#maybe it's no connection to the thoughts right now

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started. 

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles. 

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you. 

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little. 

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face. 

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought. 

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide. 

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off. 

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. 

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them. 

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. 

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × × 

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!” 

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone. 

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself. 

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer. 

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge. 

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.” 

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you. 

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest. 

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache. 

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew. 

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters. 

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air. 

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. 

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face. 

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly. 

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted. 

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld @eternalwinters @am-3-thyst @vaneyvfs

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

@morganlolitta @openup-yourmind @urbanleftovers @fallout-girl219 @awenita

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

@leighta @formulas-bitch @waywardhunter95 @cereal6666 @gg-trini

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

@antiartemis @imagoddessinmystories @let-it-sn0o0ow @mostlymarvelgirl @crdgn

[ifyouhavetoast]

It's been a few years, but I think my best friend since kindergarten. I could be so wrong though

this always changes depending what i'm fixated on but rn i'd say ford pines

it depends what time and like what age i am, but yeah, very fuzzy and light. sometimes i struggle with speech, but not all the time

yes!! it just depends what i'm fixated on atm, like right now.....i think u can take a good gander

too young or preschool (0-4)

i'm an only child

somehow both, i'm technically still growing up, and i get told i'm both an old soul and childish

my first piece of agere gear was this baby paci, it's pink and yellow and i found it from my baby stuff and i saw it was still in the package and unused, so me being me...i took it (and i was praying my mom wouldn't notice) (spoiler alert she didn't)

idk...haven't really thought about that. probably just the same as my usual aesthetic (metalhead), just a little more childish

i've been lurking inconsistently, but if you count that, then since early 2021

planes and cars.......rhuifhruifh i lvoe planes and cars the thought of them makes me wanna curl up and regress i need to wacth cars RIGHT NOW

both :D

YES i didn't think i would

yeah, but when i do, i usually don't mean to or i'm just discreetly regressing for a sec since i don't have a caregiver or whatever + i'm just not used to regressing around others, makes me nervous even if they're okay with it

i don't know what this one means......

a real adult paci, or maybe diapers

yeah, but usually regressing makes me feel better and i'm just chilling

i'd like to say i am, maybe not around others, but when it's just myself i'm pretty comfortable with it. i mean, i've been regressing for almost 4 years (oh my god it's been almost 4 years.), so it's pretty much normal stuff to me and i'm very used to it

an escape and a way to cope. i'm super busy with school and extracurriculars and other stuff and it stresses me out, so being able to just go little and not need to think about any big stuff for a while really refreshes my mind.

no idea, haven't been back here in a second

PROBABLYYYY i just don't remember the exact scenario but i most likely have...i swear everything happens in my dreams, i have the weirdest dreams ever

i'm not really into cookie run as much as i used to be, but i've been willing to die on the hill that pure vanilla cookie is a caregiver since 2022

not too sure, like i said, i haven't really been back in an online agere space in a while. from what i remember, i remember seeing an awesome fic and reading it and they say something like "baby girl" and i died inside a little but yk it could be different now lolol

not sure...maybe a kitty since i usually fall asleep when i'm little

very, i've never had a caregiver and i'm very nervous to look for one...i'd rather my caregiver be someone i already know and trust, but i don't think anyone would do that. i've tried looking online to connect with others, but they never got back to me

ehhhhh sometimes. like i said, i regress young but then catch me playing roblox or something

i don't really play pretend a lot...probably because i struggle with it

vampire!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!

holding my stuffie i've had since i was like 2 or 3

naptime and cuddles :,(

🌙 Agere Ask Game!!! ⭐

🖍 Who is the first person you told/would tell about your headspace?

❤ If you had a fictional caregiver/little who would it be?

🩹 What do you experience when you regress? (i.e fuzzy feelings, motor skill or speech struggle, etc.)

🧡 How often do you regress or try to regress?

🍬 Do you read agere fanfiction and if so, about who?

💛 What school grade (if any) would you be in according to your headspace?

🧸 Are you an older sibling who regresses/caregives or a younger sibling who regresses/caregives?

💚 Were you considered an "old soul" growing up or were you more "childish"?

🧩 What was your first piece of agere gear or what would you want as your first?

💙 What's your regression/caregiving aesthetic? (kidcore, babycore, altcore, etc)

🍭 How long have you been apart of agere tumblr?

💜 What are you obsessed with right now in your headspace? (sanrio, sharks, bluey, etc)

🍼 Do you include your personal nostalgia in your regression/caregiving or are you creating new memories?

🖤 Have you met any other regressors/caregivers in real life?

🪀 Have you ever regressed in front of someone or has someone ever regressed around you?

🪁 Is your headspace affected more through traditional or alternative regression? (bottles & cartoons or horror & thrill)

🎨 What's a piece of agere gear that you really want to have/try?

🍬 Have you ever experienced vent regression?

🦋 Are you comfortable with your regression/headspace?

🧚‍♀️ What is age regression/caregiving to you?

🧦 What's something you like & don't like about the agere community?

🦇 Have you ever regressed in a dream?

🌸 Who do you headcanon as a regressor or caregiver? (fictional or real)

🐈‍⬛ Do you think you're represented enough in the agere community? (poc, boys, under 20/over 30 yrs)

🧃Which animal best represents your headspace?

🐇 Has it been or was it hard for you to find a little/caregiver?

🎀 Does your headspace match the gear you use/want? (i.e. regresses to 10 years but loves pacifiers)

🎮 Do you struggle to play pretend or are you super imaginative?

🌈 What mythical creature would you rather be? (Hybrid, Fairy, Dragon, etc)

👾 What's the quickest way to get you in your headspace?

💭 What's one thing you often daydream about doing with your little/caregiver?

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Vacation - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die" 

Alternatively, 

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Angst, angst and angst

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: This chapter has both readers and Yoongi's pov.

Read the next chapter

“I want to try being with you. If you’d let me.” Yoongi had said, just less than an hour ago, standing at your dining place. 

If you have ever thought you would be squealing like a schoolgirl when he mistakenly professes his love for you - then you had been wrong. Because those words of his - rang hollow. 

Those words of his had no promise, no meaning, only a tone of experiment - or maybe less than that. 

Your tears have dried up. You have cried much more in the span of a year than you ever had in these twenty eight years of life. 

So you don’t cry. 

Even when you stare at your bathroom mirror, without the sign of another life springing into you - you don’t cry. 

Even when the metallic smell of your own blood-soaked sheets dances around your senses - you don’t cry. 

Even when Yoongi’s voice saying he doesn’t know what he feels for you rings loudly in your head - you don’t cry. 

The woman who is standing at the place of your reflection is you - but emptier. 

Now, truly, you have nothing left in yourself. 

The baby is gone, Yoongi is gone, you - yourself - are gone. 

When Yoongi broke and scattered the broken pieces all over your sanity, you picked those up, put them up in a stack. 

Now that you are at the same place, who is going to do that for you? 

No one? 

Yourself. 

So you decide, you need a vacation. 

Attachment and Expectations are two human behaviors that you have always dreaded. 

You have purposefully stayed away from everyone, whoever you thought would get you attached. And you have always expected the least positive outcome whenever it comes to human connections. 

At the beginning, Yoongi was no exception. 

You admired him but never stepped past the professional boundaries in fear of getting attached, until he broke the norms. 

Even when you realized you fell in love, you expected nothing more than the warmth of his body. But your resolve weakened whenever he looked at you for a little longer than necessary, whenever he shared tales about Holly, whenever he treated you to a meal. 

Now that you are determined to heal yourself - you realize this is the root of the problem. 

You are attached to Yoongi and you have expected Yoongi to have a similar feeling towards you. 

Wrong. So wrong. 

You need to break free. 

So, you try to save what’s left of your sanity and avoid looking at Yoongi as he and Namjoon sit right across from you in the same meeting room where everything went south a month and half ago. 

Your feet bounce under the table, your breath shortens under Namjoon’s scrutinizing eyes. 

“Y/N, tell us what’s wrong? Why suddenly - I mean, I am not saying no your application but you have hardly ever been to such a long holiday? And if I am being honest, then you look quite unwell. Is there something we should know?” Namjoon is concerned, you know that. You are even grateful but you have no energy to answer him, no energy to lie anymore. 

You have no will to spend another minute inside the same room as Yoongi - because no matter what - you love him and you want him to wrap his hands around you and let you cry in his embrace. 

You want him to mourn with you. 

You want him to mourn for you. 

“I was pregnant. I lost the baby two nights ago. I am neither mentally nor physically fit to work for now. Besides, I don’t have any important projects going on.” you reply flatly. 

Saying these words out loud, makes things even more real. 

Pain crawls back inside your heart and fills your eyes to the brim. 

Namjoon has gone quiet. 

Yoongi has always been silent. 

“O-oh.. I- I didn’t know. I’m sorry. It must be tough, Y/N. Please take care of yourself.” Namjoon fumbles with words, a rare sight. 

Funny how your misery has rendered the smart ones dumb. 

He approves your leave in his laptop as you raise your feet to leave. 

“Are you going alone?” His voice interrupts your action. 

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, he stares blankly at the table. 

“Yes.” you reply.

“Stay safe.” he adds. 

And you want nothing more than to scream at him, to tell him that he fucked you up. But in reality you know he is troubled too - that it’s your fault as much as it's his.  

“Sure.” you mutter, as you quietly slip out of the room. 

Two nights ago when you left the bathroom the first thing you did was to look for your phone. When you found it laying idly by your laptop on your desk, you dialed Hoseok’s number for the second time that evening. 

You were incredibly sorry to him. 

He was but a stranger to you and had no responsibility of attending to your troubles but still he showed up when you called him sitting on your bloody bed and came rushing to you despite being busy. 

This time too, he received your call right after two rings. 

“I need a vacation, Hoseok. Do you.. Do you know any wellness retreats that might help me?” you asked.

“That’s a really good thought, Y/N. I will send you a few links, check those out, okay?” he replied. 

And that’s how you ended up packing your bags for a month-long retreat in Thailand. 

Yoongi didn’t come back home that night. 

He went straight to a snack bar and drank seven bottles of distilled Soju all alone. 

However, he didn’t black out this time. He knew there would be no calling you if he passed out on the floor, covered in vomit and mud. 

He knew there would be no kindness from your side - he doesn’t deserve it - he never had. 

While he drank the only thing he could recall is that you were carrying his baby. That you were on the very first step of being a mother and him a father. 

Weird how, if these same words would have come out Gyuri’s mouth, he would have freaked out so bad. 

But it’s you. And whenever he thought of you, he could picture a quiet life. A condo in an upscale neighborhood, floor to ceiling windows where he could enjoy mellow sunlight sitting on the couch with you. 

Where he could cook for you in the kitchen and then serve you food piping hot or maybe feed you upon blowing a little. 

Those thoughts had always shaken him to the core, made him question his feelings towards you but at the end of the day, he always left himself with no answer. 

On the next morning when he woke up with the worst hangover ever, he decided to do what you have asked him to. 

He decided to give himself time and question himself regularly, repeatedly, that what is it that he feels for you? 

And while doing so, he decided to stay away from you - give you time to find your footing and mourn for the loss. 

He decides to mourn too. 

However, he got completely ruined like a damp wall with several cracks when he read your leave application. 

You had applied for a month-long holiday. 

A month without you? Without seeing you for a glance? Without hearing from you, even a word? Without having to watch you pressing the button on the seventh floor on the elevator, without your quiet sitting figure in the meetings, without your habit of writing lyrics on pen and paper rather than using your ipad? 

Can he… can he survive? 

“Y/N..” he finds himself following you after you leave the meeting room. 

You don’t startle, nor do you turn back. You stand in the middle of the corridor and wait for him to finish his sentence. 

“When are you leaving?” he asks from where his feet are stuck on the floor. 

“Tomorrow morning.” you reply briefly. 

“Incheon?” 

“Gimpo” 

“Can I come? To see you off?” 

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to. I want to see you off. I want to know… to know what I- what I feel for you.” 

He confesses to your back. 

You, probably, sigh. 

“Okay.” you say before walking off. 

When he reaches the airport as per the timing you have sent him - he sees you sitting a little far away from the check in counter. 

“Hey.” he approaches you. 

You look up at him with tired, blank eyes. Your eyes want to make him cry. 

“Hi. I was only waiting for you. I gotta go check in.” your voice is just as blank. 

He nods. 

“Bye.” you try to walk away from him. 

But he stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

“I will.. I will be here when you come back.” he whispers, only for you to hear. 

You nod. 

And then something crashes inside Yoongi, the dam of his eyes breaks and tears start falling unbound. He pulls you closer to his body, envelops you in a hug. 

You stay still but he doesn’t mind. 

He relishes your warmth, your smell, your feel for as long as he can. 

When he lets go, his lips find yours. 

He kisses you softly, with everything he has in himself. 

You don’t kiss him back but he doesn’t mind. 

For you, he will wait. 

Because right then, while you part your way from him, Yoongi finds an answer to all his questions. 

Yoongi realizes… He is in love with you.

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[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs

part 3: toenze

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1.5k

content warnings! swearing

author's note! i'm sick and not doing ok but jay and toenze always is on the brain </3

previous | masterlist | next

The last thing you expected to see today was Jay with an electric guitar. But here you were, standing in the Sanctuary Café in front of their live music stage, where Kai’s band was setting up. And he was a part of the band.

You had stumbled inside the coffee shop late, and the guys were already half-way through setting up. Not a single thing had been out of the ordinary when you came in. It was your boyfriend and his three other band members, each getting ready for practice. You greeted them with a smile and side-hug each, and it seemed like it would go the same way any other practice had gone before. 

But then someone new entered the shop. Dressed in a grey hoodie and flannel, your eyes widened at the sight of Jay. He held a guitar case in his right hand, and you thought, okay, maybe this is just a stupid coincidence, but then he noticed you, and he started walking toward you. So you thought maybe it was because of you.

And then Taerae spoke up, “Jay, hey! I’m so glad you could make it.”

You glanced at Kai, whose expression was just as puzzled as yours. He had no idea as well.

“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me.” Jay’s lopsided grin made your heart skip a beat, and you had to take a step back when he was close to the stage. “You guys were looking for a second guitarist?”

“We were?” Kai asked, giving Taerae a pointed look. The boy shrugged with a smile, unaware of the happenings between Kai, Jay and you.

“Yeah, I met Jay at a guitar shop, and heard him play. He’s actually really good, so I thought I’d ask him to come by. Honestly, I’d like to focus on vocals sometimes, so a second guitarist would be useful.” Taerae shrugged, giving his painfully sensible reasoning that nobody could refute without sounding like a petulant child. 

“I mean, I have nothing against it if he’s as good as Taerae says he is,” said Beomgyu, eyeing Jay. “But the girls are mine,” he joked, although his glare felt a bit too realistic.

“Yeah, I don’t mind either. We could use another visual, too,” Yujin reasoned. 

“Kai? It’s already three to four.” Taerae looked at the drummer, and he sighed in response. 

“Can we actually hear Jay play before we make any concrete decisions? Because right now, it’s all just opinions.”

Yes, that made sense to do. You nodded despite having nothing to do with the band and its decisions. But you knew that Jay truly was a genius when it came to playing the guitar. You’ve heard him play more times than you could count, and occasionally, those performances were specifically for you over video call or in person. You always loved listening to Jay’s playing and singing. 

When Kai glanced at you, he understood as much from your expression, and a small frown decorated his lips. He shouldn’t be jealous, he was the one dating you, yet the knowledge of everything that transpired between you and Jay, and your feelings for him made him scared for what could happen if Jay got his head out of the gutter and realised that maybe, he was also in love with you. 

“Okay. I can play a song I’ve been working on with Heeseung,” Jay said, getting his guitar out — it was Jane. With Taerae’s help, the two quickly set it up and connected it to the speakers.

When Jay started playing, you immediately recognised the song. It wasn’t finished as far as you were aware, but Jay and Heeseung had been working on it for quite a while. The song, Paranormal, meant a lot to Heeseung especially, so he wanted to make sure every single detail about it was perfect.

To you, it sounded amazing already, but considering Heeseung’s perfectionism, he probably always thought of something that wasn’t quite right yet. 

When Jay was done, everyone around him started clapping. Including you. There was no denying his talents, and Taerae was especially proud of being the person who brought him here.

“So, you write your own songs too?” he asked. 

“I’m still struggling with writing decent lyrics, but other than that, yeah.” Jay nodded, glancing at you. There were times you helped him write a few lines here and there, so you averted your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek. 

To be completely honest, what you and Jay had, to you, did not feel or seem casual in the slightest. Even Kai thought you two were actually dating at first. But that was the kind of person Jay was. Sweet, caring and affectionate without thinking much into it — he didn’t do it on purpose, it was just what he was used to. Small acts of kindness or even bigger ones, to him, were something he did because it was the normal thing to do. So what he perceived as casual was seen as so much more to anyone looking from the outside. Or to the one on the receiving end of it all. But you understood Jay better than anyone, unfortunately. So you couldn’t even delude yourself into thinking that confessing would lead to something. 

Letting go was the much better option. 

You were grateful for Kai. For being your anchor and for giving you the strength you needed to tear yourself away from Jay. 

“Then it’s decided, right?” Taerae looked at his band members, a proud smile gracing his lips. 

Beomgyu and Yujin agreed with eager nods, but Kai sighed. Glancing at you, he noticed you were already watching him, your smile supportive of whichever decision he made. 

And, to nudge him along, you said: “He is really good.”

“Ugh, fine,” Kai mumbled. “Would be a waste not to let him join if that’s what he wants.” Shaking his head, Kai’s attention was more on you than Jay.

“Welcome to the band!” Beomgyu exclaimed, instantly going in for a handshake with Jay. “I look forward to working with you.” The bassist faked a serious tone. “But seriously, though, the girls are mine.”

“Literally no girls want your loser ass,” said Yujin, rolling his eyes.

“You little—” Beomgyu put down his bass just to chase after Yujin who started giggling, running around the café in an attempt to escape.

Taerae and Kai laughed, shaking their heads. You, on the other hand, bit your lip and headed toward Jay while steeling yourself from whatever the conversation might lead to. 

“So, you want to join Kai’s band all of a sudden?” You raised your brow, and Jay looked almost puzzled that you spoke to him. Though he recovered quickly, nodding.

“Yeah, sure. Why not, you know? Taerae asked, and I didn’t feel like saying no.”

You hummed, a little in disbelief over the whole situation. You doubted Jay didn’t have any ulterior motives for joining the band, but you didn’t feel like bringing it up now since the likelihood of Jay actually telling you was little to none.

“It’ll definitely make it easier to find someone else then, since girls do love guitarists,” you commented with a light chuckle.

Jay smacked his lips together, shrugging. “I don’t think I’m really looking for any casual hookups anymore,” he said, which took you by surprise this time. “I’ve been wasting too much of my time not committing to anything. So it’s time for a bit of a change.”

“For joining a band?”

“For committing myself to something I love,” said Jay, a smile gracing his lips as he stared at you. There was a spark in his eye as if he could sense the way your heart skipped a beat, but then he chuckled. “I want to focus more on music, and Taerae’s offer was kinda perfectly timed.”

“Right, of course. That makes a lot of sense,” you agreed, nodding dumbly along.

“Why? Did you think I did this because of you?” Jay’s tone was teasing. He tilted his head and raised a brow at you, the corner of his mouth lifting into the signature lopsided grin of his that revealed his dimple. 

