#what actually changes for light's internal state is

[kiyomitakada]

i am going to scream (wip rambling in the tags)

[sunderwight]

Thinking about SV demons potentially having a cultural thing where it's gauche to tell someone directly that you love them, but acceptable to tell everyone else that you do, with the idea being that you're supposed to deduce some of the state of the other's regard for you when the information is delivered by a third party.

In a lot of stories/legends/myths/etc in the relevant demon cultures, this social standard is sometimes used to sow disinformation and stir up drama, sometimes emphasizing the importance of verifying your info through multiple sources and figuring out who is unbiased. Like there's a legend of some incident where a bride finds out from her sister that the groom has never spoken of her love for her even once, and in a fit of despair she kills him, only for it to turn out that the sister was lying out of jealousy and etc etc.

Or parents trying to arrange a match lie and tell their only son that his betrothed has been assuring everyone else that she loves him, but then she ditches him on the wedding night to run off with her actual lover because it turns out that she wasn't interested after all, humiliating the entire clan.

Anyway. Luo Binghe learns of this tradition and while he thinks the "tell absolutely everyone that you love your spouse" bit is rad, he immediately disregards the "don't directly tell your spouse" part. Mobei Jun at one point attempts to explain to him that he's being extremely cringe, and Luo Binghe is just like, no you don't get it, if he doesn't hear it from me he will never believe it. It will not penetrate.

So at first MBJ is like, wow Consort Shen is thick I guess, but then a day later he's in the middle of going over some of his correspondence and Shang Qinghua is explaining some cultural miscommunication or other and the light goes on.

What if Consort Shen isn't thick?

What if this is a human thing?

But he can't just tell Shang Qinghua to his face that he loves him, especially if he's misunderstood. He has to figure it out indirectly before he knows if he needs to work up the nerve to do go that far. So he decides to talk around it instead, and asks Shang Qinghua if Consort Shen is thick about matters of love.

Shang Qinghua's not expecting this change of topics but like, obviously the answer to that question is an emphatic yes, so what happened my king did he straight-zone another lovelorn admirer?

Mobei Jun internally wipes some sweat off of his brow at this answer.

Thank fuck, looks like he won't have to do anything as humiliating as straightforwardly confess his feelings after all!

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 1 - the expansion play]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: After a challenge at a family dinner, billionaire real estate property developer Azzi Fudd decides to start a WNBA expansion team. With a sharp team behind her and a clear vision, she builds the Golden State Valkyries in San Francisco. As the 2025 draft approaches, all signs point to one player—UConn’s Paige Bueckers. While Paige dominates the court, Azzi quietly prepares a franchise that’s not just ready to win—but built with her in mind.

Fudd Private Estate, Northern California. August 2023. 

Dinner was almost done, the last of the grilled sea bass cleared, the conversation slipping into its usual rhythm of real estate forecasts and international zoning headaches. Out on the terrace, string lights blinked above marble columns, glowing like fireflies. Inside, the table gleamed—mahogany polished to a perfect shine, linen napkins folded into neat triangles. 

Azzi sat between her mother and her older brother, Trey. Legs crossed, watching the slow swirl of wine in her glass. She had been quiet most of the evening, letting her brothers talk over each other the way they always did when the market was up and their egos were sharper than usual. 

“You closed the Charleston deal?” she asked finally, cutting through Trey’s retelling of a boardroom clash. 

Her eldest brother, James, nodded as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “We came in two-point-eight billion over the projections. Construction begins in six months.” 

Their father gave a grunt of approval. Their mother hummed and reached for her water. 

Azzi glanced across the table. “And what are you doing with all that extra goodwill, Jimmy?” 

He smirked. “Redeveloping a dying downtown district and renaming the park after myself.” 

Trey laughed. “Philanthropy at its finest.” 

“Speaking of,” James added, turning toward her, “You’ve been busy handing out grants again. New initiative for girls’ sports, right?” 

