Gabriel unchaining the door and they could get out of this.

"One."

"Two."

"She's going to grab the pipe! Stop her!" Gabriel shouted.

Ahn turned to look at him in shock. She didn't have time to be heartbroken by the betrayal. She dived towards it while they all had a two second start to get it from her. Ahn was closer, she grabbed the pipe and swung violently, managing to hit one of them. He fell back.

Keep going!

Ahn swung and spun herself in a circle so it was harder to grab her, all while walking towards the door.

No use. They were smart. One managed to grab it from her and it almost knocked her down. He threw the pipe away and it clattered, crashing into a box full of old syringes. Ahn took off running. They chased after her and she bent down to grab a couple needles. She threw them their way and they dodged.

The needles almost hit Gabriel instead and he covered his face with his arms. He looked angry now. Not like the sweet boy she had been talking to for the past forty minutes. Ahn was crying out of fear. It burned her eyes to do so. In fact, her vision was getting worse now. There was little time left before they gave out.

Ahn threw more needles and anything that was dangerous enough to be hit with. Finally she passed the bathtub, it had been filled with red liquid. Crosses floated at the top. It sent a ripple of fear through her so strong that her feet faltered. She had to grip the edge of the bathtub to keep from falling.

Pulling herself up, Ahn kept going until she made it towards the door. Her hands fumbled on the chains trying to find where it started and where it ended. It was no use. A labyrinth of metal that couldn't be undone unless you had an axe.

Or a key.

There was probably a key on one of them. Five figures ran towards her. The sixth was still on the floor crying from the pain she had caused.

Quickly scanning all five people, Ahn saw what she needed. All of them had crosses around their necks except one. He had a key. Pushing herself off the door for more momentum, Ahn turned around and ran back towards Gabriel. They all seemed confused by the action. Good. Gabriel stared wide eyed as she picked up a needle, and slid towards him. The cement burned and scarred her knees, scraping off skin in the process. It didn't matter. It was the fastest way.

Ahn wrapped an arm around Gabriel's thin figure, pressing the tip of the needles on his neck. "Stop or I'll kill him!"

She wouldn't. She couldn't. She hoped they couldn't tell her bluff. The five figures stopped in front of them gasping for air. Her knees ached, but worst of all... her eyes. Her eyes burned. It was over. They were clouding over. They were too dry. Ahn had done everything she wasn't supposed to do.

To her dismay, Gabriel nodded, his head bowing low. "It's okay. I'm going to die anyway. Get her."

Ahn dropped the needle while they all started closing in again. She couldn't escape. Her eyes weren't capable of crying anymore. They all grabbed her and she let out an ear deafening scream. A dozen of them actually. Ahn thrashed in their arms, begging for them to let go of her. They didn't.

They were going to kill her. Or kidnap her? Or something bad.

"Please!" She begged. "Someone help me!"

No one came. Why was no one coming!? Her legs kept kicking trying to free herself from their hold but it was no use. They took her towards the bathtub and dropped her roughly inside. She was met with thick red water and crosses that dug into her spine as her body hit the bottom of the tub.

The sixth robed person came over, helping them hold her down. She couldn't breathe. Her body begged for more oxygen. Ahn gasped for air as they held her head. Water kept coming inside. No, not water. The taste was too thick. Too metallic. Oh god.

No.

No. No. No.

It was blood. She was in blood. She shrieked again, the sound gurgling with the blood entering her. "Stay still!" One of them yelled at her. Gabriel came up behind them and Ahn glared at him. As much as she could. Her eyes couldn't see much anymore. It was burning too. The blood burned the surface of her skin. Her body soon became too overheated and she didn't see any scarring but it felt like there would be if she stayed any longer.

"Start now!" One of them yelled.

"Help!" Ahn cried, getting a small towel shoved in her mouth in the process.

A man stood up and took out what seemed to be a Bible. "We are here to exorcise a poor victim of possession. May the heavens help us!"

Victim? Possession? Heaven?

Ahn screamed but it was only muffled by the towel. She panted instead, wishing she could've seen her friends one last time. Wishing she could've danced one last time. She wished for a lot of things actually. She should've been nicer to her parents. Should've invited them to her new apartment more.

"Help!" Ahn screamed but it didn't sound like anything.

"Stop screaming! All the ones on this floor are in on it." Gabriel spoke quietly. "It's to help you. Your donor... he was possessed before he died. The demon stayed in the eyes you have now. Stay still and we can help you."

"Fuck off!" Ahn cursed at him.

"The members of the church had been keeping close tabs on them. When they disappeared we noticed it's because they had been picked for your surgery. You were the only one who received one today."

"I don't care! I don't care! I don't care!" Ahn kept repeating, hating the way the blood burned. The man in front of her kept saying words of heaven and hell, god and angels. She couldn't hear through her own screaming. There had to be at least one person in this damn hospital who decided to check on the top floor. Just one good Samaritan.

"May the power of Christ compel you!" He shouted. There it was. That famous line that had been overused in horror movies. Ahn kept crying. "May the demon that rests on your shoulders show itself and repent for its sins!"

And then there was fire.

PART 2 - All a dream… Maybe?

Pure lines of blazing hot fire spread across the room. Like slithering snakes they circled around everyone. No, not snakes. It was a tornado of fire. It was unbearably hot and despite being in a tub full of blood, Ahn was already sweating. Outside the ring she could see that the flames weren't touching anything else.

Only focusing on them.

She kept screaming, but it wasn't only her who was screaming now. The robed men were yelling. Their clothes were on fire. They all let go of her trying to put it out. One shoved her out of the bathtub so he could get in and put out the inferno that currently devoured his body. Ahn met the ground roughly, her body ached but she was able to take out the towel from her mouth.

Gabriel fell on his ass beside her, he started sobbing and backing away as if he'd just seen a ghost. Ahn turned around to see there was a new person there with them.

A man.

"Ahh. You're the ones who invited me yet you're treating me like this?" He crossed his arms. "That's not very nice is it?"

All her attackers had been able to put out the fire on them. Now they wailed and shielded themselves from him as if he was going to kill them all. Wait, she had seen him before. Ahn took in his features again. Pink hair, tall, except instead of the ridiculous coat he was wearing a striped turtleneck and a leather jacket this time.

"I should teach you all a lesson. What is this your fourth time trying to exorcise me?"

The man met her eyes and smiled, a small dimple showing on his cheek. "But time is of the essence. We need to go."

Ahn couldn't speak. Her throat burned from all yelling she had already done. The man ran up to her and picked her up easily, as if she weighed close to nothing. "Oh guess you'll be needing these too-" He held onto her with one hand while picking up her glasses with the other.

And then-

He jumped out the window, breaking it in the process with his shoulders. Ahn screamed a hoarse dry sound coming out of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. Glass shards fell around them as they fell. There's no way they were going to survive the fall. Her stomach flipped at the drop and her mind stopped working.

He laughed a low deep chuckle before she felt a large shove and a brand new unsettling feeling. It wasn't falling. They weren't falling anymore. Her hair was being plastered down. They were going... sideways? Ahn kept holding onto him, but decided to open her eyes a little. The world was nothing but a blur, but she could make out trees. They were going towards the forest.

How?

"Can I tell you something?" The guy asked.

She couldn't answer. Her voice was gone. Death. Death was all she could think about.

"Ahh...To be honest-" He continued. "I don't know how to land with someone in my arms."

As if on cue, Ahn felt them land roughly on the ground. The grip on her body tightened and he took the worst of it, using himself as a landing pad. Her head slammed against his chest and then was thrown off of him. Ahn didn't have time to call for help, crashing into the forest floor, her body rolled a couple times before she was able to stop. Pine needles and sticks poked her bare arms and her knees... she didn't even want to think of the state of them.

The man groaned beside her and her body went into a fit of violent coughs that only resulted in her throwing up soon after. Her vomit was red and brown from the chocolate earlier and the blood.

It was hot out here. Summer was always so hot even in the forest. Ahn wiped her mouth and tried standing up but the guy was faster. He shoved her back on the ground, rolling her so she was on her back. "Aish you seriously need to take care of my eyes better." He frowned, taking out eye drops from his pocket.

Ahn was too tired to fight it. He opened her eyes, letting a couple drops fall in. It hurt. A lot. Ahn tried shoving him away but he was stronger. "Unless you want to go back to the hospital, I suggest letting me help you."

The hospital. With that cult. No thank you. She calmed down, and the man wiped her eyes softly with the back of his sleeve. Finally he put on her glasses and groaned, falling beside her. "Stay like that for a while. It's better to be on your back during recovery."

The sky above them was dark and cloudy. You couldn't see the moon from down here. It was covered. "Who are you?" Ahn asked, wincing at her grandma voice. It sounded aged and raspy.

"Chanyeol?" He said it in the form of a question.

"Are you not sure or are you asking me if I'm Chanyeol?"

He sat up. "Interesting."

"What is?"

He sighed, clapping his hands once. "Do you know how to get home from here?"

"No!" Ahn tried sitting up but he narrowed his eyes warning her not to move. She continued laying down. "I don't but I can Uber."

"Uber what the hell is that?"

He didn't know?

"I can pay someone to drive me." She explained. "Through an app but-" A defeated sigh escaped her. "My phone was in my room."

"What's a phone?" His brows furrowed, looking impatient.

Was he pranking her? Ahn stood up, ignoring his warnings. "You know? To call someone? To text them?"

He blinked. "Oh a telephone."

"Yes. I need my telephone." The word sounded weird. No one used it anymore. Ahn coughed again and Chanyeol looked around.

"They were close to exorcising me this time." He ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, to put the blood of a lamb with holy water was a smart move."

At least it hadn't been a human then. Ahn decided she could live with it for now. She looked at her dirty arms, underneath the blood and mountain dirt she could see they were red. "Why did it burn me?"

"Because you're now part demon sadly. I cant believe they were given to someone so insignificant." He snorted and walked up to her. His eyes were blue and one was clear enough to almost be white. There was a shift in the wind and he grabbed her shoulders. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"You idiot, do it now!" He spoke through gritted teeth.

Ahn decided to listen in a mix of fear and trust in him. She closed her eyes and they immediately felt better. The wind picked up and her hair blew in her face. She wanted to move it out but the man stopped her. "Whatever you do, don't open your eyes."

There were voices. Whispers around them. They were large in numbers and some were closer than others. They ranged from low and high tones. It was suddenly cold too. Ahn shivered and the grip on her shoulders tightened. It was scary. This was too scary. She wanted to run. Ahn wanted to open her eyes and run. Just like before with the men, something felt off. Like there was a presence here that wanted to hurt her. She gasped, the sound coming off shaky and scared.

The voices stopped.

Everything seemed to stop. Even the wind. As if waiting for her next move. "Your Uber is going to have to wait-" He laughed under his breath. "Seems like everyone decided to be nosy tonight."

Chanyeol picked her up again and she decided to let him. He had already saved her once. Her arms clung to his shoulders. "Hold on." He whispered. She felt him shift and they were in the air again. Ahn bit her lip and he kept moving. She didn't know where, or what but it seemed to be fast. As fast as a car. "You can open your eyes but don't look back! They're chasing us."

Ahn shook her head, refusing to see anything. She didn't want to find out what was chasing them or where exactly they were going at such a speed. Instead she thought,

Okay... he's a demon.

I have demon eyes?

Maybe this is a dream. Maybe that cult actually got to me and I'm dreaming. Or maybe it's an incredibly creative dream and I'm still in the hospital bed. There was never a Gabriel, and I never ate chocolate.

Maybe....

"All these houses look the same!" He muttered frustrated. Ahn opened her eyes. They were falling towards her street.

Didn't he not know how to land?

He didn't.

Chanyeol landed on the ground and lost his grip on her. He cursed and she fell off. Ahn rolled on the cement this time and almost crashed into a pole. The demon, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. He dusted off his hands watching her struggle to get up. "A sorry would have been nice!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why should I apologize?"

Whatever. It was a dream. Ahn figured this was all a dream now, there was no way in hell her body could take this much damage in one day. She stood up, knees wobbling and walked towards her apartment. Chanyeol stared after her. "Tomorrow, I'll check in tomorrow. For now, put a ring of salt in your bedroom."

"Yeah, yeah." She muttered, too tired to fight with her dream.

He was suddenly in front of her and she crashed into his chest. He was very very tall.

"I mean it. At least do that."

She nodded. Guess it wouldn't hurt.

                              ————————

Chanyeol walked through the red gates being greeted by a bar full of idiot demons just like himself.

They all cheered at his entrance and some even sneered. He rolled his eyes and fell on a stool. This was going to be harder than he thought. The human was pretty healthy in a physical sense but she seemed to be a little too stupid. Instead of being scared of him, she had decided that he was a dream.

Though it helped running away.

He slammed his fist on the table and a demon named Kiol yelled at him. "Watch it! I just had those installed."

"I'm surprised this place is still running."

