#some of this was probably really off but...

[sleepiestarchivist]

Me: yeah I’m a classically trained violinist and I listen to a lot of classical compositions :)

Weirdos: ah good, another person who hates Rap and Pop, aka The Bad Black People Music. Come with me to discuss the downfall of European civilization as symbolized through the fall of popularity of classical music

Me: IM A LATINO TRANNY AND I LOVE EVERY SINGLE GENRE OF MUSIC ESP RAP THAT TACKLES RACIAL INEQUALITY AND POLICE INJUSTICE GO AWAYYYYYYYYYYY

There’s certain hobbies and interests that aren’t inherently conservative or regressive but do attract a lot of people who are those things or worse and when you’re a progressive person involved in those hobbies hearing that someone else is interested in your hobby usually has to involve some “But are you normal about it?” conversations before you get too excited

[allsteddie]

And what about a soulmate AU where everyone sees in black and white until they finally touch their soulmate for the first time?

Steve is disappointed when nothing changes after he and Nancy start dating, and even more disappointed when Nancy and Jonathan turn out to be soulmates not long after she breaks up with Steve.

He goes in a lot of dates, with a lot of girls, makes sure to always touch them somehow to see if something happens. Still nothing.

Then one day he’s working at Scoops Ahoy when Eddie Munson walks in, a bunch of his nerdy friends tagging along. Robin is on her break, so it’s just Steve there to deal with everybody’s orders. Fifteen minutes, a lot of arguing between the nerds and four satisfied costumers later, Eddie hands Steve a couple of bills to pay for everyone’s ice cream and that is the moment Steve’s life changes.

Their fingers brush and, suddenly, his black and white world explode in color. It’s so overwhelming the money slips from his hand and Steve has to grab the counter to steady himself, the world around him seeming to spin.

“Hey, Eddie, are you okay?” one of the nerds (Gareth?) asks.

Steve blinks, still dizzy and trying to understand what the hell is going on. When he lifts his head, he sees Eddie pretty much in the same state as him, two of his friends holding him up and supporting him as the man looks dazzled, the third one holding his forgotten ice cream and looking lost and distressed.

“What the fuck did you do to him, Harrington?”

But Steve can’t bring himself to say anything, he’s too busy freaking the fuck out. Because Eddie Munson is his soulmate, apparently. Eddie fucking Munson. What kind of joke is that!?

“Get off me,” Eddie says, pushing his friends away until he’s standing by himself.

He’s still struggling, that’s quite clear, but Eddie Munson has always been stubborn and has always refused to show any kind of weakness. He’s not gonna start doing it in front of Steve of all people.

“Look, man,” Steve starts, not really knowing what to say, but needing to say something. Eddie doesn’t let him finish, though.

“No, shut up. Don’t even start,” he says, fierce. If looks could kill, Steve would be dead right now. “I don’t wanna hear anything, I refuse. Fuck this. It doesn’t change a single thing, you hear me? It changes nothing.”

“And who says I want it to change anything? You’re not exactly my dream come true, Munson.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish, Harrington.”

“What is happening here?” another one of Eddie’s friends whispers to the others, who are just as confused.

“Shut up, you too!” Eddie snaps at them. He takes a last look at Steve, then turns his back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Steve watches as Munson marches out of the shop, his friends trailing behind him and trying to catch up with his pace, and that’s all he can do; watch. Because what else would he do? Ask Munson to wait so they can talk about the fact that they are fucking soulmates? As if. Steve would rather flush his own head in the toilet.

After that, they avoid each other like the plague. And if not knowing who his soulmate was had been bad, knowing it is not much better. Steve still can’t understand how the universe, or whatever force chooses this soulmate shit, came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson would be his perfect match. For the first time in his life, Steve wonders if these things could be wrong somehow; if maybe some soulmates were just not meant to be.

The next time Steve sees Eddie, the man is holding a broken bottle to his neck and threatening to kill him. Eddie is terrified, eyes frantic and the hand holding the bottle is trembling, and Steve is so relieved he’s okay he would probably hug him if the risk of getting stabbed wasn’t so high.

“We’re on your side,” Dustin pleads. “I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

And there’s a change there, in Eddie’s eyes. A flicker of recognition and hope as he looks at Steve before letting him go. The others don’t notice, but Steve does. He’s hyperaware of everything Eddie does, every small movement and look. He sees the nervous fidgeting and the touch of hysteria in Eddie’s words, but also the trust the other man shows when he agrees with Dustin’s plans, and how it helps him with the anxiety. And it’s weird for Steve, being so in tune with whatever is going on in Eddie’s mind that he can actually read the guy like a book, but is also comforting somehow.

By the time Dustin finishes explaining his plan, Steve’s not so sure the universe was trying to fuck with him when it chose Eddie as his soulmate. Not anymore.

[wisteriashouse]

group project.

pairing: phainon x reader

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: college!au phainon. that's it. that's the story. mihoyo please let this man be happy (i will eat shaoji if he doesn't come back).

chapters: part one | part two (tbc)

The first time the two of you meet, Phainon gets off on the wrong foot with you — quite literally. And you say him, not you, because he’s the one who trips — half drunk with a can of beer in his hand — and spills its contents all over your shirt.

You hadn’t intended to go to that party. In fact, you hadn’t been intending on leaving your apartment at all that night. The first week of the semester started tomorrow, and you had an early morning lecture that you were already contemplating skipping to sleep in. But Castorice, the first friend you’d made in freshman year, had somehow caught wind that the host owned a Samoyed puppy with fur soft enough to dispel the black tide of finals week depression. That alone had been enough motivation for her to overcome her usual social awkwardness, and check the party out.

And you, as her good friend, had of course agreed to accompany her. Which is why you are now standing awkwardly in the hallway of an unfamiliar house — alone, you might add — with a single can of coke in your hand as Robin’s latest hit song blasts throughout the house.

“Rise up into my world! Renew your definition…”

You’d lost Castorice within ten minutes of entering the house — hopefully she’s found the Samoyed, at least. You, on the other hand, have quickly realised that you know no one here. Which isn’t really saying much, considering the number of friends you’ve made in college, but there must be someone that you can at least talk to, right?

You glance around. From the snippets of conversation you’ve managed to pick up, it sounds like the people here are mostly from Okhema University’s sports clubs. Is this some sort of jock convention? The most athletic thing you’d done lately was run after your bus, which you’d then proceeded to miss regardless. Embarrassing.

Perhaps you should make an attempt at social interaction, since you’re already here? To your left, a group of about fifteen stocky men with disproportionately large arms to legs — rowers, maybe? — crowd around the beer pong table, cheering and yelling so loudly the sound reverbs in your skull. You look to your right. In the kitchen, a blond guy in a fur lined jacket proceeds to pour half a bottle of vodka straight down his throat. 

You should probably be concerned, but decide that you’re not ready to be complicit to a murder this Sunday night. That’s a no to social interaction, then.

Your phone suddenly buzzes. Relieved, you fish it out of your pocket only to be disappointed to see that it’s not Castorice texting to ask if you want to go home right now.

De: you’re not rotting in bed

De: where are you

Straight to the point and mildly insulting. You can’t help your smile as you reply. Aww, you’ve missed your roommate.

You: at a party rn

He texts back almost instantaneously.

De: you get invited to parties????

De: ???????

You: i’m not friendless like u

You: btw hyacine is here

You: you WISH you cld be me

Hyacine, full name Hyacinthia, is a warm and bubbly third year student studying medicine in Okhema University. You’ve never actually been in the same social circles, but the girl is a literal ray of sunshine — everyone gets along with her. You’d contemplated taking shelter in her social bubble earlier, but she’d been chatting to a few other friends, and so you’d slunk away like a stray with your tail between your legs.

She also happens to be the object of your roommate’s blooming affections. Has been, ever since the last sports season, when he’d twisted his ankle during a basketball match and she’d been on first aid duty. It would have been a cliche made in heaven, too, if not for the fact that your roommate had the personability of a public latrine. And the fact that he simply refuses to approach her in any way, shape or form — does she even know he exists?

“You know, you could just ask her out. Like a normal person,” you’d said once, when you’d seen him pining — no, staring — after her from across the football field. She’d been walking alongside one of her friends, pink twin tails bouncing behind her and wearing a smile that outshone the arena floodlights. “Instead of stalking her like an emotionally constipated creep.”

“There are no words for ‘asking her out’ in the Kremnoan dictionary.” But he hadn’t denied the emotionally constipated part. Or the stalker bit, which might have been a cause for concern, now that you think about it.

You’d stared at him with a mixture of resignation and pity. “I’m starting to think that the Kremnoan dictionary doesn’t have any words at all, actually.”

As expected, your roommate replies with a friendly ‘fk u’, which is then followed by a ‘need me to drive you back?’ Truly, the epitome of modern day chivalry, you think to yourself with some amusement. Now, if only he could string together more than just a grunt in Hyacine’s presence…

You: nope

He doesn’t reply after that. Sighing, you decide to look around one more time for your missing friend when your phone suddenly buzzes again.

This time, it is Castorice (hooray!) — regretfully explaining that she’d been so enamoured with the Samoyed that she’d taken over a hundred pictures on her phone, promptly drained all of its battery and then had to go home to get it charged because she was too afraid to ask for a wire. This update is followed by a lengthy apology, a plea for forgiveness, and finally ends with several crying emojis.

You gape down at the message for a moment, feeling all five stages of grief cycling through you before you let out a sigh. Castorice’s phone has been on life support since freshman year — you’re surprised it’s lasted this long, to be honest — so this isn’t unexpected.

You glance up at the clock on the wall. Forty five minutes past midnight. You could have been in bed an hour ago in your comfy pajamas, scrolling through braindead reels. Instead, you’re… here.

Well, better late than never, you suppose. You toss the remainder of your drink into the trash and are just about to head out when you crash into someone exiting from the living room.

A yelp escapes you when you feel something cold and wet spill all over the front of your shirt, speaking into the fabric. Did they just— You glance up at the culprit. He stares back at you, blue eyes wide open and mouth open even wider. There’s a can of beer in his hand, dripping from his fingers. He looks mortified.

“Oh, my god.” He flounders for a moment, setting the can down next to his feet, before he picks it up — huh? — and sets it down again. It’s like watching a computer programme lag right in front of your eyes. His cheeks are slightly flushed — whether it’s from the alcohol or embarrassment, you’re not quite sure — and his white hair is a little dishevelled when he runs his fingers through it nervously. It just makes him look more effortlessly handsome, which is unfair, excuse you. But even that doesn’t do much to distract you from the cold beer dripping from the hem of your shirt.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He looks as though he wants nothing better than to evaporate on the spot. “Let me just…”

The guy disappears into the kitchen and returns less than half a minute later with what is, frankly, an absurd number of paper towels. He then attempts to pat your shirt dry, crouching so that he can wipe at the stain properly, but looks up just in time to see you staring at him as though he’s grown a second head. It’s only then that he realises just how incriminatingly close his hands are to your chest.

“Fuck.” The guy yanks his hands back so fast you’d think he was burned, a bright red flush creeping up his cheeks. “I am so sorry. I swear, I wasn’t trying to do anything inappropriate. I just—” He gestures helplessly at your shirt, looks like he wants to explain further but thinks the better of it, before finally giving up, arms falling awkwardly to his sides. “Sorry.”

His voice is meek.

“It’s alright.” You take the offered paper towels and he straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck —it’s only then that you realise that he’s tall. Maybe even taller than Mydei, actually. “It’s really not a big deal. I was heading back, anyway.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Alone? At this hour?” There’s concern leaking into his voice, which would probably be more sweet if he hadn’t just spilled half a can of beer all over your shirt. A shirt that is now, to your displeasure, slightly translucent from the wetness. It’s not that long of a walk, and there shouldn’t be many people out right now at this time of the night, but still… You’re starting to regret turning down Mydei’s offer to drive you home.

“My apartment’s not that far away.” You tell him as you pick at the hem of your shirt with a sigh of resignation. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” You turn around to leave, but the guy stops you.

“Oh, wait!” He quickly pulls off the varsity jacket that he’s wearing, revealing a black muscle tee underneath and some very nice arms. You have to do your best not to stare. Maybe he’s a basketball player? He hands it to you. “Please, take it. It’s not quite enough of an apology, but…”

Did he notice…? You take it gingerly, a little surprised. The fabric is still warm, carrying his residual body heat, and soft to the touch. For a moment, you wonder if you should refuse — you barely know the guy — but he looks at you so earnestly that you find yourself unable to turn him down. Seriously, that expression should be illegal on him… “Alright, then. Thank you.”

His face brightens. “No problem. It was my fault, after all.” He smiles at you, just a tad shyly. “Then, see you around.”

You wear the jacket back to your apartment. All the lights have already been turned off when you unlock the door — as expected, your roommate is already fast asleep, his snores muffled through his bedroom door. The man sleeps at ten, who does that in university? Sighing in disbelief, you trudge to your own room, ready to wash up and collapse into bed yourself.

Suddenly, you remember that you’re still wearing that guy’s varsity jacket. It’s far too big on you, but it’s warm and unbelievably soft and doesn’t even stink of sweat (you’re stereotyping, maybe). Instead, it smells faintly of fabric softener and a hint of cologne at the collar — something woody and citrusy that makes you think of sunshine. You’re wondering what scent he uses when it occurs to you that you’re the one acting like a creep now.

You blame Mydei, just like you do for a litany of life’s other problems. Taking the jacket off, you glance at the back. It’s then that you realise the jacket has no name, just a number stitched across the back — 13. Okhema University… you frown. Now, how the hell are you supposed to return this? You didn’t even get his name.

You stare down at the jacket for a few more moments before you give up. Grumbling, you toss it over the back of your chair and hurl yourself onto the mattress.

Well, that’s a problem for another day.

The first half of the week passes by in a blur.

You and Castorice have no classes together this semester, which isn’t a surprise, considering that she does veterinary medicine and you study computer science (a futureless field, it’s been looking like). To make things worse, your faculty buildings are on opposite ends of the campus — a tragic situation for your friendship. Regardless, the two of you still try to hang out between classes, just to catch up and make sure that the other isn’t dead yet.

And today, there are some new faces seated at your usual table in the cafeteria. Cifera is one of them, slumped over the table in an oversized cat-eared hoodie and an empty can of coffee next to her. Her laptop is open in front of her, but she hasn’t touched it in the last fifteen minutes. She’s friends with Hyacine, according to Castorice — and she’d taken a gap semester to go travel the world, only returning a few weeks ago to complete her final year.

“This dissertation,” Cifera mumbles into the table, “is going to be the death of me.”

You sneak a quick glance at her screen. It’s open to a word document, empty except for the list of bullet points with various spellings of the word ‘AHHHHHH’ and a skull emoji at the very end. Looks about right.

“The first week of the semester isn’t even over,” Dan Heng points out unhelpfully, and then swiftly ducks to avoid the empty coffee can she throws at him. “What I meant is, you still have twelve weeks left. That’s still plenty of time.”

“Time isn’t the problem, my will to live is.” She takes another look at her screen and groans like she’s been burned. “Or the lack of it, anyway.” You glance at Stelle, who’s chugging a packet of banana milk like her life depends on it.

“Any wise words of encouragement from IntergalacticBaseballer69?”

Your grey haired friend holds up a hand. For a moment, you almost think that she might say something profoundly motivational, but you’ve been acquainted with her long enough to know otherwise. “It’s garbage can,” she begins, looking very pleased with herself. “Not garbage cannot—”

Dan Heng shoves a hand over her mouth before she can finish her sentence. “Anyway, I can help with the formatting stuff, if you need it. I practically had to redo all of her—” he glances down at Stelle, who’s doing her best to bite at his fingers like a rabid dog, “— essays for her since she decided to take, ah, creative liberties with her citation format.”

Cifera stares at him like he’s the second coming of Kephale, before she places both hands flat on the table and bows low. “I will give you my firstborn child.”

“I don’t want that.”

A thought suddenly occurs to you. You look at Dan Heng. “By the way, where are March and Caelus? I thought the four of you always stick together like gum.”

A look of panic crosses Stelle’s face at that, but Dan Heng grabs her by the collar before she can run. “March dragged Caelus with her to help set up the photography club’s booth,” Dan Heng explains flatly. “Stelle escaped by pretending to have food poisoning.”

“Wow,” you raise an eyebrow, impressed. “Looks like that year in the drama club paid off.”

“Please don’t tell March,” Stelle pleads.

Cifera’s smile turns just a touch evil. “Well, if you’re willing to pay a price, of course…”

Fortunately, Stelle is saved from having her soul bartered away by Castorice and Hyacine, who return with an assortment of sandwiches and kombucha from the nearest convenience store. The two of them have a class together, which is how you’d all ended up at the same table in the first place.

Hyacine gives you a bright smile as she takes the empty seat next to you. Gods, she’s just so nice. It’s no wonder why Mydei is so, to put things eloquently, down bad for her.

“By the way, did you guys hear about the jacket drama that’s been going around recently?” Dan Heng asks idly as he picks at his cucumber salad. You glance up at him, frowning.

“Didn’t know you were into this kind of gossip stuff.”

“March has been talking about it non-stop for days now,” Stelle supplies. Now that makes a lot more sense. Castorice looks up from her sandwich, looking lost.

“Jacket drama? As in, there are people arguing over what kind of jacket is best?” Hyacine giggles a little at that.

“No, not that.” Dan Heng shakes his head. “There was a photo circulating socials — someone was spotted wearing the football captain’s jacket a few nights ago, apparently.” He shrugs. “It’s not really a big deal, but some people seem to think that it is, you get what I mean? So they’re trying to figure out if he’s dating or not.”

Wow, what a coincidence. You, too, happen to be in a similar situation — a situation that has been dragging out longer than you’d expected, actually. You’ve been keeping an eye out for that guy all week — you’d think that someone with white hair and legs longer than the Eiffel Tower would be easy to spot, but no. Does he even come to campus? Maybe it’s finally time to swallow your pride and ask Mydei for help…

Cifera yawns, runs a hand through her messy hair. “He’s already dating someone though, right? The business student with the pink hair — Cyrene, if I remember correctly. They’re sharing a house for university or something.” Hyacine hums in disagreement.

“They’re just childhood friends, I think.” She smiles at you, and it’s like being engulfed by a cloud of cotton candy. “You’re rooming with the basketball captain too, aren’t you? Are the two of you childhood friends as well?”

So she does know that he exists! Thank the gods, there’s still a glimmer of hope for your emotionally repressed roommate. “Oh, no, we were just assigned to the same apartment by chance.” You need to think about this — how can you best sell Mydei to Hyacine? “I was really lucky to end up together with him — he’s amazing at cleaning. Cooking, too! Somehow the chicken breasts he makes are never dry. And his souffle pancakes are the softest ever.”

“Did he pay you to glaze him or something…?” Stelle mumbles, incredulous, but you’re too focused on your mission to hear her.

“Mydei works out regularly, but always makes sure to shower before he comes back to the apartment. Oh, and he leaves his shoes at the door. Even sleeps at ten.” You rack your mind for what else a girl would find conventionally attractive in a man. “He volunteers at a cat shelter, too!”

Hyacine laughs, seafoam green eyes crinkling. “He sounds like a good boyfriend.”

He would be! “Yeah!” You nod vigorously, too preoccupied to notice the way Dan Heng and Castorice are gaping openly at you. She’s seeing the vision! “I mean, if he could clean up that potty mouth of his, he’d be almost flawless. But no one’s perfect, right?” She smiles.

“Of course.”

The conversation returns to the topic of the football captain and his childhood friend, who Hyacine is actually acquainted with, apparently, but you have other things to worry about. Smug, you type a message to Mydei and send it, far too pleased with yourself.

You: name your firstborn kids in my honour

De: ?????

On Friday, Mydei wakes you up with an airhorn and a pillow to the face.

“Get up, loser,” he says, standing unsympathetically over you with his arms folded even as you try to burrow yourself back under the blankets. It’s cold, god damn it. 

“I’m sleeping in,” you announce, as assertively as you can. Every bone in your body feels weighed down by lead — an allergy to higher education, perhaps? But before you can contemplate on that possibility, Mydei bends down and rips your covers off you with little to no warning. You shriek as your toes are exposed unceremoniously to the freezing air. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Get up.” And then he just leaves.

With your roommate holding your blankets hostage, you’re forced to drag yourself into the kitchen in your pajamas. Mydei, on the other hand, looks like he’s already showered and dressed after his morning workout. His usual leather jacket seems a little tighter around than usual around his shoulders — was he working out even during the holidays? Discipline is definitely a word in the Kremnoan dictionary.

You stumble into one of the kitchen chairs and come face to face with a spread of yoghurt, cut fruit and ciabatta sandwiches. The peaches are even pitted and sliced. Once again, you put your hands together and thank whichever high power put you and Mydei in the same apartment. The universe must have known you would die from an instant ramen overdose if you hadn’t.

“Can’t have you constipated and hogging the only toilet in the apartment,” Mydei had said bluntly in your first year as roommates, when he’d first started preparing your portion alongside his. “Besides, cooking bigger portions is more cost efficient.”

Well, you definitely hadn’t been in a position to complain. 

You start on the sliced peaches as Mydei scrolls idly on his phone opposite you. He’s got his grandpa glasses on, longish blond hair pulled back in a messy bun. It’s a little uneven, because he cut it himself, but he doesn’t look half bad like this, actually. Maybe if you took a picture and just happened to show it to Hyacine…

The genius of your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Mydei clicking his tongue. He looks annoyed — well, more so than usual. “Damn football guys, hogging the gym again.”

Ah, so it’s already started again this semester. “Can’t you find another gym on campus?”

“The rest of the gyms don’t have this cable machine that we need. Basketballers need to train their shoulders, to help with shooting power and overhead—” He takes one look at you and gives up explaining immediately. “Anyway, it’s ridiculous that this keeps happening. The footballers don’t even need those machines.”

“Wow,” you say through a mouthful of fruit. “Maybe you guys just have slower reaction speeds. Hey, which moves quicker, a basketball or a football?”

“We do not have slower reaction speeds.” Mydei scowls, but doesn’t answer your question. “We have a guy camping on the facilities website the second the availability for the week resets. I swear, Professor Aglaea has to be showing favouritism to the football captain or something.” He shakes his head, grips his pink — pomegranate juice and milk — protein shake a little tighter. “What’s a fashion professor doing managing the facilities allocations, anyway?”

You inch back slowly in case it explodes in his fist. “You’ve been complaining about that HKS,” Mydei’s face twists as you butcher his native tongue horrendously, “ever since you became captain of the basketball team. Have you ever tried, y’know… just talking to him about it?”

“Have I tried what?”

This guy is hopeless. “Resolve it like real men, then.” Mydei gives you a flat look.

“And how would you suggest we do that?” His tone is dry.

“Fistfight in a Wendy’s parking lot. Deathmatch,” you think for a bit, then add on, sagely. “Hot gay sex in the back of a car afterwards. Can’t hurt.”

You barely manage to dodge the washtowel that Mydei hurls at you. “I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“Oh, do it. It’ll save me from having to attend Professor Anaxa’s critical thinking seminar later.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’ll stop making golden honeycake stacks.” You stare at him, aghast. This has got to qualify as emotional blackmail of some sort.

“Please just kill me instead.”

“No. And speaking of your seminar,” Mydei glances up at the clock. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

You are horrified to realise that he is right. Shit. Professor Anaxa is known for many things, but his leniency towards latecomers is not one of them. “You could have reminded me earlier!” You yell over your shoulder as you race to your room, nearly tripping over a chair leg in your mad dash.

“I’m not your mom,” he mutters, shakes his head when he sees you sprint out of the apartment with mismatched socks and your backpack slipping off one shoulder. “And you forgot your lunch!”

Mydei shouts the last part, but you’re already zooming off down the corridor — almost as fast as the great Zagreus himself. Shaking his head, he turns back to his phone with a fond sigh. Dumbass.

You make it to the faculty building in record time. You’ve nearly been run over by a car, a bicycle and a wheelchair (not all at once, though), and there’s a leaf stuck in your mouth from when you’d nearly faceplanted a hedge. But hey, you’d managed to get here on time, and in one piece, to boot!

Well, mostly one piece.

“And so, we will begin by—” Professor Anaxa stops in the middle of his sentence when you burst into the seminar room, wheezing like you’ve just run a marathon. For a moment, he just stares at you, as does the rest of the class. Brows pinching, he raises his arm to glance at his watch. “You are, unfortunately…” His face becomes flat when he sees the time. “Three seconds away from being late.”

You put on your most willing smile. “No points deducted then, professor.”

“Not yet,” your professor huffs before returning his attention to his slides. “Sit down, before I change my mind.”

You glance around only to see one available seat remaining, right next to the professor’s table. As expected… With a sigh, you make your way to the front and take your place, keeping your head as low as possible in hopes that nobody remembers your face.

It doesn’t work. 

“It’s you!”

Your head snaps to the side so quickly you can hear the bones in your neck creak. To your shock, a familiar face looks back at you with the bluest eyes, looking just as surprised. It’s the guy — the same one who’d spilled his drink on you a week ago.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He looks so delighted to see you that you’re a little thrown off. “I only realised after you left that I had no idea who you were, and you probably wouldn’t know me either so it would be impossible for you to return me my jacket, and—”

“Phainon, is there something fascinating going on there that you’d like to share with the class? Or perhaps, you’d like to take over as professor?”

The guy instantly seals his mouth shut. “Nope, not at all, Professor.” Only when Professor Anaxa turns his withering glare on another pair of unfortunate students does he turn back to you. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he whispers, “Talk to you after class.” His eyes are bright.

You nod and sink back into your chair, unwilling to attract the ire of your professor another time today.

So, his name is Phainon.

Three hours of mind boggling thought exercises later and several mock debates, you stumble out of the seminar feeling as though your brain has just been run through a washing machine cycle. For some reason, Professor Anaxa had kept targeting you with questions during the whole seminar — which was deserved, you suppose. Even Phainon had shot you some sympathetic looks as he watched you flounder under the weight of Professor Anaxa’s stare.

And speaking of Phainon…

“Hey, wait up!” You turn to see Phainon jogging after you, sneakers slapping lightly against the pavement. His hair is white — really white, not just a bleached blond — under the sunlight. How could you possibly have missed seeing this man on campus? He smiles wide when he catches up to you, eyes as blue as the clear sky above. “It’s nice to finally meet you, um…”

You give him your name, and he repeats it. “It’s a nice name,” he says, in a way that almost makes you believe he means it. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, in the way that he smiles bright and genuine and so enthusiastically. The looks don’t hurt, either… “I’m Phainon. In case you forgot, I was the guy who—”

“Spilled his drink on my shirt, yeah.” One his hands comes up to rub at the back of his neck. “Definitely made an impression.”

“Not a good one, I assume…” Phainon’s smile turns sheepish as he looks at you. You shrug.

“A lasting one, at least. I’ve been looking for you all week.”

His mouth forms a little ‘o’, head cocking to the side. “You have?”

“Yeah. I wanted to return your jacket—” You start digging through your backpack, only to remember that you’d tossed it out this morning in your mad rush to fit your laptop inside. “Shucks. I left it at home. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem.” Phainon grins at you. Something about him just reminds you of a gigantic golden retriever, friendly and easygoing. “We can always just exchange numbers, and you can pass it to me any time that’s convenient for you?”

“Alright, then.” He hands you his phone, and you key in your number quickly. “Done.”

Phainon fiddles with his phone, and a few seconds later a text message from an unknown number pops up. You open it to see a sticker of a white, furry cloud — a Samoyed puppy — with its head tilted to the side, tongue lolling out. Cute.

“Good?” Phainon asks and you nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You’re thinking how to bid him goodbye when he asks, suddenly awkward. “Um… wanna grab a bite?”

You stare at him for a few seconds before squinting. “Look, buddy, if this is your way of picking up girls…”

A laugh escapes Phainon at that in a rush. It’s a… pleasant sound, actually. “No, no. Promise I’m not that kind of weirdo.” He holds up his hands, and then frowns. “Or any kind of weirdo, actually. I just… I thought it’d be nice to get to know you, since I don’t know anyone else in this class. And I’m still embarrassed about what happened that night, you know?” His smile is genuine, earnest. “I’d like some kind of chance to redeem my image.”

You snort, amused. “Not happening. I watched you put down and pick up the same drink. Twice.”