Azzi nodded. “Three new training facilities. One in Detroit, two in Phoenix. Fully operational by spring.” 

Trey raised his glass in mock toast. “Saving the world, one blueprint at a time.” 

She gave him a sidelong look. “Is there a point coming?” 

“There is,” he said, grinning. “You’re always writing checks. But I’m wondering when you’ll stop funding things and actually build something that isn’t a foundation.” 

“I build all the time.” 

James leaned in, elbows on the table. “We mean something that moves. Something alive. You’ve got the money, the backing, the public image.” 

“Start a team,” Trey said, a little too casually. “Something new. From the ground up. You want to talk about real change in women’s sports? That’s where it happens.” 

Azzi blinked slowly, caught by the shift in tone. “You want me to build a team.” 

Trey shrugged. “Why not?” 

James added, “It’s not like you’re risk-averse. You took on a $600 million flood zone in Miami. A team is a child’s play.” 

“It’s also far outside my scope,” she replied, voice calm. “I don’t follow leagues. I don’t know the system.” 

“You didn’t know how to navigate renewable infrastructure either,” Trey said. “Now you’re advising senators.” 

She exhaled, quiet but thoughtful. Her wine glass hung between her fingers as she stared toward the edge of the terrace, where the hills disappeared into shadows. 

“A team in what league?” 

Trey didn’t hesitate. “WNBA.” 

The name lingered in the air. 

Azzi gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.” 

“We’re not,” James said. “It’s still expanding. They’re opening the door for new franchises. You’d be one of the few female owners, if not the youngest. And your last name doesn’t hurt.” 

Trey grinned. “Besides, you’re the only one of us who’d actually do it well.” 

There was a long pause. Azzi’s eyes stayed fixed on the dark horizon, her thoughts already moving faster than her brothers could see. 

Without looking back, she lifted her glass and took a slow sip, the stem steady between her fingers. 

Trey watched her closely. “So?” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her eyes lingered on the hills beyond the terrace, where the last light was slipping beneath the edge of the vineyard. 

“I never asked for a challenge,” she said, voice low. “But I don’t walk away from one either.” 

James smirked. “That’s not a yes.” 

She gave a faint smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Isn’t it?” 

Their mother let out a quiet sigh, already sensing the shift in air. 

But Azzi was somewhere else entirely. Her mind moved fast and silent, calculating what a new venture would demand. She didn’t know the system, hadn’t followed the structure or rhythm of this world. It would take work, leverage, timing, instinct. 

And still, the idea pulled at her. 

Not because she cared about the game. But because something about it was unclaimed. 

She let the silence stretch, the glass poised just below her lips. 

Then, without another word, she stood and slipped out onto the terrace. 

Inside, her brothers watched her go, unsure if they’d won or simply opened a door she had already planned to walk through. 

- 

Fudd Holdings, New York. September 2023. 

The skyline beyond Azzi’s glass walls was cold steel and soft morning light. The city stirred beneath her, a quiet hum barely reaching the forty-second floor. From here, everything felt still—like the world was waiting for her next move. 

She stood in silence, coffee cooling in her hand, gaze fixed beyond the horizon. Her calendar buzzed every eight minutes, but none of it mattered right now. Not the Zurich call. Not the Dallas rezoning conflict. Not the gala prep in New York. 

The only thing on her desk was a sealed manila folder. Franchise proposal templates. Expansion forecasts. A league dossier annotated in someone else’s hand. 

She hadn’t opened it. 

But she hadn’t thrown it away either. 

Behind her, the door opened without a knock. Only one person in the building had that kind of clearance. 

“You’re either planning to buy a spaceship,” said Nika Mühl, walking in without slowing, “or you’re finally giving in and building that team.” 

Azzi didn’t turn. “Is that what people think?” 

“Well, your brothers certainly do. And you’ve been moody ever since that dinner. I don’t like when you get quiet. You make headlines after.” 