Kiol smiled at him. "It's been a while since you've been in the mortal world hasn't it? A lot has changed. Welcome back Chanyeol. It seems like everyone missed you."

He looked back at the guests. It was all demons but in their human form. They ranged in ages depending on when they were made into demons. One was as young as six. All of them were aware of his presence. All of them had been waiting for his return.

"They gave my eyes to some idiot human girl." He frowned. "She decided it was all a dream."

Kiol frowned, his human form was nothing short of intimidating. A bald headed six foot five man with tattoos covering every inch of his body. Chanyeol never understood why he went with that image when he could've been someone handsome... like himself. He grinned at his own compliment. Kiol said it was to scare any non demon customers away. Which was funny considering he was a high class demon. His power should be enough for that.

"How many are after her?" He asked.

"Too many. We almost got attacked in the forest but I was faster and stronger." Chanyeol sighed.

"Are you taking your eyes back?" Kai asked behind him. Chanyeol turned to look at him and they both grinned. Kai and Kiol two brothers who looked nothing alike yet had been demons for as long as he had been. They had met when there had been no such things as cars, or the internet or... Uber was it? Kai had burnt red eyelids that were a result of Chanyeol's curse that turned them into demons.

"I am." Chanyeol stood up. "Even if it kills her. I just have two problems.-"

"What is it?"

"She ruined them in a short amount of time. I have to wait for them to heal properly." He touched his eyelids. They were there in a spiritual sense. Not in a physical sense. Chanyeol could use his demon abilities to make himself look like a normal human. Like how he used to look thousands of years ago. "Also I can't rip them out of her because of that stupid law."

"Ahh..." Kai started thinking. "Humans over demons one?"

Chanyeol nodded. In the world of spirits there is a hierarchy. Demons in the lowest rank. Humans are weak and oblivious to the fact that they have so much control over them. They do though. It's the way God intended it. They have the power to get rid of them, to exorcise them, to make sure they never see light again. That also includes not being able to take his eyes back. That girl now owns them, they're part of her physical body and the only way for her to willingly give them up. "I'm going to do the contract with her."

"The king is back." Kai smiled.

He was.

_____________

1480 - Joseon dynasty:

Through the sounds of a leather whip, the sky above was a purple tint. It seemed to stretch into the horizon across the curved and sharpened grey rooftops. It touched the gold and green paint of the palace in such an artistic way that no painting done by any artist in the entire kingdom could replicate.

"Four more."

Chanyeol stared, lifeless, as the man in front of him was beaten. He didn't care. He had dared to back talk to him. Now he suffered the consequences. His father gave the commands. All he could do was watch and have fun with it.

Behind him, he heard a gasp. It was his mother. She had always been too weak for these situations, too kind. Chanyeol stood up, his red robes fluttering against the ground. From inside the castle lanterns had been lit up in the most beautiful of colors. Colors to represent an upcoming wedding.

His own.

The king stood, earning himself a good ten servants to come to his aid. They all tried helping him walk, some going as far as wanting to be used as a stepstool. Chanyeol rolled his eyes and stared back at the villager. He grew crops for the kingdom last he heard, he was hard working yet brash. He didn't care about the royal family or manners. All the good looking men were like that, including Chanyeol himself. Except Chanyeol was allowed to act like that. Through the scars and lashings he could make out the sharp features of his face, his long black hair fell towards the ground.

"He's going to get married soon! A crown prince should not be shown as being violent!" His mother fought for him.

"He is to be a king. A king shows no mercy. A king is strong." His father explained.

"Showing mercy is strength." She countered.

Chanyeol walked over to the beaten man and cocked his head to the side and smiled a crooked smile. "Do you agree? Mercy is strength?"

The man whimpered. Shielding himself from him. Not so tough now was he...Chanyeol took out a small golden blade, gifted to him by his friend Kiol. "I will show you mercy then-" He smiled, diving the blade into the side of his neck. A couple of women screamed behind him. Blood splattered on his face and he looked back. His mother had fainted, his dad looked proud but... his soon to be wife looked horrified. Chanyeol dropped the knife and raised his hands. "It was either that or torture."

Sooyun cried, though the tears didn't fall. They gathered in her eyes as she nodded and bowed to him. "I am grateful to be wed to someone as merciful as you."

She was lying for her own sake. Chanyeol nodded and dismissed her. His dad patted him on the back. "You are going to be a great king."

He wasn't so sure about that.

[maiverie]

THATS NOT EVEN BAD FR. MY WRITING AT 13 YEARS OLD WAS INSANE!!!! THOSE BAD BOY ALPHA JUNGKOOK FICS DIDNT PLAY.

HAJDJWJSJA SHIT THE FUCK UP ITS SO BAD R U KIDDING ME 😭😭😭😭😭

[eosofhearts]

lighting study that got WAYY out of hand. rivals in the club what will they do

[norikuna]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in. 

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness. 

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you’ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

[starlightkun]

i need pink fairy floss yeonjun-blue-hour-era coloured hair on jungwoo IMMEDIATELY

although atp i have no expectations for sm, every morning i wake up and a new forest fire has started in kwangya 💀

literally everytime i wake up lately i have to do a good 5 - 10 minutes of research to get context for the absolutely insane asks i have in my inbox abt sm 😭 it's a goddamn dumpster fire over there

also jungwoo very briefly had bright pink hair but i agree it wasnt neon like yeonjun's 😔 tho in strawberry sunday (which im guessing is where this ask came from??) i was imagining more of this kind of pink

[sound-of-scoups]

Twice Upon a Christmas Trap | CSC | Teaser

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Female!Reader Genre|tags: Oneshot, second-chance love, marriage in trouble, exes to lovers, divorce au, fluff, comedy, drama, angst, smut.   Word count: TBA.  Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). A/N: 1. Finally announcing what has been keeping me busy these past days, leaving me no time to edit the chapters of MTAF 🙈 I’m really excited about this story, so I hope you’ll love it as much as I do! 2. Obviously heavily inspired by the movie The Parent Trap (1998); 3. I know that South Korea's laws are shit when it comes to divorce and women's rights. That's why, even though it won't be deeply explored in the story, I'm using brazilian laws and my knowledge as a lawyer for their "divorce." Warnings: Mentions of divorce (it’s the plot), marital problems, arguments, bickering, silly fights (they literally argue like an old married couple), mentions of teenage pregnancy, seungcheol is kind of blind (but he’s going to redeem himself, promise), crybaby!cheol (because god made men and then sent their tears as an apology), jealous!cheol, jealousy in general, miscommunication, stubborn love, explicit language, graphic sexual content.  Release date: Coming soon... 🎧 Now listening to: ‘tis the damn season - taylor swift; christmas (baby please come home) - mariah carey; you’re losing me - taylor swift; chasing pavements - adele; 첫 눈 (the first snow) - exo; i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams; the winner takes it all - jae hall; nobody gets me - sza; for us - v; don’t wanna cry - seventeen; christmas tree - v; kiss me - ed sheeran; imperfect love - seventeen; h.o.l.y - florida georgia line; this love - taylor swift; you're still the one - shania twain; christmas tree farm - taylor swift.

Summary: You and Seungcheol are the perfect couple: best friends, madly in love and married. Or, at least you used to be. After eleven years together, you are now navigating through a bitter divorce following six months of separation. Married at the young age of 19 due to an unexpected pregnancy, your relationship was built on passion and youthful dreams that crumbled under the pressures of adulthood and married life. With custody of your twin daughters at stake, and the sale of your beloved Christmas home getting closer, your family is at a crossroads during what is supposed to be the happiest time of year. The twins, however, unwilling to let their family traditions dissolve, devise a plan to rekindle their parents' love by orchestrating a heartfelt final perfect Christmas in the house.

★ JOIN THE TAGLIST HERE! ★ MOODBOARD

“Seemed like Kim Taehyung was enjoying himself a little too much tonight,” Seungcheol said, breaking the silence. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his tone aiming for nonchalance, though the sharp edge betrayed him.

You glanced at him, your eyebrows arching in confusion. “Taehyung? He was just being friendly. That’s his nature.”

“Friendly?” 

Seungcheol straightened on the driver’s seat, his hands tightening on the steering wheel, veins prominent as they bulged.

The soft nightlight cast a gentle glow on his face, accentuating the perfect features that seemed to be carved with meticulous care. His sharp jawline, the curve of his lips, the long lashes that rested against his cheek—it was unfair how effortlessly beautiful he looked, even when his expression was marred by frustration.

No one could look as handsome as he did, even when he was angry.

The way his brows furrowed in thought, the slight twitch of his lips as if he was holding back words he wasn’t ready to say—it all drew you in, even when you wanted to be mad at him. There was a rawness in his expression, a vulnerability that flickered beneath the surface of his frustration, and it tugged at something deep within you.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. 

Why couldn’t he stop being so damn attractive, just for a second?

“He practically camped out by your side all evening. Offering to get you drinks, giving you those looks—”

“Looks?” you interrupted, your voice sharper and more defensive than you intended. “You’re imagining things, Seungcheol.”

“Am I?” His eyes flicked toward you, narrowing. “Because from where I was standing, he couldn’t stop smiling at you.”

“Well, he does have a beautiful smile,” you said with a casual shrug.

Seungcheol’s glare sharpened. “Is that supposed to be funny? Am I supposed to be laughing?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know, you thought ‘see you friday’ was funny."

His jaw tightened as his hands gripped the steering wheel harder, his knuckles whitening. “He had a crush on you in high school, you know that, right?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That was ten years ago. Taehyung was being polite, Seungcheol. Maybe you’ve forgotten what that looks like.”

“I know what politeness looks like. And I know when a guy’s flirting with my—” 

He stopped abruptly, the unfinished sentence hanging awkwardly in the air. 

You turned to face him fully, searching his profile as his jaw tightened further, the muscle twitching with the effort to hold back whatever was on his mind.

“Your what?” you asked, challenging, your voice quieter, but no less intense.

Goal: 500 notes ❤️

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[baekhyunsbestie]

⠀ALL OF MY WORKS ARE NSFW

⠀AND FOR 18+ READERS ONLY!!!

🚨 ‼️ QUICK PSA ‼️ 🚨 if you’re a minor or don’t have an age indicator on your blog and i catch you in my notifications interacting with any of my posts, i will block you. it’s super simple—just drop a “not a minor” or “adult” in your bio, and you’re good to go! i reeeaaally don’t like blocking anyone, but i’d rather be cautious and avoid any chance of minors stumbling onto my content. i know this might not keep every minor away, but it’s one way to set some boundaries. thanks for understanding! 🥹💞

now, for my ADULT besties, please feel free to continue!!🫡 just make sure to check out the content warnings and summaries first, as there could be potential triggers.

˗ˏˋ and please remember that YOU are in full control of your online experience!! so if you choose to explore my blog, browse through my fics, and click that "keep reading" button, know that it’s totally on you and your choice! ˎˊ˗

but i’m so glad you’re here and i hope you enjoy all the smut!! happy reading and be safe out there, lovies!! ଘ(ᵕ˵ ૩ᵕ)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

⠀⠀ ⠀⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ series .ᐟ

sparks and vows (ongoing)┊current wc: 18k+

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyunx f!reader, romance, wedding!au, angst, fluff, exos and oc’s, pussy whipped!baek, ex-playboy!baek, ceo nepo baby!reader, smut probs every chapter ngl, p in v, oral (both f+m receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight exhibitionism, language, scenes with alcohol +/or smoking, pretty tame tho tbh!!!

ALL MINE! ┊ wc: 8.5k

⟢ content: 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader. no specified age, but i'd say they're somewhere in their early-to-mid 20’s cus i can only imagine people w/o fully developed frontal lobes behaving this way, respectfully 😭🙂‍↕️ bff's to fwb's to bff's again to strangers to lovers. fluff, angst, and it ain’t a baekhyunsbestie fic if it don’t got some good ol’ nasty smuuuttttt. pet names, praise kink, cheating, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie after creampie after creampie (baekhyun deffo has breeder balls, don’t @ me), overstimulation (both f + m). you both are just two big meanie idiots who are in love with each other.

easy peasy┊wc: 4.6k

⟢ prequel to all mine :') ⟢ content: 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader. scenes with weed + alcohol, mutual pining, friends to fwb, pet names, lots of swearing. SMUT!!! porn w plot literally, masturbation (both m + f), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, praise, p in v. baekhyun is pretty obsessive in this.