Your brain stuttered as you stared at him, blinking excessively. “No. No— obviously, not. Why would I think that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you know that I missed you? You said we’d be friends but then you’ve barely spoken to me,” Jay explained himself, pursing his lips. “So, you could be thinking that.”

“I was not thinking that.” You furrowed your brows. “But you should’ve told me. I thought that since you’ve barely texted me that you don’t want to hang out as much anymore.”

“That’s not it, I just— I don’t know…”

“You can always talk to me about anything, Jay. That’s what friends are for,” you said, smiling thinly. “I’m glad you finally decided to pursue music, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jay said. 

“Okay, guys, stop messing around. Let’s begin practice!” Taerae exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Jay, can you follow my lead?”

tags: @moonpri @addictedtohobi @samsayssam @sillydallyz @semisemirin1i82

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt.4

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader

NOTESજ⁀➴ hope y'all enjoy the new chapter! appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten so far for my last few chapters! makes me soooo excited to post even more and more! so sorry for the late upload though, school has been CRAZY and i was lowkey spiraling because of this new guy i was talking to but yeah ENJOYYY ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wcજ⁀➴ 7.5k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie @higuchislut @domilovestoru @aishies-stuff @genxnarumi @username23345 PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Two weeks had passed, and Gojo Satoru was a ghost in your life. Not literally, of course—his presence was hard to miss, especially since you still caught glimpses of him with Mina—but the days when he’d linger outside your band practice or wait for you by the bleachers during his hockey drills were long gone.

Instead, his world seemed to orbit around Mina now. He was always meeting her, whether before or after his own practice. The few times you had decided to sit in the bleachers and watch him, hoping he’d wave you over for a laugh or even just a chat, he’d merely sent a casual wave in your direction before rushing to Mina.

By the third time, you decided he wouldn’t miss your absence. Mina was there to take your place.

Now, here you were, stuck in the middle of band practice. The studio walls felt too tight today, and even though the air was filled with the rhythmic clash of drums, the heavy hum of the bass, and the soaring melody of your guitar, the energy in your chest was mismatched.

Your phone sat on the edge of the amp, its screen glaring at you with an all-too-familiar sight: an unread message to Gojo. Delivered. Not even read.

It stung more than you cared to admit, but you knew better than to let it show. You didn’t own him. He didn’t owe you anything.

You shook the thought from your head as the band kicked into another song. This time, you focused.

The song flowed easily under your fingers, each note falling into place with effortless precision. Your hands moved like they had a mind of their own, strumming, pressing, and pulling out the right chords without a second thought.

You hit every note perfectly, the rhythm steady, the melody crisp—technically flawless. But something was off. The music, despite its perfection, felt wrong.

Instead of the light, airy feel the song was meant to have, each strum was laced with tension, harsh and biting, like a storm trapped in a song meant for sunshine. The melody should have danced, should have lifted the mood, but instead, it thundered through the room, loud and jagged. Every note you played was sharp, angry, as though you were trying to fight something—only it wasn’t the song you were supposed to be playing anymore.

The guitar hummed with your frustration, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion the song was supposed to evoke. It was heavy. It was out of place. It was angry. And as you continued, the gap between the song and your soul seemed to widen.

“You’re playing too hard,” Choso called over the final note, his drumsticks resting on the snare. His voice cut through the distorted noise of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality, but only slightly.

You lowered your guitar, chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension still clinging to you. His words didn’t quite register at first—until you looked up, meeting his steady gaze. His brow furrowed, and for the briefest second, you could have sworn he saw right through you, saw past the perfect notes and into the tangled mess inside.

“I hit all the notes, didn’t I?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. You didn’t want to look weak, but you couldn’t help it. The question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as doubt. Your fingers still tingled from the aggressive strumming, the burn of the misplaced energy lingering.

“You did,” Yu chimed in from the keyboard. “But it’s not… you. It’s like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like you’re following a script,” Choso finished, his dark eyes steady on you. “Instead of playing from the heart.”

Their words hit harder than you expected, stirring a frustration you weren’t ready to face. Before you could snap back, your hand slipped during the next strum. The string bit into your finger, sharp and unforgiving.

“Ah, shit,” you muttered, pulling back as blood welled up on your finger.

Iori, who had been watching from her spot near the mic, immediately stepped away, her voice cutting through the tension. “Break time,” she called, her tone more serious than usual. The mic stand clinked softly as she set it down and moved toward you.

You blinked, still reeling from the sting in your finger. The blood dripped slowly, mixing with the burn of your frustration. Iori was already moving toward the back of the room, opening a cabinet for the first aid kit.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, but still carrying that steady assurance.

You didn’t answer right away, just watched as she grabbed the kit and walked back over. The room felt strangely quiet without the hum of the music, the weight of their words still hanging in the air. Your hand felt heavy, the cut sharp but not unbearable.

Iori knelt in front of you, gently taking your hand in hers. “Let me see.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your skin as she cleaned the wound. It wasn’t painful, but the act was grounding, calming, almost too much after the storm inside you. You had to look away, feeling the sharp edges of your emotions settle, just for a second.

“You really gotta stop playing so hard,” Iori murmured, her gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was a faint smirk on her face, but there was something else too—understanding, maybe. She didn’t press the issue, though. Instead, she simply wrapped the cut with care, her voice softening. “You’re not gonna get anything out of this if you keep forcing it.”

Her words stuck with you, hanging in the air even as she finished tending to your finger. The sharpness of the cut seemed to mirror the tension inside you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of understanding in the quiet aftermath. You weren’t just playing with your fingers; you were playing with your heart, and it had all gotten twisted up somewhere along the way.

Iori finished wrapping your finger, her hands gentle as she tended to the cut, but you didn’t feel the same sense of calm you usually did when she was around. Everything felt off, jagged, like even the simplest act was just another reminder of how out of sync you were with yourself. She stepped back, giving you some space, but the words she’d said lingered in the air.

The moment stretched, but you barely noticed it, too lost in your own head. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw Naoya walking over with a drink in hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just tossed you the can like it was a casual gesture, but you could feel his eyes on you—assessing, calculating.

You caught it without looking, but your fingers felt sluggish, the weight of the can nothing compared to the weight you were carrying. You cracked it open slowly, the fizz rising and popping in the quiet. But it didn’t help.

Naoya sat down next to you, his posture as rigid and sharp as always, but his gaze never left you. There was an uncomfortable intensity in the way he studied you, the usual mockery and sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something a little less abrasive.

He leaned back, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if searching for something deeper than the surface.

“What’s bothering you now?” he asked, the words more direct than you expected, his voice stripped of any sarcasm or playfulness. “Last time you were like this was two weeks ago, remember? And I don’t think I need to tell you that you don’t exactly have a good track record when you start shutting down.”

His words hit like a cold splash of water, a reminder of the pattern you were stuck in. You had been here before, trapped inside your head, not sure how to get out. It didn’t matter that this time it felt different—like the frustration wasn’t just with the music anymore, but with everything around you, everything inside you. Naoya knew better than to let you avoid the question.

You didn’t answer right away, running your thumb along the lip of the can absentmindedly. The bubbles inside hissed in your ears, but the sound only reminded you of the noise in your own head.

Then, as the silence stretched, Nanami spoke up from his spot across the room, his usual calm voice cutting through the stillness.

“You know, ignoring it won’t help,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than anything else. “Whatever this is, bottling it up just makes it worse. You’re not exactly subtle when something’s eating at you.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up, too tangled in the mess of your thoughts. Your mind raced, too much noise in your head to form a solid answer.

“I… I don’t really know,” you said finally, the words slipping out more honestly than you intended. You shook your head, frustration leaking through your voice.

You sat there in silence, the words hanging in the air. The frustration still churned inside you, a gnawing feeling that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many times you tried to shake it off. It wasn’t just the music. It wasn’t just the cut on your finger. It was everything that had been building up inside you, everything that you hadn’t been able to say or figure out.

Gojo. That name echoed in your mind, but even thinking it made your chest tighten, a knot forming deep in your stomach. It was him—his presence, his expectations, the weight of his shadow that seemed to be clouding everything. You couldn’t put it into words, not here, not now. Not in front of them. But damn, you just wished you could hear his voice. Maybe then, things would feel a little clearer. Maybe just hearing him tell you it was going to be okay would make the world feel less heavy.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised to find Iori watching you, her eyes softer than usual, like she could sense the wall you were putting up.

Without a word, she clasped her hands together and stood up, her movements calm and purposeful. “You know what? Let’s call it a night. Why don’t we order some food and just chill? No pressure, no rehearsing. Just take it easy this time around.”

Her words were simple, but the way she said them felt like a release, like an invitation to let go of the tension that had been creeping up in the room.

You felt the weight of your own silence, the words swirling in your chest that you couldn’t quite voice. Maybe you were being unfair, maybe you were letting everything pile up inside you when they didn’t deserve it. The guilt hit you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you found yourself speaking.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately. I’ve been... off, I guess.” The words came out clumsy, but they felt necessary. Like if you could just say them, it might ease the tension that had been building inside you for so long.

The room felt quieter as you looked around, but instead of a wave of understanding or sympathy, Choso’s voice cut through, calm and unfazed.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said with his usual nonchalance, leaning back in his seat. His eyes flickered toward you, but there wasn’t any judgment in them, just an effortless coolness. “Everyone has their moments. No big deal.”

He shrugged, looking more like he couldn’t care less, but the ease in his tone made the guilt inside you settle just a little.

“You’re still here, right? That’s what matters.” His words were blunt, but they had a way of hitting exactly where they needed to. No overthinking, no grand speeches. Just... simple reassurance.

You let out a small breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to be like this every once in a while. You weren’t perfect, and neither were they. And that, for some reason, made it all feel a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said, the words lighter now, like a burden had shifted off your shoulders.

Iori gave a small, approving nod as you finally relaxed, her smile soft but reassuring. “So, what are we having?”

────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After the food had been devoured, the room was filled with the casual noise of packing up and cleaning up the last bits of the mess. The rest of the crew had already begun to pack up, their laughter and chatter a distant hum as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. The studio, once filled with the warmth of conversation and the sound of instruments, now felt quieter. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, and everyone was ready to call it a night.

You waved them off, telling them you’d close up the studio. The others didn’t seem to mind, already heading out the door with tired smiles and promises to meet at the next session. As the last of them disappeared down the hallway, you stood there in the silence, the door clicking shut behind them.

The studio was empty now, save for the soft hum of the lights above. You set your bag down on the couch, the familiar weight of it suddenly feeling too much. But instead of heading home like you probably should have, you took a deep breath and made your way over to your instrument.

The band had been more than patient with you, more than understanding as you struggled through each practice, trying and failing to get things right. The pressure had been mounting—the gig was right around the corner, and you still hadn’t found your rhythm. But every time you messed up, they were there with encouraging words, with reassurances that you’d get it, that they knew you could.

A wave of gratitude washed over you as you stood there in the quiet studio, staring at your instrument. They could’ve been frustrated with you. They had every right to be. But instead, they were kind, patient, and supportive, letting you take your time. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being better, for not meeting their expectations, for not being as good as they believed you were capable of being.

You let the thoughts settle in your mind, but then, as quickly as they came, you shook them away. There was no point in dwelling on what you couldn’t change right now. What mattered was what came next.

You couldn’t take their patience for granted. You couldn’t let them down again. The gig was coming, and you had to be better.

With a steadying breath, you picked up your instrument. The room seemed to fade around you as you closed your eyes, tuning out everything except the steady pulse of your heartbeat and the strings beneath your fingers.

You began to play, your fingers moving over the strings with a gentler touch than before. The aggression was gone, replaced by a quieter intensity. It felt better, more in tune with the mood you wanted to create, but something was still missing. There was a void, a note that you couldn’t reach, a spark that wouldn’t ignite no matter how many times you strummed. The frustration lingered, swirling inside you, gnawing at your concentration.

And just as the frustration began to settle into something heavier, your phone vibrated sharply against the floor where you had tossed it earlier. Startled, you paused mid-strum and glanced over. The name on the screen caught you off guard.

Gojo.

You stared at the caller ID for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flutter in your chest. What was he calling for? Was it... was it really him? You hesitated, fingers still lingering on the strings, unsure of whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail.

It had been so long since you’d heard his voice, but you didn’t know if you were ready to face it yet. You knew you couldn’t keep running from this, but... this? Right now?

The phone vibrated again in your hand, urging you to decide.

You took a deep breath and answered, your voice shaky as you pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice came through, smoother than usual, but there was something about it that felt more serious this time. “I’m downstairs. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You froze, eyes darting to the door like you could somehow see him on the other side. Downstairs? You weren’t sure you’d heard him right.

“Wait... what?” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “You’re downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Gojo responded, his tone firmer now, like he wasn’t messing around. “Come down. I’ll be waiting.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected him to show up out of the blue like this. You looked at your phone, still processing the strange urgency in his voice.

“Uh, alright,” you said, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves. “I’ll be there in a second.”

You hung up quickly, set your guitar down, and grabbed your things, moving with more haste than you had anticipated. The tension in the pit of your stomach only grew as you locked up the practice room and made your way down the hall. Something in his tone had shifted, and it made the usual teasing Gojo feel distant—more... serious.

You rushed down the stairs, the echo of your footsteps against the walls reminding you how quickly everything had shifted. When you finally rounded the corner, you saw him standing by the door, his posture straighter than usual. The smirk was gone, replaced by a focused intensity in his eyes that you rarely saw.

He didn’t greet you with his usual grin or playful jab. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze unwavering. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “Let’s go.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. But there was no turning back now.

The walk was quiet, but the silence felt different this time. Gojo’s usual cocky confidence was replaced with an almost tangible tension in his posture. He walked with purpose, his strides long and quick, but there was a tightness in the way he carried himself that you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like him to be this... off. He always wore that smug grin, that careless energy that made everything feel like a joke. But now? He looked like he was carrying something heavy, something too complicated to shake off.

You wanted to ask him what was going on, but you knew better. If Gojo didn’t bring it up, he wasn’t going to. You could tell that much, even with the unease simmering beneath his usually cool exterior.

You both reached the convenience store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you entered. The familiar hum of the coolers and the bright fluorescent lights did little to ease the tension hanging between you. You found a seat near the back, not really feeling hungry or in the mood to browse, so you just sat there, hands folded in your lap, eyes following Gojo as he wandered over to the drinks section.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, expecting him to grab his usual—his go-to strawberry iced tea, the one he always joked about being his secret weapon—but to your surprise, his hand reached for something different. He grabbed a can of beer, the silver can catching the dim light as he turned towards the cashier.

Your brows furrowed slightly, not because you had a problem with it, but because it was so out of character for him. Gojo, the always-lighthearted, playful figure, wasn’t someone you expected to be reaching for alcohol, especially not when the atmosphere had been so... different tonight.

He returned to the seat next to you after quickly paying for the drink, the cool can in his hand now making a soft, faintly metallic sound as he cracked it open. The hiss of the carbonation was the only sound between you two for a few moments as he took a long drink, the beer slipping past his lips without the usual playful smirk that usually accompanied any of his actions.

You hesitated, the air thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure if you should say something or just let him be, but you could feel that something was wrong—something deeper than whatever lighthearted banter he would usually throw your way. You’d known him long enough to see when something was off. Tonight, it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, after a few more moments of silence, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned toward him, your voice quiet but laced with concern. “What’s going on with you, Satoru?”

He didn’t immediately respond, the can still in his hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a thin line as if he was weighing his words. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with anticipation. Then, as though he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he muttered just one word:

"Mina."

It was soft, almost lost in the distance of the moment. But hearing it—the way it left his lips so raw, so fragmented—sent a jolt through you. This wasn’t the playful Gojo you knew. This was someone who was struggling, someone who didn’t have all the answers.

You blinked, the name hanging in the air like a strange weight. Mina. You’d thought the two of them were the perfect couple. They had that effortless chemistry, the kind of bond that seemed unshakable. Gojo and Mina—it just made sense. They were the kind of pair people would look at and say, "That’s it. They’re meant to be." And yet, hearing Gojo say that name now, in the quiet of this moment, felt like a crack in a carefully built illusion.

You hadn’t expected this. The way he said it, though... so quiet, so far removed from his usual confident, teasing tone, made you pause. You’d never once imagined that Gojo—someone so composed, so unflappable—could be this thrown off by a relationship. It was unsettling to think that things might not be as perfect as they appeared.

Before you could gather your thoughts to ask what had happened, Gojo let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was already exhausted by the very thought of explaining. “It’s complicated,” he said, cutting off any further questions you might have had.

You could tell from the way he said it, with that tired edge in his voice, that this wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t just an argument or a misunderstanding. There was more beneath the surface—something tangled up in emotions and expectations that Gojo clearly didn’t know how to untangle.

He took another sip from the can, his fingers tight around it once more, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.

"Tell me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

He looked at the can in his hands for a long moment, his fingers white-knuckled around it. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air before he finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“It’s not that she’s done anything wrong,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. “She’s... a good girlfriend. She hasn’t done anything bad, nothing’s wrong with her.”

He let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing as he traced the rim of the can with his thumb. “But... it’s like something’s missing. Like, when I first met her, I thought I saw something, you know? There was this... feeling, like we clicked or something. But now, every time I’m with her, it feels... off. It’s not her fault, she’s not doing anything different, it’s just—” He trailed off, searching for the words, but they just wouldn’t come.

He let out a quiet laugh, self-deprecating and bitter. “Maybe I built some kind of... fantasy around her, and now that I’m seeing who she really is, it doesn’t line up. I thought it was something real, but now... I’m not sure.”

You could see it, the confusion in his eyes. He wasn’t blaming her—he wasn’t even sure what was wrong, but the discomfort was there, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t that Mina had changed, but that Gojo’s perception of her had cracked, leaving him to figure out if there was anything left of what he thought was there.

You took a slow breath, trying to find the right words as you watched him wrestle with himself. You could tell this was weighing heavily on him, and it wasn’t just about Mina—it was about Gojo grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure how to explain even to himself.

You leaned back slightly, your voice soft but steady. “I get it,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “When you first meet someone, it’s easy to get swept up in the feeling of it all—the excitement, the newness. And maybe... maybe you started seeing things in her that you wanted to see, or that felt right in the moment.”

You paused, allowing him to process, before continuing. “But just because you’re feeling like things aren’t clicking now, doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. Sometimes, when we’re with someone, we get so focused on the idea of them that we forget to focus on who they really are. And maybe that's what’s throwing you off—you’re seeing the real her now, and it’s different from the image you had in your head.”

You could see the tension in his face, but you pressed on, keeping your tone gentle. “It’s not a bad thing, Gojo. People aren’t perfect, and relationships are never just about the spark you feel at the beginning. The real connection, the deep stuff, that comes over time. Maybe it’s just a matter of slowing down and letting things evolve naturally, instead of forcing them into some mold you’ve created.”

You shifted slightly, choosing to be honest with him. “It sounds like you’re scared of being disappointed or realizing that it’s not what you thought, but maybe you just need time to figure out who she really is, and who you are with her. You might not have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Just don’t give up too soon because of some uncomfortable feelings. If you’re both willing to figure it out, it doesn’t have to be the end of something good. Sometimes it takes work to get through the doubts and see what’s really there.”

Gojo leaned back, his gaze drifting once more as if the answer was just beyond his reach. His hands rested loosely on his knees, the can in his hand now forgotten. His tone was quiet, almost tentative, as he finally spoke.

