#so happy to read through all your thoughts

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: omegaverse, omega reader, careless alpha husband, marriage problems, poor communication

♡ GN reader

He’s a little reckless sometimes—not always paying attention to the feelings of those around him, but he means well, you’re sure of that.

He’s just a little high-strung, is all—doesn’t really have the time to think things through.

He’s always been like that—ready for just about anything and everything anyone would throw his way, and just sort of expecting everyone else to be onboard. He’s an Alpha, after all—it’s not in their nature to worry or look back.

All your life, he’s been the leader—all you others could do was chase after him and just hope on your life to keep up. And as an Omega, you were comfortable like that—with having someone to follow. It felt natural to you—safe and good and correct.

But when he started courting you, you admit being a bit skeptical—weren’t sure if it would work the same way, not sure if it even could. Being mates is different, after all. You’re supposed to be in tune with one another, and you weren’t sure if you’d be heard or just end up being bulldozed.

But you figured, since you weren’t too big on making decisions anyway, that you’d just go along with it, and it would be fine. You’d put your trust in him and follow his lead, and maybe that would be enough.

And it was. Everything worked out perfectly—for the most part. You married in the spring and moved into your new house the day after. He’s a good husband and nice man, deserving of the respect he garners, and he’s successful. A true Alpha. Perfect on all fronts.

What more could an Omega ask for?

Well… suppose it wouldn’t hurt if he listened sometimes. Or no, that’s not fair. You’d have to speak up first in order for him to listen. Still, you think… he should be able to tell without you saying anything. 

You don’t even know what you’re complaining about, really… It's not as if he’s done anything overtly bad. You just feel… well, you suppose you just feel a little left out. He’s so dominating in everything he does—you just end up being swept along in the process. He doesn’t ask for your input, nor do you give it. Things just happen the way he wants them to before you’ve even agreed. You don’t even think he recognizes it himself, how he makes decisions you’re supposed to be making together on your behalf.

He bought the house without telling you, for starters. But it was a wedding present and a nice surprise, so you’re not mad about it exactly. But given how big a step it was, it still feels strange to have been on the outside. Then he sprung that vacation on you and even called your boss to schedule your leave—only a month after your honeymoon, no less. Not to mention the wedding itself—how all the arrangements were already done before you’d even sat down with the wedding planner, of whom was his choice. In some ways, or in many ways, you felt as if you were just a part of the decor.

But it’s not as if you aren’t happy—because you are. And it’s not as if you don’t love him—because you do. It’s just well… You know it’s not exactly fair, but you’re beginning to feel a little taken advantage of… as if he doesn’t even care about you or your thoughts and feelings as long as you’re keeping him happy.

But you can’t keep feeling that way without telling him, you decide. You’re sure none of it is his intention. You’ve never taken an interest in decision-making, so why would he think you’d want to? For all his prowess, you can’t exactly expect him to read your mind, either.

So, tonight’s the night you’ll finally say something. You want to be included. If he’s hiring a new maid, you wish to be a part of it. If he’s buying a new TV, you want to help pick out which one. If he’s taking you out to dinner, you want to be informed, preferably beforehand. Even if all he’s doing is getting his hair cut, you want him to tell you about it.

“Hello, welcome home,” you greet once he staggers into the bedroom, looking tired yet no less neatly put together than always.

“Hello, my sweet,” he mirrors, voice gruff with the toils of the day as he marches over to plant a kiss on your cheek.

It’s late. You’ve already gotten dressed for bed, having been just about ready to cut your losses and postpone the talk for tomorrow.

He could have told you he was working after hours. No, he should have.

You were just about to switch off the night lamp and go to sleep—but find yourself feeling redetermined now.

This was just another one of those things you can bring up as an example, after all.

“I-”

“God, I missed you today. Felt like work took an eternity,” he groans, hurriedly removing his suit with sloppy movements, throwing his jacket on the floor, shirt quickly following before he’s back on you. “Give me those pretty lips—I’m starving.”

He takes your mouth with his, one hand steadying him against the bedframe while the other works on unbuckling his belt, hunching over where you lay.

You put your hands on his bare chest to distance him, asking, “Can it wait a bit?”

He drops his pants on the floor and climbs on top of you, face buried in your neck while muttering, “No, not really. Been waiting all day.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something-” you try again, to no use.

“No talking tonight—none, except pillow talk.”

He says it with a smile. You feel it against your neck—his teeth and tongue and the heat of his voice.

You’re sure he means it playfully, and yet you freeze, feeling a little sick.

“But I really need to—”

“Omegas are supposed to obey their Alphas, you know.” 

His touch isn’t rough, but it’s not without force, but more than that it’s those words that make your heart jump and then stutter. 

You hold your breath, but it goes unnoticed by him or maybe ignored—you’re not sure which. It shocks you—scares you even, but then, following the original freight, your heart sinks, and you feel nothing but disheartened and disappointed.

And then, even a little angry.

“Oh…” you mumble, lying still beneath his onslaught. “I guess I thought I was yours ‘cause I wanted to be, but I see now…” Your brows cinch with many feelings between them. “I had it wrong.”

He halts then—struck with a sudden pang of guilt maybe, or perhaps just puzzled by your words. Whatever the case, the former rush he’d been in is gone, and he looks down at you—finally.

“What? What do you mea-”

“No, no, never mind. I was out of line,” you brush him off—harshly, and he blanches, going rigid. “Do what you want—you’re the Alpha, after all—so by all means.”

You turn your head to the side and lie still.

Eyes prickly and throat tight, you push the words out all stiff and hoarse, “I have no right to stop you, and even if I did, it’s not like I could. But who cares, right? Nothing I think matters.”

“Baby, you know that’s not what I mea–” he tries.

“Then what did you mean?” you all but bark, snapping to face him again. But however pointed your glare is, there’s no mistaking the now visible tears brimming in your eyes.

Seeing it, he stiffens even more, undaring to move. Trying to make his voice softer, “Don’t cry.”

But his acts of comfort are far from sufficient.

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

Good, you think—it better. He made you uncomfortable when he ignored your wishes, so why shouldn’t you? And ignore him in turn?

“Funny that, isn't it?” you continue. “The only thing I have against you is a pesky few tears. Would you like me to turn around, maybe?” 

You know you’re guilt-tripping him—and you’re not sure why or if it’s the right thing to do, but even so, you couldn’t find it in you to stop either—no, not until you had punished him, for some reason.

“If you hide my face in a pillow, maybe you won’t hear it either–”

“Please stop,” he finally begs, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

You stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what he’s apologizing for. And though the thought of asking him to clarify strikes you, it doesn’t feel important. Those weren’t the words you wanted to hear.

You sigh then, trying to calm yourself down. “I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to see me—to listen—I need you to respect me.”

He looks up again, this time with a deeply remorseful expression warping his face. “I do. I’m sorry-”

“Really?” you question. It's a little harsh, you admit, but it's what you need, “Then get off me and go sleep downstairs.”

He’s rigid under your admonishment. Shocked by your claims, yet begrudgingly ashamed by the truth in them. 

You were right. He wasn’t paying attention. And by the looks of it, he hasn’t been paying attention for a while.

 “Okay,” he ends up agreeing.

Sliding off the bed like a shunned dog, he walks back to the door he’d only just come through a moment ago.

Keeping a hand on the doorknob, he looks back—head still bowed.

“Good night.”

You feel a little bad about how it turned out, but you steal yourself. You wanted to be alone right now. In fact, you think it would do you both some good.

“We'll talk tomorrow. Good night.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[purinrei]

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ RED FLAG

⋆˚˖ wc. 2.3k+ ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ p. sylus x fem!reader ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ nsfw mdni

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cw: heavy degradation, dom!sylus, overstimulation, choking, face-fucking, rough handling, light pain play (spanking), power dynamics, sylus being a menace, explicit language, and intense tension.

this may or may not be cannon, I’ll let you decide..

y’all I know it’s a little repetitive.. i wrote it, also lowercase is intended, the caps were making me angry to type so I js did it in all lowercase. Happy reading

the fight started like it always did—sharp words, frustration burning in your chest, and sylus standing there like he had all the time in the world.

“you don’t get to decide things for me, sylus!” your voice cracked as you glared at him, fists clenched at your sides. “you disappear, you throw yourself into danger, and I’m just supposed to be okay with it?”

sylus exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded and unreadable. “kitten,” he drawled, “i handle things my way. you knew that from the start.”

“you don’t handle things, you shut me out!” you nails dug into your palms, frustration twisting into something raw. “you act like nothing matters, not me, not what I think, not what happens to you—”

sylus was on you in an instant, his hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“careful,” he murmured, red eyes burning into yours. “you’re starting to sound like you think you can tell me what to do.”

your breath hitched, your body tensing, but it wasn’t fear keeping you still—it was him. that steady, unshaken control that wrapped around you like a vice.

his thumb brushed your lip, slow and deliberate. “you’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, tilting his head. “all bark, no bite.”

you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“you piss me off,” you snapped, but the heat in your voice wasn’t just anger anymore.

sylus smirked. “that so?” his fingers traced along your jaw, his touch featherlight, mocking. “then why are you still standing here, kitten?”

because he knew.

knew how to unravel you. knew that every sharp word, every push and pull, only made you want him more.

and worst of all? he knew you liked it.

your silence made his smirk widen. “that’s what i thought.”

his other hand skimmed down your waist, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. his fingers trailed lower, playing with the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched. “sylus—”

“you’ve got a real mouth on you,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “maybe I should put it to better use.”

before you could react, he was sinking to his knees.

your heart slammed against your ribs. “wait—”

“why?” his hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place as he looked up at you through thick lashes. “scared you won’t be able to stand once I’m done with you?”

your stomach flipped. “sylus—”

he chuckled, dark and low. “that’s cute.”

then he hooked his fingers into your shorts and yanked them down.

you gasped as the cool air hit your skin, but sylus didn’t give you time to react. he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, his teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to keep your balance as he nudged your legs further apart.

“already trembling,” he mused, pressing a hot kiss against your clothed core. “and i haven’t even started yet.”

you whimpered, your fingers tightening against him.

Sylus clicked his tongue. “what happened to all that fire, kitten? just a minute ago, you were so eager to put me in my place.”

his teeth grazed against the thin fabric, a teasing pressure that made your legs shake.

“you—” your voice broke as he dragged his tongue over the soaked fabric, slow and deliberate.

“me?” His breath was warm against you. “i think you meant please, sylus.”

you swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desperation.

he exhaled, amused. “suit yourself.”

then he pulled your panties aside and licked a long, slow stripe through your folds.

your whole body jerked, a choked moan slipping past your lips.

sylus groaned against you. “sweet as always,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

his grip on your thighs tightened as he buried his face between them, licking into you with a slow, torturous precision.

your head tilted back, a breathless whine escaping you.

he hummed in approval, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. “look at you,” he murmured between lazy strokes of his tongue. “falling apart already.”

you gasped as he sucked lightly on your clit, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“s-sylus—”

“you taste desperate,” he mused, his fingers digging into your thighs. “like you’ve been waiting for this.”

youYou had, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of saying it.

he smirked against you. “still holding out?” his tongue flicked over your clit, teasing, taunting. “i can be patient, kitten.”

you whimpered, your thighs trembling around his head.

sylus chuckled darkly. “or maybe i should just keep you like this. weak. shaking. begging.”

your pride shattered. “please,” you gasped. “sylus, please—”

his grip tightened. “that’s better.”

then he pressed his tongue flat against your clit and devoured you.

your knees buckled, a broken cry ripping from your throat as pleasure slammed into you.

sylus groaned against you, drinking in every sound, every tremble, every sharp gasp.

and just when you thought you’d finally tip over the edge—he stopped.

a whimper tore from your lips. “no—”

sylus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes gleaming with amusement. “you don’t get to cum yet, kitten.”

you stared at him, still shaking, your breath uneven. “you bastard—”

he laughed, slow and dark. “you’re so cute.”

then he flipped you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with ease.

“you really think you get to tell me what to do?” his fingers slipped between your legs, sliding over your soaked folds. “look at you. dripping all over my fingers. desperate. pathetic.”

you whimpered, your body arching into him.

sylus smirked, pressing his lips to your ear. “now, let’s see how much you can take before i finally fuck you.”

sylus had you right where he wanted you.

pinned beneath him, legs spread, your body still trembling from the way he’d devoured you—only to stop just before you could fall apart.

you whimpered, your nails digging into his arms. “sylus—”

he smirked, red eyes gleaming as he tilted his head. “that’s not my problem, kitten.” his fingers trailed along your thigh, light, teasing. “you should’ve begged sooner.”

your hips bucked against him, desperate for something, but sylus only clicked his tongue.

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “still so needy. you just don’t learn, do you?”

his fingers traced lower, skimming over your soaked entrance but not pushing in. just hovering, making you squirm.

“you’re dripping,” he mused, as if you were the one at fault. “and all for me.”

you whimpered, your breathing uneven. “please—”

sylus exhaled, pleased. “better,” he murmured. “but not good enough.”

then he slapped your soaked cunt.

you gasped, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the sting shot through you—sharp, sudden, and so good it made your body jerk.

sylus chuckled darkly. “that got your attention.”

you trembled beneath him, your legs weak as he slid his fingers between your folds, rubbing slow, lazy circles around your entrance.

“such a mess,” he murmured, almost mockingly. “all that fight, all that attitude—just to end up like this. weak. helpless.”

his fingers dipped in, barely, before pulling back out, teasing you mercilessly.

you let out a choked whimper, your nails raking down his arms. “sylus, please—”

“please what?” His voice was a purr, smooth and taunting. “use your words, kitten.”

you swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desperation.

sylus sighed, clicking his tongue. “still stubborn?” his fingers slid in—just enough to make you moan—before withdrawing again. “maybe I should just leave you like this.”

your eyes snapped open in panic. “no!—”

he smirked, amused by how quickly you broke. “then say it.”

your pride shattered. “please,” you gasped. “please, sylus—f-fuck me, use me, just—just do something—”

sylus groaned, his fingers tightening around your waist. “good girl.”

then he slammed two fingers inside you.

your back arched instantly, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as he curled them, pressing right against that spot that made your legs shake.

“fuck,” sylus muttered, watching your reaction with dark satisfaction. “took you long enough.”

his fingers pumped into you, slow but deep, dragging along your walls with calculated precision.

you whined, your body writhing beneath him.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “whine for me. let me hear how pathetic you sound when I fuck you with my fingers.”

you gasped, your nails scraping down his arms as his pace quickened, his fingers fucking into you so deep you could barely think.

hell, you could barely form words, your moans spilling out in ragged, broken gasps as he fucked you open with his fingers, stretching you, making sure you felt every inch.

“look at you,” sylus murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “so dumb. so fucking wet.”

his fingers curled, hitting that spot again, making you cry out.

“you gonna cum?” he taunted. “gonna soak my hand like the needy little thing you are?”

you nodded frantically, your breath hitching. “please—”

sylus chuckled, low and dark. “too bad.”

then he pulled his fingers out.

a broken whimper left your throat, your body trembling as you were left aching, so close, so close..

sylus brought his fingers to his lips, his red eyes never leaving yours as he licked them clean.

you shuddered.

his smirk widened. “you taste fucking perfect.”

then he was pressing you back down, his body covering yours, the heat of him making you whimper.

his hand slid between your legs, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing against your entrance but not pushing in.

“you want it, kitten?” his voice was silk, smooth and taunting.

you nodded, your hands clutching at him. “mhm—”

sylus hummed. “i dunno,” he mused, dragging his cock against you, making you feel how thick he was. “you’ve been pretty fucking bratty tonight.”

you whimpered, trying to press down, to take him yourself—

sylus grabbed your hips, holding you still.

“ah, ah,” he tsked, his grip bruising. “not until I say so.”

tears pricked at your eyes from the need. “sylus, please, i—i need it, i need you—”

his lips curled into a smirk, his red eyes gleaming.

“that’s better,” he murmured.

then he pushed in.

slowly.

your breath hitched, your back arching as he stretched you inch by inch, making you feel every part of him.

sylus groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuck, you’re tight.”

you gasped, nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

sylus leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “you belong to me, kitten.”

you were a mess.

your body trembled, your breath shaky, your skin burning with overstimulation. sylus had already dragged you through wave after wave of pleasure, leaving you whimpering beneath him, barely able to keep yourself upright. but he wasn’t done with you yet.

his red eyes burned as he watched you—ruined, desperate, still needing more. his smirk curled, sharp and teasing.

“look at you,” he muttered, his grip tightening around your waist before dragging his fingers up your body, stopping at your chin. he tilted your face up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “you’re wrecked, kitten.”

you gasped as he pulled away completely, your body aching at the loss, a desperate whine slipping from your lips.

sylus chuckled, dark and low. “dont pout.” his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging sharply as he guided you down onto your knees. “you know what to do.”

you barely had time to breathe before he pressed himself against your lips. you opened for him, letting him slide inside, your tongue curling around him as you hollowed your cheeks.

“fuck,” sylus groaned, his head tipping back for a brief moment before his red eyes dropped to you again, his grip in your hair tightening. “that’s it—take me in.”

he didn’t let you set the pace. his hand held you there, guiding your movements, forcing you to take him deep. you gagged, your throat tightening around him, and he grinned.

“you love this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice thick with amusement. “on your knees, drooling all over me. so fucking desperate to be used.”

you moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs, your nails digging into his skin. he groaned at the sensation, his pace quickening, his pleasure unraveling—

but then his free hand slid between your legs.

your whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping around him as his fingers found your slick, already sensitive from everything he’d done to you before. but sylus was relentless, two fingers sliding in with ease, curling just right—

your eyes rolled back, a muffled whimper escaping your throat.

sylus chuckled, his smirk sharp. “oh? you weren’t expecting that?” his fingers thrust deep, his pace perfectly matching the way he fucked into your mouth. “you’re so easy to play with, kitten. so fucking responsive.”

you trembled, pleasure coiling tight in your core. his fingers were ruthless, pressing against that perfect spot inside you, dragging you higher and higher—

“you better cum before I do,” sylus warned, his voice dark, amused. “or I won’t let you.”

your entire body tensed, your release hitting you hard, pleasure crashing over you as you came undone around his fingers. you gasped, whimpering against him, your thighs shaking—

and sylus groaned, his grip tightening in your hair. “dont spill a fucking drop.”

he thrust deep, his release spilling into your mouth as you swallowed around him, your body still trembling from your own orgasm.

he watched you, red eyes sharp, his fingers still buried inside you, dragging out every last aftershock before finally pulling away.

but he didn’t let go of you.

his fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up. “open your mouth.”

you did, your lips parting, tongue out, showing him you’d swallowed everything.

sylus smirked, pleased. “good girl.”

his fingers brushed over your jaw, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. “if you hadn’t—” he chuckled, thumb dragging along your swollen bottom lip. “i would’ve had to teach you a lesson.”

and the look in his eyes told you he meant it.

© purinrei 2025, pls don’t steal, edit / translate, or repost my works on other platforms without asking. thank you pookies

[prisjean]

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ late night confessions

synopsis: after confessing how you've never had any of your firsts, frat boy!caleb is there to listen (and help  ¬ᴗ¬) but he also has something to confess aswell?

tw: MDNI +18, p in v (use protection), virginity loss, fingering, cummin inside, oral, squirting, teases a bit, caleb is a bit of a groaner, your pleasure comes first!!

author's note: hihi lovelies! so sorry i took awhile to post, life has been busy. i wanted to make something extra long because i will continue to be busy these next few weeks so i dont know when i'll be able to post but thank you so much for the love on held close, it was my best work and i wanted to capture the essence on how caleb is hehe. happy reading!

the party was still going strong downstairs. music thumping, drunken laughter spilling out onto the front lawn of the frat house, but up here, in caleb’s dorm, everything was quiet. you sat cross-legged on his bed, picking at the frayed hem of your hoodie while he lounged back against the headboard, one arm slung lazily behind his head.

this wasn’t unusual. you and caleb always ended up like this after nights out. he might be the life of the party, but he never let you walk home alone. not when he could just let you crash here, giving the two of you privacy while his roommate was away.

he took a sip from his water bottle, tilting his head to the side as he studied you. “you looked miserable down there,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “don’t tell me you’re finally admitting frat parties aren’t your thing.”

you rolled your eyes. “they never were.” you take a sip from your water bottle that caleb handed to you.

he chuckled, setting the bottle on the nightstand. “then why’d you come? you know i wouldn’t have invited you if it meant you would feel terrible.”

you hesitated, tracing patterns on his blanket. “i dunno. just figured…well it’s college. i should probably try to enjoy it like everyone else.”

caleb hummed like he didn’t quite believe you. “uhuh and did you?”

you shot him a dry look. “i spent half the night dodging drunk guys who couldn’t take a hint, so what do you think?”

his smirk faded. “who?”

“relax, nothing happened,” you said quickly. “but that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

caleb frowned, pushing himself up so he was properly sitting. “what do you mean?”

you let out a slow breath, you looked down at the floor. “i just… i feel like i’m behind.”

“behind what?”

“everything,” you admitted. “i’ve never had a real boyfriend. never had my first kiss, never-” you paused, suddenly regretting saying anything at all. “never mind. it’s stupid.” you dismiss your comment with a slight chuckle.

caleb was quiet for a moment. when you finally glanced up at him, you expected teasing, maybe some cocky remark about how he could “fix that” if you wanted.

but he just looked… thoughtful.

“that’s not stupid pipsqueak” he said finally. his voice was quieter now, more serious.

you sighed. “come on, caleb. you..you’ve lived. you’ve had hookups, flings, relationships or whatever you call them and i’ve had nothing.”

he gets closer and sits next to you on his bed, keeping his gaze. “and? why does that matter?”

“because,” you huffed, frustrated. “people expect you to have certain experiences by a certain age, and i just… haven’t.”

caleb’s brows furrowed. “who the hell cares what ‘people’ expect?”

you bit your lip, shrugging. “it’s just embarrassing sometimes. i feel like i’m missing out.”

he was watching you closely now, something unreadable in his gaze. “you’re not missing out on anything, pipsqueak,” he murmured.

your stomach flipped at the nickname, but you ignored it. “easy for you to say. you’ve had all your firsts.”

caleb froze but leaned closer, something like a smirk tugging at his lips, but it wasn’t cocky this time. he cups your cheek. “yeah? and you wanna know something?”

you hesitated before nodding.

“they were forgettable.”

that caught you off guard. “what?”

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “i mean… there were moments. but i could never look them in the eye. i just couldn’t..” his fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, gaze flickering away. i always made sure i wasn’t facing them, like if i did, it’d make it real and something in me would just freeze.” 

he let out a short, almost self-deprecating laugh. “like some part of me knew it wasn’t supposed to be with them or other times i would call them the wrong name.. and it would be the same name every. single. time” his jaw tightens, now his gaze never left yours. 

your stomach twisted. “caleb…”

he shook his head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. he ruffles your hair. “you’re not behind, pipsqueak. you’re just waiting for it to actually matter.”

your breath caught. “you’ve never…?”

he shook his head once, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “not in the way you think.”

the room felt smaller somehow, the space between you charged with something unsaid.

“you don’t regret that?” you asked quietly.

he hesitated, he huffs. “i think i’d regret it more if i gave my firsts to someone who actually meant something… and they didn’t feel the same.”

your heart stuttered in your chest, the weight of his words pressing down on you. but before you could say anything, caleb just gave you a lazy, lopsided smile, like he hadn’t just dropped a big piece of his life on you. he grazed your cheek, his touch lingering for just a second too long.

“don’t stress about it, okay?” he murmured. “your firsts should be with someone you want them with. not just someone convenient.”

a heavy silence settled between you, but your mind was spinning now, turning over every moment, every lingering touch, every look he had given you that you never understood, until now.

“all those girls,” you said hesitantly, your voice quieter now. “the ones you’ve been with… did none of them ever mean anything?”

caleb stiffened, his jaw tightening. he looked away, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was debating whether to tell you the truth.

then he muttered, almost too low for you to hear. “none of them were you.” he finally admitted.

you felt your cheeks heat up by the sudden change in tone. 

he scoffed at himself, scratching the back of his head. “it’s silly, huh? i’d go out, find someone who-” he let out a humorless laugh. “someone who looked just enough like you if i squinted. your hair and that same kind of smile that i adore too much. sometimes they even smelled like your vanilla perfume.”

you stared at him, your heart beating against your ribs.

he shook his head, laughing bitterly. “and for a while, it worked. i’d close my eyes and pretend it was you. just for a little bit.” his voice dropped lower, ashamed. “but then it’d be over, and i’d wake up, and it wasn’t. and i’d hate myself for it.”

you swallowed hard. “caleb…”

his eyes met yours again, and for once, there was no smirk, no teasing glint. just raw honesty.

“but that didn’t stop me,” he admitted. “because i thought..heh i convinced myself..i’d never actually have you. and if I couldn’t, then what was the harm in pretending?”

a heavy silence settled between you. your chest ached, not just for him, but for yourself, for all the moments you never realized he was looking at you like that. the only thing that echoed now was the faint music from the speakers coming from the party downstairs.

“…and now?” you whispered.

caleb exhaled, something almost resigned in his expression. “and now i don’t even wanna pretend anymore.”

“you don’t…have too..” you whispered as both of your faces were mere inches from each other. a quiet breath came first followed by caleb looking down at your lips before he traced his hand down your chin. then, caleb kissed you.

he was slow at first but hesitant, as if he was still trying to convince himself this was real. his hand slid to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper. he places your back on his bed, the weight of him settling over you while fighting for dominance with his tongue. 

he kissed you like he was making up for every stolen glance, every moment spent pretending. his tongue brushed against yours, coaxing, claiming, demanding in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

then he slowed, breathing heavy as he pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours. his thumb traced your jaw, his voice barely above a whisper.

"tell me to stop," he said, but his voice wavered, like he was terrified of what he’d do if you actually did.

you swallowed hard, your hands turned to knuckles."i don’t want you to."

a sharp exhale, like he had been holding his breath. his lips ghosted over yours, his grip tightening ever so slightly. his breath hot over your lips "then tell me…" his voice was desperate. "tell me that whatever happens next, you won’t regret it." he grabs your hand to kiss it before looking into your eyes once more awaiting your answer. “i want to be your first.” his puppy eyes now settling upon you. 

you lifted that same hand, brushing your fingers through his hair. “caleb,” you whispered, soft but certain. “i could never regret you. i want this more than you could ever know.”

with a warm smile, he kissed you again, harder this time, more sure of himself. his hand slid down your waist, grounding himself in the feeling of you beneath him.

his hand traced the curve of your cheek before trailing lower, his lips followed.

he dove into your neck, attacking you with nibbles. what started as slow, lingering kisses turned into teasing bites that sent a shiver down your spine. his teeth grazed over your skin before his tongue followed, soothing the marks he was leaving behind. your clear skin was now painted with his touch, evidence of his undying love for you. he thought, what could be just a one-night fling to you, felt like more than everything to him. if what was happening now was just for one night, he was determined to make this into a memory that will keep him going. 

he trails a free hand to the base of your skirt, tugging on the zipper while his lips stay latched on your neck. with a sudden “zzzip” filling the room, he continues his path, guiding his hand lower and successfully reaching inside your underwear. you felt shivers down your spine as caleb rolls circles on your clit, sending a gasp out of you. 

you grip at his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his jacket wrinkle under your grasp. you didn’t know how to comprehend the amount of pleasure he was giving you. moans started to escape your lips as caleb continued to caress your clit, his every touch left you almost breathless but wanting more. your body started to tense up, an unknown feeling that only escalated your arousal. 

caleb let out a low chuckle before trailing a series of soft, lingering kisses along your lips. just as you try to keep up with your breath, he captured your mouth again, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his touch both teasing and possessive. his tongue slipped past your parted lips, prying your mouth open as he explored you further, muffling your shaky moans with an intense and consuming kiss.

“this feels s-so good..” you managed to whisper in between kisses, your body responding to every relentless touch. caleb still not losing his rhythm on your clit, his lips never leaving yours as he pulled back just enough to smile.

"i'm glad..because I won’t be stopping anytime soon," he said, his voice low and teasing.

his words sent a thrill through you, a mixture of excitement and anticipation pooling in your stomach. the more he kept playing with your clit, the more this..unknown sensation was rising inside you and he didn’t want him to stop. 

pulling his fingers away, you immediately missed the feeling, a whimper catching in your throat. before you could make a fuss on the loss, caleb dipped his head down, his breath warm against your skirt, nearing your cunt. you sucked in a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. your eyes, heavy-lidded and hazy with pleasure, flickered to the window. the stars had never looked so bright, distant, shimmering, and endless, just like the party still going on downstairs.

his hands found your hips, thumbs pressing into your hip bones in a slow, soothing motion before he hooked his fingers into your skirt. with a smooth tug, he slid it down, taking your underwear along with it, leaving you bare beneath him. caleb glanced up, his eyes smoldering as he murmured, "after tonight, i promise..this is all you'll ever think about."  

before you could even form a response, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, keeping you open for him. then, without warning, his mouth descended on your exposed pussy.  

the first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor you, to let the taste of you settle on his tongue. but that restraint didn't last long. his groan vibrated against your core, low and needy, like he was already losing himself. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into your flesh like he needed something to ground himself. but even then, he was slipping, unraveling with every lick, every sound you made.  

his tongue moved with an eager desperation, tracing over your folds, as if he was memorizing the way you felt against his tongue. he devoured you like a man starved, each groan growing rougher, throatier, as his self-control decreased. his movements became sloppier, greedier. his lips sealing around you, sucking just to hear you gasp, his tongue lapping up every drop like he couldn’t get enough.  

when he pulled back just slightly, his lips glistening, his breath ragged, his pupils were blown wide, almost black with hunger.

 "fuck..." he exhaled, his voice rawly thick. his grip on your thighs tightened for just a second before he dove back in, dragging another long, almost desperate lick through your folds, like he had lost all sense of anything else but you. 

your fingers tangled in his mullet without thinking, pulling him closer as your hips rocked against his tongue, chasing every wave of pleasure he gave you. the heat pooling in your stomach burned hotter with each flick of his tongue, each hungry suck that left you trembling beneath him.  

"caleb—" his name slipped out in a breathless moan before you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sounds spilling from your lips. "that feels… s-so good," you mumbled against your palm, your voice barely holding together.  

but caleb wasn’t having that.  

still buried between your thighs, he hummed against you, a deep, satisfied sound that sent vibrations straight through your core. without pausing, he reached up, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your lips. he laced his fingers with yours, his grip firm, grounding.  

his lips curled into a smirk against you before he murmured, voice thick with want, "you don’t have to hold back. be as loud as you want… i’m right here."

he pushes you back, pinning you against the bed with ease, his face still hovering over your pussy.  

"caleb, i…ah!"  

a sharp cry cuts off your words as his fingers sink into you, stretching you open inch by inch. the sudden fullness sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your body arch into his touch. before you can even catch your breath, his tongue joins the mix, dragging along your folds with a slow, deliberate lick that has your thighs trembling.  

"you taste so sweet…" he groans against you, his voice dripping with hunger. "i could do this all night..all day even", he chuckles. 

your slick coats his fingers as he pumps them in and out, the pace teasingly slow, as if he’s memorizing every reaction, every little sound you make. your whimpers fuel him, a spark igniting in his chest as he watches you come undone beneath him.  

then, he curls his fingers just right-  

your back lifts off the bed, a choked moan escaping your lips as your body tenses. his smirk deepens, dark and knowing. he’s found it.  

"there it is," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. he doesn’t waste a second. his fingers pick up speed, thrusting deeper, pressing against that same spot over and over again. every movement is deliberate, every stroke meant to unravel you. the room fills with the slick sounds of his fingers working inside you, the wet heat of his mouth still teasing your clit, and the way your moans spill out, growing louder with every calculated thrust.  

caleb hums against you, his own pleasure building just from watching you come apart. "that’s it… let me hear you."

your grip on his hand tightened, fingers trembling as your body squirmed beneath him. a desperate whimper escaped your lips.

“c-caleb… i—ah… i think i’m close,” you gasped, your voice breathless, barely above a whisper.

his response was immediate, “come for me, princess… i’m right here.”

a shiver ran down your spine as his words alone sent you teetering on the edge. your back arched, muscles tensing as pleasure coiled tight in your core. caleb didn’t stop, his touch was relentless, his tongue and fingers working in perfect sync, dragging you through wave after wave of ecstasy.

your release crashed over you, sending you spiraling. a gasp came from your throat as warm liquid flooded through you, coating his face and fingers soon part of the liquid dripped down to the bed. caleb groaned against you, savoring every moment, every sound, every taste. he pulled away only to lick his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction as his thumb traced soft circles on your inner thigh.

“that’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise, a smirk tugging at his lips. even now, with your body spent and breath uneven, the hunger in his gaze told you..he wasn’t done with you yet.

he wastes no time before hovering over you, caging you beneath him. his fingers fumble slightly as he works at the buttons of your top, eager yet unsteady. one by one, they come undone, revealing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. his pupils darken, widening with sheer desperation. he had imagined this moment countless times, but nothing compared to the reality of seeing you like this.  

“you’re even more stunning than i imagined,” he breathes, voice thick with longing. the last of the buttons popped off and you help him as he gently swifts it off your shoulders, putting it to the side. there’s no hesitation in his movements as he expertly unclasps your bra with a single hand, discarding it just as quickly. 

for a moment, he simply stares, enamored, breath hitching as if he doesn’t know where to begin. but desire overtakes him, and he dips his head, capturing one of your sensitive buds between his lips. the moment his mouth latches on, he sucks greedily, the same feeling he had between your thighs now channeled into worshipping every inch of you. he makes sure to give the other breast the same attention, his fingers kneading your soft flesh while his mouth continues its worship. caleb was always the type to ensure you were taken care of, and this was no different. his touch was deliberate, yet dripping with desire.  

your whimpers slip past your lips, each sound fueling him further as he overwhelms you with sensation after sensation. his tongue flicks and rolls, alternating between slow, teasing swirls and desperate, heated sucks, never giving you a moment to recover. every movement was a silent promise. he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone beneath him.

eventually pulling his lips away from your breasts, his breaths were ragged, heavy with restraint as his fingers made quick work of his belt. “you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, the sharp clink of metal echoed in the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being dragged down. 

his hands trembled slightly, whether from excitement or the sheer need to feel you, you weren’t sure. but the moment his pants hit the floor, he wasted no time. he leaned back over you, the heat of his body radiating against your skin as he traced a hand along your thigh, his touch very  worshipping. he releases his erection from his boxers and he was big. his tip glistened with pre-cum. he guided his cock before your pussy. 

“i’ll go slow, i promise” he breathed out, using your slick to coat himself. he aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with the tip before slowly pushing in, letting you take him inch by inch.

a groan ripped from his throat as your walls wrapped around him, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to steady himself. his head fell forward, his breath hot against your shoulder. "fuck," he rasped, voice shaking. "you're—you're squeezing me so tight." he shakily pumps in you slowly.

"c-caleb," you whimpered, voice breaking as you tried to adjust. "you're so… big—"

his grip on you tightened, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants. "god… you feel too good," he nearly whimpered, his voice filled with desperation. his body trembled, pressing his forehead against yours as he fought for control. 

“if you keep squeezing me like that,” he murmured, his voice husky and uneven, “i don’t think i can go slow.”

you swallowed hard, your walls fluttering around him at his words. “please… don’t,” you whispered, meeting his half-lidded gaze with your own. "i want to feel all of you." you tugged at his jacket, it being the only clothing left on between the two of you. you slipped your hands beneath the fabric, pushing his jacket off his shoulders before sliding it down his arms, letting it fall carelessly to the floor along with your clothes. you guided your hands on his chest, feeling every muscle he had. you were used to seeing caleb shirtless but tonight, it was in a different light that only increased your arousal. 

once he was halfway in, his breathing started to become heavy as he studied your face for any sign of discomfort. “alright..” he hums, his thumb stroked gentle circles on your hip. “but tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered.

your nails dug into his shoulders, your body desperate for more despite the slow burn. “keep going,” you urged, your voice breathless and cheeks flushed.

caleb let out a shuddered exhale before pushing deeper, groaning as he finally bottomed out inside you. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, overwhelmed by the warmth embracing him so perfectly. his body trembled to move at a pace that wouldn’t break you, despite the way your walls clenched around him. 

your moans became louder as caleb continues to fill you, his hair becoming a bird's nest under your fingers. “c-caleb..more” you bit your lip, scratch marks forming on his back the more you cling onto him. “hhhg…i need more” you pleaded. a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his restraint finally snapping as he began to move in a quicker pace, rocking into you with deep, measured thrusts that left you gasping.

caleb groaned against your lips before pulling away, his hands gripping your thighs as he adjusted his position, sliding his hands under your legs before lifting them onto his shoulders. the shift made you gasp, the deeper angle sending a shiver through your entire body. the perfect angle he knows to get you into a mess. he leaned forward, pressing your knees closer to your chest, trapping you beneath him. 

