#let me know your thoughts or if you have any questions

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[simpjaes]

exhibition ― s. jy

Requested by anonymous via tumblr: cam boy jake. That’s it.Jake is your college roommate and he needs to buy a camera for his online classes. Curiosity gets the better of him, leading to a lot of extra money and, well, finding out that you’ve been a little too curious about what he's doing.  Or the one where your roommate flaunts his secret job at you, not thinking you’d go out and search for him. And definitely not thinking you’d be getting off to him either.

MDNI

WORDCOUNT― 4.9k

PAIRING― cam boy jake x afab reader

CONTENT―  college setting but it’s mosting within the apartment they share, cam boy jake, confused best friend reader, smut WARNINGS― none but brief mention of mommy kink in passing

NOTE―this isn't proof read ;o;

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Seven hundred.” 

“What?” “That’s how much I made last night,” Jake’s eyes shine brighter and brighter with each word, a crooked smile plastered across his face as he sleepily blinks. “I didn’t even have to do anything weird either.” 

You pause as you sip your morning coffee, wrapped up in a blanket and head pounding at the amount of stress and work you’ve had to get done while he was too busy playing with himself on camera for dozens of people. Or maybe hundreds. Thousands?

“What did you do then?” You raise a brow, not entirely checked in on his boasting this morning, though it is impressive.

Jake always shares how much he makes after each session. What started with fifteen dollars is now reaching seven hundred. Surely your best friend isn’t just jerking off, right?

“Well, it was a little weird, but not that bad.” He avoids the question with a vague answer, suddenly feeling his face heat up. “Just a little here and there, y’know?”

You narrow your eyes instantly. So he does do weird shit for money! You knew it! No way could someone make that much money in such a short span of time by regular jerking off. 

“Just a little what?” You stare him down, now placing your coffee on the table and leaning towards him. He knows better than anyone that you, of all people, can point out if he lies. Meaning, he has to be honest. 

And so, he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about it. 

“Mommy.” He says it like he’s saying any other word, as if he’s uncaring, as if it was worth the money. “Just had to say it a few times and the money came pouring in.” 

Your eyes narrow at him even more.

“What else?” You question. “There’s no way they’d accept it unless you…”

He raises his brow at you now, tilting his head in cheeky curiosity. 

“Unless I cried? Edged? Let them torture me a little bit?” He smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

You’re a bit shocked, the images of what that must have looked like for his viewers forcing your curiosity to grow. His smug face looking back at you now serves as proof that he very well may be into that kind of thing. Almost like he’s sharing a kink with you, which…is not something the two of you do. 

Despite being roommates, and without any mention of how long you’ve been friends, sex has never been a topic until he started this whole camboy thing. 

You remain calm though. This is Jake you’re talking to. He’s the last person you want to see drooling and cumming all over himself. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re a liar. 

All day, all fucking day you’ve thought about it. It’s not that you’re into the kink, or even that you’re into Jake. You’re just…curious about how smug he is about it. And yeah, it’s probably just a huge confidence boost to have all sorts of people rubbing one out to you while paying your bills, but still. 

You’re only a liar because that so-called confidence makes him more open about it. More loud. More comfortable. More…horny? 

You can tell by now, weeks after he started. You could never hear a peep from his bedroom, not a single moan or sigh at first. Now though, he’s only gotten louder. You hear the moans, the dirty talk into his camera, the usernames, all of it.

“Thank you–mmf– cumslut2000.” 

God, you hate that you didn’t cringe hearing him say that. It was the moan mid-sentence maybe, or the sultry tone you’ve never heard from him until now. You can’t help but squeeze your legs together with an annoyed groan, practically leaping for your headphones shortly after because, absolutely the fuck not.

Not Jake. It’s too weird. 

And the days pass like that, casual with him as he discusses his pay where you no longer question because now you’d just think too hard about the details. The nights pass like that too, where he’s louder, louder, louder, until you can almost hear him through your muffled videos and playlists. 

Until you are forced to feel the arousal just like the rest of his viewers. You can’t escape the attraction despite wishing, hoping, fucking praying for your head to stop wanting to hear more. 

You know better than anyone though, hoping and praying does nothing for you and the only thing that will help this situation between your legs is seeing. Proving to yourself, so to say, that seeing Jake act like that will feel gross. It will turn you off. It will solidify that Jake is your best friend and your roommate, nothing more. 

It’s easy to find him too. All you had to do was abandon your headphones tonight, waiting for him to introduce himself via username to his stream. 

Doggystyle02.

That’s what he picked? He can’t be fucking serious. 

You’re excited as you google the username, enabling NSFW search and finding him within seconds. Excited to lose the interest that’s driving you up a fucking wall, that is. And before you click into his stream, you inspect.

Yeah, that’s definitely his abs oiled up in his profile picture. You choose to ignore his uh…thing under his sweats, heavy, leaving a little spot on the front of them. 

Oh, 23k followers? And he started two, maybe three months ago? People want Jake that badly? And you just…live here with him? You get to see him daily, and hear him playing all these kinky roles in real life? God, you just know if the viewers knew they’d be saying shit like “If i lived with you, I’d be on that cock every day.”  Blah, blah, blah. 

They don’t know Jake like you know him. He’s just a dude, not some sex god. 

Then…something in your gut stirs. It flips, it bubbles, your face warms up. The comments on his profile asking him all sorts of things, saying all sorts of things and he just…responds? Reciprocates? 

Cumslut2000 comments: god i want you to hold me down and make me take it

Doggystyle02: Don’t sweet talk me like that, you know how I get. 

Oh, does she now? How the fuck would she know anything about Jake. Your best friend. Your roommate. 

DPlover: can we plllleeease do another private show? 

Doggystyle02: book me for later, i’ll even give you a discount <3

Another private show?! A fucking discount?!  

Blushy: im too shy to talk when you’re online but i really, really want you.

Doggystyle02: you wanna talk in private? I’ll message you and bring you right out of that shell. let me take care of you baby

You’re speechless. During his private job, where he doesn’t share his name but he shows his fucking face, he publicly talks to people like this? He’s never so much as looked at you for too long after you’ve gotten out of the shower, yet he wants to take care of a fucking loser ass bitch who is too shy to talk to him? 

Sexually?! 

Safe to say, never in your life did you ever think you’d find yourself jealous of people who get Jake’s attention. To you, he’s always just been, well, Jake. The guy who ran up your apartment stairs on all fours the day you moved in, the boy who constantly did your homework for you in highschool because he knew you wouldn’t graduate with him if he didn’t, the absolute best friend who followed you to the same college, saved you from the dorms by becoming your roommate, and now…somehow, seems…more than just what he was before.

Surely you’re just horny though. Curious, in the mood, whatever. Anyone would be when there’s a porn set just a wall over, right?

You shake your thoughts, knowing you’ll just make yourself sick if you keep reading all of his little public comments and start wondering what he says in private to them. You scroll up instead, glancing at his abs again before your eyes land directly on what you were trying so hard to avoid. 

He’s kind of packing, you can’t lie. If he wasn’t Jake, you’d probably be ogling, rubbing out to him just like everyone else. Hah. You chuckle, shaking your head at your own stupidity, ready for these weird feelings to be eradicated the second you click into his stream. 

Except…jesus fucking christ.

The comments roll in faster than you can read. The money is pouring in, and he’s sitting there on camera with that same dopey grin he gives you every morning. There’s something else with his smile though, a little lip bite, some tongue darting action to wet his lips. Hair falling into his eyes…jesus. 

After a minute or two of staring at your best friend’s face, ignoring the movement of his shoulders attached to the hand that’s…doing something, a pop up covers his image entirely.

SIGN UP OR LOG IN TO CONTINUE WATCHING…

Never in your life have you signed up for something so fast, typing in a string of cute letters and numbers to differentiate yourself in the sea of horny viewers. And then his image is back, and your eyes trail straight down. 

Instantly you choke up, watching the way he uses his hands with that expression on his face. It really is just typical jerking off but…something about it. Something about the way he flicks his own nipples with a seething lip bite, bucking his hips up before shining his pouting eyes into the camera, as if wishing any or all viewers were there to do it for him. And god, the way he looks kind of wet? Like, oiled up or lotion, maybe lubed up, you don’t know. His hips slide that thing through his fist so easily, making squelching sounds all the while. 

That’s…that’s really him. And he’s not even ten feet from your bedroom door looking like this. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to get up and interrupt him.

What would you even do? What would you say? 

So, you just watch, completely forgetting that you were doing this to get rid of the curiosity, not feed into the sexuality of a man you’ve known for so long as nothing more than your closest friend. 

Over a thousand dollars made in just one stream by the time he logs off, and those moans echo in your brain. Hearing them so clearly through your headphones just…wow. And, well, you did your best. 

You swore you’d never get off to the image of Jake after all this curiosity started, it’s just, you can’t help it now. At least he wasn't on your screen, moaning and whimpering for all the faceless people watching. You waited. Your belly burned and your clit throbbed through all of it, and only when he made a mess of himself with that same fucking smile before logging off did you finally give yourself what you needed. 

You don’t know why you did that, and you don’t know why the muffled stream of his shower just down the hallways is what sticks in your head when you finally reach your own orgasm.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Over a thousand this time.” 

“Oh?” You awkwardly avoid his eye contact, stiffening your shoulders at the mere mention of his stream from last night. 

“Yeah, not sure why they gave me so much this time though…” He trails off briefly, inspecting your posture and sudden defensive stance. “I didn’t even do any of the kinks.”

Well…you know why he made that much. He wouldn’t even need to feed the fetish crowd to make a decent living off of this, not with a face like that, a cock like that. It’s only natural he starts making more and more with each lengthy stream.

“Yeah, that’s weird.” You answer shortly, rummaging through cabinets despite your lunch sitting on the table across from him. 

“Yeah…” He notes the shift, feeling tension in the air. “Are you okay?”

“What? Me?” You ground both feet on the floor now, abandoning the cabinet as you turn towards him and look to the floor. 

You can’t do it. You can’t look at him. 

“I’m perfectly fine, what gives you that idea?” 

You hear him stand from the table, taking his usual Jake-esque strides toward you. Then, he leans forward and tilts his head, chasing your eyes with his own and forcing you to look at him. 

“Well, you haven’t even looked at me all morning,” He smiles, tapping your chin. “Was I too loud or something? Did it make you feel awkward?”

Oh, an out! An excuse!

“No, no, I just –” 

Now, why the fuck did you say no? Why are you looking at him now, stopping mid-sentence entirely stunned because, yep, that’s him alright. You saw him cum. You watched him do it, you listened, and you fucking liked it.

And now you’re looking him in the face, and he’s giving you that same smile, and you’re…oh god.

“I–” 

He tilts his head again, blinking twice before narrowing his eyes. 

“Spit it out. What happened? Jay do something?” 

Your words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot, stomach doing flips…Your eyes glance down without intention, right to his groin and he sees it. He even pulls back a bit, looking surprised before softening his expression. 

“Don’t tell me you–” His voice is softer now too, but he calls out your name. “Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell he doesn’t want to make the assumption, and arguably, you’re bad at hiding things from him. 

“I kind of, like, accidentally saw your stream last night.” You say it so fast, avoiding eye contact again by embarrassingly staring right between his legs. “It feels weird now.”

He laughs. He fucking laughs, but it’s kind of like, a smug laugh? A chuckle? 

“Oh now it’s weird?” He rolls his eyes. “Relax, it’s not weird.” 

“It is though! You’re, well, you! I didn’t need to see that!” 

“Then why’d you watch?” He smirks, reaching a hand out to tilt your chin up at him again. And he’s done this many times in the past. Platonic, lovely little touches from someone who will protect and appreciate you. This though, this is…

“Go on. Tell me. Why is it weird now?” He encourages you to admit it. “Because you liked it?”

You remain silent, unwilling to answer. 

“I grossed you out?” 

“No!” An immediate disagreement there, one that only digs your hole deeper. “I just–didn’t expect that.”

“So you did watch it.” He leans back now, crossing his arms and staring you down. “Did you enjoy yourself?

What is he fucking asking right now? The worst part about this is if you don’t answer, it’s still a fucking answer. But you don’t want to like, lie, because already you couldn’t even make it through a fucking morning with him after seeing it. So, with the smallest voice you have, so small you hope he can’t hear it, you whisper. 

“Yes.”

And if you were to look him in the face right now, you’d have seen that smug look go to curiosity. You’d have seen the split second of his adoration for you merging with a new view, a new feeling, and possibly a new need.

“Wait, did you–?” He even feels a bit shy now, his ears practically on fire as he keeps his eye on you, and the way you curl in on yourself with the admittance. “Did you..touch yourself?”

A small nod, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Then you hear him hold his breath, taking a step back from you. You’ve touched yourself to him, he can’t believe it. After all these years, never once looking at him like that…not even he looked at you like that but now?

He pictures it. The way you must’ve been in your room all alone, knowing what he’s doing, searching him up, then confirming it for yourself. You liked it. You liked what you saw and you got off to it. 

And now he can’t stop smiling. Proud, he feels proud. 

“Well, don’t feel weird.” He finally says, trying to ease your discomfort. “It’s just…a normal thing. I don’t think you’re weird.”

With that, the conversation dies, fades entirely into awkwardness as you both split off. 

You need space to think.

He needs space to think.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re doing it again, as if just this morning you didn’t have to bury yourself 6 feet under right in front of him. 

Neither of you spoke after that. Avoiding each other consistently throughout the day with knowing, growing, and exhausting tension. Yet still, he’s started his stream, and here you are, watching it with a dazed look. 

You don’t know how to feel or what to do. Your head doesn’t anyway, your body knows too well what it wants and needs, and you hate yourself for making it so awkward between the two of you. Why did you tell him? You wonder if he’d be uncomfortable knowing you’re watching again, this time knowing your hand will stray as you watch.

You wonder, and wonder, will he think you’re disrespecting your friendship by doing this not once, but twice? 

Then, you hear him. 

“Can we do some roleplay today?” He speaks out to the chat, cock pressing against his briefs, head tilted with his messy hair in the very computer chair you bought for him. 

Last time, he was sprawled out on his bed, and you wonder if he always starts his streams this way.

“I want you to imagine we live together, and you know I’m in my room fucking myself, begging, needy for anything, anyone to touch me.” He looks into the camera. “Let’s say you’d hear it too. I’m loud on purpose…”

“Tell me what you’d do to me.”

You stare forward blankly, frozen on the spot at his words, then your eyes flick to the chat. 

“You wouldn’t see the front door ever again.” 

“I’d be on you within seconds.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to turn your camera on, just come home and I'd be waiting.”

Oh. 

Jake hums at the responses, whispering them to himself. 

“Ah,” Jake reads a specific comment with a nod. “I’d be an idiot to not jump at the opportunity.”

And the rest of his words become muffled as your ears pop. Is he…talking about you right now? Was he expecting you to watch again? 

“If that ever happens to me, just know I’d be grateful for all of you. Running to help me feel good, you’re all so good to me.” He giggles now. Fucking giggles. “Alright, enough of that.” 

Jake stares into the camera again, and you can’t help it. It feels like he’s staring at you. Straight through your fucking soul at this point. 

“I have a lot of stress to relieve.” He ends on that note, skewing his pants down and making haste. 

He’s not slow or cute with it like he was before. He’s aggressive, almost frustrated. His eyebrows furrow, his lips become red from his biting and chewing, and you watch the money flood in.

The comments blurring past, words of, “Oh fuck,”  and “This is new.” before suddenly, you hear an irritated sigh. A string of curse words pour from his lips, his hand squeezing the base of his cock so tightly, and spurts of cum shooting up his chest, only to drip down slowly. 

“What a waste.” He comments shortly at himself, heaving in a breath before he breaks out into his usual smile. “Sorry to end on such a short note, just thought I’d let you guys join me for a quickie!” 

Then he’s gone, the stream lasting about ten minutes in total. 

And apparently so is your fucking sanity because why is it that now you find yourself getting out of your bed, feeling the wet between your legs drip, and you’re heading for your bedroom door just to get to him? 

Why is he standing right outside, as if he was already waiting for you to open it?

And it’s silent now as you stare at each other. Him, with his sweatpants skewed over his waist, cum still on his chest, breath still uneven. Then you, practically vibrating to get on him. 

“You’re looking at me like you want me to eat you out.” He says, already pushing you right back through your bedroom door, letting you flop back on your bed as he instantly pulls at your shorts. “Want me to kiss you first?”

You feel your head spin the second you flop back and feel your shorts being pulled off, and before you can even comprehend his question, he’s already kissing you. Hot, heated. He sounds just as frustrated as he did just minutes ago getting off by himself. You don’t even mind the cum on his chest, nor the way he spreads your legs with his knee to get more comfortable. 

It’s happening. This is what kissing Jake feels like. This is what everyone wants from him, but it’s you that’s getting it. Has he always been like this? Good at kissing? Firm with his movements? Confident as he kisses down, down, down, giving you what he thinks you want?

You do want it. Perhaps you were looking at him like you wanted him to eat you out, and now he’s doing it. Breathing shortly right against your clit without so much as savoring his view before diving in, tongue instantly licking from your hole straight to your clit and sucking.

He hums around the taste, both hands holding your inner thighs and keeping your legs open. And he just…keeps humming, licking and sucking you so good that you can’t help but cry out and tug at that fucked up mess of hair on his head. 

Jake likes that. He likes the way you hold your breath and the way your legs shake around his ears. He likes even more the way he knew you were watching him tonight, and that you looked like you were coming straight to his room to jump him. 

So strange how quickly things can change, so strange how good his best friend must have tasted all these years, and he had never once considered it. And now, he blinks up at you, seeing the way you close your eyes and breathe through it, like you’re calming yourself down, thinking both too much and not at all. 

Easily he runs his hands up and under your shirt, feeling the soft skin of your belly before gently running his palms over your perked nipples. He continues to stare up, watching you, tasting you, loving this a little more than he ever knew he would. 

He did want you, he does want you. His cock has been aching all day for you since the moment he found out you thought of him. Jake thinks you’d be tight, because lord knows you haven’t gotten laid in a hot minute, and that quick jerk off session was absolutely for you. 

He wants to show off to you, wants you to see him more than anyone else can. Yet, it’s you he’s seeing more of right now and he doesn’t mind that so much. 

His eyes flick back down, allowing his fingertips to toy gently with your nipples as he skews his head, essentially making out with your pussy, slurping the slick you offer and not letting a single bit of it go to waste. Then, he dips in, pointing his tongue right against your pulsing hole and pressing in. 

There’s that tug of his hair again, your legs squeezing around him and your hips bucking up. 

Oh, you like that. 

So, he does it harder and with more focus. He squeezes his eyes shut and prepares to not breathe for a bit, licking as far into you as he can, his nose easily pressing your clit in such a beautiful way that all you can do now is moan.

Genuinely moan for him. His name in a little hiccup followed by a curse. 

Fuck, you’re so hot to him right now. Anyone would be fucking lucky to be in your bed at all, and finally it’s him. As if he’s been waiting for years despite never needing a turn previously. 

And this continues until he can’t breathe, his fingers growing more needy against your tits, his tongue reaching deeply before pulling out and allowing him to take a deep breath that is scented entirely in you. Then, he fucking nuzzles it.

You glance down with a heaved breath, legs shaking as you watch him do it. Eyes closed gently, rubbing his nose and lips against your clit in such a gentle, loving way that it has you melting instantly. 

“Jake–” You whisper in a breath, the first word you’ve said to him since you opened your bedroom door. 

All he does is shoot his gaze to you and continues his nuzzles, uncaring of whatever you need to say if it isn’t you asking him to fuck you right now. And arguable, you have nothing to say anyway. 

You just…needed to say his name. Needed to solidify that you just broke a boundary with him willingly, and he doesn’t care. You don’t care. 

You feel the thumping in your chest, your clit throbbing with each little rub he lends before you sit up slightly on your elbows, balancing yourself before reaching a hand down. 

He leans into your palm on his cheek, like a puppy wanting love. Then his hands leave your chest and find their way to your hips. His doe eyes instantly sharpen, and you’re instantly being pushed back down to your bed.

“Want me to be whatever you want? Let you do whatever you want to me?” He finally says, licking his lips as he makes his way up to hover over you, making sure to lift your shirt enough to expose both of your tits. “Just like I ask?” 

You find yourself nodding before taking it back, shaking your head. 

“I don’t want it to be like that–” You trail off, avoiding his intense gaze and suddenly feeling very vulnerable under him. “I just want you. The Jake I’ve always had.” 

Another shocked look reaches his expression. He’s a bit surprised, assuming that all of this was simply because you watched his stream and didn’t expect to be so turned on. He thought this would be a one and done thing. A “let’s forget this ever happened,” thing.

But you want him? Not the acting? Not the kinks, or the cocky grinning? You want the best friend in him, the part of him that was never sexual, never confident, never willing to approach women. 

He looks at you in question. 

“I don’t know how to be that right now.” He finally says, pressing his hips down and against you with a choked moan. “How can I be that when I want to fuck you so badly?”

You find yourself smiling, running your hands through his hair to get it out of his face before shrugging. 

“When have we ever known what we were doing?” You ask quietly, wincing slightly at how hard he’s gotten, knowing that you’re not having to see him through a screen now. 

That’s all he needed to hear before keeping eye contact and reaching down with one hand. You can’t bare to look down, knowing some sort of embarrassing sound will leave your throat. You decide to feel it instead. 

And goddamn, do you fucking feel it. 

He slides in easily, but the size of him stretches you far past anything you could have imagined. This is him, he’s this big. This is what Jake’s cock feels like and it has your chest caving in over it. 

All you can do is hug him, clinging to him through the stretch and hoping the way your cunt squeezes around him isn’t hurting him. 

“God, fuck.” He says in a quick whisper, arms shaking to hold himself up as you hug him. “You’re so tight, fuck.”

You smile against his messy chest at the compliment, basking in it really before allowing yourself to freely adjust. Your body clenches him tightly, and he remains still through it until he can’t anymore. 

He drops to the bed, flush against you without warning and the moans start pouring from his chest. He can’t stop even if he wanted to, can’t control his hips, his words, his thoughts.

He just lays here flush against you, letting his hips move freely and rapidly. In, out, in, out. So clumsy, so loud, and goddamn does it feel fucking amazing.

You moan alongside him, petting his hair with each thrust, feeling his cheek against your tits move with each drop of his jaw. Even when his moans are silent, you know he feels good and that makes you happy. 

None of those little bitches in his chat could get him like this, surely. He’s not acting right now. He’s Jake.

And that’s what makes it so good, you think. That’s why he has so much cum to put in you, apologizing through it all because the fear of this act comes with the orgasm. Apologizing for fucking you, for cumming in you, for getting off so quickly, promising you that he’ll make you cum too. 

It’s then that you realize, when he’s got his face back down between your legs, sucking his mess out of you…maybe you have feelings now.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing either. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

remember that you can get early access and/or tip me via patreon! love and comments would be appreciated <3<3<3<3

[venusalexian]

solet • let me do this for you

part 1

barça femení x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader

in which you finally let someone in, and Alexia accepts that she’ll be having a bigger role in your life than she first expected

Ale had driven you to the grounds this morning, as she tends to do now if she has a free day when you have a game. You were so excited for this game. Your grandpa had recuperated well from his surgery, even if he now needed some extra care, and Ale’s presence in your life had become a constant. You couldn’t believe this was your life now.

You went into the game eager to win, to score, to lead. By half time, you had scored once and provided an assist. You were on fire, but everything changed when you stepped into the tunnel and Ale was waiting for you, a worried frown in her face.

“Solet, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this, okay?.” She said. “Your neighbor called, they’ve had to take your grandma into the hospital because she fainted. They firmly believe she’s going to be okay. I will drive you to the hospital right now if that’s what you want.” You can’t believe she’s even doubting it. There is no way you’re making it back out into the pitch now.

“Please Ale, let’s go.” You rush to the locker room to get your things and run all the way to Ale’s car, impatient.

“It’s all gonna be okay, I promise.” Ale says as she lays her free hand on your arm, the other on the steering wheel.

You really want to believe her, but you don’t really think she has the ability to fulfill this one. You don’t respond. You just lay your head against the window and let its coldness ground you to reality.

As soon as you get to the waiting room you make a beeline for your grandfather, who sits in a corner. He’s recuperated from his surgery, but he still can’t stand for long periods of time and needs help remembering to take his meds.  You break down as soon as you’re in his arms.

”Oh, mi niña, everything’s gonna be okay. She was awake when they got her into the ambulance. It was just a big scare, but she’s going to be okay.”

You nod against his chest but don’t detach from his hold. You won’t believe it until you see her with your own eyes and doctors confirm it, but you appreciate the comfort of his words. You turn a bit to look to your left. Ale is talking with your neighbor. She has her capitana face on. That relaxes you further.

You hate how unhelpful you’re being. You should be more composed, asking questions, making sure your grandpa is also okay, planning for any contingencies that might come from this incident. But you can only cling, and cry, like a child. So you’re happy to see that Ale has taken control of the situation, because at least somebody has. You’ve been trusting her with more of yourself and your life over the past months, and you’re so, so glad about it now. She looks over at you, and you know she understands what it means to you. The guilt of your impotence stays, but the pressure eases and you let yourself just fall.

Alexia is looking at you and seeing a kid. A strong, resilient kid. But a kid. So she takes charge, and she accepts that caring for you is coming more naturally to her every day. And as she waits with you for news about your grandma, she gradually also accepts the role she wants to play in your life. More than she’d let herself in the past, more than she’s ever said out loud.

“So… Why are the kids talking about you adopting another kid?” Marta approached Alexia with a massive smirk at the end of training.

“Yeah Ale, I thought you’d at least talk to me before you got a kid outside of this team.” Oh, Irene was having too much fun with this conversation.

“First of all, there is no another, I don’t have any kids, period.” A chorus of ‘hey’ and ‘rude’ was heard from the other side of the room, most notably (and loudest) by Vicky and Jana. Alexia just rolled her eyes. Apparently, the whole team was a part of the conversation now. “And secondly, I have not adopted a kid. I’m just… mentoring.”

“Mentoring? Is that what they call it now? Mentoring is driving a kid to and from practice?” Jana continued teasing her.

Alexia had gotten into the habit of driving you when she could especially to and from late night practices, thinking that it was much too late for you to be out taking public transportation.

“Or staying to watch those practices?” followed Sydney, who’s joking character was coming more and more out as she became more comfortable with the first team.

Now, Alexia knew how to perfectly justify this one.

“I am captain of this team, I have a duty to check in with the B team and source for talent.” she answered, feeling smug.

“Oh, and is having Sunday lunch with her and her family a form of recruitment?” added Vicky, who had become closer with the teen and had taken to chatting with her on occasion.

Alexia actually didn’t know how to respond to this one. She had taken your grandmother’s invitation a couple of time when you had Sunday morning games and she had a free weekend. She loved getting to know you more by spending time with you and your grandparents. And although she thought you pressured yourself too much, she saw herself reflected in your protectiveness, diligence and sense of responsibility toward your family and team.

“Better yet. Why did your girlfriend text me asking if I could give her more information about the kid because she wants to make a good impression when you bring her over for Sunday dinner at your mom’s this weekend?” added Ingrid.

Alexia muttered “traitor” as the locking room erupted in chaos. Everyone knows how much it means for their protective and family-oriented captain to introduce people to her family.

“Okay, enough. I care about her, yes. And she doesn’t have too many people on her corner, so I decided to become one.”

Everyone softened at that, understanding the importance and vulnerability of the statement.

“Now, no more social chit-chat about my life or you’re all running three times as much before practice.”

The soft expressions were replaced with groans, complaints and the occasional soft object thrown at her. Oh how she loves her fútbol family.

Your neighbor has had to leave; she has her own family to care for. So it’s just you, your grandpa, and Ale. Each sitting on a seat to your side. The doctor comes out after a half hour of waiting. The good news is that she’s okay, she’s awake, and there is nothing life-threatening. It feels like a toll has been lifted off your shoulders. But then he continues: it was a big fall, a symptom of an underlying heart condition. It means more medication and the possibility for this to happen again or other bad things. You feel dizzy again. You only hear bits and pieces of the rest: needs more monitorization, will need more constant care for a couple of weeks, she’s gonna stay overnight, you’ll be able to see her soon. You cling to the last part to stay in touch with reality.

Ale sees you drowning, so she asks, “Do you trust me to help, to take over now and help you through this? Let me do this for you?”

You nod. You need her to. You don’t even have any space in your worrying to overthink what this means or why she’s willing to do all this for you. You need her now, and the rest will come when everything’s more calm.

“I’m gonna make a few calls, okay? Can I tell a couple of people what is going on? The girls, mami and Olga are all worried. I won’t say much, just a quick update, okay?”

You nod again. You haven’t uttered a word since you got into Ale’s car. You can’t. So when she nods back, you hide your face in your grandpa’s chest again. You try to distract yourself with happier memories until you can see your grandma again. Thinking of her still hurts, so you focus on your team, your friends, and the people in Ale’s life you’ve met in the past weeks.

You felt dizzy from anticipation. You kept bouncing your leg in the passenger seat, and checking your outfit on the rear-view mirror. Ale noticed your fidgeting and laid her free hand on your shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” her eyes didn’t stray from the road but you noticed her half-grimace. Ale is not the best at not asking obvious questions, but you know it’s because she doesn’t know how to start the conversation otherwise.

“Yeah, I just…” you also grimaced, feeling like a little kid. “I want them to like me.” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“Oh, solet. They will. Mami is a natural caretaker, she’ll take you under her wing immediately. And Alba and Olga will just love having one more person to team up with against me.” Ale rolled her eyes, fondly.

She exudes a different type of softness when she talks about the women in her life, even when she fakes being annoyed at their antics. Her response calmed you, though.

Ale was absolutely right, of course.

As soon as you entered Ale’s home, her mom was giving you a massive hug and when she pulled away, she told you how beautiful you are and that she was really excited to meet you. You were blushing again. She hugged her daughter next, and then motioned for you both to go to the living room while she finished cooking. You offered to help, and you were rewarded with a wide smile and a pinch to your cheek. Ale got a quip that “she ought to keep her instead of her daughters if she keeps this helpfulness up”.

You’re still flushed when you reached the living room with Ale to find her sister and girlfriend sitting at the table in conversation. They stood up when you entered the room. Her sister moved to you, hugged you and introduced herself. You opened your mouth to do the same but she interrupted before you could utter a word.

“Oh, I know who you are. Ale won’t shut up about you.” You both turned to her, but she was too busy kissing her girlfriend to notice. Alba covered your eyes and shouted. “Women, not in front of the kid!”

You smiled as Alba moved away her hand and smiled back at you, all nerves forgotten by now, replaced by warmth. Ale and Olga were walking towards you both now, Ale’s hand on the small of her back. Olga hugged you, and her smile was just as warm and soft as Ale’s. 