Gojo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as he processed your words. The usual intensity in his expression was softened, like he was turning over each of your points in his mind, carefully weighing them. His hands, once tense around the can, were now resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined as if the weight had lifted, even just slightly.

You could feel the shift, the way his posture had changed. He was listening—not just hearing—but truly taking in what you were saying. He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of clarity in his eyes, though the storm wasn’t fully gone yet.

“I get it,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I understand where you're coming from. You're right. Maybe I’ve been too focused on this idea I had about her, this... perfect picture I painted in my head. And now that it’s not lining up, it’s throwing me off. I’m just... I guess I was expecting things to be a certain way, and now it feels like I’m not even sure where I stand anymore.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze drifted down again, looking almost lost in thought. “I know you’re right. I can’t expect everything to be perfect, and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her for not matching whatever image I had. But—” He paused, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

"But..." you prompted gently, knowing there was more he was holding back.

Gojo’s eyes flicked to you, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing his features. “But… I’m just not sure if she’s the one,” he said, his voice trailing off like he was unsure even about admitting it to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment, as if the words felt too heavy.

“It’s not like I don’t care about her. I do. And she’s a good person. She’s been nothing but kind to me, and we get along well enough. But... I don’t know. It’s just this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like, maybe we’re not as compatible as I thought we were. Like, something’s missing.” He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ground for a long moment.

He looked up at you then, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to keep second-guessing myself, but at the same time... I don’t want to lead her on if I’m not sure. I don’t want to be the guy who’s just going through the motions, thinking it’ll work out, when deep down I’m not sure if we’re actually right for each other. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

He glanced at you with a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight for Gojo. “I mean, I don’t want to keep dragging her into something if I’m not sure I can give her what she needs. And I can’t help but wonder if... if I’m just waiting for something that isn’t there.”

He let the silence linger for a beat before he shook his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just... am I really feeling what I thought I was? Or was it just... a good idea in my head?”

You hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say, because this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation you were used to dealing with. Gojo was always so confident, so sure of himself, and now, seeing him so lost—it felt unfamiliar and honestly, a little overwhelming.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure how to ease his tension. You knew that you couldn’t just throw out words of wisdom like it was all simple, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t simple for him, and you didn’t want to make it worse by trying to give advice that sounded too rehearsed.

After a long pause, you spoke, trying to find a balance between understanding and honesty. “I mean, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s not like I have the answers for this kind of stuff.” You let out a soft, nervous laugh, realizing that you weren’t exactly the expert here.

“But...” You trailed off, trying to gather your thoughts. “You’re not alone in feeling confused about this. Relationships are messy, and sometimes, it’s hard to know what the right thing is. What you’re feeling—doubt, uncertainty—it’s not abnormal. It’s just... part of figuring things out.”

You fidgeted a little, glancing down at your hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... it’s okay not to have all the answers. I think you just need to give yourself permission to take a step back. Maybe let it go a bit slower, without all the pressure to know if it's ‘the one’ right away. And if something’s still unclear, then... you can figure it out. It doesn’t have to be right or wrong all at once.”

You looked up at him again, your voice softer. “It’s just, don’t feel like you have to have it all figured out right now. I’m not sure if that helps or anything, but... that’s the best I got.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, taking everything in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your words had actually made any impact. But then he turned to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, but something softer, almost relieved.

“Man, look at you getting all deep and philosophical. Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

You blinked, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to act like you weren’t completely embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m just trying to help, okay?”

Gojo chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you reacted. “I know, I know. But seriously, I didn’t think you were the ‘advice-giving’ type. I’ll be honest, that was a little... sappy.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring at him, though you could feel the warmth on your cheeks. “Well, maybe you need it. You act like you have everything figured out, but look at you now—getting all lost in your own head.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay, I get it. Sappy, but helpful. Can’t deny that. But don’t let it go to your head.”

You looked at him, now slightly less flustered, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying... Sometimes things aren’t as simple as we want them to be. It’s okay not to have everything figured out right away. Relationships take time.”

Gojo met your eyes, his expression more thoughtful now, and he let out a long breath. “Yeah... I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself to have it all figured out. Thanks for the reminder.” His smile came back, softer this time. “You’ve got a point. Maybe I do need to take a step back and just see where it goes.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now. “It’s not a race, ‘Toru. Don’t rush it. Just let things happen as they do.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, before Gojo broke it, his tone still teasing but less guarded.

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to take it slow, philosopher,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the tension had definitely eased. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get all sappy on me again.”

Gojo grinned, clearly in a better place than before. “I’ll try to spare you from that. But hey, next time you drop some deep wisdom on me, I’ll be ready.”

You flushed a little again but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Don’t push it, Gojo.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

As the two of you walked back home, the air between you had shifted. The tension that had lingered for so long was finally gone, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled over both of you. You found yourself walking in step with Gojo, the rhythm of your footsteps syncing naturally as you let the silence between you stretch, not feeling the need to fill it with words.

Now that the weight of the conversation had lifted, you allowed your gaze to wander to him, something you hadn’t done too openly before.

There was something almost disarming about Gojo when the playful edge in his voice softened, when he wasn’t in “Gojo mode.” His features, though still sharp and striking, held a kind of warmth that you hadn’t expected to see, a rawness that only revealed itself in moments like this—when he was being real with you.

His eyes, usually full of that mischievous glint, looked calmer now, more reflective, and as the light from the streetlamps caught his hair, it almost seemed to glow with an ethereal quality. The way he carried himself, effortlessly cool yet undeniably human, made you pause and just take him in, appreciating him for a moment. His presence felt different now—less overwhelming and more... grounding.

And then, as if on cue, you caught yourself smiling, soft and almost wistful. It was strange, the way just being near him—hearing his voice, feeling the quiet ease that had settled between you—seemed to heal something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized was aching until it started to fade away.

It was like the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Like, somehow, everything felt a little more manageable in the moment.

You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment a little longer, the quiet warmth between you two still lingering as you walked the rest of the way home. But even as you let yourself bask in the calm, a part of you couldn't fully relax. Deep down, you knew this wasn't something that would last long. Gojo had been here tonight because of his issue with Mina, and once that was sorted out, you figured things would go back to how they were before—back to the teasing, playful banter and the walls he'd built up around himself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy this version of him, the one that was more genuine, more grounded—it was just that you knew the reality. Once he figured things out with Mina, he’d go back to being the Gojo everyone knew. And you’d go back to being just... you.

You reached the front door of your apartment, the familiar hum of the city in the background, and paused. Turning to face Gojo, you smiled, though the weight of your thoughts lingered in the back of your mind.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said, keeping your voice light, though there was a little more softness to it than usual.

Gojo looked at you, his usual playful grin starting to creep back, but there was something different in his eyes. A flicker of sincerity from earlier still hung there. "Of course," he said with a casual shrug. "What would I do if you got caught up in some crazy situation without me? You know I can’t let that happen."

His voice was light, but the way he said it carried an undercurrent of care, something unspoken that made the words feel warmer than they usually would.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to help a small laugh. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He shot you that signature grin, the one that could charm just about anyone, but there was still a softness to it now—an openness that didn’t quite match his usual carefree demeanor.

"Hey, I’m just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you ever need a bodyguard, you know where to find me."

Despite the playfulness in his tone, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on both of you. The reality of the situation, of his relationship with Mina, still lingered in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this brief, real side of Gojo—might slip away once everything was sorted out.

You pushed the thought down and smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "I’ll keep that in mind," you replied, though part of you wasn’t sure you’d ever need him that way.

There was a brief pause, and then you cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into the present. "I really do hope things work out with Mina, Satoru," you said, your voice sincere. "You deserve to get everything figured out."

Gojo’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Mina. It wasn’t the usual teasing grin anymore, but something softer, more thoughtful, as though the thought of her pulled him out of the moment for a second.

He reached up, almost absentmindedly, to ruffle your hair, a subtle attempt to lighten the mood. “You worry too much,” he said, his voice a little quieter, his fingers running through your hair in a playful but gentle motion.

You flinched, swatting his hand away lightly. “Satoru, come on, you’re messing it up.”

Gojo chuckled softly at your reaction, but instead of pulling his hand away, he kept it there, his fingers still resting on your head. He gave you a gentle pat this time, his touch light but lingering, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment just yet.

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, as if there was something in his gaze that wasn’t quite matching his usual carefree attitude. For a split second, the usual playful energy around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Despite how many times Gojo had been touchy with you before, this time was different. His gaze felt heavier, more intense, and it made you feel uncomfortably aware of the way his hand rested on you. A soft heat spread through you, and before you knew it, your cheeks were flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck.

Then, almost absentmindedly, Gojo’s hand dropped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath your eye. You froze at the touch, your breath catching in your throat as the tender motion sent a shiver down your spine.

His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate, that it left you momentarily speechless. Gojo’s thumb continued its slow, soothing stroke over your cheek, his eyes still locked onto yours, watching the way your expression shifted.

For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the night, the world around you, even the uncertainty that had been lingering in the air. It was just him, just you, and the quiet tension that seemed to wrap itself around the both of you, neither of you daring to move or speak.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race, unsure of what this moment meant or how to react to it. You’d never felt quite so exposed in front of him, as if his touch and gaze were pulling something out of you that you didn’t know was there.

Gojo’s smile was still soft, his eyes not leaving yours, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something different than before. A strange vulnerability, maybe, or perhaps just a shared moment of silence that neither of you had the words to explain.

And for a heartbeat, everything felt... unsettled, as though the line between what was familiar and what was new had blurred just enough to make you question whether you were still in control of the situation.

You broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a soft breeze. “Satoru?”

The sound of your voice seemed to snap Gojo out of whatever trance he had been in. His eyes blinked rapidly, as though he were shaking himself back to reality, and the softness that had filled the air between you suddenly wavered.

Gojo blinked rapidly, his eyes shifting as if he were suddenly realizing what had just occurred. His hand pulled away from your cheek like it was almost burning, and he stepped back, an almost startled expression crossing his face. The teasing, playful demeanor faltered for a second, and you could see the surprise flicker in his eyes—not just from you, but perhaps from the moment itself.

"Ah... sorry," he muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair in an awkward gesture that didn’t quite match his usual calm. “Didn’t mean to... uh... get so close.”

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to regain his usual composure. With a shaky smile, he waved his hand as if brushing it off. "Anyway, I should get going."

You nodded, a strange tightness in your chest. He was already backing away, his voice lighter than before but with a hint of haste in it. "Take care, alright?" His tone was almost clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness that had lingered moments before.

You wanted to say something, to stop him, but the words got stuck in your throat. You simply watched as Gojo, with one last glance over his shoulder, turned and started walking down the hallway.

He didn't look back this time, his figure disappearing into the distance and then into the lift, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft, almost final sound.

The quietness that followed felt almost suffocating, the cool night air filling the space where he had stood. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had just been, unsure of what to make of everything. Your heart was still racing, the lingering touch on your cheek echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

As the sound of the elevator faded away, all you were left with was the lingering memory of him, his touch, his gaze—and the sudden weight of everything unsaid.

[nomynameisnothing]

Reminds me of something I was thinking about earlier today, pretty perfectly actually.

I went to an all girls Christian camp every summer for 2 weeks to ride horses and go backpacking when I was in my teen years.

I was a streadfast ultracynical atheist then. I felt I had a duty to disprove everything about religion. I thought believing in god meant you were stupid.

I always did my best to poke holes in all the bible stories and find a way to prove that they didnt make any sense.

My cabin leader was the sweetest person I've ever met, so friendly and wholesomely christian.

I said to her, "How can you believe in something when there are so many holes... so many things that dont add up?"

She said that she imagined her faith like a cabin. Like a home, somewhere she felt protected with a roof over her head to ride out the bad weather. She said, "Yes, there are cracks and holes in the walls but thats where the light shines through. Thats faith."

The knowing that comes from deeply understanding your place in the universe and in this life; from understanding the laws that govern the soul and trusting in your connection with spirit to guide and protect you every step of the way.

I understand that now

Not because its comforting or convenient, but because I see the evidence. I get it now.

Its faith in laws in the universe in uncharted dimensions of phsyics that have yet to be defined.

I believe this is now the time when we can make that leap and bridge the gap between quantum physics and spirituality. They are not so different. One is just unproven because it is the study of phenomena that can't be empirically tested. The laws of nature still prevail.

As above, so below.

What does Acts 19:19 mean?

The people of Ephesus are learning what real supernatural power looks like. Like all pagans in the Roman Empire, they have household idols and city gods; they are known for the temple of Artemis. They also have a culture of witchcraft, which attracts demons, which attract Jewish exorcists.

This is the state of the city when Paul arrives. In response to all the magic, the Holy Spirit empowers him to heal and expel demons in Jesus' name. Jewish magicians hear him and start using "Jesus" as a kind of magical word. When seven sons of a Jewish high priest named Sceva enter a house and try to use Jesus' name to expel a powerful demon, the evil spirit attacks them, and the would-be exorcists run out in the street (Acts 19:11–16).

The whole city hears, and many of the practitioners of witchcraft immediately respond. Likely, they realize their spells and incantations don't really control demons, but Paul does. First, they reveal their practices, thus voiding them of power (Acts 19:17–18). Now, they burn their spells. "Ephesian writing," or Ephesia grammata, is a reference to written-down spells, some rolled into small containers and worn as amulets. If the pieces of silver are silver drachma, the value would be something close to 150 years' worth of a laborer's wages.

It's not uncommon for an unbeliever to see the power of Jesus and want to use it to gain influence and money. Simon the Magician did so in Samaria (Acts 8:9–24). But sometimes people are just waiting for rescue. When criticized for eating with unsavory people, Jesus said He came for the sick who need a doctor (Mark 2:15–17). When Zacchaeus heard Jesus, he gratefully accepted Jesus' message and His love and resolved to return what he had cheated (Luke 19:1–10). As Paul works, the demons flee left and right (Acts 19:12). Maybe the magicians just need someone to rescue them.

by Remedios Varo

[er1nne]

interviewing drew for queer (do not copy or plagarize, original work)

The buzz of the red carpet was a living thing, pulsing with life as cameras flashed and excited voices carried over the barricades. You adjusted the hem of your pants again, smoothing it over your hips even though it didn’t need it. It was instinct, a way to channel the energy that simmered just beneath your skin. The red carpet was alive with energy, a sea of lights, cameras, and glamour that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. You stood at your designated spot, microphone in hand, scanning the line of arriving guests with practiced ease. This wasn’t your first premiere, but tonight felt charged with a different kind of anticipation. 

You glanced at the crowd gathered just beyond the velvet ropes. Fans pressed against the barricades, their phones out, waving signs and shouting names. Somewhere behind you, another journalist was calling for their next interviewee, their voice competing with the noise of the evening.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited for your next interview. Your grip tightened on the microphone, the smooth surface cool against your palm. You’d done this countless times before, but tonight was different. This wasn’t just any film premiere—it was Queer.

The buzz around the project had been relentless. Raw, intimate, and deeply personal, it had stirred emotions before a single frame had even been released. And now, you were moments away from speaking with one of its stars. Drew Starkey.

You glanced down at your shoes, adjusting your stance and mentally rehearsing your questions one last time. You were prepared. You always were. But there was something about him—something about the way he carried himself, about the way he seemed to pull everyone’s attention with such ease—that made your nerves feel sharper tonight.

When you looked up again, there he was.

He moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his tall frame cutting a striking figure under the bright lights. The black suit he wore was simple but impeccably tailored, fitting him like it had been made for this moment. His hair was perfectly tousled, the kind of artful mess that looked casual but probably wasn’t.

And then his eyes found yours, they locked on you like a spotlight, and for a moment, the noise of the red carpet seemed to fade. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, easy smile, and before you could fully process it, he was in front of you.

“Hi, Drew,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Welcome. How does it feel to be here tonight?”

His smile widened as he slid his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed but not careless. “It feels… surreal,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “Exciting, overwhelming, maybe a little nerve-wracking.”

His voice was low and even, carrying a weight that made you lean in slightly.

“Nerve-wracking?” You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s the trick,” he replied, leaning in just slightly. His voice dropped, soft enough that only you could hear over the noise around you. “Pretend you’re calm long enough, and eventually, people start to believe it.”

“That’s a powerful way to put it,” you said. “Queer has been described as raw, vulnerable, and deeply human. What drew you to this project?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as though searching for the right words. “It’s a story that matters,” he said finally. “It’s not just about one experience—it’s about the universal truths that connect all of us. Identity, love, loss, finding your place in the world. It’s messy, and it’s beautiful, and it’s real.”

The way he spoke, so deliberate and thoughtful, made your chest tighten. This wasn’t just another press soundbite—it was personal.

“And your character,” you pressed gently, “what was it like stepping into his shoes?”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but there was something introspective in his expression. “Challenging,” he admitted. “And not just because of the emotional depth. It forced me to confront parts of myself I hadn’t looked at in a while. That’s what great stories do—they reflect you back at yourself.”

You nodded, his words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. The noise of the red carpet faded further as the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

“What do you hope audiences take away from it?”

He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he considered your question. “I hope they see themselves in it,” he said. “Even in the parts that feel uncomfortable. Especially in those parts. Because that’s where growth happens.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a ripple through you, and for a moment, you forgot the cameras, the crowd, the lights. It was just Drew, standing in front of you, baring a part of himself that felt achingly human. As he spoke, his hand gestured lightly, and for a moment, his fingers hovered near yours—close enough that you felt the faintest hint of warmth. 

“That’s beautifully said,” you replied, your voice softer now.

His eyes held yours for a beat longer, and then his smile returned, lighter this time. “Thanks. You’re making this way too easy, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Easy?”

“For me,” he clarified, his grin widening. “I usually have to work harder for good questions.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension in your chest. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

As the interview wrapped up, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “By the way, you’re good at this.”

The words sent a flicker of warmth through you, and you barely managed a reply before he was gone, disappearing into the next wave of flashing cameras. The warmth of his compliment lingered long after he pulled away, his grin softening as he straightened and offered you a small wave before heading to the next reporter.

Later, as you replayed the conversation in your head, the memory of his gaze lingered most. It wasn’t the kind of look meant to charm or deflect, but one that seemed genuinely curious, as though he were studying you in a way that felt both disarming and personal. The faint warmth of his compliment echoed in your mind, and though you tried to shake it off as professional politeness, a part of you couldn’t ignore the quiet connection you’d felt in that moment. It wasn’t just another interview—it felt like something more.