Azzi gave the smallest of smiles, still looking out the window. “You’re dramatic.” 

“I’m Croatian,” Nika replied. “We don’t do subtle.” 

She crossed the room with practiced ease, tablet tucked under one arm, white sneakers a sharp contrast against the black stone floor. Chief Operating Officer of Fudd Holdings by title, but she'd been Azzi's best friend since their freshman year at Harvard. Back when Azzi was the one skipping finance lectures and Nika was the one dragging her back with coffee and tactical guilt. 

Now, Nika handled billion-dollar contracts, kept Azzi’s empire standing, and had a habit of knowing exactly when to walk in without knocking. 

She stopped beside her. “So. Team?” 

Azzi said nothing. 

Nika clicked her tongue. “You do realize it’s not like ordering room service, right? You don’t just build a team. You build a front office. A scouting system. A market presence. A brand. A culture.” 

“That’s why I have you.” 

“Wrong,” Nika said, folding her arms. “You have me because I’m good at telling you when something’s a horrible idea.” 

Azzi finally turned to face her, leaning a shoulder against the window. Her voice was low, almost amused. “And is this one?” 

“I don’t know yet. But I know you. If you’re thinking about it this much, you’re already in. You just haven’t said it.” 

Azzi didn’t reply. 

Nika’s tone shifted. “You’d be the first. The youngest owner. A woman. A woman of color. It’ll rattle every boardroom on both the West and East Coasts. Your face will also land a cover in Time Magazine’s Most Influential People of2023.” 

“Good,” Azzi said softly. 

Nika smirked. “I should’ve known. You’ve already started.” 

Azzi walked to her desk, ignoring the tablet Nika had placed beside the folder. She picked up a plain notepad instead. Paper clean and waiting. 

She wrote one word. 

Then paused. 

There were no names yet. No colors. No city she was ready to claim. Just the shape of something she hadn’t fully spoken aloud. 

She stared at the page for a long moment. 

Nika leaned against the desk. “You know if you do this, you’re going to have to live in the same headlines you usually avoid. Press. Interviews. Every move picked apart.” 

“I don’t mind being watched,” Azzi said, pen still in hand. 

“What about being underestimated?” 

Azzi glanced up at her. “That’s never been my problem.” 

Outside, the clouds had begun to thin. A shaft of light cut through the skyline and landed across the desk. 

Azzi closed the notebook and slid it into the drawer. 

“Can you tell Ines to clear my afternoon?” 

“For what?” Nika asked, already pulling out her phone. 

Azzi didn’t answer. She just turned back toward the window, her expression unreadable. 

From this height, the world looked like something she could bend in her hands. And maybe, if she wanted, she would. 

- 

WNBA League Headquarters, Manhattan. November 2023. 

The room smelled faintly of polish and ego. Neutral walls, thick glass table, the kind of chairs designed to keep meetings short. Still, Azzi looked comfortable. Unbothered in black. Her tailored coat hung off the back of her seat, and she hadn’t touched the espresso served when she arrived. 

Across from her sat four executives, each with a pen, a notepad, and a carefully curated expression. 

“This isn’t a typical ownership proposal,” one of them finally said, glancing at the file open in front of him. “You’re young. Unaffiliated. No prior league ties. And no prior team experience.” 

Azzi didn’t blink. “And?” 

The man cleared his throat. “And we’re aware of your success. Real estate. Development. Media. But this is a different ecosystem. A community. It’s built on history. Legacy.” 

“I’m not interested in legacy,” she said, flatly. “I’m interested in evolution.” 

The woman beside him leaned forward slightly. “You’re asking for an expansion license. That’s no small request for a young businesswoman. Why now?” 

Azzi met her eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re leaving value on the table. The interest is there. The numbers are climbing. Your audiences skew younger, more global, more invested than ever. But you’re still thinking like it’s 2003.” 

A beat of silence passed. Someone coughed. 