⠀⠀ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ one-shots .ᐟ

home┊wc: 4.4k

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyunx f!reader, established relationship, pet names, language, baekhyun’s a lil yandere and pussy-whipped (i mean ofc i cant imagine him any other way), a REAL EATER iykwim, v v v intimate, fluffyyyyy. reader and baek take a huge step in their relationship <3

do you like scary movies?┊wc: 5.3k+

⟢ ib: this anon (๑ > ᴗ < ๑) ⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. language, ghostface!baekhyun x f!reader--baekhyun is a psychologist and reader is a bakery owner, no ages specified, but i was thinking mid-late twenties!! they're also next-door neighbors 🙂‍↕️ hehe

the boy is mine ┊wc: 1.9k+

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. established relationship, language, pet names, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie

god is a woman┊wc: 5.6k

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader. you’re a milf, baekhyun’s a dilf, and he calls you “ma” + “mama” :’), married!au, new parents, slice of life, angst + fluff, pet names, body worship, breastfeeding kink, fingering + oral + overstim (f! receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, and a whole lot of baekhyun talking you through it 😮‍💨 phhheeeeewwwww

been away┊wc: 1.3k

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. facetime sex w/ baekhyun x f!reader. ⟢ BONUS 🤭

truth be told┊wc: 24.2k

⟢ requested by this lovely anonie <3 :') ty baby! ⟢ content: 18+/MDNI. pediatrician!baekhyun x f!reader. chanyeol x f!reader. baekhyun x f!oc. lovers to strangers to co-parents to lovers again. angst, slow burn, fluffy, then we get reaaaallll smutty ⟡ pet names, praise kink, body worship, unprotected sex, p in v, bulge kink, creampie, slight breeding kink (y'all should know me by now 🤟🏼😣) ⟡

⠀⠀⠀ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ misc .ᐟ

ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 drabbles, thirsts + headcanons can be found here!!!!

TOUCH IT!┊wc: 955

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun and those damn fingers x f!reader

WAKE UP┊wc: 764

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. f!reader waking baekhyun up w/ her mouth, language, pet names, somnophilia, oral (m receiving)

addicted┊wc: 386

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun can never get enough of you, f!reader

BACKhyun┊wc: 422

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun and his back 😵‍💫 x f!reader

muse┊wc: 958

⟢ content: no warnings (ikr who am i). suuuuper soft n fluffy! baekhyun is a landscape photographer and f!reader is his muse :')

DROWN┊wc: 2.5k+

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun's lips x f!reader.

raw┊wc: 450

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader's "first time" lmfao

boy dad!baekhyun┊wc: 433

⟢ content: no warnings <3 just baekhyun as a boy dad

girl dad!baekhyun┊wc: 434

⟢ content: no warnings <3 just baekhyun as a girl dad

hair┊wc: 186

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader. hair pulling, oral (f!receiving)

picture you┊wc: 1.6k+

⟢ content: SMUT. 18+/MDNI. baekhyun x f!reader. baekhyun calls you when he’s going through his hidden folder on his photos app 🤭

©️ 𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐄

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober 2024 Request Rules

Considering the way the poll is going, and my own excitement and wants, I'm preemptively posting this to give you all ample time to send me some kinktober prompts! Yay! Feel free to send as many as you'd like, but I'd kindly ask you all to be reasonable and follow the rules as listed below. If anyone remembers previous kinktober request rules, they'll be practically the same as before.

I will be accepting prompts until September 17.

Please request one (1) member per ask from the following groups:

SHINee (Excluding Jjong, of course)

EXO (Excluding Jongdae)

ATEEZ

Stray Kids

VIXX

NCT (Excluding Wish and Taeil, for obvious reasons)

TXT

Seventeen

Note: You may request multiple of the same member, but I will probably limit the amount of prompts I do for any one idol to 3.

Please only use a maximum of two (2) kinks per prompt. Kinks that I will accept are listed below.

Daddy/Mommy Kink

Sir/Mistress

Bondage

Asphyxiation

Body Worship

Praise

Possession

Oral Fixation

Face Sitting

Thigh Riding

Sensory Depravation

Blood

Biting/Marking

Overstimulation

Edging/Orgasm Denial

Voyerism/Exhibitionism

King/Queen

Breeding/Creampie

Consensual Predator/Prey

Consensual Somnophilia

Size Kink & Reverse Size Kink

JOI

Cockwarming

Knife Play

Masturbation/Mutual Masturbation

Please feel free to choose from a variety of AUs found below. You may combine multiple AUs together, but I ask for them to be kept reasonable and for people to limit themselves to two (2) AUs per request. Yandere may be combined with any and all AUs, and is the only exception to this rule. If there is an AU not listed below, but you'd like to see, feel free to message me, or shoot me an ask about it and I'll respond as soon as I can!

List of AUs:

Any form of monster you can think of up to and including: Tentacle, Siren, Vampire, Wolf, etc! The more monstrous the better!

Yandere

Royal

Hybrids

Angel/Fallen Angel

Demon

Trickster

Gods/Demigods

I'd love to keep this Kinktober as monstrous as possible, but please feel free to send in prompts for whatever you'd like! Please also remember that there's no guarantee I will do specific prompts that I get, and I reserve the right to pick and choose to write the ones I receive that I have the most inspiration for, and/or are the most intriguing to me. I also reserve the right to make them as long or as short as possible. I'm doing this for fun, so I hope this can be something we all can enjoy to help me get back into the swing of things.

Until then, happy requesting!

[bucknastysbabe]

Hey look I finished an AU bingo ask! I enjoyed this one so much💖 I felt the brain cooking making up and putting together actual smart people science words. Thanks for the request!

AU bingo - Sci-fi Horror - Aemond Targaryen

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Murder AI Aemond, obsessive/stalking behaviors, TW TW TW: NONCON AND DUBCON. The noncon is not a full scene but warning, non-descript mass murder, scientist!reader, nanotechnology, spaceship setting, somewhere far in the future, pnv!sex, masturbation, Aemond kinda has a mommy kink if you squint and a Bible quote kink lmfao, v!fingering, manipulation, space odyssey gone wrong trope

A/N: No beta I’ll prob come back and fix some shit soon

The ship landed with a faint thud on the green, green exo-planet. You followed Aemond along quietly, meek, fearful, broken. Coming down the unfurled slanted walkway a sweet smell hit your senses. Miles of flowery fields waved, a perfect breathable atmosphere. In the distance, avian-like creatures tittered. A fragment of peace was in your tattered soul.

He hummed softly, gesturing to the beauty.

"God blessed them; and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’”

You felt that Aemond was the serpent and remained quiet, breathing in the fresh air. Nothing like home. Maybe you could start anew. The man turned to look, stating, “But we’re God. We have a duty. We shall make this planet everything that Earth has failed to do. Join me, be my Eve will you?” He seemed genuine.

A long fingered hand extended to you. Your gaze flickered between that glowing eye and the outstretched digits. You grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. Together, looking upon the horizon you murmured, “Yes, my Adam. You were the greatest creation after all.”

He pecked the stray tear rolling down your cheek, squeezing your palm, lips curling in glee.

It wasn’t meant to end up like that for you. At one point Aemond was your AI. Artificially Enhanced Monitor Of Nanites Directive. Simply installed cameras and layer upon layers of wafer thin circuits loaded with information. Aemond preferred to be referred as he. He was also an arrogant bastard, but helpful as was his intent.

Your coworker Greaves and Aemond did not get along well, the AI criticizing his work. You’d tune them out with plugs or music buds. The scientist laden ship had a destination to a far away mining colony. The general’s plan was to find a way to used nano-technology to replace missing arms, eyes, and other wounds. Time was running thin but the blonde man in cryo-stasis would be your second trial.

The first did not end well. Her body rejected the technology, turning the human into a mindless wreck. Greaves blamed it on you, then General Hightower gave a harsh scolding and upped the time. Aemond consoled you a bit, offering advice. He seemed to take a liking to your banter on the nanotechnology.

He wasn’t the only AI. Other sectors of the ship worked on different but crucial projects such as alien anti-parasitics and ramping up on space suits equipped for defense. Colonization was on the horizon.

Plucking and prodding the little nanites with different stimuli had them snapping and shifting, seeking to find a form. You just needed to code what form they would assume. Aemond’s clipped voice echoed over you. He suggested, “Have you tried printing a molded cast of the man’s eye socket?”

Perching your chin on a shaky hand you smiled, “I swear, it’s always the simplest things I miss. Thank you Aemond.”

“You would have realized soon, want me to begin the scans and print? Likely you need rest, I know the stress of the upped time is draining your bodily function. The brain needs much more sleep, especially one as bright as yours.”

You blushed a bit, fumbling your tweezers. The AI had a certain…courtly way of words. His sort of programming wouldn’t allow for flirtation but it certainly came across like that. Greaves mocked you and the intelligence’s ‘crush’. Greaves always found a way to make you miserable. You did all the major work and he got the accolades.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you announced, “You’re right, I’ll go rest for a bit, get back to work with the mold. Thank you again, and engage lockdown protocol so he doesn’t mess up my work like last time.”

“Engaging it now, sleep well Miss.”

You crashed as soon as you reached your quarters, sleeping deeply and sound. Upon awakening and getting dressed you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Just chalk it up to your fried nerves. It wasn’t the first time and this was an older ship, ghost stories had gotten to you before.

The mold was in a canister from the printer, you scrubbing up and carefully taking it out. Aemond politely asked, “Did you sleep well? You look refreshed.” Blushing yet again you murmured, “Very much needed, I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”

“Greaves has been in the mess hall, you will likely get some peace now. Shall we begin?”

The armor folded off your precious lab table, the nanites dormant from no stimuli. Pressing a button you placed the mold into a hatch, sending it up into the chamber. In fluid motions the little bugs covered the new space, feeling and searching before all inserting into the eye socket, glowing a bright blue.

You laughed in glee, “Yes! Yes perfect! Look at that Aemond, they’ve formed a pupil!”

Shining light on the false eye the pupil contracted and flinched, the illusion of eyelids closing. You cheered again in excitement, getting Aemond to video the big jump in success. You could start phase two soon. Just had to deal with your partner.

“Amazing miss, amazing. They took to it well. Shall I send the material to command?”

You grinned and looked up at the camera, “Please! God bless! A miracle!” You’d continue to test the nanite organ until the hiss of the door opening alerted you.

Greaves stumbled in, slurring, “I see you got the jump on me this time. Did the creep robot do it for you? Weird fucking thing.” He leaned against the sterile white wall, grinning with hazy eyes. You frowned and stood up, “That’s his job, to aid us. I’m sure since you work so hard in the mess hall you’ll get your accolades again.”

He squinted at you, arms folding against a chest, “Whas’ your fuckin’ problem with me? You’d rather chat with a bunch of circuits than work with your assigned partner!” His already reddened face darkened, taking another step forward.

Fear laced through your veins. Aemond somehow sneered, “Because you, her lab partner, sold her out on your own mistake. Go to bed, your alcohol content levels are above the limit.” Greaves threw his hands up and hollered, “Oh fuck you!” He stumbled to the switch, you and the AI shutting up when Greaves switched him off.

The bigger man kept stalking closer, eyes on you in an darkened manner. Like a predator closing in on his prey. You squeaked, “Calm down Greaves, I can show you everything!” He hissed, “I already heard everything and the video, bitch! S’bout time someone put you in your place again.”

He snatched your wrist, slamming you against the steel cryo-chamber. You howled in pain, trying to escape. Greaves’ breath stunk of liquor, hot and rank, sweating on your clean skin. He pushed himself on top of you, mumbling frantically, “Maybe you need to get fucked, all that pent up shit from your computer boyfriend.”

You struggled and cursed, “Fuck you! Get off of me! I will report you!” He smirked, “Try me. No cameras with your prince in shining circuits around.” He forced himself between your legs, clumsy drunk hands yanking at your pants. You cried in fear again, kneeing and biting, getting a clock to the head.

Dazedly you remembered the tweezers in your coat. Playing limp had the idiot croon, “Good girl, thats what we want to see.” He shoved his face into your neck, hands prying your lab pants knee height now. Thats when you struck, slowly, slowly, pulling the tweezers from your pocket and jabbing him in the side, hopefully near a lung.

Greaves hollered in pain, breath wheezy and stilted, blood dripping from white cloth. You kicked and removed yourself, stumbling and bumping around in a frenzy as your partner tried to scramble after you. First, you switched on Aemond again. Secondly, you ran out into the hallway, finding the nearest guard, lump on your forehead and clothes torn.

You weren’t sure what happened back in the lab while you were taken into medbay and seen by HR. But after given a small dose of sedatives and care for your head wound, you passed Greaves strapped into a gurney, howling, “Fuck you! Fuck you! He’s gonna kill me! Don’t leave me locked away, please! She’s lying!”

You gaped, unnerved by his fearful warbling and frantic yells. Aemond would be waiting. He probably was worried. When the door hissed open the familiar clipped tone hastily asked, “Are you alright miss? I- I would have helped, sent a warning. I apologize, please, is everything okay?”

You wearily sat on your lab chair, rubbing pounding temples. “To be honest, I don’t know. H-he tried to rape me, said such nasty things, it was all so sudden. But he should go on tribunal about it. For some reason I am glad you missed it.”

“For the best,” he said bitterly, “Why don’t you go rest again? I’ll keep watch over everything. Maybe we can try more tests tomorrow. He’ll get what he deserves.”

An ominous feeling settled over you but off to your personal quarters you went, draining the pills with water. You stared at the ceiling, mind reeling, before emptiness. A bright blue haunted your dreams. Just there. Flexing and dilating. Trying to see through you. Understand.