“Yeah, Ale hasn’t shut up about you. We’re all really excited to meet her mini-me.” And there you were, blushing again. Had Ale really referred to you like that? Before you could ask, Ale’s mom called the four of you to finishing setting up as dinner was ready.

Conversation during dinner flowed. Ale was right, you had nothing to worry about and the night went perfectly. They all asked about you, eager to get to know you better. Alba and Olga did use your presence to rile Ale up. They shared embarrassing stories as she blushed and covered her face.

“I’ll lose my tough captain facade, stop.”

“You never had one to begin with, Ale”

By the time dinner ends, you couldn’t even believe you had been so nervous to meet them. Ale and Olga offered to drive you home. As you and Olga waited for Ale to finalize some arrangement with her mom, she put her arm around you, as the night had unexpectedly cooled and neither of you had come dressed for it. You basked in the comfort of her warmth and touch.

“I’m so glad Ale brough you over.” You looked up to the older woman, her smile exactly like Ale’s. “She is right, you know? You’re such a solet. I’m so glad you have each other.” Before you could respond, Ale was ushering you both inside the car and the motion of the road and the fullness from dinner lulled you to sleep. You miss their smile at your sleeping form, and their unspoken understanding of their care for you.

By the time Alexia finishes texting and calling, she has a plan. Alexia does well with plans, likes to prepare for things. But she has to talk to your grandparents first, and she doesn’t know how that conversation is going to go. Alexia is also quick on her feet, though, and works with what’s given. Knows how to fight for what she thinks is right.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come by and lead the three of you to your grandma’s room. You cry again when you see she’s okay. You can’t cling to her like you did with your grandpa, so you’re content to sit by her side and hold her hand while she asks questions about the game, and you do your best to respond to her. Your words are stilted, but Ale and your grandpa smile because it’s the most you’ve spoken in hours.

After some more assurances, your grandma convinces you to go down to the cafeteria with your grandpa to have dinner. You’re hesitant to comply, but both her and Ale reassure you and don’t accept no for an answer. You give them one last glance to reassure yourself everything is okay befor eyou leave the room.

Alexia is nervous to be left alone with your grandma. She needs to start the conversation she knows is coming and despite the encouragement from her family, she isn’t sure to be ready for it. She doesn’t have to be, though, because your grandma beats her to it.

“She needs you.” There’s a heavy silence that follows; Alexia doesn’t know how to respond.

“She needs you because she’s a kid but doesn’t accept it. We both know that this incident means that both I and my husband need more help than she should be burdened by. She’s stretched thin enough, she already does too much. We want her to have fun, be a kid, a student, a footballer. Not a nurse, or a caretaker. She can’t do that if she’s constantly worried about us. And I know you know all this.”

Alexia stands seriously and silently and measures her words before speaking. She knows what’s next, but this is not her family, she doesn’t want to overstep. But if directly asked for her input, she’ll do it. She’ll take care of everything. For you. 

“I do, yeah.”

“We need that kind of help but it can’t come from her. So will you help? I’ve seen you grow closer to her, she admires you so much, relishes your attention and care. If we ask you for it, if she agrees, are you ready for this?”

Alexia doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She can see the tension leave your grandma.

“Good. Now we can talk specifics. What’s your plan? Tell me and then we can tell her together.”

In the morning after you, Ale and your grandpa went home to sleep –Ale taking the couch even if you insisted on her taking the bed–, it’s Ale also who drives back to the hospital and brings your grandma home when she’s released. All four of you sit in the living room and when you try to fuss over your grandma, all three of them reassure you she’s okay.

“Mi vida, we have something to discuss.” Your grandma starts, and you squirm, uncomfortable at being out of loop.

“Alexia and us have a proposal for you, mi niña. We’ll do only what you want us to, but we think this is the best for all of us, and especially you.” You don’t respond to your grandpa, just nod, the anticipation driving you crazy. Your grandma takes over the conversation again.

“We love you so much, mi vida. We love how kind you are, how responsible, and how much you care for us. But your grandpa and I need more help, and we want you to not be burdened by it.” You’re about to protest –they’re not a burden, would never be, you love them and you’ll always care for them–but Ale stops you.

“Ssh, solet, listen to what we have to say first, okay?” You nod again instead of responding.

“So remember when I made a few calls yesterday at the hospital? I set up a couple of things. First, there is a home-care medical team that will be taking care of your grandparents from now on. They’re the best, but we still get to pick who’s going to be coming to stay with them for continued care. You’ll be part of that decision too.”

You exhale, thankful that Ale took over arranging this service. Deep down, you know that even if you would have tried your hardest, your grandparents need specialized care you wouldn’t be able to provide.

“And we also thought something else, but we’ll only do this if you want to and completely at your pace.” You become uneasy again at their own nervous expressions.

“Mi vida, we’ve thought that you spend so much time moving from here to the city, and it’s not benefitting you in your studies, or your football career, so Alexia kindly offered an arrangement that we think will work for all of us.”

“Solet, I’d like it if you moved in with me.” There is nothing but shock in your expression now. You have no idea how to respond, this being the last thing you expected from this conversation.

“We were thinking you could stay with me over the week, so you can go to a school that is more understanding of your football career, like many of your teammates, and be closer to the training grounds. You’ll come back to stay over weekends with your grandparents, so you’ll still see them a lot. And you can obvious tell me anytime you wanna be with them, and we’ll make it work so you never feel detached.”

You stop her nervous rambling with an obvious question, still in shock.

“You really want me to move in with you? Are you sure?”

Her smile is so, so soft again. Her eyes so kind, but also somewhat exasperated, she can’t believe you don’t understand how much she cares for you yet.

“Yes, solet. And before you ask. Yes, I’ve talked to Olga, she also thinks this is good. She’s in and out of the house these days because of work in Madrid so she thinks this is actually good for us both, apparently I don’t struck her as someone who lives well alone.” She rolls her eyes when she shares that part, but she’s still smiling.

“And, avis, you think this is best for all of us? Because I’ll still miss you a lot, but you’re right that I’ve been struggling these days.”–you finally admit–“And I guess if there’s a professional caring for you here and I can call you anytime and come often, then, I guess, it seems like a good solution to me too.”

All three of them smile widely at you, glad that you see the same things they do.

“Yes, mi niña, we do. And this is always your home, you can be here as much as you want to.”

“Okay” You say, and it feels definitive, the start of something.

—

an:

so here’s the second part of solet! it took me a bit longer than expected but I wanted to do a good job at setting everything up and it made it longer than i initially expected.

this is the end of setting up the arc, and stories from now on will be just instances of solet’s life :)

I already have some ideas drafted, but I’m super eager to get requests and asks about this world of what kind of things you’d like to see from solet’s life.

thank you for reading!

xoxo, a.c.

[enchanted-by-fae]

I Love You (and That’s All I Really Know) - Azriel x Reader

Pairing: Knight!Azriel x Princess!Reader

Summary: You were his princess, and he was just a knight. Azriel was ready to prove he's worthy of your love.

4.2k words

Warnings: Jousting (nothing graphic), fluff, slight forbidden romance, angst kinda, author knows nothing about swordplay or jousting, Az doesn’t have his shadows, Eris is a bad guy in this, low key this is just adorable.

A/N: This is my first one-shot so hopefully you guys like it! The title and the story itself were influenced by Love Story by Taylor Swift. I was also kind of inspired by the first episode of House of the Dragon and the movie A Knights Tale

Azriel knew it was wrong. You were his princess and he was just a knight. The grand tourney would be held on the morrow and Azriel was ready to win. Not just the tourney but your affections as well. He needed to prove that he was worthy of loving you. 

The knight had been in love with you for years. He was best friends with your brother, Rhysand. They grew close as brothers, training together to one day become the greatest heroes your world has seen. Alongside their other best friend, Cassian, the three were inseparable. 

Azriel still remembers the day he first met you. He was still just a squire and didn’t even know who you were at first when he saw you. All he had seen was a girl chasing a rabbit on the grounds and he couldn’t help but be curious as to what you were up to. He saw you run into the forest after it, leaving him to chase after you. He would’ve felt responsible if something had happened when he could’ve prevented it.

“Hello?” he called out, not wanting to admit he actually was quite afraid to enter the forest alone. He had rumors as a child that sprites and faeries occupied this land and he wasn’t ready to learn the truth just yet. Azriel waited at the edge of the forest for your response but he never heard one. 

“Okay Az, man up,” he spoke aloud to himself. He took the first steps into the forest, looking for a sign as to where you could've run off to. “Sprites, if you live here then I beg you to please leave me alone,” he rambled. Azriel was able to find his bravery the further into the forest he ventured. He was going to be the world's greatest knight after all. After searching for a while Azriel began to question if you even ran in this direction. “Miss? Are you there?” he called again. 

He stopped for a moment to take in the surroundings, “where did you go?”, he pondered. Most people thought Azriel hated talking, in reality he just didn’t like people brushing him off. He found that the less you talk the more people pay attention when you actually have something to say. Of course, he never was like that with Rhys or Cass. His best friends were the only people he could truly be himself around. Another time he loved talking? When he was alone. He loved talking to himself. Who better to listen to him than- well, him.

“Okay,” he sighed out, “this better not be some game. I’m starting to get freaked out.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” a soft voice said behind him. Azriels eyes practically sprung out of his head as he completely stilled, scared to death at the mystery voice.

“Oh, sorry. Did I scare you again?” a girl. It was a girl speaking. Az let out a massive sigh of relief, finally being able to breath again, and turned to face the person he’s been searching for. You were the princess. He hadn’t recognized you as such when he saw you run off.

“You’re highness,” he immediately bowed. You just stood there, giggling. Azriel couldn’t help but be annoyed at that. “I came looking for you, not wanting to see you in trouble,” he explained. 

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” you questioned.

Az thought that surely you couldn’t be serious, “well the forest is a dangerous place. It’s rumored that sprites and faeries live here.”

“Oh, well I haven’t seen any sprites. And I don’t think I’ve seen any faeries either,” you beamed. “I just came to help a rabbit friend,” Azriel thought at that moment you must be insane.

He looked at you quizzically, “a rabbit friend?”

You nodded your head, “yes- well, I mean that we’re friends now. He had a thorn stuck in his paw and the poor thing was in pain. We get along quite well now!” Azriels brows furrowed and you just giggled at him. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” you laughed. He had never heard such a lovely sound before. If he could, Azriel would only listen to your laugh forever.

“I’ve just never heard of someone having a rabbit friend before,” he reasoned. 

You just gave him a small shrug before starting the walk back to the palace. “I’m not crazy, just so you know,” you told him. Azriel just looked at you, in hopes of an explanation. “I just think that animals deserve the same respect and love as people. We did invade their homes after all.”

Azriel had never thought of it like that before but he supposed you were right. There’s something so beautiful about nature but then people came along and built palaces and villages. Taking over the land. He admired the way your brain works.

“Hey, you’re my brother's friend aren’t you?” you inquired. 

“Yeah, Rhysand and I are pretty close,” he answered. 

You looked at him with a smile, “he has good taste in friends then. Thank you for coming after me,” you gracefully inclined your head in gratitude.

Azriel offered a smile in return, “of course, princess.”

“Please, call me Y/N,” you asked him.

“Of course, Y/N,” he corrected. Just then he remembered he hadn’t told you his name, “you can call me Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you tried it out. “I like it!” you proclaimed. Now Azriel was offering you a chuckle of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn't Rhys or Cass got him to laugh. In fact, he couldn’t remember when someone who wasn’t his friends got him to talk this much. 

The two of you made your way back to the palace, chatting the entire way back. 

“Well, Azriel, I should get back to my lessons. I’m sure my tutor is having a fit,” you explained. “Thanks again for the escort,” you then started the journey to your study and Azriel just stood there watching you walk away.

“My pleasure, Y/N,” he whispered to himself. 

—

The two of you maintained a steady friendship throughout the years. You grew into a lovely young woman. Always compassionate towards your people, and you still cared a great deal for animals. You also were pretty brilliant. Azriel found himself amazed at some of the things you came up with. Your mind was one of the things he loved most about you. 

As you and he got older, he found himself falling more and more in love with you. He almost confessed it to you just a few months ago at your nameday celebration, but he chickened out at the last moment. He was just a knight. They typically didn’t marry princesses, especially bastards like him.

He did have a plan, however, to make his love for you known. The king was throwing an upcoming tourney to celebrate Rhysands marriage to Lady Feyre. The champion prize was having a wish granted by the king. He planned to ask you for a token of luck before he was to joust and when he won, that will be when he asks for your hand.

—

“Princess Y/N,” Azriel greeted as he found you roaming the gardens, guards lingering behind.

A graceful smile bloomed across your face, “Az, please just call me Y/N,”

Azriel shook his head, a smile of his own appearing, “I just like to tease you.”

“Well don't! It’s not nice to treat your princess that way,” you justified.

“You just said to not call you princess!” he exclaimed. He loved it when the two of you had these playful arguments. They made something in his stomach pleasantly twist.

You were trying to remain serious but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “you should still treat me as a princess.”

If things went his way tomorrow, he would treat you as a princess everyday for the rest of his life. He just slightly bowed his head towards you, “of course prin- Y/N.”

You gave him a playful head shake at his correction. “Are you ready for the tourney tomorrow,” you changed the subject. 

Azriel tries not to give away his plans for tomorrow regarding you. He wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. “Of course I am,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

You turn towards Azriel, who's now walking beside you in the garden. He watches as you study his face slowly, looking for any signs of deception. Azriel has known you for a long time but you've known him for a long time too. You know all of his tells just as well as he knows yours. Yes, you were definitely onto him.

“That's great Az,” you say finally. He lets out a silent breath of relief.  “I’m sure you’ll win, the only other real competition is Cass,” you add.

Az paused, he completely forgot Cassian was jousting too. He should tell Cass of his plan to propose to you. His friend was enough of a romantic that Azriel was sure that he could get him to throw the competition. 

Cassian married Lady Nesta just a few months ago and they were disgustingly adorable. Lady Nesta was the eldest sister of Rhysands new wife, Feyre. He thought it was nice how his brothers found sisters to wed. He was even happier to have you all to himself now that Cass was out of the way. There were a few years where all Cassian could do was flirt with you. Azriel had never been more jealous in his life. He eventually snapped and let his brother in on his affections for you. His friend backed off after that.

“Oh, I’m not worried about “The Lord of Bloodshed”, or whatever he wants to call himself,” Azriel teased. Cass had started to call himself that after the first battle the three of them fought together. Az had never seen anything like it, he was almost demon-like out there. It was strange as Cassian was much different when he was with his friends.

You just giggled at Azriels teasing, “You’re not worried about perhaps the greatest knight this kingdom has ever seen, Sir Azriel?” Az couldn’t help the fluttering of his heart as you used his proper title. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone here is the greatest then it's me,” he confidently replied. Azriel didn’t miss the flush of your cheeks at the term of endearment used. 

“Then I wish you luck,” you curtseyed, “I shall see you on the morrow then?” 

Az gave you a bow and took your hand in his, placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “you shall.” Your face flushed to deep crimson before pulling your hand back and stalking off back towards the palace

—

Azriel found Cassian in the training yard, and he wasn’t alone. He found his two best friends in an intense sword fight. Both of them were very good. Az found peace in knowing Rhysand wouldn’t be competing tomorrow, as the tourney was to celebrate his marriage. That just left him to deal with Cassian, who at that moment knocked his opponent on his ass, leaving Rhysand as the loser. 

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show his face at training,” Cassian called out to Azriel, helping pull Rhys back to his feet.

“Nice fight,” Azriel turned towards Rhysand, “sorry you had your ass handed to you.”

Cassian let out a chuckle, “he sure as hell did.” Rhysand was not amused, scowling at them both. “Oh wipe that face off, Rhys. You’re probably just tired,” Cass smirked, “Feyre wearing you out?”

Rhysand just looked at Cassian with a devilish grin, “something like that.” 

Azriel just stood there, laughing at his friends. “Cassian, could I speak with you about something?” he asked. Cassian just looked at him with a quizzical brow.

“Why do you just need to speak to Cass?” Rhysand questioned, “I am your prince, after all.” Azriel was starting to ponder if pulling rank was a family trait. 

Azriel never actually told Rhysand about his love for you. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable but he supposed it would be nice to have both his best friends backing him up tomorrow. 

Azriel took a deep inhale before speaking, “I’m going to wish for Y/N’s hand in marriage when I win tomorrow.”

Rhysand and Cassian dropped their swords simultaneously, staring at Azriel.

“You- wait my sister?”

“Finally!” The two exclaimed at once. Cassian wrapped his arms around Azriel, “you have my congratulations, brother,” he beamed.

“You knew about this?” Rhysand questioned Cass. 

Cassian let out a sigh as he backed away from embracing Azriel. “yes, Rhys. I knew,” his response laced with guilt.

Rhysands confusion grew deeper and deeper. The only thing holding Azriel together was that he didn’t seem angry. “How- how long have you been in love with my sister?” Rhys asked.

Azriel shit his eyes, breathed, and reopened them, “since the day I met her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rhysand seemed more hurt than the fact his best friend was in love with his sister. 

Azriel felt guilt coursing through him, “I didn’t know how you’d react. I thought you’d be angry,” he confessed.

Rhysand just blew out a sigh, “Why would I be angry?” It was now Azriels turn for confusion. “I honestly couldn’t think of a man more deserving than you to marry her,” Rhys informed.

“You truly mean that?” Az couldn’t contain the small grin he had.

Rhysand nodded, “of course,” he walked over and clapped Azriel on the shoulder, “she’d be lucky to have you. And you’d be lucky to have her.”

“Does this mean I have your blessing then?” Azriel queried.

Rhysand gave him a wide grin, “of course, although it’s not mine you need. How do you plan to convince the king?”

“I have a plan,” Azriel told his brothers before bringing his attention back to Cassian, “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Cassian responded. Azriel informed his brothers of just how he’ll gain your fathers approval.

—

Azriel was set to fight his first match against a knight he had never heard of until before today, he was good. Not as good as Azriel, however. Azriel beat opponent after opponent, the crowd cheering his name. He loved the rush of the sport but if he was being honest with himself, he only cared if you were cheering his name. Which you were.

Azriel picked out your voice instantly, as it was the loudest. He looked at the royal box where you were seated on the left of your father, Nesta on your other side. When you weren’t cheering for Az, you were conversing with the lady. Azriel thought it was sweet how well you got along with her and Feyre. The latter of whom was seated next to Rhysand, on the opposite side of your father.

Soon Azriel found himself going against Cassian. During the conversation they had the day prior, his friend had agreed to lose. He felt bad asking it of Cass, but Azriel needed to win. 

Azriel saddled himself on his horse once more and did a quick canter around the arena. He stopped just below the royal box.

“Princess Y/N” he called, using your formal title considering how public you currently were. His heart skipped a beat as you appeared before him.

“Yes, Sir Azriel?” you questioned, a mischievous smile gracing your face.

“Might I have a token? For luck,” he raised his lance high enough for you to bestow your favor. You nodded your head before you darted off to your seat to grab your gift.

“For you, good sir,” you came back with an intricately weaved wreath of flowers, placing it down on his lance. You leaned over the balcony just enough for Az to hear, “Win my heart, Sir Azriel.” You smiled at his dazed expression before returning to your spot besides the king. 

Azriel just sat there on his horse, amazed at what you had just said. He finally snapped back into reality and rode back to his starting position. He was ready to win your heart. 

—

Azriel was at his end of the fence, waiting for the signal to face off against Cassian. You were so close. Finally, Cassian emerged from his end of the barrier. Azriel looked towards his friend and noticed that he was riding a different horse. Then he noticed that the suit of armor was not the one Cass wore. And the killing blow was when the knight took off his helmet and revealed the face of Sir Eris.

Azriel called for a time out before the joust could begin, needing to check what happened with Cassian. He took off on his horse towards the opposite end in search of answers.

He arrived towards his new opponent, “Sir Eris, what has happened to Cassian?”

Eris let out a scoff, “you mean that idiot?”

Azriel glared at him, “yes, him.”

“Oh, well you see,” Eris began, “he lost.”

That wasn’t right. Cassian doesn’t lose. Especially to fools like Eris. Azriel never liked him. He was always full of himself. Thinking he was better all because he was to be the king of his own kingdom someday. Rhysand was in line for his own throne, and his friend still maintained humility.

“I doubt that is the truth of the matter,” Azriel defended. He hadn’t seen every tournament today, he was busy competing on his own as there were multiple tournaments being held. It was all meant to lead up to this, the grand finale. Azriel hoped that Eris was just making a show of himself, rather than telling the truth.

“Oh but it is,” Eris smirked, “I knocked him down myself. See for yourself.” Azriel followed to where Eris’ line of sight went, the royal box. 

There he sat, next to his wife. Cassian was hanging his head in his hands, upset by the defeat and that he wouldn’t be able to help his brother any longer. Nesta rubbed comforting circles on his back and you moved to sit at his feet in hopes of cheering him. 

“I wish you luck, Sir Azriel,” Eris mockingly bowed his head before placing his helmet back on.

Azriel galloped back to his end of the arena. He took a few deep breaths, thinking everything through. He knew he could take down Eris, but it would’ve been helpful if he had the guaranteed win he had with Cassian. If he lost, he’d never be able to marry you. He had to clear all the negativity from his mind. He would win. He could do this. Azriel would do as you told him and win your heart. 

The signal went off for the grand finale to begin. Eris galloped down first, charging with might. Azriel followed almost instantly, securing his helmet. Focus. He needed to focus. Azriel, with direct precision, aimed for Eris’s shoulder. It would earn him a few points if the blow landed. 

It didn’t. The blow just missed Eris and instead one landed on Azrael's shoulder. One point for Eris.

Their squires handed each of them a new lance, set to begin round two. They began their gallops down again. Eris landed another blow on Az on his shoulder. Eris now had two points on Azriel.

The third round would be the last if Eris landed another blow. The first to three points wins so that meant Azriel had to get at least one point, in hopes of continuing longer with a chance of a comeback. He had another option as well. If he knocked Eris from his horse then he would automatically be declared as the winner. 

Az blew out a breath, “okay, I can do this. Just knock Eris on his ass,” Azriel rambled to himself. He never could break the habit. “Easy enough,” he confidently whispered.

Azriels squire handed him his final lance, desperate to get this over with and to make you his at last. The two nights began their descents towards each other, lances ready to deliver their final blows. 

This time Azriel aimed further in, closer to Eris’ chest. He galloped and galloped. He had something to fight for. Someone to fight for. You. All he could think of was just how lovely you are and how he so desperately wanted to you to be in his arms.

Azriel landed his blow. Eris missed. He missed and was immediately knocked off his horse. He had done it. Azriel won. He removed his helmet and let out a laugh. Not because it was funny, but because he gets his wish and Eris gets nothing.

Azriel trotted over towards the royal box, ready to face your father. He got off his horse smoothly and there you were, looking at him in a way he had always hoped you would.

“Sir Azriel,” the king started, rising from his seat, “it seems as though congratulations are in order.”

Azriel kneeled before his king, “thank you, your majesty. The honor was mine.”

“You do understand what you receive for your victory, yes?” the king asked. 

“Yes, one wish granted,” Azriel nodded breathlessly. He could hardly contain his nervous excitement. 

The king took a moment, “that is correct.” The king began walking towards Azriel until there wasn’t much space left between them. “Stand,” he ordered. Azriel did as he said, rising to meet his king's eyes. “What is it you would wish for?” he asked.

“I would like to ask for the hand of Princess Y/N,” he nervously asked. Azriel took a fleeting glance towards you, making eye contact. He wanted to spend forever looking into your eyes. Azriel lost his nerves completely, knowing you were looking at him with such admiration. 

“I wish to make her my bride. I wish to make her happy for the rest of her life. I wish to love her, and to hold her. I wish for Y/N, my king” Azriel requested in his most authoritative voice. 

The king's face was one of indifference, “are you not a bastard?”

Azriel won the tourney. His birth status should not matter anymore. He was tired of the obstacles in his way. He felt his temper bubble to the surface. That was when Az felt a gentle hand place itself on his forearm. He looked to his side, and there you were.

“Father, the rules stated the winner would have any wish granted to them,” you came to his defense. 

“Yes but, Y/N, he’s a bastard,” the king justified.

“I love him, as he loves me,” you proclaimed. Azriel had no idea that you truly returned his feelings. Of course he suspected, that was why he had done all of this after all. Hearing it from you made his chest thunder with excitement. You loved him. 

The king looked between the two of you, “you truly love him?” he asked his daughter.

“Yes father, I do. Please grant him this wish,” you began to plead. 

Your father looked towards Azriel now, “you truly love her?” he asked Azriel, repeating the same question he had for you.

“I do,” Azriel said without a second thought. “I love her and wish to make her my wife,” he continued, looking down towards you. 

You felt his gaze upon you and turned to make eye contact with him, giving him a smile he had never seen you wear before but he somehow loved this one the most. “Please, father” you begged once more.

The king examined Azriel once more, then brought his gaze to you. “Very well, the two of you shall be married,” he declared loud enough for most of the arena to hear. Soon enough applause and cheers filled the open space, the crowd rejoicing in the news. 

With that the tourney came to a close, the king and his royal guard taking their leave. Azriel spared a quick glance to his friends as they left with Feyre and Nesta, presumably to give him a moment alone with his fiancée. He loved that he could call you that now. And soon, you'd be his wife.

When everyone in the royal box left and the two of you were as close to being alone as possible, he went to gently take your face into his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you love me?” he asked you.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me you love me?” you retorted. 

Azriel let out a chuckle, “you have me there, princess.”

“I’m sorry I never told you. Truthfully,” you removed his hands from your face, pulling them close to your chest, “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

Azriels eyes bulged, “you- you have?” You just gave him a shy nod in response. “In the name of honesty,” he breathed out a laugh. He couldn’t believe you loved him just as long as he did you. “I’ve loved you since that very day as well,” he confessed.

You giggled, “we’ve both been rather foolish, haven’t we?”

“Yes, my love, I’m afraid we have,” he giggled with you. Azriel wasn’t planning on wasting one more second. He removed one hand from yours, taking it to place back on your cheek. His thumb softly stroked the skin there. He leaned down, hovering just above your lips. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed out.

“I love you, Az,” you whispered back just before he closed the distance. Finally, after years of waiting, he sealed your lips with a kiss. He had won your heart just as you had won his.

—

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a little while now so I'm very happy I finally got around to writing it! You are all so amazing, I really appreciate all of your support 🥰❤️

[niwaart]

See what I can do.

<Part1> <part2> <part3>

Spoiled idiot Bruce Wayne decided to adopt another child and Jason had only been dead for a few weeks... And what did Y/N do? She burned every Robin suit in the cave except Jason's old one, to remind spoiled idiot Bruce of his mistake.. The new kid only came out as Robin twice.

Y/N stands in the park throwing all of Robin's new outfits into the fire she started. Needless to say, Bruce comes running from work to stop her. Alfred has failed and is getting tired of trying to stop Y/N. No matter how hard they try to stop her from getting in, no matter how hard they try to protect the new suits by locking the doors, putting up new codes, and putting the suits in unbreakable glass, it doesn't stop Y/N.

“Stop!!” Bruce grabbed Y/N’s wrist “That’s enough you crazy girl! You’ve crossed the line!!” Y/N smiled at Bruce’s words, angering him was her goal, and she succeeded. Richard stood silently behind Bruce… Oh yeah, Richard came home after hearing the news of Jason’s death, and decided to train the new kid to be Robin, but first they had to stop Y/N.

"Oh please tell me what are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? Kick me out of the house? Punish me by not going out? Give me what you have, because I won't stop until you cry more pain and regret than you did over Jason, he died because of you so you have to take responsibility for your actions... so act like an adult and take what comes your way..." Y/N pushed Bruce's hand off her wrist then patted his shoulder and walked back inside the mansion, on her way back she saw the new kid hiding behind one of the walls looking at her angrily with tears of frustration filling his eyes. Y/N simply gave him a wicked smile and continued on her way without any regrets.

The next day, Bruce was standing in front of her room door telling her that he had booked her an appointment with a psychiatrist. Y/N pushed Bruce out of the way and ignored him and went to make breakfast. But Bruce stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. Y/N was about to turn around to break his arm if she hadn't felt a needle prick her neck and everything went blurry and she lost consciousness. This was Bruce's plan with everyone... Richard, Alfred, and the new kid, they all planned this...

As Y/N tried to move and wake up, her headache was severe and the room was spinning in circles. When she tried to move her hand, she found that she was tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound. She tried to speak, but her tongue was still heavy... "I see you're awake, very good. Do you need some time to get your bearings or should we start right away?" Y/N lifted her head up, the voice was familiar... Who else but that doctor who claims to know how to treat mental patients... Leslie the devil... digs lies into people's minds so that they believe her... Pretending to be a victim... But she is a devil in human form. Jason went to her several times, and every time he came back from the sessions, he came back a different person... Someone who wasn't Jason, a stranger, so she forbade Jason from going to her...

Y/N bit her tongue to speak. “I see that spoiled brat had no other solution than to send me to the devil… right?” Leslie’s eyes narrowed at Y/N’s words. “It’s not appropriate to talk about your father that way. Bruce brought you here for your own good, you have anger issues.” Leslie said as she scribbled notes in her notebook. Y/N was silent for a moment before she smiled and said, “Well… show me how you can change for the better… just to let you know before we start that me being here now is going to cause a lot of problems so I hope you enjoy it with me.” Y/N laughed as she relaxed into chair, she couldn’t wait to see Leslie Thompkins fail at her job.

And so three days passed while Leslie kept asking Y/N questions and Y/N answered them with complete honesty.  This surprised Leslie.  “You answer the questions with such confidence.  I thought you would be stubborn and not answer…Are you planning something?”  It was already the fourth day, and Y/N had been in a good mood since she arrived until now.  Y/N laughed at Leslie’s words and said, “I thought you would never ask, and since today is the fourth day I will answer you. Actually, Bruce’s plan to bring me here… I knew about it before he drugged me.”  Leslie was surprised by Y/N’s words but she did not believe her.  “No way-..” Y/N interrupted Leslie and said, “Everything that’s happening now is part of the plan I made. Of course that spoiled brat put up security cameras all over the house, so I took advantage of that to monitor them… I had all the security cameras at my disposal from the beginning, so I knew what you and Bruce planned to do to stop me… Aren’t I a good actress?  Maybe I should get an award… What do you think?”  Y/N smiled mischievously at Leslie who was terrified.  Leslie picked up her phone to call Bruce and confirm the matter, but Bruce wasn’t answering the calls or even the messages.  She tried calling Richard, Alfred and even the new guy, but no one was answering.  Leslie turned to Y/N in fear and found that Y/N had been freed from the handcuffs.  “Leslie Thompkins..It's your end now.”