"c-caleb—" you choked out as he pushed back in, deeper than before, the sensation overwhelming his grip on your thighs tightened as he adjusted, his thrusts being so deep, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with precision. every roll of his hips that kissed your g-spot sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, your moans growing louder with each push and pull. 

caleb’s breathing was ragged, his control unraveling as he watched you writhe beneath him. "look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with admiration. "so beautiful like this..so perfect for me." he places a kiss on your calf. 

you reached for him, hands on his chest to gesture him to slow down. something was building up in your core. sounds of skin slapping filled the room. "i’m-..so cl..close caleb.." 

"i know," he cut in, voice strained as he instead quickened his pace, wanting your release to fall through for him and by him. "give it to me... please let me feel you.." 

with a final, deep thrust, he angled himself just right, sending you over the edge with a cry, your body tightening around him as a warm liquid gushed out of you. the liquid coated on caleb’s cock and inner thighs. witnessing this, caleb groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he came completely undone by the way you pulsed around him. his movements grew more erratic as he felt your walls clamp down around him. the grip on your thighs tightened, as he tried to hold himself together.

"good girl.." he panted, his mind still onto the sounds and the expressions of you coming undone before him. he continued thrusting, now chasing his high. after a while, caleb announces “i’m ugg.. gonna..” his body comes to a stop as he releases his seed inside of you, coating your walls.

the world around you both seemed to have stopped, nothing but the feeling of him filled your mind. caleb's weight sank into you as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

a small smile curled at your lips as you traced your fingers through his damp hair, feeling his body twitch slightly against yours. "that was…" you trailed off, still breathless, your mind hazy from the intensity of it all.

caleb let out a weak chuckle, pressing a soft kiss against your collarbone before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his purple-pinkish eyes, still heavy with satisfaction, softened as he took you in. "yeah," he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. "it was."

he slowly pulled out of you, making sure to be gentle as he settled beside you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. his hands roamed over your bare skin, his eyes full of adoration. caleb reached for the blanket, pulling it over you both, carefully covering you up as if protecting the moment, his moment. he held you close, his breathing still getting adjusted for his body to fit around yours. 

you cleared your throat, lifting your head to face him.

“hey,” you started softly, your voice a little unsure. “earlier… when i said i felt like i was behind, that I hadn’t had any of those firsts… i still feel that way sometimes. even now.”

caleb’s gaze softened, and he shifted, lifting his head to look down at you. his hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a quiet gesture. “you’re not behind, pipsqueak,” he murmured, tender now. “everyone’s timeline is different. and whatever you haven’t experienced yet? i’m not going anywhere. i’ll be right here, whenever you’re ready for all of it.”

a smile tugged at your lips, his words comforting you. “i know. i guess i just needed to hear that.”

caleb’s smile was soft, his eyes full of warmth. he pulled you closer, holding you a little tighter. “it’s not about what everyone else does or what they think. it’s about what feels right for you. don’t ever feel like you’re missing out, because with me… you’ll always have all the time you need.”

you let out a contented sigh, your hand resting on his chest. “thanks caleb,” you whispered. “i’m glad i have you here.”

he kissed the top of your head, his voice with reassurance. “i’ll always be here, pipsqueak.” you begun to doze off, leaving the memory of the night you and caleb in your head. he was right, this is all you’ll ever think about. “goodnight, pipsqueak,” caleb whispered softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. you didn’t have the energy to respond, the last of your thoughts dissolving into peaceful sleep.

caleb smiled down at you, his heart swelling with affection. his hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his gaze lingering on you with a tenderness that he had always felt for you before. you looked so peaceful, so content, and he could hardly believe you were in his arms, trusting and letting him help with one of your doubts could easily fill him for the rest of his life.

he watched you for a while, tracing the outline of your face with his eyes as you slept, aware of the way his heart beat faster with each passing second. with each second having him fall more and more in love with you. caleb smirked to himself, imagining the questions that would come once gideon finds you sleeping in caleb’s bed. he let out a contented sigh, looking down at your sleeping form. “let him ask. i won’t let out a peep” he muttered.

not that gideon would believe any excuse, anyway. caleb could say you had a nightmare, that you tripped and conveniently landed in his bed, or that aliens abducted every other available sleeping surface but gideon would just wag his eyebrows and call it bluffing.

whatever. let him talk. let him annoy the hell out of him. caleb didn’t care.

all that mattered was the pretty girl curled up in his arms, fast asleep because for the first time in a long time, caleb was exactly where he wanted to be. and nothing else mattered.

[stove-top96]

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

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

-🐈‍⬛

Please, Please, Please

Oneshot

Y Batfam x GN Reader

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

2.5K Words

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess we’re screwed than” they whisper.

You let out a small giggle “guess so”.

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

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

”Hey Y/n I got a question for you”

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

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

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

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

You smile “Sure sounds like fun”.

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

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

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

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

<Dick>

Hey baby bird, how were your classes?

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

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

I’ll be waiting outside

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

just you and me today!!

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

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

“Babybird I missed you so much!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah sounds like a plan” you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever you’re used to their overprotectiveness.

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

Bruce might even ground you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The family shares a look, silent but you noticed.

you pretend you didn’t.

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

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

It was the longest family dinner ever.

As the week drags on your family grows more intense.

It’s different this time.

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

But what?

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

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

It’s practically fool proof.

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

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

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

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

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

<y/n>

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

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

<Bruce>

Ok, Tim will wait for you.

Shit.

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

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

“Hey y/n you okay?”

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

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

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

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

You blink “What do you mean?”

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

Your heart pounds in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you felt free.

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

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

You chuckle “sorry I got excited”

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

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

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

You shake it off and hop into the seat.

+++

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

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

You shake your head and brush those thoughts away.

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

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

Any doubt you had washes away.

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

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

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

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

your stomach drops.

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

How did they know?

They make their way over to your table.

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

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

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

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

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

Before you walk out the door you glance back.

Parker is surrounded.

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

They look petrified.

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

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

You want to disappear forever.

Being grounded meant one thing.

You’ll never be alone again.

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

No one speaks.

No one listens.

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

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

Also 215 followers! Thank you!!!

[aspenmissing]

I'm so happy your requests are open again!! But I'm glad you closed them for a while since you get so many and write so much for each one.❤️❤️

Could I, pretty please with a cherry on top, request arcane characters (specifically viktor, jayce and steb, if you write for him if not that's ok) with a reader that's usually well spoken and composed, think before they act kind of person. But once they're comfortable and let their guard down, they start stuttering and stumbling over their words because their mind is quicker than their mouth, and they keep getting frustrated because they can't say what they want. Kind of like an autistic person automatically unmasking when they're around someone that makes them feel safe, but they weren't planning on unmasking so they're frustrating with themselves.

Hopefully, I managed to explain what I mean😅, please do take your time. You can write it whenever.❤️❤️

~🍒

ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜ���ꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ? || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5306 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ! ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛʟʏ! ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴛᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ! ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴀᴍʙʟɪɴɢ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ?

JAYCE

Piltover adored control. It thrived on meticulous planning, on rules and order, on minds that could bend chaos into something neat and palatable. You had spent your entire life mastering that balance, shaping yourself into something sharp-edged and refined, a presence that commanded respect in every room you entered.

You had learned early that precision was power. People listened when you spoke, when every word was deliberate, calculated, and polished to perfection. You were the kind of person who could dismantle an argument before it was fully formed, who could read a room and adjust accordingly, who never let emotions cloud reason.

And then there was Jayce.

Jayce Talis, all boundless enthusiasm and effortless charm, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve and let his emotions lead him before logic ever caught up. He was brilliant, yes, but he was also reckless, a man of impulse and grand gestures. You should have found him insufferable.

Instead, you trusted him.

That was your first mistake.

And now, you were paying for it.

=

"Y/N?"

Jayce’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, low and filled with something dangerously close to concern. You blinked, refocusing, only to find him watching you intently. His head was tilted slightly, brows drawn together, his lips pressed into a soft frown.

"You okay?"

No. No, you were not okay.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as heat pricked at the back of your neck. Your mind was still racing, but your mouth had completely betrayed you.

You had been explaining something—a theory, something important, something that had been circling your brain all day like a restless storm. The words had been there, clear and coherent in your mind, but the moment you had let them out, they had tangled, tripped, collapsed into a jumbled mess of half-formed sentences and stammered syllables.

Jayce had been patient. He hadn't interrupted, hadn't tried to fill in the gaps. He had just waited, listening, giving you the space to get the words out.

But you hadn't been able to.

Your stomach twisted. You were used to control, to confidence, to certainty. But now—now your tongue felt heavy, your thoughts moved faster than your mouth, and the more you tried to push the words out, the more they refused to cooperate.

Why now?

Why him?

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding against your throat. You had spent years perfecting this—honing your speech into something unshakable. And yet, in the presence of Jayce fucking Talis, your brain had apparently decided to throw itself off a cliff.

“I— I was t-trying to say—” The words broke, stumbled over themselves, catching on your tongue like jagged stones. Your breath hitched. Your hands twitched. You could feel the frustration rising, tightening in your chest like a vice. “It’s— it’s not— ugh! It’s in my head, I j-just can’t—”

Your jaw snapped shut, teeth clenching hard enough to ache. The silence that followed was deafening.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You couldn't even look at him.

Jayce didn’t fill the silence.

He didn’t push, didn’t try to smooth over your faltering words, didn’t do anything except stand there, watching you with an expression that was far too soft.

That, more than anything, made something in you crack wide open.

“I’m s-sorry,” you muttered finally, jaw tight, frustration burning beneath your skin like wildfire. “I d-don’t— I d-don’t usually—”

Jayce smiled. Not the politician’s smile, not the confident smirk he wore for the world. This was different. Smaller. Softer. Real.

“I know,” he said simply.

You froze.

Your eyes snapped up to his, searching—for what? Mockery? Pity? Some kind of forced reassurance? Something that would justify the knot of shame twisting in your gut?

But there was none.

Jayce just knew.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs.

How long had he noticed? Had he always known? You had spent your entire life perfecting the mask, ensuring every word was polished before it ever left your lips. But somehow, without even trying, Jayce had seen through it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. "I mean, I figured. You’re always so careful with your words, but sometimes, when you get comfortable, you just... go."

His smile widened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. "It’s kinda cute."

Your brain completely short-circuited.

Cute?

You could have handled pity. Could have handled irritation or even indifference. But this? This stupid, easy, genuine affection?

Your stomach flipped violently. Heat crawled up your neck. You stared at him, wide-eyed, caught between mortification and something you didn’t quite have a name for.

Jayce shifted, suddenly uncertain. “Not that it’s bad! Or— or weird, or anything. It’s just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just mean, you don’t have to force it with me. However you talk, however you think—I want to hear it.”

Your throat tightened.

You had spent years forcing it, shaping yourself into something the world could understand, something presentable. You had never expected to find someone who didn’t mind the unfiltered version of you—who actually liked it.

The thought was terrifying.

The thought was freeing.

Your hands twitched again, but this time, it wasn’t out of frustration. Slowly, cautiously, you let yourself breathe.

Jayce grinned. "There it is."

You scowled, heat creeping up your neck. "Sh-shut up."

Jayce laughed, bright and easy, like you hadn’t just had a full-on existential crisis in front of him.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to rehearse what came next.

Maybe—just maybe—some things didn’t need perfect words.

Maybe you didn’t need them.

Not with him.

VIKTOR

The laboratory was quiet, save for the gentle hum of machinery and the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane against the floor. The scent of parchment, metal, and something faintly ozone-like filled the air, the ever-present signs of scientific discovery in motion. Y/N sat perched on a stool beside one of his many workbenches, her hands moving animatedly as she tried—emphasis on tried—to explain a theory she had been mulling over for weeks.

Usually, she was composed, articulate, the kind of person who measured each word before releasing it into the world. A person who never spoke without intention. A person whose thoughts were always carefully curated before they left her lips.

But that version of her had been left behind the moment she grew comfortable in Viktor’s presence.

Now, words tumbled from her lips in an erratic cascade, her thoughts outrunning her tongue like a stampede she had no hope of controlling.

“So—so, if you, um, if you factor in the—the—ugh, the—okay, okay, wait—if you consider the way—ugh, no, that’s not—” She groaned, gripping her hair in frustration as she tried to catch up with herself. “Okay, what I’m trying to say is that—oh, never mind.” She threw her hands in the air and slumped forward, practically melting onto the workbench.

Viktor chuckled softly, the sound warm and indulgent, like he was enjoying a particularly amusing scientific observation. “You were doing quite well. Please, continue.”

Y/N shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it, only the kind of irritation reserved for someone she trusted not to judge her. “I was not doing well.”

“On the contrary,” he said, leaning slightly against his cane, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “I quite enjoy watching you speak when you are truly invested. It is… animated.”

She let out a dramatic groan and buried her face in her hands. “It’s infuriating is what it is. My brain is working faster than my mouth can keep up, and now I sound like an idiot.”

He hummed, a small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Ah, but I think it is quite endearing.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His smirk widened, and he tapped his cane lightly against the floor. “Just a little.”

Her groan was muffled against her palms, and Viktor chuckled again, watching her with the same quiet, unshaken patience he always had. She never had to apologize for her words with him, never had to fear looking foolish. He listened, even when she made no sense, even when she grew frustrated with herself. And worst of all, she knew he wasn’t just humouring her—he actually liked watching her get lost in her own excitement.

“Would it help,” he mused, “if I attempted to guess what you are trying to say?”

She peeked at him again, skepticism written all over her face. “…What, like a game?”

“Of sorts.” He tilted his head, his grin taking on a teasing edge. “Let us see if I can translate your brilliance before you become too flustered.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips now. “Alright, genius, give it a try.”

Viktor straightened, adopting a faux-serious expression. “You were trying to explain a new variable in your experiment, something that has been overlooked in traditional calculations. However, the implications are complex, and you are frustrated because you want to articulate the exact significance without losing momentum.”

Y/N blinked at him. Then blinked again.

“…Damn it,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “That was almost exactly what I was trying to say.”

Viktor’s grin turned victorious. “I will take that as a win.”

She huffed but couldn’t stop the warmth from creeping up her neck. Despite her frustration, there was something undeniably comforting about the way Viktor simply listened, the way he never seemed annoyed by her occasional verbal trainwrecks. If anything, he found them charming.

And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t mind that so much.

JAYVIK

The Piltover gala was as extravagant as ever—glittering chandeliers, golden champagne, and an overwhelming crowd of scholars, council members, and socialites who seemed more interested in flaunting their wealth than discussing anything of substance. You had attended these events countless times before, always maintaining your polished demeanor. Your words were measured, your posture poised, and your mask of composure carefully crafted.

At least, until you got comfortable.

The night had started smoothly. You moved through the crowd effortlessly, engaging in discussions on politics, technology, and academia with the same ease as a seasoned diplomat. It wasn’t that you were pretending to be someone you weren’t—you were intelligent, well-spoken, and composed. It was just that keeping your thoughts neatly packaged and your speech precise required effort.

And then, a group of scholars approached, intrigued by your involvement in the latest Hextech advancements. The conversation drifted toward the complexities of stabilizing arcane energy in compact devices—an area of research that you had poured your heart and soul into. Excitement sparked in your chest. You leaned in slightly, eager to share your thoughts.

That was when everything began to fall apart.

“Well, uh, s-so, the—the thing about Hextech, right, is that it’s—um, it’s volatile, but not—uh—ugh, no, I mean—so, like, if you—okay, okay, let me—” You gestured wildly with your hands, words tripping over themselves in a desperate attempt to keep up with your thoughts.

The scholars exchanged puzzled glances. One man furrowed his brows. “I’m… sorry, what exactly are you saying?”

Embarrassment hit you like a freight train. Your stomach twisted, and frustration burned at the back of your throat. You knew the answer. It was so clear in your head. But the words wouldn’t come out the way you wanted them to.

And then—

“She means,” Viktor’s voice cut through the awkward silence, smooth as silk, “that the instability of raw energy makes miniaturization particularly challenging. The frequency shifts unpredictably, which is why traditional containment methods fail.”

You blinked as he appeared beside you, leaning lightly on his cane. His amber eyes held amusement, but his tone carried an unmistakable warmth, as if he found your struggle endearing rather than embarrassing.

“Exactly,” Jayce added, stepping up on your other side. Ever the charismatic presence, he offered the group an easy grin, effortlessly slipping into the conversation. “That’s why we’ve been experimenting with precision-tuned matrices. We’re trying to stabilize the fluctuations instead of suppressing them.”

Relief flooded your system. The scholars’ expressions shifted from confusion to comprehension, nodding along as Jayce and Viktor elaborated on your idea with the same excitement you had intended to convey.

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, but the residual embarrassment still prickled at the edges of your composure. You turned your face toward Viktor and Jayce, lowering your voice so only they could hear.

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling warm and a little sheepish.

Viktor’s lips curled into a smirk. “No need to thank us, můj drahý,” he murmured, his voice teasing but undeniably fond. “It’s rather charming, watching you get flustered.” (My Dear)

Jayce chuckled, reaching over to brush a thumb across your cheek in an affectionate gesture. “Yeah, you should let loose more often,” he mused, his grin widening. “You’re kinda cute when your brain short-circuits.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “I hate you both.”

Viktor tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming mischievously. “Oh? Then perhaps we should let you fend for yourself next time?”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his in horror. “Don’t you dare.”

Jayce laughed, sliding a warm, strong arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Relax,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ve got you.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle before reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

With them beside you, the night didn’t seem so unbearable anymore.

VANDER

Vander always admired the way you carried yourself. Composed, measured, deliberate. A mind as sharp as a dagger, words chosen like the perfect hand in a game of cards. It was part of what drew him to you. In a place like Zaun, where chaos ruled and emotions ran hot, you were a steady presence—unflappable, always thinking before speaking, always in control.

That was, of course, until you let your guard down.

He’d noticed it the first time you'd lingered in the bar after hours, long after the usual crowd had stumbled home. A few drinks in, boots kicked up, letting yourself relax for once—and suddenly, words tangled on your tongue, tripping over themselves in their rush to be spoken. You’d furrowed your brows, lips pressing together in frustration, trying to force them into order. It had been endearing, to say the least.

And, apparently, the kids had noticed too.

Now it was a game.

=

"Come on, just one little ramble," Vi grinned, perched on the counter of The Last Drop, arms crossed with a knowing look. "Tell us about, I dunno, the history of Piltover’s trade routes or something."

You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real heat. "I—That’s not—"

"Or maybe about how different alchemical components react to heat," Mylo chimed in, a wicked smirk on his face.

Claggor, the more merciful of the bunch, just shook his head, though even he was biting back a chuckle.

You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself. "I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t—"

"You sure? You’re already hesitating." Vi dangled her legs over the edge of the counter. "Bet you can’t explain somethin’ real fast without trippin’ over yourself."

You narrowed your eyes. "I—"

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. You had the words in your head—so many of them—but as soon as you tried to get them out, they jammed up in your throat, stumbling over each other like a pileup in the middle of the bridge.

Your jaw clenched.

Vander chuckled from his spot behind the bar, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that amused, knowing smile.

"Don’t encourage them," you huffed, turning to him with exasperation. "They—They’re doing this on purpose!"

"Oh, I know." His grin deepened. "But I gotta admit, it’s kinda adorable."

Your face burned. "It’s—it’s not adorable, it’s—frustrating!" Your hands clenched at your sides as you tried to string together a proper retort, but the words kept getting away from you. "Infuriating!"

Vi and Mylo were grinning ear to ear, fully enjoying the spectacle.

Vander, on the other hand, just walked over, resting a heavy, warm hand on your shoulder. His touch was grounding, like solid stone beneath unsteady feet. "Take your time, love," he murmured, voice low and warm, meant just for you. "Ain’t a race."

You exhaled, closing your eyes for a moment, letting his presence settle you.

The kids, of course, weren’t satisfied with that.

"You should’ve seen her the other day," Vi snickered. "She was tryin’ to tell Benzo about some new Piltie security measures and nearly short-circuited. Just—" she waved her hands dramatically— "total breakdown."

You groaned. "Vi."

"And you get all fidgety, too," Mylo added, grinning. "Like your hands try to talk for you when your mouth can’t keep up."

"Probably ‘cause she’s gotta keep up with that big ol’ brain of hers," Claggor said, nudging you gently. "Nothing wrong with that."

That earned him a little glare from Mylo, but you—despite your frustration—sighed and relaxed slightly.

Vander gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting his hand fall away. "You don’t gotta be perfect all the time," he murmured. "We like you just fine the way you are—even when you trip over yourself."

You huffed. "You say that, but—"

"But nothin’," he interrupted, tipping his head slightly. "Ain’t gotta have every word come out polished. Sometimes the best ones don’t."

You glanced at him, and despite yourself, your heart softened. Damn him and his easy way of making you feel seen.

Vi, of course, ruined the moment.

"Bet if Vander asked you somethin’ real nice, you’d really start stuttering," she teased.

Your stomach flipped. "I—That’s—"

And, as expected, the words tangled up all over again.

Vander laughed, and this time, even you couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing a hand over your face in resignation.

The kids cheered in victory.

SILCO

Silco had always admired your composure.

In a world teeming with chaos and deception, you were a rare creature—one who wielded words like a scalpel, precise and measured. Whether negotiating with smugglers or diffusing tension in The Last Drop, your speech was always deliberate, your tone unwavering. It was something that set you apart, something that made you invaluable.

And then there were moments like these.

Moments when your guard slipped. When the walls you so carefully constructed crumbled, not from fear or anger, but from something far more dangerous—comfort.

Sitting across from him in his office, with a tumbler of whiskey half-forgotten at your side, you were completely at ease. It was a rare sight, one he relished. The tension that usually sat in your shoulders had eased, and for once, you weren’t calculating your every word before speaking.

Which meant—

“I j-just—ugh, no, wait, I—wh—wha—”

Silco watched with a bemused smirk as you stumbled over your words, frustration flickering across your face as your mind outpaced your tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap, gripping at fabric as if that might help slow your thoughts down enough to articulate them properly.

A lesser man might have laughed. Might have teased you for the stammer that had replaced your usual eloquence. But Silco was not a lesser man.

Instead, he simply raised a brow. “Having trouble, my dear?”

Your lips pressed into a firm line, cheeks heating in frustration. “I—I know what I want to s-say, it just—” You huffed sharply, shaking your head. “It won’t come out right.”

Silco hummed, swirling his whiskey before taking a slow sip. He let the silence settle, his gaze steady, patient. “I don’t mind.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, uncertain. “Y-you don’t?”

“If I wanted idle chatter, I wouldn’t have chosen you.” He leaned forward, placing his glass down with a soft clink. “Your words have always mattered. Stammer or not.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Silco never wasted words, and he certainly never offered empty reassurances.

Something in your chest warmed.

But of course, peace never lasted long in Zaun.

=

The room was dimly lit, thick with the scent of smoke and whiskey. Shadows clung to the corners, pooling in the cracks of the old wooden walls. A lantern flickered overhead, its dull glow barely penetrating the haze. The air was heavy, tense with the weight of yet another exhausting supplier meeting—one of many that drained your patience. You preferred efficiency, precision, but men like Varn made that impossible.

Varn was one of Silco’s smugglers, a man who carried himself with the kind of arrogance only emboldened by ignorance. He had been droning on about the Enforcers, about how difficult it had become to slip shipments past their patrols. Complaints, excuses—never solutions. You listened, expression unreadable, even as irritation prickled at your composure.

Still, you remained poised. Even as frustration coiled tight in your chest, even as your thoughts outran your tongue, snagging your words before they could fully take shape.

“The—Th-the next s-shipment will—” You clenched your jaw, closing your eyes for half a second. Breathe. Focus. Try again.

“It will arrive t-tomorrow. Docks. Late.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Varn scoffed. He leaned back in his chair, his smirk carved deep with mockery. “Didn’t realize Silco was hiring broken records now.” He tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythmic pattern. “Maybe if we give you a minute, you’ll get through the whole sentence, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap.

Not because they were the worst you had ever heard. Not because they were new. But because he said them here.

In Silco’s domain.

The air shifted.

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. It slithered between the bodies at the table, curling around throats like an unseen noose. The temperature hadn’t changed, yet a cold dread settled in your stomach.

Because Silco was watching him now.

He had not moved, had not even spoken. But the weight of his gaze was enough to send a chill down your spine. His fingers traced the rim of his glass in slow, deliberate circles, the rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the simmering menace behind his mismatched eyes.

Varn, still oblivious to the razor-thin ice he had stepped onto, chuckled. He expected others to join in.

No one did.

Silco’s voice cut through the silence like a blade slipping through silk.

“Broken record?”

Varn hesitated, his bravado flickering. “I—I only meant—”

Silco stood.

It was an unhurried motion, almost lazy, yet it sent a ripple of unease through the room. He didn’t need to rush. The sheer gravity of his presence filled the space, a silent warning wrapped in elegance.

“You talk too much, Varn.” His tone was smooth, deceptively calm. “And yet, somehow, you still say nothing of value.”

Varn swallowed. The confidence that had bloomed so easily in his voice a moment ago had withered under Silco’s scrutiny. “I didn’t mean any offense, boss.”

Silco exhaled slowly, tilting his head as though examining a specimen under glass. “Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?” He took a measured step forward. “You didn’t think.” Another step. “Didn’t stop to consider the weight of your words.”

Varn flinched as Silco came to a halt beside him, his hand resting lightly on the back of the chair, fingers idly drumming against the wood.

“You see,” Silco murmured, leaning down so his lips hovered near Varn’s ear, “I detest people who waste my time.”

The room was still. Deathly still.

“Do you know why I keep her by my side, Varn?” His voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it sliced through the air with precision.

Varn’s breath hitched.

Silco let the question linger, then turned his gaze toward you. Something flickered in his expression—something softer, something almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

“Because every word she says matters,” he continued, voice smooth as glass. “She does not waste them on arrogance, nor on fools.”

The message was clear.

Varn was a fool.

And Silco had no use for fools.

Without hesitation, Silco retrieved the knife from his coat pocket. He did not flourish it, did not draw attention to it. He didn’t need to. The soft glint of steel against the dim light spoke loudly enough.

Varn stiffened as the cold tip pressed just under his chin, tilting his head up ever so slightly. His pulse jumped beneath the blade’s edge.

“If you ever speak of her that way again,” Silco murmured, voice silk over steel, “I’ll make sure the only sounds you’re capable of are whimpers.”

Varn’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched into fists on his lap, as if fighting the urge to tremble.

Silco leaned in closer. “And those who whimper in my presence,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “don’t last long.”

A moment stretched—sickening, suffocating.

Then, just as smoothly as it had appeared, the knife vanished. Silco straightened, slipping it away with practiced ease.

“Get out,” he said coolly.

Varn bolted.

The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the distant echoes of his hurried footsteps. The silence that followed was deafening, your own heartbeat the only sound pounding in your ears.

Silco settled back into his chair as though nothing had happened, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a measured sip.

He glanced at you, an amused glint dancing in his gaze. “Something on your mind?”

You swallowed, still processing what had just transpired. “I think...” You inhaled sharply, pressing your lips together before continuing again. “You just scared the stutter out of me.”

Silco smirked, the corner of his mouth curling in something almost affectionate. “A pity.” He leaned back, exhaling contentedly. “I was rather fond of it.”

Your cheeks burned, though this time, frustration had nothing to do with it.

STEB

The cobblestone streets of Piltover stretched ahead, glistening under the dim glow of the hextech lamps. The city was quiet at this hour, a far cry from the usual midday bustle of merchants, students, and enforcers barking orders at troublemakers. Now, only the occasional carriage rattled over the stones, the faint hum of distant machinery threading through the silence.

A quiet evening patrol—just another night of keeping order.

Y/N walked beside Steb, hands tucked neatly behind her back, each step measured, uniform pristine. Composure was something she valued, something she cultivated. Every action was deliberate. Every word carefully chosen. In a city like Piltover, where reputation carried more weight than gold, she refused to be anything less than precise.

But somewhere along the way, she had grown comfortable.

And comfort, she was learning, came with its own set of problems.

Because comfort made her talk.

And once she started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“…and it’s just, you know, ridiculous that the new regulations say we need approval for every hextech enhancement when—no, actually, it’s not ridiculous, I get the safety measures, but—I mean, does it really make sense to lump minor repairs in with full-scale augmentations? Like, say you have a gauntlet with a minor power fluctuation—”

Her words tripped over each other like a pile of toppled playing cards. She exhaled sharply, trying to recalibrate, but the second she opened her mouth again—

“—and, and it’s like, I get it, okay, regulation is important, but if we’re—ugh, damn it—if we’re patrolling and need—ugh—if we need to—gah—words!”

She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her temples as if she could physically force her brain and mouth to work together.

Steb, who had been walking beside her in comfortable silence, turned his head slightly.

His eyes flickered over her face, unreadable, calm. He had the kind of quiet presence that never demanded space but occupied it effortlessly. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was never more than necessary. A sharp contrast to her current mess.

Y/N let out a defeated sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. “I swear I’m not an idiot.”

A pause. Then—

“…It’s okay.”

Two words. Simple. Steady. But there was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just an automatic reassurance, like he meant it.

When she finally forced herself to look at him, he was already gazing ahead, his usual neutral expression softened by the faintest curl of a smile. Not mocking. Not pitying. Just… there. Steady.

And that was somehow worse.

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, and she hastily turned her face away, rubbing at her temple as if that could chase away the heat creeping up her neck.

“…Yeah,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “I know.”

They kept walking.

She tried to keep her mouth shut. She really did. But silence felt so much heavier now. And despite her frustration, despite the way her brain constantly outran her mouth, she didn’t mind talking to Steb. It wasn’t like talking to anyone else—there was no pressure to fill the quiet, no expectation of a response.

So before she could stop herself—before she could consider if it was wise—her lips parted again.

“Y-you—” She winced at the stumble, frustration already bubbling up again. “Ugh, damn it—you never talk much, huh?”

Steb didn’t react right away. He simply existed beside her, steps never faltering, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Then, after a long beat—

“…No.”

Y/N huffed out a small, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I, uh—I noticed.”

Silence stretched between them once more, but this time, it was lighter.

She fiddled with the cuff of her uniform sleeve, suddenly hyperaware of how unraveled she sounded. How her tongue kept tripping over itself. She never did this with anyone else.

Just him.

Why just him?

“You, uh…” She swallowed. “You ever get frustrated when you do talk?”

He didn’t answer right away, but she could feel him considering it.

Finally—

“…No.”

She blinked up at him.

His eyes, though still their usual blank, unreadable dark, held a flicker of quiet amusement.

“Oh, well, good for you, then,” she grumbled, dragging a hand down her face. “Meanwhile, I sound like I got into a bar fight with the alphabet.”

Steb exhaled—a sound that wasn’t quite a chuckle but was close enough.

She turned to glare at him. “You think that’s funny, don’t you?”

A pause. Then, a small nod.

“…You’re the worst,” she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

They kept walking.

=

The city was quiet, but her mind wasn’t. It was racing—jumping from one thought to another, desperate to form a coherent sentence before it got tangled up again.

Instead, what slipped out was—

“We make a good team, huh?”

Steb glanced at her, tilting his head slightly in silent question.

“I mean—” She waved vaguely between them. “Someone who talks too much, someone who barely talks at all. Kinda funny, don’t you think?”

Another long pause. His expression didn’t change, but she could tell he was thinking about it.

Then, in that same steady, measured voice—

“…Yeah.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest easing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steb didn’t say anything, but his lips twitched—just a fraction, just enough for her to know it was there.

She decided she liked it.

And though she still stumbled over her words, still fought with her own tongue, she didn’t feel so bad about it anymore.

Request Answer Continue: My dear Cherry, I hope you enjoyed the Steb! And no need to apologise! I am willing to write for characters one off! And from what I've read about Steb, he may or may not talk, so I went with the headcanon where he does talk, but barely. So I do hope it's alright! <3

[theyluvivi]

crybaby by sza...༊*·˚ c.s

You've been sulking all day. Well, all week. You've been trying so hard to keep your mood up, to act like whenever you go out, you don't spend the time counting how many seconds until you can snuggle up in Chris's bed again.

He's noticed it, too. The fake smiles, the way you keep to yourself. He's started to watch you more. Maybe you're not as good at hiding your feelings as you thought.

You're in Chris's bed, in his hoodie that practically drowns you, covers wrapped around you as you desperately try to read a book that's been collecting dust on your shelf for months to distract yourself from how shitty you feel.

You've read the same page over and over again, missing new things each time. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood—This can't be what makes you come tumbling down. But, you can't stop adjusting the way you're holding your book. You can't stop feeling like Chris yelling at Matt through a screen is the most overstimulating you've ever experienced. Can't stop yourself from tears starting to blur your vision.

And God, you're so happy that Chris is so immersed in his game of Fornite that he can't hear you crying.

Chris slowly turns around in his chair, taking his headphones off his right ear. "Baby... are you crying?" You shake your head, wiping roughly at your face. "Are you okay?" He asks, tilting his head at you and fully taking his headphones off.

That's it. The cue for everything you've held in the past week to come pouring out. Chris gets closer as your sobs get louder. "Holy shit— I'm sorry, princess, did I do something—?"

You shake your head again, choking on a sob. "No! No— I- it's just been a really rough week—" He pulls you into a tight hug, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You melt into him, his warm embrace making you cry more. It's something you've needed for so long, but were afraid to ask for. "No...just.......this, please." You murmur into his chest, "Shhh, I got you, princess I got you."

"We can stay like this for as long as you need to."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @elysianpearls @courta13

a/n: this is all i need rn... m so bummed out

[rueharley]

"It's not In my nature to"

Rafe cameron x Reader girlfriend

Where Reader and Rafe cameron get into an argument over why reader has been distant. Mostly for me to just vent out; things have been tough lately.

+ make up (I promise it's a happy ending)

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

"Baby, talk to me," Rafe said with a tone influenced with a hidden plea. His eyes were trained onto me like a sniper, watching for any break, any hint of me opening up to him.

"I don't want to talk," I retort simply, my gaze falling anywhere but between the two sofas we were on.

My shoulders felt tense, no matter me trying to remain calm. Although I felt my throat being tight, I restrained myself from clenching my jaw, the gesture so easily being misunderstood as contempt.

He leaned back on the sofa and huffed, "of course" he mumbled, his voice bordered on anger, this was a point that wasn't lost on me.

I find anger unbearable and terrifying, yet clearly not enough to pull me from my old bad habits.

He looked across to me, i could almost see him as he considered if he should push me or not.

His icy blue eyes flickered across my face, analysing what the hell was wrong with my and why I was always so defensive.

I exhaled slowly, I felt this deep undercurrent of shame, of disgust with myself.

He, of course, was right. I should confide in him, talk to him, speak to him, say something to him. Regardless of the irrational, morbid, or even absurd concerns of mine, I shouldn't be hiding from him like this.

This is a default defence of mine - It is destructive.

"Can you give me some idea on what's wrong?" he spoke pulling me from my thoughts.

His voice was still filled with annoyance but he tried to keep reasonable, and I was grateful for that.

I ran through all the thoughts in my head. Give him something, anything, just try.

"is it.. Your family? Did something happen with them?" he spoke tentatively, trying to encourage me.

I shook my head, the simple act of speaking was now something that felt impossible. How can emotions manage to disable your most practiced actions so competently?

"Your friends..?" his words assaulted the air and I could only feel bad for making him guess.

He shouldn't have to guess what was wrong, the whole reason I didn't tell him because I think I'm being sensitive. It's not a secret, just something I wanted to blow over.

A moment of silence passed as he contemplated continued questioning. It's strange how well we read each other, yet sometimes we can't reach each other at all.