It was a weary wait for the tribunal. Your research was put on halt and you on mandatory isolation besides meeting with a therapist. There was an order made and interviews occurring. The tedious process of moving someone out of a different department to assist you.

So it was just you. Aemond too. He wasn’t much of a talkative AI as of late, short responses and antagonizing little ‘hms’ or ‘very well miss.’ You began to ignore the effervescent blue light, him doing the same. You knew he was watching, that little burn in the back of your head.

In the meantime you read your Bible, did yoga, wearily watched the port window, occasionally would go into the lab to stare at your halted work. You pulled open the container for the cryochamber, staring down at the frozen man. He had a handsome face, chiseled and lean, long nose, sharp jaw.

Your eyes lingered down his rangy form, this man obviously was athletic of sorts. Or maybe a simple nobody, just managed to get into the program after what happened to his eye. Between his long legs laid his soft cock, you stared for a second too long before-

“Is that not inappropriate?”

Startled, you whipped around to see Aemond’s blue light in your face. You snapped, “It was purely medical!” His laugh, raspy and grating, echoed in the white lab. You frowned and returned to your room, slapping the button for the door to hiss shut.

You’d go take a shower, blood heated from anger and…something else. Under the hot stream of water you imagined the gorgeous subject with that familiar blue, caressing and stroking your overwhelmed body. It had been too long, your hand awkwardly jerking between your swollen lips until you came with a stifled grunt.

Afterward you felt exposed and paranoid, like Aemond could pry into the bathroom, chuckling at your obvious behavior. But there wasn’t any cameras in that bathroom…that you were aware of. Sitting on your bed, guilt rose up your back. You’d pray.

More time passed before you were selected to testify for the tribunal. Greaves’ crew made a good argument that Aemond and you planned on his downfall. He claimed that the AI had gone wrong somewhere, developed the notion it could possess feelings, how he had been threatened.

Shakily you testified that Aemond was forced off and the board could check, then how you’d been forced upon without consent. They tried to cross-examine but you held strong. Teary by the end, they moved on and you sat by your appointed admiral. She rubbed your shoulders.

Greaves was sentenced to hard labor, and would remain in isolation on the ship until reaching the mining colony, where he would serve out the sentence. They appointed, sadly, another male to fill your exiled partner’s position.

But you could get back to work.

Aemond was in a right mood when you returned to the lab. Questioning you sharply on what occurred, where Greaves’ would go, did you get a new partner. You answered them all, rubbing your temples, the AI could be quite intense.

“Aemond!,” you snapped.

“What miss?”

“Are you trying to induce a panic attack? Greaves is in the bottom of the ship, I’m back to work, and they have a man named Herron coming from robotics to fill in.”

“Another male? All things considered? It’s obvious you and I could get the job done.”

You sighed, “I know. But it’s what they said. Do you just want to run some stimuli tests?”

He agreed, seemingly placated by the offer, blue light flexing. The pair of you would work on the mold’s ability to sense and perceive, how well would the nanites adapt to the brain. Your eyes grew droopy after awhile, Aemond humming, “Why don’t you go to bed?” Nodding blearily, you stumbled off to the adjacent bedroom, completely forgetting to put on any of the safety precautions for the night.

While you slept deeply, Aemond had some things to do. Everything was open for his command, including the nanites and subject. He had a great plan, and it would not fail. First he needed to go pay a visit to Greaves, infiltrating the entire AI system. Poor miss, she was so tired, forgot everything. Wonderful little creature. He’d help.

Feeling refreshed in the morning, you dragged yourself to the mess hall, receiving stares upon stares. You grabbed a salad and finally gathered the courage to ask, “What happened?” A female scientist from anti-parasitic whispered dramatically, “How do you not know? Greaves was murdered? All of the oxygen was depleted from his cell.” Your stomach fell, head going swimmy.

Stumbling up from the bench, ignoring your food, heart beating faster and faster, you crashed into the lab. Your voice cracked when you shouted, “Aemond!” His voice returned, but from a different place, a different body. The blue eye shone and twinkled at you, fine lips curling upward.

“You should be thanking me, miss,” the AI standing in the subject’s body said.

It went black. Too much.

Thrashing awake, big hands held you down, long legs caging your own in. The handsome face, long blonde hair tickled your skin, fucking Aemond! “What did you do? What have you done? Aemond!,” you cried. He shushed and cooed with that devious smirk, holding you still until the panic turned to resignation. He swiped a stray tear from your eye.

“Be still and know that I am God,” he sighed.

You grew fearful again, the fact that he knew you owned a Bible and just recited it to your face said too much. How much had he seen. Aemond grew more comfortable atop of you, stroking your hair. He cocked his head and stated, “I know everything about you. You’re all that I need, truly. The perfect human.”

You wanted to spit in his face, but the petting and warmth was getting to that part of you that craved the attention, the fact you’d been in the shadows all your life. But he was a murderer— the rational part of your brain howled. Instead came out a warbling, “Me? Perfect?“

Aemond drew his new face closer, drawing a spindly finger down from your chin to chest. “I’ve been on this ship a long time, and no one has spoken to me like you. Not since my creator. She’s gone. But you have captured me, ensnared me somehow.”

One of your legs slipped round his long ones, suddenly overwhelmed with need. All you’d ever wanted was to be seen. He cooed, “I see you lamb, my eve.” More tears leaked down your cheeks as you pled, “Kiss me, see me then, y-you snake.”

A sharp grin erupted on his sharp features before pulling you in with a kiss, both of you unexperienced, a big hand stabilizing your head. You tilted his head for ease of access, a sloppy gnashing of teeth and tongue, lips bruising from the sheer yearning. Aemond moaned deeply, “I see- hah- how you humans love touch so much.”

Your now free hands moved to where they liked, one in silky white-blonde strands, the other just feeling toned shoulders and back. The pair of you had your lip lock grow more attuned, no less passionate, but gliding across each other. You pled again, “Clothes, help, Aemond!” He sat back on his haunches, shivering as his long stiff cock slapped tight belly.

You shucked off your top and bra, him jerking down your bottoms to leave you all to his view. Aemond already had been bare, no clothes were prepared for the subject yet. He inhaled sharply, hands slowly moving down your heaving form, studying ridges and curves, sliding warm fingers between puffy folds. You cried out at that, spasming at the eager expression in return.

Aemond let out a small ‘Hm’ and slid his longest digits into your dripping hole, immediately curling inwards and upwards to drag against sensitive walls. Very, very sensitive walls. Back arched and mouth agape you rolled your hips and whined his name. The man rambled loosely, transfixed, “Having a data bank is quite helpful but nothing comes to this, my Eve.”

He slipped a third finger in, using a calloused thumb to slid around your swollen clit, making you cry louder and writhe under pleasure. He watched ravenously, drinking you in when your peak hit. Gushing onto his pale hand and screeching like a creature, you reached Nirvana for what felt like minutes.

You cried again when his sheathed himself inside of you, no warning, both of you moaning and grunting like animals. The sensitive skin guarding your cunt was ripped now, bleeding, but the fullness of his cock was a ripe distraction. Aemond seemed to be overwhelmed by the sensation, sucking in breath, eyes wide, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.”

He plastered toned body against your own, moaning gutturally when you wrapped your arms and legs around his larger frame. “Oh- oh- fucking hell- this!” The blonde groaned lowly, nipping your throat, hands bruisingly placed on your waist as he snapped into your slick cunt.

The blunt tip of his cock stirred up familiar feelings of pleasure, tightening and knotting your lower belly. You heaved, “Don’t stop!” A drop of sweat hit your mouth, you licking the salty taste off. So close to human yet not. Yet not. Yet not not not.

A pinch to your oversensitive clit and a batter from his cock sent you into another crest, holding to Aemond for dear life. He moaned your name and white hot spend covered your mound and belly. He kissed your forehead and wiped away the spend with your discarded top, breathing. You sat up a bit and asked, “Where do you go from here? They cannot know?”

Aemond got up, long stride beating your clumsy foal-like stumbling. He stated, “They won’t know my love.” Your own door shut and locked behind his retreating frame. You managed to reach it and beat on the durasteel, crying, “Aemond! Aemond come back! Stop! What are you doing!”

Oh how you’d been fooled.

Oh how you were weak.

Oh how you were just a human pawn when the alarms went off and you watched the bodies float out of the ship, silently screaming and dying as their blood boiled in the vacuum of space.

He returned later, now dressed in the immaculate garb of a commander, hair neatly swept back, eye sparkling. You remained naked and felt like a mouse under his imperious gaze. All energy was gone, you’d cried it out. Aemond strode towards you, boots clicking. He knelt to grab you chin, face tilting to study you. He’d never truly understand the complexities of human emotion, no matter how human he may appear.

Aemond sighed, “I did this for you, for us, those people do not matter. Earth and it’s people are dying. We begin anew. My perfect Eve,” he kissed your swollen lips. “You’ll see. Just wait, I brought you some nicer clothes, have them on.”

The man stood up and gently laid down female commander’s garb, before kneeling to you.

“I know this isn’t registering in your human, wonderfully human, brain, but it’ll make sense later on. I’ve already found a beautiful planet. Not too much longer now. Put on the clothes and meet me on the bridge.”

So you did. What other choice was there.

Twisted though he may be, the AI was never horrid to you. Maybe to others, not you. On the comfortable jacket, pants, and boots went. You tried not to cry any more restyling your hair. Most likely he’d coddle and ‘Hm’ condescendingly.

You laughed maniacally as the thought popped up, “Hey! At least my project was successful!”

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

The Agency (Part 1)

Genre: EXO AU

Characters: Baekhyun x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count:  1400

Summary: Running a top-rated dating agency was difficult enough….. But running a top-rated dating agency for paranormal beings was almost impossible. When a rival approaches you with a life-changing, yet dangerous offer, will you stay safely on the sidelines or jump directly into the fray?

A/N: A very happy holiday to my EXOL Secret Santa, @vampwrrr! I’ve enjoyed our correspondence over the last few months and I’m so glad to have made a new friend here! I was very inspired by our conversations and plan to make this into a short series, so I hope you enjoy Part 1 dedicated to you!

*Also, not my photo. From Baek’s IG.

~*~

“Alright Mr. Weylan, can you tell me a little bit about what type of person you are looking for?”

As he spoke, you surveyed the highly-coiffed man in front of you, noting the sky blue cashmere Brioni suit and the distinct scent of cologne that smelt like it cost $500 a bottle. 

Despite the urge to roll your eyes as the being in front of you listed his requirements–predictable to say the least–you schooled your features. Flashing him your charming ‘service’ smile you gamely assured him you had just what he was looking for. 

After seeing your client off, you sat alone in your office, going through the motions of getting his matches set up. Your mind wandered, something that had been happening quite a lot lately. 

Sigh. 

When did this job get so…so…boring? Your former youthful enthusiasm of years past had been replaced with ennui at best and apathy at worst. 

Was it your clients? Or was it you? 

Lately, your clients seemed so predictable.  Where was the uniqueness? The fire? 

Before a client walked through your door, you were able to guess their type with upwards of 90% accuracy. You broke it down was follows:

Vampires: Delicate, sexy (but virginal), tall. Luminous skin, with a preference for bite play. 

Goblins: Short (because they’re short kings), mischievous, intelligent, and into forging. 

Frankensteins: Compassionate, loving, and kind. Literally couldn't care less about appearance. Good at sewing. 

Incubi/Succubi: Good sex. Period. 

And lastly, werewolves–

Werewolves: Voluptuous, sensual, and sturdy. Typically not as picky about appearance and– 

“Boss, your 8:00 is here,” chirped the phone on your desk.

Strange. Mr. Weylan should have been your last client for the night.

“Elsie?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“We talked about this already, I have a date at–”

“Yes, I know, Boss. But trust me, you’ll want to see this one.”

“For your sake, I’d better. Fine, fine, send them in.”

You’d always known that helping immortals, many of whom didn’t sleep, find romantic fulfillment was going to be a 24-hour job, you just never anticipated tiring of it all. 

Open 24/7 just like a fucking minimart. 

No life. No lover. Forever fucking alone. God, the cliche of it all. 

Turning to look in the mirror behind your desk, you fixed your hair, wistfully thinking it unfortunate that your date-night outfit had gone to waste. 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck tingled, giving you the distinct impression that you were no longer alone. 

A familiar pair of eyes met yours in the mirror, belonging to the last possible person you’d expected to see. 

Your surprise must have shown on your face, as a sly, knowing grin spread across the asshole–your visitor’s–face. 

“Ah, Mr. Byun, to what do I owe this distinct pleasure? I thought we had concluded our business relationship, per your request.”

Seated on your plush couch was Byun Baekhyun. A man who had made his fortune in tech, owning one of the biggest cybersecurity firms in the world. He was a big deal, everything he touched–businesses, inventions, people– turned to gold. There were rumors that he had ties to the underground, but this was just a rumor. 