AN: i can't wait to see queer! love drew to pieces

[ohithankyou]

now i’m thinking about the bucktommy breakup again and i want to try and outline what essentially happened with my own interjections and thoughts in between

miceli’s anniversary date:

so they’re at their anniversary dinner and it’s all going well until the girl comes over and asks buck to take a picture of her and her friends. buck gets flustered, she flirts with him and asks for his number, he says no but fails to tell her why he doesn’t want her number (a whole boyfriend of six months sitting right there).

now, as an audience member, you’re made to think that this may cause an issue between them because tommy would be in the right to be upset by this. not that buck finds this woman attractive or whatever, but that he was unable to claim tommy/say that he was celebrating his 6-months w his boyfriend.

but, tommy’s shown to be quite understanding and this situation isn’t at all positioned as something that bothers him maybe beyond a few seconds and they don’t broach on the matter for much longer before moving onto what is meant to be the main “problem” (the abby of to all).

buck asks tommy about his history with women (which seemed to have been the goal of the prior scene, to lead into a conversation about being with women) and this is where we get the shocking (stupid) revelation that tommy and abby were engaged for two years.

so immediately, the audience focus is shifted from the situation with the girl and buck and how tommy felt, to tommy and abby and how this makes buck feel about his relationship with tommy. as a viewer, the situation with buck and the girl is now out of your mind because tommy was not really been upset by it but clearly, the abby revelation has caught buck off guard and not in a great way.

so now, it seems the driving hurdle in their relationship is their abby connection. except, tommy is not aware of this connection and therefore is not aware that it is even is a hurdle (which yeah i guess it’s bc we’re in buck’s pov but some insight into tommy’s state of mind would be nice considering he does the breaking-up). and while buck is spiraling, tommy’s just in the dark about it all.

buck’s talk with maddie and josh:

then we’re at the josh/maddie/buck scene where we hear that the abby of it all, particularly how tommy treated abby, is really bothering buck. then josh comes in with his speech and gives buck insight and a different, more understanding perspective, for buck to approach the situation with and it works. josh then asks buck a series of questions regarding tommy and it’s all very positive. so as an audience member, you see this as buck overcoming the hurdle and all seems well, even better than well, and he just has to tell tommy. it really seems like their relationship is headed towards a next positive big step at this point.

loft talk:

then we’re at buck’s loft because buck and tommy have a date planned so again, we’re made to believe everything’s going well, especially from tommy’s perspective. he’s so happy and light and free. but before they go the movies, buck wants to talk to him and be honest about something, which gets tommy a little nervous.

anyway, now for the reveal. buck tells tommy about their abby connection and maybe for a second we’re made to think this might be an issue for tommy but beyond it being a little weird, it’s not an issue and they laugh about it more or less. so, the abby of it all is resolved but then buck asks tommy to move on with him and bam. this is where everything changes.

we see that tommy is afraid. we see that he doesn’t think he can be loved and that he doesn’t believe he could be buck’s last because he’s his first. we see that he believes this is all very new for buck, he should explore, etc. but we don’t hear why. we don’t get that from tommy. he’s made to say such a matter of fact statement without stating any reasons so we don’t know where this comes from. (and i’m not saying that it doesn’t make sense for him to be afraid, or to not open up immediately, i think that’s actually a really great thread to unravel, but it’s something we can’t ground/was not grounded anywhere.)

was it because of the moment at miceli’s? was it because of the magnitude of moving in? was it because they hadn’t said ily but buck was already asking him to move in? was it because of something in tommy’s past? was it tommy’s own general insecurities? or all of the above? there are so many potential reasons and explanations but it’s really dependent on us digging and making sense of things and building those connections that aren’t very clearly identified by the writing.

but you know, it’s fine. because the narrative feels very open. it doesn’t feel like the door is shut and you believe they’re going to reconcile. they’re going to talk out their feelings, tommy’s going to clarify where everything came from, buck is going let tommy in on how he got to the moving-in stage, and they’re going to be fine (but then certain interviews come out and it’s like no actually this is meant to be the end). and then you’re just a confused as hell audience member and the whole story feels unbelievably clunky and disjointed even more than before.

overall, to me, it feels like they were so hyper focused with trying to get the abby connection in there for shock value and funny drama that they forgot to make sure that the narrative threads that led to the eventual breakup actually tied together in some way within the show itself. i also think the abby connection was entirely unnecessary and had no real bearing on the relationship or the breakup. it was too contrived and just for the shock and drama value.

and i said this before, and i know we’re in buck’s pov but since tommy was the one to do the breaking up, getting some insight into what was happening in his head to any degree either before or during the breakup would’ve been great.

anyway, this still only makes sense to me as a third act breakup. not to say that’s what they have planned for sure but to me that’s what makes sense.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Bart Allen's Life as a Carousel of Horrors, Loss, Ableism and Love

cw: ableism

LONG POST

You've been raised in a VR chamber for a possible relative 19 years, but it's only actually been 2 years, you're not really sure what time is, or what it means. The line between reality and virtual reality have blurred so seamlessly realness seems fake and hurts.

You've been told you're dying.

You'll be dead within 4 years if the scientists cannot cure you. Reality reminds you of this. You stay in VR because it's safe and nothing can hurt you there.

You're still dying.

Your grandmother shows up one day, you didn't know your grandmother was still alive. She's furious with the scientists but agrees you are in the best place you can be because you are dying.

She keeps visiting you every now and then, you can only interact with her in the real world. It makes the real world bearable because you can only hug her when you are unplugged from VR.

She is the first person who tells you they love you. You never felt love before.

You are still dying, and the scientists are starting to suddenly feel like they don't actually love you - because you know what kindness and love is supposed to look like and it's not that.

Your grandmother grabs you one day and kidnaps you from the only place you've known as home - you can tell it's for the best, you trust her, because she is the only person who has ever loved you. She says she's taking you to meet other family and everything will be better.

She lied.

But not intentionally.

You're ripped to an alien time where nothing make sense, rules don't make sense, people don't make sense, everything hurts, people don't know what to do with you, you don't know what to do with them either, but at least you are no longer dying.

Your cousin who you already admired from your studies is not the person you thought he'd be - it's for the best if you love each other from a distance even if you're not sure yet if this is love.

Your grandmother cannot keep you.

She has to love you from a distance. She says you will have to live with a man you don't know who never came up once in your history lessons. He is a stranger.

Max Mercury does not love you.

Max Mercury is there to fix you and everyone has reminded you that there is something deeply, deeply wrong with you.

You are no longer dying, but you still need to be fixed.

You make the most out of it because maybe this is just how things are, and there is no use getting upset or feeling bad because there is nothing you can do about it. Video games are like that too - you're just playing on hard mode and you need to practice to get better to clear the level - only no one really explained the rules, and it's up to you to figure out the controls.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button.

You get yelled at when you press the wrong button, but they won't tell you what the correct button is, and sometimes that button will change entirely for no reason and they will still yell at you for pushing the wrong button.

You love Max Mercury anyway, it's a new sort of love and one that is difficult to explain but you love him and he loves you.

You meet your cousin one day, stranded from your birth-time and you never felt like someone just got you like she did. For one moment, everything feels just right, but she cannot stay with you.

Like your grandmother, and Wally, Jenni has to love you from a distance.

You say goodbye, you don't know if you will ever see her again and you hope your letter lives the thousand years to reach her just so you can make one permanent connection with her.

You don't get yelled at for pushing the wrong button one day, but you know you pushed the wrong button. Max refuses to talk to you, he says there is nothing more he can teach you, you're hopeless.

You're no longer dying, but you still need to be fixed.

Your mother shows up out of nowhere and you fall in love all over again. You are lavished in affection you haven't felt since the first time your grandmother came into your life.

She promises you there is a home of love waiting for you back in your birth-time.

You've said goodbye before, but not like this. You hug Max tight before you go, and you can feel there is love there, but it's not the love from your mother or grandmother. But it is still love.

Your mother cannot keep you.

You never knew what it was really like to be hated before now, and it's not fair that the villain of your story wins and gets to love your mother and you can't.

You start to realize that your story is when the bad-guy wins over and over again.

Like your grandmother, Wally, and your cousin Jenni, your mother has to love you from a distance.

You go back 'home' and there is no home to go back to. Your cousin Wally yells at you for coming back and you're reminded that you can only be loved from a distance.

It's not like you want to live with him either.

Max is the only stable home you've known of and he accepts you back in his life with his daughter Helen.

You like Helen. She doesn't yell at you when you push the wrong button. You can tell Max doesn't approve but it amuses you that there is someone he can't say 'no' to that is on your side.

You are no longer dying, and no one has mentioned that you needed to be fixed for a long, long time.

Your home isn't perfect, you don't feel the same sort of love that you did with your grandmother and mother, but there is still love and you wouldn't change it for anything because Max and Helen are everything to you.

No one gets you like them.

You are no longer dying, but Max is.

You try desperately to fix him because he spent so much time fixing you and it didn't matter if you still don't know what's wrong with you, he is everything to you and you love him and he loves you and you finally feel the same love for him that you do your mother and grandmother and it all goes away.

You've never felt so loved, then so hated all at once when your clone tries to take what you had. You can't hate him though, because he hates enough, and unlike you he was never loved.

You remember being unloved too.

You beg him to stay.

He doesn't.

You don't have time to mourn him, and what you could have had with him as a brother, because Max is still dying and you're the only one who can help fix him.

When Max is no longer dying and things return to normal you know you are loved and whatever everyone said was wrong with you was wrong. Max loves you like your mother loves you and Helen is no different.

You are no longer dying, and you are so very much loved.

Everything is perfect.

You have to say goodbye to your best friend, and it hurts more than when you said goodbye to your mother, because you don't understand the sort of love you had for her. Was it romantic love? Did it matter? You loved her and now your best friend is gone.

Like your grandmother, Wally, your cousin Jenni, and your mother, Carol has to love you from a distance.

One day you feel yourself die and you almost lost everything.

You feel like you are dying again, and it never stops. The event is so visceral it makes you question if you really need to be a superhero after all and you decide to stop.

One of your other best friends calls you a coward for it and you know she's wrong, but you swallow your disappointment and you leave. It's okay if she doesn't understand you - no one really does.

Your civilian friends, Helen and Max make you feel like you are safe again and it is all because of their love.

You find meaning and purpose again as a superhero.

You are no longer dying, and you know you are loved and accepted and everything is as good as it can be. It was a long journey, but you are content despite your grief because you are loved.

... ... ... ... ... ...

Max dies.

No, he doesn't just die, he's gone, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

You think he will be back any day now and it fills you with hope. You still have a home with Helen and all of your friends and you will wait for him because despite everything he is your dad.

The family that was supposed to be your family all along tell you that Helen cannot be your family anymore, and you have to move.

There's something still wrong with you and Helen cannot deal with it. You're an imposition to her. Max was the only thing keeping her home stable while you were there. You need someone to watch over you, not love you, love wasn't part of the equation.

Your grandmother denies there's something wrong with you and Helen, but she still won't take you in, she has someone else's child to love instead.

Your cousin still insists there is something wrong with you.

You know there is nothing wrong with you, and you think you finally get your cousin to understand and see you for the first time.

Nothing about this is fair - Helen's life isn't fair either, and you decide to help give her the life she deserves even if it breaks your heart.

You move, you lose everything again.

Like your grandmother, Wally, your cousin Jenni, your mother, and Carol, Helen has to love you from a distance.

You never lived in a house with a married couple before. They bond with you quickly and you love them, but you never forget Max and you love him from a distance.

You think your relationship with your cousin is mended but he reminds you that there is something wrong with you and it will never be fixed.

No amount of love, will ever save you, and you will always lose.

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I LOVE your writing!!!!

I have a request for Frank x younger reader, maybe where the reader works as his assistant, but it's temporary—like a substitute for a while. Obviously, there's a connection between them, but Frank, being so professional🫡 wouldn’t act on it because technically, he’s her boss. (IMAGINE ALL THE TENSIONNNNN)

Then, when the reader’s time is up and the regular assistant returns, on her last day, she tells him it’s her final day and that she’s done for the day—so, technically, he’s no longer her boss 👀👀

If you want to write it, feel free! If not, no worries at all!🥰

Title: Office Hours

Summary: After months of unspoken attraction, Frank finds himself caught in a late-night showdown with his secretary, where no rules apply.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request. I hope you enjoy it.

Also read on Ao3

Frank sat at his desk, his hazel eyes trained on the papers in front of him, though his mind was entirely elsewhere. You stood at the far end of the room, your fingers deftly sorting through files, your expression focused. The sight of you—the curve of your figure, the way your hair framed your face—was enough to make his chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. Two more weeks, he thought, his baritone voice muttering under his breath. Two more bloody weeks.

You glanced up, catching the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against the desk in a rare show of impatience. “Is something wrong, sir?” you asked, your voice warm and professional, but with a hint of genuine concern that always made him feel seen.

Frank’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he was silent, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he exhaled through it. “No,” he said finally, his tone brusque. “Everything’s fine. Just… a lot to get through today.”

You nodded, offering a small, understanding smile before returning to your work. Frank swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long before he forced himself to focus. The sexual tension that crackled in the air between you was impossible to ignore, and it was getting harder for him to maintain the calm, composed demeanor he prided himself on.

The problem wasn’t just your beauty, though that alone was enough to drive him to distraction. It was the way you seemed to anticipate his needs before he even voiced them, the way you moved through the office with a quiet confidence that both impressed and unnerved him. You weren’t just competent—you were exceptional. And that made everything more complicated.

“Lieutenant General?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, soft but insistent.

Frank blinked, realizing you were standing in front of his desk now, holding out a file. He reached for it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you,” he muttered, his baritone voice quieter than usual.

You hesitated, studying him with a slight tilt of your head. “Are you sure everything’s all right?” you asked, your tone gentle but probing. “You seem… distracted.”

Frank stiffened, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m fine,” he said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual authority. “Just a long week.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile, and for a moment, the tension between you felt almost playful. “Well,” you said lightly, “if there’s anything I can do to help, you just have to ask.”

Frank’s mind immediately went to places it shouldn’t have. He could picture it all too clearly: you leaning over his desk, your hands braced on the edge as he buried his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer. His cock stirred at the thought, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearing his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his tone clipped as he forced himself to look back at the papers in front of him.

But you didn’t leave. Instead, you lingered for just a moment longer, your gaze steady and knowing. “You work too hard, sir,” you said softly, almost teasingly. “You should let yourself relax once in a while.”

Frank’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes snapping up to meet yours. The way you looked at him—like you knew exactly what he was thinking, like you were daring him to act on it—was maddening. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said coolly, though his voice held a faint edge.

You smiled, a slow, almost mischievous curve of your lips that sent heat rushing through him. “Good,” you said simply before turning and walking away, your hips swaying slightly with each step.

Frank watched you go, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as he tried to steady himself. Two more weeks, he thought again, his baritone voice muttering low and bitter. God help me, I don’t know if I’ll make it.

The day dragged on, each interaction with you a careful balancing act as Frank struggled to keep his composure. By the time the office emptied out for the evening, he was a mess of frayed nerves and pent-up frustration. He stood by the window, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring out at the city lights as he tried to collect himself.

“Sir?” Your voice startled him, and he turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, your coat draped over one arm. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, though there was a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Frank set his glass down, his hazel eyes scanning your face, searching for… something. An excuse, perhaps. A reason to keep you here just a little longer. “Goodnight,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm.

You nodded, hesitating for a moment before stepping closer. “Frank,” you said quietly, dropping the formality. The sound of his name on your lips sent a thrill through him, and he tensed, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he inhaled. “You don’t have to keep holding back, you know.”

His eyes widened, the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself threatening to crumble. “What are you talking about?” he asked, though his voice was rough, betraying him.

You smiled, your gaze steady as you stepped closer still. “I’m saying,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, “that maybe you don’t have to wait two weeks.”

Frank’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as you closed the distance between you. He wanted to stop you, to tell you this was a terrible idea. But when your hand brushed against his, when your eyes locked onto his with that unmistakable heat, he found himself frozen, unable to resist.

“Two weeks,” he muttered, his baritone voice trembling as his control began to slip. “Just two more bloody weeks…”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Or maybe just two more minutes.”

Frank turned sharply on his heel, distancing himself from the intoxicating heat of your presence. His jaw tightened as his hazel eyes fixed on the window, the city lights beyond blurring into a kaleidoscope of frustration and longing. His white hair caught the dim glow of the lamp on his desk, and his hooked nose flared slightly as he drew a deep breath, his baritone voice firm yet trembling as he spoke.

“No,” he said, his tone resolute. “This is inappropriate. You’re my subordinate, and I’m your commanding officer. I won’t… I can’t cross that line.”

You stepped closer, your voice soft yet imploring. “Frank,” you murmured, your eyes searching his with a mix of frustration and desire. “We’ve been dancing around this for months. Why keep denying it?”

He turned to face you, his gaze sharp but filled with unspoken longing. “Because,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, commanding register that sent a shiver through you, “I won’t be the man who abuses his position. Amy will be back in two weeks. Two weeks. And then, maybe…”

You exhaled, a mixture of disappointment and resignation washing over you. “And then, maybe?” you asked, your voice tinged with a sadness that made his chest tighten.

Frank clenched his fists at his sides, his hazel eyes darkening as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. “Then,” he said softly, “I’ll be free to want you. Freely, without question. But not now. Not like this.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly, and you gave a curt nod, the professionalism you’d always carried slipping back into place like armor. “Goodnight, sir,” you said, your voice steady but distant.

As you turned and walked away, Frank’s heart twisted. He wanted to call you back, to tell you to lock the door, to throw propriety to the wind and finally claim what he’d been denying himself for so long. His hand even twitched toward the glass of whiskey, as though it could drown the torrent of desire coursing through him. But he held firm, his military training keeping him rooted in place as the sound of your footsteps faded into the night.

He took another sip of whiskey, the burn doing little to ease the ache in his chest or the throbbing heat elsewhere. His mind betrayed him almost instantly, conjuring images of what he would have done if he’d let himself slip—if he’d grabbed your wrist as you passed, pulling you back into the room, into him.

He imagined the startled gasp you’d let out as his lips crashed against yours, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pressed you against the wall. His voice, deep and rough with years of restraint finally breaking, would growl your name like a prayer. He pictured the way your body would melt against his, your fingers clutching his shirt as you whispered breathless pleas for more.

Frank’s grip on the glass tightened as his mind wandered further, the fantasies growing more vivid. He could see it so clearly: you kneeling in front of him, your eyes wide and filled with trust as he undid his belt with deliberate slowness, his cock hard and aching, thick and veined, begging for your touch. He would guide you gently at first, his voice low and encouraging as he murmured, “That’s it, love. Take me. All of me.”

He groaned softly, his free hand running through his white hair as he struggled to pull himself back from the edge. He could almost hear the way you’d moan his name, feel the way your lips would wrap around him, warm and willing, pulling him deeper until he couldn’t think straight.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his hazel eyes staring at the now-empty glass of whiskey. His hooked nose flared as he exhaled sharply, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. This was madness, he thought. Utter madness.

And yet, as he sat there in the quiet of his office, the scent of your perfume still lingering faintly in the air, Frank couldn’t stop himself from imagining what two weeks might bring—and how much harder it would be to hold himself back when the clock finally ran out.

Frank sat at the head of the conference table, his hazel eyes scanning the room as the officers around him discussed the latest intelligence reports on operations in Afghanistan. His expression was as calm and composed as ever, the weight of his rank and experience evident in every line of his face. But beneath that facade, Frank Benson was seething.

His gaze kept straying to the corner of the room, where you stood with a young soldier, your head tilted slightly as you spoke in hushed tones. Frank didn’t need to hear the words to know they weren’t work-related—the easy smiles, the soft laughter, and the way the soldier leaned just a little too close made that abundantly clear.

You should have been taking notes, cataloging the meeting as you always did with meticulous precision. Instead, you were there, entertaining some wide-eyed boy who clearly didn’t know his place. And it was driving Frank mad.

He clenched his jaw, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he tore his gaze away, trying to focus on the discussion at hand. The officers were speaking of strategic deployments, air support logistics, and humanitarian considerations—things that demanded his full attention. But his mind was elsewhere, filled with the image of you, the sound of your laugh, and the irritating sight of that soldier’s grin.