Phainon’s face crumples a little at that like wet tissue paper. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t remember that.”

“It’s the good basis for a future friendship,” you say, and his eyes brighten. “Humiliation.”

“Then, you’ll let me make it up to you?” He’s smiling again now. “My treat, of course. As an apology.”

Mydei had once said that you could be lured off a cliff by free food. And you know what? He’s probably right. “Well… if you’re treating…”

Phainon grins. “Deal.”

Phainon introduces you to a cafe nestled next to the arts faculty building, Elysia. It’s a quaint little space, furnished with hanging moon charms and bundles of dried flowers, somehow achieving the perfect balance between occult and cozy. It’s relatively lively inside, with students queuing at the counter to get their coffee to go, but the two of you find a small table nestled between bookshelves. You take a seat on the cushion while Phainon heads to the counter to order.

He comes back a few minutes later with two cups of cold-brewed coffee and a cake that resembles a pink cloud sitting on your plate — how is it shimmering? It looks more concept than edible. “I hope you’re in the mood for diabetes.”

“Starved.”

“Great.” Phainon grins a little at that, and then gestures at the cake like he’s showing off his firstborn son. “Because this is the best tasting item on the menu.” You raise an eyebrow as you pick up your fork — well, someone’s confident.

“That sounds like exaggeration.”

“No, I’m dead serious. I’ve tried every item on the menu.” You stare at Phainon for a moment, trying to decide for a moment whether he’s lying straight faced to you or not. 

“Now you’re just shitting me.”

“Constipated, I’m afraid. I was duty bound to try out everything when the menu was still in its experimental stages — my friend’s the owner.” You nearly drop your fork.

“What.” Phainon shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Well, I hope this doesn’t turn out to be some kind of pyramid scheme…” you say, and he laughs, resting his chin on his knuckles as you slice a small piece and place it in your mouth. Soft, light and fluffy — it’s like having a sugary cloud in your mouth. The tartness of the strawberries cut perfectly through the richness of the cream. Mydei’s golden honeycake stacks might actually be getting some competition here. “Ohmygod, this is so good?”

He grins, looking pleased. “I’ll let Cyrene know.”

You slice a bigger piece this time. “How did your friend end up owning this cafe?” you ask, curious as you dig into the rest of the cake. Phainon hums.

“Business school initiative for aspiring entrepreneurs. They gave a big discount on the lease, and she managed to impress them with her plans.” You catch a hint of pride slipping into his voice as he speaks, eyes warm with fondness. “She’s going to be a big time businesswoman in the future, I just know it.” 

Oh, is he…? 

“What do you study, then?” you ask instead, because this is only the second time the two of you have met, and the first barely even counts. To your surprise, Phainon perks up at that.

“Classical archaeology and ancient history.” You do a double take — there is no way you would have expected such an answer. Phainon grins when he sees the look on your face. “Shocked my parents too, really. I think I probably watched too many Indiana Jones movies as a kid — pity the actual degree doesn’t have very much to do with escaping the Temple of Doom.”

“Anything can be related if you’re brave enough. Maybe your thesis subject can be the speed needed to outrun a giant rolling boulder.”

Phainon laughs and, to your surprise, starts to break down what such a thesis paper would look like. It’s ridiculous, really, but he’s so earnest about it that you can’t help but nod along and laugh when some of his points actually start to make too much sense. It’s inspiring to see someone that is really, actually passionate about what they study, in this godforsaken late stage capitalism economy. 

The conversation flows easily between the two of you. You learn that he’s specialising in Ancient Amphorean history, and you tell him about your latest software engineering project. You both share traumatic stories about useless groupmates and some of the wildest things you’ve heard Professor Anaxa be accused of doing. Phainon thinks he and Professor Aglaea (known for their long standing rivalry) have some kind of strange chemistry between them. You agree and tell him that it’s sodium and water.

He has to google the reaction before he throws his head back to laugh at that, a clear and bright sound that makes something inside you do a little backflip in your chest. You feel like you’ve won some kind of victory.

You’re about to throw in an embarrassing story about Mydei when all of a sudden, your phone buzzes. Frowning, you glance down at the screen.

De: dinner time

De: making risotto

De: hurry up or it’ll start clumping

Damn, is your roommate reading your mind or something? Then you frown. What does he mean, dinner time?

You glance out of the window and are stunned to see that the sun has already begun to set, casting a honeyed golden warmth over the buildings outside. The ice in your drinks has long melted, the empty plate emptied of even its crumbs. How have you been here for a whole five hours without noticing?

Phainon leans forward when he catches the incredulous expression on your face. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, just. Experienced time dilation or something.” You slap the sides of your cheeks vigorously to bring yourself back to the present, before giving Phainon an apologetic look. “Sorry, but I gotta go. My roomie’s cooking dinner tonight and I’m dishwasher duty.”

He waves it off. “No worries. I thought something might have happened — it’s good that everything’s fine.” You pick up your backpack and glance at Phainon, suddenly feeling oddly reluctant to leave.

“I’ll head off first, then.”

Phainon’s smile widens. “Thanks for today,” he says, as though you are the one who's treated him. He holds up his phone, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Keep in touch? So that I can get my jacket back, of course.”

“Sure.” You sling your bag over your shoulder, give him a little wave. “See you around, Phainon.”

And as you leave, you find yourself looking back more than once.

a/n: the way i was tearing my hair out writing phainon recovering from complex trauma x reader after not having touched fanfics for three years i literally gave up and went back to my roots of writing braindead fluff rot. if the fic is bad i blame phainon for literally chewing on my brain because i haven't been able to think about anything but him since 3.4 dropped (i’m joking don’t blame phainon he has never done a single thing wrong in all 33 million cycles of his life) hope you enjoyed!!

[sapphicstrawcore]

—Playing with her nerves

(Sevika x pregnant wife reader)

synopsis: Sevika’s life was already a circus when she joined the council, but nothing—and absolutely no one—could’ve prepared her for life with a very pregnant wife. You’re glowing, insatiably nosy, and still somehow finding new ways to test her patience every hour of the day. You’ve made it your mission to see how far you can push Zaun’s scariest woman before she snaps. She’s going fucking crazy. And Sevika? Yeah, she’s the fucking idiot who fell in love, got married, and knocked you up. Her fault, really.

words: 1.9k, masterlist

cw: endless teasing, she’s about to explode, just enough sexual tension, sex mentioned, crude language, crack and fluff, a bit explicit

Sevika didn’t tell anyone you were pregnant.

You, however, told everyone.

She hadn’t even wrapped her head around the fact that you were pregnant—really pregnant, hers, you were having her kid—before you were grinning like a devil and showing people the blurry little scan photo she had tucked into her pocket with shaking hands.

“Can you believe it?” you beamed at the poor guard outside the council building, practically bouncing on your heels. “I mean, you probably can, you’ve got eyes, but Sev knocked m—“

And Sevika—councilor, enforcer, local nightmare—had stood there silently, hand twitching in her coat pocket, already regretting every life choice that led her to this moment. Every single one. Especially the one involving you being fertile.

It only got worse from there.

You refused to wear maternity clothes. “They’re cute, babe, but…” you told her, tugging on a pair of low-slung baggy jeans with a visible effort. “No offense to the pregnant girlies, but this crop top? This one’s doing the lord’s work.”

And it was.

It really was.

Because somewhere around the four-month mark, your bump started to show—and instead of getting self-conscious, you started showing it off like it was your new personality trait.

You stood differently. Walked differently. Wore shorter tops just to show off your belly dramatically to everyone like you were hosting a damn late-night infomercial for “Sevika’s Baby, Coming This Fall.” You called the bump her legacy in public. You moaned like a pornstar getting out of chairs just to mess with her. You kept trying to sit on her lap like you weren’t carrying a whole other person and she wasn’t coming in her pants.

And Sevika? She was done for.

Down bad. Brain-dead. Absolutely feral in the worst possible way.

“Babyyy,” you said one night, in your bra, belly bare, lip balm on and about to disappear soon, walking around like a glowing middle finger to her self-control. “Wanna feel her kick?”

“No,” she muttered, staring at the wall like it had personally wronged her.

“Yes you do.”

She did. Of course she did. And you knew it.

Because every time you did that—dragged her hand with your own, guided her thick, scarred fingers to your skin and grinned up at her like it was some shared secret—she lost her mind a little more.

And still, you kept doing it. In the kitchen. In her office. In the council lounge.

Sevika should’ve known better. She should’ve. She fell for a girl with the voice of an angel and the humor of a fucking demon. A social butterfly with no filter and even less shame. You were loud, you were proud, and now you were glowing—glowing and teasing and impossibly beautiful.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Sevika’s not proud of the things she feels sometimes.

She’s supposed to be calm. Composed. A public figure now, someone with restraint. She’s got her shit together—most of the time. Doesn’t get flustered. Doesn’t get caught off guard.

Except when she’s with you.

Which, unfortunately, is always.

Today it’s just a walk through the market. She hates going to the market. You’re waddling beside her in that way she swears you exaggerate on purpose, belly wrapped in a cute little cardigan you left open just so everyone could see how pregnant you are. She’s holding your bag. You’re holding a mango like it personally offended you.

It’s normal. Quiet. Until—

“Hey, mama,” you say, eyes twinkling as you lean close, like you’re whispering something sweet. “You think we can stop for dumplings after this?”

And she— She chokes.

Not visibly. Not loud. Just a small, violent reaction that only you would notice. A twitch in her jaw. A soft grunt that sounds too close to a whimper.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t dare.

You smirk anyway.

“Mama?” you repeat, a little louder this time. “I said—”

“I heard you.”

She grits it out like it hurt. She fucking hates you.

People around you don’t bat an eye. Nobody reacts. It’s an innocent enough word. You’re literally pregnant—hell, she is gonna be a mom. It’s just a cute thing to say, right?

Except you’re not just saying it. And you know that.

You’re saying it. With that tone. That look. That syrupy sweet drawl you only use when you’re trying to ruin her from the inside out.

You lean closer again, teasing. “C’mon… I’ve been so good. Don’t I deserve dumplings?”

And it’s not the food. It’s not even the tone.

It’s the fact that she likes it. That she likes it too much. That her brain flashes to things it shouldn’t—things she can’t think about in the middle of a public street. That it makes her want things she should definitely not be thinking about when you’re this pregnant and glowing and—

She exhales hard through her nose and hands you the damn mango.

“We’ll get dumplings,” she mutters, eyes fixed on the horizon like if she just stares hard enough, she’ll stop being so pathetically down bad for her wife.

You press a kiss to her cheek, so soft it shouldn’t make her heart pound. “Thanks, mama.”

She wants to die. She wants to live forever. She wants to go home and make the world disappear.

Instead, she walks you to the dumpling stall in complete silence, pretending she’s not five seconds from dragging you into the nearest alley and reminding you exactly what happens when you play with her nerves.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Sevika once thought being a councilor would be the hardest job she ever took.

The pressure. The diplomacy. The endless goddamn meetings. The pilties. Half the council doesn’t know their ass from a wrench, and the other half think they can talk circles around her just because she doesn’t do small talk.

And yet.

And yet.

None of it holds a candle to you.

Because while the council might be full of idiots, they don’t look at her with that glint in their eye. They don’t wear low-rise jeans at eight months pregnant. They don’t call her “mama” in public just to watch her brain stall. They don’t torment her on purpose.

Which is why she actually, truly, considers the office to be her only safe space these days.

No teasing. No dancing. No unnecessary stimulation. Just numbers, zoning conflicts, and paperwork.

Peace.

Until she hears your voice.

“Where’s my wife?”

No. No, no, no. That’s not real. That’s her brain short-circuiting from stress.

She looks up.

And there you are—belly-first, glowing like sin, stepping into her office in a long, obscenely tight bodycon dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s soft. Stretchy. It moves with you, clinging like a second skin. The color’s a dark black just to make her dizzy, and the tiny straps on your shoulders threaten to slip off if she so much as breathes too close. You’re not wearing a bra.

She knows you’re not. She knows you.

“Brought you lunch,” you beam, like you didn’t just walk in looking like a holy vision sent to punish her for every sin she’s ever committed.

Sevika stares.

You walk toward her like you own the place. Her place. Her office. Your belly swaying, dress riding just enough to show the outline of everything.

“You weren’t home, so I figured you were stuck in some meeting,” you go on, placing the food on her desk like this is normal. “But then I thought you probably didn’t eat. And you do get cranky when you don’t eat—”

“I don’t get cranky.”

You grin. “Mm. You get mama-cranky.”

She dies.

Not externally. She keeps her face blank. But inside, she collapses. Implodes. Becomes soup.

Because you know what that word does to her. You see the way her jaw clenches. The way she refuses to look at your chest, or your belly, or that thin little strap that just fell half an inch too far.

You sit in her chair. Her big chair. You make a little sound as you sink into it, hand stroking your belly in slow, thoughtless circles. It’s obscene. It’s the softest thing she’s ever seen. She might hate herself because of her horny mind right now.

And Sevika— cold-hearted bitch of the Undercity—feels her knees actually buckle under her desk.

“Don’t mind me,” you hum, peeling open the dumplings like this is a quiet, normal moment. “I’ll just keep you company while you work.”

You’re not here to keep her company.

You’re here to ruin her.

And Sevika, poor miserable fool that she is, just leans back in her chair, presses two fingers to her brow like it’ll stop the inevitable, and prays for strength. Because one more “mama”—one more smirk, one more shift of that goddamn dress—and she’s going to snap.

And it will not be gentle.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Sevika’s had a long day.

Council meetings. Diplomatic nonsense. Trying to mediate a mining contract while someone from Piltover talked like they invented oxygen. And through it all, she’d just been thinking about getting home. Getting to you.

She opens the door, drops her coat, rolls her shoulders, mech arm heavy after her day— And stops cold in the entryway.

There you are.

Eight months pregnant. In your favorite stupid low-rise jeans—the ones that make her eye twitch because they sit just under your belly and you keep wearing them like it’s a personality trait. A tight white crop top that’s barely hanging on for dear life. Hair wild. Sneakers on. Belly out. Dancing in the kitchen to some cursed, glittery pop song you’ve been obsessed with since the first trimester.

It’s not just a little sway, either. You’re committed. Hip rolls. Arm flicks. A dramatic spin that makes your belly bounce like you’re announcing I’m hot, I’m huge, and I know it.

You catch her staring and grin over your shoulder. “Hi darling!”

“…Hey.” Her voice comes out lower than she meant it to. Rough. Strained.

You do a shimmy. A pregnant shimmy. The top rides up a little and her left eye twitches.

“Guess what?” you chirp, still dancing. “I cleaned the whole kitchen cause I was in the mood, took a nap and made cookies—” you pause to smack your own ass, “—because this momma’s still got it.”

She just stands there. Watching. Processing. Trying to not spontaneously combust.

The way your jeans dip under your bump and show just enough of your underwear should be illegal. The way your breasts bounce in that too-small top? Fucking war crime. The way you’re looking at her, eyes glinting with smug little I know I’m ruining your life mischief?

Real criminal behavior.

You twirl again. Pregnant. Glowing. Glorious.

And Sevika—ex- Silco’s enforcer, councilor, once feared by half of Zaun—feels her knees actually buckle a little.

All she needs. is a fucking. break.

“You need to stop,” she grits out, voice dangerously low now.

You pout. “Why? I’m just having fun. Baby loves pop music.”

“Yeah, and I love peace,” she snaps, stalking toward you like a wolf. “But I don’t get that either.”

You keep dancing. Taunting. Innocent as a knife.

“C’mon, Vika,” you tease, stepping backward, lips curling in a smirk. “You used to love when I danced for you.”

“That was before you looked like sex on legs carrying my kid.”

“Oh? So now I look better?” You’re not even sorry. You’re glowing, smug, sweaty from dancing, and Sevika thinks she’s going to black out.

“I’m gonna give you ten seconds to turn off that damn music and get upstairs.”

“And if I don’t?”

She grabs your waist. One hand under your belly, one curled behind your back, grounding you instantly. Her voice is low against your mouth, full of heat and warning.

“Then I’m gonna bend you over this counter and make sure you can’t walk to the damn stairs.”

You blink up at her, mock-innocent. “Hm… Guess I can turn off the music.”

You giggle when she lifts you up onto the counter—like this isn’t what you wanted from the start. Like you haven’t spent the whole day setting this up. She can feel it in your body, the way you keep moving, keep taunting her even now, belly between you, lips curling into that goddamn smirk that’s ruined her since the day you met.

Sevika’s hands hover over your hips.

“So, what are you going to do? Touch me.” you say softly, eyes wide, voice dripping with just enough brat to make her vision blur.

Janna helps her. She snaps.

Grabs the back of your neck with one big hand and kisses you like she’s drowning, the other pushing your thighs apart without apology. She still tries to be gentle, to move carefully, but you’re not having it—you kiss her like you’re starving, tug her belt hard enough to make her stumble forward, press yourself into her until she groans against your mouth.

I had so much fun writing this. It’s been in my drafts for a moment and I was in the mood to post just to change my mind. Spicy right ? I mean more than usual. It’s my fav, pretty fun and sweet at the same time. Probably going to make a part two soon cause I have too many ideas for mom sev

Bow dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @sevikasswifee @ahintofchaos @blessupblessup @riotstemple29

[batsandbirdbrains]

Inspired by whatever the fuck my cat is currently doing but my back hurts too much to get out of bed and check it out:

Bruce Wayne has perfected the art of pretending he does not hear shit.

His new eight year old adopted kid was very good at making a ruckus in the house at odd hours. Usually when Bruce hurried to find and and check if he was alright, he was doing some dumb shit like shoving all his toy cars in a cabinet and seeing if they’d spill out when the door opened back up. Or climbing chandeliers at 2am. Or throwing everything out of his closet in the middle of the night so he can sleep in side it with the duvet and pillow he dragged off his bed.

Dick does odd shit. All the time. For no apparent reason. And Bruce has become very good at it ignoring it unless it actually sounds like a problem. There’s a key difference between Dick who’s up to no good and Dick who actually probably is about to get hurt. It only takes him two years to figure out the difference.

So when each subsequent kid shows up, he sort of ignores anything they might do when Bruce is trying to sleep. Sneaking out? He doesn’t care, he’s tried and failed a million times to stop Dick from sneaking out. It’s not worth the fight. Getting into Bruce’s liquor cabinet? He only gets up if he hears them take the real expensive shit.

The only time he really gets out of bed is if someone is puking or otherwise being sickly, or if he hears them sneaking in a guest. Then he’s kicking down the bedroom door of the offender and swatting the visitor with a broom or a slipper, mumbling Get. Out. Of My. Manor. Guests are allowed during visiting hours only! Bruce’s kids know that. No one is allowed to visit during Bruce’s scheduled sleeping time. Otherwise they end up doing something stupid like hacking the Watchtower or getting stuck between walls while trying to vibrate their molecules into the next room (both offenses being caused by Dick and Wally when Dick was 13. On the same night).

The other Batkids all just thinks Bruce sleeps like a log or has a weird bat-sense. Dick just wants to hiss at all of them, “you don’t even understand, I wore him down for you all! You should be thanking me!” But he’s humble enough not to rub it in their faces that Bruce being so chill is all thanks to him.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

what do you need from me tonight? .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪

i don’t care if you’re sick, i don’t care if you’re contagious.

𖥔 summary since befriending tim drake you have known exactly how he feels about his brothers: offlimits, forbidden, do not enter! this was never too difficult to maintain, never too hard to turn away when one smiles a little too bright, yet when sweet and sultry jason walks into the room it become harder to turn the other cheek.

𖥔 pairing jason todd x reader

𖥔 genre/tw best friends brother au!! fem!reader !! reader is tim’s bff, fluff! angst?! probably suggestive at times i can’t lie, intoxication, swearing !! jason is a softie, none of that charmer fuck boy jason here!! petnames, kissing, reader and jason are real yearners !! reader and tim are supposed to be like 21-22 which puts Jason at like 25-26 or so (in my mind) batfam mentions and cameos! we love!! librarian!jason !! historian!reader !! tim and reader are platonic soulmates <3 also tim calls reader chicken, idk why!! also thers gonna be typos and run on sentences probably (i blacked out)

𖥔 w/c 8.3k and some change

𖥔 a/n this came to me in a dream… idk i just feel like tim has such strong protective girl bestie vibes so this is what happened. i love tim and reader and reader and jason and i really hope you do too!! lemme know xoxo

masterlist | requests open!!

Since the moment you became friends with Tim Drake, you understood his brothers were completely off limits. It was apparent in how he would go out of his way to not mention them by name—only my brother this or my brothers that—it was in the look of pure disgust when someone would bring up just how hot his oldest brother was when he showed up on the news: alerting the public not to be worried about some crime in Blüdhaven. Even you, his best friend since the trauma of Philosophy 204 bonded you together, were not allowed to ask about them without a deadly glare shooting your way.

You understood, if you had a famous family full of wealthy handsome boys, you too would want to keep them aware from your friends. You shudder at the thought of some girl asking if your brother was single, thus whenever Tim gives you attitude about it, you allow yourself to laugh it off. It wasn’t until the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year that you were even allowed near Wayne Manor, and into the lives of his illustrious family. 

Now, five years into your friendship, you could say that you’ve fit yourself into Tim’s life quite nicely. Being his favorite lady, you’re often his date to galas and Sunday brunches with the wives of Wayne Enterprises, The person who comes along when Bruce says “you can bring a friend”, and most special, who he turns to when one of his brothers annoys him. Like now, 

“I just don’t know why I’m suddenly Damian’s chauffeur," Tim says, a familiar annoyance seeping from his voice. “Like, my father has billions of dollars yet I have to be the one to drive my little brother around, come on.” 

You laugh, but the easy way in which he talks about his family’s wealth brings a bad taste to your mouth… You, a girl born and raised in the lower sector of Gotham, find it quite gross how easy your friend throws his money around sometimes, which you remind him with a swat on the back of his head. “Hey! what the fuck was that for?” He exclaims with a laugh. 

“Timothy, you know better than to be all waspy when I’m around…” you sigh, “and anyway, it’s not like Damian goes anywhere but the library and the planetarium… he's just a kid.”

“A kid who threatens to poison me if I don’t buy him bug juice—which I gotta say he is getting too old for.” 

“Ahh, Timmy, are you just sad about your baby brother growing up?” You say, pouting your lips in the exact way you know annoys him. 

You’ve always thought it’s funny how annoyed Tim gets about Damian, a boy who’s only ever sweet to you—asking you about your favorite animals and telling you about the new exhibits at Gotham’s Natural History Museum. “I don’t get why it's so terrible, Dami’s just a sweetheart,”

“Ugh, maybe to you,” Tim replies, “he just thinks you’re cool cause you work at the Historical Society and you make fun of me,”

“Well, there’s a lot to make fun of.”

“Ha.Ha. Real funny guess who's uninvited to Dick’s birthday party.” With this, you pause. It’s true that most of the parties surrounding Tim’s family are unnecessarily boring and involve fitting into a tight dress and making your hair look presentable. There’s been quite a few times when you’ve wished that Tim would go with someone else and gift you the reprieve from a drawn out conversation with a doctor or a politician, (or whoever else Mr. Wayne invites to drum up philanthropy). However, you look forward to Dick’s birthday every year; a night filled with laughter and sweet drinks, getting to see Dick and his girlfriend Kory get a little too drunk and attempt to do gymnastics on the club’s dancefloor… Even better, it’s the one chance you really get to see Jason, Tim’s older and outcasted brother.. 

You remember the first time you met him, a Friday dinner you accompanied Tim to… It was the one night a week Alfred was free from dinner duty, thus the two of you had brought chinese and gelato for dessert and Damian kept pestering you about bringing him to the Zoo to see the snakes. 

You had already met everyone else, Dick with his charming smile and the spark in his eyes when he pulled your chair out (you’re sure it had more to do with annoying his brother than being a gentleman,) You’d met Duke when he followed his brother into university becoming a welcome third to your little group, and his father–Initmaditing and encompassing Bruce Wayne, but you’d never met Jason. 

You’d heard about him, heard the sighs from his father when he noticed his second son hadn’t shown up… Watched the careful way he was spoken about by his family, in past tenses and thinly veiled sadness. Tim had rarely brought him up to you, barely mentioning how there was some sort of accident, how it destroyed their father and separated Jason from himself and his family. 

You never liked seeing your best friend sad, it hurt too much to see his blue eyes gloss over, so you never brought him up, yet you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t curious. You remember seeing it on the news, the day that Jason Todd went missing… It wasn’t surprising to hear about a missing boy–living in Gotham meant a new tragedy every day–yet, you remember being shocked that something would happen to that bright young boy, grinning ear to ear in the school picture the news showed. 

You were only twelve, but you can think back and see so vividly the magic behind that smile, and how sad you were to realize that this boy, who could have very well gone to school with your sister, was gone… How sad he must be, you remember thinking, to be without his family. 

He was quite the mystery to you, more so after becoming friends with Tim, his brother who would so rarely mention him. It was when you saw him slouching at the dinner table and arguing with Dick, that your curiosity came back, you couldn’t believe it–he was so handsome, prettier than the newspaper made him look, and so tall, but you remembered Tim… Remembered how upset he got when Hannah Beauchamp asked him for his brother’s telephone number, so all you did was smile and say hello. 

After that you saw Jason more often, always quiet, always bright, but it was still glaringly rare… You never knew when he’d be there, unlike Dick who is unquestionable in his loyalty to family functions, Jason could be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thus, the only surefire way to see him, is to go to Dick’s birthday, a gathering that Jason always appears at, showing his rare smile and a rare wish to his big brother. 

You can’t be uninvited, you really can’t be… 

“Timmy, you know I love you,” you say, giggling at the way his nose scrunches, “Please let me go with you to Dick’s party? Please please please!! I didn’t mean it, it’s so hard to make fun of you!” 

You know you’ve won when his head tilts, nose sticking straight up like an aristocrat in a children’s novel, you know you’ve won because he sighs into a sweet smile–bringing his hand up to muss your hair. 

“You know I can’t go anywhere without you, Chicken.” At his words you unceremoniously jump at him, encircling him into your grasp and squealing out ‘thank you’s.’ “But,” you groan. “You have to come with me tonight… If I have to hear Damian go on and on about Casseiopeia, you do too.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The party was in full force when you arrived, music blaring, couples kissing, the whole nine; It smelled like sweat and tequila, and fancy perfume, and you wished you could feel this way more often.

Tim doesn’t like going out, doesn’t feel safe bringing you out into the Gotham nightlife–your best friend, sweet and loyal and protective, over his family, over you… You know he’s just looking out for you, but the frustrated sighs and the “that place isn’t safe for a little Chicken like you,” get exhausting. He gets frustrated when you go out by yourself, insistent that your group of girls would be much safer if you guys partied at home, yet he never seems to have a problem if his brothers are there too… more eyes on you, he says when you ask. 

Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world–how lucky were you, that your best friend cared so much… 

He had gasped when he picked you up, a caricature of your sisters and girlfriends: he squealed and told you he loved your dress, (as if he wasn’t the one who paid for it), a routine that was familiar and warm. He’d driven you both himself, complaining about traffic and assholes who don’t use their blinker, he was telling you about his day and the “insolent” acts Damian committed at school. It was rather nice, just you and Tim listening to shitty pop-punk and laughing, a familiar scene that’s gotten rarer and rarer as his responsibilities have piled on. 

He had squeezed your hand before getting out of the car, smiling at you with earnest eyes and a mischievous grin, and told you: “If Dick’s friend Wally hits on you, tell him I still have the pictures from last summer.” 

You were a ball of nerves in the elevator, stomach dropping as it went up, up, up to the Penthouse, shying away from the stares and whispers that follow Tim around. But now, encased in house music and the saccharine smell of young lust and birthday magic, your anxiety eases and the smile you send your best friend’s way is finally sincere. 

He takes your hand to lead you through the erratic rhythm of dancing bodies, sending dirty looks to men who look at you too long, leading you through the suite like he’s Orpheus on a mission. He doesn’t turn back to smile at you until you’ve reached your destination, the large rooftop patio where the pool lives, here you find Dick–front flipping into the pool fully clothed. His form is perfect, spinning into the water with a ballerina like elegance, a visage so striking against the electronica pumping through the night. 

He comes up for air with far less grace, however, shaking his hair out like a dog and yelling at Kory to join him. When he sees his little brother, his face breaks into the most earth-shattering smile, before he breaks into senseless giggles–telling everyone, “You guys! My baby brother Timmy is here!” 