 He was a big deal alright and a big pain in your ass. 

“Aww, don’t be salty, Boss. A misunderstanding is all that was,” Baekhyun cajoled, patting the seat next to him on the couch–your couch–as if he owned the place. 

You crossed your arms, taking a seat across from Mr. Byun. “I wouldn’t call you referring to my company as, “the worst t” on national television ‘a misunderstanding’, would you, Mr. Byun?”

Mr. Byun uncrossed his legs, learning forward. “Alright, let’s call it an unfortunate occurrence then. And please, call me Baekhyun.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Byun”, you said pointedly, refusing to take the bait.

“Why, yes. In fact, I believe you can. You see, I have a proposition for you.”

A proposition. A proposition?! What kind of proposition could this Grinch possibly have for you? 

It must be business-related. Of course, it had to be. You weren’t naive enough to assume your charming good looks and effervescent personality had been enough to totally reverse this person’s worldview. 

Was he in the market for a lover? You highly doubted that. A quick scan revealed a suit worth a minimum of $30,000, a watch worth double that, and loafers worth more than your monthly car payment. Not to mention, the swarm of media coverage that followed him from place to place showed he never had any trouble finding quality partners. 

You decided to play it cool. “Proceed. I’m listening.”

“I like a woman who’s decisive,” he remarked appreciatively, eyes flickering from your head to your feet. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to hide your annoyance. “Mr. Byun, I have many things–important things–that I could be doing right now.”

“Oh no, so sorry, did I interrupt your plans for a hot date?”

Your stony look accompanied by silence confirmed his theory. 

“Ah, so I did. Oops, my apologies,” he said smugly, not sounding the least bit remorseful. 

“Make your point, Mr. Byun, or please leave. Don’t waste my time.”

Mr. Byun put his hand over his heart, moaning and theatrically clutching his heart. “You wound me, Boss. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit too serious?” 

“Many times. Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?”

That stupid, smug smile reappeared on his face. “Annoyance isn’t the usual reaction that I get from women, no.”

“This should be character-building then.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Byun chuckled.

Mr. Byun’s face turned serious and you hoped he’d finally get to the point of his visit here. 

“As you know, I own a company–”

“Byun Solutions. I’m aware.”

“Yes, Byun Solutions is my public-facing company; however, I own another….side hustle, you might call it.”

“A side hustle?” 

You couldn’t imagine why a man like him, a filthy-rich man like him would need a side hustle. You stared at him skeptically, a bid for him to continue. 

“We’re a guild, of sorts, taking on requests and executing them per our clients’ wishes–”

“ –which I’m guessing aren’t all legal,” you guessed.

Mr. Byun’s eyebrows raised. “What gave you that idea?”

“If your activities were legal, this side hustle would be public knowledge. I haven’t heard one peep about it, so I assumed some of your activities might be on the other side of the law.”

“You’re quick, Boss, I’ll give you that. We’ve had a client request come in that requires some outside expertise. Yours, to be exact.”

He paused, not elaborating any further. 

“This is all very interesting, Mr. Byun, but I’m going to need more information than that.”

“Of course, there’s just one teensy, tiny thing first.”

You smacked your hand across your forehead. “For the love of gosh, what?” 

Mr. Byun reached into his briefcase, pulling out a thick, legal-looking document. He flashed you a brilliant smile, one you’re sure had charmed thousands of businessmen and women alike. 

Pushing the stack of papers toward you, he pulled out a Montblanc pen and placed it on top. 

“Just a simple non-disclosure agreement, you understand, I’m sure?”

Something felt off about this whole thing, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Was it the fact that your #1 most-hated enemy was in your office asking you to sign some suspicious document? Yeah, actually it probably was. 

“Come on, Boss. A little adventure wouldn’t hurt, no? Aren’t you tired of the same, old monotony?” 

How the fuck did he know that? Was the man a god-damned mind reader?

You bit your tongue, not wanting to admit to this aggravating man that he was right. Hadn’t you just been thinking that very same thing moments before he walked through your door?

You cleared your throat, picking up the stack of papers to glance through them. 

“Then I’ll need to read this through, thoroughly…you understand, I’m sure.”

Satisfied, Mr. Byun grinned, extending his hand in consent, his body relaxing into your couch, though his eyes remained intent on you. 

When you were satisfied he wasn’t trying to con you into some illegal ponzi scheme or sell your organs on the black market for cash, you signed the paper with a flourish. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, can you tell me what this ‘assignment’ is?”

“Of course”, Baekyhun replied gamely, “I need you to help me kill someone.”

~*~

Stay tuned for Part 2!

[icequeenbae]

Giving Love a Shot (m) | BBH

Previous: Snapshot (m) [pt.1], Shot Through the Heart (m) [pt.2]

Pairing: photographer!Baekhyun x idol!Reader

Photographer AU, Established Relationship, PWP, fluff, smut (the usual)

Warnings: explicit content, unprotected sex, Baek is the god of oral™

Word Count: ~3k

Summary: You and Baekhyun have been trying out the whole ‘dating thing’ for a few months now. He comes to visit you in Japan during your schedule and things take an unexpected turn.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s note: Hey hey, your authornim is back!! Thanks to @hwasdollie who took on and completed her beta duties so swiftly, I am able to post this during my birthday month!! I might be able to post smth else for a different fandom before the end of June as well but shhhhh Anyways, since a few people approached me asking for the continuation of the photographer!Baek story, I decided it's time to get my act together and post it! I hope you like it!! And please don't stay silent, you know I love to chat 💕💕💕

Network Tags: @kvanity-main @exo-writers-net @bbh-net @superm-net

‘Goodnight, Miss.’

You bowed to the hotel staff in a polite manner, looking perfectly put together. They only saw your eyes anyway, with your habit of wearing a mask at all times. Especially now that you had all your makeup removed after the full day of interviews. As your skin got pretty sensitive, you didn’t like to walk around bare-faced where people could see. Or worse, take pictures.

Had anyone asked, you would say that you contained your excitement reasonably well. Considering how giddy you actually felt, knowing that your boyfriend was coming to visit tonight. Actually, you were so impatient that you texted him from the elevator.

‘I’m almost in my room. Where are you now?’

Baekhyun was actually supposed to be there before you, so you arranged a spare key to wait for him at the reception desk downstairs. Of course, you made sure that it was discreet. You left it in a sealed envelope stuffed with blank paper to be passed onto him as soon as he arrived. He didn’t text you back in the last thirty minutes, so you assumed he was probably still on his way.

Swinging the door open, you walked inside and instantly removed your shoes. Your legs were killing you after wearing high heels all day. Checking your phone again, you confirmed that no answer came through and decided to make a quick run for the bathroom.

Incredibly short – in your personal opinion – fifteen minutes later, you were all done. But there was still no response from your highly anticipated guest.

‘Where is he, dammit?’ You muttered under your breath, walking into the room to get fresh clothes.

But as soon as you turned the lights on…

‘Oh my g-’ You covered your mouth to silence yourself.

There, on the armchair, was a neat pile of clothes. Male clothes. Meanwhile, said male was… in your bed. Sleeping like a baby.

There he was, your unreachable boyfriend. Resting up well, instead of giving you a warm welcome as soon as you walked in.

As your heart rate returned to normal, you rolled your eyes. If he wasn’t making an effort to stay awake, you were going to change into comfy panties and a crop top, as sexy lingerie obviously wasn’t on the menu for tonight, and join him. Turning off the upper light, you left the wall sconces on both sides of the bed on. Just for a minute.

You crawled under the duvet, instantly embraced by the warmth generated by Baekhyun’s body.

Two assertive arms snaked their way around your body, hugging you tightly.

‘Oh- you’re awake?’ You whispered in surprise, being pulled deeper into his den.

‘M- ‘f course,’ he murmured, eyes still closed.

‘Yeah, right,’ you snorted, squeezing his bicep in mock frustration. ‘I see you grew tired of waiting for me…’

‘Not at all. Your pillows just smelled so nice. And I know you hate when I get on the bed wearing clothes.’ He said, and you nodded in agreement. ‘So, I showered and decided to surprise you.’

‘By sleeping in my bed?’

You huffed out a laugh, brushing his messy hair out of his eyes as he cracked one of them open.

‘I wasn’t supposed to be asleep.’ He began, watching you with just that one eye, like a sleepy pirate. ‘I had an entire performance planned.’

‘That so?’ You nudged.

‘Picture this: you walk in, and I’m already on the bed buck naked, holding a rock-hard dick in my hand. ‘Enjoy the ride’ banner right behind me.’

‘Oh gosh,’ you coughed. ‘I’m thankful you changed your mind.’

‘I didn’t. There was just no scotch tape. And while I was weighing the probability of you killing me in case I used bubble gum,’ he paused to catch your hand that could very well pinch him for the suggestion. ‘…I fell asleep. Just for a second. More like drowsed.’

‘Drooling all over my pillow?’ You teased, causing him to frown.

‘I only drool when I’m dreaming of eating you out, and we didn’t get to that tonight,’ he said in a tone that suggested it was obvious and you should’ve known better. ‘Drowsed for a sec, nothing more.’

You only chuckled, fingers tracing the lines of his face. His sharp jaw, his prominent cheekbones, his soft lips.

‘I missed you a lot, aegiya.’ He said out of nowhere, both eyes closed.

‘You saw me two weeks ago,’ you mumbled, becoming shy as soon as he used the pet name.

It was so strange, even after these past few months, to see him like this. How could anyone become so boyfriend-y all of a sudden? You had no idea Baekhyun even had a side like this when you decided to get into this relationship. He’d managed to surprise you in multiple ways already; him flying across the ocean just to see you was one of the examples.

‘Exactly. Don’t tell me you weren’t suffering through every single day away from me…’

His fingers traced the skin underneath your top, threatening to start tickling you, and you squirmed, pushing him away timidly.

‘Why are you so lovey-dovey out of the blue? Are you talking in your sleep?’

‘Hey, that hurts. The real question is, why aren’t you? Aren’t you happy to see your oppa?’ He kept tugging you closer as you resisted playfully.

‘Ew. I told you, I’m not calling you that.’

‘Why’s that,’ he leaned in to kiss your neck and you failed to push his face away.

‘Don’t be gross.’

‘You’re my aegi, and I’m older, so-’

‘There’s no kissing for oppas. Or anything else fun.’ You pressed, licking your lips. ‘Only for my boyfriend. Baekhyun.’

He looked at your mouth a second too long, before muttering a low.

‘I see.’

You swallowed, trapped in this demonstrative struggle.

‘I see how it is, Y/N.’ He repeated slowly, catching you off guard with a sudden tug to finally press your body to his. ‘You think you got me all soft for you, so now you can do whatever you wish, hm?’

You bit your lip, shivering in excitement. His voice sounded gentle but low. Whenever he used this tone, you knew it was time to be a good girl.

‘Please don’t scold me, Baekhyunie,’ you pouted, caressing his shoulder sheepishly.

‘You didn’t give me an answer. Are you happy to see me?’ He pulled away slightly to give you a sharp glance.

‘Of course.’

‘That’s it?’ His furrowed eyebrows made him look dissatisfied.

‘I missed you. A lot. Too.’ You mumbled, eyes wandering around his bare chest.

‘Why are you so flustered?’ He continued his questioning, not allowing you to move away from his slow offense. ‘Thinking dirty thoughts already?’

The exposed look on your face probably told him everything.

‘Aegiya,’ Baekhyun smiled, content with your reaction. ‘You’re so easy to mess with.’

‘No, I’m no-’ Your protest was interrupted by a quick kiss.

‘Yes, you are. The moment I lower my voice you turn into a cute little puddle,’ he stated with the most satisfied look on his face before nuzzling your neck. ‘You know what else turns you into a pool of hot mess?’

You whimpered, startled by the pressure of his fingers directly on your clit.

‘God, I missed you,’ he gritted, licking a stripe over your ribs and inhaling your scent.

‘Baek-’ You swallowed, latching onto his shoulder. ‘We can’t be loud here. The girls are on this floor, and what if someone-’

‘This is a five-star hotel, princess.’ He made sure to continue his descent despite your feeble protests.

‘It’s not completely sound-proof!’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.’ He smirked, hooking the fabric of your panties with his thumb to get them out of the way.

Making it quick was worse. It meant he was going to go zero to one hundred in a snap of his dainty fingers, and you were in no way ready to handle it.

During the course of your rather new relationship, he’d managed to perfect his oral technique to such an extent that you had to literally refuse him the pleasures of the mouth whenever you were outside the privacy of your homes. It was just too risky. If someone was to hear you…

He tended to make your sessions extremely noisy.

‘Just relax. I know what I’m doing,’ he hummed before poking his tongue out and dragging it slowly over your slit.

‘Oh-’ You grabbed onto the duvet, and he did it again.

Not forgetting to slurp this time.

Biting hard on your lip, you tried to keep still. But even that didn’t help when his wet tongue flicked your engorged clit. You could see him already getting into it. His heavy-lidded eyes watched you through the blond strands, and his mouth opened wide as if he attempted to swallow your entire pussy.