He sighed softly, he knew by my little reaction that my response was a no.

"is it.. Me? Did I do something?" he said with an almost unnoticed increase of frustration. His eyes watched me a bit closer, I wondered if he already knew.

It didn't even cross my mind to verbalise agreement. Yet in my mind the words 'yes' were speaking.

A tactical pause enveloped the room, a tactical pause or a hesitant falter - I'm ignorant to the difference.

I nodded so delicately, as if my agreement could cause an entire war from the simple gesture.

The ticking clock on the wall was mocking us. Mocking our inability to be as readable and consistent as it was. But this is a bit of a random and unnecessary thought.

His gaze focused and I felt the room's atmosphere intensify. I think I just confused the hell out of him while simultaneously giving him the relief of something close to an answer.

"I did something?" his voice was lower and genuinely curious, "what did I do, baby?"

I watched his bewildered face, it made me feel a pang of guilt. This was the whole reason I never wanted to tell him in the first place.

I looked to my hands, I was now rethinking everything I felt, gushing with guilt or was it remorse, I'm not sure what the difference is.

I need to speak, I have to speak.

I can feel him waiting to hear me and for some reason it feels like a climax to an undefinable end.

What is it that I'm overthinking, I havnt even said a word yet.

But that's the thing; words are unbearable. Who gave humans the ability to speak, yet be misunderstood with a strange sense of eagerness. Words hold no solace, they simply lack the inbetweens that might articulate my feelings.

Maybe there are not enough words to describe what is happening to me - or maybe I was never supposed to try.

I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts, Rafes gaze was still on me and he knew I was thinking about the exact thing he did.

"it is something you did"

My words were like a storm and the silence that followed were like a palpitation.

His expression hardened as I confirmed that the source of the issue was him.

I knew that if looks could speak, ours would be screaming at each other in multiple languages. Not angrily, just because at times we can both be very expressive people.

He could read in my pretty bland expression that I wasn't going to go any further into this. Admitting it was him at the root of it was an achievement in itself.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration and concern sat precariously on his handsome features.

I loved him so much.

He leans forward, closing some of the distance between us. His eyes were focused with a hint of determination.

"Can you at least let me know what it is that I did?" he spoke lowly and carefully. He was really trying to understand this confusing rift between us.

"No.." I say quietly, speaking a bit quicker than I wanted to and instantly regretting it. That was my best opportunity to open up and I lost it with my own stubbornness.

A flicker of anger met his face. His icy gaze, not colder, but deeper, as if challenged by the extent of his own emotions.

"You won't even tell me? Why are you being so damn frustrating..?"

Without missing a beat from his harsher reply I replied

"You were the one trying to get it out of me when I didn't want to say anything." my tone wasn't too harsh, I never could be too harsh with him, but it definitely carried some heat.

Rafe scoffed as he looked away for a moment. His gaze remained in the distance, he was trying to calm himself.

The slow realisation that seems to be felt simultaneously during arguing came into the room. A mutual recognising that we do love each other, that arguing is kinda stupid.

"You're not making this very easy" he spoke gently, his gaze still away.

"It's not In my nature to" I replied, ensuring that silence wouldn't have arrested the room.

His unintentionally intense gaze came back to me.

It was so open it was almost alarming, so I looked to him with that same, surrendering agreement.

"what did I do, baby?" he spoke, his words lacking bite or challenge. His eyes were softer but focused, in no universe would I feel fonder of something.

I inhaled deeply and decided to bite the bullet. Face it. I loved him and love makes you have to do hard things.

"I'm just a bit.. Scared.." I began to say, my words delicate, my words precise, and with a little too much thought.

"Come here, baby," Rafe practically whispered as he tapped the sofa besides him.

I moved to besides him, the soft feeling of comfort meeting my body from his simple gesture.

I sat besides him and he rests his hand on my thigh.

I was sat close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"why are you scared, baby?" he asks quietly, his gaze ducking to stay on mine.

"I just.. I realised how serious this relationship is now.. That we are tied, like that" I say, crossing my fingers following the gesture of two souls intertwined.

I noticed how a flicker of confusion met with his eyes, yet he remained quiet to let me speak.

"I'm scared because I realised this is headed one way and that this is a serious, long term relationship" I spoke, a bit more confidently now.

"baby.." he bagan to reply, his gaze flickering off as he collected his words. "so you've been off and distant lately.. Because of a good thing..?"

"well 'good thing' is all about perspective.." my voice trailed slightly.

"no, baby," he cut me off, his tone a bit harsher, "it is not a bad thing. This relationship is a good thing, it's precious to us both, so you'll be fine,"

"but-"

"No, this isn't something you get upset over. Don't get upset over good things," He said his tone lightening to his more usual confident tone.

I sighed, not convinced.

He moved closer to me and held the side of my neck with his hand. His eyes watched me with their usual fondness and ease.

"my pretty girl" he murmurs.

I smiled slightly under his gaze, his words sounded so beautiful.

"I've always gotta keep an eye on your thoughts, huh"

I tutted at his choice of words, however, he did aways have a way to deal with my anxieties. He often just denied them and kept reminding me of reality, and when it's coming from him it seems to work.

He moved closer, his hot breath fluttered over my skin.

"pretty, Gorgeous, baby.. Mine, my baby," he murmers, almost inaudible.

It made my heart beat a bit quicker hearing him speak like that.

He quickly moved closer pushing his lips on to mine. He kissed me with passion and desire, somehow it blocked out all my thoughts.

He continued to kiss me, our lips moving against each others desperately.

I pushed against the kiss wanting more, yet he pulled away, much to my dismay.

I huffed out in protest.

"need to know you'll talk to me about this stuff in the future, baby," he says quietly resting his forehead against mine.

I nodded in response, as agreement.

"yeah?" he says wanting me to copy him for a verbal reply. His eyes bored into mine.

"yeah." I reply with promise.

"good girl, I love you, my baby," he says moving and kissing me lightly on the forehead.

"I love you too"

[coldsaturn]

hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Oh boy, I am ready for the angst *rubs hands* and the dancing!!

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

First I want to say that I am here for the reader rifling through Michael's drawers, YES girl, channel Daphne for Dean!! But I really love this little bit here because of the way you described Michael's gaze on her. Yes, we hate Michael... but goodness it was such a wonderful poetic line and all I want is that 😭

Also I love the little detail of Dean going out with a girl named Vanessa and especially the part where he thinks that she would:

"twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn't really remember much of what she said..."

It's so good because my mind immediately shot to the idea that Dean is already subconsciously comparing the women/girls he's going out with to the reader. And on the inside I was doing this:

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.” “Oh, I’m distracting?” You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him. It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

The boys running into the reader at the club was so wonderful, and there's really something beautiful about the way you build the scene with the dancing, the drinking, the people playing cards, and the description of the outfit the reader wore is stunning! I love the dark lipstick, dress, hat combo that shields her face is just everything I want- but above all, I really loved the banter you had between the reader and Dean.

The give and take with the dialogue is beautiful. This piece especially, because I literally needed to take a moment after reading it and the way Dean looked at the reader. 👀

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine. “Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

Oh my word IT'S HAPPENING!!! The tension! 😱

Also, I'm a complete sucker for a dance scene. I've written them a few times, and there's something so magical and intimate about them. You wrote this one between Dean and the reader so beautifully, because you made it filled with attraction, but you also made it a little melancholy when the reader is remembering a part of her life when she was happy in her marriage. The almost kiss is KILLING me lol

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said. It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression. Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.” Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

Alright, it's official Alex my soul has left my body. It's been nice knowing you 🤣 I knew this would happen someday when I read one of your fics lol

Ohhh my word this chapter was so good! The historical fiction vibes are just so impeccable, and the entire scene with the reader and Dean in the club is going to live rent free in my head the rest of the year! Cannot wait to revive and read the next chapter lol!! 💗

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

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[100vern]

how to cancel your faustian bargain | wjh

FAUSTIAN BARGAIN 🔥 a pact whereby a person trades something of supreme moral or spiritual importance, such as personal values or the soul, for some worldly or material benefit, such as knowledge, power, or riches. faustian bargains are by their nature tragic or self-defeating for the person who makes them, because what is surrendered is ultimately far more valuable than what is obtained.

pairing: attorney!junhui x devil!reader genre: (very lite) enemies to lovers, lawyer au; crack, fluff, smut summary: as the devil, you’re more than happy to grant favors in exchange for someone’s soul, and you’re known for having the most iron-clad contracts around. which is why wen junhui—the scene’s newest contract attorney hell-bent on returning all those souls you’ve acquired—is really starting to piss you off. rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: member pov, reader is thee devil so needless to say there is a bunch of religious themes and topics here (as a person whose roman-catholic grandfather temporarily disowned her for stopping ccd classes i am qualified to write this dw), jihan as literal devil's advocates, hoshi as a shit-stirring angel who wears questionable shirts, i am the opposite of jovan and do not know the law (especially hell law), i also blocked out most catholicism so don't take any of this for canon, god is genderless and the devil is a sympathetic character sue me, alcohol use, low self-esteem/self-doubt, open but optimistic ending. smut warnings: kissing, mentions of a handjob (actually a major plot point), an actual handjob, oral sex (both receiving), some scratching/marking and biting, jun kinda likes/yearns for pain but it's not a whole thing, light nipple play, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, everyone orgasms, jun is down bad. in general it's probably much softer than sex with the devil would usually be? wordcount: 22k credits: jess (@starlightkyeom) and bee (@imnotshua) for reading this along the way, beta'ing, and suggesting stupid hoshi shirts. mj (@kkaetnipjeon) and jade (@eoieopda) for helping me with law stuff. everyone in the c&e server who helped me along the way — i yapped so much about this fic that i cannot remember everyone. i am sorry but i love you. note: this somehow wound up being my longest oneshot to date. i don't know how and i still feel like there are parts not fleshed out enough, but big shoutout to my adderall for getting us here. wen junhui, you are a strange little man; i had a blast writing you. this was written for the don't hate, litigate! collab, hosted by @haologram. thank you so much for letting me participate!

The thing is, Wen Junhui is not really supposed to be here.

Not, like, literally here—sitting across from you, the literal devil, at your desk, ass burning a little because it’s really hot here and he is, admittedly, not used to the heat—but metaphorically. Big picture-ly. This is not how I envisioned my life turning out…ly.

The thing is, Wen Junhui barely made it through law school. Barely passed his licensing exam. Watched his classmates score prestigious internships and receive exclusive offers and network and schmooze and, he thought at the time, all but sell their soul to graduate with jaw-dropping salaries awaiting them and no debt.

And it fucking sucked watching that, because he was about to become a lawyer, sure, but he’d gotten scarlet fever as a kid, swore he was going to die, swore he saw not only the light but Jesus himself (his mother called this a delusion, still insists to this day the prodigal son did not travel all the way to Shenzhen to visit him), and decided if he survived he was going to dedicate his life to the church and become a priest.

(He only decided on law school after he got a little carried away with his high school girlfriend, received an honestly mid handjob that had him crying for three straight days and contemplating confession before he decided to take it to his grave, and he’d announced the next night at dinner, weighed down by an impressive amount of guilt and religious trauma, that he was just going to go to university and major in business or finance instead.)

Anyway. Turns out that whole selling their soul thing wasn’t a joke, and where others would’ve seen a loophole, Wen Junhui had seen an opportunity.

Because he didn’t have the grades. Didn’t have the family name or even the drive, because in another life he’s at least a deacon, so he had to do something. Had to think outside the box, get a little creative, carve out a niche for himself that none of his classmates would also be trying to occupy because he had student loans.

“How did you even get in here?” you ask, doing one of those really cool pen flips Jun has never figured out how to do. “A human hasn’t just strolled into my office in at least a millennia.”

Jun swallows, tries not to let show how nervous he is. “I, uh—I’m not sure? I sort of just… walked in, I guess.”

You blink. Study him for a while, eyes narrowed, before you make a small ah! sound and snap your fingers. What the heck? Jun can’t do that, either. “I know who you are now.”

“You do?”

“Mmhm, sure do. You were pretty famous around here for about thirteen seconds when you got that handjob and changed the trajectory of your own life forever. Some of the lower demons had bet money on you eventually becoming the Pope, so you can imagine their heartbreak… and the amount of coin they lost.” You click your tongue, return your attention to the scroll in front of you. “I kept telling them not to bet on that kind of stuff. Teenagers are wildly unpredictable, especially hormonal teenage boys. One of my finest creations, if I do say so myself.”

Not that he had any expectation of privacy here, but to say he’s mortified would be an understatement.

“Oh. That’s… really embarrassing.”

You nod, distracted as you press a large red button on your desk. “Yeah, I imagine for you it would be.”

Two men immediately materialize on each side of you. One is all cheekbones and sharp, calculating edges. Looks like the personification of mischief or perhaps temptation. After that handjob and the subsequent mourning period, Jun had come to really, really appreciate women, but he’s secure enough in his sexuality to acknowledge that the man in front of him—with his long, dark hair and lithe figure; his nonchalant, blasé attitude—is very attractive.

And the other one is no slouch, either. Has what Jun presumes is meant to be a friendlier disposition, a foil of the other man, good-cop-bad-cop, and they must be quite successful, he figures. Can’t imagine a world in which there’s anything that’d be denied to either of them.

Still, they’re well-acquainted with you, because they barely blink as you say, “Please say hello to our intruder,” with a frightening amount of bite.

The dark-haired one offers up a sleazy grin as he leans back against the wall. “Hello, intruder. Do you have a name?”

It’s a predictable question, and yet Jun still startles. Goes slack-jawed as he fixes his posture, sits straighter in his seat. Has the first syllable of his name sitting on the tip of his tongue when the other man sighs and gestures for Jun to stay quiet. “Don’t tell him your name. Better yet, don’t tell him anything, just pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“That’s rich coming from a person who chose to call themselves Joshua.”

Joshua pouts. “I thought there was something to be said for the irony.” A snort tumbles out of him, and Jun realizes that he is not the foil of the other man: he is, in fact, just as impish and rogue. “God is deliverance.” The dark-haired one does not react. “Aw, c’mon, it’s funny!”

“If you have to convince someone it’s funny, it probably is not so.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Alright, Jeonghan. As if you didn’t do the same thing.”

“At least when I strive to be ironic, it actually is humorous—”

With an exasperated sigh, you return your attention to Jun, who has suddenly found a fascinating piece of lint on his trousers. Pointedly does not make eye contact with you, because you had been intimidating and hellacious on your own—and, he’s a little flustered to admit, very attractive—but he’s extremely out of his element sitting across from the literal devil and two demons.

“So, Wen Junhui,” you say, tossing a pair of reading glasses onto your desk, “why are you here?”

(“Wen Junhui?” Joshua whispers to Jeonghan. “As in the Wen Junhui that got the handjob?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Jeonghan whispers back.)

And now it all feels a bit silly, because Jun had walked straight into Hell thinking he’d be able to… what, exactly? Strike up a friendly conversation? Start making demands? Cut a deal that didn’t include handing over his mortal soul?

Maybe the whole becoming a priest thing hadn’t worked out but he’d still learned a thing or two, and he remembers all the words used to describe you, your original purpose. Meant to reflect God’s glory, anointed, given the highest seat at the table. They’d blamed your downfall on pride, on vanity and violence, and Wen Junhui from Shenzhen, China, who once had scarlet fever and got a bad handjob, was a fool to come here and think he could go toe-to-toe with you.

Overcome with nerves, all he can do is laugh as he toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. Considers saying something like you’re gonna think this is so silly before he decides against it. You’ve been accused of having a sense of humor, but Jun can’t imagine this harebrained scheme of his would make the cut.

Still—he wouldn’t be where he is if the bad ideas sitting on his shoulder had kept quiet, and they’re still whispering to him now, reminding him how he wound up here to begin with: less fortunate than his classmates, less connected, looked over for all those internships and opportunities because he wasn’t born with the proper credentials. Those god-forsaken student loans. Desperation forced him to do this, and it’d be a real shame if he got this far only to give up at the last second, wouldn’t it?

So, he does what he did best all those years of law school: he fakes it.

“Let’s say I’m interested in… a partnership, of sorts.”

Jeonghan and Joshua share a look.

“Ah,” you reply, hands folded in front of you. “And what kind of partnership would that be?”

Let no man (or demon) ever accuse Wen Junhui of doing things half-assed, because he’s doing a concerning amount of oversharing and trauma-dumping before he can talk himself out of it. Spills all the highs and lows of his twenty-odd years, including his infamous handjob, much to Joshua and Jeonghan’s delight. They listen with rapt attention, elbowing one another as they gleefully press him for more details, and to their credit they only interrupt him once with lewd gestures before they’re slapping at and falling over one another with laughter.

He gets to his time in law school. Talks about feeling lapped by his classmates and all the advantages they’d been given, the benefits that weren’t on offer for someone like him: the oldest son of a piano teacher and a seamstress. Someone who showed up to class with a worn leather bag (repaired weekly by his mother) and secondhand books yellowing at the edges. Someone who spent his Friday nights and weekends holed up in his dorm room, not invited to parties and mixers.

“I had to do my first internship in personal injury,” he says, arms gesticulating wildly. “No one wanted those internships, and do you know why?” He pauses for dramatic effect. Jeonghan mimics a sound that sounds like game show countdown music. “Those pictures were gross.”

“Tragic,” you deadpan.

“It was,” Jun insists. He’s starting to feel fidgety. Has no idea how his plight is being received. “It wasn’t paid, either, and I had to take out student loans.”

Joshua beams. “Her second best invention.”

“What?” Jeonghan retorts, brows pinching in the middle. “No way, second-best is definitely cocaine—”

From you comes an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, and Jeonghan and Joshua immediately cease their bickering. You turn your attention to Jun, and if he’d been able to trick himself into thinking a glimmer of patience or good humor or—god forbid—genuine affection had been visible before, no such delusions are available now. Your face is stern, the pupils of your eyes reflecting flames behind him that don’t exist, and the corners of your mouth are tugged severely downward.

He swallows hard.

“Wen Junhui, get to the point. Your human skin is starting to stink up my office.”

Subtly, he tries to sneak a sniff of his armpit. It’s not mountain fresh, but he’s certainly smelled worse, and he thinks he deserves a little leeway as his body acclimates to such extreme temperatures. He then crosses one leg over the other, ankle on thigh, and leans forward on his elbows. Tries to project some—any—amount of authority and confidence as he says, “I need a niche. Something just for me; something none of my classmates are going after.”

“Because you’re unable to compete with them,” you tack on. Unnecessarily and rudely, in Jun’s opinion, but he nods anyway. Behind you, Jeonghan and Joshua are once again elbowing one another, giddy at Jun’s impending failure while desperately trying to keep their expressions neutral. “Let me guess: you want the same deal?” You begin rifling through a drawer in your desk. “I think I still have all those contracts around here somewhere, so I’m sure I can get you something similar, but if we’re being honest you’re worth a good bit more.”

Jun blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“What part are you having trouble with?” you ask, still sorting through files. Only the top of your head is visible over the ledge of your African blackwood desk.

No horns, Jun notes. He was so sure you were going to have horns.

“Er, both, to be honest. What do you mean I’m ‘worth more’?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before slamming his palms onto your desk, causing Jun to startle. Just for fun. “Hey, moron, were you not listening when she told you earlier that you were supposed to be the goddamn Pope?”

“You weren’t even here when she said that,” Jun mumbles, every bit the moron Jeonghan accused him of being, because it’s far easier than acknowledging… well, the entirety of that statement.

Does the Pope get a salary? If he does, surely it’s more than Jun’s making now—

“He doesn’t,” Joshua says. Then clarifies, “Get a salary. Just some coins. A woefully underpaid position, if you ask me, considering how many babies he has to kiss.” He shudders. “Disgusting! When you could just eat them instead!”

Aside from the whole eating babies thing, Jun can’t really disagree. Only a handful of coins for being in charge of all of Catholicism and having to know Latin? And having to live in Italy?

“Also,” Joshua continues, “it’s kind of our job to know everything that goes on down here, so we did, in fact, know she told you that you were supposed to be the Pope.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “And yet he became a lawyer. Imagine if Fibonacci had done the same—the eighth circle would be so boring.”

“Boniface,” Jun corrects him, immediately shutting trap at the look the three of you send his way. “He’s really in the eighth circle? I thought Dante just said that because he was upset about the exile.”

Upset is underselling it, Joshua mumbles. Looks like he wants to say more but has enough sense not to. Beside him, Jeonghan is once again rolling his eyes, growing more perturbed and borderline-homicidal in Jun’s proximity by the second.

Does he really smell that bad? Should he wear cologne next time? Is there a particular note those in the Underworld find appealing? Because Jun doesn’t mind tracking it down. He’s here on your turf asking for a favor, after all, so it’d be basic manners to smell nice and not stink up the place.

He’s about to ask when a booming sound of acknowledgement comes from you. A sly grin sits lopsided on your face as you toss a manila folder onto your desk, so thick a yellowing rubber band struggles to fit around it once. “This is you, Wen Junhui,” you say, pushing it closer to Jun.

All he can do is stare. Feels like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest, and he can’t pinpoint why, doesn’t know what’s got him so uneasy. He doesn’t have to look at it to know his entire life is in that file—perhaps even the before and the after. All the possibilities, all the could-have-beens. The consequences of him going right at the fork in the road instead of taking the left. Endless, and he finally realizes the boulder sitting on his chest is dread: existential variety.

“It’s, uh.” He licks at his lips. “It’s really big,” he finally says, feeling stupid and embarrassed at the way his voice trembles.

“Aish, this fucking kid,” Jeonghan grouses at the same time Joshua snickers and wonders aloud, “Do you think that’s what that girl said when he got the handjob?”

You press the red button again and Jeonghan and Joshua disappear without a word.

“Even in the lowest pits of Hell you must still suffer the displeasure of men,” you say, as if you’re imparting ancient wisdom upon Jun. “I must admit I’ve grown quite familiar with your file.”

“Manila,” Jun replies, also as if he’s being extremely wise. “Didn’t expect to see that around here.”

“Yes, well, the cheap ones are great for papercuts.” You pause and your demeanor grows serious, belying the importance of what you’re about to say. “You’re one of a select few, Wen Junhui. Not many files that come across my desk are this size.”

Pride swells in his chest, booting that existential boulder to the curb. “Oh,” he says, trying desperately to tamper down his excitement. “Yay!”

He does a little wiggle. Mortifying.

“Something you said earlier stuck out to me—something about certain things not being on offer for someone like you.” Your eyes meet Jun’s, and it suddenly feels like he’s been catapulted off the edge of the world. “I don’t think you realize just how much is on offer for someone like you.”

Jun swallows hard. Tries to, anyway—finds that his mouth has gone bone dry. His limbs, too, refuse to work, feel both heavy and weightless, and he’s anxious again, hands and feet saturated with sweat, no wonder he smells, and he knows, he knows, he knows who and what you are, knows this is a trick. Knows he’s offered himself up on a silver platter.

Good god, he came here willingly. No wonder Jeonghan kept calling him names.

“So,” you begin, moving your glasses to the top of your head, “what is it you want? You’re in an elite tier; I could give you almost anything you ask for.”

“Um—”

“You mentioned loans; is it money you want? You’re not quite qualified for billionaire level yet, but I think you’d find both the terms and the offered amount to be quite… agreeable.”

Oh, you’re good. Just as he had with the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Jun always thought the story of Adam and Eve was simple: don’t do the thing you’re explicitly told not to do. But now, seated across from Temptation itself, he understands it’s not that simple, that those two never stood a chance. Because the longer he’s silent, the more relaxed he starts to feel. That headache he’s been fighting off for three days finally starts to recede. He feels confident and a bit euphoric, but he supposes everyone would feel that way if they were being offered any and everything they could ever want.

“Actually…”

Wen Junhui isn’t very religious anymore, but he used to be. Used to believe in all the teachings; used to sit at the piano in the living room and hum along as his father played processionals; used to beg his mother to read from the Studium Biblicum at bedtime so he could fall asleep and dream of utopia.

Wen Junhui isn’t religious anymore, but he remembers the basics.

Enough to steel his voice and say, “Actually, I didn’t come here to talk about money.”

Jun doesn’t know what time it is.

It’s late enough that the city has gone mostly quiet. The buses have stopped running, the elevator just outside his door hasn’t dinged in a while, and the light that’s refracted onto his bedroom ceiling is a familiar shade of blue-silver. Not long after two a.m. if he had to guess.

He doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, either, which would’ve been the more pressing issue at any other time.

But he’s had a long day. Took a little trip to Hell, got laughed at, got offered a lot of money, and got laughed at again. Now he’s got the anxiety shakes. Keeps seeing figures in every shadow. Can’t sleep even though every part of his body is bogged down by exhaustion. All he can do is stare at the swirls in the ceiling plaster and be glad he doesn’t have to work for another two days.

At first, he thinks the knocking is on someone else’s door. Then, once it doesn’t cease, he chalks it up to hallucination. It’s only once it goes from hey, I’m here! to OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR RIGHT GODDAMN NOW does he stumble out of bed and through the living room.

Through the peephole, all that stares back at him are the dingy fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“You know, judging by the outside, I thought this place was gonna be a real shithole, but it’s not that bad.” Jun shrieks, collapses to the floor with his hand clawing at his chest. “Oops, sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There is a man in his apartment.

There is a man in his apartment. At two o’clock in the morning.

“Wh-who are you?” he stammers out, eyes squeezed shut as if it’ll protect him. “I do-don’t have any mo-money.”

The man scoffs. If Jun was looking, he assumes it was accompanied by an eye-roll. “Not to be rude, but I was able to ascertain that, yeah.”

Jun peeks one eye open. Before him stands a man of average height, looks to be early to mid 20s. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie that says FEMALE BODY INSPECTOR in large white lettering. His hat, which is so neon pink it seems to glow, simply says SWAG.

He opens his other eye and quirks an eyebrow. “Are you a demon?”

“Ew, no.”

“What are you, then?”

The man pouts. “You can’t tell by my extremely good looks and”—he pauses, clears his throat like he’s trying to remember something—“awesome sauce fashion?”

“I—no, sorry. Also, your what?”

“I’m an angel,” the angel says quickly before he starts digging through his pockets. “Do people not say awesome sauce anymore?” Jun shakes his head. The angel pulls a pen out of nowhere and strikes out something in a notebook. “What year is it?”

“Er, 2024. Almost 2025.”

“What year did people stop saying awesome sauce?”

“I don’t know,” Jun says. “Do you have a name?”

The angel sighs, the pen and notebook both blink out of existence. “Hoshi,” the angel replies. “It means star, which I am. By the way.”

“Okay. May I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You ask a lot of questions. You got anything to drink?”

“I don’t remember any angels named Hoshi in the Bible.”

“It’s my Earth name.” Hoshi flutters his eyelashes. “Suits me, right?”

Jun’s eyes narrow. “You also aren’t biblically-accurate.”

Hoshi scoffs, hands immediately finding the waistband of his sweatpants. “I am where it counts.” He starts to pull them down, much to Jun’s horror, and all he can think is, oh my god I’m about to see an angel’s penis, what’s the protocol for this, do I have to look at it, would it be rude not to, this is the weirdest day of my life, I must be in a medically-induced coma—

“I’m getting the impression you don’t really want to see my dick.”

Jun covers his eyes again. “I don’t!”

“Bummer. I’m gonna summon a Baja Blast, do you want one?”

“I—no, no thank you. I think I just—I really need to sleep? But I’m not tired? It’s been a long day and I’m still not one-hundred percent sure I’m not hallucinating all of this.”

Hoshi snaps his fingers and a garishly blue bottle of soda appears in his hand. He beams. “Trade offer: I help you sleep and you take me out for breakfast when you wake up. We have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re just gonna… hang out here? In my apartment?”

“Yes,” Hoshi confirms. “I’m going to look through all your stuff.”

Jun wants to say no. He should say no. Has half a mind to consider Hoshi is lying about being an angel and is instead another demon sent by you from Hell to keep tabs on him, but his aura is different—less… oppressive—so he gives in and nods.

He’s asleep within seconds.

It’s only a few hours later when he stirs awake. Sunlight streams in through the curtains, and the sounds of the city are drowned out by birdsong. Jun feels more rested and weightless than he has in years, and it allows him to wake slowly, recount the events of the past 24 hours and take stock of his body, how he’s feeling. Do some breathing exercises. Briefly contemplate if he has now twice altered the trajectory of his life for the worst.

“Get up!” someone yells from his living room. Right, the angel guy. “I want waffles and the diner stops serving breakfast in thirty minutes!”

Jun stares blankly at the ceiling. There’s no diner anywhere near him that serves American breakfast, but he assumes that isn’t going to stop Hoshi, who has no concept or time or space and no constraints on either.

Thirty minutes later, they’re sitting across from one another in a retro American-style diner.

“Where are we?” Jun asks, peering outside the large window to his right. All the cars are American makes; the walls look like they're made out of silver; all the signs are in English. He doesn’t have to ask why he can understand them. “Besides America. I’m gathering as much.”

Hoshi pours an entire sugar packet in his mouth and grins. “New Jersey. They have more diners than any other state in America, and some are even open 24 hours! It’s my favorite place on Earth.”

“Okay,” Jun acquiesces. What else is he going to do? He’s never been to America before, let alone New Jersey. “What do I order? I don’t know what any of this stuff is.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll order for you.”

Famous last words.

Whatever Hoshi had ordered for him has more sugar in one bite than Jun usually eats in an entire week, but it’s so good he can’t help himself. Half of his meal is devoured before they can get to the heart of the meeting even though Hoshi yaps the whole time—talks animatedly about things Jun doesn’t understand but thinks sound important, like his dog and his favorite music. Hoshi also talks about his love for dancing, and when Jun cocks his head to the side and asks, like Saint Vitus?, all he gets in return is a small smile.

“Okay,” Hoshi says, pushing his plate towards the middle of the table, “now that I’m ready to throw up, it’s time to talk business.” Jun swallows, no longer hungry. “I saw your entire pitch. It was embarrassing.”

Jun groans and face-plants onto the table. “Yeah.” Syrup sticks to his forehead.

“However, it was a convincing story. That’s why They sent me here.”

“They?”

Hoshi waves him off. “Whatever you know Them as: God, the Lord, The Big Boss. They also heard everything.”

Jun slowly picks his head up and studies the angel across from him. Hoshi is weird, no doubt about that, but he’s also endearingly earnest. “And They… what? Want to help me?”

“Precisely,” Hoshi confirms. “And before you ask why, I think that part is quite obvious, but it’s two-fold: yes, it’s partly out of spite, but also—some of those souls were supposed to be ours.”

Jun blinks. Feels like his brain is filled with primordial goo and is about to split at the seams. “Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Hoshi replies, tone measured and slightly confused. “We’re all-knowing up there, as I’m sure you know. We know who’s meant to be ours at the moment of their birth and we keep an eye on them throughout their lives. We’re not allowed to intervene, though, which the Devil knows. Free will and all that.” Hoshi rolls his eyes. “With free will comes temptation, and temptation is a powerful thing. Most people are not immune to it, which is why They took notice of you.”

“Wasn’t I—”

“Supposed to be the Pope? Yeah. They weren’t, like, super thrilled about the outcome of that, but contrary to popular belief, it’s not against Their Word to get a handjob.”

“But I spilled seed.”

The look on Hoshi’s face almost looks like a grimace. “And you’ve spilled a lot more since then. Look, all I’m saying is if the worst thing you do in your life is have sex, you’re not disqualified. We look at the entire itemized receipt, not a single purchase, if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah,” Jun replies, a little dazed. He still could’ve been the Pope. “I became a lawyer for nothing?”

“Not nothing,” Hoshi insists, shaking his head. “You’ve actually put yourself in a very unique position, which is what I’m trying to get to. Some of those souls were meant to be ours, but they fell into temptation and made deals with those fuc—” He coughs. “Those… beings… down there.”

Hoshi reaches across the table and places a warm hand over Jun’s. “They want you to help return their souls to where they belong.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? You saw it: she laughed at me, not to mention she now knows what I’m up to. And how am I meant to advertise? If these souls are already in Hell, it’s not like I can put up a billboard!”

Hoshi’s eyes narrow. “She?” he asks. “That’s how the Devil appeared to you?”

“I—yeah. Is that not how she appears to everyone?”

“What did she look like?”

Jun trudges through the slime in his brain. Tries to remember anything besides—“Pretty,” he answers. “I don’t really—that’s all I can remember. I just remember she was really, really pretty.”

“Like the kind of woman you’d be attracted to on Earth, right?” Jun nods. “You need to be careful. She’ll appear to you again in similar forms, especially now that I’ve been here and told you Their intention.”

“So you’re telling me I have to be suspicious of any beautiful woman that finds me attractive?” Hoshi nods, soliciting a tortured groan from Jun. “This just keeps getting worse and worse.”

“You won’t be able to avoid her, nor are you expected to. It’s to your advantage she entertained you at all, and she certainly wasn’t lying when she said you are of a higher status to her and everyone in Hell. If we want you, it’s only natural they would as well.”

Jun mulls all of this over. Stares into his mostly-empty mug of coffee and tries to make sense of it. “I can’t even remember how I got there. I just had the idea, and then it was like I woke up in Hell. I didn’t mean to—what if I don’t even want to do this anymore? Can’t I just go back to my regular, boring life? This is—this is too much.”

“Unfortunately it’s too late for that. You have been chosen, Wen Junhui, and not just for this.”

Jun scoffs. “You’re making me sound like Harry Potter.”

“Thankfully that lady does not belong to us. Now, would you like to go back to your apartment before we get into specifics? It may take a while.”

“...Can we take another order of these things to go?”

Hoshi grins and flags down the waitress to order another massive stack of sugar-dusted waffles. “I think I’m going to enjoy my time on earth with you, Wen Junhui.”

The specifics are thus:

Hoshi is in charge of what earth-bound lawyers would call advertising. Jun isn’t privy to the specifics; he doesn’t know how Hoshi is even capable of it, if he’s just going to waltz into Hell and hand out business cards or what, but it’s more than he’s able to do so he doesn’t ask. (Well, that’s not entirely true. He did ask, and all Hoshi said in return was, “You know Metatron?” and left it at that.)

Hoshi is also in charge of The List: the souls Heaven wants freed from their contracts and returned upstairs. He allows Jun a brief glimpse of it, who is none too surprised to find a few law school colleagues but still overwhelmed at its length. It’s long—so long it had taken Hoshi quite some time to unfurl the scroll—and it isn’t static. Anyone destined for Heaven that makes a deal with the devil while Jun’s at work will simply be added to the bottom of the list. On and on it’ll go, ad nauseam, until Jun either dies or retires.

Which, speaking of retirement—

In a shocking turn of events, the job comes with benefits. Hoshi had been reluctant to call it a salary. For all intents and purposes Jun will be self-employed: he will be provided with a small office space in a nice area of downtown with no signage, although he’s also welcome to work remotely or wherever he feels most comfortable. Money will appear in his account, though he can opt for other forms of payment if he so wishes. (He’d been offered enough to live off of for a year for even accepting the job but chose to have his student loans paid off instead.)

They will keep him healthy. They will keep his sleep schedule regular and his refrigerator stocked with nutritious food. They will ensure people leave him alone and that no suspicions are cast upon him. They will ensure Jun has every tool at his disposal to be successful.

(It was a lot. Felt like making an inverse deal with the devil—he knew he was playing for the right side, but it was non-negotiable and non-refundable. Wen Junhui had been chosen, and in a moment of self-doubt and self-deprecation, he’d joked, “Can They make me smarter?”

Hoshi’s brows had furrowed. “The list of benefits makes no mention of increased intelligence.” Jun pouted; let out a whiny little oh. Hoshi grabbed another sheet of paper. “Your intelligence stats are nearly maxed, dude.”

“I barely passed law school!” he protested.

“I don’t know what to tell you. If we made you any smarter your brain would explode. Literally.”)

After that, there wasn’t much left to discuss. Hoshi had a lot of planning to do; needed to talk to someone in the marketing department but promised he’d be back as soon as possible. Left a tome in Jun’s possession and told him to study.

Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition, it says, and Jun stares down at it full of foreboding. It’s bound in black leather, giltstamped in red. Nothing good comes bound in black leather with shiny red letters.