@crazycaoticsimp @randomlyappearingartist @ninihrtss @lovebug-apple @artistwithcreativeburnout @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @hopingtoclearmedschool @eyeless-kun @s4raahi @roseytheteacup @jsprien213 @uu-uuu

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 11

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie barely had time to take in the Quadrant studio before a guy launched himself across the room like he was personally greeting a royal dignitary.

“Oh my god, you actually brought her,” he gushed, stopping just short of throwing himself at Mara’s paws. “Lando never lets us meet his friends—”

Lando sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes as he led Lizzie inside. "Because you're all lunatics."

The man grinned, unfazed by Lando's comment. "Yeah, but we're your lunatics.”

Max Fewtrell, already grinning, lifted his phone. “Right, formal introduction time. Lizzie, welcome to Quadrant chaos. You already know me—”

“Tragically,” Lando mumbled.

“—but this is Ethan, who thinks he runs things, Ria, who actually runs things, and Steve, the only adult in the room.”

Lizzie grinned. “Nice to finally meet you all.”

“Oh, we’re making this official,” Ria said, practically vibrating as she rummaged through a box on the table.

Lando groaned. “I already hate this.”

Ethan smirked. “Oh, you will.”

With a dramatic flourish, Ria pulled out a small fabric bundle and unfolded it.

Lizzie blinked.

It was a Quadrant dog bandana. Black with neon streaks, the brand’s logo stitched neatly in the corner.

“You made her merch?” Lizzie asked, trying to hold back a laugh.

Lando let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, listen. I can’t be seen walking a dog wearing Ferrari merch—”

"You could just walk her," Max chimed in.

"Shut up. Anyway.” Lando picked up the bandana. “And I highly doubt Lizzie would let me put McLaren papaya on her—”

“Not happening,” Lizzie confirmed.

“So this is a compromise.” Lando gestured at the bandana like it was the only logical solution. "I thought she’d want a little Quadrant flair too.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone seemed to process his logic.

Then, everyone started laughing. Loudly.

"Oh my god." Ethan shook his head, grinning. "Lando Norris, dog-walking fashion expert. Who would have thought?”

Max snorted. “Honestly, I get it. The internet would never let you live it down.”

Lando shot him a look. "Exactly. Have you checked Twitter lately? They already think I'm the biggest Ferrari fan in the history of ever. I don't need to give them any more ammunition."

Everyone else laughed harder. Ria was trying to catch her breath. "Oh my god, Lando, you're such a drama queen."

Steve, the supposed only adult in the room, was the only one who didn’t laugh. Instead, he studied the bandana with a considering expression. “Honestly, it is a good look. The orange would have clashed with her coat anyway.”

That set off another round of laughter, but Lando looked oddly appeased by Steve’s assessment.

Max clapped his hands together, grinning. “Right, Mara needs to try it on. Lando. Do your thing.”

Lando rolled his eyes, yet he knelt next to Mara. The Labrador seemed to realize this was important, because she sat perfectly still, her eyes trained on the bandana.

Lando wrapped the bandana around her neck, adjusting it until it fit snugly.

“There we go. She’s a Quadrant girl now,” he said, ruffling Mara’s ears.

 Lizzie crouched beside her.

“What do you think, girl?” she asked. “You like it?”

Mara gave a single wag of her tail.

“Oh, that’s a yes,” Ria confirmed, nodding sagely.

“100%,” Max agreed.

Lando stood, hands on his hips. "Of course she likes it. I have good taste."

Lizzie suppressed a smirk, trying (and failing) to hide her amusement at the ridiculous scene unfolding before her.

"And he's modest too," she joked.

Lando shot her a look, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Hey, I'm just stating facts."

Max snickered. "Lando Norris, humble as always."

"You all just wish you were as humble as I am," Lando shot back, rolling his eyes.

Ethan gave an exaggerated sigh. "I know. It's tragic really. If only we could be as modest as the great Lando 'I'm a better driver than everyone in this room' Norris."

Lando flicked him off in response.

"So, this is where the magic is gonna happen?" Lizzie asked curiously, staring around the warehouse. "It looks..."

"Like an abandoned warehouse?" Max suggested drily. "It's for the aesthetic of the photoshoot."

"And what is that aesthetic?" Lizzie asked. "Where to dump a body?"

Lando shot her an amused glance. "Dark, edgy, abandoned industrial-chic, I think."

"Yeah, it's our 'we're really cool and don't care' vibe," Ethan chimed in.

Ria nodded. "And it's cheaper than renting out an actual studio."

"Not to mention we have the freedom to set everything up exactly the way we want," Steve added.

"You know...for the vibe," Max said, wiggling his fingers in the air.

"I think the aesthetic choice is very 'Lando','" Lizzie mused, eyeing Lando, who looked offended.

"What does that mean?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm..." Lizzie tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. "Rich, edgy, slightly obnoxious..."

"I am none of those things," Lando protested.

Lizzie stared at him. "Lando, you literally bought a Range Rover on a whim. Now you are sitting here,  in front of the dog, whose bandana you had custom designed as we debate the 'aesthetic' of your photoshoot in a warehouse."

Max snickered, while Ria and Ethan tried to hide their smiles. 

Lando huffed. "Fine, I see your point. But it's still a cool aesthetic."

"It's definitely unique," Lizzie conceded.

Max's grin widened as he turned to Mara, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange. "And what do you think, Mara? Do you think Lando has a cool aesthetic?"

The Labrador simply sat there, with her tongue lolling out, blissfully unaware of the debate about Lando's cool factor.

Lizzie smiled. "I think that's a solid 'yes' in dog language."

"Alright, alright. Enough making fun of me," Lando complained, though he didn't look particularly bothered. 

Steve, who'd been watching the whole exchange, finally spoke up.

"You know, I have to say, this is already more fun than most photoshoots."

Granted, Lizzie had managed to get through her life with literally only three photoshoots unless one counted random selfies with fans, so she tended to agree.

It was quite fun that she got to watch the whole thing go down though, shooting Lando's newest merch collection, while Mara happily took a nap on her feet. It was...interesting to see this side of him. 

Lando, as it turned out, had a knack for modeling. He effortlessly fell into different poses, morphing from nonchalant cool to charming casual without breaking a sweat. Lizzie couldn't help but admire him.

Ethan, as the photographer, seemed to be having the time of his life. He directed the shoot with enthusiasm, barking instructions like the self-proclaimed art director. "Okay, Lando, give me intense stare. Yeah, that's it. Now, throw in some smolder."

Max, playing the role of the hype man, didn't hesitate to boost up Lando's ego.  "Damn, mate. You were made for this. When are you gonna ditch racing and become a professional model?"

"Never," Lando shot back, without even pausing in his poses. "I have too much dignity for that."

"Dignity? You?" Max laughed. "That ship sailed years ago."

"Oh, shut up," Lando retorted, but he couldn't quite hide his smile.

Lizzie watched all of this with amusement, her eyes fixated on Lando as he moved in front of the camera.

He was a different person in front of the lens.

Confident, charismatic, almost...intoxicating.

It was easy to lose herself in the view, especially as his gaze frequently met hers, his smug smirk sending tingles down her spine.

God, he was handsome.

After what felt like hours, the shoot was over.

The lights were shut off, the equipment packed away, and the warehouse slowly returned from a makeshift photoshoot studio back to an abandoned warehouse.

Lando, as if waking from a trance, wandered over to Lizzie, his gaze roaming over her in a way that she could only describe as hungry.

"You’re staring," Lizzie pointed out, fighting down a shiver as his gaze continued to linger on her.

Lando gave her a lazy smile, not bothering to look away. "Can you blame me?"

Lizzie’s heart did a little flip, her cheeks warming under his gaze. She was still getting used to this — the casual intimacy between them, the easy banter, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

She could hear the others packing up and chattering in the background, their voices a soft, background hum. But right now, her attention was laser-focused on Lando, his eyes still holding hers captive.

"We need to get going," she said, kinda hating herself fo having to say that. "Tasha will kill me if I am late to my own reading."

Lando nodded, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from her.

“Right, right. Can’t have Tasha coming after you with a pitchfork,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intense look.

She gave him a smile, but she promised herself that tonight…tonight she was going to take advantage of that massive bed in their hotel room. 

***

"We banned all flash photography and we'll had somebody tell them to just ignore Mara multiple times," Tasha said seriously.

Lando hadn't known that Lizzies best friend slash pseudo-sister also had the role as personal assistant slash point of contact for everybody that was involved in Lizzie's actual job...but he had learned that over the last few weeks.

Lando leaned back in his seat, watching Tasha as she talked. She was a force to be reckoned with, that much was obvious. He couldn't help but respect her dedication to making sure everything ran smoothly.

And he was also very glad that Lizzie had somebody with her at all times that knew the ins and outs of her epilepsy better than anybody else.

Tasha was a godsend, both a best friend and a safety net for Lizzie.

As Tasha continued briefing them on the night's schedule, Lando let his gaze drift to Lizzie, who was listening intently to her friend.

She was an absolute star to look at as always, but there was something different about tonight. There was a spark in her eyes, a hint of excitement, and a faint smile on her lips he really liked.

Lando was not the type to sit and listen to people gushing over books for hours, but given the way Lizzie looked, he was sure he could put up with it...

He had been to his fair share of movie premieres and gallery openings, but those were easy. He took a few pictures, flashed a charming smile...he was the center of attention. 

But tonight…Lando Norris was completely ignored. Because he was uninteresting. 

Elizabeth Treshton was the star. 

Lando Norris got to sit backstage and follow along from the shadows. 

And quite frankly, he found the whole experience fascinating, just because he got to see Lizzie's world.

The world of books, of words and imagination. It was utterly foreign to him, and yet he couldn't help but find it fascinating...especially with Lizzie in the middle of it.

She was the star here. She was the one people wanted to see. The world she had created, the characters that had been born out of her words on a page...millions of people had read these words.

And they loved them.

Lando found, to his surprise, that he couldn't take his eyes off her as she walked on stage, as she read a few pages, as the hall clapped, and as she answered the first few questions. It wasn't even about the words anymore, it was about the way she talked, about the way her eyes shined. About the way she was fully in her element.

He wasn't looking at a different woman...but he was looking at a facet of hers...that he hadn't yet gotten to completely see.

And he found himself wondering how many there were. How many layers he still had to uncover, how many things he still needed to discover.

He was a race car driver, speed and competition were his domain. He was living the life he'd always wanted.

But sitting here in this venue, watching Lizzie take the stage and make an audience of strangers hang onto her every word like the last light in a dark cave...he knew he was only scratching the surface here.

The rest of the reading, the Q&A and the signing went by in a bit of a blur. He was too busy watching Lizzie and the way her face lit up when fans came up to her and told her how her writing had moved or inspired them. And when she was finally finished, making her way towards him with a tired smile on her face, he couldn't help but reach out and grab her by the hand to pull her closer.

Her steps faltered for a second as he pulled her closer, but when she looked at him, her expression melted into a soft, tired smile. "You held out pretty well," she teased lightly.

Lando shrugged nonchalantly, his grip on her hand tightening. "I had a pretty good view to keep me entertained," he replied, his gaze drifting over her face with an intensity that belied his casual tone.

"Oh? And what exactly was so entertaining about the view?" Lizzie asked, amusement sparkling in her eyes despite her obvious tiredness.

Lando's smile widened into a lazy smirk. "Just taking in the show, Miss Treshton," he said, his thumb tracing circles against her wrist. "You were quite the spectacle up there."

Lizzie arched an eyebrow. "Spectacle, huh? Are you just trying to butter me up, Mr. Norris?"

"You are incredible, you know that?" he told her seriously.

She stared at him wide-eyed.

"And not just tonight," he continued, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. "You've built a whole world with your words, Lizzie. And you've got millions of people wrapped around your little finger, myself included.”

[stove-top96]

what if you did a valentine’s day one shot where the reader gets asked on a date and yandere batfam are not happy about it?

I LOVE your works so far!! I hope that you’re sleeping well and eating!! have a great day/night!!!💜💜💜

-🐈‍⬛

Please, Please, Please

Oneshot

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.5K Words

Masterlist

You glance at the clock—15 minutes tell school is over. To pass the time you doodle on the corner of your notebook. Mr Miller's chemistry class was the worst. His monotone voice could lull anyone to sleep.

Your eyes drift to your desk mate, Parker. They seem just as bored as you, staring blankly out the window. Chemistry was the only class you had without Tim, which left you alone without anyone to talk to. Parker is nice, they’re the only friend you have that’s not already a part of Tim’s circle— If you could call them a friend.

They seemed to catch you staring because they started to scribble something in they’re notebook. A moment later they slid it over to you.

‘You understand any of this’ you smile and glance up at them. They had a cheeky grin. It was cute.

You shake your head and scribble something down. ‘Not a bit’.

They take the notebook back, Parker chuckles as they read your message, rolling their eyes.

“Guess we’re screwed than” they whisper.

You let out a small giggle “guess so”.

The bell rings before you and Parker can chat more. You’re quick to pack up your things, you wanna get home as soon as possible.

You sling your backpack over your shoulder but before you can head out the door Parker speaks up.

”Hey Y/n I got a question for you”

you pause before turning all your attention to them “yeah what’s up?”

”I was wondering…” their voice wavers and their cheeks go pink “well you know how Valentine’s Day is in a few days” Parker stumbles out, fingers tapping on the notebook. you nod.

”I was hoping… you and me could go out together, like on a date” their voice seemed to gain some confidence, and a boyish smile tugs on their lips.

You paused. You haven't really thought about going on a date with anyone, but the more you think about it why would you say no. Parker’s nice, funny, and they’re pretty cute.

You smile “Sure sounds like fun”.

Parker stares at you, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You take that as your cue to start heading out.

“Uhh. Yeah we’ll talk more tomorrow yeah?” They stammer.

“Yeah lets talk tomorrow” you call out from the other end of the classroom, before heading out the door.

Walking through the halls you check your phone. It’d been buzzing all class, it had to have been Dick.

<Dick>

Hey baby bird, how were your classes?

I’m in town today and we need to go out.

I Just asked Alfred I’m picking you up today!!

I’ll be waiting outside

Tim’s got a ride so don't worry about him

just you and me today!!

You scoff rolling your eyes. He easily could have sent these as one message, he just liked being annoying.

After putting your books away in your locker, you made your way to the parking lot. It’s packed with people and cars, but before you could spot him.

“Babybird I missed you so much!”

He yelled from across the parking lot, as he leaned against his car. You cringed as students stared at you and him. Could he get anymore embarrassing?

He ruffled your hair as you got into the passenger seat.

“C’mon let's go” he ushered you inside before, racing out of the parking lot.

“So I’m thinking we head to that new cafe you were talking about, and maybe stop by that old bookstore you like so much before we head home.” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Yeah sounds like a plan” you smile.

He starts talking again, you tune him out. Your mind wanders back to when Parker asked you out. A giddy smile tugged at your lips. It made you feel all warm inside, this will be your first valentine’s on an actual date.

“You spacing out baby bird?” Dick raises a brow.

”sorry, sorry long day” you stammer. Dick makes a face, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“sure.” His voice is a little irritated. Great, he's already starting to get pissy.

Your family’s always been weird about you. It's probably because you're not a vigilante but you can still take care of yourself.

It’s been getting worse as you get older, they just keep adding rules on top of rules. No going out past 7. No leaving anyone’s side at a gala. Always eat lunch with Tim’. Damian has way less rules than you do, and he doesn’t even follow them. It’s like they're scared to let you grow up.

Lately it’s been worse. Conversations stop once you enter a room. Touches lingering a little longer than normal. Eyes lingering for too long.

Whatever you’re used to their overprotectiveness.

It’s why you plan to keep your Valentine’s Day plans to yourself. You can just imagine everyone’s reactions. Dick will probably get super clingy. Tim will pull up their search history. Damian will go on a rant about how Parker doesn’t deserve you. Jason might corner them in some alley. and Cass will have that disappointed look on her face, the kind that makes you feel horrible.

Bruce might even ground you.

“Yeah” Dick’s grip tightened on the steering wheel tightens “no way” he mutters to himself.

Dicks muttering snaps you back to reality “what did you say?” You ask.

He forces a smile “Oh nothing baby bird, just excited”

You and Dick make it back after a few hours, and you’re exhausted. He took all across Gotham, trying to any and everything with you. It’s pretty obvious that he was trying to make up for lost time. He’s been in Blüdhaven more often.

by the time you step through the front door you want nothing more than to calloused into bed.

Instead you’re greeted by Damian. Judging from the scowl on his face he’s more pissed off than usual

Damian crossed his arms. ”You said you’d only take them out to eat.” He scoffed.

Dick slid off his shoes lazily , not even bothering to look up.”We were having too much fun and lost track of time.” Dick forced laughed.

Damian doesn’t move. ”You were gone for nearly 3 hours.” His voice is flat, clearly not buying the excuse.

“It’s my fault” you chime in, trying to diffuse the tension. Damian’s head turns toward you, his expression softens. “I asked Dick to drive me all over town” you smile, Dick ruffles your hair before heading down the hall. Damian doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes locked in on you.

You start to make your way to your room, Damian follows— of course.

”you promised to be my model for my newest painting. When do you expect to make it up?” He asks. You hum “After dinner? You’ll still have a few hours until patrol”.

He pauses for a moment “I suppose that will work.” He says, the faintest smile forming on his lips.

You grip the handle of your bedroom door, praying you’ll get some alone time for once.

You don’t.

As you step inside Damian follows, his sharp gaze assessing the space. You sigh but don’t say anything.

Dinner should be ready in an hour, Damian’s not gonna leave anytime soon. might as well scroll through your phone in the meantime.

You and Damian head downstairs and as you make your way to your seat the conversation at the table does. everyone's eyes flicker towards you. You raise a brow but before you can say anything Alfred pipes up.

”I cooked your favourite tonight master y/n” he says, as if nothing is off.

You smile, shaking off the tension. “thank you Alfred”

As you go to take a bite you notice Jason’s gaze. it’s not his usual lazy smile. It’s sharper, more intense, watching. Did something happen? His anger is almost never directed towards you. Did Bruce say something?

Before your mind starts to wander your eyes glance towards Cass, she’s frowning like she’s almost disappointed in you but not quite.

“How was school today y/n?” Bruce’s voice cuts through the silence.

Everyone’s head turns to look at you. Waiting, as if they’re expecting something.

It’s fine you’re used to your family being weird like this.

You take a sip of your water ”it was fine” you force a casual tone. There is no way you can let them know about Parker.

Jason tilts his head “Nothing exciting happened?” He asked, studying your face.

You swallow “No not really.” You take another bite of your food, praying they don’t press the issue any further.

The family shares a look, silent but you noticed.

you pretend you didn’t.

Dick tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. But everyone seemed to be too lost in their thoughts to put in much effort.

The air remains heavy, the tension is palpable, and you feel everyone’s eyes on you.

It was the longest family dinner ever.

As the week drags on your family grows more intense.

It’s different this time.

They watch you closer, you never get any alone time. Even after spending more time with them than usual, they still expect something from you.

But what?

You don’t have time to think about that, todays the 14th, your first real valentine’s date. And you have everything planned.

At lunch you subtly drop a hint to Tim that you have this big chemistry project due tomorrow. Then after Lunch you’ll text Bruce and Alfred that you'll be home late, ‘working on it’. Bruce might check in with Tim, but Tim will confirm your story.

It’s practically fool proof.

Excitment courses through you all day. You have chemistry next, so you’ll be able to see Parker. You were just so excited— you deserved this.

At lunch Tim did not seem amused, in fact he looked quite pissed.

When you told him about your ‘Chemistry project’ he just forced a simile and nodded, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the period.

You didn’t pay him much mind though, you were to focused on your date.

As you walked through the halls to your chem class you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for Bruce’s response.

<y/n>

I have this super big chemistry project due tomorrow. My partner and I are gonna work on it together after school.

They’ll give me a ride back, don't worry.

<Bruce>

Ok, Tim will wait for you.

Shit.

what were you gonna do now? Tim was already onto you, there’s no way you’ll be able to go out now.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice Parker sitting down.

“Hey y/n you okay?”

You frown ”I don't think we’ll be able to go out today, my family is on my ass right now”

Why can’t you just have one nice thing, for once?

”oh” Parker pauses, they fiddle with their bag. Parker’s clearly upset about the situation as well. Then suddenly their face lights up.

Parker grins ”What if we go right now?” they exclaim. Quickly packing up their things.

You blink “What do you mean?”

“There’s only 10 minutes until class starts. We can leave right now and the teacher will never know” Excitement exudes from their voice.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

you’ve never even thought of skipping class before. You family would kill you.

But then again they’re the ones that never let you do anything. They control everything

So who cares what they do, you want to have fun.

A grin tugs on your lips. You scramble to pack up your stuff “sure lets do you”.

Parker gives that same childish smile from when they asked you out.

Despite the small voice telling you this is a bad idea, you felt excited, giddy.

you felt free.

You race to Parker’s car. A mix of adrenaline and excitement made you run faster than you ever have before.

Behind you, Parker struggled to up ”Jesus, Y/n— I’ve never seen you run so fast before” they gasped, hands on their knees trying to catch their breath.

You chuckle “sorry I got excited”

Parker shakes his head, same childish smile on their face as they unlock the car, before sitting on the driver’s side.

Before you get in you look back at the school. A shiver runs down your spine and a little voice whispers at you to turn back.

For a moment you pause. If you turn back now you wont be in any trouble.

You shake it off and hop into the seat.

+++

A cozy cafe would be the best choice. It’s close to the school you’ve been there a couple of times, and the food is really good.

As they pull into the parking lot you’re nervous. This is your first date, what is supposed to happen? What’s even the proper etiquette?

You shake your head and brush those thoughts away.

As you and Parker walk inside, you relax. The cafe is warm, with subtle pinks and blues on the wall. It smells like coffee and pastries. Parker picks a table near the back, and you settle down across from them.

Conversation between you two just seems to flow. You never realized how funny they are until today.

Any doubt you had washes away.

Once you’re finished giving the waitress your order, you take a sip of water enjoying Parker’s company. Then the bell to the door jingles.

You briefly glance up— just to see who’s there.

Bruce. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Damian.

They stand in the doorway, eyes locked in on you. Their faces are unreadable.

your stomach drops.

You’re stuck. frozen like a deer in headlights, under the weight of their stare.

How did they know?

They make their way over to your table.

Bruce stops in front of you, towering over the table. “I’m disappointed y/n” his voice is monotone, but you can see the crinkle in his brows.

you just stare back at him. Too stunned to speak.

you try say something, anything. But the words die in your throat.

Dick grabs your arm, his grip is soft but firm. ushering you out of your seat.

Dick and Damian walk you out. You don’t resist, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Before you walk out the door you glance back.

Parker is surrounded.

Bruce says something too low for you to hear. Your chest sinks. You can only guess what they’re saying to them.

They look petrified.

It feels like an eternity before everyone else gets into the car.

“You’re grounded” Bruce states. A faint smile, barely there tugs at his lips.

You want to disappear forever.

Being grounded meant one thing.

You’ll never be alone again.

Tears start to slide down your checks, your voice wobbles ”I’m sorry— please don't ground me”

No one speaks.

No one listens.

You glance out the window, watching your freedom slip away.

I got my first request done!!!!!! As you can tell I need a lot of practice with writing short stories/oneshots. I suck at making things fast paced but I did my best. I hope you like it 🐈‍⬛ anon, tysm I had a lot of fun writing it. I also kept Parker GN so that way the reader can truly be any self insert. I’m working on CH. 03 of wicked Game rn so that’ll be what I post next. But if you have any ideas send a request I need more practice.

Also 215 followers! Thank you!!!

[sevsgiirl]

— piss her off ‘til she hates me, pt. 3 (final)

pt. 1, pt. 2

mechanic!sevika x reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: when the vacant house next to sevika’s finally got new tenants she didn’t think much of it. as long as her new neighbors didn’t cause any trouble, all was well. that is until she found out the neighbor had a young daughter.

word count: 9k words.

tags: age difference, alternate universe, mechanic!sevika, brat!reader, enemies to lovers, oral sex, dom!sevika, sub!reader, pet names, scissoring, fingering, hate sex, vaginal fingering.

note: anddd we’re on the final! I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic I wrote. it’s my first ever fic writing for sevika and I originally posted this on ao3 but thought I’d bring it here to tumblr as well <3

you can check out the fic playlist here.

you need to get the hell out of here.

you were becoming a problem and sevika doesn’t know how much more she can take until she starts losing her mind. you were loud, reckless, inconsiderate, had a questionable way of dressing yourself (who the fuck wears fishnet stockings and skirts in this weather?) and most importantly-

you were way too fucking young for her to be thinking about you like this.

lewd, pervasive thoughts crept into the back of sevika’s mind shortly after you caught her gawking at you. she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, not only because she has to explain to you why you caught her eyeing you like a raw piece of meat, but also because she had to sit down and reflect why seeing you in that state - naked, alone and oh so, vulnerable - caused her heartbeat to quicken.

she tossed and turned on her bed unable to sleep, visions of your skin and how soft it looked plagued her thoughts. the small curve of your spine while you stared at yourself in the mirror, acting all timid which was a juxtaposition to your usual bold behavior.

sevika bit her lip at the thought. maybe there were layers to you she didn’t know about yet - layers she’d have to admit she wanted to unravel piece by piece.

perhaps underneath the confident persona you put up, hid a needy and bratty girl who just compensated for the lack of attention she got by being loud and intolerable. that should explain it.

why every time sevika didn’t pay you any mind you insisted on pushing her buttons just to get a reaction. how you clearly reveled in being told no and disobeying.

it annoyed the shit out of her and she’s imagined many times putting you in your place, and how the only thing up for debate was her method of doing so.

when she let her mind linger on the idea, all she could think about was how she could bring out that same shyness she saw in you earlier. maybe if she pushed you hard enough she could do it.

push you down onto your knees rather while gripping your hair. tight enough that it’ll cause your eyes to water, pleading with her that you won’t disobey her again after being such a goddamn headache.

she can picture it now. slipping a thumb into that annoying mouth of yours so she can shut you up while you suck on it, feeling you drool by the corners as you let your tongue swirl languidly around the thick digit, imagining just how better it’d feel if it was her strap buried deep into your throat while she pushed it in and out of your warm mouth until you found it difficult to breathe. maybe then you’d learn to behave.

sevika’s throat bobbed as she envisioned throwing you harshly onto her bed, legs spread while you looked up at her with glossy eyes. she found herself unbuckling the belt around her hips, thoughts of you swimming in the darkest corners of her mind while she pulled her pants down until it bunched up around her feet and she snaked a hand down into her boxers.

feeling just how wet she’d gotten imagining you writhing on her sheets, soft sighs and pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth while she’d plunge two to three fingers in and out of your tight hole.

then she’ll push you by the arch of your back and your thighs will grow moist by the abundance of slick she’ll coax out of you. sevika lets out a groan as she rubbed circles onto her clit, visions of your naked form taped onto the back of her eyelids while she slipped a finger in and gave her poor pussy its needed stimulation.

the rhythm of her touch started slow and her eyes fluttered shut - thinking about getting on all fours and gripping the meat of your thighs while she ate you out. doing it at her own pace and teasing you until you start whining, demanding she go faster but it’s not like you deserve it, do you? after how you’ve been acting.

how she’ll lap you up with her tongue and take her time with you like you’re a meal needing to be savored. god, just imagining how you would taste drove her insane.

her chest began to rise and fall as images of your fucked out face came to mind - with tears streaming down your cheeks while you babble out incoherent nonsense. telling her to go harder, faster, to handle you in whichever way she likes.

the pace of her fingers quickened, and the slow build-up of a climax started to unfurl deep in her abdomen, feeling the throes of her pleasure soar as she became just as desperate as you were in the sick little fantasy she conjured up in her head.

how after she’s finished eating you out she’ll pull out her strap and slide it into your needy cunt, watching you beg for it while little cries of pleasure slip past your lips.

a litany of promises of how you’ll be good. that you won’t disobey her again and that you’ll do better than to talk back and test her patience, and how she’ll reward you with every harsh snap of her hips until the tip of her strap reaches so far into your insides that all you see is white.

how your nails will claw down her back and leave a trail of scratches that’ll sting so good. with that, she felt something in her snap as her orgasm consumed her.

moaning loudly, sevika felt herself leak down onto her sheets. surprising even herself at just how much came out of her, at how much the thought of you alone immobilized her, she could barely feel her limbs as exhaustion slowly overtook her. she couldn’t even find it in herself to feel ashamed about what she’s done before she fell asleep.

but little did she know, that right across her window and into your bedroom, was you writhing just as pathetically on your bed while you drew orgasm after orgasm out of your pussy. trying to repress the noises you so desperately wanted to let out in case your father would hear. you pushed in and out the lengthy dildo in your sopping cunt, your cum coating it to the hilt as your body shook.

meanwhile, sevika’s name tingled just at the tip of your tongue.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

she couldn’t bear to look at your father in the eyes after that.

she felt guilty, so fucking guilty because here your old man was being nice to her and what does she do? act like a creep around his daughter and fantasize about fucking you into her mattress?

it was shameful but it’s not like she could push it down and ignore it. until now she still hasn’t been able to. too caught up in how she’s been obsessing over you since. she knew her agitation towards you stemmed from genuine annoyance, but she’s speculated there was more it than that.

how you’ve vexed her without even knowing it. sevika may be in denial but she wasn’t a liar. she’s caught herself many times in the past eyeing you way too long. how some of your clothes were way too short and revealed slithers of skin so intimate it made the insides of her mouth dry up.

how she’d watch you from her porch while you sun bathed on your front lawn. nothing but a thin bikini on as on-lookers, mainly boys around your age, stopped to stare as she glowered at them until they ran off. she wanted to justify it thinking she just wanted to do good by your father, but by the way she’d continue to let her gaze linger on the deep plunges of your cleavage she realized she was full of shit and wasn’t any better.

still, it was wrong and so she avoided you. even when you continued to litter on her yard and blast your annoying music, she ignored it and didn’t waste any time confronting you or telling you to keep it down.

you knew the reason for it too. you weren’t stupid. it irked you beyond belief because it’s not like it was a big fucking deal? she caught you half naked, so what? now here she was acting like you’re a deadly virus she needed to avoid. truth be told, as much as the two of you got under each other’s skin, seeing that exasperated look on her face as she took the trash out and heard your alternative pop rock music blasting loudly from your room made your day.

plus you’d never admit it, but you’ve noticed the way she’s stared at you. even though her actions spoke otherwise you couldn’t ignore the tension between you and how that only got amplified by how she’d get up in your face and tell you to fuck off.

you found enjoyment in it, and now she’s not doing it anymore. you hated to feel this way but it almost made you feel unwanted.

so much so that you didn’t even bother blasting your speakers anymore, which made sevika curious but decided to brush it off while she continued fixing her car engine outside her house, oil and grease lathered onto her forearms as she positioned herself beneath the vehicle, giving you a good view of her muscles and the way her abs rippled underneath her shirt.

she was annoying but dear god, was she hot.

you couldn’t stand it.

you walked closer to where she laid on the ground, covering the streaks of sun that bounced off her glistening brown skin and she wondered about the silhouette that suddenly casted itself over her. she then pushed herself from beneath the car only to be met with the sight of you, ever so curious.