Tim, a boy who loves his brothers more than anyone except maybe you, grins at the older boy's voice–pulling you along to greet him properly. 

“Happy birthday, Dick!” You tell him, voice raising to be heard over the music and the squealing euphoria of his guests.

“Oh my! Timmy’s little Chicken is here!” Dick’s fondness for you is no surprise, as a professional older brother it is his job to love everyone his siblings love. “Jason! Look who's here!”

It's almost comical how fast you look up, how curious you are to see him, so curious you don’t hear Tim’s sigh or the way his hold on your arm tightens. Like Magic, Jason stands in front of you, leaning against a wall like a poor parody of James Dean. He looks a bit put out, a little annoyed to be interrupted in what looks like a riveting conversation with Roy Harper– a man you’ve only ever met through Tim’s phone on nights when he goes out without you. 

“Hey guys,” He says, friendly enough yet you can’t help but notice how much tenser he looks now that Tim stands before him. “Timmy, I heard you’re taking up more and more roles at Dad’s,” he sounds strained, but it’s obvious that he’s trying. 

“Yeah, our little baby brother is awesome, Bird, but let’s not forget it’s my turn to receive your  compliments.” Dick exclaims, panting a bit from treading water. 

“Yeah, yeah, Dickie, you just gotta wait for it, man.” Jason says, before turning back to Roy, you know at once that their exchange is over, you’re not sure what happened… It seems almost like Tim and Jason fought, niceties were exchanged, yes, but the look in their eyes: exhausted and awkward, says more than the short conversation they shared. 

They get like this sometimes, a phenomenon you don’t quite understand… You’ve witnessed moments where they seem like best friends, joking and joining together in teasing Damian, yet there's other times… Moments like this, when it seems like there's years of separation and frustration between them. 

You can feel Tim pulling you away, his hold on your hand a little tighter than you would like it to be… You can hear Dick yelling at him to stay, ‘the waters nice and warm,’ he yells, yet it's obvious he’s not too worried about it once Kory swims over to him. More than anything you can see Jason, nodding at you from his place against the wall–his drink tipping your way as if to say goodbye. 

You’re still a little confused when Tim drags you back into the suite to dance, finding Conner and Stephanie along the way. The four of you twirl and laugh and drink, the boys spinning you and Steph around and around–passing the two you back and forth until you're dizzy and drunk. Tim’s hands steady you, leading you in a crazy dance the two of you made up junior year, and grinning when you drunkenly tell him you love him. The night is alive, it’s burning with winter yearning and the feeling that you’d never be this young again. How you love your friends, how you wonder what's ailing them. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The music is thunderous, eating away at your ear drums and seeping into your bones until your body sings along. You’re not sure what time it is any more, or where Tim went… Your last memory is Conner giving you his jacket before pulling your friend away, a sight that made you giggle and roll your eyes. Steph’s seemed to disappear too, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, swaying in time with the music and whispering jokes to nobody. 

The crowd seems to have gotten bigger and the drinks stronger, a revelation that sends you in search of Tim or Dick, or someone you know. Yet, you can’t find them anywhere, off with Conner and Kory surely, abandoning you with only vodka and an empty chip bowl to keep you company. The party seems lonelier now, the music dull and throbbing in your ears, and all the dancing seems out of rhythm. It’s almost like you’ve stepped out of the faery ring, released yourself from an enchantment, and now everything that was once magic is all wrong. 

That things happening, that thing where you begin to have nostalgia for the moment you’re in, a kind of bittersweetness veiling over your eyelids as you take in the dark room. This happens sometimes, where you get a sudden case of the blues–too much adrenaline, too much happiness for one person, so it comes out as sad. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone, that Tim left you to go kiss Conner and you don’t really know anyone else, not truly–not the way you need to know them for a moment like this. 

You find yourself on the stairs, leaning against the railing as you attempt to regain your balance. The world seems to be spinning, whether it's from the alcohol or all the dancing you’re unsure of, yet the sky seems to be under your feet. You wished Tim was here… he always knew what to do, always knew how to make you laugh when you’re sad and get you home without a scratch… Stupid Conner, you think, stealing your best friend from you when you need him most… typical. 

It's minutes later that you feel someone nudging you awake, shaking you from your place on the stairs. The person's hands are rough and warm and gentle, easing you back into consciousness, accompanied by  whispers of “come on, little one.” 

You don’t feel very good, the alcohol and the sadness filling your throat with the taste of vomit, yet you find it in yourself to look up. Light invades your senses and that same blaring electronica finds a home in your ears again, a repeated refrain of call on me beating into your bones. You find the eyes of the intruder, green like summer; they’re looking down at you in concern, all squinty like a crescent moon. It's not until the song changes that you realize it’s Jason looking at you, your mystery come to find you. 

“Jason?” you ask, your voice covered in sleep and intoxication. “What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing, Where’s Timmy?” 

“Off with Conner.” You harrumph, sneering at his name as if they aren’t two of your most treasured friends. 

“And he left you all alone?” He looks a little surprised by this, and a little upset, a combination that will surely keep you up thinking about what it means. 

“Yeah, can you believe that?! He’s a treacherous traitor who betrayed me.” 

“You know, I’m pretty sure all those things mean the same thing.” He laughs a little, and you wish you were sober just so you could really hear him, the fear you feel that you might not remember this fills you with dread. It's so rare that you get to see him, so rare that you get to talk to him without Tim around to make things different and tense… your crush on Jason is not so hidden, a truth that eats at you in moments like this. You’re sure they probably all know, can all see how flustered you get around him, but you’d never act on it–you’d never do anything to hurt Tim, (that includes kissing his brothers), thus you pretend like it doesn’t affect you as much as it does. But here now, with Jason sitting next to you on the stairs, sharing space and oxygen and more words than you’ve ever spoken to each other before, you feel it becoming harder and harder to pretend. 

“Why are you sitting with me, Jason?” You ask him.

‘What?” He replies, eyes wide in shock or maybe confusion. “You’re my little brother’s best friend and you’re asleep on the stairs, why wouldn’t I be sitting with you.” His voice is pure Gotham, it brings a smile to your lips. 

“I see, is it just because I’m Timmy’s best friend.” 

“Are you flirting with me, Casanova?” he laughs, bringing a bottle of water up to his lips. 

“Never ever, Mr. Todd, I swear it, cross my heart.” You can see how he’s smiling, goofier than you’ve ever seen it, less sculpted than the usual smirky grin he wears around his brothers. 

“You’re drunk.” He says, before handing you his bottle of water, “Drink.” He says it like a command, like something you couldn’t say no to even if you tried, so you listen, yet you can’t stop thinking about his lips around it just a few seconds before. It invades your senses– the image of his rosebud lips curling around the top like a kiss… What is a kiss if not two mouths touching? What is a kiss without a kiss? Shared saliva and phantom smiles pressing against your own? 

One of his large hands goes to the bottom of the plastic bottle–tipping it up further as if to get you to drink more, his eyes swallow you, commanding eye contact as the water tumbles down your throat. “That’s a good girl.” He tells you, voice low and pleasing. It’s only when the bottle is empty that he takes his hand away, lowering the bottle from your lips and looking back into the humid party. 

How handsome he is, you think, it’s obvious he dressed up a little more for this than when you usually see him. He’s in all black, slacks and t-shirt displaying some 90s anime, he even has jewelry on: silver rings and heavy chains around his neck… He looks ravishing, like someone should take him home before other people can perceive him. You remember that first time you saw him, that fifteen year old boy on the news who looked like Peter Pan; you remember how you felt when you read that he was missing, if only you could have told yourself you would have found him one day. 

“Jason?” You whisper, “Where did you go?” He’s surprised at the question, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t seem mad, more tired; exhausted by the memory. 

“Neverland.” He whispers back, a response that brings a smile to your lips even though it’s not an answer. 

“What was it like?” 

“Hmm,” he says, thinking about his answer. “Well, it was pretty, there were pirates and mermaids, and little fairy girls like you.” That makes you laugh, a big booming thing that escapes. 

“I’m a little fairy girl, now?” 

“Oh yeah, I saw you spinning earlier… round and round like you were trying to fly.” 

“Well, I’m all out of pixie dust.” You tell him, which brings that goofy smile back to his pretty face. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just sits quietly with you, humming songs he knows and snorting at the drunken antics of Dick’s guests. It’s nice, just sitting with him–there is no need to fill the space, just peace and quiet. Finally, when you’re feeling sober enough to be a little worried by his answer, you ask, “Why’d you leave? I mean what made you come home?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, but when he does it’s full of secrets and saved up sadness, his voice gruff with the memory of it. “I just had to grow up I guess.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Days later you’re still thinking about that conversation on the stairs, how sad he looked… how vulnerable and young he appeared. When Tim finally showed himself, he was shocked to find you with his brother, thanking him over and over again for keeping you company. You remember how Jason smiled, sweet and sleepy, before he said No problem, Timmy, you just get her home safe. It’s less of a memory and more of a dream, like you went off to Neverland too. 

It was difficult to find sleep that night, too shaken and embarrassed by your own behavior… Nerves ate at your brain every time you thought about how natural it was to talk to him, nerves that only got worse when you wake up to a text from an unknown number: 

 ‘Hey, fairy girl, it’s J. just want to make sure you got back alright’ 

It filled you with heat and parasitic flutters in your belly, but you couldn’t answer… couldn’t get over the guilt you felt when imagining Tim’s reaction, no matter how innocent it all was. So you left it alone, didn’t answer him and went on with your day as normal as you could make it: lunches with Tim and group chat gossip with Duke and Stephanie, anything that could distract you from the fire blazing in your veins. 

You were still a little cross with Tim for leaving you all alone, but after making him take you out to breakfast and promise to buy you whatever you wanted for the next week, you thought you’d cut him some slack. He was acting a little weird, he kept making that face that only conjures itself when he’s trying to figure something out, and he repeatedly asked you if Jason said anything interesting to you– a question that has you shaking your head every time.

His words were just for you, you knew that more than you knew anything, so even though it was unfamiliar, you kept it from your best friend. 

It’s been a week since that fateful night, a week full of sleeplessness and butterflies when you thought about his bright eyes and warm hands. You’ve always had a bit of a crush, but now it's stifling–incinerating you with the absolute truth of it. Even here at work it suffocates you, presses down in between the dark archives of old newspapers and preserved textiles. It's just another day of paperwork and organization, studying old books on Cherry Hill in hopes to find something that could help stop the impending gentrification. 

Tim’s on his way with lunch, something Alfred cooked up to be sure, an exciting but slightly unnerving prospect. You’ve never been afraid of your best friend before, but you’ve also never kept a secret from him… you know it's not a big deal, so what if you and Jason had a sleepy drunken conversation at Dick’s birthday party? It wasn’t like you kissed! Hell, his hands barely even touched your skin except to wake you up, yet the fear of hurting Tim is so massive and encompassing you can’t help but feel like you need to hide it. 

You hear him say hello to your coworkers, hear his graceful steps down into the basement, he takes the stairs two at a time. When he finally arrives in front of you, he is jovial–smiling wider than you’ve seen in awhile. He dawdles on, handing you your lunch and telling you about how Alfred made twice the amount so all his kids could have some. It’s nice to hear him speak about his family, you relish in it… how happy he sounds when he speaks of his brothers, Alfred and Stephanie, the smile in his voice when he tells you you’re invited to another Friday Dinner. 

“Barbara and Kory are coming too, you’ll be there, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Definitely,” You tell him, but your heart isn’t in it. Tim notices it, of course he does, but he doesn’t call it out. You’ve been acting strange lately, but he trusts that you’d come to him if you really needed help. He stays until you both finish your lunch, kissing you on the head before he heads back towards the WE building; the guilt creeps back in when he leaves, roots of shaming entangling you like vipers. 

This routine follows you into the week, Tim bringing lunch and stories of Conner and Duke and the mischief they’ve gotten themselves into. Your work kept you busy, working late into the night– the book you found on the Founding of Gotham was interesting, and it was proving to be rather helpful in proving your suspicions that the original City Hall was located in the Cherry Hill suburb of Gotham City. You hoped you’d be able to find all the sources you needed, but it was becoming a bigger and bigger project than you ever realized–a project that was impeding on your life. 

It was late into the afternoon when Jason came to see you, bringing with him a smile and something hidden in his book bag. 

“Knock-knock, Little fairy, can I come in?” He asks you, halting on the last step. It's dark down here, lit only with lamps and reading lights, still he is beautiful–the white streak in his hair curling down over his eyes. He looks rather comfy, wrapped up in a sweater and a leather jacket, his book bag crossing over his chest and falling around his hip. God, he’s lovely, and he’s here… Why is he here? 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, startled by his presence and the life it brings. 

“I wanted to bring you some flowers,” He tells you, a secret smile playing on his lips. You look at his empty hands, a confused grin finding its way to your face. 

“Where are the flowers, Jason?” You laugh, although it halts when that goofy grin emerges again. Looking at you slyly he takes something out from his bag, pulling out a stack of books and handing them to you. Still confused you shuffle the pile to read each title,

 Dandelion Wine, White Oleander, The Chrysanthemums, Daisy Miller, The Secret Garden… 

Oh dear, you think, how sweet is this boy? And why? After you’d ignored his message… 

“Flowers,” he says, tilting his head towards you, that charming smile still living on his face. 

Who is this wonderful, handsome boy? When his brothers speak of him, they describe him as gruff and unlikable–mean and sulky. Yet this Jason is bright and euphoric, sweet and happy and mischievous…

He brought you flowers… flowers that you could keep on your shelf forever; stories of life and sadness and magic. 

“Oh my,” you say, “Thank you, Jason.” 

“Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay…” He hesitates for a minute before continuing on, “Y’know, you never answered my text and I thought maybe Dickie gave me the wrong number.” 

“Oh, no it was the right number,” you sigh. “I just don’t want Tim to feel weird about the two of us becoming friends…” 

“Are we becoming friends then,” he asks you, eyes brighter than before. He looks so young like this, starry eyed and grinning like he won a blue ribbon. 

“I don’t know, Jason, are we?” 

“I’m inclined to say yes, fairy girl. I don’t steal books from the library for just anyone.” 

Shocked, you turn the books over and sure enough, the library's barcode sits against the hardcover. 

“Jason! What the hell?! You can’t just steal from the library!” You yell, yet all he does is laugh. It’s such a pretty sound, deep and melodious like a song you can’t forget the words to. You wonder how often he really laughs like this, true and belly-full, like he means it. 

“I work at the library, Sugar, don’t worry.” He rasps out, “I’m the person who has to buy the new books anyway… so don’t worry about it.” The pet name rolls off his tongue salaciously, finding its way into your tummy, filling you with warmth and a vision of him at Gotham City Public Library. You’re not sure how you never knew, how you never saw him there in your late night book runs for your work. It fills you with fondness and makes your smile somehow brighter than it already was. 

“Well, thank you anyway, J.” You tell him. “Really, no one's ever given me flowers before.” 

When his eyes meet yours the floor shakes beneath you, destabilizing you into nervous fidgeting and shy smiles. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your mystery is standing in front you–vulnerable and handsome and smiling. He brought you flowers… God, what are you going to tell Tim? 

You see he’s getting ready to leave, so you ask (quicker than you thought possible,) “Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m just reading through some sources, but it might be better with company?” The smile he gives you is serendipitous, magical and dreamlike. 

He stays with you long into the night, reading all the left pages as you read the right and sharing his own suspicions. He mentions books at the library that might be useful, and tells you how cool he thinks what you’re doing is, he smiles the whole time. It's late when you finish, yawning and blinking away the strain, he looks more and more like that school picture you once fawned over– young and happy, Peter Pan. 

He insists on walking you home, leading you through the still busy Gotham Streets with a hand grazing your back and a watchful eye on the city. Every once in a while he stops to make sure you’re going the right way, and to ask if you’re still alright, a question that brings a smile to your lips and goosebumps on your skin. 

When you finally make it home, skin bitten cold and his jacket hanging off your shoulders, he smiles faintly at you, bringing his hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. 

As he turns to leave he tells you, 

“Don’t forget to get those flowers in some water, see you Friday,” And with the way your heart stops, you know you’re doomed. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Tim Drake is lots of things, but a fool is not one of them. He sees how different Jason is acting during patrol: stumbling over ledges and pulling out the wrong gun. He’s been weird since Dick’s party, quicker to smile and more interested in you than ever before… he remembers seeing Jason try to covertly listen to the Comm when Dick asked Tim how you were,

 “How’s Chicken Little doing, Timmy?” 

But before he could answer, Damian swiftly responded: 

“She doesn’t like it when you guys call her that, can’t you see her nose scrunch up in disgust? Honestly you’re all a bunch of buffoons.” 

Tim, however offended he might be at Damian thinking he knows you better than him, couldn’t help but focus on Jason instead. His face might be covered by his mask, yet his body language is unmistakable–he’s more interested than he should be. 

“Might I remind all of you, she is off limits, do not disturb, dead end… I will kill you and send your entrails to Lex Luthor to make some weird clone of you if you even think about it.” This message is for all of them, but you’d have to be stupid to not realize it was really only for Jason–Dick and Kory have been basically engaged since they were 20 and Damian still drinks bug juice for God’s Sake… the only other person it could be is Duke, but if the gagging sounds he’s making over the comm mean anything, he doesn’t need to be worried. 

Nobody says anything for a second, laughter from Dick and Duke creeping in through his ear piece, yet it all stops when Jason speaks up for the first time that night. 

“You know, you really should let her make her own decisions… She’s not a little girl.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Hood?” Tim asks, getting actually truly angry for the first time. There’s a reason why he tried to keep you to himself in the beginning of your friendship, he knows you think it’s because he didn’t want you to date his brothers, but really he didn’t want to have to share another thing. So much of his life belongs to his family, he just wanted one thing to belong to him. 

“Don’t get angry, please, Birdie?” Jason replies, there's no heat in it, just exhaustion. 

“What. Do. You. Mean? Hood?” Tim says again, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. 

“I just mean she’s a grown up, and she should be allowed to talk to whoever she wants to, even if it weirds you out.” 

It strikes Tim as something that wouldn’t bother him if it was about anyone but you, if it was Steph or Bart or Cassie, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it is you, the first friend he’s had that's entirely his own–you’re his best friend in the entire world, the person he loves the most, and he doesn’t need anyone, especially not Jason Todd, telling him how he should act with you. 

“Keep your advice to yourself, Red Hood,” Tim barks out to his brother, yet there's a piece of him that's thinking about what he said, a voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe he should listen. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

When Tim calls you to tell you not to come to family dinner, you can’t help but be confused and a little hurt. Sure, he said he’d just come over to yours instead, but the thought that someone was upset with you, or worse that Tim used his brilliant brain to suss out your crush before you could tell him, and now he’d never let you back around his brothers again, whittled its way into your heart and wouldn’t let go. 

You never wanted to do anything that would hurt Tim, he’s the person who you trust most in the world, the only person you could say confidently that you would kill or be killed for. You love him, infallibly and wholly, and thinking that he might be hurt by something you’ve done, even as innocent as a couple moonlit conversations with his brother, consumes you into a hellmouth of anxiety. 

He arrives at seven, the time he said he’d pick you up for family night, but instead of meeting you at your door, he barrels in. There’s a wild look in his eyes, a look you’ve only seen once– when your Philosophy 204 professor fell over and began to aspirate through a seizure–it’s painful and worried, and you wonder what's making him so upset now. However, when you ask, all he does is shake his head, almost like he’s trying to shake out the worries, pound them out like water in your ears. He looks beyond you, into your kitchen and his sighs become heavier and more sporadic, did he run here? 

“I’m trying to figure something out,” He tells you, his voice kinder than his body language made it seem like it would be, yet you’re not surprised–in the five years of being his friend, he’s never once raised his voice at you. 

“Okay, what's up?” You ask, anxious. 

“Are you and Jason in love? Are you having some sort of gross affair?” 

“What?!” You exclaim, sure you have a crush on Jason, and yes you think it would be quite easy to fall in love with him, but come on… Two conversations and childhood crush don’t suddenly turn into an affair. 

“Don’t “what” me, Chicken! I have Jason telling me to treat you like a grown up and now I walk in here and his jacket is hanging from my chair… MY CHAIR!” He says, shocking a laugh out of you, “The chair I sit in, god what has life come to?” 

“Timmy, we’re not having an affair, he just walked me home after bringing me something at work.” You approach him like a snake tamer, slow and kind in your steps–the same steps you saw the zoo keeper take the last time you and Tim brought Damian to Gotham Zoo. 

“But you like him?” He asks, suspicious and guarded. You can’t tell what’s happening in his head, can’t seem to read his mind like you usually can, so instead you let your hands fall onto his shoulders–fingers splaying out to run through the hair on his neck. 

“Yes,” You say, quiet as a mouse. “Is that okay?” 

Tim lets his head fall into your tummy, blowing out a big gasp of air into your shirt, which makes you laugh and push him away. 

“Of course it’s okay, Chicken… I just want you to be happy.” He sighs, “I just don’t really know if you will be happy with him… my brother he’s,” He hesitates, thinks about how he should say this without ruining anything, before he continues: “Jay’s complicated, what happened fucked him up… really bad. And I love you, more than him, more than anyone–you’re my girl. I don’t want you to feel trapped in a bad situation, and feel like you can’t come to me cause he’s my brother… I’ll always be on your side.” 

You smile and let out what feels like all the air in your lungs. How you love your stupid, silly, best friend, as if Jason would ever make you feel trapped and horrible when all he ever wants to do is be free? 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Timmy, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” The nickname makes him smile, brings him back to college when all you guys would do was watch Chicken Little and drink bottled sweet tea, when you’d call him Timmy and beg him to let you prank call his dad. Yet, the sentiment makes him sad, how are you a big girl if you’re both still just kids? He doesn’t feel that grown up yet. 

“That’s what he said you know,” He replies. “Just, why didn’t you tell me?” He’s watching you, looking at you in that way that makes you spill all your secrets, so you tell him, 

“I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I don’t know if he even likes me back, so..” 

“Are you crazy?! Of course he likes you, my brother hates literally every single person he interacts with other than Alfred, yet he’s coming to your work to surprise you? Come on.” He’s laughing though it sounds a little pained. It does little to comfort your swirling thoughts. You’re so happy Tim’s not angry, so happy that he’s not throwing you onto the curb like you expected, but he still seems so sad. 

You wish you could swaddle him up and make everything okay, promise that you’d never stop being friends, make sure he knows that you’re not going away–that all of this is a little dramatic for a little crush. 

“Are you okay, Timmy? With the chance that something might happen between me and Jason?” 

“Yeah, Chickadee, just…” he sighs, “Don’t forget what I said, okay? About him being complicated.” You nod, but before you can say anything, he speaks up again. “And, Chicken? Remember our pact about getting married for taxes… it’s you and me spending our afterlives together, not you and Jason.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

You wake the next morning a bundle of limbs and sleepy energy, Tim is barely conscious next to you and the apartment smells faintly of cheetos and ramen; you’d spent the night watching Avatar: The Last Airbender and reminiscing about the good old days. You told him about everything that's happened with Jason, starting from that first sight of his missing poster and ending with the bouquet of books. He was obviously a little grossed out to be talking about his brother in this way, but it felt good to see you so giggly and happy. 

He’d felt bad for making you skip out on family night, a feeling of guilt that shook in his bones as his father and eldest brother texted him about skivving out on family bonding. But, he wouldn’t go back to change it, he was so afraid he was going to lose you, that you’d get tired of him and make friends with other people, that having this night with you was well worth all the lectures he was going to have to put up with. 

He’s watching you now, anxious and blushing, and he can’t help but feel in awe of you–his pretty best friend, really crushing on someone for the first time. Some part of him is glad that person is Jason, at least then he won’t feel too bad about breaking his nose if he starts any shit with you. 

“Everythings gonna be okay,” He says, using your first name in a rare scene of seriousness. 

“Yeah, I know.” You tell him. “I just, don’t wanna ruin anything.” 

“You know, he’s working today… might wanna bring him some flowers.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The library is alive, warm and inviting like a lover’s embrace. It smells like parchment and dust and clorox wipes, a combination that instantly brings you back to school–elementary crushes and schoolyard gossip. 

There’s not very many people here, too early on a school day for anyone to really be finding solace between the aisles, but you see him. Jason sits behind the front desk, wiry glasses settled on his nose and a book in his lap. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too absorbed in his work to really be paying attention. For a minute, you just stand and admire him–this mysterious creature who walked into your life and never left. All these feelings are brand new and ancient… romantic and friendly, respect and admiration. It would all be so easy, with him–to lose yourself in love and friendship–you want it so badly. 

You can see it so vividly, waking up with him and spending nights intertwined, reading together and researching maniacally. Falling for him is easy, loving him will be hard you know, but seeing him now: pretty and warm in the afternoon light makes the decision rather easy. 

“I’d like to return some books,” you say once you’ve reached him, startling him out of his reverie. 

He can’t believe it’s you, beautiful and bright–like a protagonist out of an Austen novel. He thought he’d never be allowed near you again, thought he ruined it all by bringing you up to Tim, but here you were–lovely like the morning. You’re carrying books, flowers, and your smile is starlight. 

“Well, right this way, Ma’am.” He tells you, once he finds his voice. “I didn’t realize you could replant flowers after you’ve picked them.” He’s teasing you, but really he’s not sure why you’ve brought the books back–is it a way to let him down? Or are you just returning the favor? 

He leads you into the back, unprofessional sure, but he needs to be alone with you. You’re so anxious, he can tell… he needs to be able to reach out and feel you. 

“I just felt like you deserved flowers too, Jay.” You tell him, sweet and lovely like always. 

“Hmm, well I refuse them… they’re all yours, I already replaced them.” His eyes are mischievous again, burning with joy as they stare into yours. You’re reminded of that night on the stairs, when he made you drink water and burned you alive. 

“I talked to Tim,” You tell him, watching as his smile drops. 

“Let me guess, he told you I’m bad news and doesn’t want you around me, right?” He asks, rough with the hurt of past bruises. 

“Actually, he told me you’re bad news but he’s trusting me to be able to handle it.” Jason looks surprised, his summer green eyes wide with shock. He guessed he never really thought Tim would be okay with it… 

He remembers seeing you for the first time: soft and gorgeous in the lowlight of the manor, he was sitting with Damian and remembers how the breath shot out of his lungs at the sight of you. Dami’s been teasing him about it for years now, bringing you up to piss Tim off and making plans for you to bring him to the planetarium on days when Jason said he’d pick him up–like a goddam parenttrap. He thinks back to that night on the stairs a few weeks ago, you looked so pretty spinning around with your friends, like Thumbelina. When he found you on the stairs he was panicked: worried about you and worried about Tim who never left your side, but you were still just so pretty. 

He can’t believe you here now, bringing him flowers and his brother’s approval. He’s waited for this for so long, for the okay from the one person dearest to you, the one person who could make Jason actually care about listening to him. 

“He really said that?” Jason asks you, hesitant and careful like he’s worried you’re playing a joke on him. 

“He really said that,” You reply, laughing when Jason pulls you into a hug. He holds you for a few minutes, feels the air in your lungs press into his belly as you breathe in and out, it feels so good to have you here, to know that he’s not making anything worse by wanting you. 

“So that means you’ll go out with me then, fairy girl?” he asks you, his rough fingers moving up to grasp your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking into his eyes. He waits for you to nod, then waits for the word, yes, to emerge from your pretty lips, before lowering down to kiss your forehead. He feels you sigh, feels your hands shake from their place on his arms, his kisses move down down down until they meet the corner of your lips. You're smiling slightly, like you’re having a happy dream, and when he kisses you for real that smile becomes a big grin. 

It’s all teeth and laughter and the awkwardness of a first kiss, but Jason holds you up and lets you gasp into his mouth and swallows your sighs. He licks into your mouth and clashes his teeth against yours and calls you his fairy, his magic girl come to take him back to Neverland. He holds you tighter and tighter, and feels you shake under his affection, how lovely it is, how badly he wants to make your bones rattle. 

“I’ll bring you more flowers on our date, sugar.” He tells you, kissing the underside of your jaw, before pulling away. He’s sad he has to let you go, frustrated that he has to stay at work while you get to go and hang out with Tim and Damian at the Museum all day, but the kiss you press into his hand–innocent and earnest–makes it worth it. 