“I’m not here to collect a trophy franchise,” Azzi continued. “I’m here to build a flagship.” 

The tension in the room shifted. Not relaxed, exactly. But focused. 

They weren’t used to her. She knew that. 

She was the wrong type of billionaire. The kind who didn’t golf. The kind who read quarterly reports at midnight and refused to pretend she cared about playing nice. 

After a pause, the youngest executive spoke. “Your location request. Northern California. That market’s saturated.” 

“Not for women’s sports,” Azzi replied. “And not with the way I’ll brand it.” 

More notes were scribbled. Pages flipped. 

“You understand you’ll be responsible for hiring your own staff. GM. Coaching. Scouting. Facilities.” 

She nodded once. 

“And you’ll have full authority over your roster, should the board approve your inaugural draft position.” 

This time, Azzi didn’t reply. She just tilted her head slightly. Under the table, her phone buzzed once. A message from Nika. 

Top prospect in 2025. Bueckers. UConn. Championship run. Wings circling already. 

She locked the screen without reacting. 

One of the executives leaned back. “This is an aggressive timeline.” 

“I don’t need time,” Azzi said calmly. “I need a green light.” 

They all looked at each other. 

- 

Storrs, Connecticut. January 2024. 

The music hit like a pulse—loud, sticky, layered with bass. Bodies moved in waves around the living room, red cups lifted high, sweat clinging to necklines and the collarbones of people who hadn’t felt the October cold in hours. 

Paige was in the middle of it. 

Couch corner, backward cap, half-finished drink. Her legs draped casually over the side, one arm hooked behind the girl pressed close to her. Brown skin, bright eyes, a messy braid slipping down her shoulder. She laughed at something Paige murmured, then leaned in again. 

Paige smiled—half-cocky, half-distracted. She liked the ones who laughed easily. They didn’t ask for much. 

She didn’t remember this girl’s name. She wasn’t sure she ever got it. 

“You always this smooth?” the girl asked, fingers tracing lazy circles on Paige’s arm. 

“I like to keep my stats up,” Paige replied, letting the line sit between them like smoke. 

The girl grinned and tilted her head. “You’re bad.” 

Paige just raised her cup, took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. She didn’t need to try. People came to her like gravity. She played the role well—UConn’s golden girl, the smirk, the ease, the streak of charm that made teammates roll their eyes and strangers ask for photos. 

Across the room, KK Arnold pushed through the crowd like she had somewhere to be—shoulders squared, mouth moving before she even reached the couch. 

“Yo!” she shouted. “Turn that down—hold up, Paige—have you seen this?” 

The girl beside Paige pulled back slightly, frowning. Paige didn’t move. Just raised her eyebrows lazily. 

“I’m kinda busy, KK.” 

“No,” KK insisted, phone shoved halfway into Paige’s face. “You’re gonna want to see this.” 

Paige blinked. “This better be more important than whatever this is,” she said, gesturing vaguely at her lap. 

KK smirked. “It is.” 

She pressed play. 

A talking head. ESPN. Something about the league. Something about movement. Paige barely tuned in until she heard the word: 

“—expansion.” 

That snapped her straight. 

She reached for the phone now, sat up slightly. The girl she’d been entertaining gave a small noise of protest and slipped away, sensing the shift in energy. 

KK kept talking. “It’s not confirmed, but people are saying it’s happening. West Coast maybe. A new team. Just one.” 

“And?” Paige said, watching the loop replay, the headline scroll beneath the anchors. 

“And if it happens,” KK’s eyes were shining with excitement, “whoever they are, they’ll get the first pick in 2025.” 

Paige leaned back, silent now, eyes on the screen but brain already moving. 

She knew what first pick meant. 

She knew what she meant. 

A slow grin spread across her face, lazy and full of something dangerous. 

“Well,” she said, voice smooth, almost a drawl, “guess they better build something worth playing for.” 