“I need to borrow a screwdriver,” you said with your arms clasped behind your back, staring down at her expectantly.

sevika took a moment to process your request before she let out a scoff, resuming her task and you frowned at her ambivalence “fuck off, princess.”

“I mean it,”

“yeah sure, and let’s all just act like the tools mounted on your dad’s garage isn’t there but somehow my tiny tool box is more of use to you.” she quipped back. she’s been invited there before when your father asked her for help to fix his generator.

you huffed “his screwdriver is uh… dull now.”

“and you’ve become less insufferable. see? we can all lie. now scram.”

you wanted to throw that tool box on her head. why was she being so stubborn and ignoring you? you hated it but you refused to back down, even when she continued fixing her car and not paying you any mind.

“I told you, I’m not-“

“why haven’t you been paying me any attention lately?”

sevika blinked slowly at your question. it was so meek too, the way you asked it, so out of character from the way you normally presented yourself. she pulled herself from underneath the vehicle again just to see you watching her with an almost puppy eyed look on your face.

she sighed. god, what are you doing now?

“I never pay attention to you.”

“we both know that’s not true.”

“I only pay attention to you just to tell you to quit being annoying. I promise you that’s not the kind of attention you should be worried that I’m no longer giving to you.”

‘we’ll, it’s better than nothing’ you thought but kept it to yourself, intending to be more straightforward instead.

“is this because of what happened a few days ago? when I caught you staring at me from my window?”

sevika didn’t expect you to bring it up, so to say she was caught off guard would be an understatement “that’s not-“

“it is, isn’t it?” you chuckled “grow up. it’s not like it was a big deal. plus I could tell you liked it.”

a deep blush painted over sevika’s face and you liked that your words got to her. she began to stand up from where she laid on the ground and hovered over you, her jaw clenched and visibly irked.

“I’m telling you this now. quit it or else.” she warned and your eyes darted to her lips.

you took that as a challenge “or what?” you stepped closer, tip toeing ever so slightly that your nose almost brushed against hers.

sevika couldn’t believe this. what’s gotten into you? but she should’ve seen this coming. she knew you did everything that you did because you wanted attention, craved it. and based on how desperate you looked right now, she was tempted to set you straight and give you what you wanted.

to grab you by the waist and bend you over the hood of her car and take you right ther-

she shook her head, stepping away as you looked at her like a wounded animal at the loss of proximity.

fuck. this girl is gonna be the death of me.

“go home. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” sevika snapped, picking up her tool box and walking back inside her garage. she then watched as you stood there, a pout on your face and your eyebrows furrowed before you glared at her, stomping back to your house and she slammed the garage door shut.

this is bad. so fucking bad.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

two weeks.

two more weeks before you head back to college and sevika couldn’t be any more grateful.

because thank fucking god she didn’t have to deal with you anymore. not that she had to ever since your little moment with her while she was fixing her car. everything seemed to stop after that. the music, the pestering, all of it.

while she was relieved you were out of her hair, she couldn’t deny that a part of her felt almost restless since you stopped bothering her. coupled with the news that she no longer had to see you for god knows how long. it was overwhelming, but still. it was for the best.

she still talked to your father now and then and was recently asked if she could watch over you while he goes out of town to tend to your grandmother who had recently fallen ill. nothing too serious. but because she only lived alone of course your father was quick to pack his bags for the next three days to go check up on her. so she agreed.

not that she was going to come over, babysit you or anything. she just had to watch over the house and see if you’d go out late and to inform him of any suspicious happenings while he’s gone.

on the day that he left, sevika watched from her front door when you bid him farewell. giving him a long hug before he got into his car and drove off.

leaving you two to meet each other’s eye again and you simply brushed her off, slamming your door shut once you were inside. no commotion from you after that, nothing.

one could say she liked the silence, but it unsettled her. maybe you just got her so used to your chaotic nature these past couple of weeks the absence of it felt disorienting. yeah, that’s the only explanation for it.

she wanted to chalk it up and think that in a matter of days everything will blow over. plus her boss had informed her the renovation will be done soon so she needed the peace and quiet now more than ever, and for a moment she really thought she had it.

until she heard it again.

but this time much louder.

she had just fallen asleep on her couch and it was nearing 8pm when the sounds of a crowd outside jolted her out of her slumber. she rubbed her eyes and looked around to see where all the noise was coming from, and when she peeked through her blinds she couldn’t believe it.

your house open to a line of people, some she recognized to be the firelights and others she couldn’t even identify, coming in and out of your house as the same overpowering music blared from your living room - so loud she could feel the shockwaves bounce through her walls.

you were ridiculous. so fucking ridiculous and she should’ve known better than to think you learned your lesson.

without a moment of hesitation she got up from her couch and marched her way to your house, pushing past the bodies of intoxicated twenty something year olds grinding against one another. neon green lights illuminated through the windows of your home and red solo caps were scattered across the grass your father worked so hard to trim.

she was angry because while you were here throwing a fucking party, he was out of town looking after your sick grandmother.

you’re unbelievable. so fucking unbelievable.

she noticed many familiar faces when she pushed through the sea of people dancing in your living room, but one she was quick to pluck out from the crowd was a girl whose bright blue hair couldn’t be missed even from a mile ahead.

she made her way towards her, forced her to turn around by her shoulder and powder looked up, confused before she registered sevika’s face.

“sevika?” she yelled through the bustling sound of techno music “what are you doing here?”

“where is she?” she didn’t have to clarify who because powder immediately knew who sevika was referring to.

“she’s throwing a party before she goes back to college. can you please just lay off her and-“

“I don’t fucking care. she’s caused enough trouble as it is.” she snapped, making powder take a step back and before she could even reason with the distressed older woman, was when you finally appeared.

scurrying through the crowd in a tight, strapless mini dress that reached below your thighs, the material hugging your body in all the right places and while sevika would’ve loved to take her time to look at you, she wasn’t in the mood.

your eyes widened when you saw each other, but then your expression quickly turned sour and you crossed your arms over your chest “what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice clipped.

her nostrils flared as she straightened her posture and towered over you, her height overwhelming in the already cramped space.

“I already told you to quit this bullshit. but of course you never listen. your father is out of town and you pull this nonsense?” she barked and you can only laugh in response.

“what? you think just because my dad is not here you have full authority over me? fuck off, sevika.” you spat, a stubbornness in your tone that didn’t allow any room for arguments.

but sevika fought harder.

she balled her fists, looked around and saw the empty bottle of hennessy on the table near her. your eyebrows knitted together when you watched her take it, raise it in the air and slam it onto the edge of the table, causing everyone around you to stop and stare as the music paused.

you couldn’t believe what she had just done as she glowered at the many faces in the room, a mixture of both scared and perplexed at the sight of her.

“everyone. out!” she yelled, her voice echoing like a clap of thunder bolt.

everyone got up and fled as fast as they could. meanwhile, you stood there frozen, shocked at just how easily she was able to ruin your night as the last person got out of the room until it was only the two of you left.

the room was simply crickets and your bottom lip wobbled, a sob threatening to spill out “what the fuck is your problem?” you cried out. sevika couldn’t help but chuckle at your pathetic display of frustration. you looked like you wanted to tear her apart.

“do you have any idea the commotion you could’ve caused? your dad works at the town’s office and if any of the neighbors got fed up with you and decided to call the deputy to file a complaint, how do you think this will look for him? you’ll be leaving in two weeks and won’t be the one facing the repercussions of your actions. but he will.”

your shoulders sagged at the realization. perhaps the thought of you leaving your dad again got you so tangled up in your emotions you couldn’t think clearly, coupled with the unresolved tension between you and sevika. everything had become too much to bear. you wanted a moment away from it all.

“I didn’t think-“

“yeah, that’s the problem with you. you don’t think.” she growled and your mouth fell open at her words.

that’s when you felt it - the fiery hot rage that culminated inside of you these past couple of days after being ignored by her. truth be told, a huge part of the reason behind all of this was because you needed a way to grab her attention again. but with the way she was speaking to you now you’re beginning to doubt if you still want it.

“I don’t need you to talk to me like I’m a child.” you hissed and she grinned.

she walked towards you and bent her head slightly so she was eye level with you - her hot breath fanning against your lips.

“then stop fucking acting like one.” she bit back, noticing the way your breathing became shallow.

“you’re so obnoxious, you know that? you’re so deprived of attention and what do you do? you act like a brat. always so loud with your horrible music and skimpy clothes, walking around like you need the attention so badly you’re almost thirsty for it.” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave and you only looked at her, wide eyed “what do you get out of it, huh? annoying me so fucking much?”

you were unable to speak. at loss for words while your gaze darted from her eyes down to her full lips that was formed in a subtle snarl.

you were silent before your mouth twitched into a smirk “I like the way you get mad at me.” you purred, clutching her shirt and tugging her towards you “it turns me on.”

sevika didn’t have time to process what was happening when you smashed your lips on hers. the kiss searing, hot and heavy. all teeth and desperation and clawing onto each other, the outcome of the built up tension between you two ever since you arrived.

her hands pawed at your hips, leaving deep crescents on their journey down to your thighs and she harshly gripped the plush skin with her blunt nails. making you squeal and she lifted you up while you circled your legs around her waist.

she tore her mouth away from yours and proceeded to pepper kisses down your throat, a broken moan leaving your lips at the feeling of her sucking on the sensitive area below your ear. sure to leave hickeys once she’s done while she leveled her eyes with yours with a predatory look.

“this is just what you wanted, huh?” she huffed and you nodded your head.

“sevika, please…”

“please what?” she taunted with a nasty grin on her stupid, beautiful face “what do you want me to do, princess?”

you bit your bottom lip while a tear fell from the corner of your eye and dear god, she didn’t expect it’d ever come to this. all those nights imagining what you’d look like under her and here you were, so pliant and needy for her touch.

you snaked your arms around her neck and pulled her closer “you know what I want,” you whined with a pout, which amused her even more.

“nah. that’s not enough, baby. want to hear you say it. come on.” you gasped at the feeling of her callous fingers trailing softly inside your thighs, leaving feather like touches that left goosebumps on your skin.

“sevika, please.” you cried out, trying to grind on her hand and it only made her pull it away.

“say it, you little brat. come on.” she pressed once more and you groaned.

“please fuck me.” you mumbled and she lets out a tsk at your tone.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

your jaw clenched and you tugged at the fabric of her top “I said please fuck me!” you demanded “sevika, I swear-“

that was all she needed. she didn’t intend on teasing you further when she herself wanted this just as much as you did. maybe even more.

the next thing you knew she placed you onto the table, took her arm, used it to slide everything that was on top and threw it all onto the ground. adjusting you properly onto the wooden surface before crouching down so she could be near your crotch.

your breath hitched when she bunched up the bottom of dress so she could see the lace panties you wore, whistling at the sight as your cheeks warmed “take a look at this.”

before you could make a snide remark, your head fell back when she suddenly dug her nose at your clothed heat, moaning when she kissed the area and sucked. hard.

“sevika… oh my god.” you whined helplessly when she continued licking through your panties, biting the inside of your thighs and leaving little love marks as your body shivered.

the sound of fabric tearing snapped you out of your euphoric state and you looked down to see she practically ripped your underwear in two “why the fuck would you-“

“shut up. I’ll get you another one.“ she grumbled, holding your hips tightly.

“but those were expensive, you asshol!-“

your words died in your throat when she licked a fat stripe onto your pussy with her hot, wet tongue. making you cry when she lapped your juices like a woman starved.

“you’re so fucking soaked...” she groaned, vibrations shooting up your spine and you clenched at the way her tongue drew circles around your clit to all of a sudden deep thrusts with the muscle. you shamelessly rode her face as your slick dripped from her mouth down to her chin.

she pulled back and quickly collected spit in her mouth just to shoot it down your puffy cunt, watching the way her saliva moved down to your folds and she lets out a shaky breath “such a pretty fucking pussy.” she rasped, lapping at it harshly.

you arched your back and gripped the edge of the table so hard you swore that your knuckles turned white. with her pupils blown wide you felt like were being feasted upon as she continued making harsh sucks onto your bud, feeling your orgasm approaching and you started squirming in her hold.

“I’m so close, sev…” you whimpered and her tongue darted further while you felt one of her fingers prod your entrance before she slipped it in, a choked sob leaving your mouth at the stretch when she pushed it in and out at a maddening pace before adding another finger in.

you swore you almost saw stars explode behind your eyelids at the way she fucked you with her fingers, starting off gentle before she began ramming them into you at a brutal pace. so much so that your body rocked back and forth against the table.

“s-sev, please! please! fuck!” your cries were borderline pornographic as she continued pounding into you “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“ your words came to a screeching halt as white, hot blinding pleasure took over your body in harsh tremors.

you cried loudly and gripped her hair but she didn’t let up, slurping up your juices while she bent her fingers to piston them into your tight walls you could only thrash in her grip due to the overstimulation “s-sev… too m-much.”

“this is what you needed right? to have the attitude fucked outta you?” she chuckled before giving your clit one last kiss.

watching the way your pussy gaped before she started sliding her sweats down, her chiseled abs and prominent V line coming into view and you licked the top of your lips when she pulled her shirt over head, leaving her in nothing but her sports bra.

she took your dress and pulled it down until you were left bare naked as well. then she scooped you up in her arms and placed you onto the carpeted floor.

she leaned down, placed a languid kiss onto your lips and you cupped her face in your hands as you moaned softly.

she then slotted your legs together so her clit touched yours. it was swollen and red due to not getting her fill yet and she groaned at the feeling of your wetness grinding against hers. humping you like an animal in heat.

“that’s right. f-fuck. cum for me. cum for me one last time while I shoot my load onto this pretty fucking pussy.” she huffed while your eyes moved to watch the scene below you and your jaw went slack at the way your clits dragged against one another. your slick meshing with hers and the residue of saliva that she left when she was eating you out.

you felt the coil in your stomach tighten one last time and you swore you were about to pass out “I’m gonna c-cum again, sev. oh my god.”

“cum for me. cum again for me, baby. come on.” she panted while the sounds of skin slapping resonated through the small space of your kitchen, making you wail out while your tits bounced at the the violent way her hips snapped at the bottom of your thighs.

you came the second time that night, body trembling so hard you simply went limp and sevika continued using your body to get off.

she followed you shortly after, grunting as her hands gripped your hips so tightly you were certain it’ll leave bruises.

she was breathing heavily, squeezing your sides before she dipped her head down to kiss you.

you hummed at the display of affection and she pulled back once both of you found it hard to breathe.

“that was…” she muttered and you giggled.

you peppered kisses up her jaw and smiled “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to have breakfast on that table the same way again.” you said which sevika could only laugh at, shaking her head as she palmed your cheek.

“god,” she looked at you with amused eyes as you nuzzled against her touch “you really are something aren’t you, princess?”

[multific]

Beneath the Laurel Crown

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: As whispers of a political marriage swirl around Emperor Geta, you begin to fear that duty will pull him away from you.

The weight of Rome sat heavy on Geta’s shoulders, but the weight of your gaze?

That was what unravelled him.

You watched from the side of the grand hall, lingering behind a column as yet another senator droned on about politics, war, and taxes.

The subjects Geta had no choice but to entertain. His expression was carefully composed, his golden laurels glinting beneath the torches.

To everyone else, he was the Emperor, untouchable, infallible.

To you, he was the man behind the crown, the man who, despite his calculated rulings and the cruelty expected of a ruler, held you at night with a desperation he could never show the world.

But today, he barely looked at you.

Ever since the court had started whispering of a political marriage, one that would strengthen the Empire, he had been distant.

His touch had cooled, his words fewer, his silences heavier.

And it terrified you.

The thought of Geta bound to someone else, standing at an altar beside a woman who is not you, made your heartache.

He was yours.

Not in the way the Empire believed, not in a way history would remember, but in a way that mattered.

And yet, what was love against the might of Rome?

The meeting ended, and as the senators left, you remained hidden, waiting. The moment the doors shut, the room was silent, and Geta let out a tired sigh.

His hands lifted to remove the golden laurel crown, and for the first time since the morning, he finally looked at you.

“Are you going to keep hiding?” His voice was quieter now, softer—reserved only for you.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

His jaw tightened, and he turned away, setting the laurel crown on the table. “You already know why.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “So it’s true, then? You’re going to marry her?”

He didn’t answer.

That silence was worse than anything he could have said. It was as if a dagger was pushed into your heart.

You exhaled shakily, feeling the sharp sting behind your eyes. “Geta…”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. You saw the way his shoulders tensed.

You stepped closer, pressing a hand to his arm. “Look at me.”

He hesitated, then slowly turned. And what you saw in his eyes shattered you.

It wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t duty.

It was longing. Longing so raw, so unbearable that it took your breath away.

“If you ask me to let you go,” you whispered, “I will.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“But if there is even a chance-” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t look away. “If you love me, if you want me, if you would fight for me even for a moment-then don’t say anything at all.”

The silence stretched, endless, suffocating.

And then he moved forward, crushing his lips against yours.

The world blurred.

The weight of the Empire, the expectations, the duty, none of it mattered as he held you like a man drowning, like he needed you to breathe.

His hands cupped your face, his grip desperate, his kiss full of everything he could never say aloud.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I will burn this empire to the ground before I let them take you from me,” he murmured.

And you knew he meant every word.

The next day word of the senators' death arrived. As Geta stood in front of them.

"Your Empress shall be chosen by me." Caracalla laughed at his brother's words. He knew this would be good. "And anyone who dares question my decision will suffer the same end as the others. Am I understood?" his tone was calm. Way too calm.

Silence filled the room and the irritation in Geta grew.

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?" he yelled and suddenly every nodded.

He would absolutely mean every word. You will be his wife. And that was final.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[100vern]

how to cancel your faustian bargain | wjh

FAUSTIAN BARGAIN 🔥 a pact whereby a person trades something of supreme moral or spiritual importance, such as personal values or the soul, for some worldly or material benefit, such as knowledge, power, or riches. faustian bargains are by their nature tragic or self-defeating for the person who makes them, because what is surrendered is ultimately far more valuable than what is obtained.

pairing: attorney!junhui x devil!reader genre: (very lite) enemies to lovers, lawyer au; crack, fluff, smut summary: as the devil, you’re more than happy to grant favors in exchange for someone’s soul, and you’re known for having the most iron-clad contracts around. which is why wen junhui—the scene’s newest contract attorney hell-bent on returning all those souls you’ve acquired—is really starting to piss you off. rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: member pov, reader is thee devil so needless to say there is a bunch of religious themes and topics here (as a person whose roman-catholic grandfather temporarily disowned her for stopping ccd classes i am qualified to write this dw), jihan as literal devil's advocates, hoshi as a shit-stirring angel who wears questionable shirts, i am the opposite of jovan and do not know the law (especially hell law), i also blocked out most catholicism so don't take any of this for canon, god is genderless and the devil is a sympathetic character sue me, alcohol use, low self-esteem/self-doubt, open but optimistic ending. smut warnings: kissing, mentions of a handjob (actually a major plot point), an actual handjob, oral sex (both receiving), some scratching/marking and biting, jun kinda likes/yearns for pain but it's not a whole thing, light nipple play, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, everyone orgasms, jun is down bad. in general it's probably much softer than sex with the devil would usually be? wordcount: 22k credits: jess (@starlightkyeom) and bee (@imnotshua) for reading this along the way, beta'ing, and suggesting stupid hoshi shirts. mj (@kkaetnipjeon) and jade (@eoieopda) for helping me with law stuff. everyone in the c&e server who helped me along the way — i yapped so much about this fic that i cannot remember everyone. i am sorry but i love you. note: this somehow wound up being my longest oneshot to date. i don't know how and i still feel like there are parts not fleshed out enough, but big shoutout to my adderall for getting us here. wen junhui, you are a strange little man; i had a blast writing you. this was written for the don't hate, litigate! collab, hosted by @haologram. thank you so much for letting me participate!

The thing is, Wen Junhui is not really supposed to be here.

Not, like, literally here—sitting across from you, the literal devil, at your desk, ass burning a little because it’s really hot here and he is, admittedly, not used to the heat—but metaphorically. Big picture-ly. This is not how I envisioned my life turning out…ly.

The thing is, Wen Junhui barely made it through law school. Barely passed his licensing exam. Watched his classmates score prestigious internships and receive exclusive offers and network and schmooze and, he thought at the time, all but sell their soul to graduate with jaw-dropping salaries awaiting them and no debt.

And it fucking sucked watching that, because he was about to become a lawyer, sure, but he’d gotten scarlet fever as a kid, swore he was going to die, swore he saw not only the light but Jesus himself (his mother called this a delusion, still insists to this day the prodigal son did not travel all the way to Shenzhen to visit him), and decided if he survived he was going to dedicate his life to the church and become a priest.

(He only decided on law school after he got a little carried away with his high school girlfriend, received an honestly mid handjob that had him crying for three straight days and contemplating confession before he decided to take it to his grave, and he’d announced the next night at dinner, weighed down by an impressive amount of guilt and religious trauma, that he was just going to go to university and major in business or finance instead.)

Anyway. Turns out that whole selling their soul thing wasn’t a joke, and where others would’ve seen a loophole, Wen Junhui had seen an opportunity.

Because he didn’t have the grades. Didn’t have the family name or even the drive, because in another life he’s at least a deacon, so he had to do something. Had to think outside the box, get a little creative, carve out a niche for himself that none of his classmates would also be trying to occupy because he had student loans.

“How did you even get in here?” you ask, doing one of those really cool pen flips Jun has never figured out how to do. “A human hasn’t just strolled into my office in at least a millennia.”

Jun swallows, tries not to let show how nervous he is. “I, uh—I’m not sure? I sort of just… walked in, I guess.”

You blink. Study him for a while, eyes narrowed, before you make a small ah! sound and snap your fingers. What the heck? Jun can’t do that, either. “I know who you are now.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm, sure do. You were pretty famous around here for about thirteen seconds when you got that handjob and changed the trajectory of your own life forever. Some of the lower demons had bet money on you eventually becoming the Pope, so you can imagine their heartbreak… and the amount of coin they lost.” You click your tongue, return your attention to the scroll in front of you. “I kept telling them not to bet on that kind of stuff. Teenagers are wildly unpredictable, especially hormonal teenage boys. One of my finest creations, if I do say so myself.”

Not that he had any expectation of privacy here, but to say he’s mortified would be an understatement.

“Oh. That’s… really embarrassing.”

You nod, distracted as you press a large red button on your desk. “Yeah, I imagine for you it would be.”

Two men immediately materialize on each side of you. One is all cheekbones and sharp, calculating edges. Looks like the personification of mischief or perhaps temptation. After that handjob and the subsequent mourning period, Jun had come to really, really appreciate women, but he’s secure enough in his sexuality to acknowledge that the man in front of him—with his long, dark hair and lithe figure; his nonchalant, blasé attitude—is very attractive.

And the other one is no slouch, either. Has what Jun presumes is meant to be a friendlier disposition, a foil of the other man, good-cop-bad-cop, and they must be quite successful, he figures. Can’t imagine a world in which there’s anything that’d be denied to either of them.

Still, they’re well-acquainted with you, because they barely blink as you say, “Please say hello to our intruder,” with a frightening amount of bite.

The dark-haired one offers up a sleazy grin as he leans back against the wall. “Hello, intruder. Do you have a name?”

It’s a predictable question, and yet Jun still startles. Goes slack-jawed as he fixes his posture, sits straighter in his seat. Has the first syllable of his name sitting on the tip of his tongue when the other man sighs and gestures for Jun to stay quiet. “Don’t tell him your name. Better yet, don’t tell him anything, just pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“That’s rich coming from a person who chose to call themselves Joshua.”

Joshua pouts. “I thought there was something to be said for the irony.” A snort tumbles out of him, and Jun realizes that he is not the foil of the other man: he is, in fact, just as impish and rogue. “God is deliverance.” The dark-haired one does not react. “Aw, c’mon, it’s funny!”

“If you have to convince someone it’s funny, it probably is not so.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Alright, Jeonghan. As if you didn’t do the same thing.”

“At least when I strive to be ironic, it actually is humorous—”

With an exasperated sigh, you return your attention to Jun, who has suddenly found a fascinating piece of lint on his trousers. Pointedly does not make eye contact with you, because you had been intimidating and hellacious on your own—and, he’s a little flustered to admit, very attractive—but he’s extremely out of his element sitting across from the literal devil and two demons.

“So, Wen Junhui,” you say, tossing a pair of reading glasses onto your desk, “why are you here?”

(“Wen Junhui?” Joshua whispers to Jeonghan. “As in the Wen Junhui that got the handjob?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Jeonghan whispers back.)

And now it all feels a bit silly, because Jun had walked straight into Hell thinking he’d be able to… what, exactly? Strike up a friendly conversation? Start making demands? Cut a deal that didn’t include handing over his mortal soul?

Maybe the whole becoming a priest thing hadn’t worked out but he’d still learned a thing or two, and he remembers all the words used to describe you, your original purpose. Meant to reflect God’s glory, anointed, given the highest seat at the table. They’d blamed your downfall on pride, on vanity and violence, and Wen Junhui from Shenzhen, China, who once had scarlet fever and got a bad handjob, was a fool to come here and think he could go toe-to-toe with you.

Overcome with nerves, all he can do is laugh as he toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. Considers saying something like you’re gonna think this is so silly before he decides against it. You’ve been accused of having a sense of humor, but Jun can’t imagine this harebrained scheme of his would make the cut.

Still—he wouldn’t be where he is if the bad ideas sitting on his shoulder had kept quiet, and they’re still whispering to him now, reminding him how he wound up here to begin with: less fortunate than his classmates, less connected, looked over for all those internships and opportunities because he wasn’t born with the proper credentials. Those god-forsaken student loans. Desperation forced him to do this, and it’d be a real shame if he got this far only to give up at the last second, wouldn’t it?

So, he does what he did best all those years of law school: he fakes it.

“Let’s say I’m interested in… a partnership, of sorts.”

Jeonghan and Joshua share a look.

“Ah,” you reply, hands folded in front of you. “And what kind of partnership would that be?”

Let no man (or demon) ever accuse Wen Junhui of doing things half-assed, because he’s doing a concerning amount of oversharing and trauma-dumping before he can talk himself out of it. Spills all the highs and lows of his twenty-odd years, including his infamous handjob, much to Joshua and Jeonghan’s delight. They listen with rapt attention, elbowing one another as they gleefully press him for more details, and to their credit they only interrupt him once with lewd gestures before they’re slapping at and falling over one another with laughter.

He gets to his time in law school. Talks about feeling lapped by his classmates and all the advantages they’d been given, the benefits that weren’t on offer for someone like him: the oldest son of a piano teacher and a seamstress. Someone who showed up to class with a worn leather bag (repaired weekly by his mother) and secondhand books yellowing at the edges. Someone who spent his Friday nights and weekends holed up in his dorm room, not invited to parties and mixers.

“I had to do my first internship in personal injury,” he says, arms gesticulating wildly. “No one wanted those internships, and do you know why?” He pauses for dramatic effect. Jeonghan mimics a sound that sounds like game show countdown music. “Those pictures were gross.”

“Tragic,” you deadpan.

“It was,” Jun insists. He’s starting to feel fidgety. Has no idea how his plight is being received. “It wasn’t paid, either, and I had to take out student loans.”

Joshua beams. “Her second best invention.”

“What?” Jeonghan retorts, brows pinching in the middle. “No way, second-best is definitely cocaine—”

From you comes an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, and Jeonghan and Joshua immediately cease their bickering. You turn your attention to Jun, and if he’d been able to trick himself into thinking a glimmer of patience or good humor or—god forbid—genuine affection had been visible before, no such delusions are available now. Your face is stern, the pupils of your eyes reflecting flames behind him that don’t exist, and the corners of your mouth are tugged severely downward.

He swallows hard.

“Wen Junhui, get to the point. Your human skin is starting to stink up my office.”

Subtly, he tries to sneak a sniff of his armpit. It’s not mountain fresh, but he’s certainly smelled worse, and he thinks he deserves a little leeway as his body acclimates to such extreme temperatures. He then crosses one leg over the other, ankle on thigh, and leans forward on his elbows. Tries to project some—any—amount of authority and confidence as he says, “I need a niche. Something just for me; something none of my classmates are going after.”

“Because you’re unable to compete with them,” you tack on. Unnecessarily and rudely, in Jun’s opinion, but he nods anyway. Behind you, Jeonghan and Joshua are once again elbowing one another, giddy at Jun’s impending failure while desperately trying to keep their expressions neutral. “Let me guess: you want the same deal?” You begin rifling through a drawer in your desk. “I think I still have all those contracts around here somewhere, so I’m sure I can get you something similar, but if we’re being honest you’re worth a good bit more.”

Jun blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“What part are you having trouble with?” you ask, still sorting through files. Only the top of your head is visible over the ledge of your African blackwood desk.

No horns, Jun notes. He was so sure you were going to have horns.

“Er, both, to be honest. What do you mean I’m ‘worth more’?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before slamming his palms onto your desk, causing Jun to startle. Just for fun. “Hey, moron, were you not listening when she told you earlier that you were supposed to be the goddamn Pope?”

“You weren’t even here when she said that,” Jun mumbles, every bit the moron Jeonghan accused him of being, because it’s far easier than acknowledging… well, the entirety of that statement.

Does the Pope get a salary? If he does, surely it’s more than Jun’s making now—

“He doesn’t,” Joshua says. Then clarifies, “Get a salary. Just some coins. A woefully underpaid position, if you ask me, considering how many babies he has to kiss.” He shudders. “Disgusting! When you could just eat them instead!”

Aside from the whole eating babies thing, Jun can’t really disagree. Only a handful of coins for being in charge of all of Catholicism and having to know Latin? And having to live in Italy?

“Also,” Joshua continues, “it’s kind of our job to know everything that goes on down here, so we did, in fact, know she told you that you were supposed to be the Pope.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “And yet he became a lawyer. Imagine if Fibonacci had done the same—the eighth circle would be so boring.”