He leads you out of the back room and into the well-lit main entrance, pausing only to grab his book from the front desk. “By the way, I found this while I was stacking shelves, I thought it might be useful for your project.” 

In his hands is a book titled Gotham City’s Founding Buildings, and on the cover, miraculously an illustration of Cherry Hill. 

It’s too easy to fall in love with him, you think again, smiling as you pull him into another kiss.

[theobservatory]

I wanna just say, David did a wonderful job of himbo Clark Kent, multiple times I wanted to kiss that boys face he was so precious. Could i request Clark acting “cute” in the office (pushing his glasses up when they slip down, nearly tripping over his own feet while walking with coffee and almost spilled it on jimmy’s shirt, doing that stupid turn around when he’s trying to find where he’s going next (even tho he’s worked at daily planet for a few years already??) doing that little head duck and half wave at a coworker when they call him “smallville” as a greeting, dropping a stack of papers when he bumps into one of the new interns, basically he’s just doing his typical himbo Clark stuff) and reader is having a really hard time not dragging him down to her level by his tie to kiss him, bonus, they are good friends with both having crushes on each other but to oblivious to realize, much to Lois and jimmy’s amusement.

Youuuu got it anon. Bless that man.

Please don't hassle me if my characterizations are bad. It's literally my first time writing any of these characters, I'll get better as I learn (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Helpless as a Kitten｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you and Clark fumbling around each other

｡⁠☆Cw: himbo behavior, no pronouns, no use of y/n

"Don't you just wanna put him out of his misery?"

"Excuse me?" Lois turns from her chair.

You gesture over to Clark Kent, and she rolls her eyes. The man is hunched over a large potted plant, having caught it before it crashed to the ground, but now dirt is splayed all over the floor. He's frowning, bottom lip out and shoulders all hunched.

"He's like a sad shelter dog."

"Well he's got the eyes for it."

True, you think. They're big, and glossy, and a bright sky blue.

"I know. They're like giant pools of sky, aren't they?"

"I was going for pathetic and teary, but a lovey-dovey answer works too."

You groan, throwing your head back with your hands over your face. "Lois, I don't like him like that, stop pushing your agenda on me."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night." She shrugs.

Both of you turn back to Clark, his blue eyes are turned directly on you now. His stare is piercing, deep. Even if he is still holding a giant potted plant half sideways, causing more dirt to fall out.

You wave at him.

He drops it, and the lip of the pot shatters onto the floor, creating an even bigger mess. He turns away when you laugh, red faced and rapidly whipping his head back and forth. He's probably trying to find a broom or something before someone gets ceramic stuck in their opened-toed shoe.

"Wow." Lois says flatly.

You sigh unknowingly dreamy sounding.

"Wow." She says again, this time looking at you like you're the pathetic one. "This is really just sad for both of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

You both turn back to your work, while Clark frantically sweeps up the dirt and chipped pottery off the floor.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Currently, Clark is standing next to your desk. It's next to the wall, but not close enough to be touching. In fact, it's right next to the obnoxiously loud printer, where Clark is. The thing is jammed, as usual, so it's just making this annoying BZZRT-T-T sound as it tries to spit out more paper than it can handle. Meanwhile, Clark is muttering a little frantically under his breath.

"Darn printer, c'mon work you damn mule, you were just fine yesterday."

You mask a snort under your hand, pausing your own writing to watch Clark suffer. He still hears it- the man seems to hear everything around here- and his ears redden a little. Adorable.

"Having trouble?"

"Nah, I just- y'know-" BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T. "Just a difficult day."

"I see that."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well I-"

BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZ- "Out of ink, please replace ink cartridge to print." The printer says.

"You wouldn't happen to have some ink, would you?"

"I think there's some in the back."

The man is so bashful it hurts a little. He has his shoulders hunched in like it will mitigate how large he actually is, he's avoiding eye contact so heavily he's basically turned the opposite way, even his fingers are whirring between each other like a little school girl talking to her crush. It's so sweet it could make your teeth rot.

"I can go grab some if you want-"

"NO! No, that's okay I can get it myself. I was the one who disturbed your work, anyway. I'll be right back."

He rushes away before you can get another word out, slamming his toe on the leg of your desk on the way out.

"Are you okay?" You call, huffing a laugh.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it!" He calls back.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧

"You invited Clark, right?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Does it matter?" You raise an eyebrow at Jimmy.

"Yes! If you didn't invite him he'd get all sad, and mopey."

"I know." You neglect to say out loud how cute you find it. He cares so much, and just wants to be included, he's so sweet.

"I know you know, which is why I had to ask if you invited him, because if you didn't i'd have to start taking sides, and you can't put me through that."

"I really don't think it's that deep, but whatever you say."

You, Jimmy, and Lois are all crowded in your small apartment. It's not tiny or a shoebox or anything, just a little small. It's not cramped now, but it will be when Clark's massive form arrives.

Honestly, it was only supposed to be you and Lois, but then Jimmy invited himself, and if Jimmy's coming then you might as well invite Clark too. It's a little exciting, it's the first time you're seeing Clark outside of work on purpose. You've run into each other on the street a bunch of times, and went out for coffee together on your breaks a few times as well.

This feels different, more intimate. Even with Lois and Jimmy 3rd wheeling. Not that you and Clark are together of course, you're just using that as a turn of phrase. They're not actually 3rd wheeling, you're happy to see all your friends an equal amount like any normal person.

Don't think too hard about it. Anyway.

"With how late it is, I kinda doubt he's coming," you say. Clark has always been pretty punctual for as long as you've known him.

Lois and Jimmy look at each other, and then look at you.

"He's coming."

"He'll be here."

They say in sync. Well, that's not creepy at all.

"Ooookay..."

As if summoned by his name, there's a knock on your door. You can tell by the hushed clack clack on your door that it's Clark. Somehow, the respective noise just sounds like him. It's quiet, not attention grabbing, considerate even- just like him.

You're quick to open the door. There's a giddiness in your bones that you've never quite experienced before, like a dog waiting for its favorite treat or something. Gosh, maybe Clark isn't the sad dog in your relation- friend, you meant friend- friendship, maybe it's you. But that is a thought for a mind vault, you are hosting right now, much more important than... Whatever your brain has going on.

"Hey, Clark!"

Clark's hair is unkempt, black strands twist every which way, a fat cowlick stands proudly at the center of his head. There's a little smear of dirt on his cheek bone, like he was trying to wash it off and ended up making it worse.

"Hi," He grins, slow and wide. "I brought peach cobbler."

"You didn't have to do that. No one else brought food."

"Well maybe they should've." He shrugs.

You laugh. "Maybe."

The cobbler in your hands has clearly been tossed around a bit. There's an air tight lid on the container, so all that's happened is the lids smeared with peach juice now. Clark is a little embarrassed about it if the way he places a sun kissed hand on top of it is any indication.

"Did you trip on your way here? There's dirt on your face."

He winces, flushing. "Yeah, you can say that."

The night progresses quickly after that. Lois and Jimmy steal the cobbler before you can even try a bite, and Clark tries to interject but only gets steamrolled by the two grabbing forks and ignoring him. He pouts, and you rub his back and try to comfort him, but the action leaves him tripping over his words. You have no clue if you succeeded in making him feel better or not.

After the peach cobbler debacle you end up pulling out your decade old boardgames. Jimmy was the one who suggested it, proclaiming that Clue was the best boardgame, which is wrong of course because the best boardgame is actually Monopoly, but Lois thinks it's Scrabble. Clark proclaims Candyland, but is swiftly shot down when everyone agrees that one sucks the most.

You end up playing Monopoly, because it's your house and you make the rules, but poor Clark has a hard time. He continuously knocks pieces off the board, and money is continuously scattered next to his feet and under your couch. He gets that bashful look again, hot in the ears and face, pulling at his collar.

"I-I guess my hands are a bit too big for the pieces," he says.

Which is so true, so very true. His hands are giant. They dwarf yours completely, consuming your fingers in his like a turtle shell. They're so gentle though. So kind. No matter how many pieces he drops, he's so delicate with it all. Honestly, watching him is filling your head with thoughts that make you squirm in your seat.

You try to think about the game instead. You try to fill your head with safer less friendship ruining thoughts. It's not your fault he's so hot huge.

The night ends with just you and Clark- and about a third left of peach cobbler. He's just thankful there was any left, really. You're standing in your kitchen with him, he's holding the tray, you have a fork in hand ready to finally taste the cobbler.

"I just wanted to thank you for inviting me tonight. It was fun."

"It was no problem, really."

"No, seriously. Thank you." He says almost sternly, with a rare forcefulness you've never seen before.

"Of course, Clark, seriously. I'm glad to have you, I don't know if you know this, but I like spending time with you, it makes me happy to spend time with you."

A few things happen in quick succession.

Clark flushes again, a deeper red than you've ever seen on him. Your fork goes down to try the cobbler. Clark trips on his own feet by shuffling nervously. He falls. The cobbler falls. It hits the floor upside down, and the lid is on the counter.

"Clark."

"Oh my gosh, I-I'll clean it up, and make another one. I'm so sorry."

He does. That man cleans your floor so good it looks brand new. He gets on his hands and knees, and scrubs until your kitchen floor shines. Then has the nerve to sit back on his knees and look up at you with sad, blue puppy eyes.

You've never had a man get on his knees for you before. You think you'd like it in any other circumstance. Maybe you like it a little in this one, too.

"I'm sorry." He repeats. "I should go."

"Clark, I'm not mad."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

"I know." You sigh. You hold out a hand to help Clark up, but he's far outside your weight class. It's more of a formality than it is helpful. "See you at work tomorrow?"

"Of course. Spend break together?"

You smile. "Of course."

Clark smiles back, and trips over his shoes.

Got a little burnt out at the end bc this was supposed to be short and it got waaay fucking longer than it was supposed to

Clark is so fucking embarrassed at the end of this. He goes outside your door and puts his face in his hands and tries to hold back screams from how cringe he's being. Love him to death fr

Headcanon that Clark gets more flustered at sweet heartfelt comments than sexual or lusty ones !!!!

If this is ass I'll take care of it later, it's 1am. I'm tired.

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[padgettish]

You need 200 square feet of garden space per person to feed someone for an entire year, so like, sure you could provide fruit and veggies to even a fairly large family off an acre of land. Many people did! What truly gets ridiculous is the idea of also jamming in grain and livestock.

1 acre of grain only produces enough flour for like 4 people a year, and that's before you get into things like saving seed for next year's planting, leaving a quarter of the field fallow or doing some other kind of crop rotation, the fact that the miller is going to take a cut for the labor of milling, the constant threat of the dreaded mouse, or the IRS and state and local treasurer probably preferring wheat grain if they allow you to pay your taxes in kind at all.

And then there's animals. Pretty much everyone I've heard of our talked to doing mobstocking homesteading needs 4 acres for livestock, rotating been an acre for chickens, an acre for sheep or goats, an acre for pigs, an acre left fallow. And all of the ones I've personally talked to can only do it because they're retired military who primarily live off a pension and a little white collar contracting.

I haven't done the research on cows, but you're going to need an order of magnitude more of grain or acres. And the one thing I DO know about cows is they do have to get pregnant regularly to maintain the hormone cycle that lets them be milked which is not only the only real reason you'd want them on such a small farm but if you were going to go through that process at all you really just need to escalate to ranching/running a dairy because just like milling grain there simply are things that just make more sense on the scale of 50-100 farms instead of, like, 1 of them.

I bet this bozo would even buy their own plow and tractor when clearly they could share a couple with like 10 other households and store them in some kind of community space, but then we're going to be asking why we aren't just managing all our major grain and bean fields as a community but oh no that's r̶e̶i̶n̶v̶e̶n̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶1̶0̶0̶0̶a̶d̶ ̶v̶i̶l̶l̶a̶g̶e̶ communism

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really), Sketchbook plot device supreme, Soft angst, hard silence, Enemies? Lovers? Babysitters? Who knows anymore.

[A/n]: We'll no longer keep track of days! Hehe. See you on the next part when [Y/n] probably commits violence with a spoon or something. 💅

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, >Part 5<

Abby lounged on the edge of the neighboring rooftop like it was a damn beach chair.

One leg up, the other swinging over the side, arms pillowed behind his head as he watched you through your apartment window had become a weird sort of team ritual lately.

Not that he'd ever admit to partaking.

You were pacing again. Sorting through papers, sketchbooks, the usual post-work chaos that filled your tiny living space.

Abby tilted his head, smirking at the sight of your annoyed expression as your paintbrush rolled off the table for the third time.

"Should I..." He mumbled, mostly to himself, "Teleport inside? Maybe mess with the lights. Whisper from the closet. Classic haunting setup."

He even cracked his knuckles in preparation. Just to see your face when the lamp flickered or a breeze hit your neck with no window open. Maybe he'd pretend to be a ghost.

Or worse—an unpaid bill.

He was this close to doing it. Already picturing the way you'd groan, or scream, or slam a book against the wall—

Then something flickered. Not in your room. Not part of his stupid prank ideas.

His smirk dropped.

There was smoke. Not the lazy wisps of incense. Not the steam from your usual sad cup noodles.

Real smoke. Heavy, black, curling like claws around the window frames of your building. The glass panes were quickly turning an ugly shade of orange, backlit by something that no longer looked like anything funny.

Abby sat up straight and blinked. Then heard screams.

And without thinking, without choosing, he was already gone.

He reappeared in the hallway of your floor, materializing in a flash of warped space and static. The heat hit him immediately, and it was oppressive, stifling. The air reeked of burning plastic and panic.

People were running. Someone shoved past him. Another yelled something he didn't catch.

But all he saw was your door. Still shut. Still untouched.

He found himself moving again.

Not a sound passed his lips. Not one quip. Not one smug insult. His body was already acting faster than thought, faster than his usual jokes would allow.

He didn't realize his human eyes had bled gold until the reflection of the hallway lights shifted, catching the shine of something inhuman.

Sharp. Predatory. Worried.

His foot slammed against the lock. The cheap wood cracked and caved in with a sharp, brutal snap. He didn't stop. One more kick and the door burst open.

The smoke billowed out like a monster, howling into the corridor.

Abby stepped in and froze.

You were there, crumpled by the window, body curled protectively around your bag. Your arms were trembling.

Your shirt was stained with blood. A thin, cruel gash snaked down your arm, and your fingers were clenched so tightly around the sketchbook, he thought your knuckles might snap.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, barely there.

Abby didn't speak.

He crossed the distance in three strides, eyes locked on you, his golden irises a beacon in the dark.

You swayed, just barely, like you were about to say something—

And then you collapsed into him.

His arms caught you before you hit the ground, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, Abby didn't find this kind of thing amusing.

—

Jinu had a bad feeling the moment the sun dipped beneath the skyline.

He hated this.

Not because Abby volunteered to take his usual surveillance shift and possibly pull some stunts. Not because the others wouldn't stop teasing him about how he was getting "soft" for a human girl. No, he could handle that.

What pissed him off was the fact that it had been hours past the agreed time.

And they still hadn't gotten the damn sketchbook.

He paced the rooftop he usually stationed himself on. Restless with his jaw tight. He wasn't worried. Of course not. He was just—

"...Screw it."

Jinu teleported.

One blink and he was back across from your building, perched silently in the shadows.

He didn't even get the chance to exhale before his entire body tensed.

Smoke. Thick, ugly clouds rising from the middle floors. The sight hit him harder than it should have.

He didn't wait. He teleported again, this time just far enough to see the chaos below. People running and crying. Some being carried out.

And then, One figure emerged from the smoke.

Carrying something. No—someone.

Abby.

...With you.

Jinu didn't move. Not at first. He just stood there, watching. Your arms were wrapped around that damn bag.

Even now, despite being barely conscious, your body clung to that sketchbook like it was worth dying for.

His fingers twitched and he couldn't help the harsh laugh from leaving his mouth. So that's how it was, huh?

They had her.

They had the sketchbook.

Everything was accounted for, except whatever twisted in his chest.

—

When you woke up, your throat felt like sandpaper soaked in gasoline.

Your eyelids were heavy, too heavy, and your body throbbed in strange places, like you'd been tackled by an entire football team and then politely set on fire afterward.

The ceiling above you was unfamiliar. It was white, glossy, and decorative. Was that…a chandelier?

You blinked. Then blinked again.

"...Did I die?"

The words rasped out of you before your brain could catch up. You tried to sit up, regretted it instantly, and groaned as your arm flared with pain. Bandages. The scent of antiseptic. Something floral in the air, too—like those overpriced essential oils they peddled in mall kiosks.

You turned your head.

Velvet curtains. Gold accents. The biggest bed you'd ever seen that you felt intimidated by the sight alone.

Yep. This wasn't your apartment. This wasn't a hospital either.

"...Did I die and became rich?" You mumbled, frowning at the obscene throw pillows.

The sound slipped out before you could stop it. Not quite a laugh, and not quite sane. Somewhere between victory and full-blown psychotic break.

Clearly, you'd already lost your mind years ago.

"It's the former, then." You grinned at the chandelier. Damn right you understood those unhinged female leads who's already happy and satisfied when they get to experience this shit.

Which is why you let your head flop back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. Maybe next you'll wake up with a talking sword or a tragic backstory buff.

But then the door creaked open and a shadow fell across the bed. You cracked one eye open. What you saw shook your soul.

The whole damn circus was here.

"...Oh. It's hell."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're awake." That came from Romance, who didn't sound surprised, just tired. A glass of water was in his hand. "Here. Drink."

You stared at the glass suspiciously. "...You didn't poison it, right?"

He smiled at you, lovingly even. "No promises."

"Great. Love that." You took it anyway. Because dying of dehydration in front of them would be giving them what they wanted.

You drank half before realizing all five of them were still standing there, watching in silence. It felt intense.

"Okay. You're all creepy." You rasped. "Can we not stare at me like I’m some kind of rare zoo animal?"

They didn't move.

If anything, they stared harder.

Romance blinked like you'd offended his entire bloodline. Baby tilted his head and muttered something about how you kinda were one. Abby's jaw tensed.

But it was Mystery who didn’t flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't move from where he was quietly perched at the armrest, maybe two steps from you.

He just kept looking.

Expression unreadable. Eyes too still. You could feel it, his attention crawling across your skin like static. And yet… he wasn't alarmed. Just watching.

Curious, cautious, and unsettled.

You turned toward him, gave him a weak, deadpan glare. "Seriously?"

He tilted his head again, like a bird trying to understand a noise. Still didn't look away.

It was the only thing he could do to settle the itch. That faint, crawling feeling in his ribs that told him something might still be wrong. That you could just… slip away.

"...Creep." You muttered under your breath and dropped your head back onto the soft pillow.

Mystery didn't react.

But then, he took a slow step forward. Stood beside the bed, silent as a shadow. He was basically hovering.

He didn't offer a blanket. Didn't say anything dramatic. Just stood there, a quiet sentinel, like his mere presence was enough. Like he was daring the world to try something again.

"?"

It was Abby who finally snapped.

"Do you have a death wish or are you just incredibly stupid?" His voice was sharp, harsher than usual.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me—?"

He stood still at the edge of the bed with his arms at his sides, shoulders tense, and gaze cold.

You'd seen him smug. You'd seen him smugger. But this? This was the first time you'd seen him like this.

He didn't need to raise his voice. He didn't need to move. He just stood there, tall and terrifyingly still, like the room itself had shrunk under the weight of his silence.

For the first time in a long time, you felt small. You felt intimidated and almost guilty. Almost.

"You were about to burn alive," He went on. "And you thought it was a good idea to save that?"

You followed Abby's gaze to your bedside, where your sketchbook sat. A little scorched around the edges. But still there.

Still whole.

Your heart twisted. You said nothing.

Abby looked like he was trying very hard not to raise his voice. "You were choking on smoke. The door was sealed shut. You were bleeding. But you held onto that thing like—"

"Like it was worth dying for." Jinu muttered from the back, arms crossed.

You glanced at him. His face was unreadable, but his tone wasn't. It was cool. Sharp. Distant.

Your lips parted slightly as if you were trying to process what was happening, what all happened. "...Don't act like you care." You said quietly.

And maybe you imagined the flicker in his—in their expression. Maybe not.

Abby stepped forward again. "You could've died."

You looked at him, unfazed, eyes cool and half-lidded—like you were more annoyed about being scolded than nearly dying. "Yeah. And?"

The silence that followed was sharper than expected.

You saw the way Abby's gaze hardened. The subtle twitch in his jaw. The barest flicker of something dangerous flaring behind his eyes—controlled, but barely.

You frowned.

Jinu, from somewhere else in the room, stilled. You couldn't see him directly, but you felt it. That shift in atmosphere, sudden and suffocating. Like someone had exhaled poison into the air.

Baby, usually the one to joke, didn't laugh. Instead, he clicked his tongue. It was loud and deliberate.

"Wow." He drawled, his voice much deeper than usual. "So you almost die and still manage to act like a brat. That's talent."

The words were flippant. Dismissive.

But they landed with more bite than usual. A little too pointed.

You glanced at him. He was lounging on the couch, one leg over the other, expression unreadable. No crossed arms. No clenched fists.

Just that smile, the one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Romance's posture tensed where he sat. He wasn't smiling anymore. His fingers wrapped just a little too tightly around the chair arm. Not clenched, just held. Intentional. Controlled.

And Mystery, standing quietly at the side of the bed, still hadn’t moved.

But there was a shift.

So faint you might've missed it if you hadn't glanced at him just as you did with the others: flicker of muscle near his brow. A near-frown. Almost.

He didn't look angry. He didn't look anything.

That was what made it worse.

You felt the pressure in the room get heavier. Like the walls themselves had taken offense to your voice.

And you didn't get it.

Your heart started thudding a little harder, not because you were scared, not exactly, but because something had changed. Their silence had turned unreadable. Not like they were confused.

Like they were offended.

Or maybe...

...hurt?

Your eyes darted between them. Abby's still-glowering stare, Jinu's distant silence, Baby's sudden lack of smartassery, Romance's tightened jaw, and Mystery's frozen calm.

Why did it feel like you'd just insulted them?

You sat up more, blinking slowly, brain still fogged and tired and full of holes.

Because as far as you knew, you weren't close enough to any of them to earn that kind of reaction. You weren't their responsibility. You weren’t anyone's anything.

And yet, something in you shifted. Maybe it was the pain meds. Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Or maybe it was the stupid, stubborn part of your heart that warmed a little, just a little, at the thought that they'd even worried in the first place.

That they'd cared enough to be mad.

You didn't let it show.

"And that sketchbook." Abby's voice cut in flat and cold, snapping your gaze back to him. "It better have answers for what the hell you're doing drawing us."

Another wave of silence washed through the room. No one stopped him. No one corrected him.

They were waiting.

Watching.

You swallowed, throat raw. Body aching. But more than anything, you were done.

So instead of answering, you flopped back against the pillows with the grace of a disgruntled corpse and muttered:

"Can I at least eat first before the interrogation starts?"

Silence.

"...Want soup?" Romance offered, blinking.

"No." You exhaled. "I want a new life."

"You're not getting that." Baby said as he leaned against the doorway like he didn't care but the way he kept glancing at you said otherwise. So yeah. "But you are getting grilled. So. Good luck."

You threw your arm over your face and groaned into the mattress.

Hell. Definitely hell.

For now, the boys gave you some space. It felt like you needed it anyway which good that they could tell.

The door clicked shut behind them and that naturally made silence to follow.

You waited a moment. Two. Maybe three. Just to be sure none of them were waiting outside, breathing too loudly or listening in like nosy people with zero concept of boundaries.

Nothing.

Your fingers curled into the sheets. It hit you all at once—like smoke flooding your lungs again. Not the pain. Not the ache. But the realization.

You had nothing.

No home. No apartment. No backup plan.

Everything was gone… except what you managed to stuff into that bag. That was it.

Your body ached, but your chest ached worse. "...Shit."

You didn't even realize the tears until they slipped down, silent and hot, sliding past the grime on your cheek.

You tried to brush them off, but the sting in your bandaged arm made you wince. You stared at the gauze. The pinkish tint bleeding through.

A wound. A reminder.

Your throat tightened. Your lip quivered before you could stop it.

"Is the universe really out to get me," You whispered with quivering lips, "Or am I just that unlucky?"

You curled tighter into yourself, hand clinging to the soft pillow like it could anchor you, like maybe if you just squeezed hard enough, everything would reset.

Sitting up, you wiped those stinging tears away.

You took the bag to see, to confirm the things you had manage to save despite the fury flames that was slowly making its way to your apartment to burn more, to eat you alive.

You shiver at the possibility and the memory but quickly shook it off.

You're okay. You're safe.

You pursed your lips and held in a cry, continuing on to get the contents of the bag.

Your precious tablet. Yes. Phone. Charger... but it's not for the latter. ID, wallet, your...broken earphones? And most importantly, your sketchbook. That was all.

You were still thankful but you couldn't help the bitter laugh from cracking out of you. You buried your face back into the pillow.

"I'm so fucking tired, if one more thing happens I'm fighting air." You sniffed. Cursed again. Then hit the pillow with your good arm.

Once.

Twice.

And then—

"AND I JUST ORDERED A BOX OF SAMYANG! I ONLY GOT TO EAT ONE! Shibaldaiefd$#fs—"

The yell was muffled against the sheets. Dramatic. Desperate. Absolutely valid.

And somewhere outside the door, a hand stopped from turning the knob.

Romance smiled, a soft one that was uncharacteristically of him. He was back to bring in that soup like he said but he heard some 'pitiful sounds.'

At first he considered to walk in, comfort you... and get that sketchbook. But what his body wanted to do was the opposite. It wanted to just hold you, to touch you tenderly despite questioning himself for his actions.

It felt wrong.

And yet here he was, finding himself still smiling. "...She's fine."

He looked at the soup on the tray, then walked away with a hum. It doesn't feel like you're feeling on eating anything yet.

Besides, he can always reheat it for you.

...He stopped walking when he realized what he just thought.

Has he lost it?

Why would he even think that?

He's not your maid. Not your caretaker. Not someone who should be thinking about what soup temperature you'd prefer when you wake up.

You're just some human. A stubborn, mouthy one at that. The type that laughs in the face of danger, then promptly collapses in a pool of blood. A walking liability wrapped in sarcasm and trauma.

So why was he…?

Nope. He was just tired. That’s all. Things have been exhausting ever since he agreed to this whole idol mess. Nonstop schedules. Fake smiles. Endless noise.

And now you, dropped into the chaos like a match to gasoline.

He wasn't worried.

He was just… thinking ahead. Yeah. Strategic. Efficient.

Smart.

Not worried. Not wondering if you'd wake up again, or if you'd talk back like usual, or if your voice would sound the same when you did.

He kept walking.

As Romance made his way toward the kitchen, he passed by Mystery, who seemed to be eyeing the room you were in.

He's been doing that from the moment Abby arrived, arms tensed, eyes sharp and glowing while he carried you unconscious and bleeding.

Mystery didn't seem the slightest bit pleased by the sight.

Not Abby, who had held you so protectively, yet somehow gentle when he set you down on the bed.

Not Jinu, who arrived seconds later with that storm brewing quietly behind his eyes.

Not even Baby, who tried to appear indifferent.

They all felt it.

Romance didn't say anything as he passed Mystery, but his gaze lingered a second longer on the door. Not a word. Not a sigh. Just that look.

The kind that said he was thinking things he'd never admit.

Mystery stood motionless, hands tucked in his coat pockets, one foot tapping rhythmically against the tile. He'd been staring at that door like it might vanish if he blinked.

Not because he was worried. That's what he told himself. But something twisted deep in his chest when he'd seen your blood. Your arm. The heat still clinging to you.

The way you hadn't moved for a full thirty seconds.

Down the hall, Abby leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He hadn't said a word since.

But his eyes hadn't left the door either. Not even once.

Jinu stood by the window, back turned to the room, his reflection visible in the glass—jaw tight, fist clenched. He didn't speak. Didn't joke.

Because what burned deeper than the fire was that he hadn't been the one to save you.

And then there was Baby—arms behind his head, lounging like always, smirk lazy across his face.

But it didn't reach his eyes.

"She's lucky Abby was the one on shift." He said idly.

Then quieter, so soft it could've been mistaken for a thought:

"...Would've pissed me off if she died before I figured her out."