“Lieutenant General?” one of the officers prompted, drawing Frank’s attention back to the table. “Your thoughts?”

Frank blinked, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the question. “Continue,” he said curtly, his baritone voice low and commanding. “I’ll provide my input shortly.”

The officer nodded and resumed speaking, but Frank’s attention had already drifted again. His grip on the edge of the table tightened as he glanced toward you once more. The soldier was leaning in, his lips moving as he whispered something that made you smile. And that was it—the last straw.

Frank pushed back his chair, the legs scraping against the floor as he stood. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him as he fixed you and the soldier with a glare that could have frozen molten lava. “Miss [Your Last Name],” he barked, his baritone voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do you have something to share with the rest of us?”

You froze, your smile fading as you straightened, your eyes darting toward the soldier, who now looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor. “No, sir,” you said quickly, your tone steady despite the flicker of embarrassment in your expression.

“And you,” Frank continued, turning his glare to the soldier. “Is this how you behave in a serious meeting? Whispering and grinning like a schoolboy while your colleagues are discussing operations that involve life and death?”

The soldier stammered, his face turning crimson. “No, sir! I—I apologize, sir.”

Frank stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back as he loomed over the younger man. “You’re a disgrace to that uniform,” he growled, his hazel eyes cold and unforgiving. “Since you seem to have so much energy to waste on idle chatter, why don’t you go outside and give me fifty push-ups? Now.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier barked, snapping to attention before practically running out of the room.

Frank’s gaze shifted back to you, and the tension in the air was palpable. “And you,” he said, his tone softer but no less firm. “Your job is to take notes, not to flirt. I expect you to conduct yourself with professionalism at all times. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Frank said sharply, turning back to the table. “Let’s proceed.”

The meeting resumed, but the tension lingered. Frank kept his expression neutral, his hazel eyes fixed on the reports in front of him. But inside, his thoughts were a storm of frustration, jealousy, and something darker—something he refused to name.

When the meeting finally ended, Frank lingered behind, pretending to organize his papers as the officers filed out. You hesitated by the door, clearly unsure whether to leave or stay. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice hesitant. “Sir, may I speak with you?”

Frank glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Make it quick,” he said curtly.

You closed the door behind you, your hands clasped nervously in front of you as you approached his desk. “I didn’t mean to be unprofessional,” you began, your voice soft but earnest. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Frank stood, his white hair catching the light as he rounded the desk to stand in front of you. His hazel eyes bored into yours, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he exhaled. “Do you know what upset me, Miss [Your Last Name]?” he asked, his baritone voice low and dangerous. “It wasn’t the distraction, though that was bad enough. It was the fact that you allowed that boy to think he had even a fraction of your attention.”

You blinked, your breath catching at the intensity in his gaze. “Sir, I—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a growl as he stepped closer, his hands bracing on the desk behind you, effectively trapping you in place. “Do you understand that? Every smile, every glance, every bloody laugh—it’s mine. Not his.”

Your heart pounded as his words sank in, his hazel eyes blazing with a mix of possessiveness and desire. “Frank,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your temple. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Frank let out a low growl of satisfaction, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Good. Because if I ever catch you entertaining another man like that again, love, I won’t stop at fifty push-ups. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing as heat coursed through you.

“Good,” Frank said again, his baritone voice softening as his lips trailed down to your neck. “Because you’ve got a lot to make up for, and I intend to make sure you learn your lesson.”

The fire in his eyes left no doubt—this was a punishment you wouldn’t forget.

But Frank straightened abruptly, his hazel eyes hardening as though some invisible wall had slammed down between the two of you. You blinked up at him, confused and breathless, your body still humming from the way his low baritone voice had growled those possessive words just moments before.

But now he was backing away, his hands adjusting his uniform as if nothing had happened. “This is highly inappropriate,” he said, his voice curt, devoid of the heat that had filled it just seconds ago. “I’ve already crossed a line by saying too much.”

You pushed yourself off the desk, your legs trembling slightly as you tried to steady yourself. “Frank,” you said, your voice wavering between frustration and desperation. “You can’t keep doing this.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “Doing what?” he asked, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he gathered the papers he’d left scattered on the desk. “Maintaining my professionalism? Upholding the integrity of my position? Is that what you’re accusing me of?”

Your jaw clenched, and you crossed your arms, staring him down despite the ache in your chest. “No,” you said, your tone sharper now. “I’m accusing you of provoking me, of making me feel things I can’t act on, only to walk away like none of it matters.”

Frank’s hand froze mid-motion, his hazel eyes darkening as he stared at you. For a moment, you thought he might say something, might finally admit what you both knew to be true. But instead, he shook his head, his white hair catching the soft light of the office. “There’s still a week and five days,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Until Amy returns. Until this…” He gestured vaguely between you. “Is no longer an issue.”

Your heart sank, and you bit your lip to keep from shouting at him. “That’s all this is to you?” you demanded. “An issue?”

Frank exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “You don’t understand,” he said softly, his baritone voice tinged with regret. “If I lose control now, I won’t be able to stop. And you deserve better than being someone’s mistake.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words hit you like a physical blow. “I’m not a mistake, Frank,” you said, your voice trembling. “And you’re not as composed as you think you are.”

He flinched, the truth in your words cutting through his defenses. But instead of responding, he simply nodded once, gathered the last of his papers, and turned toward the door.

“Goodnight, Miss [Your Last Name],” he said formally, his tone cold and distant as he walked out of the room without another glance.

You stood there, still leaning against the desk, your body burning with unspent desire and simmering frustration. “Damn him,” you muttered under your breath, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “Damn that man.”

You tried to calm the pounding of your heart, but it was no use. Every interaction with Frank felt like a carefully orchestrated game of push and pull, and you were growing tired of always being the one left behind, yearning for something he refused to give.

And yet, as infuriating as he was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. His sharp wit, his commanding presence, the way his hazel eyes softened just enough when he looked at you—it all made you crave him more, even when he left you seething in his wake.

“He can’t keep doing this,” you whispered to yourself, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. But even as you said the words, you knew they were hollow. Because no matter how much Frank provoked you, no matter how many times he pulled away, you couldn’t seem to let him go.

Not yet. Not until you had your moment. And you would have it—if only you could survive the next week and five days without losing your mind.

Frank sat at his desk, his hazel eyes scanning the last document of the day, though his attention was half-hearted at best. The tension that had been building between you over the past few months hung in the air, thick and oppressive, and he could feel it wrapping around him like a vice. Today was your last day as his secretary, and while he’d done his best to maintain his composure, the thought of you leaving left an ache in his chest he couldn’t quite ignore.

You stepped into his office, the soft click of your heels against the polished floor drawing his gaze. You held out the final paper of the day, your expression calm and professional, though your eyes sparkled with something he couldn’t quite place. “Here’s the last one,” you said, your voice steady. “Anything else you need before I go?”

Frank took the paper from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. He set it down on the desk, glancing up at you with a faint, almost reluctant smile. “No,” he said, his baritone voice low. “You’re excused.”

You nodded, your lips twitching as if you were holding back a smile of your own. “Goodnight, sir,” you said softly, turning toward the door.

Frank exhaled quietly, thinking that was it. The end of months of tension, of longing, of resisting the pull between you. He’d let you walk out of his office, out of his life, and he’d never have to face the maddening temptation you represented again.

But then he heard the soft click of the door locking.

His hazel eyes snapped up, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he saw you turn back toward him. Your expression had shifted, the professionalism gone, replaced by a sly, knowing smile that sent a jolt of heat through his body. You leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms as you looked at him.

“Today’s my last day,” you said simply, your voice steady but laced with a teasing edge. “My shift is over. That means I’m no longer your secretary.”

Frank swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he realized exactly what you were saying. He nodded slowly, his baritone voice calm but tinged with something darker. “No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him with a look that made his pulse race. “So, what are you planning to do now, Lieutenant General?” you asked, your voice soft but full of challenge.

Frank stood slowly, his white hair catching the dim light of the office as he straightened his jacket. He took a step toward you, his hazel eyes dark and locked onto yours. “I was planning,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “to call you tomorrow. To ask you to dinner. To take you somewhere nice, wine and dine you properly. Do everything by the book.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a small, wicked smile. “And now?”

Frank stopped in front of you, his gaze unwavering as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was deliberate, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Now,” he murmured, his baritone voice dropping to a growl, “I think we can skip all that.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as his lips hovered just above yours. “You’ve driven me mad for months,” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with restrained desire. “Every smile, every glance, every bloody word out of your mouth—it’s been torture. And now that you’re not mine to protect anymore…”

He let the sentence trail off, his hands moving to grip your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His hazel eyes burned into yours, his control slipping with every passing second. “I don’t have to hold back anymore,” he growled, his lips finally crashing against yours in a kiss that was all-consuming, filled with months of pent-up frustration and longing.

You moaned softly against him, your fingers tangling in his white hair as you returned the kiss with equal fervor. Frank’s hands roamed over your body, his touch firm and commanding as he lifted you onto the desk. His hips pressed against yours, and you could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, thick and insistent, through his trousers.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your lips, his baritone voice trembling with need. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

He stepped back just long enough to undo his jacket, tossing it aside before pulling you closer again. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Tell me,” he growled, his hooked nose brushing against your collarbone. “Tell me you’ve wanted this as much as I have.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice breathless as his hands gripped your hips. “I’ve wanted you, Frank. Always.”

Frank’s hazel eyes darkened as he hovered over you, his hooked nose flaring slightly with every labored breath. His large hands moved with careful precision, one gripping your thigh to keep you steady on the edge of his desk, the other teasing slow circles over your clit. His touch was deliberate, his baritone voice low and thick with desire as he murmured, “Let’s take our time, love. I need you nice and ready for me.”

His eyes darkened at your words, and he let out a low, guttural groan as he began to unbuckle his belt. “Good,” he murmured, his voice rough and commanding. “Because I’m not stopping until I’ve had every inch of you.”

The desk creaked beneath you as Frank claimed you, his touch, his kiss, and the sheer intensity of his presence leaving no doubt in your mind that he’d been waiting for this moment as desperately as you had. And as he pulled you closer, his baritone voice growling your name like a prayer, you knew that this was only the beginning.

Your breath hitched as his fingers pressed against you with just the right amount of pressure, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips. You clung to the straps of his shoulder holster, your fingers curling tightly around the leather as your body trembled beneath him. His white shirt was still tucked into the waistband of his trousers, which were bunched awkwardly around his ankles, held in place by his polished black shoes. The sight of him—partially dressed, utterly commanding, yet entirely undone—was enough to make you clench around nothing.

“Frank,” you gasped, your voice shaky as his fingers worked you expertly. “Please… I need you.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, his hazel eyes glinting with both amusement and something darker. “You’ll have me,” he promised, his voice a growl as he slid a finger inside you, testing your readiness. “But not until you’re dripping for me. I’ll be damned if I hurt you, love. You’re going to take every inch of me, but you’ll enjoy it.”

You moaned as his finger moved inside you, slow and deliberate, stroking your inner walls with practiced precision. His thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, the sensation sending shivers through your body as he leaned closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek. “That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me feel you getting wetter for me. I want you soaking by the time I bury myself in you.”

Your nails dug into the leather straps of his holster as your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for more. “I’m ready,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Frank, please. I need you inside me.”

He groaned softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip, steadying you. “Patience,” he growled, his baritone voice laced with a mix of command and affection. “You’ll take me when I’m sure you can handle it.”

Frank pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he withdrew his finger and brought it to his mouth. He licked it slowly, savoring the taste of you as a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “Sweet as sin,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “But I need more.”

Without warning, he dropped to his knees, his trousers straining around his ankles as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider. You gasped as his tongue flicked over your clit, the sensation sharp and electric. His hooked nose brushed against your mound as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue working you with the same calculated precision as his fingers.

“Frank!” you cried out, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the white strands as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your legs trembled, your body arching off the desk as his tongue plunged inside you, stroking you in ways that left you breathless. “Oh, God… I’m going to—”

“Not yet,” he growled against your skin, his voice muffled but no less commanding. He pulled back, his hazel eyes blazing as he straightened, towering over you once more. “I want you to come while I’m inside you, love. While you’re wrapped around my cock, taking all of me.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he positioned himself at your entrance, his thick cock already leaking with need. He stroked himself once, twice, his baritone voice dropping to a husky whisper as he murmured, “Relax, love. Let me in.”

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside, his cock stretching you inch by inch. The sheer size of him made you gasp, your body tensing instinctively. Frank stilled, his hands gripping your hips as he whispered soothingly, “Easy, love. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You did as he said, your body relaxing as he slid deeper, his cock filling you in a way that was almost overwhelming. He groaned low in his throat, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he watched your face, gauging your every reaction. “So tight,” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “Christ, you feel incredible.”

When he was fully seated inside you, he paused, his hooked nose flaring as he struggled to keep himself in check. “Tell me,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Tell me you can take me. Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper as you clung to his shoulder holster. “I’m ready, Frank. Please… I need you.”

With a growl of satisfaction, he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Each movement was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his thrusts grew deeper, harder. “So tight, so wet… taking me so damn well. God, I’ve never—” He cut himself off with a groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lost himself in you.

Your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his labored breathing and the soft slap of skin against skin. Your nails dug into his shoulder holster as you clung to him, your body arching with every thrust. “Frank,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I’m close… I’m so close.”

“Then come for me,” he growled, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he drove into you with renewed intensity. “Come while I’m inside you, love. Let me feel you.”

And when you finally did, your body trembling and your walls clenching around him, Frank let out a shuddering groan, his own release following moments later. His hips stilled, his cock buried deep inside you as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling over you. But as Frank pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes meeting yours, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured, his baritone voice soft but filled with warmth. “Every bloody second.”

[anemoiashifts]

december shifting pick an object reading !

hello ! happy almost christmas to those who celebrate i thought id continue with a general shifting reading & maybe some messages from people in your desired reality. i thought last months reading was a little to general for my liking, so i will be trying to add as much detail / specifics as i can to solidify the feeling that this is made for you.

as always please please don’t force messages to resonate. i do these on the first of every months so they’ll be many more chances to feel connected to a reading if these ones don’t do it for you :) !

bunny ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🐇 !

signs : pineapples, snoopy, stained clothing, missing buttons, mars, tree stumps.

you are currently going through some sort of “seasonal depression; some sort of funk. as of recent, you’ve been comparing yourself to your peers. seeing how much they can do & are capable of, it makes your (feelings of) lack amplify & hurt even more. maybe you have some sort of codependent relationship or always feel the need to confide in others approval before a task is complete ? this month you’ll find the motivation to learn new skills & plant the seeds that are needed to trust yourself.

this boils over into your outlook on shifting. people seem to fall into boxes of where they want to shift, have methods that have worked for them, have made a decision in what they’d like to experience in their desired reality. it’s not that you lack a direction, you may know where you’d like to shift. more so an indecisiveness on what you actually want. you want to shift yes, but when you really think on it, you’ve become comfortable where you are. you could struggle to see yourself shifting at all as you are a more analytical person. your someone who is very fact based, you could enjoy doing research & weighing all options before making a decision. things need to make perfect sense to you before you believe in them. this mindset only feeds into what ive mentioned above & could circle back to your feelings of being directionless. the main thing you need is clarity for your manifestations & desires.

this person is someone who is very likely defensive of & true to their beliefs; someone stubborn. birds or turtles may be relevant to them. what this person wants to remind you is consistency is key. you may jump from one project to another without finishing the last; which leaves you as someone who knows a lot of different skills / has aloe of hobbies. you don’t have to be perfect to start something & continue with it. very few people do things the first time & it comes out just how you imaged it. focus on the quality of information rather then the quantity. take this month to create a vision board of some sort. write down what you’d like to accomplish by the end of the upcoming year.

otter ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🦦 !

signs : greek lettering, pink slippers, butterfly earrings, long black wrap coats.

in your head, you have “unfinished business” to attend to. so, shifting has been kept on hold for a very long time — years for some of you. it’s always “ill try and shift after i finish my work” or “ill shift when i improve my sleep schedule”. while it’s good to have goals, you’re allowed to work on multiple things at once as long as you balance the two. take this time to reevaluate your priorities & consider what is helping or hurting you. are you really putting off shifting because your room isn’t clean and you have done laundry yet and you have a research paper ? or are you simply not in the mood for it as your mind has wandered else where. do you desire to go to a reality that you have built up in your head or have you grown out of it & would rather fall in love with another desired reality ?

there could also be some sort of desire not to shift at the moment. perhaps you like the holidays & you’re excited for them ? you’re in a stable place right now & shifting is something you fall back onto in times of distress ? however you look at shifting & where you want the future of your relationship to be with the practice later down the line, take time to nurture that vision for yourself.

this person could be someone from your family in your desired reality or a person you would consider family, even if not by blood. this person is a little bit of a player & like you, has moments of lack of direction. while this person can be hotheaded, it’s a good reminder to slow down before lashing out on others. your insecurity doesn’t grant you the right to think negatively of other people. through these moments, this person notices that you struggle to see clearly & your tendency to obsess over small things. focus on the bigger picture.

deer ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 🦌 !

signs : 88 or 888, farmers markets, lillie’s, historical landmarks, purple lip gloss.

you’re not the kinda person people look at & think that you haven’t been through a lot. on the outside, you look fine. you’ve been very lucky in a lot of ways & you’re able to hold everything together really well.

often a front for something being repressed, you often have an “i don’t care” attitude or come off as really easy to be around & agreeable. you’re someone who doesn’t quite know yourself entirely. while, you recognize you’re a kind person & a good friend, you struggle with a fear of judgement & being ostracized from certain groups if they “knew the truth”. you could’ve or used to have some unconventional hobbies or are into certain subcultures that aren’t the norm.

your desired reality could be a wanted but a shamed one by nobody other then yourself. you have a love of the place of where you’d like to shift but the shame of admitting to yourself that you do consider yourself a shifter, can be a hard to accept. you’re probable someone who lives in constant fear of being “outed” as a one. you’ve gone through the ritual of blocking everyone you know in your personal life & making a mental note of not keeping physical scripts laying around. maybe shifting as a while feels a little elementary to you. even if it isn’t the practice, it could be the places you’d like to shift itself that allow these thoughts to conjure up inside your head. if you are able to work on quieting that noise of shame & insecurity, you will soon have your desired fulfilled. — as I was typing & the time 11:11 appeared on my desktop if that number means anything to you.

the main thing somebody from your desired reality wants you to know is to listen to your dreams. your dreams are apart of your subconscious & your subconscious holds the key to how you operate. if your circadian rhythm is off, take this as a sign to start to get it back on track. i really couldn’t get a read on who this person was, so i assume whoever your thinking of is this person or they prefer to remain anonymous.

thank you for reading. i hope something was able to resonate with you ! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

[the-offside-rule]

Paul Aron (Hitech) - that way

Requested: no, just an idea

Prompt: that way - Tate Mcrae

Warnings: its acc kinda sad

It was a tough weekend. The kind that leaves you drained, questioning your choices, and yearning for something, or someone, to make it better. Y/n sat on the edge of the Aston Martin hospitality lounge, watching the paddock lights flicker as the sun set. The 2024 season was supposed to be her breakout year. After a stellar karting career, climbing through Prema, and now sitting in an F1 seat, she had every reason to feel on top of the world. But today, a botched qualifying session had stolen her momentum.

Her phone buzzed, lighting up with messages from people telling her to shake it off, but she only clicked on one contact.

Y/n Dinner? Your treat.