“Boniface,” Jun corrects him, immediately shutting trap at the look the three of you send his way. “He’s really in the eighth circle? I thought Dante just said that because he was upset about the exile.”

Upset is underselling it, Joshua mumbles. Looks like he wants to say more but has enough sense not to. Beside him, Jeonghan is once again rolling his eyes, growing more perturbed and borderline-homicidal in Jun’s proximity by the second.

Does he really smell that bad? Should he wear cologne next time? Is there a particular note those in the Underworld find appealing? Because Jun doesn’t mind tracking it down. He’s here on your turf asking for a favor, after all, so it’d be basic manners to smell nice and not stink up the place.

He’s about to ask when a booming sound of acknowledgement comes from you. A sly grin sits lopsided on your face as you toss a manila folder onto your desk, so thick a yellowing rubber band struggles to fit around it once. “This is you, Wen Junhui,” you say, pushing it closer to Jun.

All he can do is stare. Feels like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest, and he can’t pinpoint why, doesn’t know what’s got him so uneasy. He doesn’t have to look at it to know his entire life is in that file—perhaps even the before and the after. All the possibilities, all the could-have-beens. The consequences of him going right at the fork in the road instead of taking the left. Endless, and he finally realizes the boulder sitting on his chest is dread: existential variety.

“It’s, uh.” He licks at his lips. “It’s really big,” he finally says, feeling stupid and embarrassed at the way his voice trembles.

“Aish, this fucking kid,” Jeonghan grouses at the same time Joshua snickers and wonders aloud, “Do you think that’s what that girl said when he got the handjob?”

You press the red button again and Jeonghan and Joshua disappear without a word.

“Even in the lowest pits of Hell you must still suffer the displeasure of men,” you say, as if you’re imparting ancient wisdom upon Jun. “I must admit I’ve grown quite familiar with your file.”

“Manila,” Jun replies, also as if he’s being extremely wise. “Didn’t expect to see that around here.”

“Yes, well, the cheap ones are great for papercuts.” You pause and your demeanor grows serious, belying the importance of what you’re about to say. “You’re one of a select few, Wen Junhui. Not many files that come across my desk are this size.”

Pride swells in his chest, booting that existential boulder to the curb. “Oh,” he says, trying desperately to tamper down his excitement. “Yay!”

He does a little wiggle. Mortifying.

“Something you said earlier stuck out to me—something about certain things not being on offer for someone like you.” Your eyes meet Jun’s, and it suddenly feels like he’s been catapulted off the edge of the world. “I don’t think you realize just how much is on offer for someone like you.”

Jun swallows hard. Tries to, anyway—finds that his mouth has gone bone dry. His limbs, too, refuse to work, feel both heavy and weightless, and he’s anxious again, hands and feet saturated with sweat, no wonder he smells, and he knows, he knows, he knows who and what you are, knows this is a trick. Knows he’s offered himself up on a silver platter.

Good god, he came here willingly. No wonder Jeonghan kept calling him names.

“So,” you begin, moving your glasses to the top of your head, “what is it you want? You’re in an elite tier; I could give you almost anything you ask for.”

“Um—”

“You mentioned loans; is it money you want? You’re not quite qualified for billionaire level yet, but I think you’d find both the terms and the offered amount to be quite… agreeable.”

Oh, you’re good. Just as he had with the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Jun always thought the story of Adam and Eve was simple: don’t do the thing you’re explicitly told not to do. But now, seated across from Temptation itself, he understands it’s not that simple, that those two never stood a chance. Because the longer he’s silent, the more relaxed he starts to feel. That headache he’s been fighting off for three days finally starts to recede. He feels confident and a bit euphoric, but he supposes everyone would feel that way if they were being offered any and everything they could ever want.

“Actually…”

Wen Junhui isn’t very religious anymore, but he used to be. Used to believe in all the teachings; used to sit at the piano in the living room and hum along as his father played processionals; used to beg his mother to read from the Studium Biblicum at bedtime so he could fall asleep and dream of utopia.

Wen Junhui isn’t religious anymore, but he remembers the basics.

Enough to steel his voice and say, “Actually, I didn’t come here to talk about money.”

Jun doesn’t know what time it is.

It’s late enough that the city has gone mostly quiet. The buses have stopped running, the elevator just outside his door hasn’t dinged in a while, and the light that’s refracted onto his bedroom ceiling is a familiar shade of blue-silver. Not long after two a.m. if he had to guess.

He doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, either, which would’ve been the more pressing issue at any other time.

But he’s had a long day. Took a little trip to Hell, got laughed at, got offered a lot of money, and got laughed at again. Now he’s got the anxiety shakes. Keeps seeing figures in every shadow. Can’t sleep even though every part of his body is bogged down by exhaustion. All he can do is stare at the swirls in the ceiling plaster and be glad he doesn’t have to work for another two days.

At first, he thinks the knocking is on someone else’s door. Then, once it doesn’t cease, he chalks it up to hallucination. It’s only once it goes from hey, I’m here! to OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR RIGHT GODDAMN NOW does he stumble out of bed and through the living room.

Through the peephole, all that stares back at him are the dingy fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“You know, judging by the outside, I thought this place was gonna be a real shithole, but it’s not that bad.” Jun shrieks, collapses to the floor with his hand clawing at his chest. “Oops, sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There is a man in his apartment.

There is a man in his apartment. At two o’clock in the morning.

“Wh-who are you?” he stammers out, eyes squeezed shut as if it’ll protect him. “I do-don’t have any mo-money.”

The man scoffs. If Jun was looking, he assumes it was accompanied by an eye-roll. “Not to be rude, but I was able to ascertain that, yeah.”

Jun peeks one eye open. Before him stands a man of average height, looks to be early to mid 20s. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie that says FEMALE BODY INSPECTOR in large white lettering. His hat, which is so neon pink it seems to glow, simply says SWAG.

He opens his other eye and quirks an eyebrow. “Are you a demon?”

“Ew, no.”

“What are you, then?”

The man pouts. “You can’t tell by my extremely good looks and”—he pauses, clears his throat like he’s trying to remember something—“awesome sauce fashion?”

“I—no, sorry. Also, your what?”

“I’m an angel,” the angel says quickly before he starts digging through his pockets. “Do people not say awesome sauce anymore?” Jun shakes his head. The angel pulls a pen out of nowhere and strikes out something in a notebook. “What year is it?”

“Er, 2024. Almost 2025.”

“What year did people stop saying awesome sauce?”

“I don’t know,” Jun says. “Do you have a name?”

The angel sighs, the pen and notebook both blink out of existence. “Hoshi,” the angel replies. “It means star, which I am. By the way.”

“Okay. May I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You ask a lot of questions. You got anything to drink?”

“I don’t remember any angels named Hoshi in the Bible.”

“It’s my Earth name.” Hoshi flutters his eyelashes. “Suits me, right?”

Jun’s eyes narrow. “You also aren’t biblically-accurate.”

Hoshi scoffs, hands immediately finding the waistband of his sweatpants. “I am where it counts.” He starts to pull them down, much to Jun’s horror, and all he can think is, oh my god I’m about to see an angel’s penis, what’s the protocol for this, do I have to look at it, would it be rude not to, this is the weirdest day of my life, I must be in a medically-induced coma—

“I’m getting the impression you don’t really want to see my dick.”

Jun covers his eyes again. “I don’t!”

“Bummer. I’m gonna summon a Baja Blast, do you want one?”

“I—no, no thank you. I think I just—I really need to sleep? But I’m not tired? It’s been a long day and I’m still not one-hundred percent sure I’m not hallucinating all of this.”

Hoshi snaps his fingers and a garishly blue bottle of soda appears in his hand. He beams. “Trade offer: I help you sleep and you take me out for breakfast when you wake up. We have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re just gonna… hang out here? In my apartment?”

“Yes,” Hoshi confirms. “I’m going to look through all your stuff.”

Jun wants to say no. He should say no. Has half a mind to consider Hoshi is lying about being an angel and is instead another demon sent by you from Hell to keep tabs on him, but his aura is different—less… oppressive—so he gives in and nods.

He’s asleep within seconds.

It’s only a few hours later when he stirs awake. Sunlight streams in through the curtains, and the sounds of the city are drowned out by birdsong. Jun feels more rested and weightless than he has in years, and it allows him to wake slowly, recount the events of the past 24 hours and take stock of his body, how he’s feeling. Do some breathing exercises. Briefly contemplate if he has now twice altered the trajectory of his life for the worst.

“Get up!” someone yells from his living room. Right, the angel guy. “I want waffles and the diner stops serving breakfast in thirty minutes!”

Jun stares blankly at the ceiling. There’s no diner anywhere near him that serves American breakfast, but he assumes that isn’t going to stop Hoshi, who has no concept or time or space and no constraints on either.

Thirty minutes later, they’re sitting across from one another in a retro American-style diner.

“Where are we?” Jun asks, peering outside the large window to his right. All the cars are American makes; the walls look like they're made out of silver; all the signs are in English. He doesn’t have to ask why he can understand them. “Besides America. I’m gathering as much.”

Hoshi pours an entire sugar packet in his mouth and grins. “New Jersey. They have more diners than any other state in America, and some are even open 24 hours! It’s my favorite place on Earth.”

“Okay,” Jun acquiesces. What else is he going to do? He’s never been to America before, let alone New Jersey. “What do I order? I don’t know what any of this stuff is.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll order for you.”

Famous last words.

Whatever Hoshi had ordered for him has more sugar in one bite than Jun usually eats in an entire week, but it’s so good he can’t help himself. Half of his meal is devoured before they can get to the heart of the meeting even though Hoshi yaps the whole time—talks animatedly about things Jun doesn’t understand but thinks sound important, like his dog and his favorite music. Hoshi also talks about his love for dancing, and when Jun cocks his head to the side and asks, like Saint Vitus?, all he gets in return is a small smile.

“Okay,” Hoshi says, pushing his plate towards the middle of the table, “now that I’m ready to throw up, it’s time to talk business.” Jun swallows, no longer hungry. “I saw your entire pitch. It was embarrassing.”

Jun groans and face-plants onto the table. “Yeah.” Syrup sticks to his forehead.

“However, it was a convincing story. That’s why They sent me here.”

“They?”

Hoshi waves him off. “Whatever you know Them as: God, the Lord, The Big Boss. They also heard everything.”

Jun slowly picks his head up and studies the angel across from him. Hoshi is weird, no doubt about that, but he’s also endearingly earnest. “And They… what? Want to help me?”

“Precisely,” Hoshi confirms. “And before you ask why, I think that part is quite obvious, but it’s two-fold: yes, it’s partly out of spite, but also—some of those souls were supposed to be ours.”

Jun blinks. Feels like his brain is filled with primordial goo and is about to split at the seams. “Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Hoshi replies, tone measured and slightly confused. “We’re all-knowing up there, as I’m sure you know. We know who’s meant to be ours at the moment of their birth and we keep an eye on them throughout their lives. We’re not allowed to intervene, though, which the Devil knows. Free will and all that.” Hoshi rolls his eyes. “With free will comes temptation, and temptation is a powerful thing. Most people are not immune to it, which is why They took notice of you.”

“Wasn’t I—”

“Supposed to be the Pope? Yeah. They weren’t, like, super thrilled about the outcome of that, but contrary to popular belief, it’s not against Their Word to get a handjob.”

“But I spilled seed.”

The look on Hoshi’s face almost looks like a grimace. “And you’ve spilled a lot more since then. Look, all I’m saying is if the worst thing you do in your life is have sex, you’re not disqualified. We look at the entire itemized receipt, not a single purchase, if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah,” Jun replies, a little dazed. He still could’ve been the Pope. “I became a lawyer for nothing?”

“Not nothing,” Hoshi insists, shaking his head. “You’ve actually put yourself in a very unique position, which is what I’m trying to get to. Some of those souls were meant to be ours, but they fell into temptation and made deals with those fuc—” He coughs. “Those… beings… down there.”

Hoshi reaches across the table and places a warm hand over Jun’s. “They want you to help return their souls to where they belong.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? You saw it: she laughed at me, not to mention she now knows what I’m up to. And how am I meant to advertise? If these souls are already in Hell, it’s not like I can put up a billboard!”

Hoshi’s eyes narrow. “She?” he asks. “That’s how the Devil appeared to you?”

“I—yeah. Is that not how she appears to everyone?”

“What did she look like?”

Jun trudges through the slime in his brain. Tries to remember anything besides—“Pretty,” he answers. “I don’t really—that’s all I can remember. I just remember she was really, really pretty.”

“Like the kind of woman you’d be attracted to on Earth, right?” Jun nods. “You need to be careful. She’ll appear to you again in similar forms, especially now that I’ve been here and told you Their intention.”

“So you’re telling me I have to be suspicious of any beautiful woman that finds me attractive?” Hoshi nods, soliciting a tortured groan from Jun. “This just keeps getting worse and worse.”

“You won’t be able to avoid her, nor are you expected to. It’s to your advantage she entertained you at all, and she certainly wasn’t lying when she said you are of a higher status to her and everyone in Hell. If we want you, it’s only natural they would as well.”

Jun mulls all of this over. Stares into his mostly-empty mug of coffee and tries to make sense of it. “I can’t even remember how I got there. I just had the idea, and then it was like I woke up in Hell. I didn’t mean to—what if I don’t even want to do this anymore? Can’t I just go back to my regular, boring life? This is—this is too much.”

“Unfortunately it’s too late for that. You have been chosen, Wen Junhui, and not just for this.”

Jun scoffs. “You’re making me sound like Harry Potter.”

“Thankfully that lady does not belong to us. Now, would you like to go back to your apartment before we get into specifics? It may take a while.”

“...Can we take another order of these things to go?”

Hoshi grins and flags down the waitress to order another massive stack of sugar-dusted waffles. “I think I’m going to enjoy my time on earth with you, Wen Junhui.”

The specifics are thus:

Hoshi is in charge of what earth-bound lawyers would call advertising. Jun isn’t privy to the specifics; he doesn’t know how Hoshi is even capable of it, if he’s just going to waltz into Hell and hand out business cards or what, but it’s more than he’s able to do so he doesn’t ask. (Well, that’s not entirely true. He did ask, and all Hoshi said in return was, “You know Metatron?” and left it at that.)

Hoshi is also in charge of The List: the souls Heaven wants freed from their contracts and returned upstairs. He allows Jun a brief glimpse of it, who is none too surprised to find a few law school colleagues but still overwhelmed at its length. It’s long—so long it had taken Hoshi quite some time to unfurl the scroll—and it isn’t static. Anyone destined for Heaven that makes a deal with the devil while Jun’s at work will simply be added to the bottom of the list. On and on it’ll go, ad nauseam, until Jun either dies or retires.

Which, speaking of retirement—

In a shocking turn of events, the job comes with benefits. Hoshi had been reluctant to call it a salary. For all intents and purposes Jun will be self-employed: he will be provided with a small office space in a nice area of downtown with no signage, although he’s also welcome to work remotely or wherever he feels most comfortable. Money will appear in his account, though he can opt for other forms of payment if he so wishes. (He’d been offered enough to live off of for a year for even accepting the job but chose to have his student loans paid off instead.)

They will keep him healthy. They will keep his sleep schedule regular and his refrigerator stocked with nutritious food. They will ensure people leave him alone and that no suspicions are cast upon him. They will ensure Jun has every tool at his disposal to be successful.

(It was a lot. Felt like making an inverse deal with the devil—he knew he was playing for the right side, but it was non-negotiable and non-refundable. Wen Junhui had been chosen, and in a moment of self-doubt and self-deprecation, he’d joked, “Can They make me smarter?”

Hoshi’s brows had furrowed. “The list of benefits makes no mention of increased intelligence.” Jun pouted; let out a whiny little oh. Hoshi grabbed another sheet of paper. “Your intelligence stats are nearly maxed, dude.”

“I barely passed law school!” he protested.

“I don’t know what to tell you. If we made you any smarter your brain would explode. Literally.”)

After that, there wasn’t much left to discuss. Hoshi had a lot of planning to do; needed to talk to someone in the marketing department but promised he’d be back as soon as possible. Left a tome in Jun’s possession and told him to study.

Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition, it says, and Jun stares down at it full of foreboding. It’s bound in black leather, giltstamped in red. Nothing good comes bound in black leather with shiny red letters.

Still, he does what’s asked of him, lest his student loan pay-off gets reversed. He spends hours hunched over his small dining room table with a legal pad to his right, taking notes on any and everything that may prove important—what he can make sense of, at least, because it doesn’t resemble any legal or governmental structure he’s ever seen.

He groans. Tosses his pen onto the table and leans back in the stiff wooden chair, lets his head loll off the back as the wood digs into his neck. Says, “What the heck am I supposed to do with this?” to the empty space of his apartment, and before he’s even opened his eyes another book appears on the table.

Theological Law For Mortals: An Introduction (Sorry!!!! - Hoshi)

He swears.

The days bleed together. Hoshi pops in briefly to officially assign him his first case: one Kim Mingyu from Anyang-si, South Korea. Apparently sold his soul to be “tall and hot” and Heaven desperately needs him back. “This one’s important to the big boss,” Hoshi says, dropping off a stack of papers with a picture paperclipped to the front with the most attractive, symmetrical man Jun has ever seen. “He was meant to work in recruiting,” Hoshi explains.

Jun whistles low. “Understandable. Look at his face.”

“Exactly, so you get the need for a little urgency.” He tries to stamp it down, but Jun feels the panic start to rise. Has to dig his fingernails into the palm of his hand. “Hey, just do your best. Call me if you need anything.”

Hoshi turns to leave, ugly pair of brand new sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor of the kitchen, but Jun’s able to stammer out, “What—what if I can’t do it?”

The angel turns, face marred by genuine confusion. “Why would you think you can’t?”

And then he’s gone.

Fueled by Hoshi’s unwavering—and frankly incomprehensible—confidence in him, Jun finds what he needs just after four o’clock Sunday morning. There, on page 4,837 of Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition, in subsection 69 of section 567, it clearly states that souls handed over in exchange for vanity-related reasons must adhere to strict guidelines, limited to but not including:

General facial appearance

Eye and/or hair color

Penis, breast, and/or butt size

Height and/or weight

Others TBD

Pushed beyond the threshold of exhaustion, eyes going in and out of focus, he’s not sure the text following the sub-bullet point is real, but there it is: In regards to height, men must be made at least 6’2” or 188 centimeters for the contract to be considered legally binding.

“Hoshi!”

At once, the angel appears across from him. He’s decked out in another stupid t-shirt (Don’t Bully Me, I’ll Cum, this one says) and is drinking a 7-Eleven slushy through a bendy straw. His lips and tongue are stained blue when he smiles and asks, “Good news?”

Jun shakes his head. Tries to erase the scene in front of him. “Maybe,” he answers. “I need you to get an accurate height on Kim Mingyu. And I mean really accurate. Shave him bald if you have to.”

Hoshi’s smile fades as he grows serious. “You really think you’ve got something?”

“I think so.” Jun pushes the book across the table. “Take a look at that part I highlighted. I know his file says he’s 188 centimeters tall, but imagine if whoever measured him just rounded up? If he’s even a millimeter under that, the contract is void.”

Before he can comprehend what’s happening, Hoshi climbs halfway across the table, grabs Jun by the cheeks, and plants a wet, noisy kiss in the middle of Jun’s forehead. “Wen Junhui, you sneaky little minx, I may be a little in love with you.”

Jun’s face flushes hot and red.

“Just—just look into it, okay? I’ve been over the rest of this and I can’t see any other way out of it.” With a sarcastic salute, Hoshi disappears. Feels like he’s only gone a few minutes before he pops back up in the living room wearing a somber expression. “What?” Jun asks, panicked, feeling his stomach drop out of his ass. “What’s wrong?”

“Bad news,” Hoshi replies, heaving a sigh. Won’t look up from the floor. Does an impeccable job at selling it, before he looks up at Jun with a shit-eating grin, barely able to contain his excitement. “For the Devil! Ha ha ha!”

Whiplash. All Jun can feel is whiplash, and he stumbles out of the chair, can barely feel the ache in his bones. Trips over a rogue object on his way to the living room. “What? You mean—”

“You did it! Kim Mingyu officially measured in at a glorious six-foot-one-point-nine repeating.”

Jun grabs onto the back of the couch so he doesn’t pass out. Oxygen is not reaching his brain right now, nor is coherent thought. All those agonizing days in law school during which he resigned himself to being a failure. All those back-breaking nights he had to run to the bus stop to get home from his internship, only a handful of hours before he had to be awake again for class. All the meals he upchucked from anxiety before critical exams. All his classmates that’d ignored and belittled him. And now—

“I did it…” he says, voice colored with pure disbelief.

Hoshi starts doing some kind of concerning, robotic-looking dance. “Yeah, bitch!” A bolt of lightning strikes right in front of him and Hoshi startles. Rubs at the back of his neck and has the good sense to look sheepish. “I forgot I’m not supposed to swear.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Sorry, Boss!”

He turns his attention to Jun. “Go take a shower and get dressed. Wear something nice; we’re going out to celebrate.”

Whatever club Hoshi has brought him to is humid and sticky.

With what, Jun can’t be sure, but every time he presses his fingertips together it takes a concerning amount of time for them to peel apart.

Hoshi leads him to the bar. Hops onto a stool and kicks his feet as he waves over the bartender. She’s cute, Jun thinks; a bright, open smile splits her face as she pulls away from Hoshi, clearly endeared by whatever it was he had said. She moves around the bar with an easy confidence, does a little twirl to avoid her coworker, and Jun doesn’t realize he’s hypnotized until Hoshi digs an elbow into his ribs.

“Take it easy, killer. I ordered us some shots.”

Jun snaps out of his reverie. “Can you even drink?”

“Of course I can, I just can’t get drunk. Not here, anyway. Big Boss made the real good stuff exclusive to you-know-where after a few, uh… mishaps. Down here.” He coughs. “Let’s find somewhere to sit. I’ll come back for the drinks.”

There’s an empty booth tucked away in a corner. Jun takes the side that gives him an eyeline shot of the bar even though it feels a little creepy, and if Hoshi knows what he’s doing he doesn’t mention it. He’s back to yapping about one thing or another, gets distracted by all the commotion in the club—the group playing darts, the packed dance floor, a couple making out near the restrooms. Quite enthusiastically, Jun might add.

True to his word, Hoshi disappears for a second to retrieve the drinks. Jun watches as the bartender hands over a tray of rainbow-colored shots and also as Hoshi pats the pockets of his skin-tight pleather plants. Watches as he panics and frantically waves Jun over. Once he’s in his personal space, Hoshi leans in and whispers, “They say they need a card for the tab. I don’t know what that is so I’m assuming I don’t have one.”

Jun sighs. Explains, “It’s a credit card. How do you survive down here with no money?” Nevertheless, he digs out his wallet and hands his card over. “I can’t believe you invited me out and I’m getting stuck with the bill.”

Hoshi tuts. Hands Jun’s credit card to the bartender without an ounce of remorse. “Relax, I’ll have Matt reimburse you.”

“Who the heck is Matt—” Jun begins to say, but he’s interrupted by the most annoying angel God ever created placing the tray of drinks in Jun’s hands, then asking, “Can you take this back to the table? I’ll be right there.”

Hoshi is not going to be right there. Hoshi is going to hover around the bar because the cute bartender was making eyes at him, and Jun is going to return to their formerly-shared table to drink alone. There aren’t many things more depressing than going out with a friend to celebrate a personal achievement only to end up downing six shots on his own.

…Which are not to Jun’s taste at all.

He’s a habitual Tsingtao drinker. Never bothers to order anything else because he knows what he likes and it has never steered him wrong. Never had his head stuck in a toilet bowl, either, which is territory he’ll rapidly be approaching if he actually goes through with this.

“Is this seat taken?”

Jun knows it’s you without having to look up. Your aura is tangible—something thick and syrupy like molasses and just as dark; something suffocating, something that would drown him—and it follows you like a shadow. Slides into the booth before Jun can answer, just a nanosecond before your physical form does the same, and when you’re at eye level he has to swallow his gasp.

You look completely different.

Still beautiful, he thinks, because it’s hard to think of anything else. Jun knows who and what you are, of course; remembers the warning Hoshi had given him. Knows that this is just another one of your tricks, another layer of temptation, but it’s a beauty like quicksand. It’s a beauty like the misunderstood creatures at the heart of every fairy tale—those haunting kinds of myths meant to both make you wary and suck you in. It’s a beauty accentuated by darkness.

Worst of all, it’s a beauty that’s making his pants a little tight in the dick area.

“What does that imbecile have you drinking?” you ask, reaching for one of the remaining shot glasses. You grimace as you hold it up to the light. “You know, I once watched a man throw back twelve of these things before he stripped down to nothing but a diaper and attempted to rob a convenience store across the street.”

“Oh. What happened?”

You sigh. Place the glass back on the tray. “A comedy of errors, of course. He somehow managed to make it into the store unnoticed, but he had neither a weapon nor something to store the money in. He tried climbing across the counter to get to the cash register, but the clerk hit him in the head with a metal step stool and knocked him unconscious before calling the police.”

“I’m assuming he got arrested?”

“Oh, no.” You laugh, and Jun’s taken aback by how normal it sounds. “He came to before the police got there. I guess the sirens freaked him out because he ran out of the store and got hit by a bus.” Jun must be wearing a particular look, because you follow that up with, “He was always meant to be one of ours, so don’t worry, you won’t have to meet him.”

Right.

Jun had expected this. Not that he’d had a whole lot of time to expect it, considering Kim Mingyu had been freed from his contract for a whopping fifteen minutes before Hoshi was shoving Jun into the bathroom to shower, but it had been a passing thought on at least four separate occasions.

You’re not going to apologize, he tells himself. Wonders if you can hear his thoughts and desperately hopes you can’t, considering he’d thought about getting a semi from how pretty you are. It wasn’t even a semi, really, if he’s being honest. What’s half of a semi? One-fourth of a boner? That’s what he’d gotten, and if you can read his thoughts it’s very important that you know that.

“I’m not Joshua.”

Jun startles. Feels all the normalcy leak out of his body and form a gloopy puddle on the floor. “Um,” he replies stupidly. “Then how did you—”

“I can feel you thinking. Always feels like chickenpox when humans overthink around me.”

He wrings his sweaty hands together. Rubs them on his jeans when that doesn’t work. “Sorry,” he says instinctually. “It’s just—I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”

“Why?” you challenge. “Is there something you want to say?”

“I don’t think so. But I can’t imagine you’re very happy with me, and I get this sort of, um. When I know someone’s upset with me it feels like chickenpox, too. And even though I know, logically, that I did a good thing, I still feel like I’m going to throw up?”

Tense silence hangs between the two of you. Jun’s on the verge of word-vomiting another apology when you snap your fingers and turn the remaining shots into something resembling watery honey. You hold one out to him. “Drink this,” you instruct, and Jun makes a point not to let your fingers touch when he takes it.

“Is it poison?”

You heave another sigh. “Wen Junhui, there are some things you need to understand about me. First of all, this is an inherited job. Being The Anointed One comes with a lot of work and responsibility so we get burned out, okay? So there’s only ever been one devil as far as humans are concerned, but in a weird avatar-y kind of way that’s hard to explain and not worth my time to explain to you, specifically, considering you’re the enemy now. Second, I am capable of killing you in ways your human brain cannot even begin to conceive of. I do not need to poison you with ginger tea to take you out.”

Jun looks down at the glass. Raises it to his noise and takes a hesitant sniff.

Oh. Yeah, that’s ginger tea.

That you conjured him… because he said he felt nauseous?

“The last thing you need to understand is that the loophole you found was… unfortunate, to say the least, but Kim Mingyu’s contract was not one of mine. The next contract that idiotic angel is going to ask you to work on was also not my work. If you free him, too, it will be regrettable, but it will pale in comparison to what will happen to you if you even think about touching one of mine.”

You’re gone before the fear can even set in.

Jun blinks, staring at the empty seat across from him. No indication at all that you’d been there, no lingering shadow, just the taste of ginger on his tongue and one of those cartoon scribbles in a thought bubble hovering metaphorically above his head.

He doesn’t—

He can’t—

No, he decides, he is not going to have a mental break in this club. Not while “Friday” by Rebecca Black plays on a loop. Not while he can hear someone to his left vomiting all over the floor. Not while he watches Hoshi skip back to the table and he notices, for the first time all night, what he’s wearing.

“Did you change?”

Because he swears the angel wasn’t wearing that when they left the apartment. The pleather pants, yes, but not the baby pink cropped tank with a decal of a creepy child in the middle that says BOYS ARE STUPID, THROW ROCKS AT THEM.

“What? No,” Hoshi answers, sliding into the seat you’d occupied only moments earlier. “Why does it smell weird over here?”

Jun plays stupid. “One of the dartboard girls puked on the floor.” He’s not very good at it.

Hoshi shakes his head. “Not that.” An exaggerated sniff, not unlike a bloodhound. “It smells like… it definitely smells familiar. I know this smell. It’s like—you know how it feels when it’s about to snow? How the cold and the air burn your nose, but it doesn’t actually smell like anything? As if it used to have a smell, once, a long time ago, and all it is now is just an imprinted memory?”

Jun lies, “No. Nope, no idea.”

Hoshi visibly deflates. “Well, it’s kind of like that. Also a little bit like you used wet moss to put out a wildfire. It fills me with—” Hoshi pauses. Narrows his gaze as he studies Jun intently. Being stared at like this by a guy in that particular shirt is a bit disorienting, he must admit. “She was here, wasn’t she?”

He’ll know he’s lying, but Jun says no again because it’s a lot easier than explaining that being threatened within an inch of his mortal life made him cum in his pants a little.

After the club, Jun gets a few days of reprieve.

He doesn’t hear from Hoshi at all, nor does he materialize unexpectedly in his apartment. No mysterious books show up, either, which is a relief. He’d stored both Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition and Theological Law For Mortals: An Introduction on a seldom-used bookshelf in his living room and now the shelf is starting to bow in the middle. One more tome of that size and the whole thing is going to come tumbling down and earn him a noise complaint.

Another one.

Because Hoshi has already racked up three in Jun’s name.

So he tries to go back to life as usual until he’s needed again. Does his grocery shopping in the middle of the week in the middle of the day when it’s not so busy and he can navigate the aisles without crippling anxiety. Goes to a check-up and has to lie about turning over a new leaf and taking his health seriously when his cholesterol levels are back within perfect range. He plays video games, picks a nice willow tree in the park to sit beneath and read (normal books this time), takes some of the Mingyu money to buy a decent watch and a few tailored suits.

For the first time in a while, he’s able to sleep through the night.