—

The living room was way too expensive-looking for your taste. It had that unnerving "magazine aesthetic" all neutral tones, polished wood, ambient lighting, and couches that looked too soft to trust.

You stood in the doorway, feeling vaguely like an intruder in a mafia boss' vacation home. You weren't sure which of them decorated the place, but whoever it was had serious control issues and a Pinterest addiction.

Still, you stepped in, slowly, warily. Dressed in what was very obviously a borrowed hoodie and sweatpants that did not belong to you.

It hung awkwardly on your frame: hood heavy, sleeves too long. You didn't know who it belonged to, but if you had to guess...

You tugged at the hem of the hoodie. Baby, probably. It smelled like stupid expensive cologne and arrogance.

Your eyes swept the room. All five of them were there, lounging in strategic positions like they were posing for a concept photo shoot.

Romance was on the couch, legs crossed like a prince who'd seen too much and cared too little. Mystery leaned against the window frame, arms folded, unreadable.

Abby sat on the armrest, brows furrowed, chewing the inside of his cheek. Baby had his feet up on the table like he paid rent here. (He didn't.)

And Jinu, he was standing by the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed straight on you like he could see through your skin and into your skull.

You cleared your throat. The silence didn't move.

 "So." You looked around again. "...Who kidnapped me?"

Silence.

Abby exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Mystery blinked. Once.

Romance lifted his mug. "Nice to see you're alive."

Baby raised a brow. "That's your opening line?"

"It's a valid question!" You snapped, half-joking. Half not. "One minute I'm passing out in a fire, next minute I'm in luxury hell wearing someone else's clothes and still soup-less. What is this place?"

"Our house." Baby replied, unhelpfully.

You blinked then tilted your head. "You all live together?"

"It's not a home. It's a bribe." Mystery muttered. "Jinu was sick of hearing them whine."

"...Of course." You slowly nodded your head.

No one said anything. It was like they were expecting you to continue, and that you did.

You sighed, dragging your hands down your face. "Okay. Who carried me here? Who decided that 'almost-died-in-a-fire' me should be dropped in idol dorm deluxe instead of a hospital?"

They exchanged looks. Subtle. Measured. Complicated.

Then, finally, Jinu spoke.

"You collapsed." He said, tone flat but deliberate. "Abby carried you out."

Your gaze flicked toward Abby. His jaw was tight, but he didn't meet your eyes.

Jinu continued, "Hospitals ask questions. Paperwork. Witness statements. You weren't exactly in shape to talk. And your sketchbook was still fused to your hands like your life depended on it, so."

He raised a brow, looking directly at you after a little shrug.

"We brought you here."

You stared at him for a second longer. His voice was so calm, so reasonable, it made you want to punch him.

"But why here?" You asked again, incredulous. "We're not even close."

Baby hummed with a lazy gaze. "We noticed."

Romance took another sip of his drink. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Yes… thank you for that." You paused. Your eyes shifted, zeroing in on Abby, slowly, suspiciously. Like something about him was clicking, but not fully.

Like your brain was replaying a memory it didn't know what to do with. Those eyes in the smoke. That gleam. Gold. Vivid and...otherworldly.

Your brows pinched slightly. You tilted your head. Studied him. Not accusatory, not afraid. Just… curious. Fascinated, even.

"You..." You started, the words almost hesitant. "...Were the one who pulled me out?"

Abby stiffened under your gaze but he still kept an expression. "Yeah. So?"

You stared a second longer.

Those golden eyes. The smoke curling. The way the air around him shimmered like static. Like a scene from some fever dream or fantasy

Baby narrowed his eyes. "Why are you looking at him like that?"

You blinked. Realized just how long you'd been staring.

"No reason." You answered, though the memory from the fire flickered behind your eyes like static on a broken screen.

The eyes were mesmerizing but you were sure it didn't belonged to human. It was familiar. You were sure you saw it somewhere...

Just when you were sorting through you brain, an annoying voice disturbed you.

Baby tilted his head, arms still crossed.

"What," He blankly stared. "Did Abby's dramatic hero entrance impress you that much?" His tone was playful, but the look in his eyes wasn't.

"Next time, I'm pulling rank."

You look at him, unimpressed at first then confused the next second because what the fuck does that mean?

You don't bother to ask him because you know only nonsense will come out of that mouth of his.

You turn back to Abby.

He looked away. Fast. It was like your gaze had weighed too much. Like it reached some part of him he wasn't used to letting anyone touch.

Romance raised his brow. "She's never looked at me like that. I'm almost offended."

"It’s nothing." Abby's voice came low, brushing off everything with the kind of grumble people used to hide how flustered they were.

Which just made you stare again.

Because seriously. You saw something. You remembered something. But now he was back to normal. Just a smug, sharp-eyed pain in the ass. The golden light? Gone.

What the hell was that?

"You were... glowing." You muttered under your breath. Mostly to yourself.

Jinu stared, as if scanning your face. You don't notice because you were too focused on him. He's irritated again.

But he quickly cools himself because of your reactions. They seem...genuine. This really does make him question his suspicions of you.

And for some reason, he felt a little light just by the thought.

Which is why he spoke up in Abby's defense. "Yeah, well. That's Abby. Can't turn off his ego."

Laughter scattered from the others. Cheap. Casual. Like they were all in on some joke you didn't quite get.

Romance raised his glass again. "It's the lighting, sweetheart."

You didn't respond. Just nodded slowly. But the thought stayed.

They're hiding something.

And you were going to figure out what.

Mystery said nothing. His eyes were on you, sharp and unreadable, as if memorizing how you moved now that you were conscious again.

You inhaled, long and slow. The hoodie sleeves shifted against your arms, brushing the gauze. It stung a little.

Your eyes lowered.

"I know what you're all thinking." You said after a while. "You think I was an idiot for grabbing the bag."

Abby tensed.

You kept going. Quiet now. Calm in that way that came after too much adrenaline had already burned through you.

"But you don't get it. That is my life."

You gestured toward your bag, half-tucked behind you on the couch.

"My tablet, my sketchbook, everything's in there. The story I've been working on. The drafts. The dumb character charts. The references. My notes. I don't even back anything up."

You laughed softly, bitter and breathless. "I know it's dumb. But if I let all of that burn? It would've felt like I died in that fire too."

They didn't interrupt.

"I don't have family to replace those things. No friends I'd want to bother. No backup savings to fall on. I worked my ass off to afford that tablet. Took me years to even think I deserved it."

You looked at them now. Not hostile. Not tearful. Just tired.

"So if you think what I did was reckless," Gently, your lips curved upwards. "Yeah. It probably was."

You smiled, but it wasn't smug. Or embarrassed. Or shy.

It was something else entirely—soft, calm, and resigned, like someone who had long since made peace with the weight of their choices.

A smile that held no apologies. Only quiet resolve.

And for a moment, it stunned them all.

Jinu blinked. Because that smile—it wasn't like the one he saw that night, when you knew of his clumsy act of stumbling on those crates and called him, "The leader of losers".

Considering the sight, what he heard felt nothing close for him to be offended.

Because this? This one glowed.

It warmed like firelight. Cut through like sunlight. It settled somewhere low and unspoken in their chests, and none of them liked how that felt.

Maybe it was filtered through the haze of the moment. Maybe it was exhaustion.

Or maybe they were already far too gone to tell the difference.

Because even Baby didn't make a smart remark.

Romance looked away.

And Abby clenched his jaw.

"But I'd do it again." The words left your lips with a kind of calm that didn't need defending.

And for some reason that terrified them.

The silence that followed wasn't judgmental. It was quiet. Reflective. A strange heaviness that made the living room feel even more cavernous than before.

Baby, for once, didn't have a comeback.

Romance looked off to the side.

Mystery didn't move, but the edge in his posture softened just a bit.

Abby looked at you like he'd just swallowed his own words.

"...We didn't say it was stupid." He muttered, eyes now meeting yours as if he saying he means it.

You didn't respond.

Instead, you eased yourself down onto the couch, slow and stiff, like your joints were made of rusted metal. A groan slipped out. That was... out of the way, sort of.

Not exactly, since they still looked like they wanted to pry open that sketchbook and dig through it like some cursed relic.

Let them forget.

Silence settled over the room. Not tense, but not comfortable either. You shifted, uneasy. Were they not satisfied with what you said? Or did they still want to bring up the drawings?

Gasp. What if they already saw what's inside?

...Nah. If they did, they'd give it away by looking extra punchable. And knowing them, they'd bring up already since they acted like it'll end them if they didn't.

Or maybe, it was what you said that stuck with them. You frowned.

You put those thoughts aside when you felt like you were missing something else. Something much more important.

"...What time is it?" The words left you slowly, like you were denying reality just by speaking them aloud.

Baby glanced at his phone with the same expression someone had when checking stocks they knew were plummeting. "Almost six."

"In the morning?" You blinked then sat up a little straighter.

He gave you a look, and the others didn't even try to hide theirs.

"No." Baby replied flatly.

"Shit— work." You bolted upright. Regretted it instantly, though.

A sharp, "Ngh—" tore from your throat as pain shot up your arm—fast, hot, and blinding. Not from a new wound, but from how suddenly you moved. Muscles tensed. The cut screamed.

You instinctively gripped your forearm, the sting making your vision swim.

They all reacted to the sound.

But Mystery was at your side so fast it made you half-forget the pain. One hand hovered over your shoulder, the other steadying your wrist like you were made of glass. Carefully, gently, he guided you back into the couch.

Your breath came out shaky, but you carried on anyway, like your entire life hadn't just gone up in smoke.

"Oh god. I'm no longer late— I'm absent. I'm AWOL. My boss is going to kill me—"

"You were literally unconscious five hours ago." Jinu said flatly from his seat, eyeing the demon now hovering way too close beside you.

The glare didn't go unnoticed. Mystery merely tilted his head, cool and unreadable, but didn't move away.

"That doesn't mean I won't still get fired!" You said, gesturing wildly and immediately hissing in pain again.

"Do you want to collapse?" Baby spoke from the other couch, throwing a pillow at you—gently. "Sit down, idiot."

You shot him a look but slumped back anyway, defeated.

"Work." You muttered it like a prayer, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it might grant divine guidance. "If I'm not dead from the fire, I'll be dead from HR."

"Yeah, and?" Baby drawled without missing a beat. "Lazarus walked it off."

Romance whistled low. "She's really back."

Mystery turned to the others, his arm still over your shoulder. He finds himself not wanting to let go. "Do people always prioritize capitalism over survival?"

"No." Abby calmly replied. "Just the ones who've been traumatized into thinking rest is a luxury."

You ignored them. Or tried to. You were too busy scanning the room for your phone like it might magically reappear charged and full of good news. Spoiler: it didn't.

"I'll probably need to start looking for another job…" You blurt out the thought, though not that loud.

Everyone froze.

Even the air seemed to pause.

Then—

"Hold on," Jinu said, voice deceptively calm. "What do you mean, another job?"

You blinked. "I mean… my boss is probably pissed. I didn't even call in. I could be fired. Or put on probation. Or sent to hell." You paused to take in a breath. "Again."

"That's a lot of escalation." Romance muttered.

But you kept going, words speeding up the more you tried to reason your way out.

"Even if they're generous, I still can't afford to just sit here and recover. I don't have savings. Or family I can ask for help. Or a rich benefactor. And now that my place is gone, I have to work twice as hard. Triple. Quadruple. I'll need to take commissions. Maybe open up an online store. Maybe start teaching classes? Do you think I could do online tutoring?—"

You kept spiraling, your voice climbing with every frantic thought. You stood halfway, chest tight, brain moving faster than your body could follow—

And then a sharp, low "Stop." cut through the room like a blade.

You flinched, eyes landing on Mystery.

Still beside you on the couch, he didn't raise his voice or move much. One hand hovered near your wrist, like earlier, but his head had tilted again, hair casting shadows over his eyes.

Your mouth went agape before you slowly said, "I'm just thinking aloud—"

"Too loud." His voice was soft. Flat, yes, but not annoyed. Just... direct and true.

You slowly sank back into the cushion, frown tugging at your lips while your head moved to lay on Mystery's shoulder which he let you, happily.

"...You're switching jobs?" Baby asked, sitting up like you'd insulted his entire existence after eyeing his friend like Jinu.

"Why would you do that?" Abby's brows drew low, eyes sharp. Like your words were personally offensive.

Romance looked downright wounded, blinking slowly like you'd just told them you were abandoning them to join a rival band. "You're not serious."

"I'm dead serious." You answered quickly with a raised brow. "I can't freeload off you guys. I'm not even supposed to be here."

You gestured vaguely at the lavish living room, then down at yourself—dressed in someone else's oversized hoodie and sweatpants, your bag clutched like a life preserver.

Jinu, sprawled on the opposite couch, let out a low scoff which was barely audible, but sharp.

"Your building went up in flames." His voice was casual, but the sarcasm in it cut clean. "Forgive us for not letting you burn to a crisp."

You looked at him as if you were stabbed. "You didn't even do the rescuing."

His smile twitched, less amused, more insulted. "Right, because delegating life-saving doesn't count when the damsel doesn't remember it properly."

You scoffed, offended at being called a 'damsel'. "Oh, please. Delegating? You mean standing around and bossing people like you’re allergic to actual labor?"

Jinu huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "Someone has to coordinate things."

"Uh-huh," You drawled. "Just like how someone had to 'coordinate' me carrying three crates of stage props alone when it was only my second day at work while you stood by the fan with an iced Americano."

He squinted, clearly remembering. "First of all, it was hot. Second, I said you could take two trips."

You gasped. "You offered me suffering."

"You needed the cardio!"

"And you need a new personality."

Someone (probably Romance) muttered, "This is getting weirdly domestic."

Baby shrugged. "It's still funny." Yeah, he's rooting for you to roast Jinu's ass.

Neither of you heard them.

"Glad to know you’re feeling well enough to throw insults." He said flatly.

You glared at him. "Glad to know you're still allergic to gratitude."

He looked like he was about to retort, jaw tightening—but then he caught himself. A beat of silence passed before he muttered under his breath, almost too low to catch, "Next time I'll make sure I’m the one carrying you out of the wreckage."

He looked away like he hadn't meant to say that part out loud.

...

Was he... sulking?

You stared. Then, slowly, turned your head toward Baby as you felt like recalling something.

"Next time, I'm pulling rank."

You shot them a weird look "...What is it with you guys and your weird fantasy rescue scenarios?"

You went silent as realization came to you. It was comical, funny, and the other not really. "Wait—are you competing over who gets to save me next?"

Baby said too fast. "No."

And Jinu synched with him. "Obviously not."

Romance didn't even pretend. "…You kinda are."

Abby just raised a brow, watching like this was a circus and you were the prize at the center ring.

Beside you, Mystery just shrugged.

You blinked at all of them, deeply disturbed. "Okay. That's it. You're all insane. Did I hit my head or accidentally join a cult?"

Baby snorted, but the blush on his ears gave him away.

Jinu clicked his tongue. The blush creeping up his neck didn't help his case either.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, it hit you: They weren't just being weird. They were mad. Maybe even… jealous?

You stared harder.

...

Nah. Couldn't be. Right?

Before whatever thoughts could cross your mind, Jinu cleared his throat. "We called in."

You blinked. "?"

Romance leaned back on the couch, balancing a mug in one hand like a drama queen. "Told them you were in a fire. Big one. Medical leave. Emergency protocol. Whole song and dance."

You eyed him suspiciously yet at the same time hopeful. "And they believed you?"

"You were in a fire." Abby said dryly. "Not exactly a stretch."

"They said something about 'a blessing in disguise,'" Romance added with a wave of his mug. "Then gave you a week off."

Your brain short-circuited. "A week?"

"Paid." Jinu said, smug as hell. It's like he truly understands you despite only knowing you for days. "You're welcome."

You sat there in stunned silence, blinking like someone just told you your debt was forgiven and also here's a free puppy.

You stared. "Paid…as in money?"

"What other kind is there?" Baby deadpanned.

You slumped back against the couch so fast it looked rehearsed. "I take it back. I do believe in miracles."

Romance said, cool as ever. "You were starting to look tragic. Not hot-tragic. Just tragic. We couldn't allow that."

You shot him a weak glare but couldn't even bring yourself to argue. You were tired. Sore. Mentally cooked. But hey—money.

...And then it hit you again.

You sat up slowly, glancing at your bag on the table. "...I should call my friend. Maybe I can crash at her place until I figure things out."

You reached for your phone— still dead.

"Charger?" You asked hopefully, eyes scanning the guys like maybe one of them would toss you one like a lifeline.

There was a beat.

Baby stretched his arms above his head. "Oh no. I forgot. I have to rehearse."

"Same." Romance nodded solemnly. "Gotta polish my high note."

"I left my charger at the other mansion." Abby said smoothly that it somewhat brought irritation out of you.

Mystery stood up and walked away from you. "Mine's broken."

You turned to Jinu, your last hope. The smug one. The one who probably had a drawer full of tech accessories for aesthetic reasons alone.

"No, you can't have it." He tilted his head with a lazy smile, like you'd just asked him for a kiss on national television. "Mine's here. I just don't feel like sharing."

You stared. "Are you serious?"

"As the fire that almost barbecued you," He said with a slow blink. "Tragic, really. If only someone had... oh, I don't know—saved your charger too."

Insufferable. Certified king of the losers. Crown him already.

You squinted. "Are you— are you actually blaming me for not packing electronics before fleeing a burning building?"

He shrugged. He's not angry about that, okay? He's just… helping with your mood. That's all.

Not still dwelling on how Abby stepped out of the fire with you in his arms as smoke curled behind him like some kind of movie scene, your limp body soot-stained and half-gone, but still clinging to that damn sketchbook like it was more vital than oxygen.

And he's definitely not thinking about how your fingers refused to let go, even unconscious. Or how he stood there, frozen for a second too long, just staring at it.

At you.

Wondering what the hell could be so important you'd rather burn than leave it behind.

"I'm just saying," He said, a little too casually, "your priorities were a little dramatic."

You let out a slow, murderous inhale. "You are the worst."

He waved his forefinger. "Incorrect. I'm top tier. The charger, however, is in a drawer. All alone. Wondering if you really need it... or if this is just an elaborate excuse to flee."

Your mouth fell open. "It's a phone charger, not an interrogation!"

He grinned wider, propping his chin on his knuckles. "Maybe. But you're awfully desperate for a getaway device."

You glared. Hard. In your head, you were already drop-kicking Jinu into a volcano.

"I hate you." You muttered under your breath. Loud enough to not be subtle, but quiet enough to not be technically rude.

"Hmm?" Jinu tilted his head like a smug cat. "Did you say something, sweetheart?"

You narrowed your eyes and pointed a damning finger at all of them. "You're all full of shit."

No one even flinched.

You turned to your bag with the intensity of a woman about to stage a coup. Maybe, hopefully, the charger would magically appear in there.

Maybe there would be hope. Sanity. A single, blessed cord to rescue you from this absurd, testosterone-fueled fever dream.

You opened it.

Nada.

Just the same things you already saw, oh, there's something new: Your fried nerves, and your will to live hanging by a thread!

You slumped back with a groan, muttering through clenched teeth, "I stopped believing in real magic years ago."

You grumbled louder this time, bordering on feral. "This is not a manhwa. This is a hostage situation in Gucci sweatpants."

There was a beat of silence.

"Five grown-ass men," You snapped, flinging your arms wide. A mistake, really. "And not ONE charger? WOW."

Unbeknownst to you, who's now sitting defeatedly and dejectedly on the couch from the boys pov, they were speaking amongst themselves.

Romance was the first to hum thoughtfully. "Of course, I agree. If she lives with us, it'll be much easier to keep watch." He paused, his grin growing. "And you know... the challenge."

"The what now?" Jinu asked, arms crossed, one brow lifting. It feels like he's already heard of that before.

"Getting that reaction out of her. You know the one. The flustered, wide-eyed, blushing mess." Romance practically purred. "It'll be cute. I might walk out shirtless tomorrow."

"Abby already does that." Baby deadpanned without looking up, tone neutral but eyes sharp. It should've ended there, but no—he was already planning something, judging by the quiet smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. Demon things. Whatever.

"Then I'll forget pants."

Abby gave him a side glance. The kind that said I'm thinking about committing a crime.

"Kidding." Romance said with a one-shouldered shrug and a wink.

...Was he?

Jinu rolled his eyes like it was his full-time job. "Can we focus for ten seconds without someone threatening public indecency?"

No one answered.

Of course they didn’t.

He sighed heavily, an eldest sibling with feral triplets kind of sigh, and dragged a hand down his face before continuing, "Look. She's injured. Her place is gone. Not to mention, still suspicious as hell—"

"She's always suspicious." Baby chimed in.

"Exactly." Jinu snapped his fingers, pointing like that somehow made his point divine law. "So we throw her off. Play it smart. Show generosity. Then... offer the deal."

He looked up, somewhat proud of the idea he thought of. "She stays. Temporarily."

Behind the practiced nonchalance, something in Jinu's voice barely wavered. Just slightly. Like he was already preparing for her to say no, and hated the thought more than he wanted to admit.

Because yeah, she was suspicious. She was also stubborn. Hard to read. Even harder to keep still.

And yet, the charger incident said everything he didn't want to say out loud. How they all moved at once. Like a hive mind with one target. She'd become... something. A presence. A part of the routine. Something their world started to adjust around without realizing.

Jinu knew the others felt it too. He wasn't just saying stay for convenience.

Even if that's what he'd tell himself later.

You looked up just then, narrowing your eyes. "...What was that tone?"

"You can stay with us," Jinu repeated, cool and casual. "Temporarily."

You stared like he'd just offered to sell a haunted house. "Why?"

"Because your building's ash, and this one isn't." He shrugged. "Unless you'd rather camp out on the sidewalk, this is your best option."

Your arms crossed instinctively—ow. You hid the wince, kept the poker face all while considering his words. Half. "That sounds suspiciously like the start of a trap."

"If it was a trap, you'd already be caught." Abby muttered from across the room.

Your head whipped around. "...What?"

He blinked, expression unreadable. "What?"

You looked around at all of them. You consider all their actions suspicious. "Okay. But like. What's the catch?"

"Sketchbook." Jinu answered smoothly with a smirk.

Your entire expression changed. "What about it?"

"You give us access." He said, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket with all the casual smugness of a demon dealing contracts. "Part of the payment."

You opened your mouth but close it. You processed what the hell was happening for a brief second. "You want money and my drawings?"

"Who said anything about money?" Jinu blinked as if that thought never crossed his mind but he continued to play it cool.

You gawked. "That's not payment. That's artistic blackmail."

"We're offering free rent, home-cooked meals, and around-the-clock bodyguard service," Romance said with a wink. "That's at least a subscription tier."

You glared at mister suave. "Soup isn't currency!"

"Tell that to the cavemen." He deadpanned with a shrug.

You turned toward the others, narrowing your eyes for the nth time. "Did any of you even sneak a peek while I was unconscious?”

Silence. 

Oh. Your instincts failed you—

"No." Abby said firmly, straight-backed like he'd never been tempted.

Romance tilted his head. "Maybe."

"I tried," Baby admitted without shame. "But your demon guard dog wouldn't let us."

You blinked, genuinely confused. "My what—?"

"Mystery." Baby pointed lazily toward the dark figure. "He's been growling at the bag every time we got close."

You turned to Mystery, who sat calmly at the edge of the room, hair still obscuring most of his face. He blinked. Shrugged like the world's most aloof cryptid.

You stared. Then, against your better judgment, you smiled. Wide and amused.

"Aww. Good boy." You cooed, reaching up and giving his hair a few appreciative ruffles like he was a damn golden retriever.

Mystery didn't move. But he paused. And then you swore you saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Was he... pleased with this?

You couldn't tell. But one thing was certain, you were liking him more than ever. He'd guarded your sketchbook like a hellhound with a personal vendetta, and honestly? That kind of loyalty hit all the right spots.

Abby blinked and so did the others.

"...I'm the one who saved you," He said, voice flat but clearly wounded, "and all I got was a thank you?"

You didn't even look at him right away. You were still petting Mystery. Beaming. Radiating pure joy like you'd just been handed a puppy and a raise.

"Thanks, Abby." You said sweetly, eyes still glued to the former beside you like he'd just earned himself Best Boy of the Year.

"No." Abby walked over in two long strides, looking thoroughly betrayed. "Too late. You pet the cryptid and gave him heart-eyes. I'm offended now."

You couldn't help it. You burst out laughing.

"But he's a very good cryptid." You turned to Mystery again, ruffling his hair with the same reverence one might give a sacred beast. "Aren't you, baby?"

Mystery didn’t respond. But his eyes softened, and his posture shifted like he didn't quite know what to do with the praise. His ears might've even turned pink again.

Baby blinked. Then slowly turned his head toward Mystery, deadpan.

"Baby?" His expression didn't shift, but the silence that followed was... threatening. Both Jinu and Romance glanced at him.

Oh, he'd remember this. Deliberately ignored and name-stolen? Unbelievable. Unforgivable.

Meanwhile, Abby stood stiff behind you, staring like he'd just witnessed a robbery. Before you could register what was happening, you felt the air shift.

Abby moved behind the couch. The warmth of his presence hit first, then—

"All right," His voice dipped low. "Let's get you back to your room, babe."

"What room—" You barely got the words out before he scooped you and your bag into his arms like it was nothing.

You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape. "...I can walk, you know."

"I know," Abby smirked, adjusting his hold easily. "But isn’t it nice to be in my arms?"

God help you—it was.

He smelled like danger and expensive cologne, the kind with top notes of sin and bankruptcy. His grip was steady, almost annoyingly so. Your head hit his shoulder and stayed there, too tired to argue. Too comfortable to move.

Being carried like this made you feel like royalty. A very exhausted, emotionally overwhelmed, hoodie-wearing queen.

As you were relishing in the feeling, you realized something. "Didn't you try to carry me yesterday, too?"

Abby chuckled. The smile he shot down at you was unfairly soft. "Don’t ruin the moment."

The others watched silently. Well. Mostly.

Mystery tilted his head. His eyes narrowed. He looked like he was doing the mental math on how fast he could sprint across the room and lift you without pulling a hamstring.

Romance, still holding his bowl of soup like it was fine wine, sighed and rose. "Fine. I'll reheat the soup. Again. Maybe this time I'll get head pats too."

Jinu muttered something under his breath that sounded like "disgusting favoritism," followed by a scowl so intense it might've set your sketchbook on fire inside that bag with sheer hatred.

He's starting to hate it despite his original goals.

And Baby? He just snorted. "You're all embarrassing."

But he didn't leave.

He stayed leaning on the armrest like a statue, eyes half-lidded but watchful, the way a predator watches prey they're too fond of to eat. Yet.

—

When Abby finally reached your room and set you down onto the plush sheets, you sighed. Not just from the physical relief, but something else too—something warmer. Softer.

Your body still ached. You were still tired. But for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart felt... steady.

You looked up at him. And before he could open his mouth and say something obnoxious like "You're falling for me already, huh?"—you beat him to it.

"Thanks again, Abby."

He blinked.

Oh. So you could be soft.

He smiled, and this one wasn't cocky. It was almost gentle.

"You're welcome, princess."

You blinked.

The word landed tenderly, too easily, like it wasn't meant to shake you, and that's exactly why it did.

Princess.

Your brain short-circuited.

What was this? A manhwa? Why did it sound like something the male lead says right before he realizes he's falling?

First it was Mystery, now him.

You hated how your heart stuttered at them. Absolutely hated it.

Still, before he could gloat, or smirk, or do something stupid like offer to tuck you in like some smug human-shaped menace, you sat up quick, deflect, dodge, and reached into your bag.

You pulled out the sketchbook.

Abby blinked. He looked from the book, to you, then back again. He wasn't grinning now—just watching.

"Considering you did save me and..." You averted your eyes, feeling strangely warm. "You guys offered to let me stay."

"So you're saying yes?" His voice came too quick, too eager. There was something under it—something a little breathless.

You peeked at him, narrowing your eyes just enough to mask the heat in your face. "...Are you more excited about that than the sketchbook?"

Abby didn't answer.

Which meant yes.

And you hated how cute that was. Not the answer. Him. You hated that the corners of your mouth were twitching and your heart did that annoying little jump.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. His smirk returned, but it was slow. Soft. Not cocky, just pleased.

You shoved the sketchbook into his hands like it was a bribe to shut him up. "Advance payment. That's all."