Still, he does what’s asked of him, lest his student loan pay-off gets reversed. He spends hours hunched over his small dining room table with a legal pad to his right, taking notes on any and everything that may prove important—what he can make sense of, at least, because it doesn’t resemble any legal or governmental structure he’s ever seen.

He groans. Tosses his pen onto the table and leans back in the stiff wooden chair, lets his head loll off the back as the wood digs into his neck. Says, “What the heck am I supposed to do with this?” to the empty space of his apartment, and before he’s even opened his eyes another book appears on the table.

Theological Law For Mortals: An Introduction (Sorry!!!! - Hoshi)

He swears.

The days bleed together. Hoshi pops in briefly to officially assign him his first case: one Kim Mingyu from Anyang-si, South Korea. Apparently sold his soul to be “tall and hot” and Heaven desperately needs him back. “This one’s important to the big boss,” Hoshi says, dropping off a stack of papers with a picture paperclipped to the front with the most attractive, symmetrical man Jun has ever seen. “He was meant to work in recruiting,” Hoshi explains.

Jun whistles low. “Understandable. Look at his face.”

“Exactly, so you get the need for a little urgency.” He tries to stamp it down, but Jun feels the panic start to rise. Has to dig his fingernails into the palm of his hand. “Hey, just do your best. Call me if you need anything.”

Hoshi turns to leave, ugly pair of brand new sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor of the kitchen, but Jun’s able to stammer out, “What—what if I can’t do it?”

The angel turns, face marred by genuine confusion. “Why would you think you can’t?”

And then he’s gone.

Fueled by Hoshi’s unwavering—and frankly incomprehensible—confidence in him, Jun finds what he needs just after four o’clock Sunday morning. There, on page 4,837 of Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition, in subsection 69 of section 567, it clearly states that souls handed over in exchange for vanity-related reasons must adhere to strict guidelines, limited to but not including:

General facial appearance

Eye and/or hair color

Penis, breast, and/or butt size

Height and/or weight

Others TBD

Pushed beyond the threshold of exhaustion, eyes going in and out of focus, he’s not sure the text following the sub-bullet point is real, but there it is: In regards to height, men must be made at least 6’2” or 188 centimeters for the contract to be considered legally binding.

“Hoshi!”

At once, the angel appears across from him. He’s decked out in another stupid t-shirt (Don’t Bully Me, I’ll Cum, this one says) and is drinking a 7-Eleven slushy through a bendy straw. His lips and tongue are stained blue when he smiles and asks, “Good news?”

Jun shakes his head. Tries to erase the scene in front of him. “Maybe,” he answers. “I need you to get an accurate height on Kim Mingyu. And I mean really accurate. Shave him bald if you have to.”

Hoshi’s smile fades as he grows serious. “You really think you’ve got something?”

“I think so.” Jun pushes the book across the table. “Take a look at that part I highlighted. I know his file says he’s 188 centimeters tall, but imagine if whoever measured him just rounded up? If he’s even a millimeter under that, the contract is void.”

Before he can comprehend what’s happening, Hoshi climbs halfway across the table, grabs Jun by the cheeks, and plants a wet, noisy kiss in the middle of Jun’s forehead. “Wen Junhui, you sneaky little minx, I may be a little in love with you.”

Jun’s face flushes hot and red.

“Just—just look into it, okay? I’ve been over the rest of this and I can’t see any other way out of it.” With a sarcastic salute, Hoshi disappears. Feels like he’s only gone a few minutes before he pops back up in the living room wearing a somber expression. “What?” Jun asks, panicked, feeling his stomach drop out of his ass. “What’s wrong?”

“Bad news,” Hoshi replies, heaving a sigh. Won’t look up from the floor. Does an impeccable job at selling it, before he looks up at Jun with a shit-eating grin, barely able to contain his excitement. “For the Devil! Ha ha ha!”

Whiplash. All Jun can feel is whiplash, and he stumbles out of the chair, can barely feel the ache in his bones. Trips over a rogue object on his way to the living room. “What? You mean—”

“You did it! Kim Mingyu officially measured in at a glorious six-foot-one-point-nine repeating.”

Jun grabs onto the back of the couch so he doesn’t pass out. Oxygen is not reaching his brain right now, nor is coherent thought. All those agonizing days in law school during which he resigned himself to being a failure. All those back-breaking nights he had to run to the bus stop to get home from his internship, only a handful of hours before he had to be awake again for class. All the meals he upchucked from anxiety before critical exams. All his classmates that’d ignored and belittled him. And now—

“I did it…” he says, voice colored with pure disbelief.

Hoshi starts doing some kind of concerning, robotic-looking dance. “Yeah, bitch!” A bolt of lightning strikes right in front of him and Hoshi startles. Rubs at the back of his neck and has the good sense to look sheepish. “I forgot I’m not supposed to swear.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Sorry, Boss!”

He turns his attention to Jun. “Go take a shower and get dressed. Wear something nice; we’re going out to celebrate.”

Whatever club Hoshi has brought him to is humid and sticky.

With what, Jun can’t be sure, but every time he presses his fingertips together it takes a concerning amount of time for them to peel apart.

Hoshi leads him to the bar. Hops onto a stool and kicks his feet as he waves over the bartender. She’s cute, Jun thinks; a bright, open smile splits her face as she pulls away from Hoshi, clearly endeared by whatever it was he had said. She moves around the bar with an easy confidence, does a little twirl to avoid her coworker, and Jun doesn’t realize he’s hypnotized until Hoshi digs an elbow into his ribs.

“Take it easy, killer. I ordered us some shots.”

Jun snaps out of his reverie. “Can you even drink?”

“Of course I can, I just can’t get drunk. Not here, anyway. Big Boss made the real good stuff exclusive to you-know-where after a few, uh… mishaps. Down here.” He coughs. “Let’s find somewhere to sit. I’ll come back for the drinks.”

There’s an empty booth tucked away in a corner. Jun takes the side that gives him an eyeline shot of the bar even though it feels a little creepy, and if Hoshi knows what he’s doing he doesn’t mention it. He’s back to yapping about one thing or another, gets distracted by all the commotion in the club—the group playing darts, the packed dance floor, a couple making out near the restrooms. Quite enthusiastically, Jun might add.

True to his word, Hoshi disappears for a second to retrieve the drinks. Jun watches as the bartender hands over a tray of rainbow-colored shots and also as Hoshi pats the pockets of his skin-tight pleather plants. Watches as he panics and frantically waves Jun over. Once he’s in his personal space, Hoshi leans in and whispers, “They say they need a card for the tab. I don’t know what that is so I’m assuming I don’t have one.”

Jun sighs. Explains, “It’s a credit card. How do you survive down here with no money?” Nevertheless, he digs out his wallet and hands his card over. “I can’t believe you invited me out and I’m getting stuck with the bill.”

Hoshi tuts. Hands Jun’s credit card to the bartender without an ounce of remorse. “Relax, I’ll have Matt reimburse you.”

“Who the heck is Matt—” Jun begins to say, but he’s interrupted by the most annoying angel God ever created placing the tray of drinks in Jun’s hands, then asking, “Can you take this back to the table? I’ll be right there.”

Hoshi is not going to be right there. Hoshi is going to hover around the bar because the cute bartender was making eyes at him, and Jun is going to return to their formerly-shared table to drink alone. There aren’t many things more depressing than going out with a friend to celebrate a personal achievement only to end up downing six shots on his own.

…Which are not to Jun’s taste at all.

He’s a habitual Tsingtao drinker. Never bothers to order anything else because he knows what he likes and it has never steered him wrong. Never had his head stuck in a toilet bowl, either, which is territory he’ll rapidly be approaching if he actually goes through with this.

“Is this seat taken?”

Jun knows it’s you without having to look up. Your aura is tangible—something thick and syrupy like molasses and just as dark; something suffocating, something that would drown him—and it follows you like a shadow. Slides into the booth before Jun can answer, just a nanosecond before your physical form does the same, and when you’re at eye level he has to swallow his gasp.

You look completely different.

Still beautiful, he thinks, because it’s hard to think of anything else. Jun knows who and what you are, of course; remembers the warning Hoshi had given him. Knows that this is just another one of your tricks, another layer of temptation, but it’s a beauty like quicksand. It’s a beauty like the misunderstood creatures at the heart of every fairy tale—those haunting kinds of myths meant to both make you wary and suck you in. It’s a beauty accentuated by darkness.

Worst of all, it’s a beauty that’s making his pants a little tight in the dick area.

“What does that imbecile have you drinking?” you ask, reaching for one of the remaining shot glasses. You grimace as you hold it up to the light. “You know, I once watched a man throw back twelve of these things before he stripped down to nothing but a diaper and attempted to rob a convenience store across the street.”

“Oh. What happened?”

You sigh. Place the glass back on the tray. “A comedy of errors, of course. He somehow managed to make it into the store unnoticed, but he had neither a weapon nor something to store the money in. He tried climbing across the counter to get to the cash register, but the clerk hit him in the head with a metal step stool and knocked him unconscious before calling the police.”

“I’m assuming he got arrested?”

“Oh, no.” You laugh, and Jun’s taken aback by how normal it sounds. “He came to before the police got there. I guess the sirens freaked him out because he ran out of the store and got hit by a bus.” Jun must be wearing a particular look, because you follow that up with, “He was always meant to be one of ours, so don’t worry, you won’t have to meet him.”

Right.

Jun had expected this. Not that he’d had a whole lot of time to expect it, considering Kim Mingyu had been freed from his contract for a whopping fifteen minutes before Hoshi was shoving Jun into the bathroom to shower, but it had been a passing thought on at least four separate occasions.

You’re not going to apologize, he tells himself. Wonders if you can hear his thoughts and desperately hopes you can’t, considering he’d thought about getting a semi from how pretty you are. It wasn’t even a semi, really, if he’s being honest. What’s half of a semi? One-fourth of a boner? That’s what he’d gotten, and if you can read his thoughts it’s very important that you know that.

“I’m not Joshua.”

Jun startles. Feels all the normalcy leak out of his body and form a gloopy puddle on the floor. “Um,” he replies stupidly. “Then how did you—”

“I can feel you thinking. Always feels like chickenpox when humans overthink around me.”

He wrings his sweaty hands together. Rubs them on his jeans when that doesn’t work. “Sorry,” he says instinctually. “It’s just—I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”

“Why?” you challenge. “Is there something you want to say?”

“I don’t think so. But I can’t imagine you’re very happy with me, and I get this sort of, um. When I know someone’s upset with me it feels like chickenpox, too. And even though I know, logically, that I did a good thing, I still feel like I’m going to throw up?”

Tense silence hangs between the two of you. Jun’s on the verge of word-vomiting another apology when you snap your fingers and turn the remaining shots into something resembling watery honey. You hold one out to him. “Drink this,” you instruct, and Jun makes a point not to let your fingers touch when he takes it.

“Is it poison?”

You heave another sigh. “Wen Junhui, there are some things you need to understand about me. First of all, this is an inherited job. Being The Anointed One comes with a lot of work and responsibility so we get burned out, okay? So there’s only ever been one devil as far as humans are concerned, but in a weird avatar-y kind of way that’s hard to explain and not worth my time to explain to you, specifically, considering you’re the enemy now. Second, I am capable of killing you in ways your human brain cannot even begin to conceive of. I do not need to poison you with ginger tea to take you out.”

Jun looks down at the glass. Raises it to his noise and takes a hesitant sniff.

Oh. Yeah, that’s ginger tea.

That you conjured him… because he said he felt nauseous?

“The last thing you need to understand is that the loophole you found was… unfortunate, to say the least, but Kim Mingyu’s contract was not one of mine. The next contract that idiotic angel is going to ask you to work on was also not my work. If you free him, too, it will be regrettable, but it will pale in comparison to what will happen to you if you even think about touching one of mine.”

You’re gone before the fear can even set in.

Jun blinks, staring at the empty seat across from him. No indication at all that you’d been there, no lingering shadow, just the taste of ginger on his tongue and one of those cartoon scribbles in a thought bubble hovering metaphorically above his head.

He doesn’t—

He can’t—

No, he decides, he is not going to have a mental break in this club. Not while “Friday” by Rebecca Black plays on a loop. Not while he can hear someone to his left vomiting all over the floor. Not while he watches Hoshi skip back to the table and he notices, for the first time all night, what he’s wearing.

“Did you change?”

Because he swears the angel wasn’t wearing that when they left the apartment. The pleather pants, yes, but not the baby pink cropped tank with a decal of a creepy child in the middle that says BOYS ARE STUPID, THROW ROCKS AT THEM.

“What? No,” Hoshi answers, sliding into the seat you’d occupied only moments earlier. “Why does it smell weird over here?”

Jun plays stupid. “One of the dartboard girls puked on the floor.” He’s not very good at it.

Hoshi shakes his head. “Not that.” An exaggerated sniff, not unlike a bloodhound. “It smells like… it definitely smells familiar. I know this smell. It’s like—you know how it feels when it’s about to snow? How the cold and the air burn your nose, but it doesn’t actually smell like anything? As if it used to have a smell, once, a long time ago, and all it is now is just an imprinted memory?”

Jun lies, “No. Nope, no idea.”

Hoshi visibly deflates. “Well, it’s kind of like that. Also a little bit like you used wet moss to put out a wildfire. It fills me with—” Hoshi pauses. Narrows his gaze as he studies Jun intently. Being stared at like this by a guy in that particular shirt is a bit disorienting, he must admit. “She was here, wasn’t she?”

He’ll know he’s lying, but Jun says no again because it’s a lot easier than explaining that being threatened within an inch of his mortal life made him cum in his pants a little.

After the club, Jun gets a few days of reprieve.

He doesn’t hear from Hoshi at all, nor does he materialize unexpectedly in his apartment. No mysterious books show up, either, which is a relief. He’d stored both Theological Contract Law: A Very Comprehensive Introduction: Cases and Materials - 2326th Edition and Theological Law For Mortals: An Introduction on a seldom-used bookshelf in his living room and now the shelf is starting to bow in the middle. One more tome of that size and the whole thing is going to come tumbling down and earn him a noise complaint.

Another one.

Because Hoshi has already racked up three in Jun’s name.

So he tries to go back to life as usual until he’s needed again. Does his grocery shopping in the middle of the week in the middle of the day when it’s not so busy and he can navigate the aisles without crippling anxiety. Goes to a check-up and has to lie about turning over a new leaf and taking his health seriously when his cholesterol levels are back within perfect range. He plays video games, picks a nice willow tree in the park to sit beneath and read (normal books this time), takes some of the Mingyu money to buy a decent watch and a few tailored suits.

For the first time in a while, he’s able to sleep through the night.

But he can’t shake the feeling that it’s all… strange. Ever since you’d shown up at the bar, he swears he sees you everywhere: in line a few registers over at the supermarket, in the waiting room of the hospital, coming out of a fitting room in the mall. It’s that aura again. Stalks him like prey. Has paranoia pricking at his skin, and it’s not healthy, the way it has him looking over his shoulder at every turn, scurrying away from every attractive woman with a frown and mumbled apologies.

Surely this cannot be the rest of his life.

Hoshi swings by on a Tuesday. Just like you said he would, he asks Jun to work on an assignment for one Lee Chan who tried to sell his friend to the devil but accidentally sold himself instead. “Wouldn’t have really mattered,” Hoshi explains. Today, his shirt says BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN. “It’s sort of against the rules to try and sell other people.”

Jun spits toothpaste into the sink and prays the towel stays snug around his waist. Hoshi had cornered him in the bathroom. “So why do you want him back, then?” Rifles through the medicine cabinet for his nice hair serum. “Seems pretty open and shut to me.”

“Why do They want him back,” Hoshi corrects, “and I don’t know why They want this one.”

Jun thinks about what you said: how Mingyu and Lee Chan hadn’t been your contracts, were basically freebies; the… avatar-ness; the not-subtle-at-all threats on his life. Says, “Can I ask you something?” as he rolls on antiperspirant.

Hoshi, who’s sitting in the tub making animals out of shaving cream, simply nods.

“She said something interesting to me—”

“Before or after being mean to you made you ejaculate in your pants like a teenager?”

Jun blinks. “Before,” he answers slowly. When Hoshi makes no move to interrupt him again, he continues, “She said the Kim Mingyu and Lee Chan contracts weren’t hers. That the role is… inherited? Something about an avatar? How does that work?”

The angel hums. Adds what appear to be bunny ears to an amorphous blob that does not look rabbit-shaped at all, and Jun tries to tamper down his excitement at the impending explanation. Everything he’s dealt with so far will have been worth it because he’s going to be in the know. The powers that be will reward him with their trust. He’ll finally get some answers to all those questions he fell asleep pondering as a child.

And then Hoshi waves him away dismissively and says, “You know I can’t tell you any of that,” and everything comes collapsing down like a house of cards.

Fair enough, Jun thinks—he’s only successfully completed one assignment. It’s still early days. “But you will eventually,” he says, and whoever’s listening in must think the optimism in his voice is so pathetic, “right?”

Hoshi is not cruel. They haven’t known each other long, but Jun knows that much. He wasn’t created from some Old Testament mold, when cruelty was the point of it all—intended to impress fear and strict adherence to Their Word. So when Hoshi laughs it isn’t meant the way Jun takes it. When Hoshi laughs it isn’t meant to make Jun feel disregarded and unimportant, small and irrelevant, but that’s where it strikes him all the same.

When Hoshi laughs and has no reassurances to offer, Jun is seventeen again, reckoning with his loss of faith. Now he’s a decade older and is constantly confronted by all those old names and characters, and when you’re trapped in the middle of their bidding, where can you go when you need to hide?

Jun has the Lee Chan assignment completed by Thursday night.

A significant amount of money appears in his bank account. He wakes up on Friday to an enthusiastic message from his landlord, thanking him for paying his rental contract through the end of his lease. His parents thank him for the grocery delivery. On the side, away from the proud ears of his father, his mother is especially thankful. She’s choking back tears as she thanks him profusely, says business has been slow, tells him he’s a good son and he’s made them proud, always, even if he traveled a different path than the one he originally planned to take.

None of it takes away the ache in his chest.

None of it makes him feel any less empty. It’s hard to feel fulfilled when you know you’re just a pawn, stuck in the middle of a holy war that existed long before him and will persist long after he’s gone. Wen Junhui will always be on the outskirts, because everyone needs him, but he’s not important enough to trust. He is someone and no one all at once. He is Purgatory.

He needs to feel human—needs to make human mistakes, destroy himself the way humans do. Needs to commit a few cardinal sins and scold himself, wonder what the fuck he’s doing as he rattles ice around his third glass of baijiu. Needs to wake up with a splitting headache and a fractured memory. Needs a hoarse voice beside him to ask what time it is as he stares at their naked back and wonders how to get out of it.

There’s a bar not far from his apartment. A dive, by every definition of the word: broken, flickering neon sign out front, cheap linoleum floors peeling at the corners, 70s paneling on the walls, the stench of cigarette smoke outlasting all the old regulars. It’s the kind of place ghosts gather; the kind of place Jun was always too scared to go, knew the questioning, distrustful stares that’d be there to greet him as soon as he stepped through the door.

Tonight, though, it’ll do just fine.

He sits on a stool at the bar and orders a beer to start. Intends to stay a while. Watches a trio of old men play dou dizhu at a table near the back, empty bottles at their feet, fat cigars stuck between their teeth, insults and accusations shouted around them. To his left, a middle-aged man tries bartering for another drink. Needs it, he says, because he lost his job and his wife in the same week. Fourth job this month, the bartender replies, no pity to be found. It’s only the twenty-second.

Across the bar sits a kid that reminds Jun a lot of his brother. Can’t be much older than eighteen. Might not be old enough to drink legally at all, but that’s none of his business. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails and a large chip taken out of a front tooth. Not a clean break, all jagged edges—the kind that probably hurts to run his tongue over.

Jun feels guilty for a moment, surrounded by all these people with real problems. He’s got money and a respectable career. Has a roof over his head that’s been paid for by someone else. He’s good-looking, has his health and his youth. Has enough to take care of his family.

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” You sit beside him with a humored smile that shines through a truly pinched expression.

Jun snorts as he empties his drink. “Thessalonians. Gotta be honest, not one of my favorites.” Spares a glance at you: you’re different again, appearance-wise, but the scent you wear like a signature perfume is the same. Heady, like it was bottled at the center of the earth. “Is this your way of telling me that comparison is the thief of joy or whatever?”

Your turn to laugh. The bartender sets a drink in front of you that Jun hadn’t heard you order. “No,” you reply simply. “I’m not all that concerned with human joy. Just thought it was ironic. Come sit with me.”

“This is starting to sound familiar,” he snarks, but he follows anyway.

A rickety table by the window. Winter air seeps through, frosts the glass; has Jun wishing he’d worn a thicker coat. It was warmer by the bar. The two chairs you occupy are upholstered in peeling vinyl, one ripped with the stuffing peeking through. Jun takes that one, figuring you’ll laugh at his human chivalry, but you take the seat opposite him without a word. That old flickering sign outside reflects on your face.

He didn’t come here for a therapy session—he came to get drunk on questionable liquor surrounded by people who don’t know him. You do, of course, which throws a wrench in his plan. You seem to know everything about him, including that he’d be here brooding. “Why’d you follow me here?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t for your jubilant demeanor and fantastic conversation.” You put your drink to the side. Fold your hands in front of you. “Congratulations on Lee Chan. The outfit upstairs must be very pleased with the work you’ve done thus far.”

There’s no bite. No sardonic tone.

Jun realizes then how differently you treat him. How honest you are. You don’t lie or stretch the truth; you don’t brush off his questions. Hoshi is truthful at an arm’s length. Makes his stomach feel sour.

“I’m just a pawn, aren’t I? It doesn’t really matter if they’re pleased so long as I get the work done.”

You hum an acknowledgment. “People forget what They used to be like. The atrocities They committed and had others commit in Their name—humans, just like you, who were so desperate to appease their God they would’ve done whatever was asked of them.” Jun’s drink refills. He empties it in one go. “They killed their sons, waged war on their neighbors, have done unspeakable evils in Their name. It’s not only you, Wen Junhui, that has been a pawn to Them.”

He doesn’t react. A glass shatters at the bar. “And you?” he questions. “What are you, then, if those are the things They demand?”

“I’m a foil, of course. Would you still believe in good if there was no evil? Would you believe in the promise of eternal life if there was no threat of eternal damnation? Would you still be moral if there was no corruption?” Rhetorical questions. “Although you’re no stranger to crises of faith, are you?”

He isn’t. The handjob had rattled him, sure, but it hadn’t been the catalyst. Not really. Jun had still gone to church that Sunday. Still kneeled and received Communion and allowed himself to be blessed and prayed over. Still bowed his head before each meal and mouthed along as his mother said grace.

No, his loss of faith had been gradual: a question he couldn’t find an answer to, suffering he could no longer brush off with blind faith, words he used to treat as gospel that began tasting acrid in his mouth as he also lost his conviction. Everything started feeling like bullshit, and once everything started feeling like bullshit, he had to wonder what he’d spent eighteen years of his life chasing. What he spent eighteen years of his life believing in.

Until he found he didn’t believe in all that much anymore.

He has to ask: “Was it your doing?”

You shake your head. “People forget who I am, too. They call me the original liar. They say I am the source of all evil. They attribute every sin and misdeed to me, say it must’ve been my will, and yet it says right there in their holy book, in Isaiah 45:7: I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.” You focus all your attention on Jun—he feels the weight of it like a millstone. “I was the anointed one until I was overcome by sin and became the tempter, right? That’s what they say; how they wrote my story. And yet, by Their own word, it was They who created evil. It was God who created darkness.” A hefty pause. “Some may look at me and say I, too, was a pawn.”

“Do you feel like you were?”

You don’t respond. Instead, Jun watches as his view of the bar crumbles once you snap your fingers: block by block replaced with the interior of his apartment. His dining table instead of the off-balance one in front of the window. The ambient noise of his building instead of the bar. A mug of coffee in place of the baijiu.

“What the he—”

It’s within the four dull walls of Jun’s apartment building that you answer: “Even if I was, why should I feel like a victim? Did I not get the better end of the deal?” Jun feels like he’s standing atop a trap door. Like any second it’ll swing open and down, down, down he’ll go. “I rule over my kingdom and make no demands of anyone. I am a consequence of free will and not an inhibitor of it. I dole out punishment only for those deserving of it.”

The coffee is strong. Bitter. Just for a second before it melts away into something sweet. “You are temptation, are you not? Do the demons not do your bidding? Sow chaos in your name? Are you not the originator of all these contracts I’ve been tasked with destroying? If They are to be believed, those people were not meant to be yours, and yet you wound up with them anyway.”

“I like you, Wen Junhui,” you say. “You have an insatiable curiosity that is both admirable and ill-advised.”

He feels his face flush. “Sorry. Got carried away, I think.”

“It’s of little consequence to me. I must admit I have smited men for asking questions, but they were of a more crude variety. More coffee?” Jun nods. “I am who I am. It is who I’ve always been—I was created to walk this path and so I know no different.”

“Predestination.”

“Precisely, just as those dreadful fucking Puritans believed. God needed a foil, a betrayer, and so They created me. I know no other role.”

“You were an angel,” Jun argues. “They say you were beautiful, powerful, and intelligent; they say you were full of light. You don’t remember any of that?”

Sorrow etches across your face. Only for a second—blink and you’ll miss it. It is not in the same realm of pain Jun is experiencing. Yours is an ancient grief. It is something palpable and overwhelming, something liable to consume and destroy everything within its reach if left uncontrolled. Jun wonders if it has been; if you’ve let it unfurl before reigning it back in. If those are the plagues they speak of. Catastrophic disasters and genocides and everything on earth he cannot conceive of.

And then your face shutters. That grief is now nowhere to be found, borrowed features rearranged neatly once again. “Of course I remember,” is all you say.

Companionable silence. Jun sips slowly at his coffee and enjoys it. Wonders, briefly, how he wound up here, with the CEO and overseer of Hell sitting at his dining room table, before he lets those thoughts get chased away by a more pressing fact: there is an extremely beautiful and kind of terrifying woman sitting at his dining room table, and she hasn’t murdered him—yet.

He’s not above noticing it. Isn’t going to pretend he hasn’t thought about the night in the club roughly every twenty minutes since it happened; isn’t going to pretend he didn’t get a little hard in the shower that same night and that he didn’t relieve himself. Isn’t going to pretend that this isn’t doing something for him—the different disguises, each one just as enticing as the last, all of them conjured from deep within his psyche, checking off all his boxes.

Jun also isn’t going to pretend he has very much game. He hadn’t left university a virgin (although it’d been close) and nowadays women aren’t really falling over themselves to date a newly-licensed lawyer with little money and thrifted suits that feel like they’re playing at adulthood. However, if nothing else, this… partnership he has going on has served him well in the confidence department. He has disposable income and no debt. His clothes fit. He upgraded his cheap Casio watch to something that doesn’t turn his skin green.

“You didn’t really answer my question earlier.” You roll your head to the side, cock an eyebrow. His bravado falters slightly at the line of your throat. “Are you stalking me?”

What he aims for: cheeky, a little saucy; the kind of question that’s delivered with a shit-eating grin and earns him a coy laugh in response as you tuck your hair behind your ear. Oh, knock it off, you’d say as you playfully swatted at him. Of course I’m not. He’d catch your hand and press his lips to your knuckles before trailing them up your arm. The first kiss to the side of your neck would be gentle, a little hesitant, and then the heat would take over.

How it lands: an accusation completely lacking in charm and sass. Jun’s eyes widen in panic as soon as the question leaves his mouth, has him wondering how he’s still alive if the glare you send him is any indication of how you’re feeling. He should’ve known better. Jun is not the sort of person who can pull off a comment like that. Doesn’t have the charisma or the confidence. Isn’t sleazy enough. Jun is the kind of guy who lurks your social media after a one night stand to figure out your favorite breakfast so he can have it waiting the morning after; the kind who takes note of where you work so he can have flowers delivered to your desk and not for any other nefarious purpose.

Which, now that he’s thinking about it—

Every accusation is a confession, or whatever it is they say.

“That’s not—”

“What you meant,” you finish for him. Thankful for the lifeline, he nods, not trusting himself to not dig a deeper hole. “You want to know why it is I’ve shown up twice now, during both of your nights out.” He nods again. “You wanted to be suave when you said it, maybe even a little seductive, but you forgot your claim to fame is crying for three days over a handjob and how excruciatingly awkward you are.”

He waits for you to continue. When you don’t, he nods again, wishing he’d spent more time as a teenager on the degenerate parts of the internet rather than at Bible study.

“Are you an idiot?”

Not that it’s undeserved, but the question leaves him stunned. Has his mouth gaping open and shut like a goldfish. This is a trap, right? There’s a correct answer here that he’s expected to give. “...No?” he tries, and when your eyes narrow he quickly changes course. “Yes,” he says definitively. “Yes, I am an idiot. Sorry for my… idiocy.”

It looks like it’s being dragged out of you by force, but the clouds part, birds start chirping in perfect harmony, Jun feels the warmth of the sun—you laugh. You laugh, and it’s reluctant but it’s real, and Jun’s smile is so wide his face feels heavy under the weight of it. It’s so wide you say, “Wow, even your mouth is heart-shaped,” and, if Wen Junhui knows nothing else, he knows he’s in real big trouble.

“You know what else is heart-shaped?” You gesture for him to continue, except he’d just been yapping. Didn’t have a plan. There’s no punchline. And he can’t set it up as a dick joke because that doesn’t make sense. My dick is heart-shaped? What does that even mean? Unless it’s in a cute way? My dick is heart-shaped… for you. It could work, he reasons. Worse things have worked for other men. “My di—”

“No.”

He pretends to pout. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Because you were going to make a dick joke.”

“No I wasn’t.” You roll your eyes. “I was going to say my… digantic heart.”

A pause. Another beat of silence.

“I’m not going to laugh at you twice.”

A shit-eating grin on Jun’s face. “But you would, is what you’re saying? If you didn’t already meet your one-laugh quota?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I want to kiss you, he wants to say. Feels the words biting at the back of his teeth, begging him to open his mouth so they can escape and be real. I want to kiss you but I don’t know if it’d be real. Because it can’t be, can it? All the ways you’ve been described throughout human history, not once has anyone said you’re capable of love. Which—that’s not what Jun is looking for here, right? That’d be ridiculous. He has a crush.

A crush on a beautiful woman who looks like all of his wet dreams combined. Who’s terrifying and smart and maybe misunderstood in all the same ways he is. Who is halfway responsible for his current employment. Who conjures ginger tea for him when he feels sick and hasn’t snapped her fingers to turn him into dust… yet. It’s natural, especially for a late bloomer such as himself.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

You look like all of his wet dreams combined but it’s still just a costume. The same way Jun was playing at adulthood in his ill-fitting suits, you’re playing at being human. Take it off and you’re still the devil. Still primordial. Still not bound by the constraints and constructs of time. Not bound by mortality, which is probably the second-most pressing issue behind the whole fallen angel, prime ruler of Hell, purveyor of iron-clad contracts that are really, really pissing off Heaven thing.

“Congratulations,” you say, ripping Jun out of his spiral, “your overthinking has bypassed chickenpox completely and went straight to shingles.”

“They have a vaccine for that now.” Wow, he is really not nailing this.

“I know. Pestilence was devastated. Moped around for ages. Imagine all your hard work gone, just like that, because of science? That’s why I created Jenny McCarthy.” You sigh. “Anyway, out with it.”

Jun chews at the inside of his cheek. “I’m trying to figure out how to ask in a non-offensive way.”

You blink. “I am literally the devil.”

“Who can kill me,” he says slowly, trying to buy time. So are you, it seems, because you’re content to stretch the silence. Wait until it settles in Jun’s bones as anxiety. One of those old tricks he learned during law school that’s now being turned on him. He coughs. “Anyway, I—” He deflates. “It’s stupid, I don’t know why I even thought—”

“Out with it,” you repeat.

“Right.” He sucks in a breath. “Does this mean anything to you? Not in, like, an affectionate, I’m in love with you kind of way, but in a… human… way? Is it offensive to phrase it like that?”

“I think you’ll find not much offends me—except for you and your fucking lawyer thing ruining my contracts.” There are those flames behind your eyes again. The temperature in the room increases tenfold. “So no, it’s not offensive to wonder how human I am or am not, but I don’t know if the answer will be to your satisfaction or understanding.”

“Try me.”

You huff a laugh. Mumble something about the hubris of man. “You’ve read Their book, so you know how and why the angels were created. Ministering spirits, I think it says. Spirits without bodies. I have never known what it means to be human because I never was. I appear as one to you out of necessity.”

“Because my brain would melt if I saw your true form?”

“What? No. Because it’s terrifying. Would you rather hand over your mortal soul to someone who looked like an eldritch horror or someone who looked like one of those women you’ve jerked off to in porn magazines?” Jun swallows audibly. “Exactly.”

“But what does it feel like when you’re like this? When you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “It feels different, but I can’t say it feels human because I do not know what that feels like. You’ve interacted with me and have been to Hell—if I asked you how it felt to be the devil, how would you answer?”

Jun doesn’t have to think. He says the first word that comes to mind, which is, “Lonely. I think it’s lonely, because They have worshippers, Their followers are devout and love and trust without proof, and you were created to be hated and feared.” You move to interject, but Jun continues. “Maybe you have those things too, but they’re not the same. They gave you everything and then They ripped it away. Their followers heed every word of the Bible, name their children after its characters, but where’s your book? Why wasn’t anyone allowed to tell your story?”

“Maybe you should write it.”

What you aim for: cheeky, a little saucy; the kind of suggestion spoken around a sly smile that’s also a little self-conscious at someone taking you into consideration—at someone seeing you.

How it lands: fractured; words spoken slowly and intentionally so nothing is given away. How ironic that it’s the most human Jun has heard you sound.

But your bravery is inspiring, even if you’re unaware of it. Even if you aren’t making a conscious choice to be so, Jun can watch you be vulnerable and think he can do the same. He can finally say what he’s been dancing around this entire time, which is, “If I kiss you, what will it feel like for you?”

“The same as any other kiss, I imagine.”

“You’ve done this before, then? As a… human?”

Seems your patience with him has run out. You stand, make your way to Jun’s side of the table slowly. Drag a finger along the back of each chair, nails cherry red and sharpened to a point. He wants to feel them. Wants the sting as they dig into his thighs; as they scratch down the length of his back and mark him up. He wants to feel the phantom bite for days, long after you’re gone and he’s come to his senses. When he stands beneath the spray of the shower and his skin feels raw, he wants to know it was you that had done it.

He understands, now, why people make those deals and shake your hand.

As you loom above him, slowly encroaching upon his space—as the heady scent of you overwhelms him and makes him dizzy, has his eyes fluttering closed and rolling back in his head—he thinks he’d give you anything you asked for.

You lean in close. One hand on the arm of the chair, one wrapped around the meat of his thigh, just on the edge of sharp. Closer, closer, until he can feel the warmth of your breath against his cheek, the line of his jaw, the lobe of his ear. “Tell me: does this feel human?”

It does. Drives him a little crazy how he can feel each word punctuated against his skin; how he can feel your body heat seep through the fabric of his pants—heat he didn’t expect to find. And it isn’t like it matters, because he’d want you no matter how you felt, but it helps to ground him. Keep him in the moment. So he says, “Ye-yeah,” and knows you’re smiling at the need in his tone.

Need that starts in his toes and settles in his belly. Need that grows as your hand trails up his thigh and settles over his zipper, over the bulge you find there. Jun’s breath catches in his throat. He knows the mechanics—in, out; in, out; in, out—but can’t convince his lungs to work. Feels lightheaded and a little embarrassed because you’re not even touching him properly and he already feels untethered.

All you do is pull away, back out of his space, and for all he knows his world’s been turned upside down. Doubly so when he cracks one eye open and sees you on your knees, looking up at him with a half-lidded gaze, lashes impossibly dark. He can’t help it. He reaches out, places his thumbs in the contours of your cheek, cups your jaw, and presses his lips to yours.

Immediate searing heat.

Jun is engulfed in it. You taste like a storm—taste like the first deafening crack of thunder and the lightning that follows. And he knows he’s coming across too eager with the way he licks into your mouth, but you don’t seem to mind. You match his pace, groan into his mouth, palm at his cock with more intention. Jun’s hips roll, seeking the friction; wants more of the stinging pleasure. Wants to haul you into his lap and fit his hands in the curve of your waist, leave bruises on your hips with his thumbs. He wants to trace every inch of your skin and commit it to memory.