But he can’t shake the feeling that it’s all… strange. Ever since you’d shown up at the bar, he swears he sees you everywhere: in line a few registers over at the supermarket, in the waiting room of the hospital, coming out of a fitting room in the mall. It’s that aura again. Stalks him like prey. Has paranoia pricking at his skin, and it’s not healthy, the way it has him looking over his shoulder at every turn, scurrying away from every attractive woman with a frown and mumbled apologies.

Surely this cannot be the rest of his life.

Hoshi swings by on a Tuesday. Just like you said he would, he asks Jun to work on an assignment for one Lee Chan who tried to sell his friend to the devil but accidentally sold himself instead. “Wouldn’t have really mattered,” Hoshi explains. Today, his shirt says BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN. “It’s sort of against the rules to try and sell other people.”

Jun spits toothpaste into the sink and prays the towel stays snug around his waist. Hoshi had cornered him in the bathroom. “So why do you want him back, then?” Rifles through the medicine cabinet for his nice hair serum. “Seems pretty open and shut to me.”

“Why do They want him back,” Hoshi corrects, “and I don’t know why They want this one.”

Jun thinks about what you said: how Mingyu and Lee Chan hadn’t been your contracts, were basically freebies; the… avatar-ness; the not-subtle-at-all threats on his life. Says, “Can I ask you something?” as he rolls on antiperspirant.

Hoshi, who’s sitting in the tub making animals out of shaving cream, simply nods.

“She said something interesting to me—”

“Before or after being mean to you made you ejaculate in your pants like a teenager?”

Jun blinks. “Before,” he answers slowly. When Hoshi makes no move to interrupt him again, he continues, “She said the Kim Mingyu and Lee Chan contracts weren’t hers. That the role is… inherited? Something about an avatar? How does that work?”

The angel hums. Adds what appear to be bunny ears to an amorphous blob that does not look rabbit-shaped at all, and Jun tries to tamper down his excitement at the impending explanation. Everything he’s dealt with so far will have been worth it because he’s going to be in the know. The powers that be will reward him with their trust. He’ll finally get some answers to all those questions he fell asleep pondering as a child.

And then Hoshi waves him away dismissively and says, “You know I can’t tell you any of that,” and everything comes collapsing down like a house of cards.

Fair enough, Jun thinks—he’s only successfully completed one assignment. It’s still early days. “But you will eventually,” he says, and whoever’s listening in must think the optimism in his voice is so pathetic, “right?”

Hoshi is not cruel. They haven’t known each other long, but Jun knows that much. He wasn’t created from some Old Testament mold, when cruelty was the point of it all—intended to impress fear and strict adherence to Their Word. So when Hoshi laughs it isn’t meant the way Jun takes it. When Hoshi laughs it isn’t meant to make Jun feel disregarded and unimportant, small and irrelevant, but that’s where it strikes him all the same.

When Hoshi laughs and has no reassurances to offer, Jun is seventeen again, reckoning with his loss of faith. Now he’s a decade older and is constantly confronted by all those old names and characters, and when you’re trapped in the middle of their bidding, where can you go when you need to hide?

Jun has the Lee Chan assignment completed by Thursday night.

A significant amount of money appears in his bank account. He wakes up on Friday to an enthusiastic message from his landlord, thanking him for paying his rental contract through the end of his lease. His parents thank him for the grocery delivery. On the side, away from the proud ears of his father, his mother is especially thankful. She’s choking back tears as she thanks him profusely, says business has been slow, tells him he’s a good son and he’s made them proud, always, even if he traveled a different path than the one he originally planned to take.

None of it takes away the ache in his chest.

None of it makes him feel any less empty. It’s hard to feel fulfilled when you know you’re just a pawn, stuck in the middle of a holy war that existed long before him and will persist long after he’s gone. Wen Junhui will always be on the outskirts, because everyone needs him, but he’s not important enough to trust. He is someone and no one all at once. He is Purgatory.

He needs to feel human—needs to make human mistakes, destroy himself the way humans do. Needs to commit a few cardinal sins and scold himself, wonder what the fuck he’s doing as he rattles ice around his third glass of baijiu. Needs to wake up with a splitting headache and a fractured memory. Needs a hoarse voice beside him to ask what time it is as he stares at their naked back and wonders how to get out of it.

There’s a bar not far from his apartment. A dive, by every definition of the word: broken, flickering neon sign out front, cheap linoleum floors peeling at the corners, 70s paneling on the walls, the stench of cigarette smoke outlasting all the old regulars. It’s the kind of place ghosts gather; the kind of place Jun was always too scared to go, knew the questioning, distrustful stares that’d be there to greet him as soon as he stepped through the door.

Tonight, though, it’ll do just fine.

He sits on a stool at the bar and orders a beer to start. Intends to stay a while. Watches a trio of old men play dou dizhu at a table near the back, empty bottles at their feet, fat cigars stuck between their teeth, insults and accusations shouted around them. To his left, a middle-aged man tries bartering for another drink. Needs it, he says, because he lost his job and his wife in the same week. Fourth job this month, the bartender replies, no pity to be found. It’s only the twenty-second.

Across the bar sits a kid that reminds Jun a lot of his brother. Can’t be much older than eighteen. Might not be old enough to drink legally at all, but that’s none of his business. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails and a large chip taken out of a front tooth. Not a clean break, all jagged edges—the kind that probably hurts to run his tongue over.

Jun feels guilty for a moment, surrounded by all these people with real problems. He’s got money and a respectable career. Has a roof over his head that’s been paid for by someone else. He’s good-looking, has his health and his youth. Has enough to take care of his family.

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” You sit beside him with a humored smile that shines through a truly pinched expression.

Jun snorts as he empties his drink. “Thessalonians. Gotta be honest, not one of my favorites.” Spares a glance at you: you’re different again, appearance-wise, but the scent you wear like a signature perfume is the same. Heady, like it was bottled at the center of the earth. “Is this your way of telling me that comparison is the thief of joy or whatever?”

Your turn to laugh. The bartender sets a drink in front of you that Jun hadn’t heard you order. “No,” you reply simply. “I’m not all that concerned with human joy. Just thought it was ironic. Come sit with me.”

“This is starting to sound familiar,” he snarks, but he follows anyway.

A rickety table by the window. Winter air seeps through, frosts the glass; has Jun wishing he’d worn a thicker coat. It was warmer by the bar. The two chairs you occupy are upholstered in peeling vinyl, one ripped with the stuffing peeking through. Jun takes that one, figuring you’ll laugh at his human chivalry, but you take the seat opposite him without a word. That old flickering sign outside reflects on your face.

He didn’t come here for a therapy session—he came to get drunk on questionable liquor surrounded by people who don’t know him. You do, of course, which throws a wrench in his plan. You seem to know everything about him, including that he’d be here brooding. “Why’d you follow me here?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t for your jubilant demeanor and fantastic conversation.” You put your drink to the side. Fold your hands in front of you. “Congratulations on Lee Chan. The outfit upstairs must be very pleased with the work you’ve done thus far.”

There’s no bite. No sardonic tone.

Jun realizes then how differently you treat him. How honest you are. You don’t lie or stretch the truth; you don’t brush off his questions. Hoshi is truthful at an arm’s length. Makes his stomach feel sour.

“I’m just a pawn, aren’t I? It doesn’t really matter if they’re pleased so long as I get the work done.”

You hum an acknowledgment. “People forget what They used to be like. The atrocities They committed and had others commit in Their name—humans, just like you, who were so desperate to appease their God they would’ve done whatever was asked of them.” Jun’s drink refills. He empties it in one go. “They killed their sons, waged war on their neighbors, have done unspeakable evils in Their name. It’s not only you, Wen Junhui, that has been a pawn to Them.”

He doesn’t react. A glass shatters at the bar. “And you?” he questions. “What are you, then, if those are the things They demand?”

“I’m a foil, of course. Would you still believe in good if there was no evil? Would you believe in the promise of eternal life if there was no threat of eternal damnation? Would you still be moral if there was no corruption?” Rhetorical questions. “Although you’re no stranger to crises of faith, are you?”

He isn’t. The handjob had rattled him, sure, but it hadn’t been the catalyst. Not really. Jun had still gone to church that Sunday. Still kneeled and received Communion and allowed himself to be blessed and prayed over. Still bowed his head before each meal and mouthed along as his mother said grace.

No, his loss of faith had been gradual: a question he couldn’t find an answer to, suffering he could no longer brush off with blind faith, words he used to treat as gospel that began tasting acrid in his mouth as he also lost his conviction. Everything started feeling like bullshit, and once everything started feeling like bullshit, he had to wonder what he’d spent eighteen years of his life chasing. What he spent eighteen years of his life believing in.

Until he found he didn’t believe in all that much anymore.

He has to ask: “Was it your doing?”

You shake your head. “People forget who I am, too. They call me the original liar. They say I am the source of all evil. They attribute every sin and misdeed to me, say it must’ve been my will, and yet it says right there in their holy book, in Isaiah 45:7: I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.” You focus all your attention on Jun—he feels the weight of it like a millstone. “I was the anointed one until I was overcome by sin and became the tempter, right? That’s what they say; how they wrote my story. And yet, by Their own word, it was They who created evil. It was God who created darkness.” A hefty pause. “Some may look at me and say I, too, was a pawn.”

“Do you feel like you were?”

You don’t respond. Instead, Jun watches as his view of the bar crumbles once you snap your fingers: block by block replaced with the interior of his apartment. His dining table instead of the off-balance one in front of the window. The ambient noise of his building instead of the bar. A mug of coffee in place of the baijiu.

“What the he—”

It’s within the four dull walls of Jun’s apartment building that you answer: “Even if I was, why should I feel like a victim? Did I not get the better end of the deal?” Jun feels like he’s standing atop a trap door. Like any second it’ll swing open and down, down, down he’ll go. “I rule over my kingdom and make no demands of anyone. I am a consequence of free will and not an inhibitor of it. I dole out punishment only for those deserving of it.”

The coffee is strong. Bitter. Just for a second before it melts away into something sweet. “You are temptation, are you not? Do the demons not do your bidding? Sow chaos in your name? Are you not the originator of all these contracts I’ve been tasked with destroying? If They are to be believed, those people were not meant to be yours, and yet you wound up with them anyway.”

“I like you, Wen Junhui,” you say. “You have an insatiable curiosity that is both admirable and ill-advised.”

He feels his face flush. “Sorry. Got carried away, I think.”

“It’s of little consequence to me. I must admit I have smited men for asking questions, but they were of a more crude variety. More coffee?” Jun nods. “I am who I am. It is who I’ve always been—I was created to walk this path and so I know no different.”

“Predestination.”

“Precisely, just as those dreadful fucking Puritans believed. God needed a foil, a betrayer, and so They created me. I know no other role.”

“You were an angel,” Jun argues. “They say you were beautiful, powerful, and intelligent; they say you were full of light. You don’t remember any of that?”

Sorrow etches across your face. Only for a second—blink and you’ll miss it. It is not in the same realm of pain Jun is experiencing. Yours is an ancient grief. It is something palpable and overwhelming, something liable to consume and destroy everything within its reach if left uncontrolled. Jun wonders if it has been; if you’ve let it unfurl before reigning it back in. If those are the plagues they speak of. Catastrophic disasters and genocides and everything on earth he cannot conceive of.

And then your face shutters. That grief is now nowhere to be found, borrowed features rearranged neatly once again. “Of course I remember,” is all you say.

Companionable silence. Jun sips slowly at his coffee and enjoys it. Wonders, briefly, how he wound up here, with the CEO and overseer of Hell sitting at his dining room table, before he lets those thoughts get chased away by a more pressing fact: there is an extremely beautiful and kind of terrifying woman sitting at his dining room table, and she hasn’t murdered him—yet.

He’s not above noticing it. Isn’t going to pretend he hasn’t thought about the night in the club roughly every twenty minutes since it happened; isn’t going to pretend he didn’t get a little hard in the shower that same night and that he didn’t relieve himself. Isn’t going to pretend that this isn’t doing something for him—the different disguises, each one just as enticing as the last, all of them conjured from deep within his psyche, checking off all his boxes.

Jun also isn’t going to pretend he has very much game. He hadn’t left university a virgin (although it’d been close) and nowadays women aren’t really falling over themselves to date a newly-licensed lawyer with little money and thrifted suits that feel like they’re playing at adulthood. However, if nothing else, this… partnership he has going on has served him well in the confidence department. He has disposable income and no debt. His clothes fit. He upgraded his cheap Casio watch to something that doesn’t turn his skin green.

“You didn’t really answer my question earlier.” You roll your head to the side, cock an eyebrow. His bravado falters slightly at the line of your throat. “Are you stalking me?”

What he aims for: cheeky, a little saucy; the kind of question that’s delivered with a shit-eating grin and earns him a coy laugh in response as you tuck your hair behind your ear. Oh, knock it off, you’d say as you playfully swatted at him. Of course I’m not. He’d catch your hand and press his lips to your knuckles before trailing them up your arm. The first kiss to the side of your neck would be gentle, a little hesitant, and then the heat would take over.

How it lands: an accusation completely lacking in charm and sass. Jun’s eyes widen in panic as soon as the question leaves his mouth, has him wondering how he’s still alive if the glare you send him is any indication of how you’re feeling. He should’ve known better. Jun is not the sort of person who can pull off a comment like that. Doesn’t have the charisma or the confidence. Isn’t sleazy enough. Jun is the kind of guy who lurks your social media after a one night stand to figure out your favorite breakfast so he can have it waiting the morning after; the kind who takes note of where you work so he can have flowers delivered to your desk and not for any other nefarious purpose.

Which, now that he’s thinking about it—

Every accusation is a confession, or whatever it is they say.

“That’s not—”

“What you meant,” you finish for him. Thankful for the lifeline, he nods, not trusting himself to not dig a deeper hole. “You want to know why it is I’ve shown up twice now, during both of your nights out.” He nods again. “You wanted to be suave when you said it, maybe even a little seductive, but you forgot your claim to fame is crying for three days over a handjob and how excruciatingly awkward you are.”

He waits for you to continue. When you don’t, he nods again, wishing he’d spent more time as a teenager on the degenerate parts of the internet rather than at Bible study.

“Are you an idiot?”

Not that it’s undeserved, but the question leaves him stunned. Has his mouth gaping open and shut like a goldfish. This is a trap, right? There’s a correct answer here that he’s expected to give. “...No?” he tries, and when your eyes narrow he quickly changes course. “Yes,” he says definitively. “Yes, I am an idiot. Sorry for my… idiocy.”

It looks like it’s being dragged out of you by force, but the clouds part, birds start chirping in perfect harmony, Jun feels the warmth of the sun—you laugh. You laugh, and it’s reluctant but it’s real, and Jun’s smile is so wide his face feels heavy under the weight of it. It’s so wide you say, “Wow, even your mouth is heart-shaped,” and, if Wen Junhui knows nothing else, he knows he’s in real big trouble.

“You know what else is heart-shaped?” You gesture for him to continue, except he’d just been yapping. Didn’t have a plan. There’s no punchline. And he can’t set it up as a dick joke because that doesn’t make sense. My dick is heart-shaped? What does that even mean? Unless it’s in a cute way? My dick is heart-shaped… for you. It could work, he reasons. Worse things have worked for other men. “My di—”

“No.”

He pretends to pout. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Because you were going to make a dick joke.”

“No I wasn’t.” You roll your eyes. “I was going to say my… digantic heart.”

A pause. Another beat of silence.

“I’m not going to laugh at you twice.”

A shit-eating grin on Jun’s face. “But you would, is what you’re saying? If you didn’t already meet your one-laugh quota?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I want to kiss you, he wants to say. Feels the words biting at the back of his teeth, begging him to open his mouth so they can escape and be real. I want to kiss you but I don’t know if it’d be real. Because it can’t be, can it? All the ways you’ve been described throughout human history, not once has anyone said you’re capable of love. Which—that’s not what Jun is looking for here, right? That’d be ridiculous. He has a crush.

A crush on a beautiful woman who looks like all of his wet dreams combined. Who’s terrifying and smart and maybe misunderstood in all the same ways he is. Who is halfway responsible for his current employment. Who conjures ginger tea for him when he feels sick and hasn’t snapped her fingers to turn him into dust… yet. It’s natural, especially for a late bloomer such as himself.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

You look like all of his wet dreams combined but it’s still just a costume. The same way Jun was playing at adulthood in his ill-fitting suits, you’re playing at being human. Take it off and you’re still the devil. Still primordial. Still not bound by the constraints and constructs of time. Not bound by mortality, which is probably the second-most pressing issue behind the whole fallen angel, prime ruler of Hell, purveyor of iron-clad contracts that are really, really pissing off Heaven thing.

“Congratulations,” you say, ripping Jun out of his spiral, “your overthinking has bypassed chickenpox completely and went straight to shingles.”

“They have a vaccine for that now.” Wow, he is really not nailing this.

“I know. Pestilence was devastated. Moped around for ages. Imagine all your hard work gone, just like that, because of science? That’s why I created Jenny McCarthy.” You sigh. “Anyway, out with it.”

Jun chews at the inside of his cheek. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask in a non-offensive way.”

You blink. “I am literally the devil.”

“Who can kill me,” he says slowly, trying to buy time. So are you, it seems, because you’re content to stretch the silence. Wait until it settles in Jun’s bones as anxiety. One of those old tricks he learned during law school that’s now being turned on him. He coughs. “Anyway, I—” He deflates. “It’s stupid, I don’t know why I even thought—”

“Out with it,” you repeat.

“Right.” He sucks in a breath. “Does this mean anything to you? Not in, like, an affectionate, I’m in love with you kind of way, but in a… human… way? Is it offensive to phrase it like that?”

“I think you’ll find not much offends me—except for you and your fucking lawyer thing ruining my contracts.” There are those flames behind your eyes again. The temperature in the room increases tenfold. “So no, it’s not offensive to wonder how human I am or am not, but I don’t know if the answer will be to your satisfaction or understanding.”

“Try me.”

You huff a laugh. Mumble something about the hubris of man. “You’ve read Their book, so you know how and why the angels were created. Ministering spirits, I think it says. Spirits without bodies. I have never known what it means to be human because I never was. I appear as one to you out of necessity.”

“Because my brain would melt if I saw your true form?”

“What? No. Because it’s terrifying. Would you rather hand over your mortal soul to someone who looked like an eldritch horror or someone who looked like one of those women you’ve jerked off to in porn magazines?” Jun swallows audibly. “Exactly.”

“But what does it feel like when you’re like this? When you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “It feels different, but I can’t say it feels human because I do not know what that feels like. You’ve interacted with me and have been to Hell—if I asked you how it felt to be the devil, how would you answer?”

Jun doesn’t have to think. He says the first word that comes to mind, which is, “Lonely. I think it’s lonely, because They have worshippers, Their followers are devout and love and trust without proof, and you were created to be hated and feared.” You move to interject, but Jun continues. “Maybe you have those things too, but they’re not the same. They gave you everything and then They ripped it away. Their followers heed every word of the Bible, name their children after its characters, but where’s your book? Why wasn’t anyone allowed to tell your story?”

“Maybe you should write it.”

What you aim for: cheeky, a little saucy; the kind of suggestion spoken around a sly smile that’s also a little self-conscious at someone taking you into consideration—at someone seeing you.

How it lands: fractured; words spoken slowly and intentionally so nothing is given away. How ironic that it’s the most human Jun has heard you sound.

But your bravery is inspiring, even if you’re unaware of it. Even if you aren’t making a conscious choice to be so, Jun can watch you be vulnerable and think he can do the same. He can finally say what he’s been dancing around this entire time, which is, “If I kiss you, what will it feel like for you?”

“The same as any other kiss, I imagine.”

“You’ve done this before, then? As a… human?”

Seems your patience with him has run out. You stand, make your way to Jun’s side of the table slowly. Drag a finger along the back of each chair, nails cherry red and sharpened to a point. He wants to feel them. Wants the sting as they dig into his thighs; as they scratch down the length of his back and mark him up. He wants to feel the phantom bite for days, long after you’re gone and he’s come to his senses. When he stands beneath the spray of the shower and his skin feels raw, he wants to know it was you that had done it.

He understands, now, why people make those deals and shake your hand.

As you loom above him, slowly encroaching upon his space—as the heady scent of you overwhelms him and makes him dizzy, has his eyes fluttering closed and rolling back in his head—he thinks he’d give you anything you asked for.

You lean in close. One hand on the arm of the chair, one wrapped around the meat of his thigh, just on the edge of sharp. Closer, closer, until he can feel the warmth of your breath against his cheek, the line of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. “Tell me: does this feel human?”

It does. Drives him a little crazy how he can feel each word punctuated against his skin; how he can feel your body heat seep through the fabric of his pants—heat he didn’t expect to find. And it isn’t like it matters, because he’d want you no matter how you felt, but it helps to ground him. Keep him in the moment. So he says, “Ye-yeah,” and knows you’re smiling at the need in his tone.

Need that starts in his toes and settles in his belly. Need that grows as your hand trails up his thigh and settles over his zipper, over the bulge you find there. Jun’s breath catches in his throat. He knows the mechanics—in, out; in, out; in, out—but can’t convince his lungs to work. Feels lightheaded and a little embarrassed because you’re not even touching him properly and he already feels untethered.

All you do is pull away, back out of his space, and for all he knows his world’s been turned upside down. Doubly so when he cracks one eye open and sees you on your knees, looking up at him with a half-lidded gaze, lashes impossibly dark. He can’t help it. He reaches out, places his thumbs in the contours of your cheek, cups your jaw, and presses his lips to yours.

Immediate searing heat.

Jun is engulfed in it. You taste like a storm—taste like the first deafening crack of thunder and the lightning that follows. And he knows he’s coming across too eager with the way he licks into your mouth, but you don’t seem to mind. You match his pace, groan into his mouth, palm at his cock with more intention. Jun’s hips roll, seeking the friction; wants more of the stinging pleasure. Wants to haul you into his lap and fit his hands in the curve of your waist, leave bruises on your hips with his thumbs. He wants to trace every inch of your skin and commit it to memory.

But you’ve got plans of your own.

You plant your hands against his chest and push. Jun goes willingly, chest heaving, missing your mouth already. There’s a crooked grin sitting on your face that sends a spark of excitement up his spine, has alarms sounding in his head, but he can’t look away. Everything you do mesmerizes him: the way you run your tongue along your bottom lip, the slow drag of his zipper, how your voice is husky and deeper than he’s ever heard it when you ask him, what do you want, and your smile when he answers, whatever you do.

And what you seem to want is to destroy him in record time. Pants at his knees, hard cock straining against his briefs, he feels like he’s back in high school. Has that same sense of adolescent urgency, like everything’s happening both in slow-motion and not fast enough, because he knows what’s coming. Watches with a lip tugged between his teeth as you free his cock. Whimpers when you wrap your hand around him, reminds himself to breathe; grips white-knuckled at the arms of the chair when you begin to move.

Your pace is torturously slow to start. You seem to delight in tormenting him; in hearing all those breathy moans that escape him and spur you on. You lean forward and spit and everything is slick. Jun feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. He grips at the chair tighter. Digs his nails into his thighs when that doesn’t work and lets his head roll back, neck on full display. Maybe it’s to tempt you. Maybe he wants you to sink your teeth into him and mark him up. Maybe he has a million fantasies, and not a single one compares to—

Your mouth. The sound that comes out of him is unholy. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to roll his hips and fuck his cock deeper into your mouth, down your throat. All he wants to do is chase the bliss of that wet heat and give in to it.

But he needs this to last. If this is the only time he’ll have you like this, he needs to make it worthwhile.

He needs to tell you, needs you to slow it down before he embarrasses himself by coming in your mouth, except he can’t find the words. Doesn’t want to deny himself even a second of pleasure. Five minutes is all it’s taken to make a hedonist out of him. And that’s… well, it’s not a philosophy he ever thought he’d adopt, but who could blame him when you feel like velvet? When he starts babbling nonsense and you hum in response and everything feels electric?

“I’m gonna—” A sharp nip at the inside of his thigh has his declaration dead on arrival. His body shivers, trembles, tries to collapse in on itself. “Shit, don’t do that, I’m gonna—”

He feels your smile against his skin. Whimpers as you mouth at his balls. Wonders if he’s going to die like this; if someone will come to check on him and find his pitiful, half-naked body right here in this chair, and that is not a sight he wants anyone to walk in on, so he reaches for you, finds your hair and tugs at you gently. Seals his lips over yours before you can come up with any more ideas.

He hauls you into his lap, just like he’d wanted, and dips his hands beneath your top. Skims his hands over the warm skin he finds. Digs his nails in when you bite at the column of his throat and groans as his cock—so hard he can barely think straight; can’t think of anything except burying himself inside of you—brushes against the harsh fabric of your pants.

“God, c’mere.” You oblige. Kiss him with such intensity he no longer cares where he dies, so long as this is how he goes out. Watches as stars explode behind his eyelids when he realizes he can taste himself on your tongue, that you taste like him. Moves his hands to your chest, traces lightly over your hard nipples, delights in the way you react, that it’s him making you feel good. That it’s him you let pull your top over your head. That it’s him that presses praise into your skin like scripture.

He mouths at you indiscriminately: your collar bones, the space between your breasts, the swell of skin there. Whines as you grab at his hair and tell him how to please you. Thinks he’s learning a lot about himself when he does as you say, when he sucks and bites at your nipples, and grows impossibly harder.

You sigh, blissed out; tell him you want his mouth elsewhere, fill his mind with thoughts that have him rolling his hips uselessly, thrusting at nothing, but fuck, he wants it all. Wants to taste every part of you. Wants to drag you to the edge and watch as your body writhes in satisfaction. Wants to know how beautiful you look when you come on his tongue, head thrown back, your nails digging into his scalp.

Wants to bury his cock inside of you before you can come down and watch as your eyes roll back and know, with every thrust of his hips, that he’s leaving his mark just the same as you are.

So that’s what he does. He stands, lifting you with ease, tells you to wrap your legs around him as he carries you to his bedroom. Lays you in the middle of the bed and helps strip you bare. Tells you, in every way he can think of, how much he loves seeing you like this, how stunning you are, how lucky he is. Kisses his way down your body until he’s level with your cunt. He breathes in your scent, desperate for all of you, before he circles a thumb over your clit and follows it with his mouth.

Ironic, he thinks, that you taste like heaven.

He gives as good as he got—flattens his tongue and works you over with long licks. Laps and sucks and doesn’t let up when your legs start to shake. Places one over his shoulder and dives back in. Swears fall from your lips in fractured syllables, breathless cries in between commands to keep going. He’s a man possessed. Doesn’t want to waste a second. Doesn’t want the taste of anyone else on his tongue.

You come with a sob, his name the only thing you seem capable of saying. Jun, Jun, Jun, like a chant.

…Like something he’d hear in church.

No reprieve. He stretches you on his fingers, almost delirious as he presses against your g-spot and feels how much wetter you get. Ruts against the mattress at all the crude sounds he’s pulling from you, unable to help himself. Says, “Can I…?” and slicks himself up with what he’s gathered from you when you nod.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Kisses the spot just below your ear as he runs his hands up and down your thighs. “How do you want me?” he asks. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

He expects you to want it from behind. Maybe on top so you’re in control, turned away. He doesn’t expect you to say, “Just like this,” as you hitch a leg around his hip and pull him as close as possible. He doesn’t expect you to say, “I want you to look at me,” in that tone, like it’s imperative. Like you need it. He doesn’t expect you to grab the back of his neck and kiss the air from his lungs as he pushes inside.

Heat. Everything is white, blinding heat.

Jun whines into your mouth. Rolls his hips slowly as you swallow it. Your hands move to his shoulders and down his spine, settle in the small of his back, press into the dimples there. He pulls back only so he can tell you to mark him up, that he wants to feel you days from now, and you indulge him. Shallow at first—your nails ghost across his skin, more ticklish than painful, before they dig in a little deeper. Jun feels the bite as the welts begin to form and he thinks his smile must look crazed.

He keeps his pace steady. Fucks in as deep as he can and rocks back slowly, trying to hold on to the way your cunt squeezes him, but you need more. You tell him as much and don’t say please, and when Jun tries to be a little cocky, when he thinks he has a modicum of control and says, “You’re okay, baby, you can take it,” you send him such a nasty glare he immediately gives it to you harder and faster.

But he can’t help but laugh. “What, I can’t call you baby?” he jokes. There’s a rebuttal on the tip of your tongue that Jun does away with with a sharp thrust of his hips. He knows he’s playing with fire, that he’ll pay for this one way or another, but the thought thrills him more than anything else.

“I’m the—fuck,” you swear. Jun doesn’t have to ask why. Everything’s starting to feel tighter, wetter. Both of you are hurtling toward the inevitable, and Jun needs to feel you come on his cock, needs to watch you unravel beneath him.

He grabs your hand. Sucks two of your fingers into his mouth. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Make yourself feel good, I wanna see you come.” He moans, loud and unabashed, when you do as he says.

Each pass of your fingers over your clit makes you jerk, has electricity licking at your heels. Jun feels each one. Feels the way you clench and tremble. A bead of sweat runs down the column of your throat and he traces it with his tongue. Keeps fucking harder, deeper; grinds his pelvis against your clit and falls in love with the way you sound in the throes of lust. Wants to bottle it and keep it forever.

“Jun, I’m gonna—”

Another roll of his hips. Deep, deep, deep. “I know.” Two words he’s barely able to choke out. Feels like he’s being suffocated as his vision starts to go hazy at the edges. All he knows in this moment is your pleasure, your satisfaction, you.

Your orgasm hits with a shattering cry. Jun follows right after, unable to put up a fight against the vice grip of your cunt. It feels pathetic, the way his body shakes with the force of it, but when it passes, when he comes back into his body, all he feels is bone-deep euphoria.

He collapses onto your chest. Presses another kiss there. Sighs contentedly when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” comes your easy answer.

Minutes pass in blissful quiet. Neither of you speak, letting your heavy breathing do the talking, and for once Jun enjoys the sounds of the city outside when there’s someone beside him to hear it, too. “I’m gonna pull out,” he tells you, even though it feels a bit silly.

He feels the loss immediately.

Unsure of the protocol for something like this, Jun does what he always does: pretends there’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happening at all.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss to your temple. He grabs a clean pair of underwear from a drawer, pulls them on, pads down the hall to the bathroom. He pointedly does not look at his reflection as he turns the tap on and waits for the water to warm. Knows his face is blotchy and flushed and his hair’s a mess and that you’re spread out on his bed looking like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, so he doesn’t want to look at his reflection and feel bad about himself. Doesn’t want to taint this moment by feeling unworthy of it.

But a bit of that self-doubt still manages to creep in, because he returns to his room and is surprised to find you haven’t left. That, above all else, you look content: laying on your front, one of Jun’s pillows tucked beneath your head, sheets barely covering your ass. You smile when Jun puts a knee on the mattress and you feel it dip. Smile wider when he kisses the length of your spine and tells you, in a voice unrecognizable even to his own ears, to roll onto your back so he can clean you up.