"Mm." He accepted it, brushing your fingers on purpose. "You're blushing."

You deadpan an expression. It's a skill at this point. "I'm tired."

He chuckled. "You're cute."

"I'm choosing to ignore that."

"You just thanked me."

You glare at him. Were you trying to be defensive or protecting your dignity? Perhaps both or you're too flustered inside to think straight. "I was being polite."

He smiled, and this one wasn't smug. It was… gentle. Soft enough to hurt. "You're welcome, princess."

You were losing. And your face is heating up again but before you'd let him see a glimpse, over your weaking dignity, you yawned then curled under the blanket.

Tomorrow feels tiring, you just know it. You'd hear chaos. Maybe Jinu would lose his mind. Maybe Romance would cry over one of the doodles. Maybe Baby would leak one page just to be petty.

But right now? You were too warm. Too tired and too spiteful to care.

Abby lingered at your bedside a moment longer.

And just when you thought he'd leave in silence, his voice dropped—quiet and deliberate, like it wasn't meant to be heard, but he needed you to.

"Don't bother running, princess."

His voice was a whisper, soft as a sigh, but the weight behind it pressed down like a promise.

"You're not getting away from us."

There was no edge in it. No threat. Just a simple, terrifying truth—delivered with the calm certainty of someone who’d already decided what mattered.

Your breath hitched. "...The hell does that mean?"

But Abby was already turning, walking toward the door like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say something that made your whole brain short-circuit.

"Sleep well." He tossed over his shoulder, a smirk in his voice.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you lay there blinking, heart loud in your ears, wondering if you should be terrified…

…or maybe just a little thrilled.

For the plot.

[salmonmakiii]

hi!!! i read god!phainon fic a solid three times. i'm chronically, terminally, unequivocally obsessed with the way you write. it's been so refreshing amid this patch which is... raw pain. however, possibly bc i'm conditioned to pain, i've thought that wifey is a mortal... so... basically phaichan has but a blink of an eye together with her... what's 50 years to him? but i was thinking of a fluffy and potentially comedic resolution to all this, and wondered if they just were their lovey dovey selves and with time (say, around 20 or 30 years into their marriage), mrs. khaslana noticed she doesn't age in comparison to her old classmates, her cousins, even her atlas looks older than her. and then she realizes that her hubby's "divinity" rubbed off on her... phaichan probably fumbling bc he neglected to mention that a god's presence tends to 'rub off' on mortals that spend a lot of time with them - maybe the temple priests have unusually long lives too, but obviously, not to such an extent as his beloved, as they are just that close and intimate, as a married couple should be.

- peachy anon 🍑🧡

Okay, since Peachy anon 🍑 and other anon's questions are similar, I hope you all don't mind if I answer them together in a post ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Also, I'm really impressed that y'all are so smart with these asks?? like I didn't even thought of that???? So as a thanks for fueling my brain juice, here's a drabble for it!

I tried so hard for it not to be too angsty and more fluffy. But really, how does one make the immortality theme 'fluffy'????? I hope it was to y'all's expectations huhu ಥ‿ಥ

Again, I am referring to this fic!

Wc: 2.1k+

Cw: Mentions of sex, mentions of death, kind of angst?? MDNI!!!!!

Now, you and Phainon had... well... done a lot of intercourse- Oh, what the hell, we're all adults here - SEX, you've had SEX lots of times.

At first, it was nothing.

The temple priests would mention, in quiet pleasantries, that you had begun to glow in the mornings. A soft, golden sheen clung to your skin like morning dew clings to grass— barely visible to the naked eye, but to priests trained to read omens and divine signs, it was unmistakable. 

They said nothing outright, of course. Just subtle murmurs,

“Such radiance, even before morning prayers.”

“Lord Khaslana must be treating you very well.”

You brushed it off. Maybe it was just the afterglow of last night’s intimate session. Gods, he was affectionate, wasn’t he? Intimate moments with him often left you breathless and glowing in more ways than one. You didn’t think much of it. 

Well… until you started to notice the other things.

The love marks Phainon left, the ones you tried so hard to hide with shawls and powder, began to fade. Too quickly.

You’d wake with fresh ones, only to find them already disappearing by noon. A few hours at most. Even when you knew they were raw that morning. 

At first, you assumed Phainon was healing you in your sleep. Maybe it was just his way of doting on you, sparing you the discomfort. But soon, the phenomenon grew stranger.

Scars from childhood, a sign of your triumphant tree and wall climbing, were gone. Entirely! As if they had never existed at all. 

You didn’t get blemishes anymore, even if you were out in the sun for too long. You didn’t have eyebags after sleepless nights. Your skin remained unblemished, your body never sore, your energy strangely boundless (even after rounds of intimacy with Phainon, and you know you don’t usually last after round two).

Then years passed.

You were still young, but others weren’t. Friends begin to subtly shift as their faces grew rounder, some even sharper. Wrinkles crept in at the corners of their eyes and the edges of their mouths. Their laughter sounded the same, but their smiles were aging. 

And you… weren’t.

You still looked like the girl who arrived at the temple years ago. Your reflection hadn’t changed, and it wasn’t just your imagination.

Even Atlas, who was once clearly younger than you, now looked your age when you stood beside him. Time was grazing the world around you, but it was skipping you entirely. 

You wanted to deny it. Chalk it up to a trick of the light. Good fortune. Healthy living. Anything but the obvious.

Is being with Phainon… changing me?

The question haunted you, ghosted behind your lips every time you looked in the mirror.

You were going to ask him tonight.

But first, dinner. A long, filling meal in the temple dining hall left you comfortably full and just a little sleepy. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your limbs with a soft sigh. The thought of walking all the way back to your chambers felt… effortful.

Still, you stood, pushing back the chair, only for the world beneath your feet to suddenly vanish.

A rush of wind.

Weightlessness.

Then solid ground again.

You blinked, heart racing, when you noticed that you were in your chambers.

No footsteps. No corridor. No time passed between standing up and standing here. Your fingers curled in on instinct. The air shimmered faintly around you, sparkling with gold, like the aftershock of a spell just cast.

And sitting across the room was Phainon. He looked up from a book, startled, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Did… did you just—?” he began, slowly placing the book down.

“I–I was going to ask you that!” you stammered, breath catching. “I thought you teleported me here!”

Phainon stood quickly and crossed the room in just a few strides, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. His hands reached for you with reverence, like you might break under his touch. He cupped your face, brushed his fingers along your arms, checking you for any signs of harm or tampering.

You saw it then—the golden flickers still dancing along your skin. The shimmering residue of magic. His magic.

His frown deepened.

“I didn’t teleport you,” he murmured. “But this—” his fingers hovered just above your shoulder, where the light hadn’t yet faded, “this is my power. My exact signature.”

He stepped back, gaze locked on you as if seeing something for the first time.

He decided to ask Anaxagoras about this. 

The next day, you and Phainon journeyed to the Grove of Epiphany to visit the God of Reason, Anaxagoras. And today, Phainon carried a question that had quietly begun to terrify him.

Anaxagoras was already waiting, sitting atop his living throne—an immense, gnarled structure of divine wood and woven time, rooted deep into the heart of the grove. His form was human enough to comprehend, but his presence still felt divine.

“I heard you wanted to speak on something urgent,” Anaxagoras said dryly.

Phainon didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and uttered the question that had haunted him since last night.

And the vein on Anaxagoras’s temple visibly popped.

“Khaslana, you absolute fool!” Anaxagoras barked, leaping from his throne so abruptly that the branches shuddered in response. “If you were my subject, I’d have struck you down with my gun!”

You blinked.

Phainon blinked harder.

“Could you explain it first and threaten me later?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Anaxagoras growled under his breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you’re not going to like the answer.”

He looked at you briefly, then gestured for Phainon to come closer.

“It’s your own doing,” he said. “Your powers, to be specific. Or in this case—your bodily fluids.” He shot Phainon a glare. “You’ve consummated the marriage, haven’t you?”

Phainon flushed, eyes darting away. “I mean… yes. A lot of times–”

Before he could say more, Anaxagoras reached out and flicked him hard on the forehead. The sound was crisp. “I do not need to hear details of that!”

You tried not to laugh. Truly, you did. You’d heard tales of how the gods interacted—centuries of shared chaos, rivalries, ridiculous escapades—but witnessing it firsthand was still surreal. The god of reason, flicking the god of worldbearing like a misbehaving child.

Then Anaxagoras turned to you.

Even in his mortal guise, he was intimidating.

But his voice, when he addressed you, was unexpectedly kind.

“I genuinely feel sorry for you,” he said. “Married to this fool.”

You blinked, unsure whether to thank him or agree.

Phainon groaned behind you. “You’re really not helping.”

“Let me be clear,” Anaxagoras said, turning back. “Our bodies—our fluids—aren’t like humans’. Ichor, divine essence, even our breath carries remnants of power. When exposed through repeated, intimate contact,” he emphasized, “it begins to leave a mark.”

Phainon’s brow furrowed. “So this is my fault?”

“Yes,” Anaxagoras said flatly. “Absolutely.”

“Will there be… side effects?” he asked, now more anxious than indignant.

Anaxagoras shrugged. “If you count slowed aging, accelerated healing, and a growing resistance to mortal harm as side effects, then yes. But she’s not immortal, Khaslana. Not truly. She’s just… out of sync with human time now.”

You had mixed feelings about this revelation, of course. But Phainon, knowing the pain all too well, would always comfort you whenever you had doubts. He felt sorry too, seeing as this was all because of him. But you reassured him, saying that you could be with him longer. He sighed, shaking his head. He knew you were just trying to put up a front, but he’ll play along with you. Talking about the things the two of you could now do with your extended time.

Now, talking about being mortal to divinity. Maybe at some point in your relationship, seeing as you are now aging differently, you might as well ask how to become an immortal like him. 

When you asked the question, Phainon’s smile faltered.

He didn’t answer at first. His lips parting before closing again. He looked away, as if trying to search for a gentler version of the truth.

“It’s not easy,” He said at last. “Becoming a god… means dying first.”

His voice trembled in ways you’d never heard before—not with fear, but love, tangled with the fear of losing it.

Immortality wasn’t something that could simply be gifted. It had to be earned, endured. Ascension wasn’t just glory; it was transformation. And death would be your final offering.

The ritual was ancient. It required the counsel of Castorice, goddess of death, and the consent of the other gods. 

And when approval was finally granted, he returned to you with a heavy heart and a golden chalice cradled in his hands.

The ritual took place in the Vortex of Genesis as you stood at the center of a magical circle, painted with Phainon’s golden blood.

The air shimmered, thick with power, and the light bent around your body like it already recognized your soul’s changing shape.

You stood there barefoot, wrapped in white, the chalice of ambrosia trembling in your hands.

Phainon stood behind you, arms encircling your waist, his face pressed gently into your neck. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, “not for me.”

But you turned to him with a steady gaze. “I’m doing this with you.”

And so you drank. The special ambrosia burned.

It wasn’t a drink—it was fire, a star condensed into liquid. It lit every vein in your body until you collapsed, convulsing, gasping as the pain overtook you. Your hands clawed at the air, and Phainon was there, pulling you into his lap, cradling you like something fragile and sacred.

“It hurts — Phainon, it hurts—!”

“I know,” He sobbed. “I know, I’m here— I’ve got you.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, and your hands. His tears evaporating everytime it touched your skin.

You screamed. Your body arched. And then—silence.

Phainon stared at your lifeless body, waiting nervously. Then, the circle glowed along with your body. 

Golden veins of light threaded through your skin, pulsing with divine rhythm. The hollows of your cheeks flushed with new life. Your breathing returned—slow, serene. You opened your eyes.

And though you were no longer mortal, your eyes were still human. Still you.

Warm. Alive.

Phainon exhaled with relief, tears still falling. He cupped your face, awestruck. “Welcome back,” He whispered, “Welcome home, my love.”

Then he kissed you, not with desperation, but reverence. 

After your ascension, Phainon chose to remain with you in Okhema.

He didn’t want you to make the same mistakes he had made.

For centuries, Khaslana had drifted through the divine currents of existence—distant, worshipped, untouchable. The god of worldbearing had carried the weight of creation across his back, but never the soft weight of a shared breath, or a mortal hand clasped in his own. He was praised by cities, prayed to by kings, but he had long since forgotten how to feel like one of them.

And over time, without even realizing it, he had let that distance hollow him out.

The more he watched from afar, the more he became something unfeeling. Something vast, and cold, and unreachable. He had thought it was the price of divinity—this quiet decay of empathy, this numbness that settled like frost across his soul.

But then you came.

And through you, your laughter, your mortal worries, your stubbornness, your warmth— he remembered. 

What it was to ache. 

To hope. 

To want. 

You brought color back to a god dulled by centuries of stillness. You touched him, and the world moved again.

Where once your relationship with Khaslana had been veiled in secrecy, now there was no more need to hide. You and Phainon walked openly through Okhema, your divine presence no longer a rumor, but a truth the people embraced. Hand in hand, you moved through the markets and narrow streets.

Your friends wept when they saw you. Some knelt. Others reached out to touch your hands, to make sure you were real. Your family embraced you with a kind of joy so deep it broke into grief.

And Atlas? He wept the most.

“Are you… Still you?”

You hugged him tightly. “I am,” you promised. “I will always be your sister.”

You and Phainon often returned to Okhema, walking through the markets, tending to the sick, healing when you could. Your powers were still new, still growing—but you used them with care, and with humility.

Just as Khaslana was the God of Worldbearing, to the people, you were now the Goddess of Humanity.

A goddess who still walked among her people, not above them, but beside them.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[thatonegrimm]

How about a ai hoshino! reader from oshi no ko

She just as famous as the saja boys, and huntrix,

little idea that I came up with her dark eyes, her reflection of her demon powers, and she only feeds off the energy of the crowd instead of actually taking souls.

Basically, she takes the energy of the adrenaline within their souls. She doesn’t actually take them or eat them, but she feeds them like it���s energy and can actually taste them. It doesn’t really affect any of her fans. They just feel really drained and drowsy.

I got this inspiration by idol yoasobi

Literally, “your idol” and “idol” are kind of the same with the same beginnings and enchanting and all sorts of things, but when I was watching the video, I saw her kind of changed to a dark outfit version and I kind of thought

why not make her have a demon form because it would fit her And her eyes could shift a black eyes when she goes into a demon form which makes her unique

Basically, I just think both of the idol songs one from my movie. One from a anime show are kind of the same but this is basically what I want. I want them to meet the famous who is a half demon just like Rumi but she embraces her demon side. She still grows up with the same backstory, but she kind of embrace it when she sings her songs.

I could go on forever, but this would probably take too long to read so

Please do consider this as a future possibility if you cannot write it and thank you for taking the time to even read this and you can totally come up with how the boys would initially react to her whether or not the type is boyfriend girlfriend, etc. you come up with what they should be doing

 Thanks for your request! I hope it meets your expectations. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x ai hoshino!Reader

---------------------------

They call her a goddess onstage. A monster off it.

A half-demon idol with eyes darker than shadows and a smile bright enough to blind, she doesn’t take souls—she drinks the adrenaline right out of a crowd's chest.

Her voice wraps around people like silk. Her gaze holds like gravity. When she sings, her audience leaves not broken… but drained. Lightheaded. Emotionally spent. Like something inside them bloomed too fast and burned out.

But they always come back.

Because what she gives in return is unforgettable.

She doesn’t hide her demon half. She doesn't flinch from it. She performs with it. Becomes it. Every note, every move, every carefully crafted look down the bridge of her nose is a love letter to the chaos she was born from.

She isn’t cursed.

She’s chosen.

And now, she’s famous enough to stand next to the Saja Boys. Maybe even outshine them.

-----------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu read your profile like he was preparing for a mission.

Stage clips, interviews, social media—all mental notes about power, presence, and possible risks.

Then he saw you in person during rehearsal, bathed in crimson light, eyelids heavy like you were carrying some secret pain.

And every plan he made evaporated.

“You… resonate strangely,” he said later, standing awkwardly outside your dressing room.

You tilted your head, eyes sharp.

“You’re the kind who tries to fix everyone,” you said softly. “I can taste that exhaustion.”

He blinked.

You smiled—soft but knowing.

Jinu cleared his throat and excused himself.

Later, he told the others, “It’s strategic to observe her from a distance.”

No one bought it.

-----------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby didn’t hesitate to approach you.

He shook your hand like you were old friends, eyes bright.

“Hey! You were incredible! That note? Felt it in my bones. You okay though? That kind of energy—do you need water?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how genuine he was.

“You’re… not intimidated?”

He grinned. “Why would I be? You’re strong. Cool, too. Also, your eyeliner? Perfect. Waterproof?”

You didn’t feed off fear, but Abby’s loyalty tasted like warm cinnamon and comfort.

He saved your signed photo in his phone, calling it “battle inspiration.”

He meant it.

-----------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery stood still the first time he saw you.

Backstage, you hummed softly in the shadows without looking up.

“You’re the one who stalks in shadows,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

You smiled faintly.

“Your aura folds. I like that.”

His eyes narrowed, one hand twitching like it reached for a hidden blade.

You brushed past him, close enough to feel the cold.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

“You don’t have to,” he murmured.

The air stayed cold after you left.

Later, you found a folded page in your makeup case—a poem in precise, strange script, unsigned:

“I saw you burn, and I stayed.”

You kept it.

-----------------------

💋 Romance

Romance met you at an industry showcase and decided it was fate.

You didn’t meet his gaze.

You didn’t have to.

On stage, you were both promise and threat, and he stared, mesmerized.

Later, at the bar, he cornered you with a flute and a grin that could wreck worlds.

“If you weren’t real, I’d have to invent you.”

You looked him over slowly.

“If you invented me, I’d still leave you on read.”

He nearly laughed. Not offended—delighted.

“I hope you do.”

The next day, he rewrote the bridge of a song just because your name rhymed with something interesting.

He calls you “his muse with fangs.”

Everyone else calls it a problem.

-----------------------

🔥 Baby

Baby watched your comeback from the wings, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Your voice wasn’t loud or flashy.

But you held the crowd in a chokehold.

He could feel their energy flow toward you like flipping a switch.

“She’s doing something,” he muttered.

No one listened.

Later, you passed him in the hallway, eyes drifting over him—lazy, curious.

“You run hot,” you said.

He didn’t blink.

“You should see me focused.”

You smirked. He didn’t.

But his ears flushed red.

The next time he trained, he snapped a sparring dummy in half.

Jinu said nothing. Just nodded.

Baby never flirted.

He never flinched.

But he never missed your live streams.

-----------------------

M-List

[littlemissforgetfulwrites]

reckless walking

summary; f1 drivers when he's trying to walk you into your apartment after you got married and accidentally hits your head or knocks something over

pairing(s)/drivers; charles leclerc, lando norris, carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo, liam lawson, oscar piastri

˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿⋆·˚❀˚˚·⋆✿˚

charles leclerc

❀ by the time you two get back to your apartment its late and the only lights left on in the city are the street lights 

❀ you guys can’t stop giggling in the elevator

❀ mainly cause you had been drinking and because you two had just gotten married

❀ picks you up randomly when you’re walking to your front door

❀ ‘i love you’ ‘i love you too, you’re my favorite husband’ ‘you have more than one husband’

❀ he gets too distracted and literally walks you into the doorframe and then drops you

❀ falls on the ground next to you

❀ ‘are you ok-‘ ‘you’re no longer my favorite husband’ ‘BABY NO’

lando norris

❀ he's probably already drunk on cheap champange

❀ basically stumbling into your apartment complex and insisting on carrying you into your apartment bridal style

❀ ‘lando honey, i don’t think that’s a good idea… you nearly finished an entire body of champagne’ ‘no i didn’t’ ‘i have photos’ ‘NO’

❀ giving in because he keeps whining

❀ nearly drops you when he tries to get his keys out of his pocket

❀ ‘whoops’

❀ when you finally open the door you think you can relax but then you hear it

❀ lando’s drunk ass walked your legs right into the the new vase of roses he got for you

❀ you both watch in horror as the pink glass vase breaks into a million little pieces

❀ ‘whoops’ he says again as he throws you onto the bed

carlos sainz

❀ this man would be too happy

❀ evilly laughing like a maniac as he holds your hand tighter and walks into the apartment complex 

❀ ‘carlos what’s wrong with you?’ ‘nothing my love’ 

❀ mutters something in spanish while looking at you with some sexy look in his eye

❀ you just decide to blame it on the champagne

❀ immediately take you off your feet when the elevator doors open

❀ starts strutting towards your front door while trying to kiss you

❀ does not work out cause when you take out your key he walks right into the door and you smack your head when you look up

❀ ‘CARLOS’ ‘i was blinded by your beauty’ ‘just put me down’ ‘yes amour, i’m sorry…’

daniel ricciardo

❀ i’m not gonna lie you guys probably got married at some chapel in texas

❀ ‘baby how do you feel about getting married by elvis’

❀ lots of arguing but you compromised on a nice little chapel where you get married by an actual priest

❀ max and lando are probably your witnesses

❀ you two are all over each other by the time you get back to your hotel so you don’t even get surprised when he picks you up

❀ has your legs around his waist by the time you’re walking into the room

❀ you two are too distracted to even notice how tall the door really is

❀ ‘i love you’ ‘i love you too- OW’

❀ nearly drops you

❀ ‘are you ok’ ‘i think i need an advil now’

❀ ‘i know something better than advil’ as a stupid smirk appears on his face

liam lawson

❀ the two of would be so cool about it until you get into your apartment complex

❀ and then this man picks you up and starts to aggressively nip at your neck

❀ ‘liam honey, we’re in an elevator with cameras’ ‘right’ 

❀ the moment you get off the elevator he starts again while you fish for your house keys

❀ he can’t stop whispering in your ear and touching your hair while you fiddle with the lock

❀ he laughs at the jingle of your keychains because that’s how carefree he is (matching keychains probably very cutesy)

❀ then right when he’s distracted with you  he runs right into the doorframe, smacking your knees against the wood

❀ ‘liam, you know what i’m not even mad’ ‘are you sure’ ‘just make me not be able to walk in another way’ ‘ok then ☺️’

oscar piastri

❀ lets just say that the two of you are still young when you get married so he has to take you back to his childhood home… yeah awkward but the wedding was spontaneous (and you love each other so what the heck)

❀ its late at night and everyone else is still asleep when he sweeps you off your feet and takes you inside the house

❀ the two of you make it through the front door and up the stairs giggling without breaking anything 

❀ and then it happens

❀ he tries to kiss you while walking through his bedroom door and bam your foot knocks over one of his old karting trophies and sets off a chain reaction with the rest of them

❀ ‘oscar!’ ‘shit’

❀ ‘what was that?’ you hear from nicole’s room

❀ ‘crap’

[michellesneptune]

Your future spouse and relationship themes according to Venus/Descendant/Ruler of the 7th

Aries Venus/1H; Aries Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 1H

Someone athletic and fast. Your Future Spouse would be short-tempered and very passionate. Somebody that would openly chase after you. Very open and straightforward. Could have a taste for challenging you just to see whether you can keep up. Someone with many previous, short-lived relationships. They love to take the lead and look like someone you wouldn’t wanna fight.

They (or you) could have some issues with commitment, so the relationship may be on and off. You both could live for the excitement of it. Aries being fiery, the passions may burn and die out instantly. The ideal spouse is one that can capture both the fast pace and the loyalty. Aries likes to fight for what they’ve acquired, but even more for what they don’t have yet. So essentially you’re going to be playing catch me if you can for a big part of the relationship, but underneath the game is burning, passionate, serious love.

Taurus/2H Venus; Taurus Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 2H

A class act. Somebody so good looking you want to eat them up. Flawless skin and beautiful, pouty lips. Wavy or curly hair. They probably love to be kissed on the neck. Someone with a distinctive, beautiful voice. Good manners and well-educated. Somebody discerning, who really values high quality. Maybe a successful business owner, good with money. An art lover. On the downside, could be too materialistic. Will be very possessive about you.

Taking turns spoiling each other as a love language. Attending luxurious, expensive dinner parties. Acquiring rich, influential friendships together. Loyal till the end. Overspending and overindulging. A possible danger here is focusing too much on the physical and not enough on the emotional bond. Thinking everything can be fixed with money. However, those are really dignified placement, hence the love life is overall harmonious (in not debilitated).

Gemini/3H Venus; Gemini Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 3H

Brainy and witty. Likely younger than you (either metrically or by spirit). Loves writing and good with words. Someone with curious, cat-like eyes and a youthful smile. Beautiful hands and fingers. Siblings playing a big role in said persons’ life; they may talk about them frequently. Could be interested in cars. There’s some duality to this person. Like they could be really playful and jovial, but also contain a different, deeper and more mysterious persona, which they bare only at times.

Each day with them is a never ending intellectual chase. Creating an own language together, giving words new meaning only known to you two. Doing crosswords and playing Scrabble together during cosy rainy days. Sharing a genuine friendship. Talking about everything and anything you see. Finding extraordinary in the mundane.

Cancer/4H Venus; Cancer Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 4H

Your Future Spouse would be very caring and protective, reminding you of motherly love. They will be desperate to make themselves a necessity to your well-being. They will take pleasure in home-making: baking, cooking, beautifying the house. Doing these things for you is how they’ll show love. They would try really hard to gain your trust and make you feel emotionally and physically comfortable with them. Physically they could have a rounder build, beautiful breasts and overall a soft look. Deep, inviting and big eyes.

You could move in together very quickly. Home is wherever I’m with you. Adopting a pet together, them getting you a puppy as a surprise. Crying because you make them so happy. Always carefully listening to each other, mindful about their wants and needs. They would be up-front about wanting kids with you since the very beginning. They could be someone from your childhood.

Leo/5H Venus; Leo Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 5H

Your Future Spouse would be someone striving for fame. And it doesn’t have to be world-wide fame — even within friendships this person is someone who loves when the attention is on them. I’m talking Mr. Peanutbutter from Bojack Horseman. Someone with charisma, that is universally loved and has a lot of friends and acquaintances. They can talk to and charm almost anyone. Someone who loves acting. Very open and magnetic — everyone want to be a part of their world. They could have beautiful, thick hair — like a lion’s mane. They’ll love surprising you frequently.

Your relationship could bring up the urge to have children together or to generally-speaking act like your inner child with them. There could be a lot of playful banter between you, that turns into passionate kissing. Everybody and their mom is able to tell that you love each other. Could act like high school sweethearts that everyone envies. Going out on lots of dates, making them your sun.

Virgo/6H Venus; Virgo Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 6H

They’re likely very particular and perfectionists, but when it comes to you they will happily accept each and every flaw. Someone that is already focused on making themself better for you. Someone that is very precise and dresses impeccably. Maybe they wear glasses. Their skin is perfect and overall they’re well-groomed. The kind of person showing up with a hairdo, fresh manicure and neatly pressed clothes, saying that they’ve just gotten out of bed lol. They could work in healthcare and be very organised.

Your relationship would likely be structured around service and helping each other. What they cannot understand about you, they will make up by baking your favourite cookies. Maybe they’re not very outspoken, but they observe and listen carefully, and try to then embody your ideal. You can clearly see the potential in them and do everything to achieve it. They probably have a close bond to animals.

Libra/7H Venus; Libra Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 7H

Your Future Spouse is one of a graceful and delicate beauty. They’re extremely charming, so much so that it is intimidating! They’re very well-spoken and someone that spreads the aura of calmness and balance. They would instantly make you think that they’re the perfect addition to your life. They are outstandingly beautiful, but also modest and balanced. They might work in law or the arts.

The relationship between you could become the most important in your life. You two will be very devoted to creating a healthy bond. The relationship essentially serves its purpose as a mirror — you see your victories, shortcomings and flaws through the lens of the spouse. It is a good thing as that’s the role partnerships are supposed to play. You’re destined to become more balanced, learn the art of teamwork and compromise. You could have a feeling that they’re bringing out the best in you.

Scorpio/8H Venus; Scorpio Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 8H

There will be a darkness about them, a darkness that draws you in. Your Person would have dark, thick hair, dark eyes or dark circles. They won’t reveal all of their cards at first, so you won’t recognise the purpose of the relationship for some time. You could be interested in someone else (not committed, though), but you risk your all as they walk in. They could be someone who has just left a marriage or a long-term relationship.