Paul Feeling better already?

Y/n Not even close. So?

Paul Fine. Where?

Y/n Surprise me.

Paul was as much a part of her journey as her love for racing. They had been teammates, rivals, and now, something more complicated. Ever since their karting days, Y/n had felt a connection with him that went beyond friendly competition. They’d practically grown up together, racing side by side, but the unspoken feelings between them lingered like a storm cloud. Y/n wasn’t subtle, either. She’d dropped hint after hint over the years, teasing him, nudging him toward the obvious. But Paul was stubborn; or oblivious. Maybe both.

By the time Paul picked her up, her mood had slightly improved. He’d chosen a quiet Italian restaurant away from the paddock chaos. They ordered pasta and wine, settling into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. "I still can’t believe you pulled pole today." Y/n said, raising her glass. "You’re making me look bad." Paul grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Not my fault you drive a slower car."

"Oh, don’t start. I could’ve beaten you in that Hitech any day." She shot back, smirking. They joked like this for most of the evening, the stress of the day slowly melting away. Y/n found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, the tension between them forgotten. For a while, it felt like they were just two old friends catching up. But as the night went on, the familiar warmth in her chest grew stronger. The way Paul leaned in when she spoke, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way his gaze lingered on her just a second too long; it was maddening.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. "Paul?" She said softly, setting her glass down. He looked up, his eyes lingering on her for longer than usual. "Yes?" He asked, his voice suddenly cautious. She took a breath in, hoping this wine would be her liquid courage to finally tell him. And then she blurted it out.

"I like you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything they’d ever said before. Paul blinked, clearly startled. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he were choosing his next words carefully. "I... I like you too." Relief washed over Y/n, a smile tugging at her lips as she let out her shakened breath. "Thank God. I thought I was imagining things-"

"But-" Paul interrupted quickly. "I mean, as a friend. My best friend. You’re... you’re my best friend." Her smile faltered, replaced by an incredulous scoff. "Friend? Are you serious right now?" Paul avoided her gaze, suddenly very interested in his empty glass. "I mean, that’s what we are, right?" She put her glass down and leaned closer,not wanting to have too much attention put on them. "Paul-" She said, her voice sharper now. "Everyone in the paddock can see it. Ollie, Franco, your teammate, my teammate... hell, even my engineers keep asking if we’re dating! They say you really like me."

"Well, theyre lying to you." Paul said stubbornly, his tone defensive. Silence fell between them again. Y/n looked between his eyes, silently hoping this was a joke. When he picked up his glass and sipped from it, avoiding her gaze, she took it as it was. Y/n laughed bitterly, shaking her head. She chucked her napkin onto the table and sat up. "What are you doing?" Paul asked. "They might be lying, but your eyes aren’t. You don’t look at me like we’re just friends. You’ve never looked at me that way." Paul didn’t respond. He couldn’t. She put down a fifty euro note, hoping it would cover her part of the bill before grabbing her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder. "When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself, you know where to find me." Without another word, she walked out of the restaurant, leaving Paul sitting there alone, his thoughts racing and his heart heavier than ever.

For the first time, in a long time, he realized he might have just made the biggest mistake of his life.

[mistysconcilium]

⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ co-stars…. madison montgomery x reader

1st of advent

an interview with your co-star, madison, brings back some memories you’ve had with her

ఇ - wc: 2.2k. fluff. slight angst. english is not my first language

note - ahh i’m pretty proud of this one!! i’m sorry if madison is ooc (this is my first madison fic) and if the story isn’t “connected”. this is my longest fic ever and i tried to make it connected but maybe i failed lol. anyways i hope you enjoy!! <3

You sit in a director’s chair with your legs crossed and hands in your lap, your fingers are fidgeting with the rings you’re wearing. Countless lights point in your direction making you unable to see the whole crew of staff behind them. To your right, your co-star, Madison Montgomery is sitting having her makeup touched up by a makeup artist.

“Okay, well are we ready?” asks a black haired woman named Linda who's sitting slightly diagonally across from you. You look over to Madison to see if she’s ready but see that she's already looking in your direction.

“Wait!” She calls out while she reaches into her purse to fetch something. When she finally finds what she’s looking for, a sheer pink lipgloss, she reaches over to you and begins to put the lipgloss on your lips. You lock eyes with Madison and your eyes fall to her lips but quickly look away as you feel your throat getting tighter and a lump forming in your stomach.

”There… Now we’re ready!”

“Okay well then let’s start the interview!” Linda replies. Immediately as the cameras start rolling you straighten your back and put on a slight smile to try hide your nervous demeanour.

“We’re rolling!” You hear someone behind the lights say.

“Welcome to this interview! I’m so excited to be meeting you guys and discussing your new movie!” Linda, the interviewer, says almost too excitedly.

“We’re so glad to be here!” Madison replies excitedly. Before you met her you would’ve assumed that she was faking it, that she hated it and would’ve wanted to be anywhere but here. But after getting to know her during the several months of shooting your movie, you know she means it. A lot of assumptions you previously held of her were gone after meeting and getting to know her.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

It’s 20 minutes past 8 in the morning, the table read was supposed to start at 8 but you can't start since one of the leads isn’t here. Of course Madison Montgomery is late, you have never met her but it’s not hard to understand that she would be late, she probably cares for no one but herself. You’re not excited at all to be working with her.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late,” the door opens, revealing a soaking wet Madison Montgomery, “the weather was crazy, my car got stuck and I had to walk part of the way”

She sits down next to you and pulls out her movie script which is totally destroyed. Almost all of the pages are wet and the ink from the words are bleeding making the writing unintelligible.

“Oh shit” you hear her say quietly

“Uhm, we can share, if you want”

“Oh, thanks!” she turns and looks at you for the first time, “wait I recognize you. You’re in that one movie”

“Uh yeah”

“That movie was so boring, no offense. I mean your parts made it kinda watchable.”

“Thanks?”

You assume she was trying to compliment you? But you honestly can’t tell since she just insulted a movie you were in. Well, you can’t blame her, the movie was pretty shit, you only took it for the money and because you couldn’t get any other roles. But still, she didn’t have to insult the movie. But she did say you made it watchable so maybe she was being nice? In her own weird Madison Montgomery way.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“Your characters grow really close during the movie and you guys probably did the same during the filming, so I thought it would be fun for you to take a friendship test!” Linda pulls out a whiteboard and pen for each of you and hands them over.

“Okay that sounds fun!” Madison smiles.

“Wait I’m lowkey scared” you chuckle.

“Yeah you should be,” she replies with a smirk, “I’m so gonna win.”

“Don’t worry it won’t be too hard! I will just ask a question about one of you, the one who the question is about writes the right answer on their whiteboard and the other person writes down their guess on their whiteboard. If you’re correct you get one point!” Linda starts explaining the rules.

“First question is about Madison so you have to answer,” she looks at you and you just nod, ”what is Madison’s favorite color?”

Madison quickly writes down the correct answer and puts the whiteboard down in her lap so you won’t be able to see what she has written. Since the question is easy you write down your answer almost as fast as her.

“Alright are you done?” You and Madison both just nod in reply. “Okay turn your whiteboards in three, two one!”

You and Madison turn your whiteboards at the same revealing the same word written; black. It isn’t hard to come to the conclusion that her favorite color is black, it’s basically all she wears and wants to wear.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“What, why can’t I get that dress?” Madison groans.

“Because it’s my character's dress.” You are about to shoot a party scene which means that you’re wearing a short black dress. Madison, however, is wearing a bright yellow dress.

“Augh, why do you always get the good clothes?” She says ‘good’ but you know she actually means black since the clothes she gets are also pretty good, just not black.

“Because black clothes are my character’s style not yours” you let out a small chuckle.

“I should’ve auditioned for your role instead.”

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

Linda announces that you have one point since you got the question correct.

“Okay, whatever, that wasn’t even hard” Madison interjects, sounding annoyed but you know she’s just faking it for laughs.

“Maybe you should get a favorite color that’s harder to guess” Madison just rolls her eyes at that but you know that this too is in a playful manner.

“Now Madison it’s your turn to guess!” Linda asks the same question as last time but asks for your favorite color instead of Madison’s.

You quickly write down your favorite color on your whiteboard and turn to Madison expecting to see her trying to figure out the answer, but to your surprise she has already written down her guess.

“What, you’re already done?” You look at Madison with a puzzled look.

“Yeah it was easy,” she shrugs.

“Okay, turn your whiteboards in three, two, one!”

When the interviewer says ‘one’ both you and Madison turn your whiteboards to the camera. You look over to see what Madison has written, which is; your favorite color. You both have written the same answer. You smile at the fact that she knows your favorite color which maybe you shouldn’t since it’s a really basic thing to know. It’s not that big of a deal but it still warms your heart in a bittersweet kind of way.

After Linda announces that you both have one point each and some more chit-chats between you three, she moves onto the next question.

“Now it’s time for you to try to answer again!” She says your name and looks at you. “What is Madison’s favorite dessert or pastry or baked goods? Whatever you want to call it”

The question is harder this time. Guessing that her favorite color is black was easy since her whole wardrobe is filled with black clothes, but finding out her favorite baked goods? A lot harder. You obviously take longer to write down your guess this time but in the end you write it down; brownies. You have seen Madison eat them a handful of times and she seems to really enjoy them so it seems to be a logical answer.

But you were wrong. Apparently her favorite is macarons.

“What? No? I don’t think I have ever seen you eat a macaron! But I’ve seen you eat brownies sooo many times”

“I only eat macarons on special occasions, that’s what makes them so special,” she giggles.

“Whatever, that was a hard question”

“Now time for you Madison to answer the same question!” the interviewer announces.

You quickly jolt down your answer and Madison writes down her guess almost as quickly as you, which makes you feel bad. It took way longer for you to write down your guess about her and you were incorrect. A part of you wants her guess to be incorrect, so you don’t feel so bad about getting your answer wrong.

But another part of you wants her to get the correct answer. You want her to win this ‘friendship test’. If she wins that means she knows more about you than you know about her. It would prove that you’re not this pathetic puppy following her around that she just puts up with. If she wins, that proves she cares more about you than you care about her! Even if that’s not really the case.

When you turn your whiteboards it reveals the same word; cupcakes. You’re surprised since you haven’t eaten that many cupcakes in front of Madison.

“What, how do you know?”

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“Okay so I brought some cupcakes from my favorite bakery and some pink lemonade,” you say as you place the items on the red checkered picnic blanket, “when are the others coming?”

“Oh I didn’t invite the others, it’s just you and me” Madison shrugs. When she had said that she was planning on having a picnic to celebrate the filming of the movie being done you just assumed that most of the cast would also be there.

“Oh,” you can feel your cheeks getting warmer so you break eye contact with her and look around your surroundings instead. The place Madison chose is really private, no one else is in sight. The picnic blanket is placed underneath a willow tree to protect you from the strong heat from the sun.

Since you assumed that a lot of people would be joining you, you only brought two things, Madison however had brought a lot more. The picnic blanket was filled with brownies, macarons, cookies, and even champagne and some flowers. It almost seems like a date? But no that can’t be it, right?

You two had kissed before for a scene in the movie, but that didn’t mean anything since you only did it because it was in the script. Well, Madison had actually kissed you way longer than what was written in the script. It was only supposed to be a quick kiss but she almost started making out with you. When the director asked why she did that she just said she ‘felt it fit the scene and characters better’.

“It’s a date, silly” Madison’s soft voice grabs your attention back to her.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“Now onto some more personal stuff,” the interviewer lets out a slight chuckle as if you were gossiping during a slumber party and not doing a promotional interview for a movie. “Fans have seen you doing some possibly romantic activities, are you dating someone?” To your surprise the question is directed towards you, not Madison, even though she’s the more famous one.

“Oh uhm I don’t-” your heart sinks. You didn’t expect that question. Why did she have to specifically ask that question? You’re sure that you could’ve answered any other question she could’ve asked but not this one. Especially since she’s sitting next to you. The romantic things you’ve done with her would have anyone assume you were dating but she refuses to admit it.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“Hey, Madison!” You hear an unfamiliar voice call out when you and Madison are shopping one day. Normally you would just assume that it was one of her fans but the fact that Madison hugged her proved otherwise. She must have noticed your confusion so she quickly introduces you.

“This is Zoe,” She says as she points to the other girl, “and this is.. uhm, my co-star”.

As soon as she introduces you as her co-star your heart sinks. Is that all you are to her? A co-star? She didn’t even introduce you as her friend! Zoe clearly sees the change in your demeanor and quickly excuses herself.

“Co-star?” You shrug.

“Yeah that’s what we are?”

“Are you kidding me? We have literally gone on dates, Madison!”

“Oh my god chill, you’re not only a co-star but that was just the easiest way to introduce you to her.”

“Why? Because you take her on dates too? Have you also taken Zoe out on picnic dates?” your voice is way louder than it probably should be in public.

“What no-”

“You know what, I can't do this right now. See you at the interview tomorrow, as co-stars,” you want your words to have a certain fire to them but you’re sure you just sound pathetic instead. Quickly, you turn away from Madison and walk away before she can say anything else.

- ⋆.˚ ꪆৎ .𖥔˚ -

“Looks like we’re out of time!” Linda announces snapping you back to reality. It’s time for you and Madison to head out. You walk out of the interview way more confused than when you walked in. You think Madison says something to you as you head out of the building but you’re not sure, you just want to get home.

love, elisabet

🏷️: @purple-cinematic @angel-decoy @lisboncy @fear-is-truth @violetsghosts @dearlizzies @loveofcherry @n0tonlin3 | join my taglist

dividers: @/cannibalim @/saradika-graphics

[arminreindl]

A Week in Croc News: A ziphodont crocodilian from New Guinea and a "baby" Piscogavialis

Once again I'm here to recap exciting fossil croc news. To give a quick rundown of papers from the last week, we had one on non-semi aquatic adaptations in crocodylomorphs (mostly life on land but also notes of marine groups), a paper that I'm biased toward because it feaures two of my silhouettes in its phylogeny.

The two silhouettes of mine used in the study. Duerosuchus representing the Planocraniidae and Trilophosuchus representing Atoposaurids (eventhough it's not one, it was picked since it at least conveys the right proportions).

Thalattosuchians recieved a lot of attention this past week. For starters, in addition to being brought up in the afforementioned paper, they were given a lot more focus in a study comparing the function and phylogenetic importance of their shoulder girdles (and those of dyrosaurids), a metriorhynchoid skeleton of uncertain affinities from the Cretaceous northeast Italy was described and just today we got a study on the braincase anatomy of Thalattosuchus.

The one paper that excited me the most however was the description of ziphodont crocodilian teeth from the Pliocene Otibanda Formation of Papua New Guinea. To those unaware, ziphodont teeth are essentially teeth that are flattened like a blade and bear serrations along their cutting edge, something seen in dinosaurs, monitor lizards and a select few crocodile groups like sebecid notosuchians, planocraniids and some mekosuchines. Now these teeth are nothing new, they've been known since 1967, hell I even mentioned them on both the wikipedia pages for Mekosuchinae and Quinkana, but they were never properly described...until now.

Leave it to Jorgo Ristevski, Ralph Molnar and Adam Yates to tackle this one, describing not just the ziphodont teeth but also the postcranial material and conical teeth from the formation. Now don't expect any new species or genera. Though valuable, the study doesn't cause any major stirr ups. The ziphodont teeth are tentatively referred to the Mekosuchinae, though they are not morphologically distinguishable from other ziphodont groups like sebecids or the previously mentioned planocraniids, mekosuchines are the only ones that fit the time and location. The other fossils are even more ambiguous, the postcrania referred to Crocodylia incerta sedis and the conical teeth to cf. Crocodylus sp., so basically an unknown crocodilian and a modern croc. This at least suggests that two different crocodiles inhabited Papua New Guinea at the time, maybe even three assuming that the postcrania don't belong to either the ziphodont or conical form.

Since New Guinea and Australia were once connected, forming the continent of Sahul, some Quinkana-like mekosuchines could have easily traveled to the island.

The final thing I want to mention is not an actual study, but still newsworthy. Scientists in Peru just revealed whats thought to be the first juvenile Piscogavialis. An amazingly preserved skeleton was unveiled, preserving much of the skull minus the tip of the snout, most of the spinal collumn until the base of the tail, both hindlimbs and some other bones as well (from the photos theres a few ribs at least).

Whats fun is that though described as a juvenile, the animal is estimated to have already reached around 3 meters in length. To put this into perspective, thats the size of the average female saltwater crocodile and just shy of the 4.3 meters reached by the contemporary Sacacosuchus. Now on the one hand, I think calling that a juvenile might be a bit of an exaggeration (then again the term subadult is arguably vague and meaningless) and I'm curious to see whether or not an eventual study will back this up with anatomical features or if its even possible that it could just be an instance of dimorphism between sexes. But thats just me musing on the basis of a few photos.

Anyways, given that they just state that this 3 meter animal is a "juvenile", you might wonder how large the adult would be?

The short answer...large. Yeah Piscogavialis got big. The skull alone measures over a meter in length and a recent paper on Sacacosuchus said that they grow to nearly twice the length of their smaller contemporary. With Sacaco sitting at 4.3 meters, one could easily imagine Piscogavialis reaching 7 to maybe 8 meters (I should make a proper scaling at some point). Here's how Gabriel Ugueto and artbyjrc scaled this animal and yeah, even if it ate fish it could probably do some real damage if provoked.

[cherrycranes]

Religious Experience (Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Damien O'Donovan x Fem!Reader Summary: You had always been in love with Damien, and now that he's about to leave, he decides to show you just how much he loves you too with God Himself as his witness. Word count: 4,060 Contents: (Minors DNI). Some fluff, reader is 20, Damien 24. praise & body worship, unprotected sex, cum eating. BLASPHEMY, lots of it. If you're catholic please just refrain from reading this I warn you. As a former catholic, I poured all my religious knowledge (and disrespect) here. Author's notes: My usual collab with my dear @fuckiingloser. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard at the end so you can visualize! Stream "Experiencia Religiosa" by Enrique Iglesias, the inspiration behind this fic title lol.

Ever since you could remember you had always had feelings for Damien, the handsome, slightly older neighbor boy who was friends with your older brother. Getting him out of your little head was impossible. Everywhere you went, you saw him. Around town, at church every sunday morning, in the open fields when you returned from school or even in between the fog of your dreams. It could have been just a silly little girl crush had it not transpired into your young adult years.

It was your 19th birthday about a year and a few months ago. By that time, your well established infatuation with Damien had learned how to hide in the depths of your heart, convinced that it might just never be. Still, something finally happened, something that made you see stars and feel heat in places nobody had reached yet.

After your birthday party had ended, and all your friends were making their way home, you and Damien shared a soft, passionate kiss in the barn, born from an impulse or maybe a secret desire. You felt like you were dreaming. Damien was as gentle and sweet as you had always imagined, even more so. He kissed you like you were made from the most delicate fine china, and you would have melted in his arms and told him everything you had always felt for him, had your brother not interrupted you by calling his name. After this brief encounter, nothing else happened. You even started to doubt it ever happened at all. You and Damien just saw each other occasionally on the streets and shared a couple of smiles and waves, and sometimes a few flirty comments, but nothing more.