If it’s too intimate, you make no mention of it. If there’s no room in this moment for this kind of care and affection, if all of this is for Jun’s sake and you’re just letting him go through the motions, you don’t mention that, either.

He works slowly and with care. Apologizes when you hiss at the first swipe of the washcloth, the water warm but still colder than your skin. Cracks a joke about taking you out for breakfast in the morning even though both of you know you’ll be long gone by then, and he waits for that knowledge to sting but it never does, but he’s relieved when you laugh anyway.

It’s when you stop laughing, when your smile slowly disappears from your face, that it all starts to sink in. Because you ask, “Did it feel real to you?” and he’s not sure how to interpret that. If it’s a masked plea for reassurance or if you want to make sure he got his money’s worth.

Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s neither.

“I know it can’t be for you what it is for me,” he answers, “but if you’re asking if I had a good time, then my answer is yes. And I know what this is, so you don’t need to look like that, okay? I’m not about to confess my love for you and start crying.”

(That’s not entirely true. He really might start crying, but he’ll at least have enough sense to wait until you’re gone.)

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, so I…” You sigh, avert your gaze, tangle your fingers in the sheets. “It’s just—you’re doing all this nice stuff for me, so I didn’t… I wanted to make sure.”

“‘Nice stuff’? You mean helping you clean up and offering you a glass of water?”

You laugh again, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re treating me like I’m human, Wen Junhui. Like I’m the same as any other woman you’d sleep with.”

He cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, and that’s the end of that.

Jun doesn’t use his downtown office much, but since his apartment still smells like you, he figures he can use a change of scenery. Hoshi will know where to find him if he’s needed.

He ducks into a recently-opened coffee shop and orders an expensive latte with ingredients he’s never heard of. When he pops the lid, he’s both horrified and intrigued by the purple-blue coffee that greets him. Back outside, he breathes in the musk of the city: the exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, the sweat from people rushing to work.

A jianbing vendor is set up at the corner, fills him with nostalgia—smells just like the ones he ate nearly every morning during law school. He smiles as he orders and asks for extra lajiao, foolishly ignoring the questioning glance he receives in return, and he’s happy as he walks the remaining two blocks to his office with it warm in his hand. Sticks it in his mouth to hold between his teeth as he digs in his pockets for the key. Jiggles it in the lock as he accidentally bites down, and it takes a second, maybe five, but then—

He should not have asked for the extra chili sauce.

All 182 of his centimeters crash through the door and carelessly toss aside his briefcase. Water. He needs water desperately, even though it’s just going to make it worse, which he knows, but his mouth all the way down to his esophagus feels like it’s been set ablaze. Feels like he’s breathing magma. Feels like if someone stood in front of him right now and caught wind of his breath, they’d turn to ash.

Which explains how he misses the person sitting at his desk, their feet kicked up and face hidden behind a newspaper from six months ago.

He finally notices them some ten minutes later, after he locks himself in the bathroom and douses his face in cold water and can be sure he’s not about to die from excessive heat intake. Not that this is any less embarrassing for him: he shrieks, clearly not expecting anyone to be there, and the stranger shrieks in turn. The shriek-off lasts approximately thirty seconds and is cut off by an elderly woman sticking her head through the door and asking if everything is alright, to which Jun sheepishly nods and bows in apology as he thanks her for her concern.

Once she’s back on the street, he whirls around to face his intruder.

“Good morning,” Hoshi says, seemingly nonplussed by the entire sequence of events that have transpired. “Had a little mishap with the chili sauce, huh?” Jun ignores him. Snatches the newspaper out of his hands and shoos him out of his chair and into one intended for guests. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Jun glares. “Why are you—”

“Or should I say the only side of the bed, considering you had erotic entanglements with the devil.”

Annoyance flares within him. Has that lajiao heat rushing back to his skin. Hoshi’s got a lot of nerve—the same guy who refused to tell him much of anything, who just takes and takes and takes, is now criticizing him for exercising his free will. Well, Jun’s not going to accept that, he decides. Adopts a snotty little tone and says, “So you were spying on me? Wow, okay, you pervert.”

Hoshi balks. Trips over his words as he tries to mount a useless defense. “I didn’t—that’s not—no,” is the best he can come up with.

“Did you like the show?”

“Wen Junhui—”

“Very convenient that’s the thing you watched. Missed my whole crisis of faith, huh? Both of them? Didn’t think I’d maybe need some support during those times?” He shakes his head. Tries to hold on to the anger, because it’s less humiliating than crying after acting like a hard-ass. “At least she’s been honest. At least she’s always been upfront about who and what she is. You guys—you guys have all these demands, all these requirements, but at the end of the day none of it matters. We’re all just pawns, and that’s all you’ll ever see us as.”

The angel stays quiet. Can’t quite discern if Jun’s tirade is over. He narrows his gaze, opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak just to see if Jun will interrupt him. (He doesn’t.) He clears his throat and tries to remember the correct pitch for his Comforting Voice: this will prove to be a pivotal moment in Wen Junhui’s partnership with Upstairs, and he’s going to need it.

“Wen Junhui,” he attempts again. No, the tone isn’t right—needs to be a little lower. “Wen Junhui, I am… holding space for everything you’ve just told me.” That’s better. Sounds convincing enough. “Is it fair to say you feel abandoned and unimportant?”

Jun’s cheeks warm to a mortifying shade of red. “I guess,” he mumbles.

“Great!” Hoshi beams. “Thank you so much for trusting me with this sensitive information.” He snaps his fingers and another manila folder appears in front of Jun. “Since you’re feeling better, this is your next assignment! If you open to the first page, you’ll see the contractee’s name is Choi Seungcheol and that he is of the utmost import—”

“No.”

“—ance.” Hoshi, unused to being caught unawares not once but twice in the same conversation, simply blinks, limbs frozen mid-air. “Pardon?”

“I said no.”

“Right, right… See, I heard that, but I’m not following. What do you mean no?”

Jun stands and starts clearing off the desk. Not that there’s much on it besides a framed picture of himself sandwiched between his parents at his graduation and an unused candle. Peach bellini. Hoshi had procured it from who-knows-where, said it was “an important part of Internet history” (that Jun must’ve missed) and called it a “belated graduation gift,” except the smell was so sickly-sweet it immediately gave him a migraine as soon as the lid came off.

All of this is besides the point, which is this: Jun doesn’t need this office. He doesn’t need this weird job where he reports to these weird people.

He says as much.

“Hey!” Hoshi objects, to which Jun responds, “You’re wearing a shirt with a cartoon wolf on it that says Fighting the Gay Allegations Again. I mean come on, dude, where do you even find these things?”

“You don’t like my shirts?”

“No! And I also don’t like that you just pretended to care about my feelings so I’d get back to work like a good little corporate soldier!” He’s able to fit the picture frame in his briefcase, but the candle doesn’t fit. Even if they’re arguing, it seems rude to give it back to Hoshi when he’d gone out of his way to get him a gift to begin with, so he lets out a frustrated screech and decides to carry it back to his apartment. “Find some other would-be Pope to help you.”

Although his face is blotchy and wet, Hoshi seems undeterred. There are, of course, no other would-be Popes available on such short notice—especially not one that’s earned the favor of the devil—so he needs to think up a plan quickly. If he fumbles Wen Junhui, he’ll either never hear the end of it from the lower-ranking angels or he’ll be stoned, and neither sounds very favorable right now.

So he does the only thing he can think to do: he snaps his fingers.

Kim Mingyu looks exactly like his picture.

He’s just as tall and symmetrically good-looking as Jun thought he would be, dressed in an impeccably-fitting white suit that elongates his legs and makes him look far taller than the six-foot-one-point-nine-repeating he’d measured in at. Dark, slightly wavy hair frames a perfect set of cheekbones, and whatever cologne he’s wearing nearly has Jun drooling.

He might actually be doing that, he realizes with horror, because Kim Mingyu also looks supremely uncomfortable. Is fluttering from one thing to the next, never staying more than a few seconds in each spot, tidying and organizing the same items over and over, muttering apologies all the while. And the board room really is not that big, so all that anxiety is starting to wear off on Jun, who was in his own office only a few minutes ago arguing with an angel that is currently nowhere to be found.

“So sorry about the mess!” Mingyu chimes. Jun can tell he’s trying (and failing) for unaffected. “I didn’t know we were having visitors, but no matter! My mother always used to say…” He pauses. Straightens his posture. Grabs a bouquet of white hydrangeas from a stunning pearlescent vase just to drop them right back in. “Er, I suddenly don’t remember anything my mother used to say.”

Jun grimaces and hides it behind his hand. “‘Have a wonderful day at school’?” he offers.

Mingyu smiles, makes a little a-ha! sound as he snaps his fingers; seems thankful for the lifeline he’d been thrown. Says, “Yes, yes, of course!” and starts fussing over the state of the table. He squirts a concerning amount of cleaner and wipes at it so aggressively Jun fears he’s going to wear a hole in the wood. “I’ve been told there was a slight security issue, but please rest assured that the rest of our guests should be arriving very soon! Any second now!”

That last bit comes out more like a demand.

Even though he feels far less intelligent than Hoshi claims he is, Jun is still smart enough to deduce he’d been snap-blasted to Heaven, not only because Mingyu is here and there are vaguely ominous security issues, but also because there’s a placard next to the door:

Board Room 17 Pearly Gates Wing

“It’s weird seeing you in real life after staring at the picture in your file for so long,” Jun says, continuing to look around. Everything is stark white, which he expected, with accents of gold that dazzles so brightly it hurts his eyes and pink freshwater pearl, and the flowers are abundant and fragrant. Jun feels at peace here. If it weren’t for Mingyu and his rapidly-fraying nerves, he might even call it tranquil. “I think I have a crush on you.”

Mingyu flushes. Unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth to stammer out a response that’s interrupted by three more figures materializing by the door.

Hoshi stands in the middle of Jeonghan and Joshua, arms slung around both of their shoulders. The two demons, naturally, do not look pleased. Jeonghan especially looks tortured, which is at odds with his new pink hair, and he’s the first to shrug off the angel. He grabs the chair closest to him and makes sure it scrapes against the floor as noisily as possible before slumping into it, arms crossed, scowl so fierce his frown lines nearly touch his jaw.

Joshua does the same, though he looks far more delighted to have a seat at the table.

From an invisible speaker, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor comes blaring. Hoshi and Mingyu startle; the latter goes in search of a tablet, completely frazzled, mumbling oh no oh no oh no as he rummages through drawers. Jeonghan and Joshua side-eye one another and come away wearing matching glares. To his credit, Jun sits ramrod straight and doesn’t flinch. When no one’s looking he sticks his fingers in his ears to dampen the noise and smiles politely at Mingyu when they make awkward eye contact.

The music cuts out, Mingyu heaves a sigh of relief, and once the tense silence settles back into the room, he turns to Hoshi and stage whispers, “Should I put it back on, or…?” to which Hoshi frantically nods.

Opening blaring once again, it’s then that you walk through the door, flanked on all sides by an impressive security detail. (Heaven’s, of course. They’re also dressed in all white and wearing mitre hats with SECURITY embroidered across the front in gold beadwork. Jun wonders, briefly, if this is where Hoshi gets his inspiration from.)

You’re escorted to a seat. There are seven chairs on the side of the table opposite Jun; you’re given the one in the middle, and Jeonghan and Joshua immediately move to sit on each side of you. You carry yourself with an easy confidence, not at all rattled by being here in this setting. It’s almost comical how your body language contrasts with Hoshi and Mingyu: how they’re at home, where they’re meant to be, and their unease is so apparent; and you’re where you’ve been exiled from, antithetical to what you’ve been put in charge of, a place that Jun knows picks at all those old wounds like a buzzard, and your composure is faultless.

Something you have to be, he figures.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, what’s with the long faces?” you ask, brows knit in faux-concern. You look the same as the last time Jun saw you—he’s sure it’s a power play, meant to throw him off, and it works. Heat simmers along his skin as the memories come flooding back. He wonders what you look like to everyone else. “It’s so lovely to see you all again.” You turn to Mingyu, who seems to shrink under your undivided attention. “Especially you, handsome. We’ve all been mourning the loss of our favorite eye candy.”

Mingyu squeaks. “Um!” He scrambles to the head of the table. His hands shake as he tries to unlock the tablet. “There’s, uh—an ag-agenda! For this me-meeting. Very important! Just one moment, please, and I’ll—”

“Very fascinating,” Jeonghan interjects. “Do you anticipate this happening at any point today? I have to oversee a workshop this afternoon about new ways to make men insecure about their penises and I simply cannot miss it. It’s my second-favorite event of the year.”

“What’s the first?” Jun can’t help but ask.

“The social media workshops. Next month’s is about online bullying and new ways to avoid getting banned by safeguarding teams so you can continue trolling in peace without fear of repercussions. The one after that is about sending in anonymous gossip to those Spotted In Such-and-such Facebook pages for places no one cares about.”

Joshua nods. “I think the Stevenage one is my favorite. When’s the workshop about the new Lego shapes to step on?”

Mingyu’s mouth snaps closed. In an attempt to nip the derailment in the bud, Hoshi says, “I think what our Head of HR meant to say was—”

“HR? None of you are human.”

“It stands for Heaven Relations, obviously,” Hoshi snaps, “and we’ve called this emergency meeting because we’ve been made aware of a very troubling development.”

You gasp. Lean forward and widen your eyes like you have no idea what he could possibly be referring to. “No! A troubling development, you say?” You fold your hands on the table. “Tell me all about it.”

Jun, however, cannot possibly play it so cool. Feels dread overtake his body as restless anxiety sets in. The mind reader that he is, Joshua sends him a discreet wink that does very little to settle his nerves. Still feels like he’s drank fifteen cups of light roast coffee and is about to sit for a law school exam he forgot to study for.

“It has come to our attention that…” Mingyu looks down at the tablet. Looks up and over at Hoshi. Grimaces. “Do I really have to say this?”

“Yes.”

He huffs and continues. “It has recently come to our attention that one Wen Junhui, would-be Pope and recently-licensed lawyer accepted into a contracted position at Their approval, has engaged in… sexual relations… with the being known colloquially as the Devil.”

Jeonghan looks sideways at you with the most disgustedly disappointed look Jun has ever seen appear on a face. To the contrary, Joshua leans across the table to high-five him and say, “You dirty dog! I bet it was better than that handjob, huh?” He leans back, whistles low. “Goddamn, why is it every time you get some action it’s like some end of days shit? You ever consider becoming celibate?”

“Not involuntarily,” Jun mumbles.

“Shame,” Jeonghan intones. You laugh at this.

Hoshi, once again fed up with his meeting being derailed, says to Jeonghan and Joshua, “Why are you two even here?” to which they reply, “We’re her advocates. We’re advocating.”

“No advocating has ever taken place while the three of you have been in this room.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “At ease, Megamind.”

“Metatron,” Mingyu quietly corrects.

Jun snorts. Of course. Of course Hoshi is one of the most powerful archangels in Heaven. Speaker of God, permitted to be in Their presence and at Their side; celestial scribe and guide to humanity—the guy who appears earthside wearing crude t-shirts and stupid hats. Of-fucking-course.

All of this is enough to drive him to lunacy. All the things he didn’t and doesn’t know, all the secrets kept locked up tight, all the jokes he continues to be the butt of. Everyone in this room is on equal footing except him, and he’s the one seemingly on trial. Heaven doesn’t care what you do—your role is to sow chaos and they’re powerless to stop you, just as you’re powerless here. No, the only one that will feel the repercussions of this is Jun, not only because he’s the only one capable of being punished, but because he’s human.

He must sense his distress again, because Joshua mouths a watch this before saying, with all the conviction and tenacity of a seasoned prosecutor, “Allow me to advocate, then: we do not accept these accusations as fact without being presented with irrefutable proof, which I’m sure you have, considering you’ve made such a show of gathering us all here.”

Mingyu and Hoshi share a look.

“I—well, you see—”

“Surely you don’t need irrefutable proof to understand what a conflict of interest this is and why we’re concerned.”

“A conflict of interest which surely has already taken place?” Jeonghan tacks on. Joshua nods with grave sincerity. “Or have you called an impromptu, emergency meeting to discuss hypotheticals?” Mingyu and Hoshi share another look. “Gentlemen, need we remind you of the criteria that must be met before an emergency meeting may be called? I cannot imagine two high-ranking employees such as yourselves disregarded such strict protocols simply because of the parties involved?”

“Haaa, of course not!” Hysterical, frenzied laughter ensues. “No, no, we would never—”

Joshua shakes his head. “It sure is looking like that’s what has taken place here today, but I hate to assume the worst, so if you could just show us the permits I’m sure we can get this all cleared up.”

“Per-permits…?”

Jeonghan has all the patience in the world as he replies, “Section 894, subsection 12 of the accords states that in order for an emergency meeting to be called and granted between the constituents of Heaven and Hell, the proper permits must be filed and signed off on by the governing bodies of each at least 72 hours in advance. Now, it’s possible the paperwork was signed on our side, but as you know our boss is very, very busy and it seems to have been misplaced, so we have no way of confirming this.” You nod, sharing Joshua’s very serious look. “Hence the permits. Show them to us, please.”

There’s hope yet that Jun will get out of this. Be on the receiving end of his own strategy. Jeonghan and Joshua start up a show us the per-mits! show us the per-mits! chant that sends Hoshi and Mingyu into a panic. The latter, now soaked through with sweat, does a fruitless search on his tablet, while Hoshi tries to distract everyone with an interpretive dance none of them can make sense of.

“I believe this is a reflection of his current state of mind,” you say solemnly, playing the part of an esteemed art critic. “It’s histrionic on the surface, but once you dig deeper, it’s uncontrolled and frenetic at its roots. A wonderful metaphor for a fractured, disjointed mind, but severely lacking in execution.”

“Amen,” Jeonghan and Joshua say in unison.

Minutes pass. It’s clear the permits don’t exist, but Mingyu keeps up the charade of searching anyway, much to the delight of the Hell delegation. “Have you tried the top drawer of that thing?” Joshua asks right after Jeonghan suggests checking the trash folder on the desktop in his office. You, of course, stay quiet, content to soak up your victory in silence—albeit while looking extremely smug.

“Well!” you say, clapping your hands together with a wicked smile. “This was fun. Thank you both so much for the invite, but I fear we must be going. Duty calls.”

Hoshi is having none of this. Permits be damned, another snap of his fingers finds you bound to your chair, chains wrapped around each of your forearms. You hiss at the contact. “Whoa,” Jun whispers, and if Jeonghan’s and Joshua’s mouths hadn’t been removed by the same finger-snap, he assumes there’d be a crude joke coming his way.

“The three of you would do well to remember who and where you are.” Hoshi speaks with all the authority bestowed upon him. It’s a stark difference from how Jun usually sees him—aloof and unserious, more like a court jester—and it has him straightening in his chair. “None of us will be leaving this room until the matter is resolved.”

You roll your neck. Press your tongue into the fat of your cheek but otherwise don’t move. Pain flashes across your face each time the chains leave fresh wounds in your skin and Jun wants to tell them to cut it out, call this whole thing off, say it doesn’t mean anything, but he’s still so clueless. Still so far out of his depth. These matters concern him but are so far beyond his pay grade it’s all he can do to keep treading water.

And you know this, because you say, “There is no conflict of interest. Everything is business as usual.”

Hoshi doesn’t even make eye contact as he retorts, “Which is useless, coming from you.”

Mingyu offers up a tight-lipped smile. “I think what my colleague is trying to say is that we simply cannot trust word of mouth in a matter as serious as this. As I’m sure you understand, Wen Junhui is a special case. It’s quite rare They enlist the help of humans in such circumstances, and if he is no longer able to perform his duties in an unbiased manner due to your influence—”

Teeth grit, you repeat, “There is no conflict of interest.”

Mingyu sighs. Sets down his tablet and narrows his gaze. He seems to have shaken off the dregs of doubt and uncertainty, because he looks powerful. Looks intimidating, which is not a word Jun would have used to describe him twenty minutes ago. “Need I remind you of your role in this universe? Chaos and temptation; calamity and destruction. You serve no one. You do not speak in truths, nor are you concerned with them. Your ambition and pride were your downfall, and it seems you have learned nothing in the years since.” He turns his attention to Jun. “And if you doubt what I say, remember I witnessed all of this with my own eyes.”

“Scandalous! And what were you doing at the devil’s sacrament, Kim Mingyu?”

Jun nods, earning him an incredulous look from Hoshi. “Well, she has a point,” he defends. “There is that saying about stones and glass houses or whatever. He wouldn’t have seen all of those things if he hadn’t made a deal with her in the first place.”

Hoshi is quiet. Mingyu looks betrayed. “Are you not going to—”

“He, too, has a point,” the angel concedes. “I mean, did you really have to do all that? You were already hot and tall, I just don’t—”

Even with no mouths, it’s obvious Jeonghan and Joshua are snickering.

The bickering continues before eventually devolving into baseless name-calling. Jun’s head snaps back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match, and it’s not that far off. Mingyu hones in on your lack of character, prompting Hoshi to chime in with something equally cruel or just nonsensical in an attempt to back him up, and you handle both of them with ease, laughing off their taunting just to get under their skin. Which works, of course, so on and on it goes, ad nauseam, until Jun puts everyone out of their misery and puts an end to it.

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me how I feel?” At once the room goes silent, all squabbling ceased, and the sudden quiet has his ears ringing. “I know you don’t need me,” he says to you, amazed he can meet your eye when he feels like that admission is going to make him vomit. He turns to Mingyu and Hoshi. “But you two do, and throughout this whole experience I have been left out, lied to, and talked over. Did either of you ever stop to consider that’s why I refused the assignment and it has nothing to do with her? That she’s telling the truth when she says there’s no conflict of interest?”

At least they have the good sense to look embarrassed.

Mingyu is the first to crack. He bows slightly at the waist and says, “On behalf of Heaven, I would like to offer you our deepest and most sincere apologies.”

Hoshi follows suit. “Right. Exactly what he said.”

Jun studies each of them. Mingyu, he knows, is just doing what any human resources officer worth their salt would do: protect the company at all costs. Fortunately this works out in Jun’s favor. He’s important and necessary and, against all odds, has proven his worth and abilities to boot. Heaven can’t negotiate with Hell without him, and it’s this knowledge that spurs him on, has him crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms across his chest. Total power stance. Hoshi gapes a little.

“I think there’s a compromise to be found here.”

The compromise is this: just as there are souls in Hell that were meant to go to Heaven, the reverse is also true. Jun had stumbled across them during his hours of research: souls that had somehow slipped through the cracks and went north when they were meant to go south; souls stuck in an endless purgatory that a lax Judgment Deliverer let in because they didn’t feel like doing paperwork; judgment numbers in which an integer got input incorrectly. What he proposes is a one-for-one trade. Heaven wants Choi Seungcheol, so they’ll have to give up someone in return.

It evens the playing field—

“Which was the original intention, was it not?”

More importantly, and perhaps more selfishly, Jun will no longer be able to be used as a pawn. He’ll uphold his original agreement while doing the same for you—for Hell. He’ll rewrite the terms and conditions of the contracts after each soul has been judged fairly and impartially by both factions, essentially voiding the concept of sides.

“I would be working for you both,” he concludes. “It’s the only way any of this remains fair.”

(He’s also not trying to invoke your wrath and spend eternity getting dipped in hot oil, but he doesn’t feel it’s the right time to admit that.)

After a lengthy silence that Hoshi spends pressing against his ear, the angel eventually says, “Heaven is amenable to these terms if Hell is.”

You heave a long-suffering sigh that has Jun on the edge of his seat. This proposal was certainly better than the last one he’d pitched you, but you’re giving nothing away. Also of little help are Jeonghan and Joshua who have fallen asleep and are snoring loudly. Mingyu leans over to wipe a spot of drool from the corner of Joshua’s mouth. He doesn’t move.

After what feels like a lifetime, you nod. “Fine. Hell is also amenable to these terms.” A chorus of cheers. Jun does an embarrassing little wiggle out of excitement. Hoshi stands on top of the table and pumps his fist. Mingyu, still in HR mode, starts listing off all the potential new job titles for Jun.

(In the end his new name tag reads: Wen Junhui, Special Counsel to Heaven & Hell, Contracts Division.)

Before you leave, and before the celebrations can get too out of hand, Jun clears his throat. “I have a request,” he says, before adding on, “if the whole payment in forms other than money thing is still on the table.”

“It is,” Mingyu confirms.

“Great.” He sucks in a breath. Lets it go all disjointed and shaky. There’s no going back once he says this and they grant it—which they will, considering the way Mingyu’s nearly tripping over himself to give him whatever he wants. But it’s still a massive ask. It will still change the trajectory of his existence, just like that handjob had done. And even though he’s certain it’s what he wants, he still wonders if he’s making a mistake as he says, “I want to be immortal.”

Jeonghan and Joshua jerk awake. “What the fuck did he just say?”

Hoshi, too, looks stunned. “Uh, are you sure?”

No, Jun wants to say, please talk me out of it, but the words die in his throat when he looks at you. There’s not a hint of bewilderment to be found. No shock or awe. There’s just the smallest nod of your head, meant just for him, that says all he needs to hear—that you see him, that you recognize he’d gone through all of this insanity because he needed to find his own path, and that he’s finally found in it the meaning he’d been searching for.

“I’m sure,” he confirms, completely void of hesitation.

Hoshi scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, I—that’s quite a big request. I’ll have to see what we can do.”

Mingyu, however, spoils the inevitable surprise by giving him a thumbs-up.

After that, there isn’t much left to say. Mingyu formally concludes the meeting and thanks Hell for their attendance and participation, to which Jeonghan gives him the finger before disappearing in a plume of smoke that causes everyone to gag. Joshua takes advantage and slips out the door undetected. Mingyu and Hoshi are none the wiser until some of the employees down the hall start screaming. “Please excuse us,” Mingyu chokes out before he, too, disappears in the direction of the shouting. Hoshi hangs back, tries to swallow his amused smile, but then Mingyu returns to drag him away.

Only you and Jun remain. “What did Joshua do?” he asks, less to break the silence and more because he’s nosy.

“Released roughly three dozen of those terrifying tarantulas that eat birds.”

“Oh.”

Silence creeps in anyway—not awkward, but Jun can tell there’s something you want to say. Should he hover? He doesn’t want you to feel obligated (not that you would), but he can’t deny that he’s curious. You, the literal devil, reluctant to say something to him, just a human? It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.

“You’re not gonna get all clingy and weird now that we’ve had sex, are you?” he jokes.

Shockingly, you do not find this funny. “I may have lied about inventing Jenny McCarthy, but I did invent the guillotine. And the electric chair. And the rack—”

“Noted,” Jun replies, giddy all over. Can’t help it as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocks back on his heels. “Should I walk you to the door?”

“Don’t you dare,” comes your response, but Jun does it anyway. Gets away with it by dropping some quip about his mother raising him to be a gentleman, and it’d just destroy her if she knew Jun wasn’t abiding by her teachings.

Your reluctant smile is akin to pulling teeth, but it still shows up.

Whatever havoc had been wreaked by Joshua seems to have been solved. There’s blissful silence as the two of you reach the door, and Jun knows his escort is pomp and circumstance, that you could disappear in the blink of an eye the way Jeonghan had, but he appreciates you going through the motions for his sake, that you’ve allowed him a moment of normalcy.

“Was it hard coming back here?” he asks, leaning against the door frame to stem his desire to reach out for you.

“Well, it’s certainly never easy, but I’ve got plenty of psychologists down there I can talk it over with if need be.” You check an invisible watch. “Do you think Freud is available for lunch tomorrow?”

“If he’s not, I am.”

A bark of shocked laughter has you covering your mouth. “I did not expect that from you.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” you reply instantly. “Have a great weekend, Wen Junhui. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.”

Jun nods… which is about all he can do, considering he’s stuck here for the time being. Hoshi sent him here, which means Hoshi’s the only one who can send him back—some stupid security rule Jun wasn’t paying attention to when it’d been explained to him. So he sticks the corner of his thumb in his mouth, thinks about how great your ass looked in those pants as you walked away, and pivots back into the conference room to await the angel with the stupid t-shirts.

Except, as soon as he turns around, there you are. Face to face. Close enough that your scent is paralyzing, but it’s different now—softer, he thinks; something that makes him feel less like he’s been ensnared in your web and more like he’s been invited in. Close enough that when you lean in he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, that sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You were wrong,” you say, so quiet he’s not sure he isn’t imagining your words, filling in the blanks of what he wants to hear. “What you said earlier, about me not needing you.”

Then you’re gone.

In the blink of an eye, just like he thought you’d be.

He makes a mental note to be available tomorrow around lunchtime.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to say you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

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vindicated (swear i'd never do it again) - choi yeonjun

ꕥ pairing: bf!yeonjun x afab!reader

ꕥ genres: smut, angst

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ warning: dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, arguments, confrontations because they are adults, reader cries a lot, cheating (implied), make up sex, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec) multiple orgasm, fingering, riding

ꕥ wc: 6k

ꕥ a/n: i actually hate this... i've been gate keeping it since last year because of it but nevertheless enjoy

The noise of rain tapping on the windows corresponded with the racing beat of your heart. Weeks had passed since the previous arguments, yet the ensuing silence felt even more distressing. Yeonjun's brown coloured long trench coat still hung by the door, his cologne subtle yet persistent in the air—a harsh reminder of all that was left unsettled between you.

You sit on the floor of your shared apartment with legs crossed, browsing through the pages of a vintage photo album. Your eyes soften at the shiny pictures that seem like it quite narrates a tale of love that seems unstoppable for both of you. Yeonjun was smiling at a summer festival, his eyes almost closing as you guys were hit with warmth from the sun. You were right there by his side, kissing his cheek. Another picture captured you resting on his shoulder during a late-night train journey. At that time, your friends had playfully teased you about your inseparability, during your early stages of relationship, attached closely to each other’s hips all the time.

However, it seems that his love, you don't know, maybe it has faded as time passed. Like a withering flower that is waiting for a moment to shatter on earth, words that were once delivered with sweetness now carry a sharpness. Of course at first, the arguments began minor: late response to messages, any sorts of miscommunications that could have been resolved with an apology. Soon arrived the yelling disputes, doors being slammed, and evenings spent in different rooms. Yeonjun was always the avoidant type, rather than to sit together and talk he prefers to distance himself, stressing you out at the lack of communication.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

[coldsaturn]

hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

[sheepispink]

Is this a Date? ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི lt ghost x baker!reader, part of the Sweet as Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: after your past hesitance, Simon asks you out on more of a silly date than a romantic one. Nonetheless, he begins to realise just how much you two really feel for eachother

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི a/n: fair warning that all the arcade games in this are based of the ones i go to, which are british obvs, so accurate? yes. particularly fun? probably not. Also i said chips but i know some of yall will call it fries. chips is the british word thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

PREV NEXT

———

Finally, Simon would be taking you out properly, just like he’d been trying to hype himself up to do for nearly three weeks. He gave you some time since you confessed your anxious thoughts to him, but you’re already feeling a lot better, practically radiating like the sun.