But you’ve got plans of your own.

You plant your hands against his chest and push. Jun goes willingly, chest heaving, missing your mouth already. There’s a crooked grin sitting on your face that sends a spark of excitement up his spine, has alarms sounding in his head, but he can’t look away. Everything you do mesmerizes him: the way you run your tongue along your bottom lip, the slow drag of his zipper, how your voice is husky and deeper than he’s ever heard it when you ask him, what do you want, and your smile when he answers, whatever you do.

And what you seem to want is to destroy him in record time. Pants at his knees, hard cock straining against his briefs, he feels like he’s back in high school. Has that same sense of adolescent urgency, like everything’s happening both in slow-motion and not fast enough, because he knows what’s coming. Watches with a lip tugged between his teeth as you free his cock. Whimpers when you wrap your hand around him, reminds himself to breathe; grips white-knuckled at the arms of the chair when you begin to move.

Your pace is torturously slow to start. You seem to delight in tormenting him; in hearing all those breathy moans that escape him and spur you on. You lean forward and spit and everything is slick. Jun feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. He grips at the chair tighter. Digs his nails into his thighs when that doesn’t work and lets his head roll back, neck on full display. Maybe it’s to tempt you. Maybe he wants you to sink your teeth into him and mark him up. Maybe he has a million fantasies, and not a single one compares to—

Your mouth. The sound that comes out of him is unholy. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to roll his hips and fuck his cock deeper into your mouth, down your throat. All he wants to do is chase the bliss of that wet heat and give in to it.

But he needs this to last. If this is the only time he’ll have you like this, he needs to make it worthwhile.

He needs to tell you, needs you to slow it down before he embarrasses himself by coming in your mouth, except he can’t find the words. Doesn’t want to deny himself even a second of pleasure. Five minutes is all it’s taken to make a hedonist out of him. And that’s… well, it’s not a philosophy he ever thought he’d adopt, but who could blame him when you feel like velvet? When he starts babbling nonsense and you hum in response and everything feels electric?

“I’m gonna—” A sharp nip at the inside of his thigh has his declaration dead on arrival. His body shivers, trembles, tries to collapse in on itself. “Shit, don’t do that, I’m gonna—”

He feels your smile against his skin. Whimpers as you mouth at his balls. Wonders if he’s going to die like this; if someone will come to check on him and find his pitiful, half-naked body right here in this chair, and that is not a sight he wants anyone to walk in on, so he reaches for you, finds your hair and tugs at you gently. Seals his lips over yours before you can come up with any more ideas.

He hauls you into his lap, just like he’d wanted, and dips his hands beneath your top. Skims his hands over the warm skin he finds. Digs his nails in when you bite at the column of his throat and groans as his cock—so hard he can barely think straight; can’t think of anything except burying himself inside of you—brushes against the harsh fabric of your pants.

“God, c’mere.” You oblige. Kiss him with such intensity he no longer cares where he dies, so long as this is how he goes out. Watches as stars explode behind his eyelids when he realizes he can taste himself on your tongue, that you taste like him. Moves his hands to your chest, traces lightly over your hard nipples, delights in the way you react, that it’s him making you feel good. That it’s him you let pull your top over your head. That it’s him that presses praise into your skin like scripture.

He mouths at you indiscriminately: your collar bones, the space between your breasts, the swell of skin there. Whines as you grab at his hair and tell him how to please you. Thinks he’s learning a lot about himself when he does as you say, when he sucks and bites at your nipples, and grows impossibly harder.

You sigh, blissed out; tell him you want his mouth elsewhere, fill his mind with thoughts that have him rolling his hips uselessly, thrusting at nothing, but fuck, he wants it all. Wants to taste every part of you. Wants to drag you to the edge and watch as your body writhes in satisfaction. Wants to know how beautiful you look when you come on his tongue, head thrown back, your nails digging into his scalp.

Wants to bury his cock inside of you before you can come down and watch as your eyes roll back and know, with every thrust of his hips, that he’s leaving his mark just the same as you are.

So that’s what he does. He stands, lifting you with ease, tells you to wrap your legs around him as he carries you to his bedroom. Lays you in the middle of the bed and helps strip you bare. Tells you, in every way he can think of, how much he loves seeing you like this, how stunning you are, how lucky he is. Kisses his way down your body until he’s level with your cunt. He breathes in your scent, desperate for all of you, before he circles a thumb over your clit and follows it with his mouth.

Ironic, he thinks, that you taste like heaven.

He gives as good as he got—flattens his tongue and works you over with long licks. Laps and sucks and doesn’t let up when your legs start to shake. Places one over his shoulder and dives back in. Swears fall from your lips in fractured syllables, breathless cries in between commands to keep going. He’s a man possessed. Doesn’t want to waste a second. Doesn’t want the taste of anyone else on his tongue.

You come with a sob, his name the only thing you seem capable of saying. Jun, Jun, Jun, like a chant.

…Like something he’d hear in church.

No reprieve. He stretches you on his fingers, almost delirious as he presses against your g-spot and feels how much wetter you get. Ruts against the mattress at all the crude sounds he’s pulling from you, unable to help himself. Says, “Can I…?” and slicks himself up with what he’s gathered from you when you nod.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. Kisses the spot just below your ear as he runs his hands up and down your thighs. “How do you want me?” he asks. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

He expects you to want it from behind. Maybe on top so you’re in control, turned away. He doesn’t expect you to say, “Just like this,” as you hitch a leg around his hip and pull him as close as possible. He doesn’t expect you to say, “I want you to look at me,” in that tone, like it’s imperative. Like you need it. He doesn’t expect you to grab the back of his neck and kiss the air from his lungs as he pushes inside.

Heat. Everything is white, blinding heat.

Jun whines into your mouth. Rolls his hips slowly as you swallow it. Your hands move to his shoulders and down his spine, settle in the small of his back, press into the dimples there. He pulls back only so he can tell you to mark him up, that he wants to feel you days from now, and you indulge him. Shallow at first—your nails ghost across his skin, more ticklish than painful, before they dig in a little deeper. Jun feels the bite as the welts begin to form and he thinks his smile must look crazed.

He keeps his pace steady. Fucks in as deep as he can and rocks back slowly, trying to hold on to the way your cunt squeezes him, but you need more. You tell him as much and don’t say please, and when Jun tries to be a little cocky, when he thinks he has a modicum of control and says, “You’re okay, baby, you can take it,” you send him such a nasty glare he immediately gives it to you harder and faster.

But he can’t help but laugh. “What, I can’t call you baby?” he jokes. There’s a rebuttal on the tip of your tongue that Jun does away with with a sharp thrust of his hips. He knows he’s playing with fire, that he’ll pay for this one way or another, but the thought thrills him more than anything else.

“I’m the—fuck,” you swear. Jun doesn’t have to ask why. Everything’s starting to feel tighter, wetter. Both of you are hurtling toward the inevitable, and Jun needs to feel you come on his cock, needs to watch you unravel beneath him.

He grabs your hand. Sucks two of your fingers into his mouth. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Make yourself feel good, I wanna see you come.” He moans, loud and unabashed, when you do as he says.

Each pass of your fingers over your clit makes you jerk, has electricity licking at your heels. Jun feels each one. Feels the way you clench and tremble. A bead of sweat runs down the column of your throat and he traces it with his tongue. Keeps fucking harder, deeper; grinds his pelvis against your clit and falls in love with the way you sound in the throes of lust. Wants to bottle it and keep it forever.

“Jun, I’m gonna—”

Another roll of his hips. Deep, deep, deep. “I know.” Two words he’s barely able to choke out. Feels like he’s being suffocated as his vision starts to go hazy at the edges. All he knows in this moment is your pleasure, your satisfaction, you.

Your orgasm hits with a shattering cry. Jun follows right after, unable to put up a fight against the vice grip of your cunt. It feels pathetic, the way his body shakes with the force of it, but when it passes, when he comes back into his body, all he feels is bone-deep euphoria.

He collapses onto your chest. Presses another kiss there. Sighs contentedly when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” comes your easy answer.

Minutes pass in blissful quiet. Neither of you speak, letting your heavy breathing do the talking, and for once Jun enjoys the sounds of the city outside when there’s someone beside him to hear it, too. “I’m gonna pull out,” he tells you, even though it feels a bit silly.

He feels the loss immediately.

Unsure of the protocol for something like this, Jun does what he always does: pretends there’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happening at all.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss to your temple. He grabs a clean pair of underwear from a drawer, pulls them on, pads down the hall to the bathroom. He pointedly does not look at his reflection as he turns the tap on and waits for the water to warm. Knows his face is blotchy and flushed and his hair’s a mess and that you’re spread out on his bed looking like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, so he doesn’t want to look at his reflection and feel bad about himself. Doesn’t want to taint this moment by feeling unworthy of it.

But a bit of that self-doubt still manages to creep in, because he returns to his room and is surprised to find you haven’t left. That, above all else, you look content: laying on your front, one of Jun’s pillows tucked beneath your head, sheets barely covering your ass. You smile when Jun puts a knee on the mattress and you feel it dip. Smile wider when he kisses the length of your spine and tells you, in a voice unrecognizable even to his own ears, to roll onto your back so he can clean you up.

If it’s too intimate, you make no mention of it. If there’s no room in this moment for this kind of care and affection, if all of this is for Jun’s sake and you’re just letting him go through the motions, you don’t mention that, either.

He works slowly and with care. Apologizes when you hiss at the first swipe of the washcloth, the water warm but still colder than your skin. Cracks a joke about taking you out for breakfast in the morning even though both of you know you’ll be long gone by then, and he waits for that knowledge to sting but it never does, but he’s relieved when you laugh anyway.

It’s when you stop laughing, when your smile slowly disappears from your face, that it all starts to sink in. Because you ask, “Did it feel real to you?” and he’s not sure how to interpret that. If it’s a masked plea for reassurance or if you want to make sure he got his money’s worth.

Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s neither.

“I know it can’t be for you what it is for me,” he answers, “but if you’re asking if I had a good time, then my answer is yes. And I know what this is, so you don’t need to look like that, okay? I’m not about to confess my love for you and start crying.”

(That’s not entirely true. He really might start crying, but he’ll at least have enough sense to wait until you’re gone.)

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, so I…” You sigh, avert your gaze, tangle your fingers in the sheets. “It’s just—you’re doing all this nice stuff for me, so I didn’t… I wanted to make sure.”

“‘Nice stuff’? You mean helping you clean up and offering you a glass of water?”

You laugh again, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re treating me like I’m human, Wen Junhui. Like I’m the same as any other woman you’d sleep with.”

He cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, and that’s the end of that.

Jun doesn’t use his downtown office much, but since his apartment still smells like you, he figures he can use a change of scenery. Hoshi will know where to find him if he’s needed.

He ducks into a recently-opened coffee shop and orders an expensive latte with ingredients he’s never heard of. When he pops the lid, he’s both horrified and intrigued by the purple-blue coffee that greets him. Back outside, he breathes in the musk of the city: the exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, the sweat from people rushing to work.

A jianbing vendor is set up at the corner, fills him with nostalgia—smells just like the ones he ate nearly every morning during law school. He smiles as he orders and asks for extra lajiao, foolishly ignoring the questioning glance he receives in return, and he’s happy as he walks the remaining two blocks to his office with it warm in his hand. Sticks it in his mouth to hold between his teeth as he digs in his pockets for the key. Jiggles it in the lock as he accidentally bites down, and it takes a second, maybe five, but then—

He should not have asked for the extra chili sauce.

All 182 of his centimeters crash through the door and carelessly toss aside his briefcase. Water. He needs water desperately, even though it’s just going to make it worse, which he knows, but his mouth all the way down to his esophagus feels like it’s been set ablaze. Feels like he’s breathing magma. Feels like if someone stood in front of him right now and caught wind of his breath, they’d turn to ash.

Which explains how he misses the person sitting at his desk, their feet kicked up and face hidden behind a newspaper from six months ago.

He finally notices them some ten minutes later, after he locks himself in the bathroom and douses his face in cold water and can be sure he’s not about to die from excessive heat intake. Not that this is any less embarrassing for him: he shrieks, clearly not expecting anyone to be there, and the stranger shrieks in turn. The shriek-off lasts approximately thirty seconds and is cut off by an elderly woman sticking her head through the door and asking if everything is alright, to which Jun sheepishly nods and bows in apology as he thanks her for her concern.

Once she’s back on the street, he whirls around to face his intruder.

“Good morning,” Hoshi says, seemingly nonplussed by the entire sequence of events that have transpired. “Had a little mishap with the chili sauce, huh?” Jun ignores him. Snatches the newspaper out of his hands and shoos him out of his chair and into one intended for guests. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Jun glares. “Why are you—”

“Or should I say the only side of the bed, considering you had erotic entanglements with the devil.”

Annoyance flares within him. Has that lajiao heat rushing back to his skin. Hoshi’s got a lot of nerve—the same guy who refused to tell him much of anything, who just takes and takes and takes, is now criticizing him for exercising his free will. Well, Jun’s not going to accept that, he decides. Adopts a snotty little tone and says, “So you were spying on me? Wow, okay, you pervert.”

Hoshi balks. Trips over his words as he tries to mount a useless defense. “I didn’t—that’s not—no,” is the best he can come up with.

“Did you like the show?”

“Wen Junhui—”

“Very convenient that’s the thing you watched. Missed my whole crisis of faith, huh? Both of them? Didn’t think I’d maybe need some support during those times?” He shakes his head. Tries to hold on to the anger, because it’s less humiliating than crying after acting like a hard-ass. “At least she’s been honest. At least she’s always been upfront about who and what she is. You guys—you guys have all these demands, all these requirements, but at the end of the day none of it matters. We’re all just pawns, and that’s all you’ll ever see us as.”

The angel stays quiet. Can’t quite discern if Jun’s tirade is over. He narrows his gaze, opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak just to see if Jun will interrupt him. (He doesn’t.) He clears his throat and tries to remember the correct pitch for his Comforting Voice: this will prove to be a pivotal moment in Wen Junhui’s partnership with Upstairs, and he’s going to need it.

“Wen Junhui,” he attempts again. No, the tone isn’t right—needs to be a little lower. “Wen Junhui, I am… holding space for everything you’ve just told me.” That’s better. Sounds convincing enough. “Is it fair to say you feel abandoned and unimportant?”

Jun’s cheeks warm to a mortifying shade of red. “I guess,” he mumbles.

“Great!” Hoshi beams. “Thank you so much for trusting me with this sensitive information.” He snaps his fingers and another manila folder appears in front of Jun. “Since you’re feeling better, this is your next assignment! If you open to the first page, you’ll see the contractee’s name is Choi Seungcheol and that he is of the utmost import—”

“No.”

“—ance.” Hoshi, unused to being caught unawares not once but twice in the same conversation, simply blinks, limbs frozen mid-air. “Pardon?”

“I said no.”

“Right, right… See, I heard that, but I’m not following. What do you mean no?”

Jun stands and starts clearing off the desk. Not that there’s much on it besides a framed picture of himself sandwiched between his parents at his graduation and an unused candle. Peach bellini. Hoshi had procured it from who-knows-where, said it was “an important part of Internet history” (that Jun must’ve missed) and called it a “belated graduation gift,” except the smell was so sickly-sweet it immediately gave him a migraine as soon as the lid came off.

All of this is besides the point, which is this: Jun doesn’t need this office. He doesn’t need this weird job where he reports to these weird people.

He says as much.

“Hey!” Hoshi objects, to which Jun responds, “You’re wearing a shirt with a cartoon wolf on it that says Fighting the Gay Allegations Again. I mean come on, dude, where do you even find these things?”

“You don’t like my shirts?”

“No! And I also don’t like that you just pretended to care about my feelings so I’d get back to work like a good little corporate soldier!” He’s able to fit the picture frame in his briefcase, but the candle doesn’t fit. Even if they’re arguing, it seems rude to give it back to Hoshi when he’d gone out of his way to get him a gift to begin with, so he lets out a frustrated screech and decides to carry it back to his apartment. “Find some other would-be Pope to help you.”

Although his face is blotchy and wet, Hoshi seems undeterred. There are, of course, no other would-be Popes available on such short notice—especially not one that’s earned the favor of the devil—so he needs to think up a plan quickly. If he fumbles Wen Junhui, he’ll either never hear the end of it from the lower-ranking angels or he’ll be stoned, and neither sounds very favorable right now.

So he does the only thing he can think to do: he snaps his fingers.

Kim Mingyu looks exactly like his picture.

He’s just as tall and symmetrically good-looking as Jun thought he would be, dressed in an impeccably-fitting white suit that elongates his legs and makes him look far taller than the six-foot-one-point-nine-repeating he’d measured in at. Dark, slightly wavy hair frames a perfect set of cheekbones, and whatever cologne he’s wearing nearly has Jun drooling.

He might actually be doing that, he realizes with horror, because Kim Mingyu also looks supremely uncomfortable. Is fluttering from one thing to the next, never staying more than a few seconds in each spot, tidying and organizing the same items over and over, muttering apologies all the while. And the board room really is not that big, so all that anxiety is starting to wear off on Jun, who was in his own office only a few minutes ago arguing with an angel that is currently nowhere to be found.

“So sorry about the mess!” Mingyu chimes. Jun can tell he’s trying (and failing) for unaffected. “I didn’t know we were having visitors, but no matter! My mother always used to say…” He pauses. Straightens his posture. Grabs a bouquet of white hydrangeas from a stunning pearlescent vase just to drop them right back in. “Er, I suddenly don’t remember anything my mother used to say.”

Jun grimaces and hides it behind his hand. “‘Have a wonderful day at school’?” he offers.

Mingyu smiles, makes a little a-ha! sound as he snaps his fingers; seems thankful for the lifeline he’d been thrown. Says, “Yes, yes, of course!” and starts fussing over the state of the table. He squirts a concerning amount of cleaner and wipes at it so aggressively Jun fears he’s going to wear a hole in the wood. “I’ve been told there was a slight security issue, but please rest assured that the rest of our guests should be arriving very soon! Any second now!”

That last bit comes out more like a demand.

Even though he feels far less intelligent than Hoshi claims he is, Jun is still smart enough to deduce he’d been snap-blasted to Heaven, not only because Mingyu is here and there are vaguely ominous security issues, but also because there’s a placard next to the door:

Board Room 17 Pearly Gates Wing

“It’s weird seeing you in real life after staring at the picture in your file for so long,” Jun says, continuing to look around. Everything is stark white, which he expected, with accents of gold that dazzles so brightly it hurts his eyes and pink freshwater pearl, and the flowers are abundant and fragrant. Jun feels at peace here. If it weren’t for Mingyu and his rapidly-fraying nerves, he might even call it tranquil. “I think I have a crush on you.”

Mingyu flushes. Unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth to stammer out a response that’s interrupted by three more figures materializing by the door.

Hoshi stands in the middle of Jeonghan and Joshua, arms slung around both of their shoulders. The two demons, naturally, do not look pleased. Jeonghan especially looks tortured, which is at odds with his new pink hair, and he’s the first to shrug off the angel. He grabs the chair closest to him and makes sure it scrapes against the floor as noisily as possible before slumping into it, arms crossed, scowl so fierce his frown lines nearly touch his jaw.

Joshua does the same, though he looks far more delighted to have a seat at the table.

From an invisible speaker, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor comes blaring. Hoshi and Mingyu startle; the latter goes in search of a tablet, completely frazzled, mumbling oh no oh no oh no as he rummages through drawers. Jeonghan and Joshua side-eye one another and come away wearing matching glares. To his credit, Jun sits ramrod straight and doesn’t flinch. When no one’s looking he sticks his fingers in his ears to dampen the noise and smiles politely at Mingyu when they make awkward eye contact.

The music cuts out, Mingyu heaves a sigh of relief, and once the tense silence settles back into the room, he turns to Hoshi and stage whispers, “Should I put it back on, or…?” to which Hoshi frantically nods.

Opening blaring once again, it’s then that you walk through the door, flanked on all sides by an impressive security detail. (Heaven’s, of course. They’re also dressed in all white and wearing mitre hats with SECURITY embroidered across the front in gold beadwork. Jun wonders, briefly, if this is where Hoshi gets his inspiration from.)

You’re escorted to a seat. There are seven chairs on the side of the table opposite Jun; you’re given the one in the middle, and Jeonghan and Joshua immediately move to sit on each side of you. You carry yourself with an easy confidence, not at all rattled by being here in this setting. It’s almost comical how your body language contrasts with Hoshi and Mingyu: how they’re at home, where they’re meant to be, and their unease is so apparent; and you’re where you’ve been exiled from, antithetical to what you’ve been put in charge of, a place that Jun knows picks at all those old wounds like a buzzard, and your composure is faultless.

Something you have to be, he figures.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, what’s with the long faces?” you ask, brows knit in faux-concern. You look the same as the last time Jun saw you—he’s sure it’s a power play, meant to throw him off, and it works. Heat simmers along his skin as the memories come flooding back. He wonders what you look like to everyone else. “It’s so lovely to see you all again.” You turn to Mingyu, who seems to shrink under your undivided attention. “Especially you, handsome. We’ve all been mourning the loss of our favorite eye candy.”

Mingyu squeaks. “Um!” He scrambles to the head of the table. His hands shake as he tries to unlock the tablet. “There’s, uh—an ag-agenda! For this me-meeting. Very important! Just one moment, please, and I’ll—”

“Very fascinating,” Jeonghan interjects. “Do you anticipate this happening at any point today? I have to oversee a workshop this afternoon about new ways to make men insecure about their penises and I simply cannot miss it. It’s my second-favorite event of the year.”

“What’s the first?” Jun can’t help but ask.

“The social media workshops. Next month’s is about online bullying and new ways to avoid getting banned by safeguarding teams so you can continue trolling in peace without fear of repercussions. The one after that is about sending in anonymous gossip to those Spotted In Such-and-such Facebook pages for places no one cares about.”

Joshua nods. “I think the Stevenage one is my favorite. When’s the workshop about the new Lego shapes to step on?”

Mingyu’s mouth snaps closed. In an attempt to nip the derailment in the bud, Hoshi says, “I think what our Head of HR meant to say was—”

“HR? None of you are human.”

“It stands for Heaven Relations, obviously,” Hoshi snaps, “and we’ve called this emergency meeting because we’ve been made aware of a very troubling development.”

You gasp. Lean forward and widen your eyes like you have no idea what he could possibly be referring to. “No! A troubling development, you say?” You fold your hands on the table. “Tell me all about it.”

Jun, however, cannot possibly play it so cool. Feels dread overtake his body as restless anxiety sets in. The mind reader that he is, Joshua sends him a discreet wink that does very little to settle his nerves. Still feels like he’s drank fifteen cups of light roast coffee and is about to sit for a law school exam he forgot to study for.

“It has come to our attention that…” Mingyu looks down at the tablet. Looks up and over at Hoshi. Grimaces. “Do I really have to say this?”

“Yes.”

He huffs and continues. “It has recently come to our attention that one Wen Junhui, would-be Pope and recently-licensed lawyer accepted into a contracted position at Their approval, has engaged in… sexual relations… with the being known colloquially as the Devil.”

Jeonghan looks sideways at you with the most disgustedly disappointed look Jun has ever seen appear on a face. To the contrary, Joshua leans across the table to high-five him and say, “You dirty dog! I bet it was better than that handjob, huh?” He leans back, whistles low. “Goddamn, why is it every time you get some action it’s like some end of days shit? You ever consider becoming celibate?”

“Not involuntarily,” Jun mumbles.

“Shame,” Jeonghan intones. You laugh at this.

Hoshi, once again fed up with his meeting being derailed, says to Jeonghan and Joshua, “Why are you two even here?” to which they reply, “We’re her advocates. We’re advocating.”

“No advocating has ever taken place while the three of you have been in this room.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “At ease, Megamind.”

“Metatron,” Mingyu quietly corrects.

Jun snorts. Of course. Of course Hoshi is one of the most powerful archangels in Heaven. Speaker of God, permitted to be in Their presence and at Their side; celestial scribe and guide to humanity—the guy who appears earthside wearing crude t-shirts and stupid hats. Of-fucking-course.

All of this is enough to drive him to lunacy. All the things he didn’t and doesn’t know, all the secrets kept locked up tight, all the jokes he continues to be the butt of. Everyone in this room is on equal footing except him, and he’s the one seemingly on trial. Heaven doesn’t care what you do—your role is to sow chaos and they’re powerless to stop you, just as you’re powerless here. No, the only one that will feel the repercussions of this is Jun, not only because he’s the only one capable of being punished, but because he’s human.

He must sense his distress again, because Joshua mouths a watch this before saying, with all the conviction and tenacity of a seasoned prosecutor, “Allow me to advocate, then: we do not accept these accusations as fact without being presented with irrefutable proof, which I’m sure you have, considering you’ve made such a show of gathering us all here.”

Mingyu and Hoshi share a look.

“I—well, you see—”

“Surely you don’t need irrefutable proof to understand what a conflict of interest this is and why we’re concerned.”

“A conflict of interest which surely has already taken place?” Jeonghan tacks on. Joshua nods with grave sincerity. “Or have you called an impromptu, emergency meeting to discuss hypotheticals?” Mingyu and Hoshi share another look. “Gentlemen, need we remind you of the criteria that must be met before an emergency meeting may be called? I cannot imagine two high-ranking employees such as yourselves disregarded such strict protocols simply because of the parties involved?”

“Haaa, of course not!” Hysterical, frenzied laughter ensues. “No, no, we would never—”

Joshua shakes his head. “It sure is looking like that’s what has taken place here today, but I hate to assume the worst, so if you could just show us the permits I’m sure we can get this all cleared up.”

“Per-permits…?”

Jeonghan has all the patience in the world as he replies, “Section 894, subsection 12 of the accords states that in order for an emergency meeting to be called and granted between the constituents of Heaven and Hell, the proper permits must be filed and signed off on by the governing bodies of each at least 72 hours in advance. Now, it’s possible the paperwork was signed on our side, but as you know our boss is very, very busy and it seems to have been misplaced, so we have no way of confirming this.” You nod, sharing Joshua’s very serious look. “Hence the permits. Show them to us, please.”

There’s hope yet that Jun will get out of this. Be on the receiving end of his own strategy. Jeonghan and Joshua start up a show us the per-mits! show us the per-mits! chant that sends Hoshi and Mingyu into a panic. The latter, now soaked through with sweat, does a fruitless search on his tablet, while Hoshi tries to distract everyone with an interpretive dance none of them can make sense of.

“I believe this is a reflection of his current state of mind,” you say solemnly, playing the part of an esteemed art critic. “It’s histrionic on the surface, but once you dig deeper, it’s uncontrolled and frenetic at its roots. A wonderful metaphor for a fractured, disjointed mind, but severely lacking in execution.”

“Amen,” Jeonghan and Joshua say in unison.

Minutes pass. It’s clear the permits don’t exist, but Mingyu keeps up the charade of searching anyway, much to the delight of the Hell delegation. “Have you tried the top drawer of that thing?” Joshua asks right after Jeonghan suggests checking the trash folder on the desktop in his office. You, of course, stay quiet, content to soak up your victory in silence—albeit while looking extremely smug.

“Well!” you say, clapping your hands together with a wicked smile. “This was fun. Thank you both so much for the invite, but I fear we must be going. Duty calls.”

Hoshi is having none of this. Permits be damned, another snap of his fingers finds you bound to your chair, chains wrapped around each of your forearms. You hiss at the contact. “Whoa,” Jun whispers, and if Jeonghan’s and Joshua’s mouths hadn’t been removed by the same finger-snap, he assumes there’d be a crude joke coming his way.

“The three of you would do well to remember who and where you are.” Hoshi speaks with all the authority bestowed upon him. It’s a stark difference from how Jun usually sees him—aloof and unserious, more like a court jester—and it has him straightening in his chair. “None of us will be leaving this room until the matter is resolved.”

You roll your neck. Press your tongue into the fat of your cheek but otherwise don’t move. Pain flashes across your face each time the chains leave fresh wounds in your skin and Jun wants to tell them to cut it out, call this whole thing off, say it doesn’t mean anything, but he’s still so clueless. Still so far out of his depth. These matters concern him but are so far beyond his pay grade it’s all he can do to keep treading water.

And you know this, because you say, “There is no conflict of interest. Everything is business as usual.”

Hoshi doesn’t even make eye contact as he retorts, “Which is useless, coming from you.”

Mingyu offers up a tight-lipped smile. “I think what my colleague is trying to say is that we simply cannot trust word of mouth in a matter as serious as this. As I’m sure you understand, Wen Junhui is a special case. It’s quite rare They enlist the help of humans in such circumstances, and if he is no longer able to perform his duties in an unbiased manner due to your influence—”

Teeth grit, you repeat, “There is no conflict of interest.”

Mingyu sighs. Sets down his tablet and narrows his gaze. He seems to have shaken off the dregs of doubt and uncertainty, because he looks powerful. Looks intimidating, which is not a word Jun would have used to describe him twenty minutes ago. “Need I remind you of your role in this universe? Chaos and temptation; calamity and destruction. You serve no one. You do not speak in truths, nor are you concerned with them. Your ambition and pride were your downfall, and it seems you have learned nothing in the years since.” He turns his attention to Jun. “And if you doubt what I say, remember I witnessed all of this with my own eyes.”

“Scandalous! And what were you doing at the devil’s sacrament, Kim Mingyu?”

Jun nods, earning him an incredulous look from Hoshi. “Well, she has a point,” he defends. “There is that saying about stones and glass houses or whatever. He wouldn’t have seen all of those things if he hadn’t made a deal with her in the first place.”

Hoshi is quiet. Mingyu looks betrayed. “Are you not going to—”

“He, too, has a point,” the angel concedes. “I mean, did you really have to do all that? You were already hot and tall, I just don’t—”

Even with no mouths, it’s obvious Jeonghan and Joshua are snickering.

The bickering continues before eventually devolving into baseless name-calling. Jun’s head snaps back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match, and it’s not that far off. Mingyu hones in on your lack of character, prompting Hoshi to chime in with something equally cruel or just nonsensical in an attempt to back him up, and you handle both of them with ease, laughing off their taunting just to get under their skin. Which works, of course, so on and on it goes, ad nauseam, until Jun puts everyone out of their misery and puts an end to it.

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me how I feel?” At once the room goes silent, all squabbling ceased, and the sudden quiet has his ears ringing. “I know you don’t need me,” he says to you, amazed he can meet your eye when he feels like that admission is going to make him vomit. He turns to Mingyu and Hoshi. “But you two do, and throughout this whole experience I have been left out, lied to, and talked over. Did either of you ever stop to consider that’s why I refused the assignment and it has nothing to do with her? That she’s telling the truth when she says there’s no conflict of interest?”

At least they have the good sense to look embarrassed.

Mingyu is the first to crack. He bows slightly at the waist and says, “On behalf of Heaven, I would like to offer you our deepest and most sincere apologies.”

Hoshi follows suit. “Right. Exactly what he said.”

Jun studies each of them. Mingyu, he knows, is just doing what any human resources officer worth their salt would do: protect the company at all costs. Fortunately this works out in Jun’s favor. He’s important and necessary and, against all odds, has proven his worth and abilities to boot. Heaven can’t negotiate with Hell without him, and it’s this knowledge that spurs him on, has him crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms across his chest. Total power stance. Hoshi gapes a little.

“I think there’s a compromise to be found here.”

The compromise is this: just as there are souls in Hell that were meant to go to Heaven, the reverse is also true. Jun had stumbled across them during his hours of research: souls that had somehow slipped through the cracks and went north when they were meant to go south; souls stuck in an endless purgatory that a lax Judgment Deliverer let in because they didn’t feel like doing paperwork; judgment numbers in which an integer got input incorrectly. What he proposes is a one-for-one trade. Heaven wants Choi Seungcheol, so they’ll have to give up someone in return.

It evens the playing field—

“Which was the original intention, was it not?”

More importantly, and perhaps more selfishly, Jun will no longer be able to be used as a pawn. He’ll uphold his original agreement while doing the same for you—for Hell. He’ll rewrite the terms and conditions of the contracts after each soul has been judged fairly and impartially by both factions, essentially voiding the concept of sides.

“I would be working for you both,” he concludes. “It’s the only way any of this remains fair.”

(He’s also not trying to invoke your wrath and spend eternity getting dipped in hot oil, but he doesn’t feel it’s the right time to admit that.)

After a lengthy silence that Hoshi spends pressing against his ear, the angel eventually says, “Heaven is amenable to these terms if Hell is.”

You heave a long-suffering sigh that has Jun on the edge of his seat. This proposal was certainly better than the last one he’d pitched you, but you’re giving nothing away. Also of little help are Jeonghan and Joshua who have fallen asleep and are snoring loudly. Mingyu leans over to wipe a spot of drool from the corner of Joshua’s mouth. He doesn’t move.

After what feels like a lifetime, you nod. “Fine. Hell is also amenable to these terms.” A chorus of cheers. Jun does an embarrassing little wiggle out of excitement. Hoshi stands on top of the table and pumps his fist. Mingyu, still in HR mode, starts listing off all the potential new job titles for Jun.

(In the end his new name tag reads: Wen Junhui, Special Counsel to Heaven & Hell, Contracts Division.)

Before you leave, and before the celebrations can get too out of hand, Jun clears his throat. “I have a request,” he says, before adding on, “if the whole payment in forms other than money thing is still on the table.”

“It is,” Mingyu confirms.

“Great.” He sucks in a breath. Lets it go all disjointed and shaky. There’s no going back once he says this and they grant it—which they will, considering the way Mingyu’s nearly tripping over himself to give him whatever he wants. But it’s still a massive ask. It will still change the trajectory of his existence, just like that handjob had done. And even though he’s certain it’s what he wants, he still wonders if he’s making a mistake as he says, “I want to be immortal.”

Jeonghan and Joshua jerk awake. “What the fuck did he just say?”

Hoshi, too, looks stunned. “Uh, are you sure?”

No, Jun wants to say, please talk me out of it, but the words die in his throat when he looks at you. There’s not a hint of bewilderment to be found. No shock or awe. There’s just the smallest nod of your head, meant just for him, that says all he needs to hear—that you see him, that you recognize he’d gone through all of this insanity because he needed to find his own path, and that he’s finally found in it the meaning he’d been searching for.

“I’m sure,” he confirms, completely void of hesitation.

Hoshi scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, I—that’s quite a big request. I’ll have to see what we can do.”

Mingyu, however, spoils the inevitable surprise by giving him a thumbs-up.

After that, there isn’t much left to say. Mingyu formally concludes the meeting and thanks Hell for their attendance and participation, to which Jeonghan gives him the finger before disappearing in a plume of smoke that causes everyone to gag. Joshua takes advantage and slips out the door undetected. Mingyu and Hoshi are none the wiser until some of the employees down the hall start screaming. “Please excuse us,” Mingyu chokes out before he, too, disappears in the direction of the shouting. Hoshi hangs back, tries to swallow his amused smile, but then Mingyu returns to drag him away.

Only you and Jun remain. “What did Joshua do?” he asks, less to break the silence and more because he’s nosy.

“Released roughly three dozen of those terrifying tarantulas that eat birds.”

“Oh.”

Silence creeps in anyway—not awkward, but Jun can tell there’s something you want to say. Should he hover? He doesn’t want you to feel obligated (not that you would), but he can’t deny that he’s curious. You, the literal devil, reluctant to say something to him, just a human? It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.

“You’re not gonna get all clingy and weird now that we’ve had sex, are you?” he jokes.

Shockingly, you do not find this funny. “I may have lied about inventing Jenny McCarthy, but I did invent the guillotine. And the electric chair. And the rack—”

“Noted,” Jun replies, giddy all over. Can’t help it as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocks back on his heels. “Should I walk you to the door?”

“Don’t you dare,” comes your response, but Jun does it anyway. Gets away with it by dropping some quip about his mother raising him to be a gentleman, and it’d just destroy her if she knew Jun wasn’t abiding by her teachings.

Your reluctant smile is akin to pulling teeth, but it still shows up.

Whatever havoc had been wreaked by Joshua seems to have been solved. There’s blissful silence as the two of you reach the door, and Jun knows his escort is pomp and circumstance, that you could disappear in the blink of an eye the way Jeonghan had, but he appreciates you going through the motions for his sake, that you’ve allowed him a moment of normalcy.