They could introduce you to higher society (or vice versa). A class difference between you. Some kind of taboo being broken by your relationship. They could sacrifice a lot for you. Power couple. Your friends are weary of this person. No one really knows what’s going on between you. A financial imbalance. They let you indulge in their fortune (or once again, vice versa). If it’s the 7H Ruler it’s likely you that gives them money. They could be someone with a big inheritance. They open you up like no one had managed to before.

Sagittarius/9H Venus; Sagittarius Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 9H

Someone studying or working at a university when you meet. Someone for whom higher education is very important. Very passionate about their studies, devoted to many topics and teaching you about them. Somebody with a true lust for life. They could look up to you like a guru (or vice versa). Someone with distinctive legs — maybe impressively toned, long, or with thick thighs (😋).

A relationship that could connect you to the divine and open you up spiritually. They would introduce you to different philosophical beliefs. There’s a prominent educational value to this relationship, you both are forced to learn a lot through it. You could move out to another country together — or one of you could do it for the other. Could be long distance for some time. Lots of travelling and feeling very lucky 🍀 .

Capricorn/10H Venus; Capricorn Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 10H

A very hard working person, may come from a famous, household-name family. Elegant and sleek. High cheekbones and impressive physique. Could be reminding of a father figure in some way (sensible, responsible etc.). Could be older than you. A MILF or a DILF. You could’ve heard about them beforehand. Someone you want to impress and they force you to work at it. True pragmatics, also when it comes to love.

A relationship that resembles a job, you could work for them in some sense — maybe literally, they employ you, or helping them around the house, cleaning etc. A relationship like a well-structured enterprise. They love to show you off and vice versa. You could achieve your long-term goals through them. Their gifts are generous, but rather practical than lavish (e.g. a car or a house). Them or you could’ve found happiness together only later in life. You could be forced to fight through some obstacles to make your union happen.

Aquarius/11H Venus; Aquarius Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 11H

When you meet this person, you’ll think to yourself, I’ve never seen anyone like this. There is something very authentic and organic about them, that you won’t be able to find in anyone else. Maybe you won’t be even able to name it. They’ll have this electric look (and you’ll know, once you find them) that reveals something to you, invites you in. They just seem aware, you know? Like they’re able to see beyond. Physically, they’ll likely be tall and have a long, alien-like face. Striking eyes and hair that seems to have been struck by electricity. They could look completely different than their family. They’re probably interested in humanitarian causes and take a firm political stance on many issues.

The relationship will be, of course, somewhat unconventional. You could even live separately or choose not to get married, but it will suit you. It will be filled with friends and trying new things together. It will give you both just enough space to feel love, and explore yourselves.

Pisces/12H Venus; Pisces Descendant; 7th House Ruler in the 12H

You future person is ethereal and otherworldly. Very kind and compassionate, high emotional intelligence. They’ll be highly successful in artistic fields, as well as fields that are focused on helping others, like medicine. A dreamer who believes in a higher good. Somebody that would never walk on by if they see someone suffering. Doe, deer eyes with long lashes and a beautiful nose. Could also have pretty feet and even have a thing for them.

The relationship is almost happening in another realm. Many conversations are being had through the eyes. Everything is very intuitive and gentle. There is a prominent sacrifice element here, with you serving them or vice versa. Themes like moving abroad for them or supporting their career full-time are frequent with this placement. Also overlooking the other’s faults, in extreme cases it would be even staying with someone despite an active addiction going on, desperate to save them.

Thank you all so much for reading! Please let me know if it resonated😙 God, how I love writing spouse/relationship posts❤️❤️

Your Michelle~~

[serenity-loves-red]

GSGSHUDHSA I DUNNO IF YOU HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE BUT IMAGINE READER WATCHING THAT ANIMATED PHAINON TRAILER WHERE HE GIVES A WOUNDED NANOOK (albeit small) WITH THE POKEM i mean chrysos heirs AND SCREAMING OVER SHIRTLESS PHAINON

This the shirtless guy you mean? He’s hot ngl

Imagine:

Mydei, Phainon was lying on your bed watching over the three– Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon who are playing on your sheets when they heard you suddenly scream.

Tribbie jolted surprised and was the first one who expressed their concern. “That’s– are they okay?”

Mydei sighed for the umpteenth time. “They are fine Lady Tribbie. This is not the first time and probably are just doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Trinnon was supposed to tilt her head a bit but fell sideways. She curled embarrassed.

Phainon chuckles nervously. “Doing her weird shenanigans that we suggest to let them be. It’ll pass.” He just didn’t want to ruin the good image Tribios had pictured you to be so youbetter give him a reward for his effort.

Then you screamed again. “Really? What if they need help Snowy?” Trianne asked, confused why they seemed to be so calm. “Whatever, Trianne will just see them themself!”

And off Trianne go. Doing a weird hamster acrobat that successfully managed to help her roll down from your bed to the floor. The remaining 4 watched as she scampered to the door towards where she think you supposed to be.

The 4 quickly followed suit. Tribbie and Trinnon sat on top of Phainon and Mydei’s head before they ran, following Trianne towards where your voice is the loudest.

When they saw you, you were sitting in your couch giving another wailing squeal, clutching Trianne and rubbing her small head in to your cheek. “Bubblessss look– they should give us more shirtless Phainon and should stop gatekeeping that warrior’s muscles! Don’t be shy– TAKE OF THE CLOTHESSS!”

They were about to walk towards you but stopped after hearing what you’ve just said. On your tv screen they saw Phainon fighting against some type enemy half naked.

So that what got you so worked up. Phainon watched you, debating whether to feel flattered, embarrassed, or both. He knew how crazy you could be but can you do it when you two are alone? He won’t judge he promise.

“So that’s what you mean by weird shenanigans.” Tribbie chuckled. “They must’ve liked you so much Snowy! I never met anyone so passionate in showing their feelings as much as them.”

“If you put it that way Lady Tribbie.”

“…hmp. Just so you know, they also gushed like that to me.” Mydei grumbled almost inaudible to everyone but Trinnon.

“You too? If that’s so then it isn’t like Okhema is against in having multiple marriage partners, right?”

“Dei too?!” Tribbie exclaimed, shifting her attention. “Maybe we can also get Aggy to bless the wedding? Hehehe this is so much fun!”

Taglist: @speedycoffeedelight @kiransalt @sunsethw4 @wispfish @syntaxandpi @hoo-hoo @aerisevx @wixsvem @reminiscingthesea @hquntinghunter @n8mareee @larettajudith @vashyuu @superbfuryfest @shio225 @line-viper @hiqhkey @fuji-sen @takeyomikamakura @raaawwwr @hoshinosama @shonwithnohope @naOyak1 @whatamoodhoney @violetisreadinghush @shio225 @blushho @bloodrrose @kazudare @monoclesnapple

[dempsterbread]

Okay, so I had been in an argument with someone i cared a lot about regarding relationships, and it was becoming abundantly clear that i had been An Asshole and didn't realize it. It was over text, so things took a little longer than they probably would've in person, but overall the whole discussion took about 3 hours or so.

Now, I have a playlist for these sorts of situations. My depression mix is chock full of as much corny, vapid, nostalgic garbage from the 90's to 2010's as i could find. However. Many of these songs are about relationships to some varying degree, and due to the nature of the subject at hand, that was the opposite of helpful. Plus, since – between the heated conversation and growing feelings of guilt – I was in a pretty emotionally volatile state, anything with even a *hint* of feeling in it was hurting.

This is when I turned to Macklemore.

Listen to the song. *Really* listen to it. He goes to the thrift store to get some cool shit so that he can look good at the club without spending exorbitant amounts of money. The whole thing is him listing off things he finds. So we're relationship free ✅️ Musically, listen to those trumpets. Squeaky as hell. Impossible to take seriously. So the emotional resonance isn't gonna be a problem either ✅️

Now im not here to throw rocks; I genuinely like the song, have for years. Ive enjoyed some of his other stuff too. Just saying that if you should find yourself feeling like a flaming bag of shit and nothing seems to help, Macklemore definitely won't make it worse

[emisluvr]

‎ AFTER HOURS ˎˊ˗ s.jy

✶ SYNOPSIS ── your coworker, jake, is the shameless office slut. he’s cocky, lazy, and infamous for fucking every girl in the office until they’re obsessed. you’re the opposite: organized, driven, and sick of his shit. your best friend heeseung keeps teasing you about the “sexual tension,” but you deny it every time.. until one night, you and jake end up staying after hours at the office.

✶ STARRING ── office fuckboy!jake, fem!reader, bsf!heeseung

✶ CAUTION! ── smut (minors dni), enemies to lovers, lots of cursing, office au, y/n overhears boss and jake getting freaky, unprotected sex (wrap it), spanking, lots of dirty talk, dumbification, cum play, masturbation, fingering, making out, kissing, breast play/sucking, spitting, dirty jokes, big dick!jake, teasing, heavy tension, mentions of gossip, jake is an absolute menace.

✶ DURATION ── 10.8k word oneshot.

EMI ✉️ jake has been bias wrecking me HARD lately, so it's only natural that i write a filthy fic for him !! considering this is my first long fic, i'm kinda proud of myself <3 enjoy reading my luvs, feedback + rbs are appreciated!

‎

‎

Truth be told, you loved your job at the office. You enjoyed working in a fairly quiet and independent environment—you know, having your own cubicle where you worked away at your desk, the only time you could actually talk to your friends being during breaks.

Not to mention, you’re dedicated. You’re a hard worker, somewhat uptight, but your boss always praised you for your work ethic. So really, to say you didn’t like your job would be a bold-faced lie.

However, there was one thing—someone who made your job fucking miserable. This one person made you regret clocking in to work every day. Heck, he even made you regret staying employed at the office.

Sim Jaeyun.

He made corporate hell ten times hotter by being handsome, loud, lazy, and disgustingly fuckable.

It’s 8:52 a.m., and you had just arrived at work after running on four hours of sleep trying to finish your report. You wore your typical office attire, a crisp white dress shirt, a fitted black pencil skirt, and a tailored blazer. Your heels clicked with every step, your shirt just slightly unbuttoned at the top from rushing out the door. If anything, today was the one day you really didn’t want to deal with Jake’s shit. Really, it’s every day. But today? You were particularly ticked off.

The minute you step out of the elevator and onto your floor, you already hear him laughing with someone three cubicles down. His laugh, in some unfair way, is hot. But it also makes you want to smash his head into a wall. It’s too fucking early to hear his voice, especially when he’s always the one that comes in late. But this time, he beat you by two minutes.

You turn your head just slightly, and there he is. His dark hair all soft and messy, yet it looks so effortlessly good. His white dress shirt is slightly unbuttoned, the tie hanging loose like he threw it on five seconds before leaving. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he flashes that awfully pretty smile of his while his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t even fucking need glasses. He just wears them because he thinks it makes girls get on their knees for him. Truthfully, that’s usually what happens. But it’s none of your business.

“Ay, two minutes late, Y/N!” he calls out, raising his tone and pointing at you so there’s no way you missed it.

“As if you don’t come late every day, asshole,” you mutter under your breath, walking into your cubicle and setting your bag down with a heavy thud. He didn’t hear you. Of course he didn’t. He was too caught up in whatever him and some other girl from your department were talking about. He probably fucked her too.

Jake’s the type of guy everyone loves, even though there’s not a single good trait about him. Except for the fact that he shows up to work looking hot with zero effort. In the bathroom, girls constantly gossip about him. There’s never a time you can pee, let alone wash your hands, without overhearing some girl rave about how good he made her feel.

“He made me cum in under five minutes.”

“He secretly edged me at my desk.”

“I still dream about how his fingers felt inside me.”

“He fucked me in the lounge room.”

These are just a few of the things you hear about him on the daily. And it’s usually a different girl every time. That’s what made him such a whore in your eyes. And sure, everyone knew about it, but no one cared. A guy as good-looking, probably big, and charming as Sim Jaeyun could get away with just about anything.

To say it pissed you off was an understatement. He showed up late almost every day—today being a rare exception. He flirted with HR and practically skated by with minimal effort, all because he was hot and somehow everyone’s type.

Yes, he does actually do his work on rare occasions just to avoid getting fired, but most of the time he coasts on charm. It’s the only fucking thing he knows how to do with that pretty face.

What everyone knows best about him, though, is his reputation for fucking his female coworkers and leaving them obsessed. The thought made you partially disgusted. But at most, all he is to you is just a guy with an insane face card who’s using it to his advantage and getting exactly what he wants in return: pussy.

And as if that didn’t already paint the perfect picture of him being an asshole, he always made it a point to specifically tease, flirt, and annoy you. The one person in the office he hadn’t gotten the chance to fuck. If you gave him that chance, he would absolutely take it. But since he’s your arch-nemesis, you promised yourself you’d never let him touch you, let alone lay a finger on you.

As everyone settles into their cubicles and starts their usual routine, the faint sounds of keyboard clicking, rummaging through papers, and coffee sipping fill the air. And of course, so does Jake, as he leans against the divider separating your two cubicles.

It was worth mentioning that your cubicles were just one apart. And no matter how many times you begged your boss to move you, it was never approved.

Of course, he’s doing anything but his assigned tasks and instead chooses to bother you for the second time today. But knowing him, once is never enough. Just like how he can never stick to sleeping with just one girl.

“How’s your little spreadsheet going, love?” He teases, slim and veiny fingers resting against his cheek as his elbow props on top of the divider. He stares down at you, voice coated in sleep, his accent making it sound like honey.

“Don’t talk to me,” you say firmly, not even looking up. The four hours of sleep were really starting to hit now that he was trying to push your buttons, and the urge to grab his head and smack it into the divider was growing stronger by the second.

“You sound so hot when you’re mad,” he hums, teasing you one last time before realizing you weren’t in the mood and finally retreating to his seat.

“I’m not one of your little office playthings,” you tell yourself silently, glancing at your spreadsheet that barely looked like one now. You could hardly focus with someone nagging you as much as he did.

Your lunch break was the one time of day where you finally got to breathe. To be away from him. And instead, spend it chatting with your best friend, Lee Heeseung, who worked in the same department.

You let out a pent-up sigh as you walk into the lounge room where the two of you usually met. It was quiet and secluded enough for you to vent in peace. The moment you plop down on the cushioned couch beside him, you cringe slightly.

Gross. Didn’t Jake fuck a girl here?

Heeseung was the only one who knew about your misery. The only person you truly expressed your hatred for Jake to.

“Jake? Again?” Heeseung asks, mid-bite, as he spots the familiar look on your face.

“Yes. He’s so fucking useless..” you mumble, running a hand through your hair. Heeseung silently offers you a bite of his food, clearly seeing how dead you look.

You chew slowly, letting the flavor melt on your tongue, and it makes your mood just slightly better.

“I don’t know how he even got hired,” you mutter, taking another bite and handing it back.

“Probably gave head to the hiring manager. Wouldn’t be the first,” he shrugs, like he somehow has Jake’s entire history memorized.

“You’re not helping,” you glare, crossing your leg over the other.

“What? You don’t think he’s good with his mouth? You know how many girls he’s probably eaten ou—”

“Hee! I don’t want to know! Probably a lot.. okay, I know that. But still, numbers can only say so much about a person,” you huff. The image alone makes your face twist with disgust—and your chest tighten.

“Just saying.. if you hate him so much, why do you know his entire fuck history?” He teases.

“Because everyone knows? Not that it’s any of my business. I could care less about who he’s fucking. He’s just always a dick, always annoying me like he thinks I’m one of his hoes,” you mutter, walking over to the Nespresso machine. You needed caffeine. Badly. Especially for this very conversation.

“You’re next,” Heeseung says from the couch.

You pause, turning your head back with a confused expression as you stir your coffee. “W-what? What do you mean?”

“I’m saying you might be his next little thing. I see the way he teases you.. it’s not for no reason,” he shrugs, tossing his lunch container in the trash.

“As if. He only wishes,” you murmur, shaking the carton of vanilla creamer before pouring it in.

“You say that now, but.. watch when he gets his way with you,” Heeseung calls out, already halfway out the door.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” You yell, throwing your hands out dramatically.

“I am!”

“Mhm,” you mutter under your breath.

You leave the lounge room with your warm cup of vanilla coffee in your hands, trying to mentally reset after your conversation with Heeseung before you have to get back to work.

The office is mostly quiet, the infamous keyboard clicks, murmurs of people chatting, and printer hums filling the air. You’re in a somewhat-decent headspace to get back on track, especially since you didn’t once hear Jake’s voice during your entire break.

No, that doesn’t mean you hate the way his voice sounds. His voice is attractive, oddly. His accent, the whiny undertones, and raspiness all make it sound so sweet. The only issue that occurs is what comes out of his mouth, and his repulsively cocky personality.

But who were you to say anything? He most definitely knows exactly what to say during sex, especially with a voice like that, that can draw anyone in. No wonder there was a new girl on her knees for him every week.

Just as you reach a few feet away from your cubicle, you see him leaning at the entrance, smirking at you while he reveals his perfect smile. His tie is looser now, sleeves pushed up higher, a pen between his fingers that he’s absentmindedly twirling.

“Miss me?” He teases, eyes locked on yours as your expression is blank, but your eyebrows slightly furrow when the sentence leaves his mouth.

“Move.” You demand, as his body is pretty much blocking the entire entrance into your small cubicle. You stand in front of him, but maintain your distance, staring up at his tall figure. You're not even sure if the caffeine from your coffee will help with anything anymore.

“Say please.” He crosses his arms, eyes still locked on yours as he looks down at your shorter figure, waiting for the satisfaction to hit of you saying the word that every single girl probably moans when being fucked by him.

“Go bother someone else, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, shoving past him, your shoulder harshly brushing past his as you set your cup down on the table and sit in your chair, only to resume your endless typing.

“Attitude, baby,” he says firmly, yet teasingly, before walking behind your chair. He felt oddly close to you, making your body nearly shiver as you look behind you, staring up at his standing figure.

“You want something? Maybe a quickie in the break room?” He mocks, watching how your eyes slightly squint in disgust. He always tried to get his way with you like this—through sex persuasions.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re staring.”

“Get out.” You dart your head back to your computer screen. He cockily smirks before leaving your cubicle and walking back to his.

Your stomach fluttered when he called you the name, but again, that’s what he probably addresses every female as in this office. You were no different, except that he just liked to annoy you to insanity.

You resume your typing while sipping your already-cold coffee, constantly hitting the backspace button as you find yourself writing nonsense, desperately trying to forget about your encounter with Jake just now.

Your phone lock screen flashes, a text from your boss appearing. “Can you send Jake in my office? He owes me a favour.”

Favour my ass. Just say you want him in between your legs again.

You simply like the message and walk over to the cubicle next to yours—Jake’s.

“Jake,” you whisper, trying not to be too loud, but he’s on the phone with his friend. Of course he can’t hear a damn thing.

He’s lazily manspreading in his seat, facing away from the computer screen with a blank document—typical. His phone is pressed to his ear as he rants away.

“I swear, she was basically shaking by the time I was done with her—”

“Jake!” You say a little louder, catching his attention as he looks at you, eyes wide and innocent—though deep down, he was the complete opposite of that.

“Boss wants to see you in her office,” you say with a stoic expression. He bites his lip before saying, “Ay, I’ll call you back,” and hanging up.

By the time he gets up and makes his way to the office, you’re already sat in your seat again.

Your phone’s lock screen flashes again. This time, it’s a text from Heeseung.

“Saw your boyfriend going into the boss’s office.”

“First of all, not my boyfriend. Second of all, Boss’s orders.”

“How much you wanna bet he’s fucking her so she can give him a raise?”

“I don’t even wanna bet on that, I know it’s happening.”

He replies with a laughing face before you shut your phone off, setting it down on your desk before your eyes catch the coffee you didn’t end up finishing. Frankly, you don’t want to anymore.

You sit up from your chair, cup in hand, before searching for the nearest trash bin, which happens to be right next to the boss’s office.

You approach it before tossing your paper cup in the bin, leftover coffee seeping out of it and piling on the other cups, some stained with lipstick and gloss on the edges.

You stay for a moment, the faint sounds of.. something coming from the office catching your attention.

Your ear moves closer to the locked door, until you finally hear it—pornographic moans. Your boss was getting fucked. By Jake.

Heeseung was right.

“Y-yes, fuck! Right there!” You hear her screams, making your face scrunch in disgust. But you keep listening in on it.

“You gonna give me a raise now, yeah baby?” You hear the familiar sound of Jake’s voice, all breathy and groany. The more your ear presses up against the door, the more the light sound of skin slapping is heard.

“Yes! Fuckfuck—” The moan escapes her lips. It’s almost as if she wasn’t even trying to hide it. It’s either she wanted everyone in the office to know she was getting fucked like a slut, or that his cock was just too good to stay quiet.

You’ve had enough. You can’t hear anymore of this. Your chest tightens as your ear comes off from the door, everything you had just heard made you feel a little uneasy.

Not that you cared, because again, his sex life was none of your business. But damn, even your boss got his cock?

This had further proved how much of a whore Jake was. Your boss was freshly thirty, and even though you both were only in your early twenties, it still disgusted you. He really would fuck anything, so long as it had a pussy between its legs and would personally benefit him—whether it was through a job raise, pleasure, or in this case.. both.

You quickly make your way back to your desk, trying to resume your previous typing, though it’s nearly impossible considering what you had just heard.

You didn’t know why it was still lingering in your head, like you didn’t already know that he’s done this to nearly every girl in the office. It doesn’t matter. It’s just Jake. He’s a sleaze, a whore, and the very reason your days feel ten times longer than they should.

And yet, you can’t stop thinking about what you heard. The way she moaned, the way he groaned and talked so dirty to her, the infamously cocky tone in his voice like he knew he was ruining her.

You squeeze your thighs together under your pencil skirt, looking away from the screen, utterly disgusted with yourself for letting your thoughts wander.

You keep clicking away at your mouse, moving tabs around, trying to look productive—like you’re doing something—but you can’t focus on anything. You type random words that float around in your noggin that don’t relate at all to what you have to write about, delete them, type again, until you eventually give up and roll your chair away from your desk, now facing the entrance and trying to take a breather.

Your thoughts still creep in your head. They’re almost impossible to push out.

“He fucks like that just for a raise?”

“She sounded so dumb for him.. Was it that good?”

“Is he that big?”

“Why the fuck do I care?”

Fuck it, you need another cup of coffee.

You step out of your cubicle, running a hand through your hair as you notice Jake walking out of the office. His hair is messier, shirt untucked, sleeves still rolled to the elbow. He looks even more disheveled now, yet he still looked so good, even post-fuck.

You really didn’t want to cross paths with him again, not after hearing him railing your boss in real time, when he didn’t think anyone could hear.

The minute he walks by you, your eyes meet, and he winks. “Slut,” you mutter under your breath, heart skipping in frustration. You blink, your heels clinking against the floor louder as you walk faster toward the lounge room, desperate to get away from everything and anything, even if that meant through another dose of caffeine.

You and Heeseung planned to meet at a small café in the lobby of your office building during a quick break. Since the workday had already started, the café was pretty quiet—soft music played in the background and just a few coworkers were scattered around. It was the perfect spot to catch your breath before heading back.. and to tell your friend what you had just heard not long ago.

“You look like you saw something you weren’t supposed to,” Heeseung says, noticing how you look down in your lap and stay oddly silent. Normally, if you were going to complain about Jake or your never-ending workload, it would’ve spilled out by now.

“Close enough..” you look up from your lap and at your friend’s bambi-like expression, and reluctantly tell him what you overheard just an hour ago.

“You heard it? Like.. full-on?” His eyes slightly widen—not that he was surprised or anything. He was only shocked that you had finally got a taste of it yourself, meaning you heard everything.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Gosh, she sounded like a pornstar..” you say, before cringing at your own words.

“Was he all like ‘who’s your boss now’?” Heeseung smirks, about to laugh at his own dirty comment.

“You’re disgusting,” you say, before realizing that’s one of the many insults you threw at Jake today.

“I’m just saying.. guess the real promotion was inside her all along.” He cracks another stupid joke.

“Heeseung!” Your tone goes higher.

“Jeez, sorry,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Bet you couldn’t even focus on your work after hearing that.”

You can’t even make eye contact with him anymore. Because it’s true, you couldn’t. The sole thought and memory of it was consuming you, and you hated it.

Jake’s high-pitched groans, his breathy filthy talk, the way she was moaning like it was the best sex she’s ever had—all lingered in your brain more than they should. It’s almost as if the second you heard it go down, the sound stuck with you for the rest of the day, clinging onto you like a reminder that the man who teases you every day, the man you despise, is willing to go as far as fucking his boss for a raise.

He doesn't even deserve one. Never did. But again, who says no to a face like his?

You part your mouth to speak before both of your phones buzz. You glance at your screens, only to see your Gmail app say: Subject: Quarter-End Team Assignments (After Hours)

It’s essentially a company-wide initiative that happens at the end of every quarter, in which select employees are asked to stay after work hours and help with outstanding internal reports, archiving client files, and assisting with next-week's executive presentations.

Your stomach sinks. You open the email and sigh loudly.

Not that you were nervous or anything, but you liked working on your own—and staying past the time you normally have to would drain the life out of you. Well.. depending on who you’d be paired with.

“Imagine you’ll be paired with lover boy,” Heeseung laughs, noticing your sudden mood change after seeing the email.

“Bite your tongue. And I don’t know yet..” you start, before adding, “But I’ve got a bad feeling.”

He raises a brow. “Bad or horny?”

You throw the crumbled sheet of paper from your straw at his face, hitting him right in the middle as he flashes his pretty smile in response.

“Well, I’m leaving,” you say, standing from your seat as you grab your bag. “Some of us have to go face our fate.”

The elevator ride back up to your floor felt oddly slow, almost as if the universe was preparing you for the news to come.

The minute you step in, you walk into one of the smaller glass offices, where you find the project lead—one of the newer coordinators. She didn’t look intimidating, but rather sharp, like she knew how to keep someone on their feet.

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” you softly say, bowing in front of her as she looks up from her laptop and smiles politely.

“Good to see you, Ms. L/N. Thanks for dropping in,” she says, before continuing, “I see that you’ve been super consistent with your deadlines lately. This’ll reflect really well on your internal review.” She softly nods, lips pressed into a smile as her index fingers push up the round frames higher on her nose bridge.

“I’m sure you saw in the email, but we’re asking a couple of people to stay after hours the next few days throughout the week. It’s mostly to tidy up client files and organize emails for an important presentation early next week,” she adds.

You nod with a relaxed expression, but deep down, you already wanted her to spit it out and tell you who you’d be partnered with. Your apprehension comes to a stop when she finally speaks.

“Oh, and you’ll be paired with Jake for this. He’s got some catching up to do, so.. we’re giving him a little nudge. You both start tomorrow after the workday ends.”

You swear you feel your heart drop the minute you hear his name, but obviously, this just had to be your luck.

You nod, face stoic but trying to show some sort of satisfaction, before you thank her and turn your back, walking out of the office.

“This better get me a raise,” you think to yourself, letting out a pent-up sigh of despair before you step out—only to see Jake leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for you.

You already had a feeling he knew about the two of you being paired.. And he did.

“Looks like we’re in this together, sweetheart,” he smirks, voice smug as he throws his arm over your shoulder, his hand almost brushing your cheek.

You stay silent for just a second, rolling your eyes as your heart slightly feels warm—almost as if it melted a bit? You can only imagine how he’s probably still got the boss’s taste on his fingers, and how many skirts his hand has slid under.

You don’t know why the thought consumed you so much, let alone even bothered you a bit, but it somehow did.

“Don’t call me that,” you say, eyes refusing to meet his as you keep on walking, your breath hitching at the loss of warmth and touch on your shoulder.

He trails behind you regardless. “Just tell me what to do, boss.”

“As if you didn’t fuck ours.” You admit. As much as you didn’t want him to know that you heard a thing, it slipped out anyway.

“So you heard that, huh?” He tuts, his trailing behind you stopping. “I was wondering why you couldn’t look me in the eye all day.”

You turn back to glare at him, stopping in your tracks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Could’ve been you,” he says, before walking the opposite way.

And that sentence stuck with you for the rest of the day.

The next day flew by like a breeze. Your bickers with Jake had still persisted, to no surprise, but it’s almost as if he’d decided to be less annoying today. That is.. if he would save it all for tonight.

By the time 5pm rolls around, everyone is beginning to pack up and get ready to go home after another exhausting day. You had to say, the closer the presentation was approaching next week, the more everyone was in a frenzy.