KK laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Paige tossed her cup aside, suddenly alive again. “Nah. I’m just real hard to impress.” 

She didn’t know yet who was building that team. Didn’t know where they were, or what they were planning. 

But she knew how expansion worked. 

If they were new, they were going to get first pick. 

And if she kept playing like this, there wasn’t going to be much of a debate. 

Paige let the thought settle as she sank back onto the couch, the music pulsing again through the floorboards. The party moved around her. Someone passed her a refill. Someone else grabbed her hand to pull her into a photo. 

She smiled, easy and practiced. 

Whatever came next, she’d be ready for it. 

She always was. 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. February 2024. 

The city never fully slept, but her condo above it felt like it did. Clean lines, quiet corners, light reflecting off glass and steel. The only sound was the low buzz of her laptop fan and the occasional shift of the wind against the windows. Azzi had tuned the rest out. 

She sat barefoot at her desk, blazer thrown over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled past her elbows. A second espresso sat forgotten beside her—still warm, untouched. The hours had slipped without warning, and she hadn’t moved. 

Everything had started simple. 

Staff. Infrastructure. Nika had sent over a thick shortlist—coaching leads, analytics experts, trainers, logistics. All color-coded, with bullet-point histories and compensation expectations. Azzi had flagged a few. Deleted one with a note. Started typing thoughts into a shared doc that Nika would read by morning. 

That should’ve been the end of her night. 

But she had opened another folder. This one labeled Prospects. It wasn’t official. The draft was a year out. Still, Nika had her ear to the ground, and the expected names were already surfacing. 

There were plenty of talents. 

But only one name was bolded in red. 

Paige Bueckers. 

Azzi clicked into the file. Then into the links. And suddenly, she wasn’t reviewing a prospect. She was watching. 

Highlights first. Just a few. Crisp cuts, quick angles. UConn’s number five coming off a screen and launching a shot so fluid it made time pause. Behind-the-back passes. A stepback three that broke ankles. That same face again and again in the freeze-frames—focused, fierce, almost glowing. 

Then came the interviews. 

Paige under lights. Paige in locker rooms. Paige on late-night segments, quick with a grin, comfortable in her own skin. Her voice had a cadence Azzi didn’t expect. Confident, but easy. Flirty when she wanted to be, always a little amused with the attention she commanded. 

It was sometime after 2 a.m. when Azzi realized she hadn’t blinked in a while. 

The tabs were everywhere now—articles, game tape, UConn’s media guide, a podcast, a couple of poorly edited fan videos. One browser was open to Paige’s Instagram. There were more selfies than Azzi expected. More snapshots in hoodies, celebrations, dances, teammates wrapping arms around her shoulders. Her smile was wide in nearly all of them. 

There was one video—twenty seconds long—where Paige sat on a locker room bench after a win. Her hair was still damp, socks mismatched. She pointed at the camera, grinning like she knew exactly who was watching. 

“Y’all saw that pass, right?” she said. “I’m just saying MVP energy, don’t lie.” 

Azzi tilted her head at the screen. Then hit replay. 

She didn’t bother counting how many times she watched it. 

The city outside had turned ghost-quiet. Her espresso had gone cold. The time in the corner of her screen read 3:42 a.m. 

Azzi leaned back, the glow of the screen still lingering behind her eyes. The silence of the condo pressed in, heavy with everything left undone. 

This wasn’t about choosing a player. That decision had been obvious. 

Now came the hard part. 

She had to build something that deserved her. 

Not a placeholder roster. Not a name stitched on a jersey. Something real. Cohesive. Ruthless in its intention and sharp enough to match the edge that girl played with. 

Paige Bueckers wouldn’t say it out loud, but Azzi had seen it in every clip, every interview, every still image that refused to soften her. Paige would not play just to exist. She would need to win. To lead. To belong without shrinking.    Not to mention the insane number of her following and fanbase. Paige also influenced people in a way.  