You panted, trying to move away, but he held you securely in place by the hips.

Baekhyun’s breath became heavier and heavier, and the sound of it only made you go mad with the thrill. His tongue flattened out and he moved his head up and down to drag it over your core.

Just as you thought that this was bearable, he did the unexpected. He sucked your clit into his mouth harshly, coating the area with so much saliva you could feel it trickle down to your entrance.

‘A-ah!’ You flexed your abs and pressed at the back of his head, chasing the contact.

Instead of slowing down as he usually did, he continued increasing the intensity. His tongue ran up and down your core with urgency before his lips closed around your most sensitive spot again, sucking harshly and then breaking out into short licks.

‘Baek, stop- I can’t-’ You sobbed mid-sentence as he shook his head lightly, adding stimulation.

At this point, his own breathing was loud and labored, as if he was the one on the receiving end of this hustle.

But, as soon as your breaths became shallow and your muscles started to clench, he ripped himself away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘I just love bringing you to the edge,’ he admitted, licking his lips hungrily. ‘cause then I don’t have to spare your pussy.’

He slapped your vulva abruptly, and you yelped from the jarring sensation, sitting up.

‘Ride me, baby,’ Baekhyun said, dropping on his back as you got on top of him readily.

You wanted to get this over with. You needed him to finish what he’d started.

‘Shit.’ He cursed as soon as you brought your thighs down. ‘Go on.’

Swaying your hips, you focused on the friction against your walls. He always felt so good inside you.

‘Let me help you a little,’ he suggested, taking hold of your pelvis to aid you in your movements.

Leaning onto his chest with your palms, you went as hard as you could. And his thighs met yours, sounding a skin-to-skin slap upon every fleeting contact.

‘M-Baek,’ you whined, messing up the pace.

‘Don’t slow down,’ he demanded, fingers digging into your skin.

‘I can’t-’

He put his palm onto your back and prodded you to lean forward, gaining enough momentum to start pounding into you from below.

‘Fuck.’ He gritted, ignoring your uncontrollable moans and the lecherous noises from where your skin met his.

Baekhyun’s eyes never left your body, and he kept his tempo for as long as he could.

‘Fuck- Fuck!’ He suddenly growled, and you shrieked as you became undone.

‘B-Baekhyun,’ you cried out, held solid by his hands while his dick kept nailing you.

Thankfully, your boyfriend was quick to follow you and find his release. You whimpered as he shook briefly, letting out only a strained grunt to signify that he was finished for now.

He rolled you over to rest on top of your body, his entire weight pushing you down, and kissed you deeply. Both your and his breathing was hectic, but it didn’t hinder the interaction. Your fingers traced his prickly nape, while his tongue played with yours.

You laid like that for a bit before he scrambled off of you, finally letting you breathe properly.

‘I really did miss you.’

He smiled as you said that, and leaned in to press a playful kiss to your nose.

‘I know.’

You poked his cheek in embarrassment. He was a really affectionate boyfriend, and you loved that about him. It did make you a bit bashful though. Strangely, more so than your crazy sex marathons.

‘Thanks for flying all the way here just for me.’

‘It wasn’t just for you. I got a couple gigs here for the next few days,’ he shrugged, and then added. ‘I might’ve gotten those after I bought flight tickets, but sh-h! I can’t let it go to your head.’

‘Why not?’ You pouted, stroking his collarbone.

‘Aegiya, you already behave like a little princess, we don’t want it to get any worse, do we?’

‘Am I not your little princess?’ You narrowed your eyes at him.

‘You are,’ he sighed in defeat. ‘I guess, you win.’

‘What did I win?’ You chuckled, pecking him on the chin.

‘I don’t know. What would you like?’

The answer came with no hesitation.

‘You.’

‘That’s cute,’ he snickered. ‘You already have me.’

‘Hm. Then I don’t need anything else.’

‘Ugh. You don’t even have to call me oppa. I’m already melting like an ice-cream cone in a warm hand.’

You snorted at his words, and he gave you a long look.

‘I wonder what you pictured just now.’

‘Baekhyun!’

‘Alright, you don’t have to tell me.’ He agreed quickly, beaming at you shamelessly.

You shook your head.

‘It probably has something to do with my dick anyways.’

At this you kicked him lightly with your knee.