You were 20 now, and Damien was set to leave for England in less than 3 days to go work and study in one of the best hospitals in the world, something he’d always dreamed of. Leaving your small irish town behind to pursue bigger and better things in life. And sadly, it also meant that you were going to be left behind too…

Sitting on your usual spot next to your family in the sunday mass, you couldn't help but feel Damien’s eyes burning into you. The O’Donovans always sat on the bench behind yours, and you were used to Damien’s presence there, quite often right behind you. But that day it felt… different… 

You slowly turned around to look, and sure enough, Damien’s pale blue eyes connected with yours. He gave you a soft little smile that made you blush and immediately face forward again, trying so hard to concentrate on the Father’s words and failing miserably. 

The rest of the mass, you felt Damien’s eyes on you, and not even the presence of Jesus Christ himself would have been able to prevent the thoughts that started to flood your mind… And the feelings that caressed you insides like a lick of fire. 

During the sign of the peace, when you had to shake hands with everybody around your seat, you felt less than holy when it was time to shake Damien’s. His body heat lingered on you, his gentleness made you drift back to the one kiss you shared, and his beautiful eyes made you tingle and blush once more. The mass ended not long after.

All the families congregated outside the church to talk before leaving to head home. You were hanging by the steps, waiting for your parents to finish their chit chat with some neighbors, when you suddenly felt a hand touching your shoulder.

“Hiya..” Damien said with his warm voice and with a gleam on his crystal blue eyes.

“Hi, Damien…” You whispered with a shy little smile, your head still reeling.

“You look pretty…” Oh, he could have killed you with that. More heat traveled to your face when you noticed his eyes roaming over you. “Couldn't help but stare…” 

“Thanks… You look handsome...” You struggled to reply, your ability to speak almost gone at the sight of his gentle smirk and his elegant dark blue suit that made him look even more mature and dreamy.

“My new suit for my new job…” Damien stepped a little closer to you, looking down into your eyes only a few inches from your face. “You know i leave soon…” he started again after an awkward pause and you nodded, a wave of sadness washed over the fire, reminding you once more that he was leaving everything behind, you included.

 “Yes, I know. Can’t believe you’re finally getting away from here like you always dreamed.” The sweet excitement in your voice was mostly just a facade, of course you were glad he was going to live his dreams, but the possibility of never seeing him again twisted your guts. Damien smiled, looking down at his feet silently for a second before making eye contact with you again. 

“It's not the only dream I have that hasn’t come true yet…” He whispered, his hand reaching out to graze yours softly. People shuffled by you but, at that moment, the entire earth was just you and him. Time slowed down and his touch left goosebumps on your skin.

“W-what do you mean?…” Your heart fluttered a bit, slight confusion clouded your mind as his eyes bore into yours. His hand came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you were almost certain he was going to finally address what had been going on between you for over a year now, when suddenly, you heard your mother calling your name…

“Meet me here tonight, around 8pm…” Damien whispered with a hint of urgency, his eyes checking towards your family. “Back entrance…”

“I promise…” You whispered, your mum walking up to you and politely greeting Damien before reminding you your father was waiting. 

“Bye, Damien…” You had to say, intrigued by the prospects of the clandestine meeting. As you reluctantly left, you gave him a little smile and a wave that he returned. 

The rest of the day was filled with overthinking from your part. You suspected something but you couldn't be certain of anything. Still, you trusted him, and as soon as 8 pm neared, you managed to slip out of the house and rode your bike to the church, hiding it in the trees and making your way around the back. There was Damien, still suited, leaning against the church backdoor, lost in thought. His beautiful gaze rose from the ground and met yours the second he heard you coming, and a lovely smile grew upon his rosy lips.

“You came…” He whispered, pulling you into a warm, protective hug, with your head gently laid on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.  

“Of course…” You whispered into the fabric of his vest, taking in his scent for a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes. The cold autumn wind blew and caused you to shiver ever so slightly, Damien noticed right away and, with his charming smile, pulled out a key ring from his pocket.

“Seán’s an altar boy this year… He gave me the keys…” The metal jingled quietly in Damien’s hands, and without much struggle, he found the key to the backdoor and opened it for you. He ushered you inside the dark yet familiar empty church. The darkened faces of Mother Mary and Saint Patrick stared at you from their dim candlelit spots. The full moon shone beautifully through the stained glass art, where several more saints looked at you with neutral expressions. Saint Thomas, Saint John, Saint Matthew and all the other names you had forgotten about for being so busy thinking about Damien during mass, neither of them judged you for being here. They just radiated in color and stared from their high spots.

“What did you wanna say?” Your whisper broke the silence, Damien’s hand made its way on top of yours in an act that momentarily made you fear he was going to break bad news to you. The flames of the candles flickered on his pale blue eyes, he released a soft breath before finally speaking.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you the truth…  The truth about how I feel for you…” Damien squeezed your hand gently, he could almost feel your pulse quickening. “How I’ve felt since we were kids… It's always been you…” 

It was a soft, gentle and very much awaited for confession. It felt like the saints above you had finally had mercy on your heart. Your gaze softened and the butterflies in your stomach reproduced en masse. If this had been just a dream, you would have spent the rest of your life asleep in hopes to dream it again.

“Ever since that kiss in the barn last year… I haven’t stopped thinking about wanting to do it again… And now that I'm leaving, I just knew I had to tell you how I feel…” Oh, but this was real. Very real. You could feel the warmth of his hands and the reverberation of his voice as he confessed. You could feel your eyes widening and your heart beating madly, ready to burst with his next words.

“When I come home this time next year… I want to marry you… Right here in this church.” This much happiness had never filled your chest before, you almost died and miraculously resurrected for all the saints to see. His confession was everything you ever wanted. “It’s you… It’s always been you…” 

In between your overjoyment, you could tell he was a little nervous, just as afraid to lose you as you were afraid of losing him. You eased his fears with a gentle smile and a squeeze to his hand that he reciprocated immediately.

“I love you, Damien… I've loved you for a long time…” You confessed, your voice soft and so dear to him. “I've thought about that kiss every single day too...” 

His beautiful eyes softened and he came much closer to you, holding your hand near his beating chest.

“I just want to show you how much I care before I leave…” He said sincerely. “I had to kiss you again, taste your lips one last time before I left… Something both of us can remember when i’m away..” 

He leaned closer, and you didn’t think about it for a second. Your soft lips met him halfway in a gentle, innocent kiss that made his hand come up to touch your cheek in adoration. You were his precious love, the woman he wanted to marry, the only one he wanted and desired… Carefully, his other hand tested the feeling of your thigh over your skirt, just gently, before pulling back a little.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly. 

“Yes, Damien… I want you… I want all of you…” You allowed yourself to admit after so long, the colorful lights of the stained glass windows colored your face in different hues, all matched the love in your eyes and the growing, unspoken desire between the two of you.

Another kiss followed, this time much more needier and too sinful for the sacred ground you were on. His hands held the small of your back and desired to go lower, his warm tongue licked your lower lip in search of entrance and you obliged happily. The candles had now been overshadowed by your burning passion. Something notoriously stirred in Damien’s trousers and something dampened between your skirt, and without much consideration for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, you decided to take action.

“I want you to be my first… I want to make love to you before you go…” His breath hitched a bit at your words and his eyes widened. No more words were needed. Another searing kiss followed, his hand held the back of your head with gentleness and caressed you with reverence. Your tongues melted together with an obscene sticky sound that was followed by a groan of his. 

His hand reached up to rub your breast over your sweater, giving it a soft squeeze. You moaned softly into the kiss, every nerve ending of your wet cunt reacting sweetly to him. Damien chuckled softly against your lips before pulling away.

“Love the little noises you make… Need to hear more…” He smiled against your lips, before going in for another sensual kiss. His alabaster teeth nipped at your bottom lip gently, teasing just how much he wanted to devour you.

“You know… I've touched myself thinking about you..” You admitted without even really thinking. The colors of the stained glass mimicking the heat that rushed to your cheeks when you realized what you had just blurted out. Damien loved it, however. His smirk grew wider and his hand moved to gently squeeze your thigh and the fabric covering it.

“Is that so?” He growled softly, his cock twitching at your words. “Show me…please…” He whispered, his eyes traced every feature of yours as his strong hand traced every detail of your clothed thigh. With a gentle bite to your own lip, you discarded every bit of catholic guilt and fear of divine punishment in favor of your own desires. God forgive you both for breaking the sixth commandment in His very house, but two people this in love could never be sinful.

Slowly, you sat yourself up on the white marble altar, the intricate decor and golden crucifix behind you crowning you like the angel you were to Damien’s eyes. You pulled your skirt up around your waist, showing him your white cotton underwear and soft thighs. His gaze stayed glued to you as you moved your hand towards your covered clit, your index fingertip giving you both just what you wanted. You moaned softly, teasing yourself. A glance down towards his trousers allowed you to find an aching tent in there, and a glance up towards his chest made you see just how heavy his breathing had gotten. 

Damien’s eyes flickered adoringly over you when you slipped your hand under the waistband of your panties and ran a finger between your sticky folds, letting out a series of sweet little moans that were like music to his ears. 

He leaned forward, drawn in by you. He hooked his fingers on the side of your underwear and slowly pulled them off you, needing to see everything like he needed air. The fabric now laid on the altar steps and your glistening pussy was exposed for him, all the saints on the windows and God Himself to see.

“Every part of you is so beautiful…” Damien whispered with lust and love filled words. 

You smiled, your finger sliding down and gently slipping inside your pretty and eager cunt to give it careful pumps in and out. Slick covered all the way down to your knuckle, and Damien’s mouth watered.

“Holy fuck… You are unbelievable..” He whispered, eyes full of amazement. You let out a series of little whines and moans for every praise he gave. Confidence filled you and desire burnt through you. Your finger kept teasing you physically and him mentally.

“Damien…” You moaned softly. “Want you inside…” 

No more sweet begging needed, Damien’s hand immediately went to the button of his trousers and as quick as a flicker of the candle lights his pants were pulled down to his thighs. The tent in his underwear was painfully obvious. Your cunt throbbed around your finger at the sight.

After a second or more of your pussy soaking and squeezing your moving finger, Damien pulled his boxers down, his hard cock bobbing free with its head sticky with beads of precum. Like the moonlight that bathed the town, Damien loomed over you, parting your legs with his hands and gently grabbing your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of your finger inside your aching cunt. 

“My turn…” He whispered gently, blue eyes admiring the glistening slick on your index and how it reflected the dim lights. A little grinning devil inside you coaxed you to hold it up to him and offer him a taste. He smirked and gave in to the temptation, sucking your finger clean with eyes closed and with a satisfied hum. His tongue moved around it for every last bit of your taste, and when none was left, he pulled it out of his mouth slowly.

“You taste like heaven…” He whispered with a smile, a mischievous giggle left your lips at the humor of it all. The crucified golden Jesus above you would have rolled his metallic eyes at you two had they not been closed. But even then, He would have understood.

Needily, you watched Damien’s hand guiding his cock towards your folds and tapping the tip a few times against them. You whimpered from the anticipation alone.

“Ready for me, love?” He whispered and you nodded, feeling more sure now than ever before.

His eyes fell to his cock and, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance. A soft gasp escaped your lips and he pushed into you, finding you warm, wet, tight and so delicious. He went in slowly, savoring you, each hand laid on the marble altar on each side of your hips. His handsome face contorted in loving pleasure was inches away from yours when he finally pushed all the way in.

Your arms snaked around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let you adjust to his size, sweet little moans telling him just how well you were taking him in.

“You feel so good around me…I love you…” Damien whispered adoringly, and your heart did a jump that competed to be much more intense than the feeling of your little cunt. Hearing those words from him did everything to make you feel… Well, truly blessed.

After a minute of your folds adjusting to him, he started to move, his hips slowly pumping back and forth and setting a perfect passionate pace. You moaned with a pretty sound that resonated within the church walls like a choir, all the discomfort gone and replaced with pleasure. 

“Oh my God….” You blasphemed, looking right into his eyes. His hot breath caressed your face like his hands would, his needy groan met your lips quickly, your mouth granting his tongue entrance like your wet pussy had granted entrance to his cock.

Damien devoured your mouth with a hard, wet kiss. His hips pistoned a bit faster and harder into you, hitting spots no finger of yours could ever reach. You both moaned into each other's mouths, your fingernails clawed into his shirt and back and held you tight.

In search for air, he pulled away from your lips but kept fucking you into the warming marble, your face twisted in delicious extasy for him. The colors on the windows reflected over your bodies so beautifully, convincing you that God did not mind if His house was used for something like this.

“God, you are just perfect…  Your pretty pussy, pretty face… pretty body.” Damien panted as his hips continued to move into you, truly and dedicatedly making love to you.

“My perfect girl…” He cooed before burying his face into the crevice of your neck, leaving hot kisses on the skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer… You feel too good..” He groaned into your neck, nipping at it a bit. Of all sins he was committing on that altar, lying was not one of them. His hip thrusts did get a little sloppier, his release came closer and closer each second and his kisses to your neck became much more desperate, as if he tried to ground himself.

You moaned at the feeling, overwhelmed by the sheer realization that all your dreams and fantasies had come true. The man you had always loved and thought about daily for years was on the brink of an orgasm in your sweet little cunt and giving you pleasure. 

He moved away from the skin of your neck and looked into your eyes, his almost rolled back but he fought for control.

“Jesus, I’m gonna come…” He whined a bit, his thrusts getting slower by the second, and before you both knew it, and perhaps as a little punishment by Christ Himself for using his name in such a filthy sentence, Damien actually came. His eyes squeezed shut and everything spilled deep in your cunt just as quick as it had started. 

He gently lowered his forehead to yours, the last bits of his thick cum seeping out of his cock with a few more pulsations, leaving him out of breath.

“Woah…” He whispered in disbelief after a minute of basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. “I’ve never felt anything that intense in my life…” He admitted, nuzzling his nose against yours and making you smile. A soft kiss followed suit along with a loving caress to your cheek.

“It felt so good when you finished inside me.” Shyness had no place in you now that his cum was dripping out of you, but it still managed to make its way into your voice. He found it absolutely adorable.

“Same for me..” He admitted. Carefully, he pulled back, his now softened cock out of you. He groaned at the sight of himself covered in both of you, he spread your legs open just to get a good look at what he had done to you.

“Oh…” He breathed out, admiring your puffy cunt and the way his semen dripped out of you and tainted the marble surface “Jesus…” Damien was marveled, Jesus nailed up high probably wasn’t. Still, something stirred in Damien, and the way he licked his lips foreshadowed just what it was.

“What's wrong?” You whispered, unease finding you again.

“Nothing… I've just never seen something so erotic… My cum dripping out of you… Looks unreal…” Damien was still out of breath, his cock twitched and threatened to get hard again just from the sight. His words,while flattering and loved, made you realize just how exposed you were. Suddenly, the detailed eyes of all the glass art apostles were very much pointed towards you. Looking at Damien was the only thing that reassured you of just how beautiful and right this was.

Without another word, Damien he leaned his head down, arms hooking around your thighs as he dived into your pussy. You gasped loudly, his tongue swiped easily across your leaking hole. You heard and felt him groan at the taste of both of you mixed together on his tongue. 

Your hand immediately found his soft brown hair, gripping it for leverage as you arched your back into his mouth. Obscene, sinful slurping sounds came from him, and moans came from you. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this, it was maddening. 

He hummed into your pussy, communion happening right between your thighs as he devoured your flesh and drank you both. He was like a starved man, and your pussy was the purest manna. 

“Damien… Oh-oh my God…” Blasphemies poured from your lips in the form of lovely cries, your eyes were on the vaulted ceiling as if the hand of God had torn the skies open in front of you. It was the first time in this very church that you actually felt a religious experience.

Damien’s tongue slowed down a bit, moving slowly against you before stopping and slowly pulling back. He looked at you, his face completely flushed and so proud of himself. 

“Woah…” You whispered, completely astonished. 

“Just looked so good… And we had to clean you up anyway, baby…” He whispered sensually, his hand softly rubbed your inner thigh and he leaned in for one last slow kiss. You could taste the faint mixture of your fluids on his tongue, it made your head reel. When he pulled away, he took your breath with him.

“I need to have my girl again before I leave… Meet here at the same time tomorrow night?” He asked, hopeful. You smiled, catching your breath.

“Of course…” You whispered, filling his eyes with love and excitement. With his hands holding your face so preciously, and in front of God Himself, Damien repeated an earlier statement that was the whole truth…

“I always knew you were the only one for me…” 

Pinterest moodboard so you can visualize this fic. Made by @fuckiingloser!

[ganggangscenarios]

Bound by desire( Part 2/2)

Part 1

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, comedy, dark, angst

Warnings: Dark Magic, mentions of sex

The days felt heavier without Jimin.

You tried to convince yourself you didn’t care—that his disappearance didn’t matter. But every time you glanced at the empty corner of your apartment where he used to linger, or when you passed a mirror and half-expected to see his teasing smirk over your shoulder, the ache in your chest deepened.

Had he given up on you?

The thought stung more than it should have. After all, he was a demon, wasn’t he? A creature of desire, not devotion. Maybe you’d been foolish to think there was something deeper beneath the surface.

Still, his absence left an undeniable void.

By the third day, Maddie noticed the shift in you.

“You okay?” she asked as you absently stirred your coffee, barely touching it.

“Yeah,” you lied, offering a faint smile.

She didn’t buy it but didn’t push. Instead, she patted your hand and said, “Whatever it is, it’ll work out. You just have to trust.”

You didn’t have much faith in trust right now, but her words stuck with you.

Far from the city, Jimin stood at the edge of a dirt path leading to a small cottage nestled in a field of wildflowers. The countryside was quiet, the kind of stillness he’d never known in his existence.

He hesitated before knocking on the door, half-hoping no one would answer. But after a moment, it swung open, revealing a man with dark hair and sharp eyes, his expression softening the moment he recognized Jimin.

“Well, if it isn’t my old partner in crime,” Yoongi said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jimin smirked faintly, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Can I come in?”

Yoongi nodded, stepping aside. “Sure, but fair warning—if you tracked any demonic nonsense into my house, my wife will kill you.”

Jimin chuckled despite himself, stepping into the cozy interior. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something freshly baked. A life Jimin had never imagined for someone like Yoongi.

They settled into the living room, Yoongi pouring tea as Jimin sank into an armchair.

“So,” Yoongi began, passing him a mug, “what brings you here? It’s been… what? Two centuries since I left?”

Jimin nodded, staring into his tea. “Yeah. And you’re still here. Still mortal.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t exactly planning to go back. Why?”

Jimin hesitated, his fingers tightening around the mug. “How did you do it? Become mortal.”

Yoongi’s gaze sharpened. “Why are you asking?”

“There’s someone,” Jimin admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “And I—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “I don’t want to be what I am anymore. Not if it means I can’t… really be with her.”

For a long moment, Yoongi didn’t say anything, just studied Jimin with an expression that was equal parts amused and sympathetic.

“Well,” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair, “it’s not something you can cheat your way into. No rituals, no bargains, no shortcuts.”

“Then how?”

“Love,” Yoongi said simply. “Real love.”

Jimin frowned. “That’s it? That’s all it takes?”

Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head. “You make it sound easy. It’s not. She has to love you just as much as you love her. And it can’t just be words or promises—it has to be real. And when it is… well, if you’re truly ready to give up your powers, your immortality, everything… then, yeah. It works.”

Jimin stared at him, a mix of hope and doubt flickering in his eyes. “And… sex?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It seals the deal. But it’s not about the act itself. It’s about the trust, the vulnerability, the connection. If it’s true love, then yeah, it’ll make you mortal.”