“Was it hard coming back here?” he asks, leaning against the door frame to stem his desire to reach out for you.

“Well, it’s certainly never easy, but I’ve got plenty of psychologists down there I can talk it over with if need be.” You check an invisible watch. “Do you think Freud is available for lunch tomorrow?”

“If he’s not, I am.”

A bark of shocked laughter has you covering your mouth. “I did not expect that from you.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” you reply instantly. “Have a great weekend, Wen Junhui. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.”

Jun nods… which is about all he can do, considering he’s stuck here for the time being. Hoshi sent him here, which means Hoshi’s the only one who can send him back—some stupid security rule Jun wasn’t paying attention to when it’d been explained to him. So he sticks the corner of his thumb in his mouth, thinks about how great your ass looked in those pants as you walked away, and pivots back into the conference room to await the angel with the stupid t-shirts.

Except, as soon as he turns around, there you are. Face to face. Close enough that your scent is paralyzing, but it’s different now—softer, he thinks; something that makes him feel less like he’s been ensnared in your web and more like he’s been invited in. Close enough that when you lean in he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, that sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You were wrong,” you say, so quiet he’s not sure he isn’t imagining your words, filling in the blanks of what he wants to hear. “What you said earlier, about me not needing you.”

Then you’re gone.

In the blink of an eye, just like he thought you’d be.

He makes a mental note to be available tomorrow around lunchtime.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to say you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish: New beginnings

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Warnings: Angst, Mentions gun, Su!c!de mention

Ask Box | Previous Chapter | FIC Masterlist | Other works

A wide smile was plastered on your face as you pedaled through the streets, the wind playfully tousling your hair. The sun shone brilliantly overhead, casting golden hues on the pavement. You had always loved mornings like these—crisp air, a clear sky, and an exhilarating sense of new beginnings. Today was different, though. Today wasn’t just any morning; it was the start of a new chapter. The excitement coursing through your veins was undeniable, and nothing could have dampened your energy.

As you maneuvered through the familiar streets, you made sure to greet everyone you crossed paths with—a nod to the elderly woman tending to her potted plants, a cheerful wave to the café owner who was arranging fresh pastries in the window, and even a quick “Good morning!” to the jogger you always saw on your morning rides. It felt surreal to be here, to be moving forward after all those years stuck at Domain. That lingering “what if” that had haunted your thoughts was finally being answered. The uncertainty that had once held you back no longer had any power over you. Today, you were stepping into something new, something filled with potential.

You soon arrived at your destination, your heart beating with anticipation and excitement. As you parked your bike and took off your helmet, your eyes locked onto the building in front of you. It was breathtaking—modern yet distinctly Japanese-inspired, exuding both elegance and tranquility. The Golden Ratio logo was carved in gold, standing out against the dark wood facade, almost as if it were welcoming you into its world. Wooden slats were arranged in a structured yet artistic pattern, allowing glimpses of the warm, ambient lighting from within. The entrance walkway was lined with ginkgo trees and occasional black pine, their lush greenery blending harmoniously with the refined architecture. It felt like a place that had been designed not just for work, but for inspiration.

As you stood there, admiring the building and absorbing the reality of your new job, a movement caught your attention. A young man, dressed in a crisp white shirt and loose black-lined pants, approached you with a polite smile. His black lanyard bore the company’s logo, and dangling from it was his ID card. You quickly read his name—Hitoshi.

“Y/n?” he asked, his voice warm and respectful.

“Yes…” you replied, adjusting your bag strap.

“I am Hitoshi! I am here to escort you to the office. Nice to meet you!” He bowed slightly and extended his hand forward.

You returned the bow before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too. This is a… lovely place.”

Hitoshi chuckled nervously. “Yes. Nanami-san loves nature, and he was very adamant about maintaining this walkway.”

“I see,” you murmured, clasping your hands in front of you as you followed him through the large screen doors.

“I’m really happy you joined our firm,” Hitoshi continued as he walked beside you.

You giggled. “Me too.”

His enthusiasm seemed to grow as he spoke. “When I saw your portfolio, I knew I wanted to work with you! Your projects are so creative and witty. They make people think and create an emotional connection between the product and the customer. It’s so clever!”

“Oh… I’m glad you think I’m clever.” You chuckled, feeling both flattered and slightly amused at his excitement.

Hitoshi’s eyes practically sparkled as he went on, like a child who had just met their favorite superhero. “I asked Nanami-san to place me in your department. I will be your junior, and I have so much to learn from you! I’m just an undergraduate student, but this is my third summer internship with Golden Ratio. I’m determined to work here full-time one day. Please feel free to make me run around as much as you want—I am at your service!”

His sincerity made you smile. It was rare to see such enthusiasm so openly displayed, and it reminded you of when you first started out—brimming with ideas, eager to prove yourself, and ready to soak up every bit of knowledge you could find. It was endearing to see that kind of passion reflected in someone else.

“Well, Hitoshi,” you said, looking at him with amusement, “I hope you don’t regret saying that.”

He laughed. “Never! I mean it. I want to be useful, so please don’t hesitate to give me tasks.”

You nodded, appreciating his enthusiasm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you walked deeper into the building, the serene atmosphere embraced you. The scent of cedarwood lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea. The walls were adorned with minimalist art—subtle brush strokes that depicted landscapes and abstract designs. Everything about this place felt carefully curated, balancing modernity with tradition.

Hitoshi led you down a sleek hallway, stopping in front of a door with your nameplate already mounted on it. Seeing your name there, officially part of Golden Ratio, sent a thrill through you. This was real. This was happening.

“Here we are,” Hitoshi announced, opening the door for you.

You stepped inside, taking in the cozy yet professional space—large windows letting in natural light, a tidy desk waiting for you, and a small bookshelf already stocked with materials. A new beginning.

Turning to Hitoshi, you grinned. “Well then, let’s get to work.”

He beamed. “Yes! Let’s!”

And with that, your journey at Golden Ratio truly began.

His excitement made your laugh. It was pure innocent excitement to do something creative and it resonated with you. Hitoshi tapped his card and opened another screen door for you. 

Compared to the facade, the interiors had modern design. However the decor was traditional Japanese and the common areas looked like a traditional tea house engulfed by a modern cafe. 

“Where do I get my ID card from?”. You asked Hitoshi as the two of you entered the elevator.

“Oh yes! I have it ready for you in your cabin. I was so excited to meet you. I didn't want to waste time at the HR”. Hitoshi admitted and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Nanami-san is at a client meeting but he will meet you after lunch. He always makes time to meet each new employee. He is my idol! My final year design project is based on his design principle. Oh by the way, I am a product designer. Well a product design intern for now”.

You nodded and smiled. His childlike enthusiasm reminded you of your brother. “I am sure you are very talented!”.

The elevator doors opened to a courtyard surrounded by glass walls. The stone walkway was lined with tiny bonsai trees and koi ponds on either side. 

Hitoshi pointed upwards,”The roofs of this open area are retractable. When it is too sunny or raining we bring them back up! And we can even adjust them to allow as much light as we want. Today is a pleasant day so even the fishes get to enjoy it”

“This is one the most beautiful offices I have ever seen!”. You admitted. The atmosphere throughout the office felt tranquil. 

As you followed Hitoshi through different corridors you noticed the walls lined with framed awards and recognition. However you didn’t see a single photo with Nanami alone. It was always with a team and he was standing on the side. 

“This is your office!”. Hitoshi opened a glass door and smiled widely at you.

You stepped inside and took a deep breath. This was a new start to your life. 

The office itself was smaller than your older office, if you can even call it your previous office, But it was well lit and felt welcoming. The office cabin exuded a sense of tranquility and refined simplicity, blending traditional Japanese aesthetics with modern functionality. Bathed in warm, golden sunlight filtering through expansive shoji-style windows, the room felt open yet intimate. The wooden ceiling, adorned with exposed beams, added a rustic charm, while the polished wooden floor enhances the space’s elegance. At the heart of the room stood a sleek yet minimalist wooden desk, accompanied by a modern ergonomic chair. Above the desk, a delicate hanging lamp casted a soft glow, complementing the natural light. 

To the left, a sliding wooden lattice door led to another section of the office, maintaining privacy while preserving the openness of the space. Against the far wall, a scroll featuring traditional Japanese ink painting hung gracefully, adding a touch of cultural depth. A carefully placed bonsai tree in the corner breathed life into the room, reinforcing the connection to nature. 

As you made your way around the desk and ran your fingers along the edge of the chair you noticed that you could see the main lobby clearly from your chair. Hitoshi noticed your observation and walked over to the side of the desk, “If you want privacy then you can press this button and the glass door will become opaque”. He pressed a small button under the desk and the glass door became opaque in an instant.

“I see. This is beautiful”.

Hitosi pulled out a drawer and took out a docket. “This is your ID card”. He handed you the ID card with the same Lanyard as his. “You can wear it however you want but you will need it to access all the rooms in the office”. 

You took the ID card and saw your smiling face with your employee ID, birth date, and a barcode on it. “Thank you”.

Hitoshi removed a sleek folder from the main docket and placed it on the desk. “This is a brief for the new Project. Nanami-san wanted to hear your thoughts on it later in the day. He said it is not a rush and you should take your time settling in”. 

You nodded and picked up the brown file. “No worries. This would give me something to do today”. You smiled.

Hitoshi nodded happily. “This is your induction document. It has some forms that you need to fill for your emergency contact and insurance. It also has a brief overview of the firm and our past projects so feel free to go through that. I think you will find it interesting”.

“I see”.

Hitoshi placed the thicker document on the table and clapped his hands, “Well I will leave you to it. Oh and if you need anything then please call me”. Hitoshi extended his work card with both hands and you took it with a bow. “It has my mobile and office number so…call me on any. I am here to help you”.

“Okay”.

“Oh and this is your laptop, The login id and password are in your induction file. We all have lunch together in the cafeteria together at 12:30 PM sp please join us. You can meet the rest of the team!”.

“Sure I would love to!”. 

“Great, then enjoy your day and explore!”. Hitoshi gave you a courteous bow and left your office. 

You took a deep breath and plopped down the chair. As happy as you were you had an unsettling feeling that something was about to happen. You had erased the path that led you to Gojo but does this mean that you will never see him again? You tried hard to recollect what the man had told you, “Redo your fate…”. Did that mean that you could completely erase Gojo or did it mean something else. 

By the time lunch time rolled around you had finished going through the project brief and finished your formalities. The firm was quite smaller compared to the domain with only 120 people working here. You even took a video of your new office and sent it to your mom who was in awe of how beautiful it was. 

“y/n!!”. Hitoshi called out to you and waved his hand when he saw you walking through the doors of the cafeteria. 

You made your way to the long wood table where everyone was sitting. “Hello everyone, I am y/n. Nice to meet you all”. You bowed as you introduced yourself. 

Everyone bowed in return and welcomed you to sit with them. “This is maya”. Hitoshi pointed to a blue haired girl. “She handles our digital marketing so you will work closely with her”.

“Nice to meet you y/n-san! Hitoshi has said such good things about you. I look forward to working with you”.

“Nice to meet you Maya. Please call me y/n”. 

“This is Juno,” Hitoshi pointed to a brown haired, spectacled guy in a crisp blue shirt. “He works in accounting”.

“Nice to meet you Juno”. 

Juno smiled politely and bowed in return. 

“He doesn’t talk much but he is really good with numbers!”. Hitoshi continued. “And he is dating Maya”.

Both Juno and Maya turned pink. “Congratulations!”. You smiled at the couple. 

“This is Suzume,”Hitoshi pointed to the girl with a ponytail and rimless glasses. She handles appointments and office administrators. If you need anything, she will help you”.

“Nice to meet you Suzume”.

“Nice to meet you too y/n. I hope you didn’t have trouble settling in”.

“No. None at all. Hitoshi was very kind and gave me a tour of the office”.

She smiled, “If you ever need anything please reach out to me. I will be happy to help you”.

“Thank you”.

"Welcome to the gang!”. Hitohsi exclaimed with jazz hands.

The lunch was filled with chatter about office gossip and latest projects. But you didn’t feel left out at all. Everyone happily shared context to every gossip, sometimes even talking over one another. Juno was the quietest of the lot but everytime he spoke he sent everyone laughing till their stomachs hurt. You could tell that the group was very close but not exclusive. Their unique personalities blended well together and Hitoshi felt like the glue that held everyone together. 

After lunch everyone went for coffee and a small stroll around the garden and it gave you an opportunity to get to know everyone individually. You exchanged numbers and social media id with everyone even Juno who had only two posts and both were with Maya, which was endearing. Suzume, though she looked stoic, loved to chat about anything and everything. Maya and Hitoshi were like siblings who were always bickering. Juno was a man of few words but he was not cold. He spoke about the office and how he met Maya, you could tell he was really warm and loving man.

As you made your way back to your office your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was an unknown number but it seemed familiar. Maybe it was someone from the group. 

“Hello?”. 

…..

“Hello? This is y/n..”

….

You frowned and stared at the number. 

“Nanami-san?”

The person on the other side cut the call. You shrugged and put your phone back in your pocket. 

You stood outside Nanami’s cabin staring at the plaque on the door. You were nervous about meeting him despite Hitoshi assuring you that he is a kind and generous person. You raised your fist and gently tapped on the wooden door.

“Come in”.  A stern voice replied from the other end. 

You turned the knob gently and walked in. “Hi, I am..”

“y/n. Yes. I am Kento Nanami. Nice to meet you finally”. Nanami got up and bowed at you.

“Hi. Nice to meet you too”. You smiled and relaxed. 

He motioned towards the seat and you sat across from him. 

“How was your first day?”.

“It was good. Hitoshi introduced me to some people and also gave me a tour”.

“Oh he is very excited about working with you. He is talented but talks a lot”. Nanami chuckled and his eyes glinted like a proud father teasing his child.

“Yes he did”. You felt a bit nervous now that you had gotten a good look at Nanami. He was exceptionally good looking. His crisp blue shirt clung to his well built torso. His blond hair shimmered in the light and was set very neatly on top of his head. He had a calming and respectful presence. Even his office was neatly organized and well kept. 

“Are you settled in? There were some formalities for the HR”.

“Yes I submitted the forms right before coming here actually”.

“That’s great. How has your day been so far?”.

“Quite good. I went through the project brief that you had sent”. “Oh yes. But before we discuss that I would like to get to know you. What are your ambitions and dreams? And above all, what can my firm do to support you?”.

You were taken aback by his question. No one had ever asked you what you wanted let alone wanted to support you. “I..I just want to do meaningful and creative work. I want to ..help businesses grow through strategic creativity. I am not overly ambitious with respect to position and pay. As long as I can create value and support my family I am happy”.

Nanami pondered over your words for a while and the silence made you question your answer. But your anxiousness was soon washed away by his warm smile. “That is a refreshing answer. I have asked this question to many people and very few have ever given me a genuine answer. I look forward to working with you”.

You smiled widely. “Thank You”.

“So are you from Kyoto?”. Nanami asked.

“Yes and No. I was born and raised in Tokyo but moved to Kyoto 5 years ago for my family. But I love it here”.

“Oh I see. I am also not a native but moved here around the same time as you did”. He added.

“What brought you to Kyoto?”

Nanami leaned back in his chair and he thought about it for a while. He had spent so much time here that he had almost forgotten why he moved here. “For some peace and quiet. The firm I was working with in Tokyo was good and quite well paying but money isn’t everything. Once I had earned enough to move here I packed my bags and left the city”.

You nodded.”But why..Kyoto? If you don’t mind me asking”.

Nanami chuckled. “My Grandmother was from here and I remember visiting her as a child and falling in love with the culture and architecture. In some ways it inspired me to do what I am doing”.

“I can understand. Beauty of the architecture here is unmatched in my opinion. It compels me to take a step back and observe and be present but at the same time brings the creativity out of me”.

Nanami looked at you and gave a satisfying smile. “I couldn’t agree more”.

A light tap on the door broke the comfortable silence in the room.

“Come in”. Nanami said and sat up straight in his seat.

A petite girl with a bob cut peaked her head in through the gap, “Sorry to disturb you, but..Kasumi-san is on the phone”.

“I will take my leave”. You got up and bowed. “I hope to speak to you again”.

“Yes. Thank you for stopping by. If you need anything please reach out to me”. Nanami replied with a professional smile. 

“Yes”.

You rode back home with a smile on your face. You felt content..mostly. These were good people. Honest people. You knew that not all days would be good but you would rather go through the bad days with good people than good days with the bad ones.  But something was tugging at your heart and you couldn’t understand what. Maybe you were scared that all of this was a dream and when you woke up you would be back in the alley drunk and miserable. But this was real. The air on your face was real. The grip on your bike handle was real. The sight pain in your left shoulder was real. Nanami was real. Histoshi was real.

As you parked your bike near the garage, you could hear the chatter form the television inside and the light chatter between your mom and brother seeping through the walls. This was real.

“I am home!”. You announced as you took your shoes off and slipped into your house slipper.

“Welcome home! Dinner is almost ready! How was your first day?”. Your mother called from the kitchen. 

You walked in the living room and saw your brother sitting in front of the television with his eyes glued. He looked up at you briefly and then back to the television. Were you the same as a teenager? So brooding. 

“It was good”. You kept your bag on the couch and plopped down next to your brother.

“Did you make any new friends?”. Your mom asked as she made her way in the living room with a tray and gently put the glass of water on the table.

You chuckled. “Mom, I am not in school anymore. But, yes I did make new friends”.

Ren looked at you through the corner of his eyes, “Are they all nerdy like you?”.

You threw a cushion at him, “At least I have friends”.

“Enough you two! I washed these cushions today! y/n go wash up and come for dinner”.

As you sat down to eat dinner you felt grateful for the choice you had made. Seeing your mom and brother happy made it all worth it. “Mom, there are tomatoes in the curry!”. You whined.

“Oh god y/n. You should eat tomatoes. They are in season and good for you”.

“She is such a child”. Ren chuckled.

“Do you want that new game or not?”. 

“You are the best sister in the world”. Ren bowed sarcastically, making you giggle.

You mom put her spoon down and looked at you trying to recollect something.

“What?”. You asked.

“Oh yes! Someone called for you today”.

“For me? Who?”.

“I don’t know. They asked whether you were home and I told them you were at work”.

“Did you ask for their name?”. You asked, eating a spoonful of rice.

“I did.. But they cut the call”.

You shrugged. “Must be the HR confirming my home number”.

“Yeah..but-”.

“Mom”. You tilted your head and looked at her reassuringly. Your mom had an affinity for fussing over these things. “It’s all good”.

“Are you sure?”.

“Yes. I am sure”. You turned to Ren, “How was school?”.

“Good”. 

You stared at him prompting him to expand on his reply.

“What?”.

“You were supposed to get your test result today?”.

“Oh Yeah I did. I did alright”.

“Alright?”. You mom scoffed. “He scored the highest y/n! I am so happy!”.

“Oh wow. So there is a brain inside that skull!”. You and your mom giggled. “How about all of us go for a picnic to celebrate this weekend?”.

Ren shook his head. “I have a soccer match”.

“After the match?”. Your mom asked, raising her brows excitedly.

“Maybe..”.

You and your mom exchanged knowing looks as you mimicked his signature brooding expression, causing her to burst into laughter. The sound was warm and familiar, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It filled your heart with joy, yet beneath the surface, a dull ache lingered. The memory of a conversation from what felt like a past life weighed on your mind. She was a kind woman—selfless, devoted. Was it truly wrong for her to have been ambitious? To have wanted more, after spending her entire life working tirelessly for her children? She was simple at heart, never asking for much. A flawed human, yes, but still the mother you loved with every fiber of your being.

Without a second thought, you crawled closer and wrapped your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder. The warmth of her embrace was immediate as she instinctively draped an arm over you, her laughter fading into quiet concern.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle yet firm.

A lump formed in your throat, making it impossible to speak. You simply nodded, gripping the fabric of her sleeve a little tighter.

“Can you stop being so emo?” Ren deadpanned from across the table, breaking the silence.

A surprised giggle escaped your lips.

“Dick!” You shot back, sniffling as you leaned back onto your cushion.

“Language, Y/N!” your mom scolded, though there was no real bite to her words.

“Sorry… Dick-san,” you corrected yourself, purposefully avoiding her gaze.

Ren couldn’t hold it in anymore—his giggles burst forth, and soon, you joined him. Laughter rippled through the dining room, filling the space with warmth, momentarily washing away the heaviness in your chest.

You walked into your room with a smile on your face, a rare kind of lightness in your steps. The day had been kind to you, filling your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. You placed your bag on your study chair, its usual spot, and let your eyes drift to the blue paper lying on your desk. It was as if it had been waiting for you. You picked it up, running your fingers over the slightly crumpled edges before reading the three words printed on it—Make a wish. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you held it a little longer, as if hoping the words would whisper their magic into your heart.

Without another thought, you slipped the paper under your pillow and crawled into bed. The ceiling above blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, sliding down silently, tracing cold lines on your cheeks. It was only now, in the quiet solitude of your room, that you finally understood—why your heart felt both light and unbearably heavy at the same time. You were happy, yes, but not over him. The realization settled over you like a weight you didn’t know you were still carrying. A part of you despised him, resented the way he had left you tangled in memories you couldn’t escape. And yet, another part—one you wished you could silence—still longed for him. Still wondered why life had given you this moment of happiness but had refused to let you have him too.

A soft chuckle bubbled up through your throat, shaky and bitter, as more tears seeped into your pillow. How greedy of you to want it all. The fatal flaw of human nature—greed. Was that what this was? Wanting happiness and love at the same time, as if the universe hadn’t already decided what you could and couldn’t have? You took a deep, trembling breath, wiping your face as you reached for your phone.

His number. You still remembered it, every digit burned into your mind. Almost unconsciously, your fingers tapped it in, and you stared at the screen, at the sequence of numbers that once connected you to him. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper—If I call now, just to hear his voice… would he pick up? Would he hesitate? Would he sigh before answering? Would he want to talk to you, even now?

Doubt gnawed at you. Should I call? And if he answered… what would I even say?

Your thumb hovered over the call icon, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. It would take just a second, just one small movement to bridge the silence between you.

But before you could tap the screen, your phone vibrated in your hand. A notification flashed across the display.

It was from Nanami.

Nanami: Hello y/n. Sorry for messaging you so late. I apologize for cutting out conversation short today. I would like to continue it. Would you be available to discuss it over lunch sometime?

y/n: Hello. I look forward to continuing our conversation. Will you be out of office tomorrow?

Nanami: Yes. I am flying out tomorrow to meet with a client. I will be back in 2 weeks.

y/n: Good luck for your meeting :) Looking forward to our conversation :)

Nanami: That’s good to hear. I will see you tomorrow. Good Night.

Y/n: Good night.

You stretched your arms above your head as you woke up five minutes before your alarm rang. The soft glow of early morning light filtered through your curtains, casting gentle shadows across your room. Turning off the soon-to-ring alarm, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. A cool breeze drifted in as you opened the window, carrying the crisp scent of the morning air. You took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill your lungs, a simple but refreshing start to the day.

Over the past few days, you had come to a realization—you needed balance. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. Life had been moving at a relentless pace, and you often found yourself dwelling on things that had already passed, replaying scenarios in your head that you had no control over anymore. But that had to stop. You had to accept that whatever had to happen, happened. It was in the past, and no amount of overthinking was going to change it. Moving forward, you wanted to be more intentional about your time, about how you took care of yourself.

With Maya’s help, you had finally found some skincare that suited your skin. It had been trial and error for a while, and you had never really paid much attention to it before. But now, cleansing your face and applying a light moisturizer every morning had become a part of your routine—something small, but something that makes you feel good. You also started attending yoga classes three days a week, incorporating morning meditation into your daily schedule. At first, sitting still and focusing on your breath felt unnatural, but as the days went by, you began to enjoy the sense of calm it brought you. It was a slow, grounding practice, a stark contrast to the chaos of daily life.

To be honest, you felt good about it. You had always been skeptical of the so-called "self-care" routines promoted all over social media. It all seemed like a marketing gimmick—just another way to sell overpriced products and push people towards overconsumption. But as you settled into your own routine, you realized that self-care wasn’t about buying things you didn’t need; it was about creating habits that made you feel like a better version of yourself. The clarity that came with a consistent routine was something you hadn’t expected, but you welcomed it.

On top of that, you had started taking a pottery class with Hitoshi. He was exceptionally good at it, his hands shaping the clay with ease, as if it were second nature to him. You, on the other hand, were still figuring things out. You had done some ceramics back in college, but nothing that compared to his skill level. Still, you were determined to keep going. There was something incredibly satisfying about working with your hands, molding something from nothing, watching it take shape. The imperfections didn’t bother you as much as they used to. It was a process, just like everything else in life.

Hobbies, routine, balance—they were all good for you. You were finally starting to understand that.

On the work front, things were looking good as well. Nanami was coming back to the office today, and you were excited to share your project progress with him and get his thoughts on items you were unsure about. His insight always brought a fresh perspective, and you were hoping for some clarity on the lingering issues in your report. So, you packed your bags and got dressed in a navy blue pleated skirt and a light blue sweater to beat the slight chill in the air. Your ever-trusted white sneakers were all ready and waiting at the door as you said your goodbye to your mom and hurriedly stepped out.

The streets looked especially busy today. Lots of black cars with tinted windows lined the roads, idling at the curbs, their drivers standing around, speaking into earpieces or quietly observing passersby. It was a little unusual, but you chalked it up to the trade summit happening in Kyoto this week. You had seen news reports about the influx of foreign delegations and the heightened security measures around the city, so it made sense that the streets were bustling with official-looking vehicles.

As you parked your bike in the usual spot, you noticed that a lot of similar cars were lined outside the office as well. That was strange. Usually, the client visits were low-key, nothing that warranted this level of presence.

“Morning, Y/N!” Maya chirped as she walked up to you, her coffee cup in hand. She was in her usual sleek business-casual attire, her blazer casually draped over her arm.

“Maya! Morning!” You smiled as you locked your bike. Maya and Juno shared an apartment close to the office and often walked in together, so you were surprised to see only Maya today.

“Where’s Juno?” You asked as the two of you began walking towards the office entrance, weaving between the neatly trimmed trees that lined the pathway.

Maya took a sip of her coffee before responding, “He had to come in early today to prepare for the meeting with the big client from Tokyo.”

“New client? I didn’t know about the new cliente.” Your brows furrowed as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails in case you had missed an important announcement.

“Chill.” Maya laughed. “They’re just visiting today. Probably to start a new project in Kyoto, and apparently, they want to collaborate with us to get some street cred.” She giggled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You know Juno, he likes to triple-check everything, and the finance team has been lean for a while, so he has to do some extra work.”

“Aaah… I see.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks like an important client, though. I saw a lot of those black cars on my way here. I thought they were here for the summit.”

“Me too!” Maya nodded. “But then Juno told me about this big-shot client. Between the two of us, it’s a multi-million-dollar project. Nanami-san has been trying to get this project for quite some time.”

“Really? What changed?” You asked, curiosity piqued.

Maya shrugged as she tapped her ID card to check in at the entrance. “No one knows. They’ve been rejecting our proposal for two years, and now they’re suddenly ready to move forward.”

You nodded thoughtfully. Even inside, the office was bustling. Employees were gathered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, some looking over documents, others straightening their suits as if bracing for an important encounter. The energy was different—there was an air of anticipation.

As you walked in, you overheard snippets of conversation. Words like ‘contract finalization,’ ‘strict timeline,’ and ‘biggest deal of the year’ floated through the air. The excitement was palpable.

Juno rushed over, adjusting his tie and holding a tablet. “Y/N! You made it just in time.”

“For what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They want to see our project proposal,” Juno said, looking slightly out of breath. “Nanami-san asked if you could present some of your findings on the community project. Apparently, the client is particularly interested in that section.”

Your stomach did a little flip. Present? Today? To a client you didn’t even know was coming until this morning? “Wait, I thought this was just an initial visit,” you said cautiously.

Juno shook his head. “Things are moving fast. They might be signing today if all goes well.”

You exchanged a glance with Maya, who simply grinned and patted your shoulder. “Looks like you’re in the spotlight, Y/N.”

Taking a deep breath, you straightened up. “Alright. Let’s do this.” You were confident that you had done some really good work and hoped that you could make Nanami proud.

Whatever had changed the client’s mind, this was a major opportunity—and you were about to play a part in it.

“Oh I need to check some things with the IT so I will go ahead. Catch you at lunch?”. Maya raised an eyebrow.

“I might be having lunch with Nanami today”. You smiled.

Maya gave you a teasing look. The gang had been teasing you with Nanami ever since the two of you started talking on the phone and texting. You felt giddy but you knew it would take you some time to completely get over him. “It’s a work lunch!”. You added.

“Sure. I believe you!”. Maya rolled her eyes and waved you bye. 

Walking up to the elevator you were excited to meet Nanami today. All the talking and texting on the phone over the past two weeks had made you feel a bit closer to him.Even if some conversations were about the analysis you were working on you felt closer to him .You were lost in your thoughts about Nanami when the elevator doors opened. 

You looked up, and time stopped.

Standing in front of you, bathed in the soft morning light, was Gojo Satoru. His white hair caught the sun just right, making it glow like a halo, but the smirk tugging at his lips was anything but angelic. He wore his signature blue Zegna sweater and fitted trousers, effortlessly elegant yet impossibly relaxed. His gaze, hidden behind dark-tinted lenses, was trained on you—steady, unreadable, predatory in a way that made your breath hitch.

The elevator doors were about to close when he reached out, pressing a button without breaking eye contact. “Gettin’ in?” His voice was smooth, teasing, dripping with something that made your stomach tighten.

“I… yes.” You swallowed hard and stepped in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The doors slid shut, enclosing the two of you in a space suddenly too small, too warm. The silence crackled. You could feel his presence beside you—broad shoulders, lean frame, the faint scent of something expensive and clean, laced with an undertone of danger. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, traveling over you in a way that made your skin burn. You refused to look at him, but your body betrayed you, every nerve ending acutely aware of his proximity.

Your head was spinning so fast that when the elevator gave a tiny jolt, your balance wavered. Your breath hitched as you stumbled slightly only to be caught by firm hands.

One large palm splayed against your waist, the other curling gently around your wrist, steadying you with ease. His grip was firm, warm, the heat of his touch searing through the layers of your clothes. You sucked in a sharp breath, finally daring to look up.

Gojo was watching you, the usual playful smirk nowhere to be seen. Instead, something darker flickered across his face, something unreadable yet entirely consuming. His fingers flexed slightly before he let go, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"Careful," he murmured, voice softer now, but no less dangerous.

When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to the top floor, you bolted, clutching your bag as if it were a lifeline. You barely registered where you were going, only stopping once you reached your office chair. Exhaling shakily, you forced yourself to focus—until you glanced up and saw him through the transparent door.

Gojo Satoru, still smirking, was walking towards Nanami’s office. But just before disappearing inside, he turned his head—locking eyes with you through the glass.

And this time, you couldn’t look away.

Only when he disappeared behind the door did you finally let out the breath you had been holding. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart pounding like a war drum. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, sliding down your neck, and your throat felt parched, as if you had swallowed dust. You could still feel the ghost of his touch burning on your waist, a brand that refused to fade. You knew what he was capable of. You knew the kind of power he wielded, the lines he had already crossed. And yet—the butterflies were back. A treacherous warmth spread through your body, leaving you weak at the knees.

Your vision blurred as you stumbled down the dimly lit L-shaped corridor toward the bathroom. A few people greeted you, their voices distant, but you barely managed a nod. Some gave you questioning looks, sensing something was wrong. You didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

The moment you locked the bathroom door behind you, you rushed to the sink. Cold water. That was all you could think about. You splashed it over your face again and again, until your cheeks stung, until strands of your hair were soaked, clinging to your skin. But you didn’t care. You needed to wake up. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Why was he here? What did he want? A thousand thoughts clashed in your mind, each one more terrifying than the last. You wiped the patch of skin he had touched so harshly that you almost gave yourself a rash. 

You looked up, meeting your own reflection. The blood had drained from your face, leaving you ghostly pale. You looked like you had aged overnight.

Straightening up, you took a slow, deliberate breath. What were you so afraid of? He didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you. He did not exist in your reality.

All you had to do was stay out of his way. Yes, stay out of his way.

Not too hard.

You could do it.

Grabbing a paper towel, you wiped your face, inhaled deeply, and stepped out.

“y/n! Are you seeing this?” Hitoshi exclaimed as you walked into your office, his voice laced with urgency. Maya and Suzume sat on the love seat, looking nervous, their hands clasped together in silent tension.

“What happened?” You asked, your brows knitting together as you looked between them. You sniffled slightly, the remnants of a cold making your throat feel scratchy, before making your way to your chair. The air in the room felt thick, charged with unease.

“The chaos!” Suzume blurted out, her eyes darting towards the large glass windows. “They are everywhere.”

You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. “So what? It’s just a matter of a few days, and once the project is finalized, they will be out of here,” you said, trying to sound convincing, but your own words felt hollow even to you.

“Y/n,” Suzume called out, her voice unsteady. “This is not a project. Nobody brings this many people for a project.”

She was right. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you processed her words. It was unusual—no, it was more than that. It was downright alarming. And then there was him. His presence alone made this situation far more complicated.

“What are you implying?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Heavy silence hung over the room. No one wanted to voice what you all knew deep down. The truth was there, glaring and undeniable. Maya bit her nails nervously, her eyes refusing to meet yours. Finally, she whispered, “It’s an acquisition.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You exchanged glances with your team, all of them reflecting the same fear. Change was coming, and not the kind you could easily maneuver around.

But you had to keep the morale up. “So what if it is?” You straighten your posture, forcing a confident tone. “We are the core team. Our jobs are secure. You guys don’t need to worry. And as far as all this chaos goes, an acquisition doesn’t necessarily mean that they will move here. That wouldn’t make sense. They can acquire and let us be as well.”

You saw their shoulders drop slightly, the tension easing just a fraction. “It’s going to be fine. We just need to make sure that we nail the presentation, and we’ll see where to go from there.”

“Can you please talk to Nanami-san?” Maya asked, her voice hopeful.

“Yes! Please, y/n!” Suzume added. “I… please, y/n.”

“Now?” you asked, your nerves kicking in.

“If possible,” Hitoshi said, his tone almost pleading. “You are the only one he will listen to! I know this! Please!”.

You bit your lip nervously, pulled out your phone, and began typing.

y/n: Hi, I know you must be busy, but can we please talk? It’s urgent.

You set your phone down, uncertain of when or if Nanami would reply. To your surprise, your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Nanami: Sure. You can come to my office.

“Okay. I will go and talk to him. Stay here!” You grabbed your phone and hurried to his office, hoping—praying—not to run into Gojo on the way.

You tapped on the door gently, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under your skin. “It’s me.”

“Come in,” Nanami replied, his calm voice providing the smallest sense of reassurance.

Stepping inside, a smile unconsciously formed on your face at the sight of him. But your smile faltered the moment another figure swiveled in his chair.

Gojo Satoru.

You felt the air shift as he turned, his signature grin in place, eyes sharp and knowing.

“Y/n, meet Gojo Satoru,” Nanami said, first looking at you, then at Gojo.

You swallowed, plastering on a polite smile. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” You gave a courteous bow, mentally chanting Fake it till you make it, y/n.

Gojo smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Nice to meet you… y/n,” he drawled, drawing out your name with an unsettling familiarity.

“Please, have a seat,” Nanami offered, gesturing to the chair next to Gojo.

Your pulse quickened. “Oh, it’s alright. I can come in later,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Nanami, ever perceptive, caught the nervousness in your expression. He exhaled softly before speaking. “Mr. Gojo, if you could excuse me, I have something to discuss with y/n, please excuse me” He stood, moving around his desk, and gently took your hand, guiding you towards the door.

The moment was brief but not unnoticed. You could feel Gojo’s eyes on you, his gaze lingering with keen interest as you stepped out with Nanami, the weight of the encounter pressing heavily on your shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”, Nanami asked with genuine curiosity as the two of you stood outside his office.

“Yes. Yes I am but..all this..what is going on?”. You fiddled with your phone in your hand.

“I know this is too sudden. I wish I could explain in detail but..”. Nanami looked at you like he was searching for the right word, “The truth is that we are being acquired”.