Azzi stood and crossed the room, the city lights curling against the glass. Her reflection was sharp, watching. 

She had money. Influence. Time. 

What she needed now was vision. 

Something Paige would walk into and never want to leave. 

And Azzi would build it. Quietly. Precisely. 

-    Fudd Holdings, New York. March 2024. 

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that followed focus. Sunlight spilled across the long table, where a half-dozen staff from operations and marketing sat poised, eyes forward. At the head stood Azzi, composed in tailored black, with Nika seated beside her. Ines, her ever-efficient assistant, flanked the opposite side. Amari DeBerry, recently appointed head of marketing, sat near the screen, hands clasped, alert. 

Azzi’s voice carried with clarity and purpose. 

“We’re establishing the franchise in San Francisco,” she said simply. “We’ve secured a long-term venue partnership, and I’ve approved residential development near the arena for housing and accessibility.” 

Murmurs of approval passed around the table. Amari nodded once, already scribbling in a notepad. 

Azzi tapped the remote and the screen behind her lit up. 

“The team name is set. Golden State Valkyries.” 

Another murmur. Nika let out a soft, impressed whistle. 

“Color palette is royal purple, white, black, and gold.” 

That got Nika’s attention. She didn’t speak, not yet, but her brow lifted slightly. Azzi didn’t look at her. 

“The branding team will have mockups by Friday,” Azzi continued. “Uniform concepts by next week. I want a balance of power and elegance. Iconography that’s timeless, not trendy.” 

The presentation slide shifted, revealing clean logo designs, jersey prototypes, and mock courts painted with deep violet and cold metallics. Strong, elegant. Sharp. 

Azzi continued, her gaze unwavering. “The direction is not simply aesthetic. The identity needs to match the face of the franchise.” 

She let the silence stretch, let the weight of her next words land with precision. 

“We’re drafting Paige Bueckers in 2025. And everything we build starts there.” 

The others nodded in agreement, energized, the tension turning to motion. 

“She’s a generational player,” Azzi said. “But more than that, she’s marketable. Composed. Smart. Charismatic. We’re not just acquiring talent. We’re setting the tone for who we are.”    Azzi answered a few questions here and there as she promised to send a copy of the presentation to each and everyone of them.    “We’re moving to the main office in San Francisco by the end of this month. All costs involving the transfer will be compensated and you will all receive an email from Finance and H&R.” Azzi’s tone was firm and final. Then Azzi looked at her Marketing Director. “Amari, I need you to start working on marketing strategies before this year’s WNBA draft. We want to launch the brand and team after the 2024 draft.”    Amari gave her a thumbs up before going back to her notepad. 

The presentation ended, clean and final. Staff offered quiet acknowledgments before rising and filing out.     Nika remained seated. She tilted her head toward the dark screen now dimming in sleep mode. 

“Purple?” she said, tone neutral, almost amused. 

Azzi didn’t look up. “It photographs well.” 

Nika lifted a brow. “So does navy. Or gray.” 

Azzi slid her tablet into her bag. “This feels distinct.” 

Nika leaned forward just slightly, eyes sharp. “It’s her favorite color.” 

Azzi's hand stilled over the zipper. “Is it?” 

“So you’re saying...” Nika 's voice was edged with mischief, “it’s just a branding strategy?” 

Azzi straightened, cool as ever. “It’s a strong visual.” 

Nika gave a soft, knowing smile. “Sure.” 

She didn’t press, but she didn’t need to. The implication hung between them—unspoken, but understood. 

- 

Somewhere in Florida. April 2024. 

The room smelled like last night—cheap beer, perfume, someone else's cigarettes. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, one sock on, shirt in her lap, scrolling through her phone without much urgency. Her head pounded faintly. She didn’t remember the girl's name. She didn’t try. 

The first thing that caught her attention wasn’t a text or a missed call. 

It was a headline. 

Breaking: WNBA Announces New Expansion Team — Golden State Valkyries 

She stilled. 