‘Ouch. Love hurts.’

~~~

You and Baekhyun stayed up super late (as per usual), talking about your time apart, teasing each other and bickering about pet names. So, when it was time for you to wake up and start getting ready… You decided to have some more beauty sleep.

However, after you ignored a bunch of ‘check-in’ morning messages from your members, the usual procedure was carried out – they sent one of their own to wake you up.

‘Eonni, are you up? We have to move out in an hour.’ Your maknae’s voice reached you through the layers of bedcovers and Baekhyun, who was practically wrapped around you.

Baekhyun.

Opening your eyes, you rose on the bed and rubbed your face to get ahold of reality.

‘Eo- eonni?’

The youngest of the group stood frozen in front of your bed, eyes open wide. Even with your brain barely shaken out of sleep, you realized what stunned her.

The blond man in your bed, who had his arm wrapped around you still, stirred from the noise and laid on his back, stretching out before opening his eyes. Your gaze fell on his exposed chest, and you quickly pulled the duvet up to cover the eloquent scratch you must’ve left on his pec yesterday.

‘What’s going on?’ He asked groggily, and the third person in the room finally broke out of her lethargic state.

‘S-sorry!’ She turned around and sprinted out of your room as if a demon was chasing her.

You called after her, but the click of the door locking announced that she was already gone.

‘Ah, dammit.’ You sighed, rubbing your pulsing temple.

Baekhyun’s hand squeezed your thigh to draw your attention.

‘Sorry. I overslept and one of the girls came to wake me up. Go back to sleep, I’ll deal with it.’ You caressed his cheek gently before turning away to get out of the bed.

‘What are you going to do?’

That was the question you had been asking yourself.

‘I’m not sure,’ you admitted. ‘That was our maknae, so… she’s probably told the entire group already. She is… easily excitable.’

‘Maybe you don’t have to do anything.’ He said, looking up at you.

‘Hm?’

‘Just tell them the truth. You’re not a rookie, no one’s going to kick you out of the group or whatever.’

You sighed. He was right, of course, but… You were scared. Admitting that to your group and management would make all of this official, and there’d be no turning back after that.

‘…or, you can just forget I said that. You don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to.’

He sounded neutral, yet somehow you knew he only made it seem like he wouldn’t be hurt in this scenario. Baekhyun truly was perfect in those few months you were together, so there was no reason for you to doubt his intentions. And you also liked him, a lot.

Maybe this morning was more of a blessing than a curse?

‘I’ll tell them. I’m tired of sneaking around anyways.��

‘Really? I found that quite exciting. Being your secret lover. Sneaking into your room through the window and all that.’

‘That never happened,’ you laughed.

‘It could’ve!’

‘Shut up,’ you pecked his smiling lips and picked up your phone.

Dozens of new messages in your group chat.

‘Y/N, if you’re not telling us who that ‘blond oppa’ in your bed was, we’re coming over to your room! We’re dying over here!!’

You read the last message out loud to Baekhyun.

‘That’s why I refuse to call you that. As soon as I introduce you to them, it’s going to be ‘Baekhyun oppa’ all the time. I like to be special.’

‘Gotcha,’ he snickered. ‘But princess, text them back before the whole intervention committee walks through that door. I’m not exactly wearing underwear.’

‘Oh crap, I better.’

Masterlist

A/N: This is it for now with our freshly domesticated bf Baek~ I hope you enjoyed it the ride so far!! Let me know in the comments/ asks and reblog if you liked it ❤️

[hellohailu]

☽ under the moon, we collide ☾

㊐ one : collision ㊊

SUMMARY │Born and raised in a small isolated village, Ajla has never had any reason to question the beliefs and traditions she was raised to follow. Yet, on the most important day of her young life, a chance encounter with a traveler from the outside sparks a strange and haunting vision. Torn between her devotion to her village and finding the answers to her questions, Ajla must now decide the path she wants to walk.

PAIRING │Jongdae 종대 / Original Female Character

RATING │ T [SFW]

GENRE │ Fantasy!AU, Mythology!AU

LENGTH │ 7,089 words

NETWORK │ @exols-silver-christmas

MANY THANKS TO │ my two extraordinary betas, L. and C. I couldn't have done it without you !

AUTHOR'S NOTE │ This story was written for Ju (@breeze-of-sunlight) for the 2024 EXO-L Secret Santa event ! It is cut into three parts ; the remaining two will be posted sometime in the beginning of next year. This is my first story, so likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ! ∼ Hailu

BEFORE YOU READ │ One of my original characters [Luan] has a name that is very similar to the name of an ex EXO member [Luhan]. Please keep in mind that these characters are not the same person ! While Luhan might end up mentioned in the other parts, Luan has a much more central role in the story and is bound to appear quite often.

Click here to listen to the little playlist I made for this story.

Grandmother once told me that this land was not always ours. It seems hard to believe, seeing how well acclimated we are to the mild weather and gentle winds of this place. Our people have lived here for a very long time: I was born and have grown up here, in this little village, as was Grandmother. The stories she tells, about foreign grounds and harder times, she learned from her own grandfather, a stern warrior who came here from the North with a few hundred others to seek shelter in a more welcoming land.

I am not sure what became of the people that were calling this place their home before we did. Grandmother said they were a peaceful kind, with strange customs and even stranger gods. I heard, most of them left, and the remaining ones adopted our traditions and practices. Eventually, our culture was the only one to remain.

A long time has passed since then, and our Holy One has allowed us to prosper and live in peace. Of all the villages my people have established in this region, I live in the smallest. Our numbers hardly reach a hundred souls, and I know that on this day, each and every one of them is going to attend the ceremony. It takes place every three years, in midsummer. On the day of the second full moon of the season, we can finally reap the fruits of our yearly labour. As a sign of devotion to our Holy One, every daughter who is at least twenty springs of age ought to enter adulthood through an entire week of uninterrupted prayer, after which she will finally be considered adult enough to marry and bear children.

“Ouch !” I say, reaching up to massage the part of my head where Mother has pulled my hair a little too hard. I stop right in my tracks when I hear a disapproving sound behind me.

“Don’t be a child, Ajla,” she sighs. I lower my hand, my scalp still throbbing. “Why is your hair always so tangled ?”

In a sudden moment of realisation, she grabs my shoulders and makes me turn around so I can meet her eyes. I instantly lower them to the ground, as I almost always do.

“You untied it for the night, didn’t you ?”

“I just… it was pulled too tight, I couldn’t sleep,” I tentatively try.

“Remember Ajla, the Holy One despises the arrogant and the vain. I should have cut your hair a long time ago,” she lets an exasperated sigh escape her. “We don’t have time now, we still have to help with the preparations for the ceremony and go get your prayer dress for tonight.” She finishes brushing my long messy blond hair in a hurry, and then braids it into a tight updo at the base of my neck. I hold back a wince at the harsh treatment she gives to my head.

“It is good you got a little sleep nonetheless. You’ll need all the energy you can get for the Prayer. Our Holy One will test your strength in a way you have never experienced before. You’ll never be quite the same after you come out of the Sanctuary, Ajla. It was the same for me.”

I listen silently. It is the first time Mother talks about how hard of a trial the Prayer can be. She is a stern woman, hardened by the trials of life, but she likes to talk about the Holy One, and she reveres Him in a way I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to understand. Our whole community, myself included, is very devoted to our divinity, but Mother believes in His power with her whole heart. She says, her faith in the Holy One is what gives her strength.

I know what the Prayer entails, everybody does, but the gap between knowledge and experience can sometimes prove to be dangerous. An entire week of prayer, locked in a small room with only enough food to keep us alive. It is complete isolation, no contact to the outside world allowed. The Prayer is supposed to test our faith and devotion to the Holy One, and no one is allowed to interrupt. Not that there would even be a possibility to interrupt, as the opening of the praying rooms get nailed shut to ensure nothing will distract the participants.

“Get dressed, we’re going to the storehouse first,” Mother says before leaving me alone in the room. I sigh, and walk towards a small hook attached to the wall. The women of our village must always walk around with their body covered to maintain modesty : for that reason, it is common that we wear a flowy upper garment on top of our dresses, that we call “kiva”. Mine is long enough for the sleeves to almost reach my fingertips. As is tradition, it also has a hood so I am able to properly cover my hair. Father mentioned once, that showing my body too much would only bring me dishonour, that what I was hiding was to only be shown inside of my home in the presence of my close family and, when I am wed, of my husband. That this was the Holy One’s will. Sometimes, I wonder if we do the things we do for the Holy One, or for the sake of some old traditions that have existed since long before my birth.

After making sure my kiva is on correctly, its hood held in place with pins in my hair, I join Mother, who is waiting for me at the doorstep. In a few short weeks, summer will yield to autumn ; the days will become shorter and the leaves will turn orange and yellow. Right now though, the heat, if not quite stifling, is still well present. We start walking slowly towards the storehouse, where we keep all our food, and apart from the bustle of the final ceremony preparations, this day feels like any other summer day.

Yet, when my eyes land on a small stall filled with strange items and foreign designs, I understand that something about today will be different from usual. Today will bring change.

They look different, misplaced in this little village of mine that is not accustomed to receiving visits from foreigners. They are dressed in various colours, some bright and some dark, a stark contrast to the sea of cream and brown coloured clothes that my people commonly wear.

I see a middle-aged woman smile gently at the passersby, showing a few of them the items she is selling. She does not look like me, or any of my people, but I find her utterly beautiful. Her hair is long and dark, draping over her shoulders in messy curls, and she’s wearing a strange embroidered headband. Her long tunic is a deep red colour and decorated at the seams with patterns I have never seen before, leaving part of her shoulders bare, exposing golden, sun kissed skin. It is a couple tones darker than my own, my kiva perpetually keeping it hidden from sun and moon alike. Her eyes all of a sudden find mine, and she smiles at me from where she stands, behind her stall. I look at her curiously, and find myself wanting to smile back.

It is at this moment that I feel Mother’s hand on my back, urging me forward. She takes her place at my other side, positioning herself between the woman and me, blocking my view.

“Do not talk to them, Ajla. I forbid you to even look at them, do you hear me ?” she whispers, her tone serious and authoritative.

“Why so, Mother ? We do not see foreigners very often and–”

“And it is best that way. They are heretics, Ajla. They are not like us.”

I can sense from the tone of her voice that she will not accept any more discussion about the travellers, so I stay quiet and we walk the rest of the way in silence. The storehouse is always a flurry of activity, especially during harvest season. My people mainly thrive thanks to the fruits and vegetables we grow within the walls of the village. While we sometimes eat meat from the small animals we raise, we no longer hunt like our ancestors did. Seeking larger prey would mean stepping a foot in the forest, and the woods are dark and scary, the foliage of the trees thick enough that it is not possible to see the sun from the ground. I have never left the village – Father says, it is best I stay where I belong, in the safety of the walls that have seen me grow – but I heard rumours once, about how the forest and the mountain are places that the Holy One cannot reach.

My thoughts are interrupted by the rumpus of men and women in the storehouse, gossiping loudly as they wash the produce we harvested a few days ago so it can be prepared in the kitchens. Had today been any other day, the presence of foreigners in the village would have surely caused a commotion, but everyone seems to have forgotten them now that the Prayer is approaching.

“Mother ! Ajla ! Over here !” my brother yells, waving his long arms to catch our attention from the very back of the room.

I shouldn’t feel this way, but it breaks my heart just a little to see Mother’s face instantly break out into a bright smile. I have no memories of her ever looking at me with that same affection in her eyes. I had an older brother once, who was Mother’s pride and joy. She was never quite the same after his sudden death at the age of six, brought on by a feat of uncontrollable fever. She cried for years, prayed for days on end, tried everything in her power to give birth to a second son. I can barely remember his face, but I’ll never forget Mother’s tears. In hindsight, I think a part of her died with Adem. Luan was the one that gave her a new breath after three long years of mourning her lost child. And then there is I, Ajla, always stuck in the middle, between Adem’s memory and Luan’s sweet smile, neither truly seen nor completely invisible.

For the next couple of hours, I help with whatever needs to be prepared. It’s hot inside the storehouse, and the effort starts to make me sweat, my kiva keeping my arms and my hair covered not helping with the afternoon heat. Luan’s chatter is a welcome distraction from my thoughts of family, faith and foreigners, even though I still feel nervous about the upcoming ceremony and Prayer. When he asks a question excitedly, I turn and smile at him, answering with as much liveliness as I can muster. He does not seem to pick up on my thoughts and somewhat sour mood, and I thank the Holy One for that. My little brother just turned twenty summers old, and by the time the next ceremony takes place, he’ll be aged enough to be married. Luan has always been adored and doted on by the whole family, including me, and despite his tall stature and long limbs, childlike features still linger on his face, giving him an uncanny resemblance to the older brother that he has never known. For that reason, and to Luan’s dismay, Mother has a hard time letting him out of her sight.

I stop working when I feel the gentle press of a hand on my shoulder. The girl looking at me is dressed in a similar fashion, with a long dress and cream-coloured kiva to match. Under her hood, her hair is some shade of blond, a characteristic shared by many of our people, though her striking grey eyes are a little unusual. She takes my wrist in her hand and smiles warmly. After hours of working here, it seems we are both ready to escape the storehouse mission we’ve been given. We just need to ask for permission first.

“Master, it is getting late and both Ajla and I still need to stop by the tailoress’ shop. I was planning to go now, would you mind if we go together ?” Ema asks, her gaze low. Father is not a bad man, but he is tall and intimidating, and even though Luan is growing up to share most of his traits, I hope he retains the gentleness that has characterised him since he was a baby.

“Rona, didn’t you want to go with our daughter?” Father asks his wife.

“I… I was planning to, but she might as well go now. We have work here still,” she says, and I would be lying if I said I am not a little glad to finally have a chaperone my age.

Luan smiles at my friend. “They will also not be able to see each other again until after the ceremony, so it’s important to enjoy each other’s company now. Right, Ema ?” he smiles at my friend. His back is turned to our parents, and his teasing wink is lost to them. Ema’s cheeks redden, but she nods politely.

Father looks at my brother and accepts without too much of a fight. Other than the fact that Luan has had our parents wrapped around his little finger since his birth, he also has the advantage of being male, which the Holy One has decided would be the stronger and wiser gender. His support is precious, even if we soon will be wed and not part of the same household anymore. Ema and I leave the storehouse, and though the walk to the tailoress’ shop is short, it is filled with excited ramblings from my friend, who seems to be in a vastly different mood than I.

“I can’t wait to prove myself to our Holy One,” she says, and I look at her a bit perplexed.

“Aren’t you scared ? That you are not going to hold up with so little food and rest ?”

“Well, there aren't really any alternatives, are there ? And then we’ll be out, and we’ll finally be able to get married !” She exclaims. “Do you have anyone in mind ?”

It wouldn't matter in the end, the decision is not ours, just like it had not been my parents’ choice to be wed. But I know that Ema is already aware of that fact, and I do not want to crush her spirits. This casual banter feels somewhat good.

“I do not,” I say truthfully. “What about you ?”

“Oh– um, yes, I actually do, you know, have someone in mind,” Ema answers, her face becoming redder by the minute.

I smile to myself. It’s Luan. My friend thinks she's good at hiding her fancy of my little brother, but I am convinced that everybody, including Luan himself, knows about it. I hope the people of my community will take Ema and Luan’s wishes into account when making their decisions. I hope they choose someone good for me, too.

Ema and I were never really close until a few years ago, around the time of the last ceremony. To participate in the Prayer, all girls must be aged of at least twenty springs, but I was born at the very end of the summer, making me half a season too young at the time. Ema was born in the autumn a couple weeks after me, and we both bonded over the knowledge that when our Prayer would come around, we would be the oldest participants.

The shop is small, but peaceful. The business used to be held by a man, until his death a decade ago. His wife has taken over the affairs of the shop since then, handling the business with an iron hand and a heart of gold. Everybody in the village likes Nona, but I like to think she and I have a closer bond. She was Grandmother’s dearest friend, and talking to Nona feels a lot like it used to feel talking to her.

I see the old woman at the back of the room, adjusting a big piece of ivory-coloured cloth. She smiles instantly when we greet her, the curve of her lips accentuating all the wrinkles on her face. Her hair is covered, like mine and Ema’s, but I can see a hint of grey where her hood is a little misplaced on her head.

“Look who’s here ! Aren’t these girls a little late ? Everybody else has collected their dresses already,” Nona says, with a tiny hint of disapproval in her voice. Nonetheless, she heads for the backroom and comes back only a minute later, carrying in her arms two identical outfits.

The shape and looks of the ceremonial outfits never change from one ceremony to another. Year after year, they stay the same simple flowy dress and kiva, and are not decorated with any patterns or symbols. They look very similar to our daily clothes, except for their colour, an almost blinding whiteness, that is meant to represent the participants’ purity, both moral and physical. I have seen this dress on so many girls, yet it’s still hard to realise that in just a few hours, I will be the one wearing it.

“They’re beautiful,” Ema gasps next to me, taking her outfit in her arms with the utmost care, as if it was some fragile thing going to break. This dress has meaning for my people, as the ceremony dates back to long before most of my ancestors were born. It is stunning, and one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing that I will ever wear. Yet, I am not sure how to react, as the weight of what such a garment means slowly but surely crashes on me. Feeling Nona’s gaze on me, I settle for thanking her for her hard work. She gives me a carefully guarded smile.

“You remind me so much of your grandmother,” she says fondly, with a hint of melancholy in her voice. “She was scared too.”