Jimin leaned back, exhaling slowly. It sounded so simple, but he knew better. Love was messy, unpredictable. And the thought of you not feeling the same way—that maybe what you felt was just his aura, not him—was almost unbearable.

“Why are you hesitating?” Yoongi asked, watching him closely.

“Because I don’t know if it’s real,” Jimin admitted. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if it’s just… my powers making her want me?”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “You’ll know. Trust me, you’ll know.”

As Jimin made his way back to the city, the fields and trees blurring past him, he thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way your presence softened the edges of his world.

If Yoongi was right, he needed to let you choose. To let you see him—not the incubus, not the demon, but just Jimin.

And for the first time in his long, immortal life, he felt fear. Fear of hope. Fear of love. Fear of losing you.

The sound of a soft whoosh broke the silence in your living room, followed by a familiar figure materializing out of thin air. You jumped, nearly toppling off the couch as tissues scattered around you like fallen petals.

Jimin stood there, his usual confident smirk absent for once. Instead, his expression was careful, his smoky eyes scanning your face.

“You’re back,” you said, your voice sharp but edged with something fragile.

“I—yeah,” he replied, his words uncharacteristically slow.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His gaze flicked to the mess of tissues around you, his jaw tightening slightly. Something in his chest twisted. Had he done this to you?

“Where the hell have you been?” you demanded, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered, betraying the hurt you’d tried to bury. “You just… disappeared. No explanation, no nothing. I thought—”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard.

Jimin shifted on his feet, his usual grace faltering. He was quiet for a moment before finally saying, “I had… something I needed to figure out.”

“Figure out what?” you shot back, standing now, the anger bubbling to the surface. “Whether you should even bother coming back? Whether I’m worth it?”

His heart sank at your words, at the raw vulnerability in your tone. The truth was far more complicated than that, but he didn’t know how to explain it—not without confessing everything.

“You could’ve said something,” you continued, pacing now. “Instead of leaving me here wondering if you’d just given up. If your mission wasn’t worth it because I haven’t—”

You paused, turning to him, your cheeks flushing. “Because we haven’t… done anything yet.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and Jimin felt his chest tighten.

“I didn’t leave because of that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He took a cautious step closer, his hands at his sides. “And I haven’t given up.”

“Then why?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Why disappear? Why not just tell me what’s going on?”

Jimin hesitated, his throat tightening. How could he explain that he was terrified? That every second he spent with you made him question his purpose, his very existence? That he’d left not to run away but to figure out how to give you the choice you deserved?

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I was afraid I already had.”

You blinked at him, your anger faltering for a moment. “Hurt me?”

Jimin took another step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t want you to feel like… like you didn’t have a choice. Like I was using you.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The Jimin you knew was cocky, charming, and always quick with a flirtatious quip. But this Jimin—this quiet, uncertain version of him—felt different.

“Why would you think that?” you asked, your voice softer now.

“Because of what I am,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s what I’m made to do. To pull people in, to make them want me. But with you… I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want it to feel like it’s not real.”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your confusion and anger. “Jimin…”

He looked up at you then, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in his gaze—something human.

“I just needed time,” he continued. “To figure out what I really want. And to make sure you have a choice. Because if this isn’t real—if you don’t really want me—I’d rather leave than take that from you.”

You felt your heart twist at his words, your frustration melting into something warmer, more complicated. You took a step closer, closing the distance between you.

“And did you figure it out?” you asked quietly.

He nodded, his gaze steady now. “Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you thick but charged with something unspoken. Then you reached out, your fingers brushing his.

The air in your living room shifted abruptly, plunging into an unnatural chill. Before you could react, a thick cloud of black smoke coiled into existence, filling the space with a suffocating weight. The sharp tang of sulfur hit your nose as a figure materialized within the fog.

The man who emerged was tall and imposing, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His sharp suit seemed almost too modern for the otherworldly aura that radiated from him, and the way he sneered made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Ah, Jimin,” the figure drawled, his voice smooth but laced with venom. “Still playing house with mortals, are we?”

Jimin stiffened, his body instinctively shifting to stand between you and the intruder. His relaxed charm was gone, replaced by a rigid tension you’d never seen before.

“Seongmin,” Jimin said tightly, his voice devoid of his usual playfulness.

Seongmin’s eyes flicked to you, a slow, deliberate grin spreading across his face. “Is this the reason for your… delay?” He gestured toward you with a mocking flourish. “I have to admit, she’s not what I expected. But then again, you always did like to stray from the script.”

You bristled at his tone, but before you could speak, Jimin stepped forward. “Leave her out of this.”

“Leave her out of this?” Seongmin repeated with a laugh, the sound cold and biting. “Jimin, she’s the whole reason you’re here. Or are you so distracted by playing mortal that you’ve forgotten your purpose?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jimin snapped, his voice low but laced with anger.

“Really? Because it seems to me like you’re stalling,” Seongmin said, his grin turning predatory. He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing. “You’ve been on Earth for weeks now. Weeks! And yet here you are, still in her living room, still… waiting.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

“Ah,” Seongmin said, his eyes gleaming with mock realization. “So it’s true. You went to see him, didn’t you?”

Your confusion must have shown on your face because Seongmin turned to you with a sly smirk. “Oh, didn’t he tell you? Your precious Jimin paid a little visit to an old flame—a traitor, really. Yoongi, was it?”

You blinked, glancing at Jimin, whose face was set in a stony mask.

“You think you can pull off what Yoongi did?” Seongmin continued, his voice dripping with scorn. “You think you can abandon your nature, your duty, all for… what? Love?” He spat the word as if it were poison.

Jimin’s fists clenched at his sides. “Yoongi found a way. And if he can do it, so can I.”

Seongmin laughed again, the sound echoing unnaturally through the room. “You really think this little… infatuation is strong enough to break centuries of demonic bonds? That she’ll even choose you, knowing what you are?”

Jimin’s silence spoke volumes, and Seongmin’s grin widened.

“You’re a fool,” Seongmin sneered. “And worse, you’re wasting our time. Do you think the higher powers are going to sit around while you moon over some mortal? You have an ultimatum, Jimin. Fulfil your mission, or face the consequences.”

He stepped closer, his presence looming as the air grew heavier. “You have three days,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “Three days to finish what you started. If you fail, I’ll drag you back to the depths myself. And trust me, you won’t like what’s waiting for you.”

With that, Seongmin turned on his heel, the smoke swirling around him once more. But before he vanished completely, he glanced back at Jimin, his expression cold.

“Love,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What a pathetic excuse for failure.”

And then he was gone, the oppressive air lifting with his departure.

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned to Jimin, your heart pounding. “What… was that?”

But Jimin didn’t answer. He just stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders tense. For the first time, you saw something in him you never thought you would: fear.

The silence between you and Jimin was thick, his shoulders still tense from Seongmin’s visit. You stood there, searching his face for answers as your emotions warred within you—relief that he was here, fear of what had just happened, and something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Jimin… do you love me?”

He froze, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he said nothing, his lips parting slightly as if the words were caught in his throat. The weight of your question pressed down on both of you.

“I…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. His hesitation made your chest tighten, but then he took a step closer, his smoky gaze steady. “Yes. I do.”

Your breath hitched, the room spinning slightly as the weight of his confession settled over you.

“But,” you started, your voice trembling, “how do I know it’s real? How do I know it’s not just… you?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You took a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Your powers,” you clarified, your voice growing firmer. “You’re an incubus. You said it yourself—you make people want you. How do I know that what I’m feeling is real? How do I know I love you and not just… whatever it is you do?”

Jimin’s expression softened, and he took another step forward, his presence warm and grounding. “My powers,” he said carefully, “don’t create love. They never could. Lust? Yes. Desire? Absolutely. But love?” He shook his head. “That’s not something I can control. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’ve felt… that’s all you.”

Your lips parted, his words washing over you like a tide. “So… everything I’ve felt—how much I care about you, how much I want you to be happy—that’s real?”

“It’s real,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “I promise.”

For a moment, the tension dissolved, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. A small, elated smile broke across your face, and you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his. “Then I love you,” you whispered. “I really love you.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, his smoky eyes glimmering with emotion. He reached up to cup your face gently, his touch warm and steady. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that.”

“But,” you said quickly, your tone shifting, “Seongmin, the ultimatum—how do we keep you safe? How do I keep you with me?”

Jimin’s gaze flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or fear. “There’s one way,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Tell me,” you urged, gripping his hand tightly. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the enormity of his next words. “If I become mortal,” he said finally, his voice steady, “they won’t have power over me anymore. I’ll be free. And I’ll be able to love you the way you deserve.”

Your heart raced. “How?”

His eyes locked onto yours, his expression serious. “It’s love,” he said simply. “True love. If you truly love me and we…” He hesitated, his cheeks coloring faintly in a way that made him seem more human than ever. “If we’re together—physically—it will bind me to this world. It’ll make me mortal.”

Your lips parted in surprise, your mind racing. “You mean… if we…”

Jimin nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “But only if you’re sure,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. This has to be your choice—completely, without any doubts.”

You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling. Love, fear, excitement, and determination all clashed within you. But when you looked at Jimin, when you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the answer became clear.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady. “I want to do this. I want to be with you. And if it means keeping you here, safe and free, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Jimin smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” you murmured, holding him just as tightly.

You leaned up, your heart hammering as you closed the distance between you and Jimin. For a moment, he looked at you as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, his smoky purple-grey eyes wide and vulnerable. Then, you kissed him.

It started soft, tentative, as if testing the waters of something unspoken but deeply felt. His lips were warm, and he tasted faintly of something dark and sweet, like honeyed wine. Jimin froze for just a second before his hands slid up to cup your face, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that made your knees weak.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle, as though you were something precious and breakable. He kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered, as if time itself had slowed to a halt.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling in the inches of space between you, Jimin’s eyes were searching, desperate, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

Jimin let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his voice laced with both awe and yearning.

“I think I’m starting to,” you replied with a soft smile, your heart swelling with emotion.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jimin wasn’t the confident, flirtatious demon you’d met weeks ago. He was something more—someone who felt, who longed, who loved. And in that moment, you knew he wasn’t the only one who had changed. You had, too.

“I love you,” you whispered, and his breath hitched, his eyes glimmering with something raw and unguarded.

“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice breaking slightly as he pulled you back into his arms, holding you as though he never wanted to let go.

You lean forward to kiss him passionately, he sits up to meet your lips, his back resting on the headboard. He slips his fingers under your shorts and rubs your slit, coaxing moans from you. You grind into his hand and detach from his lips to kiss his neck. Feeling his fingers becoming wet with your arousal, he slowly dips a finger into you and you gently bite his neck. He grabs the back of your neck with his other hand and makes you look him in the eye.

“Does it feel good like this? Or can you be a good girl and take one more?” His hand travels into your hair, pulling at a few strands.

You had never seen him like this before, he was always so…nice.

You stare at him with your mouth open.

“Is my princess too slow to understand the question?” He pistons his finger faster into you.

You shake your head.

“I-I can but I want you to fuck me. I want you to be mine. I want to be yours forever .” You whine, sweat forming around your hairline.

Jimin tuts.

“Tsk tsk. “ he adds another finger into your sopping hole.

He curls his fingers up, making you fold in on yourself. Your head falls into his neck, breath hitting his skin.

You pull away from him, gaining the sudden confidence to take control. Pushing back onto the bed, you straddle him. Fingers eagerly reaching for his belt. But the nerves make your hands shake, he takes your hands in his.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven as Jimin hovered over you. His smoky eyes, those deep shades of purple and grey, held an intensity you’d never seen before. This wasn’t the usual teasing glint he carried, the smirk that promised trouble. This was… raw. Vulnerable.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a soft rasp, almost unsure.

You nodded, your hand reaching up to brush against his jawline. “I’m sure. But…”

His brow furrowed as he caught the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. “I just— I don’t want this to feel like… your job.”

Jimin froze, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, to your surprise, he laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Trust me,” he murmured, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your temple, “this doesn’t feel anything like my job.”

You searched his face for any hint of deception, but all you found was a strange sort of tenderness. The usual cocky incubus facade was stripped away, leaving only Jimin, bare and genuine.

His fingers trailed lightly over your collarbone, and you shivered under his touch. “You’re nervous,” he noted, his voice soothing.

“A little,” you admitted.

“I can feel it,” he said with a small smirk, though there was no malice in it. “But I can also feel something else.” His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “I want this to be perfect for you. For us.”

It struck you, then, just how far removed this moment was from his demonic nature. There was no overwhelming aura, no compulsion pulling you toward him. Just a connection—a human one, real and tangible.

When his lips found yours, the kiss was slow, unhurried. It wasn’t the fiery, lust-fueled encounter you might have expected from an incubus. It was soft, exploratory, as if he was savoring every second.

His hands wandered, but never too far, always checking for your permission. You responded in kind, your own touches tentative at first but growing bolder with each passing moment.

“Jimin,” you whispered, his name barely audible against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?”

“Why are you holding back?”

His smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “Because I don’t want to ruin this,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “I’ve done this a thousand times before, but never like this. Never because I wanted to, not like this.”

You reached up, cradling his face in your hands. “I want you, Jimin. Not the incubus. Just… you.”

He exhaled, his body visibly relaxing at your words. And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into that one moment.

Your fingers hesitated as they reached for his belt, trembling slightly as you fumbled with the buckle. Jimin tilted his head i, an amused

smile playing on his lips as he watched your concentration.

"Need a hand?" he teased, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine.

"I've got it," you muttered, though the stubborn belt seemed determined to prove you wrong.

Jimin chuckled softly, leaning in so his smoky breath brushed against your ear. "I could make this a lot easier, you know. Just say the word."

You paused, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

His grin widened, that mischievous glint sparking in his gaze. "Permission to use my powers?"

Before you could answer, his hand hovered near yours, his fingers grazing your skin. The room suddenly shifted-an almost imperceptible flicker of energy-and in the blink of an eye, the air grew warmer, your clothes pooling around you on the bed.

Your gasp was immediate, eyes darting down to find both of you completely undressed, the sheer intimacy of the moment making your cheeks burn. "Jimin!"

He leaned back slightly, his smirk widening as he shamelessly drank in the sight of you.

"What? You said I could."

"I didn't say anything!" you shot back, though the laugh bubbling up from your chest betrayed your indignation.

"Well," he murmured, leaning closer, his lips grazing your temple, "your silence said everything."

You shook your head, unable to suppress your smile as you pulled him down to you, your laughter dissolving into a kiss. His lips were soft but demanding, carrying the kind of heat that left you dizzy, and you found yourself melting into him completely.

"Show-off," you mumbled against his mouth, your words swallowed by his next kiss.

"Only for you," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a hum, before letting the rest of the world fade away.

Your hand drifted downward, fingertips brushing over the growing heat between his thighs. You found him already half-hard, your touch drawing a sharp inhale from him. With deliberate pressure, you teased him, coaxing quiet, guttural sounds from deep within his chest.

"That feels so good," he breathed, his lips hovering just above yours. He pressed into you again, his kiss urgent, igniting a fire that had smoldered for far too long.

His hand rose to cup your breast, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hardening nipple. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kisses.

You had waited for this-longed for it. And now that it was finally happening, every touch felt like a spark igniting something primal and unrestrained. His lips trailed from the corner of your mouth, down your neck, lingering at the sensitive curve of your shoulder as he tugged one strap of your dress aside. His kisses were warm, his lips soft but firm, and his hands roamed your body like they'd been made to hold you.

One large hand slid to your thigh, his fingertips brushing the delicate skin. His touch lingered just below where you craved it most, his nails lightly grazing the scalloped edge of your underwear. He shifted, spreading your legs wider, his dark gaze locking with yours. The silent question was clear.

You nodded, breathless.

His fingers glided up your thighs, hooking into the edge of your panties. He tugged them down with practiced ease, the damp fabric clinging to your skin before slipping away. A soft shudder ran through you as the cool air kissed your exposed flesh. His hand returned, hovering over your heat before a single finger traced the length of your slit, the touch featherlight but electrifying.

"I bet you could just slide in," you whispered, your lips brushing his ear as your teeth grazed his lobe. "I'm so wet."

He groaned low in his throat, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me feel you."

The sun breaks through the curtains, painting soft golden lines across the bed. You stirred first, your body sluggish but warm, the comforter tangled around your legs. The events of the previous night replayed in a hazy loop in your mind: Jimin’s confession, his touch, his kiss, the overwhelming way he held you like you were the center of his universe.

But as your eyes fluttered open, the other half of the bed was empty.

A pang of worry tightened your chest. Did he leave? you wondered. Then you remembered: Jimin didn’t need sleep. He likely hadn’t even tried.

You found him sitting on the windowsill, gazing out into the quiet street below. His shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, the morning light catching the soft purple undertones of his hair.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” you asked softly, your voice still rough from sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he said simply. “Never had to.”

You pulled the comforter tighter around you and sat up. “But you’re still here.”

“I told you I’d be here,” he replied, standing and walking toward you. The mattress dipped as he sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face. “I didn’t want to miss this—waking up with you, even if it’s just me watching.”

You sit comfortably in silence until you could hold in your curiosity no longer.

“Do you feel… different?”

Jimin’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered your words. He stretched, flexing his fingers, his lips pressing into a faint frown. “Not really,” he admitted, his tone uncertain. “I still feel… like me.”

Your heart sank a little at his response, and you tried to mask your disappointment. “Oh. Maybe it just… takes time?”

“Maybe,” he replied, though the disheartened note in his voice betrayed his own doubts.

The two of you lingered in bed for a while longer, silent but sharing the same heavy thoughts. Eventually, you suggested going for a walk to clear your minds.

As you stepped outside together, the crisp morning air nipping at your cheeks, your neighbor, Mrs. Kim, called out from across the street.

“Oh, good morning!” she said with a warm smile. “And who’s this?”

Jimin froze mid-step, his eyes widening slightly as he turned to you. You blinked at her, startled.

“Uh, this is…” you began, gesturing toward Jimin.

“Jimin,” he supplied quickly, his voice uncertain. “Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Kim gave him a polite nod before continuing on her way, leaving the two of you standing there in stunned silence.

“Did you…” you started, turning to him. “Did you want her to see you?”

Jimin’s brows furrowed as he shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even think about it.”

Your heart started to pound, a spark of hope igniting in your chest. “Wait,” you said, stepping closer to him. “Try teleporting. Just… see if you can.”

He gave you a doubtful look but closed his eyes, concentrating. A few moments passed, and when he opened them again, he was still standing in the same spot.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

The realization hit both of you at the same time.

“It worked,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

“I’m…” Jimin began, his expression shifting from confusion to awe. “I’m mortal.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, holding him tight. He laughed too, a genuine, carefree sound that you realized you’d never heard from him before.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with an unspoken joy that neither of you could fully put into words. As soon as you stepped inside, Jimin went straight to the coffee table, where the spell book still sat. He picked it up, flipping through the pages for a moment before snapping it shut.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Jimin looked at you, his smoky eyes now warm and bright. “Getting rid of this,” he said simply. He walked to the trash can, tossing the book inside without hesitation.

“But—” you started to protest, only for him to turn back to you with a playful smirk.

“If you want to learn Latin, I’ll teach you,” he said, stepping closer. “But no more summoning demons. Agreed?”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “Agreed.”

Jimin reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

“No,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “Thank you.”

For the first time, Jimin’s life stretched before him, limitless and free. And for the first time, he was truly alive—with you.