Logos, teaser clips, renderings of jerseys, arena mock-ups—her feed was full of it. Posts from ESPN, WNBA, Bleacher Report. Everyone had something to say. Some called it ambitious. Some called it overdue. Everyone agreed it was big. 

The name caught her. So did the sharp lines of the branding. There was something bold about it. Fast. Designed to be remembered. 

She kept scrolling, half-dressed, only stopping when KK’s name lit up on her screen. 

She answered. “What.” 

“Girly pop, tell me you’ve seen the news,” KK said, buzzing with energy. 

“I’m looking at it now, bruh.” 

“That’s it. That’s the team. You’re going there.” 

Paige tossed her shirt over her shoulder and reached for her shoes. “That's reach.” 

“Come on,” KK said. “They will draft you for sure! You’re the first pick next year. That team’s yours whether you like it or not.” 

Paige didn’t say anything for a beat. A few more posts flashed past—video edits already throwing her name into fake Valkyrie graphics. Speculation disguised as fact. 

She grabbed her keys off the nightstand and headed for the door. The other girl mumbled something into the pillow. Paige didn’t turn around. 

She stepped out into the morning. The season was already over but the future had a shape now.  

And it had her full attention. 

[matchatarot]

I love spring so much, Bunny! We will be born again as the snow melts… Let’s see what energy you’re stepping into! Archangel Gabriel, (angel of birth, new beginnings, and spiritual revelations) jumped out of two different decks during this reading! To pick a pile don’t overthink it; choose the one that draws you in the most while thinking about the reading’s intent. Only take what resonates! Love, Matcha ♡

☆ masterlist

Pile 1 ₊˚.༄

At the moment you might be going through a lot internally even though life seems to be on hold. You’re trying to break through from your old persona. Other’s perceptions of you don’t match who you are anymore. You’ve been scared to be your authentic self in the past but now you’re yearning to let it shine. You’re ready for a whole rebranding. This spring, you’ll let this new you see the light. You’ll follow its flow, discovering what this transformation means for you. How it feels. How it shows up in the world. Be careful, the glow up you’re gonna be experiencing will attract envy and jealousy, make sure to protect yourself from the evil eye. Don’t worry though, you’ll be very happy and confident so even if some people don’t like the change you’ll be experiencing it won’t be affecting your mood. Actually, it might be giving you more motivation. You’ll be spending time with people who truly matter, receiving an overwhelming amount of love from your community. At the start of summer, you’ll feel like you totally shed your old skin. You’ll feel more mature and spiritually in tune. This spring will make you grow a lot. On the spiritual side, you might be experiencing a spiritual awakening. Thanks to this spiritual awakening you’ll finally be able to forgive yourself from past experiences. You’ll become way kinder to yourself. You’ll understand that the mistakes of your past created the wonderful person you are. It’ll be a very defining new beginning, you’ll feel like a new person. You’ll have to let go of your old mindset regarding success, realizing it wasn’t even yours to begin with, just a reflection of societal pressures. You’re gonna look so stunning as well, attracting stares everywhere you go because you stand out so much. You won’t be scared to show off your own personal style. Your body will have changed in a way you like or the way you dress your body type will be different, more flattering. A masculine and grounded energy will bring you good news relating to a career prospect, collaboration or relationship. So that might be a lover announcing their flame or someone offering you a job. Either way, you’ll have a decision to make. Whatever you choose try being nice if you have any criticism to make regarding the proposition, but don’t hold back from stating your needs.