“What about-”.

“All jobs are safe y/n. I assure you. It was a key condition”.

“Will we have to move?”. 

“No. We are not going anywhere”. Nanami smiled.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much! Everyone was so nervous. I was so nervous.”.

Nanami smiled. “Don’t be. Nothing changes for us”. Nanami felt compelled to hold you but he couldn’t. Not now. Not here. Not yet. Instead he squeezed your hand gently to reassure you.

You nodded happily. “I will leave you to attend to..him”. You nudge your head towards the door.

Nanami smiled and went back in.

“Good news everyone!”. You announced as you walked into your office confidently. “Nothing changes for us. Our jobs are safe. We are not going anywhere”.

“Seriously?!”. Maya jumped from the couch and hugged you.

Suzume joined in, “Thank you, y/n! I was so scared”.

“Can I join in as well?”Hitoshi asked.

You all nodded and were soon in a group hug.

“But wait..”, Hitoshi was the first to pull away. “...If we are not going anywhere does it mean they are moving here?”.

You hadn’t thought about that possibility yet. 

“Who cares if they move here? They are too uptight to survive here. As long as we have each other we should be fine right?”. Maya added happily.

“Yes”. Suzume spoke. “This is my office and this is my gang. No one messes with us!”.

You smiled painfully. Would he actually move here? No. He loves his Tokyo office too much. Everyone he loves and cares for is there. He will never move here.

The conference room was silent as you set up your presentation. The projector flickered to life, displaying your carefully prepared slides. Nanami sat at the head of the table, his arms crossed, his eyes sharp and attentive. Hitoshi tapped his pen against the table, looking eager yet tense. And then there was Gojo.

He lounged back in his chair, long legs stretched out, one arm lazily resting on the table as he watched you. His gaze was heavy, teasing, knowing. It made the air feel thick, your skin prickling under his attention.

You cleared your throat. "Good afternoon, everyone. I'll be walking you through our marketing strategy for the new community center." You clicked the remote, and the first slide appeared.

"Mmm, community engagement," Gojo murmured, "I do love getting involved."

Your fingers momentarily slipped on the remote. You shot him a sharp glance, but he merely grinned, tilting his head as if daring you to react.

Nanami cleared his throat. "Y/n, continue."

You steadied yourself. "Right. As I was saying, our goal is to position the community center as a cornerstone of social support and development. We've outlined a multi-tiered marketing approach to ensure maximum reach and engagement."

You advanced to the next slide, outlining key engagement strategies. "First, we plan to leverage digital marketing—social media campaigns, email outreach, and targeted ads. This will help us attract younger demographics while maintaining communication with existing community members."

Gojo hummed softly. "You think social media alone is enough? A few posts and hashtags, and suddenly people show up?"

You met his gaze, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "No, which is why we’re also implementing offline strategies, including community events, partnerships with local businesses, and promotional materials distributed across key locations."

Nanami nodded approvingly. "That’s a well-rounded approach. Have you considered potential barriers to engagement, such as accessibility or public perception?"

You smiled slightly, grateful for the constructive question. "Yes, accessibility is a key concern, so we're prioritizing inclusive events and transportation support. As for public perception, we’ve designed a community outreach program to build trust through transparency. Open house events and Q&A sessions will allow residents to voice their concerns and feel involved."

Nanami’s lips curled slightly upward. "Impressive. That level of detail will go a long way in securing support."

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you looked down briefly before moving to the next slide.

A soft scoff came from Gojo. "Huh. Didn’t realize Nanami gave out compliments now. Must be a special occasion."

You glanced at him, but he was already looking away, his jaw tight. His fingers drummed against the table a little too firmly, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen.

You swallowed and continued. "Next, we have our timeline—broken down into three phases: awareness, engagement, and retention. In the awareness phase, we’ll generate buzz through teaser campaigns and influencer collaborations. Engagement will focus on community-driven events, and retention will involve long-term initiatives like membership programs and recurring events."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And how do you plan to measure success?"

You hesitated for only a second before answering. "Through key performance indicators: attendance rates, social media analytics, membership sign-ups, and community feedback. By tracking these, we can adapt our strategy as needed."

Gojo smirked. "Smart. Adaptability is attractive."

Your breath hitched, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. Nanami, seemingly unfazed, ignored him. "What’s your budget allocation for these strategies?"

You exhaled, focusing back on the presentation. "We’ve broken the budget into three main categories: promotional materials, digital marketing, and event organization. The majority is allocated to events since direct community interaction is our primary goal."

Nanami nodded again, thoughtful. "That’s a sound distribution. Have you anticipated any risks?"

You moved to the next slide. "Yes. Low initial engagement, budget constraints, and potential resistance from the community. We’ve developed contingency plans, including alternative funding options and additional outreach efforts."

Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice softer. "And if something unexpected happens? What’s your personal approach when things don’t go as planned?"

You hesitated, feeling the intensity in his stare. "I adapt," you said finally. "Find solutions on the spot. Panic doesn’t solve problems."

Gojo’s smirk deepened. "Good answer."

Nanami shifted in his chair. "I think that covers everything. Well done, y/n. Your strategy is comprehensive and well-thought-out."

Your chest warmed at the praise, and you gave a small nod. "Thank you."

Gojo let out a breathy chuckle, tapping his fingers against the table. "Guess we’re lucky to have someone so capable."

Nanami stood. "We’ll move forward with the plan. I’ll arrange for a follow-up next week."

As the meeting ended, you began gathering your notes. Nanami reached over to hand you a stray document, his fingers grazing yours. "You really did a great job. This will set a solid foundation for our project."

You smiled, nodding. "I appreciate that, Nanami. I really do."

From the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo shift in his seat. His usual smug expression darkened slightly, his lips pressing together in a thin line.

Then, just as you turned, Gojo suddenly stood, stepping closer than necessary. His fingers brushed the small of your back, a light but unmistakable touch. "Careful, y/n," he murmured near your ear. 

Your breath caught, and you turned your head slightly, only to find his gaze locked onto yours, a knowing glint in his eyes. The room felt too small, too charged. Was he seriously flirting with you? Here? Now? When he didn’t even know you? Dick!

Nanami cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Let’s wrap up. We all have work to do."

Gojo exhaled dramatically. "Right, right. Work first."

As you gathered your things, Gojo lingered for just a second longer watching you attentively like a predator sizing up a prey.

The restaurant hums with quiet conversation, the soft clinking of silverware filling the space between you. It’s been two weeks since you last saw him—two weeks since you’ve felt this strange sense of steadiness that only seems to settle when Nanami is near.

You shouldn’t have missed him. You tell yourself it’s just the adjustment period—just the way work has been hectic. But sitting across from him now, watching as he carefully rolls up his sleeves, you realize how much you had noticed his absence.

Nanami sets his phone down, screen facing the table. His gestures are always deliberate, his presence as composed as ever, but there’s something almost hesitant about the way his gaze lingers on you before he speaks.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I just got here.”

He nods, glancing at your glass. “Not drinking?”

You glance at the untouched wine. “Didn’t feel like it.”

His eyes sharpen slightly, just for a second. “You seem tense.”

You exhale, leaning back slightly. “It’s just work.”

Nanami studies you for a moment, quiet and unreadable. Then, as if making a decision, he leans forward slightly, voice softer now.

“As long as I am here, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

The words settle deep in your chest, warm and certain.

You blink, caught off guard. “That’s… a bold statement.”

Nanami doesn’t look away. “It’s the truth.”

Something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

You look down at your plate, focusing on the way your fingers toy with the edge of your napkin. “You don’t have to look out for me.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I will.”

A quiet moment stretches between you.

Nanami tells himself he shouldn’t have said that. That this is a work lunch, just a routine check-in, nothing more. But the way your shoulders relax ever so slightly, the way you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding—he knows he can’t take it back.

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

So he clears his throat, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. Work, deadlines, next week’s meetings. He keeps his voice even, his demeanor steady, but beneath the surface, he feels it—the way his restraint is beginning to fray at the edges.

Somewhere between discussing a client proposal and finishing your meal, he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself.

“You can call me Kento.”

You blink, looking up. “What?”

Nanami’s jaw tightens, like he’s already regretting it, but his voice remains steady. “Outside of work. In the office, we keep things professional. I’d rather not have people getting the wrong idea.”

 “And what idea would that be?”, You asked hesitantly.

He holds your gaze, fingers tightening slightly around his glass. “That I favor you.”

The words come out firmer than he intends, laced with something he refuses to name.

You could tease him, lighten the moment with a joke. But instead, you let the words settle, something unreadable flickering in your own eyes before you nod.

“Alright,” you say softly. “Kento.”

Nanami exhales slowly, but he doesn’t allow himself to react. Not to the way his name sounds coming from you. Not to the way his pulse betrays him.

The plates have been cleared, the check untouched between you, but neither of you move to leave just yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

Gojo woke up sweating and panting, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he frantically scanned his surroundings. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains of his penthouse bedroom, casting long shadows across the room. His sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with sweat. His fingers trembled as he reached for his phone on the nightstand, the bright screen forcing him to blink rapidly.

1st January 2021, 10:00 AM.

A sharp, throbbing pain coursed through his skull as he fell back onto his pillow, pressing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to dull the headache. His head felt like it was being split open, every pulse sending fresh waves of nausea through him. He gritted his teeth and let out a low groan, his body tense as he forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths.

What the hell was going on? His mind raced, searching for an explanation. Was it just a nightmare? A lingering hallucination from the relentless drinking? The hazy remnants of some twisted memory? His throat was dry, and his body felt heavier than usual, like he was sinking into the mattress. Something was off—terribly off.

As he sat across from the new recruit, Gojo felt a bitterness seep into his heart, curling around his ribs like a vice. The poor girl was not at fault here—he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from despising her nonetheless.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back before half-heartedly picking up her resume. The paper crinkled slightly between his fingers, his grip unintentionally tight.

“Can I just say, sir, that I am so excited to work with you! I have dreamt of working for you—I mean, for Domain Dynamics—for such a long time, and now that I’m sitting here, I—”

“Did I ask?” Gojo interrupted, raising a brow as he leaned back in his chair, his tone flat, his expression unreadable.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, her enthusiasm instantly deflating.

“Do you even know where your office is?”

“Uh… no,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Gojo let out an exasperated sigh before pressing a button on his desk. “Miwa. In. Now.”

Within seconds, Miwa rushed in, her ever-efficient presence a stark contrast to the girl’s nervous energy. “Yes, sir.”

Gojo gestured vaguely in Sakura’s direction. “Can you show…” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if only now realizing he didn’t know her name. “What’s your name?”

“Sakura,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah. Can you show Sakura her new… office and make sure she’s settled in?” His words were dismissive, as though she were an afterthought.

“Yes, sir!” Miwa chirped, already gesturing for the girl to follow.

“Oh, and Miwa,” Gojo added casually, just as they were about to leave. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Don’t move her into the office across from mine. Keep that one empty.”

Miwa hesitated. “But sir… that’s where—”

“I have a feeling it’ll be filled soon.” His smile widened, sharp and almost cruel.

Miwa nodded, understanding her cue. “Sure, sir. Sakura, please come with me.”

Sakura cast one last, uncertain glance at Gojo before trailing after Miwa, her earlier excitement all but gone.

With a sigh, he shifted in his seat, his foot bouncing against the floor in a restless rhythm. His fingers skimmed through the stack of resumes on his desk until they landed on one buried beneath Sakura’s. He pulled it free, lifting it to eye level.

The photo attached to the top corner caught his attention first. A smiling face, bright yet oddly familiar. His chest tightened—not with unease, but with something warmer, something steadier. It was rare for a simple photograph to evoke such a feeling.

But his moment of quiet curiosity was interrupted when his gaze dropped to the bottom of the page. A small, neatly printed note stood out against the crisp paper: Candidate withdrew.

His brows furrowed. Withdraw? Who in their right mind would turn down an offer at Domain Dynamics?

His fingers curled around the edges of the resume as he reached for his phone, his expression unreadable. He pressed a button, and the line connected almost instantly.

“I’m sending you a resume,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Find out everything about this person. Everything.”

A pause, then a sharp, efficient reply. “Yes, sir.”

Gojo exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the paper as he glanced at the photo once more. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

It had been days, and he knew everything he needed to know about the mystery candidate. Every detail, every piece of information had been meticulously gathered, analyzed, and stored away in his mind. And yet, something was missing—pieces of the puzzle that refused to fit, gaps in the picture that made no sense. It gnawed at him, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a frustration that wouldn’t let go.

For the past week, sleep had eluded him. Every night, the same dream. Over and over. He was driving—no, running—through hazy, dimly lit streets, his pulse pounding, his breath ragged. Searching. Desperately looking for someone. But who? The answer was always just out of reach, slipping through his fingers like smoke. He woke up every morning with the same frustration, his mind clouded, his nerves frayed. It was affecting him more than he cared to admit. He could barely focus on anything else.

As he stepped into his penthouse, he loosened his tie roughly, exhaling sharply. The tension in his shoulders never seemed to leave these days. He had dismissed the security team for the night—he needed silence, space to think. His sanctuary, untouched and undisturbed. But the moment he walked through the heavy wooden doors, he knew something was off. A sound, faint but distinct, came from the kitchen.

He froze, muscles tensing.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, edged with suspicion. “Who is there?”

Silence. No reply.

His jaw clenched as he moved towards the couch, reaching under it with practiced ease. His fingers wrapped around the cold steel of his hidden revolver. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled it out, steadying his grip before making his way toward the kitchen.

“Who is there?” he repeated, voice lower this time. Controlled. Dangerous.

He turned the corner, gun raised, finger steady on the trigger—only to be met with a sight that made him pause.

A man sat at the kitchen island, completely at ease, dressed in an expensive blue velvet coat. He was eating a bowl of cereal.

The man looked up, spoon mid-air, and grinned. “Hello!” he said cheerfully, as if this were a casual breakfast meet-up. “No need to get aggressive.”

Gojo didn’t lower the gun. His cerulean eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing here?”

The man sighed dramatically, putting his spoon down with deliberate slowness. Then, reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a silk handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. Every movement was calm. Unbothered.

“Come on, Satoru,” he said, tilting his head. “Forgot me already?”

Gojo’s grip on the gun tightened. His patience was wearing thin. “You have two minutes to explain yourself before I—”

“Before you what?” The man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Shoot me?” He leaned forward slightly. “Go ahead. But I should warn you… no bullet in the world can harm me.” His voice dropped, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “So, if you actually want some answers, I’d suggest you take a seat.” The man pointed at the seat opposite to him.

Gojo didn’t lower the gun, but after a long moment, he moved to the stool across from the man, his expression cold. “Continue.”

The man smirked. “Wow, straight to the point, huh?” He leaned back, stretching lazily. “Alright then… where should we start?”

“Who are you?” Gojo asked sternly, his grip tightening around the gun.

The man waved a hand dismissively, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Irrelevant. Ask a better question.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched. His usual confidence wavered against the man’s unshaken composure. “How do you know me?”

The man chuckled, a deep, knowing laugh that sent a chill down Gojo’s spine. “I know everyone in this world,” he said simply, as if stating an undeniable fact. Then, with an exaggerated motion, he scooped another spoonful of food into his mouth.

The silence between them was thick, weighed down by unspoken tension. Only the sound of loud, deliberate crunching filled the space.

Gojo inhaled sharply. “Are you here to kill me?”

The man stopped chewing mid-bite. Slowly, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, he leaned back against his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Kill you?” he repeated, almost amused. “I saved your life, Satoru. From the same gun you’re holding right now.”

Gojo frowned, glancing down at the weapon in his hands.

“The bullet in the barrel,” the man continued, voice unwavering, “has your name written on it. Not mine.”

Gojo’s fingers flexed over the grip. “When?” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man tilted his head, studying him carefully. “The dreams…” he mused, stroking his chin. “Satoru, are they really dreams? Or are they flashes of memories?”

Gojo stiffened. A sharp inhale.

“How do—”

“What do you want the most right now?” The man cut him off, his voice softer this time, almost hypnotic.

Gojo stared at him blankly. The question caught him off guard.

“Hmm?” The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What do you want the most right now? At this moment. Money? Power? Answers?” His dark eyes glinted under the dim light. “I can grant you one wish. But first, you need to tell me… What do you want the most right now?”

“What do you mean?”. Gojo scoffed. “Who are you a magician?”.

“Funny huh?”. The man quipped. “How about I tell you about the dreams you have been having?”.

Gojo remained silent.

“So the dreams about wanting to save someone? Running through the dingy lanes? A bridge? A gun? Feeling lost and helpless?”.

Gojo stared at him silently. He had nothing to say. There was no way this guy knew about all of it. He hadn’t even shared it with Geto.

“Oh, only because Geto doesn’t know, I can’t know?”. He teased, leaving Gojo startled. “Look, I know everything. So what is it going to be? I can leave right now. I can make a meteor crash and destroy this earth. What do you want?”.

“Okay, even if you do know about…my dreams..how do I know that you can give me what I want?”. Gojo asked, still unsure.

“Hmmm, Interesting. Go ahead and ask for something instant. Try”.

“An apple”. He said.

With a poof an apple appeared in Gojo’s hand. “Go ahead and have a bite. It’s real”.

Gojo sniffed the apple and then took a bite and indeed it was real.

“A cat”. Gojo said.

The man rolled his eyes, “You are allergic to cats”. 

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. His mind raced, trying to find footing in the spiraling confusion. He had fought countless enemies, faced death a thousand times over, but this—this was different.

The man waited patiently, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between them felt electric, charged with something unseen yet tangible.

Gojo parted his lips, but no words came out.

Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say. Words had always come easily to him—sharp, clever, effortless. But now, standing in the vast emptiness, facing the man before him, he found himself lost. His lips parted slightly, but nothing coherent escaped. Only hesitation, only uncertainty.

“I…” Gojo’s voice barely made a sound. His eyes flickered between the man and the empty space between them, as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. He felt the weight of something heavy, something that had been pressing on his chest for far too long. His throat tightened. He swallowed hard, but it did little to stop the burn behind his eyes.

And then, a single word. One word raced through his mind, over and over, beating in his skull like a relentless drum. A word that had haunted him since the start of the year, threading itself through every thought, every moment of solitude. A word so powerful it had rooted itself deep inside him, becoming a part of his very existence. A word that embodied his wants, his needs, his deepest desires.

“Y/n…”

The man before him smiled, pleased, as if he had been expecting this answer all along.

“That’s your wish?” he asked, voice calm, measured, almost teasing.

“Yes.” Gojo breathed. The moment the word left his lips, he felt it settle within him, as though confirming what he already knew in his bones. It wasn’t just a wish—it was a truth more certain than his own existence. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he needed. Whether this was all a trick or not, he had to take a chance and know who y/n is.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head, amused. “Do you even know who that is?”

Gojo’s fingers trembled as he slowly lowered the gun he had been holding, the weight of it suddenly insignificant. He knew everything about her and yet nothing at all.

“...no,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know why he was drawn to her. Why her name clung to his mind like a stubborn ghost. Why, out of all the possibilities, she was the only one he could think of. But he knew—without reason, without explanation—that he needed to be drawn to her. That whoever she was, she was the answer, the missing piece, the key to something far greater than himself.

His happiness. His life.

The man leaned back, arms crossed, studying him with an expression that was unreadable.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You don’t know who she is, but you’re certain she’s what you want?”

“Yes.” Gojo didn’t waver this time. His voice was steady. Sure.

The man chuckled, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I can give you everything, you know. Power beyond imagination. Wealth that no mortal could ever dream of. I could carve a place for you in history so grand, no man or god could ever erase it! I could make you untouchable!” His eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “And you’re telling me, out of all that, you still choose ….y/n? Someone you don’t even know”

Gojo met his gaze without hesitation. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, the kind of smile that carried the weight of certainty.

“Yes.”

The man let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if entertained by the sheer absurdity of it all. “Good job, Satoru,” he murmured, his amusement clear.

But then, something shifted. The lightness in his tone faded, replaced by something far heavier, something more ominous.

His expression darkened.

“But tell me,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Are you sure you can handle what I’m about to show you?”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken meaning.

Gojo nodded.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just certainty.

The man exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly before he finally smirked. “Alright, then.”

And with that, the world around them began to change.

After what felt like an eternity, Gojo opened his eyes and found himself sitting on his couch, his body trembling as if he had been drowning in the depths of his own mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, pressing down on his chest like an unbearable weight. Across from him, the man stood in eerie silence, watching him with an expression that held no sympathy ,only truth.

Tears streamed down Gojo’s cheeks, unchecked, raw, his breaths coming in uneven gasps. His fingers dug into his knees as he whispered, voice hoarse and broken, “I… I did that to her.”

The man gave him a slow, measured nod. “All of that.”

Gojo let out a shuddering exhale, his head hanging low as his vision blurred. His mind replayed every moment, every agonizing second he had been forced to relive. Every cruel word he had thrown at you, every time he had turned his back when all you needed was for him to stay. He saw the way your eyes had dimmed, the way your laughter had died in your throat. The moment you stopped reaching for him. And worst of all, the way you looked at him at the very end—broken, betrayed, as if he had torn out your very soul and crushed it beneath his heel.

His gut twisted violently. He thought he had been protecting you. He convinced himself that every decision he made had been for your own good. But no—it had never been about you, had it? It was his selfishness, his arrogance, his fear of losing you in ways he couldn’t control. He had let his love consume him, twist into something unrecognizable. And now, all of it—the pain, the regret, the love he had tried to push away—came rushing back with a force so intense it made him want to tear himself apart.

His nails dug into his palms. He had been ready to die. When he found out you were gone, that you had left this world with nothing but sorrow in your heart, he had walked to the edge of that bridge with every intention of following you. He hadn’t even seen you, hadn’t held your lifeless body, hadn’t been there to say goodbye. Just a hollow message, a whisper of finality.

Gone.

It didn’t seem real. He thought if he ended it right there, he could find you. Maybe in another life, maybe somewhere beyond this hell he created.

He had stood on that bridge, gun in hand, the barrel pressing against his temple as the wind howled around him. His heart was hollow, his mind filled with nothing but you—your scent, your voice, your smile, all the things he had taken for granted.

He couldn't exist in a world where you didn't. It was that simple.

But then, as his finger began to tighten around the trigger, a voice cut through the storm inside his head.

“That won’t bring her back.”

Gojo's breath hitched, his grip on the gun faltering as he turned his head slightly. The man stood there, calm, composed, unaffected by the sheer devastation radiating from him.

“What the hell do you know?” Gojo growled, his voice rough, unhinged.

The man stepped closer, gaze unwavering. “I know you don’t want to die. You want her back. And I can give you that chance.”

Gojo’s hands shook. He wanted to laugh, to scream, to tell this stranger to go to hell. But the weight of those words settled deep within him, a flicker of impossible hope threading through his grief-stricken mind.

He remembered the way he had hesitated, the way his hands had trembled as he lowered the gun. The wind had howled around him, a bitter, unforgiving force, but for the first time since hearing of your death, he had felt something else. A pull. A whisper of something he couldn’t ignore.

Now, sitting here on his couch, he exhaled sharply. He had been given a second chance. A miracle he didn’t deserve. But he wouldn’t waste it. He would find you. He would make things right. He would earn back the love he had shattered, no matter what it took. Even if he had to crawl through hell itself, he would not lose you again.

This time, he wouldn’t let you go.

You belonged to him. And he would make sure that this time, you knew it. 

He looked up at the man, his eyes still red and had a look of determination. “I will redo my fate..for her”.

“Are you sure you can?”. The man smirked, “It won’t be easy”.

“I will do everything in my power to make her mine. This time I will …not mess it up!”.

"Do you love her or do you want her?". The man teased a little more.

Gojo scoffed, shaking his head, a twisted grin pulling at his lips—but there was no amusement in it. It was something darker, something raw, something that pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. His fingers flexed, nails biting into his palm as his breath came out unsteady, ragged.

“I love her,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. Then he laughed, but it was hollow, almost broken. “I love her.”

His chest ached with the weight of it, with the sheer force of what he felt, with the need that had rooted itself so deep inside him it had become part of his very being.

“I love her with every fiber of my existence,” he said again, more forcefully this time, like he was daring the universe to challenge him. “She is the air I need—the only thing that keeps me breathing, the only thing that makes sense. Without her, everything is suffocating. Everything is wrong!”

His voice wavered, but his eyes burned, fever-bright, manic.

“You dare ask me if I love her?", He threw his head back and laughed, "She is the blood in my veins,” he continued, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, like he wanted to tear them through his own skin just to prove it. “She’s inside me, running through me, keeping me alive even when I don’t want to be.”

His breath hitched, his expression twisting into something wrecked.

“She’s my bones,” he whispered, pressing his palm against his chest, as if he could feel her there, carved into his ribs, woven into his very structure. “My conscience. My clarity. My fucking ruin.”

His heart was hammering against his ribs now, erratic, frantic, desperate.

“She is my heart, my soul, mine.” His voice cracked, something on the verge of a plea, a demand, an obsession that had long since consumed him. His pupils were blown wide, his pulse wild beneath his skin.

“She is everything to me. Everything!”

His breathing was uneven now, his hands shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like he was trying to ground himself, like he was trying to stop the storm inside him.

But he couldn’t. He never could. Because she was the storm.

And he was drowning in her.

The two men exchanged deranged smiles. One knowing what was about to happen and the other determined to right his wrongs.

Tag list: @commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura

[c4tluver02]

the perfect gift <3

warnings: none!

wc: 1.6k

Summary: You love books and Steve just happens to get you the best gift of all time!

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。☆。*。☆。

One of the things Steve loves about you is your love for reading. Whenever he calls and asks what you were doing it's always reading. His favorite is when you read aloud to him. Your soft voice saying the words always calms him down. Steve himself wasn't much of a reader at all before he met you but somehow someway you got him into it. If you read a great book you would immediately recommend it to Steve. In a way you read every book in hopes of giving it to Steve for him to read. The thought of you two having your own little book club made you so happy, so of course Steve had the perfect idea of getting you a book. A book that was not only read by him before you got to it but annotated. All of his thoughts that he would share to you once you had both read the book would now be on a page. 

His plan started when you called him.

 “Hi sweet girl, what's up?” Steve asks happy to hear your voice

“Hi Stevie, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the bookstore with me?” Despite you asking him to go with, what you really meant is if he could drive you both there. But that was neither here nor there.

“Yeah no problem, I’ll get ready and head over?” He asked.

“Yes, perfect!” You respond with a cheerful tone that immediately makes Steve grin from ear to ear. Anything to make his girl happy!

- 

Once Steve gets to your house he knocks on your door. He steps back a bit and as he does you open the door. You step forward to give him a hug. 

“Are you ready?” Steve asks as you're still in his arms.

“Yep, let me just get my bag really quick.” You reply, giving him a quick peck on the lips. It's enough that Steve got a taste of your fruity lip gloss. 

“So what type of book are you looking for?” Steve asks as he opens the car door for you. 

“Hmm I am not exactly sure I am thinking of a thriller? I honestly have no clue, really anything that looks good.” Steve wishes you could give him a list of books that way he knows he's at least picking one you'll like. But you don't, so Steves on his own and hopefully he can pull this off without you figuring him out. 

You two make it to the bookstore and head inside. Of course you know all the aisles by heart and immediately go to the fiction aisle. Steve is like a lost puppy following behind you just looking around. He feels like it's pretty easy to tell he isn't a frequent customer. He doesn't know all the areas like you do and by the way he grabs onto your belt buckle anyone could tell he hates to be away from you. But Steve bravely decides to go to a spot that had a book you had said you wanted last time you two were there. He not only has to get it without you noticing but he has to buy it without you seeing him. 

“Hey, I think I left my wallet in the car. I am gonna go get it really quick okay?” Steve says playing a normal facade. 

“Mhm ok.” You say completely not listening as you are already on the fourth page of a book you picked up. 

Now is Steve's chance to go quickly, find the book, pay for it and run it to his car. When he reaches the aisle he finds the book and lucky for him it's the last one. He peeks his head up trying to look over the bookshelves to see you still engrossed in the book you had when he left you. Steve pays for the book and runs to his car. How he did all of that without you looking around is a miracle he thinks. 

Steve walks back up to the area you were in the last time he saw you, you weren't there. Steve is officially freaking out now. He must have not been as slick as he thought. Did you see him buy the book? Did you see that he waited in line to pay for it? He wasn't gone for too long was he? A million thoughts passed through his mind as he walked down to look for you in the aisles. He stops in his tracks as you are walking up to the place he just was to buy your book. 

“Steve, someone took the last of the book I was looking at last time.” You pout into his chest. Steve rubs your back relieved his plan had somehow worked out. 

“I'm sorry baby. We can always come back another day when they restock it?” He says trying to give you a positive look on it despite the last copy being in his back seat. 

“Yeah you're right. It's okay I found two books so I guess I'll live!” You say as you lock your hand with his and walk up to the front. 

Steve pays for your books even though you told him he didn't need to. But he will never stop treating you. What type of boyfriend would he be if he did that? 

-

Steve drives you two back to your place and how can he say no when you ask him to stay for dinner? You guys cook a nice home cooked meal and Steve's cheeks hurt from how much he's been smiling. Even something as simple as cooking dinner with you makes him unbelievably happy. He can't wait till the day you guys do this every night. You both make a perfect pair in every shape and form. The happiness that surrounds the kitchen as you cook is something that comes so naturally yet so enjoyed. Steve couldn't ask for anyone better than you. His perfect girl. Once dinner is done Steve decides it's time he goes home and start on your book. 

He doesn't think he's ever read a book this quickly in his life but he can't stop from the excitement he feels of giving this to you. He writes and highlights important things and little thoughts he has here and there. It's funny how much he sees himself turning unto you. The endless calls of you telling him you stayed up so late reading your eyes were burning always sounded crazy to him. Yet somehow here he is sharing the same feeling. Although this book is for you he is enjoying it very much. He's glad he can read something before you versus the other way around. To have something worth sharing is everything Steve wants and more. 

It only takes him a week to finish the book and annotate. Steve truly hopes you like it. He’s never done something like this and you've never voiced that you even like his comments on books. But despite the little voice in his head he is overjoyed to give you this. 

Steve knocks on your door as he waits with the book in his hand. “Steve? What are you doing here?” You ask unknowing that he would be coming over. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond but before he even has a chance to say it you say-

“You found the book I wanted!” Steve is already glowing from happiness at your reaction as you jump in pure excitement. You can't believe he went out of his way to get it for you. 

“Yeah, I uh, made a few edits to it though.” Steve says sheepishly, scratching at his neck. A little bit of anxiety is finally creeping up to him as he gives you the book. 

You look up at him in surprise as you take his hand and drag him into the living room. You feel like you could cry. The act of him buying a book you mentioned you wanted more than a week ago was enough to get you emotional. But the fact that he did something to it was even more heart wrenching. You open the cover to see a note from him. As you flip through a few more of the pages you see his handwriting scattered on the pages. Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight. You can't believe how compassionate and thoughtful he is. 

“Oh Steve.” You say barely getting a word out, too full of emotions.

“If you don't like it we can go get you a new book. I dunno I thought it would be cool but maybe it’s-” You stop him mid sentence with a big hug.

“It's the best gift I've ever gotten.” You say as you give him a kiss. Your hands are holding his jaw and all the fear leaves Steve. He is so happy that you're happy and enjoy your gift. 

“Good. I’m glad you like it.” He says smiling.

“Oh I don't like it, I love it. I can't believe you would do something like this for me. I know this took some time.” You say holding his hands. 

“I bought it last week. I was the one who took the last copy.” Steve's smile turns into a giggle as he sees your face drop. 

“Oh my god! You sneak! You didn't go to find your wallet at all did you?” You say giggling as all the pieces click together. 

“Nope! I bought the book and ran to put it in my car. I think it was the most stressed I've ever been.” Steve responds in a playful tone. His hand clutched against his chest in dramatics. 

“I was so deep in the book I didn't even realize.” You gasp as you finally see his whole plan come to life. 

You give him a big hug. Extremely thankful you have him as your boyfriend. “Thank you so much baby.” You say hugging him even tighter.

Steve picks you up a bit just enough to allow you to put your legs outside of his. When you let go you pepper his face in a million little kisses. Within each kiss an ‘i love you’ comes out.

"Anything for you." Steve says before kissing you back.

[bcksbarnes]

time's never been on our side - chapter one

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: you and bucky happen to meet by chance one night, and it feels like there is a spark between the two of you - but he has to leave. was this destiny? or cruel fate?

word count: 3K

a/n: ahhhh first chapter of my new fic! i can't wait to write more and explore this plot. thank you all who voted in my poll! this was the fic i was leaning towards so i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)

there’s nothing that bucky enjoyed more after months undercover than a dive bar in the greatest city in the world – the city he was lucky to call home. new york had been there to wish him farewell when he left for the war and had welcomed him back with open arms after his deprogramming over seven decades later. 

that’s why he loved the city; it changed rapidly but it never felt different. 

he had a list of bars he’d like to frequent, most of them small and quiet, the sound of some 90s rock band coming from the speaker and the smell of smoke lingering in the air. he liked places that didn’t ask questions. places that felt like he could blend in seamlessly.  

his life as the winter soldier was so far removed now, a life where he had been both infamous and a ghost. they never saw the winter soldier, but they knew of his stories. 

now, he was just happy to be bucky. though, and he’d never admit it to steve, he was tired. tired of fighting. tired of missions. there was always something new, though there was hope in the back of his mind that one day he could quit, settle down, start a new life. but that’s all it was, wasn’t it? hope, not something he was capable of actually doing. 

bucky felty an immense amount of guilt about his time as the winter soldier, but he felt even worse when he thought about steve. the man had done so much for him, he believed in him, he found him, he fought for him – when he called for another mission how was bucky supposed to say no? 

his thoughts are interrupted when he hears the door of the bar open, his ears perking up and his attention brought back to reality. that was how he was conditioned. there was always a threat, he always needed to be on guard.

he hadn’t been there long when you walked in, the ice in his whiskey had barely begun to sweat. his head turns to look at the front door, eyes watching as you sit down next to him at the barstool, not even sparing him a passing glance. 

bucky turns his head back to his drink, his brain working in overdrive to drown out the memories of his last mission. his therapist – ugh, he hated that – had suggested that continuing to fight might not be great for his stress but he couldn’t slow down. that’s when he felt like he would let steve down and, honestly, that’s when the thoughts were worse. 

“what’s good here?” your voice hits him before he has a chance to realize you’re talking to him, his grasp on his glass clenches for a moment before he slowly turns his head, your gazes catching. it feels like ice is pumping through his veins as you two look at each other, a shiver running down his spine that he does his best to ignore. 

your eyes watch him carefully, this stranger is looking at you like you had just asked the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. 

“nothing.” his voice is gruff and unwavering, a hint of humor in it if you were to listen close enough. 

you smirk a bit at his response, unphased by his disgruntled attitude towards you. 

“good to know.” you hum to yourself a bit, squinting your eyes as you look at the alcohol selection behind the bar, eventually just settling on a beer that seems safe as the bartender serves you. 

you have buckly’s attention now, he watches as you bring the bottle to your lips, your brows furrowed together as you wonder how a bar can get away with selling such stale beer. 

“not up to your tastes?” he asks, seeing the face you make after you sip. 

“try about five years past its expiration.” you say, head turning to look at the man next to you. 

he’s watching you intently and you would normally feel exposed under such a gaze, as if he’s trying to read your every thought with just a look. but, there’s something warm and inviting underneath the cold stare, something that makes you relax a bit.

“i’ll give you some advice – when in doubt, always go with whiskey.” his metal hand picks up his glass, tipping it towards you before bringing it up to his lips. 

you chuckle a bit as you hang your head, shaking it. what an asshole.

“you couldn’t have told me that like two minutes ago when i asked?” 

he smirks for a quick moment; it fades as soon as it appears. 

“you asked what was good. i said nothing. i didn’t lie.” he quips back. “i just didn’t think it was necessary to go into all the details.” 

you rake your eyes over this stranger as he speaks. despite being seated you can tell he’s tall, well built – no doubt. he looks like he hasn’t seen sleep in a few days, and the dark hair on his face is between scruff and a beard. and despite it all, handsome. 

“thanks.” you mumble sarcastically before tipping the bottle of beer again, taking another sip. 