You were somewhat stressed too, but considering you’d only have to stay a bit behind after hours today in preparation for it, you were okay with it.

You walk over to a big glass table, materials in hand, including Jake’s—typically where workers would sit to work if not at their cubicles. Jake had left the office a few minutes prior, promising a return, though you were ready to see him ten minutes before you left.

Heeseung passes by you on his way out, playfully and lightly ruffling your hair before he whispers a small, “Good luck.”

You sarcastically smile in return. Thanks. I’ll need it.

When the office is finally empty, you get to work. The light of the sun beginning to set casts a beautiful glow across the space as your head is down, mind focused, and brows furrowed. You sort through client folders—colour-coding them, updating labels with new information from recent meetings, and flagging anything missing before next week’s presentation.

In front of your hoard of papers is your laptop, opened to the email inbox. This was initially supposed to be Jake’s duty, but since there was still no sign of him, you decided to start the part for him, refusing to be more behind than you already are.

“Useless idiot,” you mutter under your breath as your eyes scan the screen and rummage through all the unorganized emails.

Your stressing comes to a stop when you hear the elevator ding, followed by the sound of slow footsteps. Jake walks in, a little too casually for someone who’s late. “Should’ve known you’d start without me.”

You don’t bother looking up at him, eyes instead switching from the laptop screen and back down to the papers occasionally. “We both know being late is your only real skill.”

He kisses his teeth before sitting next to you, his knee brushing your thigh. For the next few minutes, the space is filled with the surprising sound of silence—the only evident sounds being Jake’s typing and your papers rustling.

“I have to go print a missing file. Don’t move.” You coldly say, already rising from your seat.

You stand in front of the machine, waiting for your pile of papers to print when you notice Jake walk into the room.

“I told you to not m—” you start, before being cut off.

“Chill, I just need to get something,” he says, a smirk itching to tug at his lips that he suppresses. He walks past you to the shelf of boxes, his hip bumping against your ass when he brushes behind you. You slightly stiffen, breath caught in your throat as you notice him pausing behind you, not moving forward to get what he needs.

His eyes scan you up and down from behind, top lip running over his bottom lip as he traces the curve of your ass. His face moves closer to the back of your head, the sweet and alluring scent of your perfume intriguing him.

“You always smell this good?” He murmurs lowly, his accent mixed with the raspiness of his voice nearly making you go into a daze, but you stop yourself before you can zone out.

You click your tongue, gathering your papers before saying, “Get your shit and sit back down.”

He smirks behind you, finally moving away to grab one of the boxes on the shelves as you leave the print room and make your way back to the table.

Your eye catches the folder you were working on a little farther down the table than usual—probably because Jake was bored out of his mind from doing all the typing and wanted to see what you were doing.

You reach over for it, ass slightly perched up as you bend over the table. Simultaneously, Jake walks back in, only for his eyes to be met with the view of your tight little pencil skirt accentuating the arch of your ass. You already knew he was about to say something nasty about it.

Your back straightens again as you come up, folder in hand, before his hand grazes your lower back, leaning in to use that same low and cocky tone again. “If you’re gonna keep bending over like that, at least have the decency to ask for help.”

You suck in a breath, the feeling of his hand making contact with you nearly making you shiver. “Stop.” You simply say. The demand was simple, but it was enough to have him scoff and sit back down next to you.

You’re both seated, but he’s sitting closer to you than he was before—his thigh pressed against yours, making you shoot him a deadpan look. He notices, smirking before he says, “Don’t worry. I’m working.”

Those four words alone were laced with fake innocence, his eyes scanning the way your fingers flip through the papers, down to the way your plush ass sat against the chair, and down to your legs.

His staring caught your attention, though it didn’t particularly make you uncomfortable.

“Do you ever stop looking?” You say, not bothering to look at him, but the sharpness in your voice was enough to let him know that you were aware of his every move.

“Not when you’re this fuckin’ pretty.” He smirks, before his teeth chew on his bottom lip as he stays leaned back in his chair, barely touching your laptop.

As hard as it was to ignore the supposed compliment, you did, only so he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

He leans in, lips nearly brushing your ear as he drops the bomb. “You really gonna keep pretending you didn’t care when you heard me fucking her?”

Your body freezes, only your jaw clenching. You hate how he noticed that. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were, simply put, slightly jealous and uncomfortable. You can’t deny it.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He smiles, watching your demeanor completely change the second he brought it up.

“You’re gonna break soon, baby. All that attitude, but you’re already so fuckin’ wet, aren’t you?” He says, standing up from his seat.

Your cheeks flush, body going into utter shock as the sentence slipped from his mouth. Those few words did something to you, and Jake knew it—oh so well. He was making it so damn difficult to resist giving in to his stupid temptations.

He gently tilts your spinning chair so you face him, before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at his standing figure.

It gave him so much power, the feeling of you gulping and staring up at him like you knew he was about to ruin you any second now. It’s what he’s been wanting.. to get a taste of you.

“Go ahead. Keep acting like you don’t want it.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You glare, shoving his hands off as you stand up from your seat, still looking up at him as he was taller than you.

Your bodies are close, chests nearly pressed together as the heated tension lingers in the air.

“Make me.” He grins.

Unable to hold back, your lips crash onto each other’s.

Your soft lips move against his—both hungry, messy, like you’d been holding back for way too long. They move in sync, your hands wrapping around his neck as he grabs you under your thighs, pushes away the stack of folders and papers, and sets you on top of the glass table.

Part of your body was in a state of shock. The man who pretty much made work miserable for you was now making out with you, and you let him. However, part of you couldn’t deny the tension between the two of you, and that he always looked so good and fuckable.

Your skirt is slightly ridden up, your hand pulling him closer by his collar as his hands roam your entire body, only because you’ve never let him lay a finger on you up until now.

His hands start on your hips, squeezing them before they slide up to caress your waist, and then between your thighs, grazing over your soaked, clothed pussy. “Knew you’d be wet f’me,” he mumbles into the kiss, chuckling to himself.

You pull away, hands still wrapped around his neck as you look right into his eyes. “Aww, did you now?”

His eyes don’t leave yours—his gorgeous and enticing smile flashing once more before he says, “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll fuck you right here.”

“I know you’ve been wanting to.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just fuck me already, Jake.”

“Say please, baby.”

“Dammit—please, Jake!”

He bites his lip, smirking at your plea before helping you down the desk and flipping you over, pushing your chest flat against the cold glass.

He lifts your skirt up fully, bunching it just above your hips so he can get a clear and full view of your ass and soaked panties. He groans at the sight, one hand roughly squeezing your ass as his finger runs along your clothed slit, the wetness picking up onto his finger. “Dumb little baby, you already this wet from a few kisses?”

You roll your eyes, already getting impatient as you wait for him to give you what you so badly want.

He hooks a finger around your panties before yanking them down, letting them pool around your heels. He unzips his pants just enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, and leaking at the tip. “Been dying to fuck you since day one,” he mutters under his breath.

He rubs the tip between your wet folds, collecting your slick as he teases your entrance, spitting a string of saliva that perfectly drips down right before he pushes in.

You squirm beneath as he palms your ass, doing anything but fucking you, before he says, “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve wanted this. Every time you walked past me in that tight little skirt with your tits out—fuck.”

You gasp when he pushes the head in, a groan escaping his lips as he throws his head back, savouring how warm and tight you already feel when he’s not even fully inside you.

He pushes the rest of his cock in, easy to do with how your slick clung to him, mixed with his spit. A soft moan spills from your mouth when he bottoms out, cock fully buried inside your tight walls. No wonder he had the boss moaning like crazy—he’s fucking huge.

The stretch was unlike anything you’ve felt before. It was painful, but more addicting than anything. His thickness stretched you out so good, your pussy doing everything in its power to adjust to it before he absolutely destroys you.

He pulls out a little more than halfway, before slamming back inside you, over and over. Your eyes roll back, head falling onto the table, your cheek mushed against the cold glass as his hips snap into your ass.

The sound of skin slapping, mixed with your screams and moans and his heavy grunts, fills the room. His hands keep a firm grip on your hips, helping to fuck yourself on him so your thrusts sync and hit your deepest spots.

It doesn’t take long before his tip brushes your sweet spot with nearly every thrust, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he hears the stream of ‘yesyes’ and ‘fuckfuck’s spill from your mouth when he angles his hips to find that weakest spot of yours.

“That’s it, you take it so good for me. Knew this pussy was mine the second I saw you,” he breathes out, eyes locked on the way the flesh of your ass recoils every time it slams back against his pelvis. His hand lands a sharp slap to your cheek, making it turn a deep red.

“J-jake—Fuck!” You cry out once you feel the stinging sensation.

No wonder girls keep crawling back and giving into him. He knows exactly what to say during sex. All the right things, the ones that’ll have your head spinning and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You moan out his name over and over, trying to steady yourself on the glass desk with each brutal thrust that has your body jerking forward, but it’s nearly impossible with how limp you already feel—and you haven’t even come yet.

“This what you wanted, huh? To get bent over and used like a fuckin’ toy?” He tuts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back a bit.

You can’t even form a response. All that leaves your mouth is a pathetic moan as his cock fucks into you so deep and perfectly. Your duties are long forgotten, discarded on the table. All you can think about is how good he feels and how dumb he’s fucking you. “You’ve got the best pussy in the office, don’t you?”

The more his tip slams into your sweet spot, the tighter the knot in your stomach grows, your pussy clenching around him. His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut at the sudden pressure, relishing how your walls squeeze him.

“F-uck.. been jerking off to the thought of this for weeks,” he moans, voice cracking. “And now I’ve got you dripping on my cock like a whore.”

You feel his tip begin to pulse, his hips stuttering as you both inch closer to release. “Gonna cum f’me, doll? Gonna be a good girl?” He says, voice breathy and desperate.

You nod frantically, eyes glassy and lips parted as you teeter on the edge.

He keeps fucking into you, hips slamming with every thrust. One hand keeps you pinned to the table while the other delivers another harsh slap to your ass, the flesh a deep, burning pink now as cries spill from your lips.

You whimper when you feel his cock twitch. He pulls out at the last second, grunting through gritted teeth as he spills his warm cum all over your ass, your release dripping just at your core.

His two fingers glide up your slit, collecting the mess from your pussy and your release, before bringing them around to your lips.

“C’mon, baby, suck on it,” he says, biting his lip when you wrap your mouth around his fingers, tongue swirling around them before you swallow every drop of your mess.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Y’know..” he breathes out with a cocky smirk, “You’re even tighter than I imagined.”

You glance back at him, brows raised, a lazy smirk tugging at your lips. You both chuckle breathlessly.

The realization hits you now. You just let your arch-nemesis fuck you at work.. But you don’t care. That was the best orgasm of your life. Now you understand the hype around Jake and his whore reputation. And Heeseung will definitely be hearing from you.

By the time you and Jake had calmed down after fucking like wild animals, to finishing your duties for the night, to going your separate ways to go home, you found yourself laying back flat on your bed—both conflicted and in disbelief.

The entire moment replays in your head, and all you can wonder is, how’d you actually let him fuck you?

Every single detail scrambles in your brain—how dirty he was talking, how rough he handled you, how deep he fucked you, how big he felt, how filthy his voice sounded while he had you bent over for him, how no guy has ever fucked you this good. And his mention of you having the best pussy in the office made your pussy flutter.

Your thighs press together, warmth and wetness pooling between them. Before you can even realize it, you slip your sweatpants off, discarding them on your side as you still lay on your back, legs almost raised to your chest before your hand rubs slow circles over your clit.

You let the images flash behind your eyelids as you do so—from him grabbing your hips, to spanking you, and then cumming all over your ass by the end of it.

Your rubbing stops before you push two fingers inside your entrance, whimpering at the stretch, though you had Jake’s cock ruin you just a few hours ago.

You try to mimic the way his cock had you filled up, how deep and warm it reached into you.

“Jake, fuck..” you moan under your breath, hips grinding into your hand as your slick-covered fingers quickly pump in and out of your pussy, ramming into your sweet spot as you chase another orgasm.

Sure, this was pathetic of you.. Considering you hated Jake. But the way he fucked you quite literally had you reminiscing, wishing it was his cock instead of your fingers right now.

With a few more curls of your fingers, your cum seeps out, painting your digits with the clear-milky fluid. Your chest heaves as you attempt to calm down from your high, hoping it would give you some kind of relief, but it didn’t.

You lie there, your room mostly dark as the only light source comes from your warm lamp sitting on your nightstand, before your free hand grabs your phone.

You open the message app, before clicking on Jake’s icon. Without even thinking, you type out:

“Round two tmr?”

You stare at the text, not sending it just yet as you reread it. Then backspace it all.

You groan, tossing your phone across the bed.

If tomorrow had already come by now, you would’ve deeply regretted sending any of those texts. You’re only horny in the moment, that’s all.

The next day, you walk into the office nervous as hell, heart pounding when you see Jake walking towards his cubicle.

Frankly, you wouldn’t have cared if he told anybody, though he probably didn’t. Nearly every girl in that office was known for having a one-night stand with Jake, so really, it would be to no one’s surprise.

Worst case scenario, he would’ve acted like nothing had happened between the two of you, leaving you attached.

He notices you as you walk to your own cubicle, and he shoots you that damn smirk before saying, “Morning.”

It left you flustered and annoyed, knowing he at least acknowledged you but didn’t mention anything at all regarding yesterday.

As you settle down in your office, everything still refuses to leave your head. You’re in desperate need of spewing your feelings out before you remember—Heeseung.

The one person you tell everything to, but hadn’t just yet told him about what happened last night.

You quickly grab your phone, sending a text to him that reads:

“Come to my cubicle rn”

Hee: “I’m busy doing smth”

“Pls? I’ll be quick”

Hee: “Is it about Jake?”

“No”

Hee: “Coming”

You were lying. It was about Jake.

You react with a thumbs up to his message and next thing you know, he shows up at your cubicle, leaning against your filing cabinet and crossing his arms, iced americano in hand, ready to listen to whatever shit you need to rant about.

“I did something so stupid,” you say, facing in your chair towards him, making sure to keep your tone down.

His adam's apple bobs before he shuts his eyes for a moment, only to say, “What did you do now?”

You hesitate before finally saying, “I let Jake fuck me.”

“You what?!” He says, a little too loudly as he nearly chokes on his drink, brows furrowing.

“Shh!” You hush. “It was a mistake. It just kind of.. happened. It was so good, but also the worst thing I could’ve ever done.”

“He probably doesn’t see it as a mistake, but.. yeah, no shit. You let someone whose guts you hate fuck you.” He says, still a little surprised at your sudden confession.

“I know that. It was.. really good though. He was so big, and I was like screaming the en—”

“Y/n, now I don’t need to hear about it.” He says, putting an emphasis on the ‘I’, before you remember he had just been the one telling you about all of Jake’s sexual encounters and you were the one to cut him off in disgust.

You roll your eyes dramatically, voice whiny as you say, “But I need to talk to someone! He was like—”

“Nope, I’m out.” He says, taking one last sip of his iced americano before setting it on your desk.

“You can finish it. Oh, and don’t fall for his shit. You and I both know he’s just a walking red flag with a pretty face.” He says, making his way towards the entrance of your cubicle so he can leave and return to his.

“Ughh, I know.. that’s the thing.” You say, taking a sip of the drink Heeseung gave you as he leans against the divider, already halfway out, before you say, “But I might let it happen again.”

He shoots you a playfully nasty look as you giggle into the straw.

After your conversation with Heeseung, you went back into spiral mode. It wasn’t full on, nor was it dramatic, but you were thinking way too much for your own good.

Jake hasn’t mentioned a thing about last night. Hasn’t tried anything—not throwing little hints, nothing. That made everything so much worse for you.

Part of you expected it, for him to have his way with you by having sex and then pretending like nothing happened. But the other part of you absolutely hated it. You wanted him to acknowledge it, to say something about it, to give you the validation.

You’re utterly embarrassed that you let him fuck you, especially in the way he did.. but it was so good. The orgasm, his cock, the dirty talk, the touching—every single little thing.

Needless to say, you were attached. Against your will.

You find yourself in the lounge room, making what feels like your fifth cup of coffee of the day, before Jake walks in.

You turn back, making eye contact just as he steps into the room. Your attention darts back to your warm cup of coffee, not saying a thing—instead gulping and looking visibly nervous. You weren’t expecting your body to tremble and your temple to sweat every time you saw him now, but here you were, looking like a chicken with its head cut off.

He walks past you, making his way to an empty couch to unwind after doing.. well, almost nothing. But just as he’s behind you, he says, “If you want me again, just ask.”

You try hard to act unaffected, but it’s almost impossible. Your cheeks flush and jaw clenches before you turn around, facing him as you snap, “Why don’t you go fuck one of your other girls?”

A bit harsh of you, but.. you were too frustrated and anxious in the moment to control what dumb shit came out of your mouth.

He pauses, raising his eyebrow slightly as a look of what seems like shock and satisfaction washes over his face. “Don’t want them. Kinda like the one who talks back.”

If this wasn’t a reference to you, you don’t know what is.

“At least you have the decency to fuck them and leave.”

Jake’s smirk drops a little, his adam’s apple bobbing like he was about to hesitate on what he was about to say before he goes, “Maybe you’re the first one I don’t wanna leave.”

Your mouth parts when the sentence leaves his mouth, though nothing actually comes out. The way he said it doesn’t feel like a joke, almost as if it’s too real, and this time, you have no comeback.

You walk off, leaving the lounge room with your coffee in hand, not saying a word as you’re too flustered and annoyed.

You leave him standing in the room on his own, alone in his thoughts. Shit. Do I actually want her?

You storm into Heeseung’s cubicle, ready to vent to him, even though you pretty much already did just an hour ago.

He’s on the phone with a client—feet up on his desk, but the minute he sees you in his office with a look of shock on your face, he doesn’t think twice before making some shitty excuse and hanging up. Wow, how professional. But in your defence, you would’ve hung up the phone for him if he hadn’t done it himself.

“What is it now..” he says, dramatically leaning back further into his chair and putting a hand over his forehead like he was a damsel in distress.

You sit yourself on top of his desk, legs dangling just a little before you speak, your voice a little more frustrated and louder than usual, “I can’t stand him, Hee. I just don’t know what to do, I-I mean first he—”

“Woah, easy.. calm down. Tell me what happened.”

You take a breather, his words putting you at ease before you speak again, “He hasn’t said anything about last night, nothing. And then today, he just tells me that I’m the only girl he’s fucked that he doesn’t want to leave after?”

Heeseung chuckles to himself, staring down at his lap when he says, “Yet your legs still probably shook when he told you that. Kinda like how they shook when he fu—”

“Lee Heeseung.” You hit him with a deadpan stare from the desk, silently urging him that this is serious and that he needs to get his shit together.

“S-orry,” his voice cracks. “But.. I don’t understand. What do you even want him to say? ‘Oh, last night was fun’?” He says, mocking Jake’s voice.

“Yeah? Any kind of assurance would’ve been nice.” You say, brows slightly furrowing at his lack of help.

“No one does that anymore. It’s kind of corny.”

“Whatever,” you say, hopping off his desk and slowly walking to exit his cubicle, before he says one more thing that sticks with you: “You either need to fuck him again or block him. Depends if he proves himself.”

You walk out without saying anything back, his sentence engraved in your mind as you still try to process it.

Before you know it, you’re already making your way back to your own cubicle, ready to resume the endless amount of typing and calls you’ll have to take, hoping that’ll clear your mind somehow.

Just as you turn the corner, Jake is leaning against your cubicle wall, chewing on his bottom lip as he zones out at the ground.

You don’t know if he was waiting for you, or just doing his own thing and acting dumb, but you never saw him like this. He almost looked.. anxious.

You approach him, not stepping into your cubicle just yet, but instead in front of him, staring up at him with big eyes as his gorgeous ones meet yours.

A small smirk tugs at his lips before he says, “Look, take it how you want but, I know you hate me.. and I know you’re gonna come back anyway.”

So he was waiting for you. And oh, there’s that cocky Jake you always knew.

You gulp as your eyes stay fixed on his, staying silent as you’re unsure of how to reply.

“You still thinkin’ about last night, yeah?” He says, his smirk becoming more evident as he sees your cheek flush and eyes drop to the floor, avoiding eye contact with him.

He already got his answer—he didn’t need you to say it. “I thought so,” he whispers, before his back comes off the wall and he walks away.

You still weren’t happy with how he approached everything, but at least he acknowledged last night. That’s all you cared about.

Later that night, you snuggle in your blankets, eyes still open as you stare off into the distance of your room, trying to forget about all the thoughts of Jake and his antics that consumed you today.

Your thoughts are shut down when your phone lock screen flashes. You grab your phone, only to see that it’s a text from Jake reading, “You awake?”

“Yeah”

Jake: “Wanna come over for a bit”

“For what?”

Jake: “Nthn, just bored”

“Be there in a bit”

He liked your message before you shut your phone off with a sigh. You don’t know if this was going to be a bad idea, but after all, he was the root cause of why you weren’t able to sleep.

You contemplate your decision for a moment before you think, fuck it, and change into sweatpants and a crop top, grabbing your keys and heading out the door, over to his place with the location he shared.

Luckily, Jake lived pretty close, so a 10 minute walk didn’t feel dreadful at all. Instead, you were wondering how everything was gonna go down. Should you mention what happened last night? Should you ask him if you’re something more than friends? What if he doesn’t care at all?

Your walk ended up feeling like 5 minutes before you found yourself in front of his apartment door, pressing the doorbell before he opened the door—greeting you with a bare and sleepy face, wearing grey sweatpants and a loose white shirt, his hair still looking good but a bit messier. Yet, he still looks so good. Typical Jake.

You walk inside his apartment, the fairly-neat space making you slightly surprised as you always thought of him to be the messy type. But who would’ve thought that he actually took care of his apartment?

You stare at the digital clock on one of the shelves, reading ‘12:54 a.m.’

He leads you to his room where you both sit on his bed—him laying his back against the pillows, legs spread, while you sit beside him, legs pulled up to your chest as your arms hug them close to you.

“You looked cute t’day.. All pouty. Made me wanna ruin you again.” He breaks the silence, his voice so disgustingly hot as it’s laced with sleep and extra raspiness.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you say, giggling a little as you refuse to make eye contact with him, too anxious to even do anything. You already started to regret even coming over. “You’ve always been.”

“Works on you though, doesn’t it?” He says, looking straight at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You finally get the courage to make eye contact with him before you say, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Don’t gotta. You’re the one in my bed right now,” he chuckles, earning one from you as well. You didn’t reply because, frankly, he was right. You had every right to decline his request of coming over, but you did anyways—now sitting right on his bed.

The air is thick with tension and silence. You zone out before you finally look over to him again, staring at his lap before your words catch his attention. “Are we seriously not gonna talk about last night?”

Yes, he mentioned it once earlier today, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to pull more answers out of him.

“You want me to say I liked it? That I’ve been thinking about it all day?” He mocks, slightly raising an eyebrow as he realizes just how much you cared about that one night.

You go quiet, sucking in a breath. Yes, you wanted him to say exactly that, but there’s no way you were actually going to admit it.

“Cause I have.” He speaks, before adding, “I don’t gotta tell you, you’re a smart girl.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, heat pooling between your thighs as he smirks at your flustered reaction.

“Come here,” he says a little too casually, patting on his lap like he was telling a dog to come sit.

“W-what?” You stutter. You’ve already been fucked dumb by him, so you don’t know why you were so hesitant to sit on his lap—you just were.

“Just come sit. Why, you scared?” He tuts, patting his lap once more like it was the last opportunity he’d give you.

You roll your eyes at him before you slowly crawl onto his lap, straddling it as his hands immediately find their way to your hips, resting on them as he stares up at you with those pathetic, irresistible eyes.

You gulp at the sight, your hands snaking around his neck as your bodies are so close they could nearly press together.

One hand that was once resting on your hip comes around your waist, closing the gap between your bodies as his face nuzzles into your bare neck, pressing soft and wet kisses on your skin. It was unexpected and sudden, but felt so good—almost making you shiver in his touch.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft and messy locks, your breathing becoming heavier as his kisses trail down from your neck, to your collarbone, down to just the top of your breasts.

You softly gasp when he tugs your crop top over your breasts, the flesh recoiling as he smirks and looks at you at the fact that you came with no bra on. “Nasty girl.”

He helps pull the shirt over your head before his mouth immediately latches onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his other hand kneads your other breast, his large hand palming and squeezing the meat.

You throw your head back slightly, mouth parting as his tongue works perfectly against your tits, your hips unintentionally grinding on his bulge.

He whimpers into the suck of your nipple when he feels the friction, pulling off your peaked bud with a wet pop, his lips swollen.

“You gonna let me fuck you again, baby?” He says, looking back up at you, your brows furrowed in pleasure as both of his hands knead and squeeze your tits like they’re stress relievers.

You whimper before nodding, the wetness in your sweatpants collecting as you want nothing more now than his cock inside of you. Sounds desperate, but in this case, you were.

“Take it off,” he says with a throaty voice, tugging at your sweatpants. You do just as he says, slipping them off and discarding them on his floor as his hands firmly place you on your back, your body on full display for him as he tugs his own sweatpants down—enough to free his throbbing cock, already pink and leaking at the tip.

He aligns his cock with your soaked core before pushing in slow, both of you gasping. You still weren’t used to his size—though you never think you’re going to be able to.

A wet squelch echoes in the room when he bottoms out, loud and sticky. Your eyes flutter open at the noise, at how obscene it sounds.

He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulder, your ankles right at his shoulders as his hips move back and forth, giving you slow and deep strokes that already hit just right. You wondered how he found that sweet spot again of yours so quickly.

“Right there, hm?” he says, pressing down on your stomach to feel where his tip hits inside you. He memorized every spot inside your pussy—what a fuckboy thing to do.

“M-mhmm,” you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, the pure pleasure of his cock fucking into you agonizingly slow making your brain turn into mush.

The filthy squelch of your pussy gets louder with every thrust—a lewd, sticky and wet sound that fills the room. You swear you could feel yourself dripping down to the sheets.

He reaches down to cup your jaw, forcing your face to meet his. “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck this pretty pussy,” he says, before letting out a loud groan when he feels your core tighten at his words.

His thrusts pick up, your tits bouncing as your body keeps jolting with every movement, your legs still resting over Jake’s shoulder while his hands grip onto your hips—firm enough to leave a mark if he let go.

You throw your head back further into the sheets, hips jerking and a soft moan escaping your lips when his tip kisses your cervix, his cock so deep and warm inside you it could almost make you see stars. You shift a little, moving yourself a little further from him. Well, you try to.

“Don’t run, baby. Take it,” he says, pulling on your hips so your body comes down into the place it once was before. Your eyes roll back with each thrust, your pussy practically strangling him.

“F-uck Jake—G-gonna cum—!” Your voice cracks right at the last second, before you cum. Your milky mess drips onto his cock, getting shoved back inside you as he’s still chasing his high, but he’s very close—as you feel his cock pulsing inside your tight gummy walls.

“This pussy’s all fuckin’ mine,” he groans, throwing his head back before he pulls out just in time, stroking his length a bit before his thick ropes of cum paint your stomach.

His hands finally let go of your hips, his finger marks evident as he stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breaths before he walks into his bathroom and comes out with a towel.

He wipes down your messy and dripping pussy, as well as your stomach that he spilled his release on, before discarding it lazily on the bed.

He lays beside you, pulling you into his chest, your leg thrown over his hip as your head rests on his chest, his heart fluttering from the orgasm.

You lay in silence for a few minutes, not even realizing it. All you can remember is him gently stroking your hair while you softly breathe into his chest.

“How about I pick you up from your place tomorrow?” He breaks the silence, his fingers resting in your hair before he adds, chuckling, “Maybe we can stay after hours again.”

You giggle into his chest at his conceited remark. “And what if your little girlfriends see us?”

“I’ll tell them I’m taken.”

Oh.. so this is how he makes things official?

You feel a little stunned at the statement, but also grateful that he still stuck around to annoy you all those days at work, ever since your first day at the job—and grateful that he picked you amongst the swarm of girls who’d kill to be in a relationship with him.

Your head comes off his chest, your face leaning in to press a soft and warm kiss to his plush lips as he hums into your mouth, snaking his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

Maybe the man you so-terribly despised at your office job wasn’t that bad. Hopefully Heeseung approves.

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