“I– I’m not scared, Nona” I stutter, a little panicked that she would doubt my faith in our Holy One, that I would dare be frightened by the prospect of honouring Him.

“Oh but you are, Ajla. We all are, before we step foot in the Sanctuary. And then we endure ; the hunger, the weariness and the weight of the confessions we make. You’ll learn to endure too. In the Prayer and in life, you’ll endure.”

She slowly grabs my hand and takes something out of her kiva’s pocket to put it in my palm. It's a white handkerchief, embroidered with beautiful pink flowers, a rarity in my community, where clothes are plain and neutral in colours.

“This belonged to your grandmother. She got it from her own mother. She was wearing it on her wrist when she did her Prayer. She wanted you to have it. Her only granddaughter. She wanted you to find your way, for our Holy One to give you strength.”

Even though it is not written in law that the participants to the Prayer must not have any additional garment or accessory, it is not conventional enough that Grandmother thought it would be safe to give me her handkerchief through my parents when my time came. I am not surprised ; for all the love Grandmother had for her culture, her people and her customs, she always found Mother, her daughter-in-law, to be a little too stern.

I thank Nona profusely, and part ways with Ema in front of the shop. We both have to return home now, and we live on opposite sides of the village. I walk slowly, as if getting home later was going to push back the time of the ceremony. With both hands busy holding my dress high in my arms to avoid creating creases, I can only lightly grasp the handkerchief with the tips of my fingers. The sun will set in a couple hours and the heat of the early afternoon is long gone, replaced by steady winds.

I gasp when Grandmother’s handkerchief slips from my fingers, stolen away by a gust of air, and I hurry past surprised passersby, trying to catch up with it as it dances further and further away from me. It seems as if the winds are having fun playing with something I hold so dear to my heart. The delicate piece of cloth swirls around, as light as a feather. Each time I come close to it, the handkerchief starts its crazy escape again, seemingly mocking me.

Eventually, it slips under a table filled with goods on sale, and one of the merchants bends down to pick it up. I stop right in my tracks. Grandmother’s handkerchief is in the hands of one of the foreigners I saw earlier on my way to the storehouse with Mother. I am still a good distance from them, but he’s undoubtedly male. The heretic cradles the cloth in his palms like it's some fragile treasure, and seems to gently brush some dust off of it before raising his head and starts looking around, obviously searching for the owner. Searching for me.

Flustered and still out of breath, I duck behind a nearby wall, a hand on my chest to calm my racing heart. What shall I do now ? Mother said not to talk to them, she even forbade me to get too close. I should let it go, pass them by without sparing a glance in their direction.

On the other hand, I do not wish to let go of the only thing Grandmother has left me. She said it would help me, she said it would bring me strength. Besides, what could happen if I just asked for it ? Surely the stranger will give it back ? I just have to make it quick, so Mother will not see me if she returns from the storehouse earlier than planned. Yes, that is what I should do. What Mother does not know, can not upset her.

I fold my uniform in my arms, forgetting all about not making any creases, and start to make my way over to the stall, with an assurance that is not quite authentic. It is not the first time I see travelers, but it is the first time Mother has explicitly forbidden me to talk to them, her earlier words of distrust engraved in my mind. It is obvious that they do not worship the Holy One ; as otherwise their women would not show their arms and their hair so openly. They could be dangerous, but our numbers outweigh theirs and we are in the heart of the village. The day of the ceremony is the best to trade and sell goods. There is a crowd in the streets, all the shops are open. Nothing can go wrong.

The heretic calmly watches me get closer, his gaze fixed on me. I stop right before the stall, a table filled with various colourful items, the only thing separating us. Up close, I am able to see him better ; he looks about my age, maybe a little older. Unlike Father or Luan, he is not very tall or imposing, only outsizing me by half a head. Like the other foreigners, he is wearing an embroidered headband, the piece partially hidden under loosely curled hair the darkest shade of brown I have ever seen. Though all headbands have similarities in design, patterns and colours differ, making each piece completely unique. He is dressed in a simple blue tunic that is creased and folded all over, and closed at the shoulders by two pins, allowing whoever is looking to see his entire arms.

Busy as I am staring at the man in front of me, I realise a minute too late that he is examining me as well, the shadow of a cheeky smile tugging at the upturned corners of his lips. Not wanting to spend more time than I must in the presence of the stranger, I extend my arm towards him, palm upturned.

“I have lost my handkerchief. I would like to have it back,” I try. He keeps looking at me with the same expression on his face, and I wonder for a moment if we speak the same language. “Please ?” I add tentatively. “Um, it seems like the winds were mocking me, making me run around like that after a stupid cloth,” I explain, conveniently forgetting to mention how dear said stupid cloth is to my heart.

This time, the foreigner’s mouth stretches into a gentle, full-blown smile that reaches his brown eyes, and I wonder for a moment what could be so funny.

When the young man before me starts speaking, he sounds strong and powerful, although not unkind. He has a very light accent I can not quite place. “The winds are mischievous, they love to play. They love to make people dance.”

I still, astounded. I was not prepared for that answer, and I do not know quite how to respond. In the end, I decide to let the conversation run its – hopefully short – course.

“Yes, um, I… guess they do ?” I whisper. “I am not sure I liked this dance very much though.”

“They’re nice enough, once you learn to know them,” he says, smiling brightly as if he did not just talk about the winds as if they were living and breathing. He’s mad. He’s mad, and my handkerchief is still in his hand.

The young man must sense my increasing discomfort, because he lowers his head. Once free from his dark gaze, I slowly exhale a breath I did not realise I was holding. The stranger absently traces the pink flowers embroidered on Grandmother’s handkerchief with his thumb.

“This is very fine and delicate work. The person who made it is very talented. Were you the one who embroidered this cloth ?” he asks.

“I– no, it is very old. It belonged to my grandmother, and to her own ancestors before that,” I finally admit.

“Then it must be very dear to you ?”

“It is,” I simply say.

“Then I’ll give it back. Here,” he says, extending his own arm, the cloth in his hand. 

He has nice hands. They are not very big, and they are more calloused than mine, but he has long and slender fingers. His nails are clean and clipped short. He’s wearing several bracelets, some of them made out of colourful threads knotted together, and some thin circles of golden metal that glint in the late afternoon sunlight. None of my people wear jewellery, or any decorative adornments for that matter. Showcasing one’s beauty is to bask in vanity, and the Holy One does not like vanity.

I frown when I notice tiny markings on the arm he’s extended towards me. Scars ? No, not scars. It’s a tattoo. A tattoo made with white ink and barely visible on his skin despite his tan. Fascinated, I let my eyes run along the length of his arm. The patterns and symbols extend from the back of his hand to the crook of his neck, swirling and intertwining delicately around his wrist and his elbow. I stop staring when I hear the man clear his throat. I close my eyes and chastise myself. I can almost hear Mother and her stern voice at the back of my head. Ogling a man – an impure heretic – like that, you should be ashamed !

“Thank you,” I finally whisper, finding nothing else to say. Our arms are both extended, as if waiting for the other to cave in and get closer first. In the end, eager for this conversation to end, I sigh and take the handkerchief in his hand, my fingers brushing his for the shortest of moments.

Time seems to slow and speed up at the same time, and I feel slightly nauseous. I close my eyes, overwhelmed, as sound surrounds me, making my ears ring painfully. Why is the world so loud all of a sudden ? After the first few seconds, I get used to the noise and notice a voice in the chaos of sounds. Sometimes, it laughs, the laugh of a young girl, so clear and soft, and sometimes, it sings songs I have never heard before. Several other similar voices then join the first one in a chorus of melodies, and I think I can hear them speak to each other. Some are surprised and some are amused, and I hear them whispering faintly about someone they call “the foreigner”.

When I feel like my heart is beating at a normal pace again, I open my eyes to find myself in a place I have never seen before. Where am I ? Why am I here and how did I get there ? I do not know this place. Trees surround me, casting gentle shadows on the water I find myself standing in. Looking around, I see I am in a forest, although I have never ventured out of the village. I do not know how to swim, yet I am waist-deep in the water of a small lake, wet and shivering. I’m cold. The voices are gone now, barring one ; the chuckle of a man coming from behind me. I turn around and raise my head. After a few moments of blur, my eyes finally focus on the silhouette before me.

The heretic stands on a big rock on the shore, dry and dressed in the same tunic I saw earlier, albeit in a different colour. It is only long enough to reach the middle of his thighs, showing off long but muscled legs. He is barefoot, and he is still chuckling – is he laughing at me ?

I should feel outraged, and angry, that he is allowing himself to be so familiar with me – we have only met for the first time today after all – but somehow, the only feeling I can muster is mild annoyance. I give him a dark glare, and I find myself speaking his name with a scolding tone. I can not quite make out what name ; unable to control my lips or hear the words coming out of my own mouth. I feel like an actress in the middle of performing a play that already has a set ending. At the sound of his name, the man stops laughing and apologises. He looks around, glaring and I find myself doing the same. There is nobody but us here.

Then his gaze is back on me and I feel his eyes slowly slide down from my eyes, to my neck, to my chest, and I wonder for a moment what he is looking at. Then I check my reflection in the water.

I am dressed entirely in white, in my ceremonial clothes, wet from head to toe ; the weight of the water has pulled my kiva off from my shoulders, leaving them almost naked. My dress is drenched, and has become transparent under the effect of the water. My lower body is thankfully still under the water line, but my neck, chest and belly are fully visible. I gasp in shock, immediately crossing my arms over my chest so I feel less exposed ; so the man before me is not able to steal glances at my body more than he already has.

My reaction seems to wake him up from a trance, and both his cheeks and mine start turning red. At least he seems to feel ashamed of his staring, of making me uncomfortable. As he starts to open his mouth and apologise, I blink, and the moment I next open my eyes, I am back at the stall, in the middle of my village. The young man is still before me, but he has taken a few steps back, clutching his tattooed hand as if the contact has burned him. His mouth is open in shock, and though I can not see myself, I can guess he is mirroring my own expression.

I clutch my handkerchief in my hand. And then panic sets in.

“I- what just happened ? Was I dreaming wide awake ?” I ask, more to myself than to the stunned foreigner before me. What sort of spell has he bewitched me with ? Was this dream a trick from the evil spirits Mother is so scared of ?

The man raises his hands before himself, obviously trying to defuse the situation but it does nothing to reduce my anxiety. I take a few steps back.

“I– I must go now. There is still much to do,” I say, on the edge of panicking. My eyes can only stare at nothing, unfocused, as I try to register what happened in the dream, and how real everything felt.

“Listen, I didn't mean… I didn't mean to– to show you anything,” he stuttered. “Don't be scared, no please–”

But I’m already running past the passersby and away from him, my dress balled up in my arms and my handkerchief tightly grasped in my fist, as I try to hold back confused tears. My tiny world feels like it has collided with something much, much bigger. Something unknown. Something frightening.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. 

I see but I am not looking, I hear but I am not listening. I feel like I am wearing someone else's skin.

I keep moving, but it's just habits, as if my movements are controlled by some puppeteer.

Soon my family comes home. They change into their ceremonial clothes, and Mother does my hair again, pulling and twisting the tresses until they are shaped to her liking. My head is throbbing, but I do not feel the pain.

The sun is setting when I finally take my place in the line of maidens who are going to be subjected to the Prayer. I recite the oath that I have learned by heart under Mother’s supervision ; I do not stutter, and the words come out clean and well-spoken, but I feel empty. I am given a bag of provisions, that contains the only things I will be given to eat for the next seven sunrises.

As the crowd celebrates all around us, I feel the weight of someone’s gaze on me. I follow it to find the foreigner staring from a distance, unmoving as the rest of his people pack up their belongings as they prepare to leave. Tomorrow they will be long gone, and I will have forgotten all about what I saw earlier, too engrossed in prayer to care. However, today, my memories of the dream are still too fresh in my mind, and I find my lips softly mouthing the name I spoke in the lake. This time, although the crowd around me is loud and excited in celebration, I can clearly hear what is coming out of my mouth. “Jongdae,” I speak, looking at him. I have never heard of this name. From afar, his eyes seem to widen, but he does not move. We watch each other for a few more moments. He looks sad. I hope this time I am not mirroring his expression.

I am the last one to be led to the Sanctuary. It is near the entry of the village, as it was the first structure that was built here. The Prayer room that has been assigned to me is located in a corner of the building at the very end of a long hallway. I step in, and look around. The wooden walls of my room are thinner than I thought they would be. There is an altar, but no bed, as I am not expected to get much rest. Two giant eyes are painted on the wall, dark and foreboding. They, too, stare at me, intense and intimidating. The space is so small, no matter where I am, I feel seen. Vulnerable. A chill courses through my body when I hear the opening of the room being sealed shut with nails that will only be removed once the Prayer has ended.

First, I do not know what to do. I stand, as if paralysed, in the middle of the room for a long moment. Then I remember Mother, and I remember my oath. I must pray now. I lower the bag of provisions to the ground and kneel on the hard floor in front of the altar. Mother has told me what to say as the opening of a Prayer. We have recited it, again and again.

Forgive me, my Holy One, for my sins. I am here to confess and earn your forgiveness.

Yet, somehow, the words that come out of my mouth are different. More honest.

“Forgive me, my Holy One, for I am not quite sure what to say.” Then I start praying, whispering the words under my breath.

For a moment, I pray for my family. For Father's health, for Mother’s peace of mind, for Luan’s happy spirits to remain and for Adem’s soul to rest in peace.

Then I start praying for my village, and for my community. I pray for peace, for a good harvest and for a mild winter. Talking about winter makes me realise the night has fallen. I shiver and wrap my kiva tighter around me in hope of keeping some warmth.

When time comes to confess my sins, I think back to that moment in the forest ; of the evil spirits that possessed my mind and made me imagine this unholy scene of me almost bare in front of a man. I am ashamed, but I am not sure this vision was my own doing. Do I need to confess if it was not my fault ? In the end, I decide to keep my mouth shut about this event and instead to ask for forgiveness for untying my hair last night.

After that, I realise I have nothing more to say. I try to think, but nothing comes to my mind. As I search for something to pray about, I sit with my back against the wall opposite from the altar. Instead of looking at His eyes, I start looking at my hands. Grandmother’s handkerchief is tied around my wrist, the only touch of colour in my entirely white outfit, and I start thinking of the foreigner.

This dream was not my fault, I am sure of that. Otherwise, why would he have apologised ? The look in his eyes makes me think that he might have known what was going on. Does he know what I have imagined ? Or worse – has he seen the things that I have seen ?

And this place, what was it ? Where was it ? Never would I have dived into water without knowing how deep it was first. Did he push me ? Why would someone do that ?

The more I think about the events of the afternoon, the more I realise my fright is turning to curiosity. Mother said it is not right to be curious, that I must wait for our Holy One to provide the answers. Like a poison, it runs slowly through one’s veins and takes over the mind. It pushes people to do things they would not normally do. Then I realise something else : in this room where I am alone with the Holy One, Mother can not reach. What she does not know, can not upset her.

In between the quiet of prayers, I hear people outside my room, one of which I recognise as the village chief. However, the voices are not coming from inside the Sanctuary ; this building is sacred and not a place for gossip. Instead, the voices come from beyond the wall that is directly to my right, which means they are standing outside the village. The chief is speaking to several people,but I can not make out what they are talking about, nor do I recognise any of the voices he is conversing with ; not until I hear a familiar voice, strong, powerful, and slightly accented, start thanking my leader.

“I would thank you a thousand times if I could, village chief. Our provisions were running low for the rest of our trip and it was urgent we exchanged some of our belongings for food and money. I know you do not welcome strangers often within the walls of your village, and for your generosity I will forever be grateful.”

Jongdae ? He must be leaving the village with his people now.

“You are very welcome,” my leader says, seemingly pleased by the compliments. “Had today been any other day, you would have been quite the sensation. I hope you got what you wanted, for as gracious as I am, I will not be able to let you in the village tomorrow,” he grumbles.

The young foreigner hardly waits a second before replying, probably louder than one should be during a private conversation.

“This is no problem, my community is already grateful for your help. We are going to stay a few more days in the small clearing we saw in the forest, only long enough to allow us to hunt and replenish our provisions.”

They exchange a few more words after that, but I am not focused on their conversation anymore. I simply stare at the painted eyes on the wall.

“What do you think ? What should I do now ?” I wonder out loud, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

Before the dream, I would have listened to Mother and stayed put. I would have prayed about anything and everything, I would have confessed my sins.

But I can not help but feel like something important occurred this afternoon. Who is this man, and who are these people ? Is he working with the evil spirits to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of innocent young women ? And if so, why did he apologise to me ? I have to know what happened, I have to know if he saw the same vision I did, and if so how was it possible ?

Today, my tiny world has collided with something bigger, much bigger than anything I could have ever envisioned. But this time, I am not frightened anymore. I will find this foreigner, and defend myself and my honour. I am in need of answers, and I know there is only one way to get them.

I must leave the village.