“you don’t seem like someone who frequents these places.” bucky’s not entirely sure why he continues to engage with you. he visits these bars to get away from people, to not be disturbed, not to talk to some random woman who had just sat down. though it’s very out of character for him, he continues nonetheless. 

“that’s a bit presumptuous.” though he’s not wrong, you make no effort to correct him. “and what do you mean by these places?” 

“you know ...” he shrugs a bit, searching around the room.

you know exactly what he means. the bar is small, cramped actually, you two are one of five people in the place including the bartender. the walls were dark and uninviting, behind the smell of cigarettes was a deep rooted hint of musk. beer signs hung on the wall, all which were slightly off centered, and the tv that hung, which was in fact muted, had been flickering for quite some time. it wasn’t a place that you would come to, but you had stormed out of another bar and this was the first place you landed on, and you needed a drink badly.

“places where you don’t have to ask what to get.” he’s teasing, there’s a soft sparkle in his eye for a moment as he takes in your features. you roll your eyes at him, feeling your hand grip the bottle of your beer tighter.

“i was looking for a change of scenery.” you say. “and my ex is at the bar i usually hang out at.”

you had been broken up for months, actually, he had moved on at this point. new girlfriend, new apartment, and there was no malice there, or jealousy. sometimes it felt like you were stuck. like you couldn’t move forward or find someone new. you stayed at your old job, in your old apartment, single. it wasn’t that you wanted him, it’s that it was too difficult to feel happy for someone when you weren’t happy in your own life.

“ah, classic.” bucky says, nodding empathetically.

“yeah,” you shrug as you take another sip of your beer, it’s starting to go down a lot smoother now. “i didn’t get your name.”

you can see the hesitation in his eyes, like he doesn’t want to tell you, but it’s quickly replaced with something more meaningful, something you can’t really read.

“bucky.” 

“bucky.” it rolls off your tongue easily as you repeat it, and it also fits him perfectly. he looked like a ‘bucky’. you say your name back and you can see he makes a mental note of it. “it’s nice to meet you.” 

he grunts a bit in response as he takes another sip of his drink, the liquor burning but he shows no change in his facial features.  

“are you someone who frequents these places?” you ask. 

“you could say that.” he responds, his glass now resting on the wood bar, though he makes no attempts to clarify. “are you from around here?”

“yes and no.” you say with a shrug. “grew up across the river, moved into the city once i was able to get a full time job. now i live around the corner in the east village in my shitty one bedroom that costs way too much.” he laughs at that. “what about you?”

“i was born and raised in brooklyn.” bucky explains, looking down at his drink. “joined the army, did some things here and there, and now i’m what most would consider a nomad.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“haven’t settled down … my work requires me to travel a lot for extended periods of time. if i find myself with downtime in a city i just usually book a hotel for a few days until i need to leave.”

bucky cannot, for the life of him, figure out why he is telling you all this information. it’s like his brain is in some sort of fog and he can’t stop himself from speaking. he was leaving tomorrow for another mission, he didn’t need you, a random stranger, knowing all this about him. bucky didn’t like to get attached, or feeling like he left any loose ends. 

when he had finished his mission upstate earlier that day he was excited about some time off, being in new york was few and far between now for him so he wanted to make the most of his time. but, when steve had called and said that he needed help on a month-long mission - how could bucky refuse?

“what do you do for work?”

you can tell the question makes him shift a little in his seat, uncomfortable by whatever he does and the need to always be moving.

“i’m a soldier, of sorts.” he says, though he doesn’t elaborate. “actually, i’m only in town for the night. i have a flight out in the morning.”

“where to?” 

“that’s classified.”

the response makes you chuckle a bit, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. of course it was. you were just enthralled by this enigma of a man that you couldn’t help but ask, it was worth a shot.

you and bucky spend a few more drinks together, the night passing by quickly as the two of you talk. you pick up that he eyes his watch a few times, knowing that the hours are ticking by and it’s getting later, he had an early flight in the morning but he makes no attempts to stop your conversation, as if he’s just making a mental note of when he needs to leave.

it’s a little after midnight now, about two hours had passed since you had made your way into the bar. somehow you two were huddled a little closer than what would normally be considered friendly, your elbows touching as you both lean on the bar. it feels like the universe is pulling you together, like magnets slowly inching their way towards one another.

bucky’s in the middle of telling you a story about a friend of his, he makes no mention that it’s steve rogers, and the both of you are laughing at the absurdity of it. 

“and then he says to me,” bucky clears his throat before lowering his voice an octave to do an impression. “now, buck, if i could have a word with you. have you ever thought of … smiling a bit more?”

“he said that?!” you ask, your eyes a bit hazy from the alcohol. you had made the switch over to whiskey per bucky’s earlier recommendation. “in front of everyone?”

“in front of everyone!” he says, his eyes wide slightly. he’s glad you found the story just as absurd as he did. “not that i care, but also why right at that moment?”

“your friend sounds like something else.”

“you can definitely say that about …” he trails off, remembering that he didn’t want to mention steve’s name. “... him. we’ve been buddies for a long time, i know he means well, but sometimes i wish he would just shut his mouth.”

the two of you laugh again, filling the otherwise silent bar with some much needed warmth.

“hey,” you say after the laughter dies down and there’s a moment of silence between the two of you. “i’m sure you probably have to get out of here soon, but do you wanna stop and get a slice of pizza together?”

drunk food sounded like heaven to both of you. bucky hadn’t realized he was starving until you mentioned it, he actually wasn’t even sure he had eaten that day. the hours post missions tended to blend together most of the time until he was able to either sleep, or find some alcohol to down. and you didn’t realize how badly you were craving anything that wasn’t whiskey, you weren’t sure how this man drank this at all. you felt like your whole body was on a fire - though the more you thought about it, it could also be the scent of bucky’s cologne that’s making you feel that way - but, the whiskey was definitely hard to stomach.

he nods his head over to the door, the two of you standing up from the barstools. both of your tabs are paid by the time you make it out to the street, the cool air hitting you like a slap in the face. bucky is behind you, shrugging on his leather jacket as you both begin to walk in the direction of the pizzeria.

“i’m surprised you’re not in brooklyn.” you say to him, your head turning in his direction, watching as he puts his hands inside his jacket pockets. “you only have one night in the city and you decided to stay in manhattan.”

“yeah.” he shrugs a bit, not meeting your gaze. what he doesn’t tell you is how hard it is to go back to brooklyn, to walk the streets he grew up on and know that everyone he’s ever loved had passed on, how all the memories he had were all just distant, haunting reminders of the life he wasn’t able to have. “thought i’d change it up a bit.” he lies easily, wishing to drop the conversation.

a few minutes pass, and two slices are secured, both of you standing on the sidewalk outside the pizzeria trying to down them as you talk about everything and nothing. now, in the streets of the city, the two of you are just one of hundreds of people enjoying their night, unlike the private, secluded nature of the bar. although he doesn’t show it, bucky is on alert, watching every person who passes by and treating them as a threat, all while maintaining a light conversation with you … and eating his pizza. he was a good multi-tasker.

it’s when the two of you are finished and were walking back in the direction towards bucky’s hotel that the weight of realization hits both of you. this was the first and last time either of you would see each other. a one night only, ships passing in the night, hello and goodbye. 

“i had fun.” you whisper softly, the quiet around the both of you suddenly feeling suffocating. bucky doesn’t respond back, his eyes on the ground ahead of him, his thoughts of not wanting this to end weighing heavily on his mind. “when’s the next time you’re going to be in new york?”

“i’m not … i’m not sure.”

your shoulder accidentally brushes against his as you walk and you’re sure that your whole body is on fire now. how unfair was this? meeting someone new and exciting for the first time in months, someone who made you forget about the empty, lonely feeling bubbling deep in your gut? it was all a cruel joke set up by the universe. of course he would be off tomorrow and you would most likely never see him again.

“this is me.” he says, as the two of you stand outside of his hotel.

neither of you want to meet the other's eyes, neither want to make the first move to say goodbye. you barely knew him, yet something inside of you felt like you did, or at least wanted to find out in the future.

“you could text me some time?” you ask.

you watch his face and how he hesitates to say anything. his metal hand grips and releases into fists at his side. he’s thinking of all the ways he wants to tell you no. that he can’t let a loose end exist in his world.

“sure.” his voice betrays his mind, he digs into his coat to grab his phone handing it over to you. you quickly type in your number and send yourself a text.

bucky’s number.

he reads the text you sent when you hand him his phone back and he smirks to himself.

“how original.”

 “it seemed like something you’d say.”

the both of you stand there for a moment, searching each other's faces, before bucky takes a step back, the sound of his leather boot hitting the concrete snapping you back into reality.

“it was nice meeting you.” he whispers.

“you too, bucky.”

he gives you one last glance over before he turns on his heel, briskly walking into the hotel and leaving you to the dark streets of the city. a gust of wind hits you and you pull your jacket closer to yourself as you head off in the direction of your apartment. had it always been this cold? or did the distraction of bucky have you so far removed from reality you hadn’t realized?

it’s me :)

you text back as you stand in the elevator to your apartment. three dots appear on your screen and quickly fade. it’s late. he had an early flight. surely you’d hear from him soon enough. you hoped.

[bytemee]

extra content (chapter eight) | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — read chapter eight before this, social media only chap, my silly humour, youtube & twitter themed, suggestive jokes, and let me know if there's more.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 1.9k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— um tried something different

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd @minaripenguu

series masterlist. main masterlist. chapter eight.

Y/N in Milan | PRADA S/S 2025 Womenswear Show behind

1.1M views | 367.2k likes | Nov 20, 2024

[the vlog begins]

(about to get on the plane headed to milan)

the camera focuses on your face as you wait in line to board the plane, headphones slung around your neck, a hat pulled low over your head. you're standing there, feeling a little bit in awe of how far you've come. "guess what popped into my head today?" you say, tilting your head toward the lens with a small smile.

"i thought about my first world tour and all of a sudden i was just like... am i getting old?" you laugh a little, shaking your head. "the world tour for she was over four years ago, and i was so young, but it feels like only yesterday."

(nostalgia creeping in)

"it's crazy, right? time flies by so fast, and you don't even realize how much has changed until you stop and think about it. i mean, a lot has happened in the last four years."

the line starts moving, and you take a step forward, thoughts floating through your mind. it's wild to think about how much has changed in just a few years—things you used to only dream about are happening now, and it all feels like it came out of nowhere.

(fond)

"but i guess it's normal, isn't it? to look back at your younger self and see how much you've changed, or how much you haven't."

[cut scene]

(need to board the plane soon)

"it's crazy," you say, chuckling and shaking your head, "i'm nervous to take off my hat," the line is getting shorter and shorter, and you are closer and closer to boarding the plane. "it's surprise under here. you'll see it soon enough when i'm all the way in milan," the line moves, and you follow suit, throwing up a peace sign.

(*^-^)V

[cut scene]

(stepping off the plane, arriving in milan)

the camera catches you walking through the airport, your energy high as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. "okay, milan, let's do this," you say, looking around as you walk. "i feel like i've missed you more than you've missed me probably," the camera is now facing you as you walk, your voice slightly shaky from the plane ride.

(excited)

"we're here in milan for prada's 2025 womenswear show. im pretty excited, i've been to a few menswear and womenswear shows before, and they're always so unique. each year is just something new, and i'm happy that i'm able to go."

(smiling so hard it's starting to hurt)

"okay, where's the nearest gelato shop?"

[cut scene: you holding a gelato cone, the camera zooming in on the treat.]

"this is literally the best thing i've ever tasted. like, what the...flip." you say, taking another lick of the gelato. the camera is still trained on the gelato, and you laugh at the zoom-in, moving the camera to face you again. "we should stop this," you say, laughing, "it's getting a bit weird, isn't it?"

(still eating gelato, a bit of chocolate at the corner of y/n's mouth)

(is completely oblivious)

(manager is cruel for not telling her)

"milan's gelato is next level, and i'm not even exaggerating," you say, holding up the cone like it's a prized trophy. "this is literally heaven in a cone. like, i could live here and eat this every single day, no problem."

the camera shifts to focus on the gelato, chocolate starting to drip down the side, a messy but beautiful masterpiece.

"i'm not kidding, this might inspire a song," you say, almost to yourself, eyes glued to the cone. "seriously, i'm thinking about writing something. i mean, look at it. how could i not?"

(is very serious)

(the chocolate is still on her face)

softly, you start singing under your breath, voice low and smooth: "i see you when i sleep at night. dwibakkwin natgo bam... you know i dream you, right?"

your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you take another bite, the melody lingering in the air. the camera pans back to your face, chocolate smudged at the corner of your mouth. your eyes suddenly pop open, and you grin wide, realizing what you've just done.

"oh, whoops. i think i just leaked an unreleased song," you say with zero regret, your smile growing wider. behind the camera, jamie groans dramatically.

"it's called 'gelato,'" you announce, licking the cone confidently as the camera zooms in on your face. "don't even think about stealing the title, i mean it."

(a few minutes later)

"okay, real talk, this might be the best thing i've eaten," you pause, contemplating. "or at least top three. yeah, definitely top three." the camera pans down to your now-empty cone as you lick the melted chocolate off your fingers, clearly satisfied.

you toss the cone into a nearby trash bin, wiping your hands on a napkin. "and now, i'm officially ready for the show." with a playful grin, you throw up two peace signs.

V(￣∇￣)V

[cut scene to hotel room]

the camera opens to your hotel room, a perfect blend of cozy luxury, with sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. you're perched in front of a vanity, dressed in a fluffy white robe, while your team is already in full swing. one stylist adds the finishing touches to your makeup, blending highlighter along your cheekbones, while another carefully adjusts your wig—its blonde strands so flawless, it looks like you were born with them.

(dun dun dun)

(hair reveal!!!)

you smile into the mirror as the hair stylist combs through the strands, adding a few pins here and there. you turn to look at the camera, eyes bright and smile wide, the most natural expression ever.

(still feeling out the new color)

"so, we've reached the big reveal, haven't we?" you say, your fingers lightly run through your hair.

[cut scene: quick photoshoot before leaving the hotel]

the next part of the vlog shows a mini-photoshoot happening right in the hotel lobby. there's a portable backdrop and a couple of lights set up, nothing too fancy, but it gets the job done. you're standing in front of it, fully in your outfit now, looking like you just walked out of a magazine.

you move through a bunch of easy poses—hands in your pockets, leaning slightly to the side, tilting your head a little. at one point, you flash a grin, and it feels so natural it might've been unplanned. the photographer keeps snapping away, hyping you up with stuff like, "that's perfect!" and "just one more shot!"

(a quick spin to show off the fit)

you even throw in a little playful spin, laughing because you almost trip, but it ends up looking cool in the footage.

after a few more photos, you call it a wrap, giving the camera a peace sign before heading out the door.

[cut scene: arriving at the event]

the scene cuts to the outside of the car as it pulls up to the event. the second the door cracks open, you hear it—the screams. like, actual screams.

you step out, looking cool but trying not to trip on the way. you adjust your jacket, give the crowd a little smile, and wave. then you wave again. and again. and again, because everywhere you turn, people are shouting your name.

(camera flashes everywhere)

you pause on the red carpet, cameras clicking furiously as you strike a few poised yet approachable poses. you remain composed, but inside, your heart is beating wildly. it doesn't matter how many red carpets you walk, there's something about the excitement, the anticipation, that makes you want to jump out of your skin.

[cut scene: entering the showroom]

the camera follows you as you step into the showroom, and immediately, it's like you've walked into another world. everything feels grand—high ceilings, soft lighting that makes everything look like a movie, and rows of perfectly set chairs with the runway in the middle.

but before you even get a second to take it all in, the cameras are back.

(flashes everywhere again)

photographers are everywhere, snapping pics like it's a competition. you're barely two steps inside, but they already want your attention. you try not to blink, but the flashes are so intense, and they won't stop going off.

(finally got seated) (is just happy to sit for a second)

the camera catches you pulling your phone up, using it as a makeshift mirror while your tongue pokes out in concentration.

(silver-haired y/n, inspecting their look) (not sure yet?)

"it looks better in person," you mutter, mostly to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. the silver strands are a bold choice, but it fits. the color looks like it was made for you, and the way the strands catch the light makes your head shimmer.

"it's a change," you admit with a soft laugh, tilting your head as if that'll give you a better view. "but i like it. plus, it's temporary, so no pressure, right?"

[cut scene: still fixing your hair]

a few seconds later, you're back at it, smoothing down the flyaways.

[cut scene: and again]

this time, you frown slightly, brushing the strands down with more focus.

"she'd yell at me if she saw this," you joke quietly, clearly talking about your stylist.

(camera catches y/n looking very serious about this hair thing)

after one last adjustment, you sit back and sigh, smoothing your outfit while flashing the camera an exaggerated frown.

[cut scene]

you stop fussing with your hair, finally sitting back in your seat, waiting for the show to start. you look around, taking in the glamorous atmosphere of the showroom—people chatting, cameras flashing, and everyone looking polished and chic.

as you scan the room, your eyes meet Karina's for a split second. you freeze, almost caught off guard, before quickly looking away, your heart rate picking up a bit. you pause for a second, remembering where you are and the eyes on you.

(AESPAS KARINA 💙💙💙)

with a soft smile, you look back at her, offering a small wave and saying, "hey."

she smiles back, motioning to the camera behind you. you follow her cue and turn the camera with a small smile on your face.

^_^

picking up your your seat indicator card, the one with your name on it, you pose with it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

(so photogenic)

(so natural)

(no awkwardness here)

(just a very cool and talented musician)

[cut scene] the show starts, and you're just sitting back, soaking it all in. the lights dim, the music kicks in, and models start strutting down the runway in all kinds of crazy cool outfits. it's all so surreal, and you can't help but smile, staring at everything happening in front of you.

you pull out your phone, snapping a few pics and trying to keep up with everything without looking like a total tourist.

(snapping a few pictures)

you glance at the camera once more, shrugging a little as if to say, "what can i say, this is really cool."

[cut scene: after the show]

the show's done, and you're walking out of the showroom, still buzzing from the experience. fans are all lined up outside, screaming and waving, and you make sure to wave back, giving them the attention they deserve.

(still waving and smiling)

you blow a few kisses and throw up a peace sign, grinning the entire time.

you keep waving, your energy infectious, and soon, everyone around you is doing the same.

(is so kind to everyone)

(so grateful)

[cut scene]

cut to you, now back in your hotel room, finally alone. you sit down in front of the mirror, letting out a small sigh as you brush your hand through your hair that was now your natural hair color.

(a quiet moment)

"today was a long day," you admit, letting your hands fall in your lap. it was so cool though," you add, nodding. "the glasses and the accessories were just—so cool. and the way they used metal in the outfits? it was everything. so futuristic but still wearable, you know?"

you start to get more excited, gesturing with your hands as you talk. "there were so many different elements used, like a mix of hard and soft textures. so many contrasts, but it all worked together. definitely one of the most fun shows I've ever watched."

(knock knock knock)

you jump a little, pausing, then quickly add, "i'll head out now, bye." you give the camera a small wave.

[end of video]

series masterlist. main masterlist. chapter eight.

[singingrottenbones]

season 3 spoilers

The way that Will's wife encouraged him to go after the killer is insane because like. No normal spouse says that. It makes me wonder if he was actually happy there. He was so quick to go to Hannibal. I wonder if she just..reminded him of how he was treated before Hannibal.

Hi friend! Thank you for the ask :)

I just read through the script to brush up on my memory of that episode, and I think part of the issue already lies in the fact that we do not know anything about Molly. We do not know how they met. We do not know how Will was doing when they met. We do not know how much she knows about Will's and Hannibal's relationship.

So part of her encouragement might just be that she didn't know any better, or that she knew enough to see that Will would go with or without her permission (because let's face it - when Hannibal calls, Will is always going to answer).

On top of that, part of the blame also lies in the writing of season 3. It's basically two seasons smushed into one (hence the abrupt 3 year break after 3x07), and in order to fit all the plot that was left into the remaining 6 episodes, certain plot lines had to be rushed because there was no time to properly develop them.

I think that it definitely would have made Molly's and Will's actions more believable if we'd had one episode of pondering.

Now onto your question of if Will was actually happy there... Yes and no.

Yes, as in: his life was stable. He was loved, he had a family and dogs, he no longer had to deal with murderers. It was picturesque, it was simple, it was easy. And therein lies the problem.

Because Hannibal had already irrevocably changed him. I'm sure that Will thought that he never wanted to see Hannibal again (or that's what he told himself), but you cannot leave a relationship like that behind. Hannibal became part of Will's essence, he took root inside of him, and as much as he tried to fight it, it was always going to end this way: Will and Hannibal, together.

I'd like to hear what you meant by "I wonder if she just..reminded him of how he was treated before Hannibal." Because I do not blame Molly at all for any of what happened. She seems like a truly sweet person who fell in love with a man whose heart already belonged to someone else.

[baniisharur0tte]

Thank You, Miss <3 (p.2)

(part one here)

word count: 3.4k of filth <3

content: SMUT !!! 18+ !!!! sub!Choso, servicedom!fem!reader, missionary P->V, oral (m+f!receiving), deepthroat, vibrator + butt plug (m!recieving) mild degradation, major praise, pet names (pretty, puppy, etc.) mommy/miss/mistress kink, creampie

authors note: AAHHHH!!!!! (i pull my hair out) I NEED HIM!!!!! (that's all. just fervor. happy reading, lovely! mwah!)

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he parts his lips from yours, quietly asking "can we try another one today?"

laying on your back, you push his chest gently so you can lean over and rifle through the bedside table.

"of course love. let's see what we have."

still wanting to ease him into the adventure, you pick something you think will be gentle for him. you decide on the black vibrating butt plug.

you turn back, holding it up between you two. he cocks his head, looking at it.

"do you know what this is?"

he thinks for a moment, inspecting it.

"i...i think so. when i saw it on the shelf i just thought 'she'll know what to do' so i brought it to you. i think it goes in your pussy?"

you giggle, shaking your head.

"no, sweetie. well, technically it can, but that's not what it's for today."

you click the button on the back, letting it buzz for a moment before turning it off again. his eyes flash, remembering how much he loved the wand. he sits back on his heels, you follow sitting up to face him.

"this goes in your ass, i can use it too but it'll feel better for you than it will for me."

his eyebrows furrow in confusion, muttering "in my... well i guess... i mean, i've never done anything like that...." before he finally lands on "if you want to use it on me, i trust you. i know it'll be fun" he smiles brightly, his eyes shining on you.

"okay, love. c'mere, try to relax as best you can."

you lace your fingers into his, pulling him back down to lay on you. his face buried in the crook of your neck, you grab the bottle of lube on the nightstand and pour some onto the toy. you slip your hand into his underwear, find his hole and gently begin to push it inside him.

he yelps quietly and pushes his face deeper into your hair. "i-it's cold!!" he whispers, his voice high and tense.

you stroke his hair, soothing him. "it's okay, puppy. if it hurts i'll stop, but just try to relax. it'll warm up, love. don't worry"

"it doesn't hurt, i l-like it i think" he says quietly, squirming and whimpering as it reaches the base.

you pet his hair, rubbing his back as you lay together, letting him adjust to this new feeling.

he shifts his legs around, letting out small whimpers with every move. "i can feel it when i move, that's good right?"

you tilt his face up to yours, meeting his eyes. his cheeks are already beginning to flush, his big doe eyes looking up at you. "does it feel good when you move?"

he slowly pulls himself up and carefully grinds into your pussy, his cock trapped in his underwear.

"ooh!~" he quickly stops, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in your shoulder again.

"....y-yes, it does. thank you mommy" he whispers shyly into your skin, his breath ghosting over you sending a small shiver down your side.

"c-can i have the buzzing too?"

"if you feel ready, of course you can"

you reach down and push the button, the pressure pushing it ever so slightly deeper into him. between the small thrust and the sudden vibrations, his whole body jerks at the sensation. he lets out a gasp as he tenses on top of you.

"oh my god, that feels-hngh-oh my god" he chokes out, grinding into you without even thinking. with every weak roll of his hips, the toy bumps around inside him hitting something that feels so good. it was hard for him to understand, he felt it in his stomach and down the length of his cock, it was a pleasure that he felt deep in his core. it was unlike any other pleasure he had felt before. it was strange, it felt like the stirring in his stomach of needing to cum, but he wasn't close. was he? he wasn't sure, it was all so alien to him, his body feeling a little overwhelmed by all the stimulation. the buzzing of the vibrator was rocking deep inside him, it made his insides feel like jelly. with his cock slowly dragging over your pussy, your underwear clinging to your wet folds the head of his cock catching on the dip of your entrance with every thrust, it felt like he was being attacked from all sides. hearing your gentle moans as he rubbed himself on your clit, it fried his brain.

"this is- aahh- a lot for m-me i think~" he moans, almost painfully.

you grab his face, saying "if it's too much we can slow down. i want you to take this at your own pace."

he looks down at you, shaking his head. "i l-like it, i can take it. i want you to..." he trails off, dropping his gaze.

"what do you need, pretty?"

"t-to make it worse."

as a devious smile grows on your face, he begins to worry he made a mistake confessing his need to you.

you instruct him to lay on his back, stripping his underwear off him. every move he made trying to get comfortable only made him whimper and wince at the pleasure. he was most comfortable with his knees bent, feet on the bed.

perfect.

you find your place between his legs, slowly stroking the length of his cock. "aah~! fuck, thank you miss"

he grabs your wrist instinctively, squeezing tight as you begin to quicken your pace. his cock twitching and throbbing in your hands, dripping pearls of precum wetting him as you tease him.

"you want me to make it worse for you, puppy? you won't live to see tomorrow." you grin devilishly as you take his cock into your mouth and immediately thrust it into the back of your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. a loud guttural moan rips from his throat as you fuck your face down onto his aching cock. his hands fly up tangling into your hair, holding you down on him.

you stay like this for a moment, feeling your eyes spill with tears as his cock throbs in the tight walls of your throat. you pull yourself back up, just enough to swirl the tip around in your mouth. his grip in your hair tightens as he bucks and whimpers, holding himself back from fucking your face the way he needs to.

"god, mommy your mouth feels amazing~ thank you for for swallowing my cock" he mewls and gasps, trying to talk coherently through all his pathetic noises.

you take him into your throat again, bobbing your head up and down as lewd gags and squelches of spit emanate around the room. he instinctively rolls his hips with you, every move he makes causes the toy to bump around inside, sending shocks of deep pleasure wracking up his spine. it feels so good, he can almost feel it behind his eyes.

"m-mommy can you- fuck!- can you p-push on it or something? i t-think i need more of the toy" he begs, so greedy for you to make him cum. his lustful curiosity of what it would feel like to cum with this toy in his ass was making him urgent and desperate. you reach down, one hand holding the base of his cock in place while you swallow it, the other holding the base of the butt plug. you rock it back and forth, putting emphasis on the 'up' motion, tilting it towards his stomach to massage his prostate. as you begin rocking the toy, his whole body shudders and his legs tighten, thrusting his cock deep down your throat. a strained cry rips from him, he babbles "oh fuck, oh fuck, yes miss thank you~ god that feels so good i think i'm gonna cum in your pretty mouth"

he begins fucking your face, desperate and crying out for more of you. his grip on your hair was pushing you down onto his huge, pitiful cock as you roll the vibrator around inside him, massaging his tight insides. every sharp thrust of his hips causes his body to tighten around the toy, as if his body were trying to milk cum from it. your throat squeezing around him, pulling him deeper every time you swallowed, it overwhelmed his poor pathetic cock. his eyes spilled the tears he had been holding back, whining and mewling as he came deep down your throat, his ass clenching hard around the toy. it felt like his whole body exploded. a deep sharp bloom of pleasure rocked from his stomach all the way up his spine, making his hands and feet tingle. he saw white, blinded by this overwhelming sensation. he shuddered and shook, his entire body tensing as he choked on his own orgasm. "m'cumming! i'm cumming for you mommy! fuuccckkkk aahhh~" he cried.

as his cock throbbed and twitched in your throat, you felt the muscle on the underside of his cock pump cum down into your mouth. his balls resting on your wrist as you pushed the toy deeper into his ass, tightened and squeezed as his orgasm ripped through him.

his shaking legs began to still, his gasping breaths and pathetic little whimpers died down. he slowly pulled you off his half-hard cock, turning your face up to look at him.

you were a fucking mess.

your red glowing face was covered in drool, your eyes wild and full of lust. your red swollen lips curl into slack-jawed smile as you looked up at him, only worrying him more. you just made him cum the hardest he thinks anyone has in existence, and you don't look like you are anywhere near done with him.

the vibrator still buzzing inside him, he is immediately squirming and overstimulated, his cock hard all over again.

you slink up next to him, pulling his face into your chest and cradle him, his arms wrapping around your waist. in nothing but your wet, clingy panties, his hot breath tickles the valley of your chest as he presses his face harder into you.

you pet his hair, praising him for how well he did trying something new.

he begins to squirm more, whimpering quietly into the soft squish of your chest. "i need more, it's still inside me and it's making me hard again. can you play with me some more, mommy?" he looks up at you, his eyebrows knitted together in sexual frustration, a small pout on his lips as he asks you quietly for more attention.

"you still hungry, greedy boy?" you tease him, poking his nose and giggling.

you are raring to keep going, holding back to be gentle with him and give him space to explore.

he begins placing small hesitant kisses on your chest, letting small whimpers escape as he continues to be bombarded by the vibrator inside him. pushing your tits together, he loses himself as he kisses you sloppier and sloppier, sucking on your nipples and biting your soft flesh. "i'm starving for you, miss." he growls lowly, a darkness in his eyes. his tone shift was juxtaposed by the pitiful mewls he kept letting fall from his lips, a desperate pull between a deep need to chase the pleasure you give him, worshipping and eating you whole, and the searing bite of overstimulation as his body clawed to recover from the brutal orgasm you just gave him. fighting with himself and losing, he trailed hot kisses down to your pussy. he began eating you out through your panties so desperately and passionately, he couldn't help but grind his hard, red cock into the bed to catch friction to ease the ache. he sits up for a moment to pull them off, not able to waste another second with anything between him and that delicious, beautiful pussy. you groan tossing your head back as he dove back in, slobbering shamelessly on your wet pussy. the squelching and wet smacks of his lips on yours rang out around the room, the sound revving both of you up even more. he is mumbling into your lips about how good you taste, how he wants to make you cum on him, he wants you to use him.the worship and praise he gives you gets you close already. his words alone were worth more than what he physically does to you. his low voice, heavy eyelids watching you intently as he aims to please you, his nose bumping into your clit as he fucks his tongue in and out of your squelching pussy, it was so good.

your sweet, perfect pet knew how to please his mommy so well.

you lace your fingers into his hair, pushing his face into you harder as you feel that stir in your stomach of your orgasm coming. he lets out a surprised "hmpf!" and his eyes roll back in pleasure as you force him to drink in more of you. his eyebrows knit together, nodding to encourage you to use him.

he laces his fingers over yours in his hair, squeezing your hands into his hair harder. he moans into your pussy as you pull his hair roughly, your thighs clamping down around his face. a string of babbling cries fall from your lips as you praise him, falling apart into his mouth. wave after wave of your orgasm crashes into you, gushing your creamy cum onto his face. he grips your thighs tight, pushing them into his face harder hoping you crush him to death as you cum.

he eases up as you come down, licking every inch of you clean so as to not waste a drop of your precious cum. he needs all of you, and he wont stop until he gets it.

he works his way back up your body, kissing and licking every bit of skin on his way up.

he pulls himself up, his cock smacking onto your slick wet pussy. he whimpers at the contact, unable to keep his hips from bucking into you. he bites and licks at your neck, humping you like an animal in heat.

"i n-need to keep moving, i need to f-fuck your sweet pussy, mommy. can i p-please have the privilege to fuck you? i'll-hahh- do really good, i promise. i j-just-fuck- need to feel you with this toy in me, miss" he gasps between grunts as he drags his cock across your squelching wet folds.

"you can fuck me, sweet boy. but," you grab the back of his head, pulling his long dark hair so his head angles up, exposing his sinewy neck to you. you lick a long stripe from his collarbone up to his ear, biting and sucking on his earlobe. a thick shudder wracks his body as you continue, "you can't cum until i do. if you don't satisfy me, you can't fuck me for a week." you threaten, your voice low and silky in his ear.

you pull back, looking into his eyes. "you'll be a good boy for me, won't you?" you say as you reach down to stroke his cock and angle him at your entrance.

he nods, his face red from embarrassment. he bucks his hips, thrusting just the very tip of his cock into you. you shift up quickly away from him, saying "ah, not until i hear you say it." you grab his cock, squeezing tightly and rubbing his tip against your folds. he silently chokes on the words, his head lolling down as you overwhelm him.

"im-im a-" he chokes out, gasping as he watches his cock spread your lips around.

"hmmmm?" you hum teasingly, squeezing his cock again.

"i-im a good boy" he whispers quickly, trying to get it out as best he can. his hips stutter into you, trying to work the head of his cock back into your tight little pussy.

"not good enough." you reply sternly, grabbing his face and pulling him down onto you, your foreheads touching. his panting breath tickles your face as he struggles once again to meet your demands.

"im a g-good boy for mommy, i-im gonna fuck you until you cum. i-im gonna please my mistress a-and earn the right to fuck you." he chokes out, louder this time.

"perfect." you purr, letting go of his cock and grabbing his hips, slamming his cock into your pussy. he collapses into you, immediately biting your shoulder to stifle a thick, guttural groan as his cock is plunged into your tight, wet hole.

his pelvis rams into your clit, sending a shock wave up your body as his thick cock stretches you and bumps your g-spot immediately.

you gasp, feeling his hot, tight body on yours. his rippling back muscles straining under your fingers, you pet the valley between his shoulder blades as he pulls back and slams into you again. he gives you hard, sharp thrusts over and over again, slowly letting you feel the stretch between each one.

with every roll of his hips, the vibrator massages his prostate. every time he fucks his cock into you, it feels almost as though he's getting fucked too. jostling and bumping the plug in his ass as he pumped his cock into your squelching little pussy made that stir in his stomach grow tighter and tighter. he was falling apart, crying and whimpering, sucking on your skin and drooling into the pillow as he drilled his cock into you like a desperate animal. his lewd moans and mewls were louder than your own, your hungry boy was a beast for you.

he pants and grunts as his pace quickens, rolling his hips lasciviously into you. he's a mess, letting a slew of babbling "thank you mommy"s and "am i giving it to you good?" spill from his lips. he begs for your praise, trying desperately to hold back from dumping his cum into your pussy, his loser cock not being able to keep up with your pussy milking him on top of the plug massaging his insides.

you give it to him, telling him over and over again that he's doing amazing, he's your special boy, and that he's so pretty.

"p-pretty?? miss thinks im pretty when i fuck her into the bed??" he pants and begs, needing you to tell him again how beautiful you think he is.

you were already close, but his words describing him pounding you into the mattress broke you. your pussy clamps down on him, your ankles hooking together plunging his cock deep into him as you gush around him, milking him for his cum, screaming and gasping "yes! yes, cho-aaahhhhfuck- pretty! pretty boy fucks me soooo good~" you grunt and moan as you cum, shaking and squeezing around him. he can't stop moving, you may have him locked deep into you, but he rolls his hips jostling his cock around inside you to keep up the friction. your screaming orgasm pushes him far over the edge, everything he has been holding back lets loose inside you. his entire body wracks and tenses as he cums deeply from his stomach once more. his ass clenching around the vibrator, his insides are overworked jelly. his balls clenching and squeezing as he dumps more of his pathetic fucking cum deep against your cervix, that muscle on the underside of his cock pumping and throbbing inside you.

he empties his balls inside you, humping you weakly as he goes limp on top of you, completely drained. you both come down, beginning to still as he whimpers and cries, asking tearfully "i need to take it out now, i can't take it anymore. can you please get it out of me?"

he squirms and pulls off you, his hand rubbing his stomach. it was so overwhelming, the buzzing never letting up well after he came.

you reach around to turn it off and slowly pull it out with a pop! and a squeak from him. he collapses back onto you with a huff of relief and a sniffle, completely exhausted.

"so what did you think of your new toy, pretty?"

he nuzzled into your neck, a small laugh bouncing in his chest. he takes a long deep breath, breathing in your scent.

"i um.... i like it. can you use it on me next time too?"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