”Are you busy this week?” He considered texting you the question, but he was sitting in the cafe with you again and he just couldn’t wait any longer, half tempted to drag you out with him today.

You’re sitting opposite him in the empty shop, the closed sign bumping against the door. “Hmm.. don’t think so. My parents are taking over to give me a break.” He watches you eye the biscuit tin you leave out for him no matter how many times he insists that he doesn't always eat them, and passes you a bourbon. Your lips quirk up, a soft grin as you take a large bite into the chocolate biscuit, crumbs on your lips.

”A break huh? Well, if you haven't planned anything yet then why don't we go out?” You perk up instantly at that, a light clang of the teaspoon you just dropped on the table echoing out as the possibilities run through your head. Sure, you went to the farm and the winter festival with him, but actually going out? ..Is this a date?

“Where would we go?”

Before you know it, it’s Thursday and he’s wrapped you up in his jacket, the one he knows you love. Since you seemed to have such a great time at the festival, he figures he’d play it safe this time and take you to everyone’s favourite destination— the arcade. His decision is right, of course, confirmed by your eyes brightening as you step out of his car and he has to convince you to let him lock the car first before you start dragging him inside.

“Oooh! Let’s do the shooting!” You exclaim, pulling him along to the little booth and he picks up the fake gun, eyeing it with slight distaste. It’s not close to a real gun in the slightest, but he pushes that thought away as you grab the gun and pull a playful pose, pretending to look through the scope. “Alright, alright.” He places the coins into the slots, watching as the zombies start to approach.

Turning his brain off becomes increasingly easier with you, especially as you aren't afraid to express yourself or act the slightest bit silly, yelling at him to get the ones approaching you on the right. “Simon! I’m gonna die!” You squeal, still pretending your very best to act like a proper fighter as you dramatically move the gun around to aim at all the approaching enemies. “Got your back, love.” He mutters, already forgetting that these games are practically light work compared to anything he’s ever done before, his eyes locked onto the screen as he destroys anything coming your way. By the end of it, you’ve got your hands in the air as you cheer and even he’s grinning wide as possible.

What he didnt expect for you to call out to a random stranger, the woman’s head turning to your voice. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?” He has no time to argue, you’re already pulling the fake gun up to your face like some kind of secret agent all while he can hold it across his chest like he does on missions. The woman smiles and returns your phone, only for you to drag him away before he can say anything else.

The pair of you continue through the arcade, him even laughing when you fail to keep up with the dance game you insisted you were brilliant at. It’s not your fault he sneakily picked the hard mode to watch you scramble to get all the notes, but he won't admit that. Next, you drag him over to the air hockey table, a mischievous look on your face as you begin to rack up points like they’re nothing (only because you screamed “Ow!” and he immediately dropped his pusher). “That’s cheating.” You watch his eyes narrow and his stern voice comes through, and you immediately panic like a deer in headlights, eyes so wide you don't notice him pushing the puck straight into your goal. “Hey!”

This time he pulls you along, leading you to a new side of the arcade since it recently got refurbished and towards a booth that has a target behind the barrier. Curious, you raise an eyebrow before looking at the sign above. “Try beating me now.” Damnit, you know he’s smirking behind that mask and you’d be damned because watching him hurl every axe to the centre of that target had to be the definition of attractive. Unlike you, where the axe bounced off the target altogether whilst he tried his best not to stifle his laugh. It really was quite comical, the way you huffed under your breath as it continued to miss, only grazing the edge before bouncing off again. “I-it’s not funny!” He’s had to turn away from how hard he’s laughing right now, and you’re half tempted to give him a fake punch for that though you know he’d only just laugh harder. “Sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll teach you.”

He steps behind you, his hands curving over yours to help fix your lousy form into one that will definitely produce some better results. Well, at least it sticks this time.. on the edge of the target that is. “Simon!” You exclaim as he bursts out laughing again, thankful for his mask as his face is practically burning hot now. “Okay, okay—“ He adjusts you again, helping you tilt your arm back enough and aim it at the centre. Slowly stepping back, he signalls you to throw it. Your brows furrow as you concentrate, arm going a little further back before you throw it forward and it finally hits directly on the bullseye. “I did it! Look—“ You cheer, instantly spinning around to throw your arms tight around his middle as if it was something you’ve done a million times before, like it was something you’d have done for years. The touch immediately fries his harshly trained nerves, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he looks down at the sight of you squeezing him as hard as you possibly can— he can't say his stomach did not flip at least a little. You seem to notice, eyes quickly glancing up at him. Though, before you can stammer out an apology, he scoffs and pinches your cheeks. “Took you long enough.”

———

Exhausted from your escapades, he takes you to a diner. Well it’s barely anything like actual American diners but they make good burgers, so who can complain? You order your usual, and when Simon sees you eye the milkshake options for too long you end up with a tall glass of it in front of you. Meanwhile, he decides to go for something new for once, figuring the description was exaggerating, before he ends up with a giant hunk of a burger before him. “Oh.” The sight has you giggling far too much.

“Those two idiots knocked out right on me. You’d think they’re kids coming back from playcare the way they fall asleep anywhere.” He huffs, describing to you the less gruesome details of his recent deployment.

“Hmm.. Soap is the one with the mohawk right? And Gaz… the one who wears a cap all the time?” You ask, snickering from his story and he nods along, confirming your questions.

“Soap looks lively— well by what I've seen anyway. You said Gaz got his name for being quiet huh? I bet he’s one of those types who randomly have the best quips?”

Simon smiles behind the mask, intrigued by your new captivation about his teammates. Sure, he’s used to talking with you about whatever, just as he is with others. But he never really talked about himself much, at least not more than a few opinions on what he liked— he was far more interested in whatever you’d say. He just never considered you’d be so interested in what he’d say too. You’ve asked before, and he never paid much attention, but now you’re even remembering things from past conversations and expressing intrigue in his life. He might need to step outside to breathe properly again.

”Yeah, he’s definitely that type. Johnny barely wins an argument with him around; I think Cap’ even has a hard time defending himself.” You giggle again, stealing some of the ketchup from his plate with a swipe of your chip. “Do you see them all the time?”

“Yeah. Practically have our rooms right beside each other. We watch the football games in the common room.” He rolls his eyes when you coo at him, saying “aww” and smiling wide at him like he’s a kid who made his first friend or something. You really are an exception huh? He can’t even get all that mad at you when you look at him with curiosity swirling in your eyes.

“Why don't you come down with them sometime? You can bring them to the bakery.” You hum, licking the ketchup off your lip as you chomp down on your last bite of the burger. For some reason, he thought you were joking— would you really entertain a bunch of random men just for the sake of them being his friends? It didn't make sense; you didn't even know them, nor had you met more than one either. ”Pretty sure Johnny would eat all your pastries, love. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to make extra that day then. I’m serious, y’know? Bring them around at your usual time, I'll have tea and the pastries ready.” Now that was unexpected; you were actually willing to give up some of your time to welcome his teammates, ones that he’s never even introduced you to before. Wait— did you think he was rude for not introducing you before?

”I did plan to introduce you at some point— they’re just… busy.” Wow, he actually fumbled his words for once, at this rate his chest will falter as well with the rate you keep surprising him with your genuineness. “Huh? I know, I just thought it’d be nice for them to relax a bit, have something sweet.” You hum, sipping your milkshake he bought for you, before passing the glass over to him and for some reason he doesn't hesitate, slipping your straw beneath his mask as he takes a sip himself.

He ignores the taste of your lipgloss that lingers.

—————

He drives you home soon after, walking you all the way up to your apartment door. You start slipping off your shoes, the time already growing late since you had only gotten to the arcade at five o'clock. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, knowing he should probably say his goodbyes and leave now— because he’s not yours, and you're not his.

Yet.

Your head turns, a brow raised at him curiously. “Won't you come in?” His words clog in his throat, wondering if he should accept the offer. Surely you’d be heading to sleep soon enough anyways, wouldn’t it only be an inconvenience to keep you up any longer? He’s conflicted, wanting to leave you be but ever since the last time he was here, he’s thought about your home more than he’s yearned for a second of rest, which is very often.

“It’ll be late if you drive all the way back to base now. You can just crash on my couch again.” Your hand finds his sleeve, pulling him inside before he can utter a sound against you, and closing the door behind him. “Thanks for today by the way. ..Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow too?”

He thought dating was meant to be taken slow, something that’d develop over weeks and dates were planned apart. Well, that’s how everyone said it worked. Now here you were, not even parting for him and asking for more of his time. Trying to hide the swelling of his pupils is impossible and he has to bend down to undo the laces on his shoes just to try. “Is that even a question? Of course.”

He stands once more, but you’re looking at him with lovestruck eyes, affection pouring out of every crevice as you grin and hug him again for the second time that day. “I knew you wouldn't say no. I’ll make us some tea after I get changed.” Your eyes crinkle again sparkling with something you don't even attempt to hide before you step on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek where the mask doesn't quite cover.

Oh, so that’s what that look was—cheekiness, huh? Especially when you run away after that, scurrying into the bathroom as you snicker to himself. He looks up into the mirror in the hallway, realising his eyes have been struck wide.

————

You wander into the kitchen to start brewing the kettle, dressed in your favourite pajamas already whilst he heads to the bathroom to freshen up. He stares into your mirror, lingers of black paint still clinging onto his lashes. Should he take off his mask? It’s not like you haven't seen him sipping from his drink before, or even that time he fell asleep on the couch without pulling it down again. His fingers linger on the fabric, hesitating as his heart churns with the need to drop everything right now for you. His brain screams at him to act rationally but his gut tells him to take it slow, else he scares you off altogether. He sighs, conflicted, before a flash of light appears in the corner of his eye. Your phone had been left behind on the windowsill, a notification lighting it up. He picks it up so he can hand it back to you, only for it to flash again, the lock screen the picture of the two of you posing with your fake guns, your hand doing bunny ears behind his head. His own sits in his other hand, the picture of you with his stupidly oversized burger held up to your mischievous face flashing to life.

Maybe not today. But he’d definitely get you back for the surprise kiss, stepping out of the bathroom to sneak up behind you as you grab the milk from the fridge.

————-

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[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [13]

Part Thirteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior, a very slow burn

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: I've been on kind of a roll with this series lately. It's just all been flowing nicely and I've felt super excited to write each new chapter. Thank you for all the love you've shown this fic over the years, but especially for the last two chapters. It's been so heartwarming. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

Your knees ache as your feet pound against dark, uneven asphalt. Glenn leads the group through back alleys and side streets while Rick and Daryl silently take out any lone walkers you run into as you all make your way back to the box truck. You and T-Dog trail behind the other men, carrying the gear you’ve all picked up in the city. Glenn turns down another narrow passage, and finally, the five of you can see the train tracks where you left the vehicle. But the sight is not one of relief. Instead, panic rises quickly in your chest as you notice that the box truck is missing. 

“Where the hell’s our truck?”

Daryl spits the question out through gritted teeth; crossbow raised as he observes his surroundings for any sign of an ambush. He doesn’t like this. Without a vehicle, the five of you are vulnerable. You all either need to move or find shelter — standing out in the open isn’t an option. Glenn takes his baseball cap off, running his hands through his dark hair, before responding to Daryl’s question. 

“We left it right here. Who would take it?”

“Merle.”

Daryl lowers his crossbow as Rick says his brother’s name. As much as he hates to admit it, the sheriff is probably right. His brother probably thinks he was left for dead, handcuffed to that roof — and he ain’t the forgiving type. Daryl nervously chews on his bottom lip as he makes eye contact with Rick. Rick waits for Daryl to blow up at the insinuation, but the youngest Dixon simply nods at his statement. 

“We gotta go. He’s gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp.”

Rick’s jaw clenches as he takes in Daryl’s words, but he composes himself before addressing the rest of the group. 

“Alright, drop anything we don’t need. We don’t have a vehicle, but we need to make it back to camp — fast.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Rick locks eyes with T-Dog, and you let out a tired sigh as you look at one of your oldest friends. You know that expression — you’ve seen it countless times. And you know you’ll hate the following words that come out of his mouth.

“We run.”

You rarely hate being right, but right now, you loathe how well you know Rick Grimes. Before you can ask what you’re supposed to do about the heavy duffle bag full of guns hanging off your shoulder, Daryl takes it from you with ease. He adjusts his crossbow to fall across his chest while the duffle bag rests against his back. A part of you wants to get defensive and insist that you can handle it, but you’re more impressed by how little Daryl reacts to the extra weight he’s carrying. The five of you give each other one last look before breaking off into a jog back towards camp. 

If you thought the hour drive to the city was long, the run back is excruciating. Your lungs burn as you keep pace with Glenn behind Rick and Daryl. Your lungs might feel like they’re on fire, but at least it means that you’re alive. And even if you thought about slowing your pace, Daryl’s occasional glances back to you are enough to keep you focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  

You glance at Glenn nervously as the sun sets behind you, noticing that T-Dog has fallen behind slightly due to the weight of the toolbox on his left-hand side. Glenn notices and spares an amused look back at his friend.

“You holding up, T-Dog?”

There’s a grin plastered to Glenn’s face as he asks the question. T-Dog rolls his eyes before quickening his pace slightly.

“Shut up, Glenn.”

Hours pass. And as your breathing becomes more ragged and your sweaty clothes cling to your body uncomfortably, you begin to believe that you may never make it back to camp. That is until a deafening scream rips through the eerily quiet woods. You share a panicked look with Glenn as Rick breaks off into a dead sprint towards the sound. Before you can follow suit, Daryl grabs your shoulder. 

“Don’t matter what’s there, just get your knife out and stay behind me. Okay?”

He searches your eyes as you nod frantically at his request. He huffs out a frustrated breath as the rest of you chase after Rick who has started cutting through the treeline, abandoning the dirt path you’ve been following. Daryl has his crossbow raised, and you've got a white knuckle grip on the knife in your right hand. As the five of you stumble out of the treeline and into camp, you let out a panicked gasp. To your surprise, Merle is not the culprit of the chaos, but instead, a small herd of walkers that just so happened to have wandered into camp. Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl immediately throw themselves into the action, but your entire body freezes as your eyes land on Amy’s bloody body on the ground nearly fifteen feet from the RV. 

No. It can’t be. You were all supposed to be safe here. Shane promised that you were all far enough away from the city — that there was no way walkers would make their way up here.

You shake yourself out of your momentary paralysis, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your free hand before rushing into the confusion with Glenn. The two of you make sure the children are accounted for and that everyone without a weapon is hidden from the carnage as Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog make quick work of the walkers with Shane’s help. You usher Jacqui into an empty tent, telling her to stay put until someone gives the all-clear before looking around the camp for any more stranglers. Your eyes land on Daryl, who shoots another walker straight between the eyes. He moves to reload, missing the walker approaching him from behind. Your grip tightens around the hilt of your knife as your feet move on their own accord.

“Daryl, behind you!”

You watch in horror as Daryl turns, and the walker grabs him by the shoulders. Daryl’s footing staggers as he drops his crossbow. He attempts to grab the knife at his side, but holding the walker back from biting into his flesh is taking all of his strength. Your legs move as fast as physically possible to make it to him in time, and you don’t think twice before plunging your knife into the back of the walker's skull. Daryl releases his hold as the walker becomes deadweight in his arms and turns to you with a bewildered expression. You look down at your shaky hands, dropping the bloody knife and taking a step away from the body.

“Hey.”

Your eyes shoot up to Daryl, who has ducked his head down to meet you at eye level. His chest is heaving, but the look in his eyes isn’t panicked. No, he’s looking at you with a gentleness and appreciation that seems misplaced in your current predicament — like you just saved his life. 

“I killed him.”

Daryl nods at your words before speaking.

“You had to.”

You did save his life. So why does the sight of the walker’s corpse make you want to throw up? You’re disgusted as you look down at the bloody knife. Not by the scene before you but by yourself. 

“Is it over?”

Your voice feels small and far away from your body as you look back up at Daryl. He looks around the camp — at who’s left after the devastation — before nodding. You let out a tired sigh before turning on your heel without another word. There’s only one thing on your mind as you make your way towards the RV: Amy. 

Daryl picks up his crossbow and your knife before following after you. He stops short as he watches you approach Andrea and Amy. You crouch down beside your friend’s body and hug Andrea. He doesn’t particularly like you being so close to Amy’s corpse, but he knows you need to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to take that closure away from you, so he makes his way to the front of the RV and slides down to sit on the ground. He’s far enough away that he can’t hear your conversation but still close enough to step in if anything happens. 

You know he’s watching over you as you console Andrea, and you find comfort in it. Andrea’s arms are tight around your body as she sobs into your shoulder, explaining that she was excited to celebrate her sister’s birthday tomorrow. You just hold her tighter, assuring her that this is not her fault. Eventually, Andrea pulls away and asks for a moment alone with her sister. You nod, tears rolling down your face as you hold Amy’s hand one last time. Finally, you tear yourself away from your friend’s lifeless body and make your way over to Daryl.

“You ‘lright?”

You slide down next to him, shoulder brushing against his. Your head leans back against the RV, and you can feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you take a shaky breath. You know you look like a complete mess, and your hands are still shaking at your sides, but he’s looking at you with a tenderness that makes you want to sob. 

“Feels like you’ve been asking me that question a lot lately.”

In spite of the circumstances, a huff of air escapes through Daryl’s nostrils — the closest thing to a laugh that anyone will hear tonight. The sound makes your lips quirk up into a small, sad smile.

“Lot’s been going on.”

He’s right. The last three days felt like a month, and you’re left with nothing but exhaustion. And today was nothing less than hell on earth for you, but you cannot shake off the feeling that this is just the beginning.

“Nothing’s going to be the same now, is it?”

You know the answer. 

After witnessing the destruction and mayhem in Atlanta firsthand. After taking down your first walker — knowing that even though their only instinct is to kill, it was once a person with dreams and aspirations. After watching a close friend meet a gruesome, untimely demise.

You know nothing can go back to the way it was. 

Daryl sighs, looking at you with a disheartened expression. It’s the first time he’s dropped his composure since you’ve both gotten back to camp.

“Nah, I guess not.”

His voice is strained, brimming with unspoken sadness and frustration. Your heart aches at the realization that he’s also had one hell of a day. After all, Daryl lost someone today as well. Your brow furrows as you peer at the man sitting beside you. A single question ricochets through your brain as you watch him pick at his thumb.

“Are you going to leave now?”

The question makes sense to you, and you’re expecting him to say yes — bracing for a goodbye that you’re not prepared for. But Daryl physically recoils at your words, and confusion washes over his tired features. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I figured with Merle still out there…”

Daryl’s face softens as you trail off. Oh. Merle was the last thing on his mind after everything that happened today. The hope he’d felt after seeing the trail of blood and realizing that Merle had managed to cauterize the wound immediately disappeared after he witnessed how many walkers there were in the city. Merle is headstrong and resilient; however, at the end of the day, he’s still just one man. Maybe if he were a better brother, finding Merle would be the only thing on his mind. Daryl knows that several weeks ago, he would have left without a second thought, not stopping until he found his brother’s body. But things have changed. It may be selfish, but after everything that happened today, the only concern on Daryl’s mind is keeping what’s in front of him safe. But anxiety suddenly courses through his veins as he realizes maybe that’s not what you want. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

Daryl cringes at his words. Maybe Merle was right. Maybe he is already whipped for a woman he barely knows. Because if you told him to leave right now, he would. He’d leave in the dead of night without another word. But he hopes that you don’t. Even though it makes him feel strange and uncomfortable, Daryl finds himself hoping that you ask him to stay. 

And you’re at a loss for words as you take in the vulnerability deeply etched into his expression. Even though you’ve known him for weeks, you feel like this is the first time you’ve actually seen Daryl Dixon. His stoic, hardened demeanor cracks for just a second, and the importance of this moment doesn’t escape you. Finally, you manage to shake your head at his question. Daryl smiles at that — genuinely smiles. And the sight is a breath of fresh air on your worst day. 

“Then I’m not going nowhere.”

You nod, biting back a smile before falling into a comfortable silence. Daryl leans his head back to look at the night sky. It seems so strange that after all the carnage he witnessed today, he can still find beauty in little things like stars — or how your breathing evens out beside him as you fall asleep. He knows you’d have a better night’s rest in your tent, but he doesn’t make an effort to wake you. He’s painfully aware that you technically still share a tent with Shane, and he really has no interest in going back to his empty tent filled with Merle’s belongings, so he just continues to sit next to you. And although every muscle in his body tenses as you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t falter. 

He promised you he wasn’t going anywhere, and he meant it. 

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[thaniabb]

I’ve been into sports car by Tate mcrae, don’t blame me by Taylor swift, and Diet Pepsi by Addison rae lately. Idk if that does anything for your inspiration in any way but 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ vibes

Love made me crazy - F.W

- ‘don’t blame me’ by taylor swift -

warnings : overprotective!fred, possessive!fred, innocent!reader, no use of y/n, pet names (butterfly, love)

summary : the older weasley twin protective nature toward his best friend, evolves into something darker and more obsessive, though she remains blissfully unaware. As Fred’s feelings for her intensify, he resorts to subtle but intense actions to keep anyone else away from her, pushing every other guy out of her life without ever speaking a word of his true nature. But Fred knows, and the lines between friendship and possessive love blur, creating a tension neither of them can escape.

AN : fucking thankful for this request, working on some more things so ya’ll shall expect that in a few days. anyways request more bb’s! not proofread.

“lord, save me, my drug is my baby”

Fred Weasley had always been the fun one. The one who made you laugh until your stomach ached, the one who was never serious, the one who seemed to bring chaos with him wherever he went. But that was just Fred, your best friend.

You had known him since you were both children, growing up together, inseparable. You had never questioned his actions, never thought twice about the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, when you needed it. He was Fred, your Freddie, the person you trusted with everything.

And why wouldn’t you? He was just your best friend.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Fred was still the same in a lot of ways—playful, charming, always making jokes—but there were moments, small moments, when you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. A flicker of intensity that made you feel uneasy. But you pushed it away. Fred was Fred. He was just protective, that’s all.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It all started after a random, casual conversation you had with Jason, a boy in your year who had always been friendly with you. You were sitting at the Gryffindor table one evening, chatting about homework, when Jason, as casual as ever, leaned over and asked, “Hey, do you think you could help me with that Transfiguration essay? I’m totally stuck.”

Fred, who had been sitting beside you, was silent for a moment. You didn’t think anything of it until you saw him shift in his seat. There was something about the way he moved that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Fred was looking at Jason like he was a bug he wanted to squish.

“Transfiguration?” Fred repeated in a voice that was far too loud. “Nah, mate, she doesn’t have time for that. She’s with me right now. Isn't that right, love?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden intensity in Fred’s voice. “Fred, I’m just helping Jason,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s no big deal.”

Fred didn’t take his eyes off Jason, who awkwardly shifted in his seat. “No, I’m sure she wants to help you, mate,” Fred said, his tone almost playful, but there was something dark underneath. “But she doesn’t have time right now. You’re on your own with that essay.”

Jason’s confusion was evident, and before you could apologize or explain, Fred stood up, his movement sharp. “Come on, love , let’s go,” he said, practically pulling you from your seat.

You gave a quick, apologetic look at Jason, but Fred was already steering you away, his grip tight on your arm. You didn’t think much of it at the time. Fred was always like this—always protective, always joking around. It didn’t occur to you that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all just fun and games anymore.

You brushed it off. It was nothing.

The days that followed were similar. Every time another guy tried to approach you, Fred would appear out of nowhere, slipping between you and them with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. It was like clockwork. If you spoke to anyone else, Fred would swoop in, pushing them away without ever saying a word. If you were laughing with someone, Fred would suddenly be there, laughing louder, pulling your attention back to him.

And you, innocent as you were, thought nothing of it. Fred was just being Fred. Your best friend. Always there to protect you, always there to make you laugh. Nothing more.

But his behavior was becoming harder to ignore.

One afternoon in the common room, you were sitting near the fireplace, absorbed in a book. Fred was, as usual, lounging on the couch beside you, but today, you noticed that he was unusually tense. His leg was bouncing, his eyes flickering between you and the door.

“Is everything okay, Freddie?” you asked, looking up from your book. You noticed that he hadn’t been himself lately. He had always been carefree, but now, he seemed… on edge.

Fred glanced at you, a forced smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s great, butterfly. Just a little distracted, that’s all.”

You frowned, but before you could ask more, a boy from Ravenclaw, Peter, walked into the room, carrying a stack of books. You smiled and waved at him.

“Oh, hey Peter! How’s your essay going?” you called, eager to catch up with your classmate.

Peter smiled back, a little shy. “Oh, it’s going alright. I was just—”

But before he could finish, Fred was up off the couch in an instant, practically cutting him off as he threw an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, mate,” Fred said loudly, his tone casual but his eyes a little too sharp. “we were just about to grab some snacks. You know, a bit of quality time. Can’t let her get too distracted by homework, right?”

Peter blinked in confusion. “Oh, uh, okay. Sorry if I interrupted.”

“No worries, mate,” Fred said, ushering Peter away with a playful nudge. But as soon as Peter was gone, Fred’s grin faltered, his eyes turning dark as he looked at you.

“Don’t worry about him,” Fred said softly, his voice low. “He wasn’t going to keep your attention. Not like I can.”

You blinked, a slight shiver running through you at the intensity in his words. “Fred, you’re acting a little strange today. Everything alright?”

Fred smiled, but it was tight. “Of course. Nothing to worry about, butterfly. I’m just here for you. Always.”

You didn’t quite understand what he meant, but you nodded and smiled back, assuming it was nothing more than one of Fred’s usual quirks. After all, he was just Freddie, your best friend, right?

But you didn’t know. You didn’t see the way Fred’s eyes would darken every time another guy came near you. You didn’t know that, after every “innocent” interaction, Fred would slip away quietly and find the boy who had dared to speak to you, cornering him in empty hallways or behind corners, his words cold and threatening.

“Stay away from her,” Fred would whisper, his voice low and dangerous, his smile gone. “She’s mine. Don’t even think about it.”

The boys, scared and confused, would back off, retreating with nervous glances, and Fred would return to you with that same innocent smile, as if nothing had changed. As if he hadn’t just scared off anyone who might dare to take his place by your side.

And you—completely oblivious—continued to see Fred the way you always had. Your best friend. The one who had always protected you, made you laugh, and kept you safe.

But the more Fred watched you, the more obsessed he became. Every time you spoke to someone else, his heart would race, and his mind would scream. He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t let anyone else near you.

“Don’t blame me,” he whispered to himself one night as he stared at the moon, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. “You made me crazy, butterfly. You made me this way.”

And yet, the next day, when you smiled at him, when you laughed with him, he was the same Fred you’d always known. He would never tell you. He would never let you know how much he was losing himself in this love, how much he couldn’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.

Because you were just his best friend. Right?

As time went on, you continued to brush off Fred’s strange behavior, convinced that everything was as it always had been. But Fred’s obsession was only growing stronger, and he couldn’t stop. Every time you laughed with another boy, every time you looked at someone else, he felt a pang in his chest. But he never showed it. He just continued to push everyone away, quietly, ruthlessly, until no one else dared to approach you.

And you, innocent as ever, never suspected a thing.

But deep down, Fred knew. He knew that he was falling deeper into something he couldn’t control. And in the end, it wasn’t just about being your best friend. It was about wanting to be more.

And he’d do anything to make sure no one else ever got that chance.

“don’t blame me, love made me crazy”

[lavandulawrites]

Blackout

Zayne x reader

Zayne is truly chef’s kiss. I think he can make the quite scary yandere, given the opportunity. This was originally planned to be longer, but I didn’t have any motivation to make it so:,) Anyways, if anyone wants a part two, let me know!<3

Masterlist

Warnings: yandere, imprisoned reader, Zayne is utterly lovesick, obsession, overprotectiveness, possessiveness

The living room of the remote cabin was laid in darkness. The only source of light was from the lit hearth, that slowly but surly warmed the room up. Outside of the windows consisted only of the black night and tiny snow crystals that seared slowly down from the endless sky. The moon and the stars were all hidden behind thick dark clouds, leaving the sky empty and cold.

To your right on an old arm chair, sat Zayne. Instead of his usual trusted stethoscope around his neck, a thick marine blue wooden scarf were wrapped around his neck. His eyes was fixed on you as they seemingly tried to prod through your mind.

You were leaned against the sofa cushions as you gazed into the flames. You were cold, awfully so, but you did not want to make that obvious to the man seated beside you. So, you tried your best at remaining neutral in your expression.

The power had gone out after the blizzard. Now the storm was gone, but the electricity was no where to be seen. The warmth from the heaters had disappeared with the lights. You both had been sitting in front of the fire for a few hours. Zayne’s mobile phone was currently not working, and you hadn’t seen your phone in a long time.

The black haired man shifted in his seat which caused your eyes to follow his movements slightly without moving your head. The situation was unfortunate and it had soured your mood even further. A slight grimace was present on your lips as your gaze returned to the unruly flames. If only your irritation could warm you up, you thought bitterly.

Zayne inhaled suddenly, which broke the tense silence. “This situation is truly unfortunate. Hopefully the power will be back soon. If not” he sighed “I would have to drive in to town and get an electrician. If we are lucky, the phone will start working soon. Though that seems unlikely as of now…”. He raked his hand through his hair in a deflated manner. You could almost hear how his mind was racing with possible solutions.

Your whole predicament would have been better if the highly respected doctor hadn’t deemed the world too dangerous for you. He had been planning for months (that much had been made clear to you after a good while), and he had put his high intellect to good use. It was after all a reason as to why he was the best surgeon of the country, his mind was quick and it contained seemingly endless information.

He had been your trusted primary care physician for a good while. He was kind and you trusted him fully. When he started to become more and more prying about your private life, you didn’t question him. Not even once. Now you had come to regret it deeply as he had you hidden away from the world.

Zayne sighed. He rose to his feet and took a seat beside you on the sofa. He pulled a thick blue blanket around the both of you as he leaned your head on his shoulder. He kissed the crown of your head gently. “I love you [Name]. Don’t forget that… This is all for the best of you. Please trust me” his voice was soft and laced with hurt and honesty.

The flames pulled you in hypnotically as you stared into them. The warmth from the man beside you felt unnatural as his grip on your shoulder tightened. His façade had began to crack and the beast that was well hidden inside the deepest depths of his soul was starting to show.