852hz, 11, 222, 959, the moon, archangel gabriel, violin

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

�� Spring 2025 Fashion ✿ Spring Forecast

Pile 2 ⊹˚˖ ☆

You might have been in denial when it comes to your fulfillment. But your inner child is calling and you’re feeling the urge to take care of it. You’ve had this vision of your ideal life for years and you’re realizing that your soul just won’t let it go. So you’re gonna step into action and manifestation mode. You’re gonna manifest like you never did before because you’ll act on your wishes instead of simply praying for it. You’re gonna let the blessings flow in and believe me they will. You have a lot of money blessings coming your way, especially debts being paid off. This weight off of your shoulders is finally gonna give you the chance to work on your anxiety issues. You might have this lingering fear of not having enough after those blessings and it’s gonna be the perfect time to do some well-needed shadow work. A part of you will die this spring, you’ll say bye to the procrastinating and lazy side of you. You’ll rather ground yourself and work on your life instead of using toxic coping mechanisms to forget like drinking, smoking, social media etc. At the end of spring, you’ll be flamboyant and abundant! You’ll have more confidence thanks to your accomplishments and will enjoy the fruits of your labour. You’re gonna get paid, Bunny! You’ll be so financially comfortable that you’ll probably be planning a trip for this summer. You’ll stand out socially and create a powerful reputation. You might be celebrating your birthday, an anniversary or the end of a semester and it’ll make you look back on all the things you went through during the past year, and you’ll feel very proud about where you are. As part of your glow up, you’ll develop a studying method or you’ll adapt the way you go about learning and it’ll have incredible results. You’ll be learning a lot of things and quickly. If you’re learning anything, especially if it’s related to language, expect to reach your goals sooner than expected. Some of you might travel to a country to practice speaking a language.

look what you made me do by taylor swift, 0, 1, 222, 5, 639hz, the sun, archangel gabriel, citrine

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

☆ Spring 2025 Fashion ✿ Spring Forecast

Pile 3 ‧₊˚ ♡

Bunny, your spread is so good I am shook. I only pulled major arcana for the tarot portion… and it’s full of synchronicity. I had to take a picture of it even though I didn’t for the other piles because it’s so crazy. I don’t want to play favourite but the universe is, sorry! Anyways, right now you’re being grounded and abundant. Making the right decisions based on well-established values. Well, most of the time, you have your little vices, your little contradictions, but it gives you an interesting edge to be honest. You’re embodying divine masculine right now, taking action and following your path with fierceness. Seems like you’re already glowing up, you’re in this zone where it seems like everything you’re doing in your day is serving a higher purpose, even in small everyday rituals. This spring you’re gonna be the star and things are gonna be coming to you so fast! You’re getting a lot of good karma! Every decision is gonna be important this upcoming season because it’s gonna be a very defining moment in your life, especially when it comes to friendships. You’re doing so well that you’re attracting fake friends, people who want to be associated with you just for social compensation, and jealous people who don’t seem to know you. You’ll look at them and you won’t see anything you want to associate with, nothing you admire, you’ll let them go. You’re gonna be so gratified at the end of spring. You might be entering a new relationship at the start of summer. One thing for sure is that you’ll have a whole new relationship with yourself. You’re already doing so well but by reaffirming your values this spring you’re gonna be stepping in closer to your higher self than you ever did. You’ll be closer to spirit than you ever were. You’ll reminisce about this spring and be thankful because it’ll be one of the moments you developed a sense of discipline and wisdom you didn’t know you could possess. Your glow up is gonna bring you an extremely strong sense of self and lifelong useful skills. Your new way of processing life is gonna make you a powerful manifester.

1, 7, rhyolite, amazonite, the moon

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

☆ Spring 2025 Fashion ✿ Spring Forecast

decks used for this reading: angel tarot cards by radleigh valentine,les vampires oracle by Lucy Cavendish, mystical wisdom by Gaye Guthrie, art oracles by Katya Tylevich

[nagiboo]

“I want to talk to you.”

The words leave his mouth and it felt as if your illusion of a perfect world where only the two of you existed had crumbled with your heart.

“Sure. What’s wrong? You look serious, Sae.”

“This isn’t working.” Ah.

“Huh?” You were confused, as if just a day ago you guys weren’t curled up in a ball, watching your favourite movie with your favourite snacks.

“You’re a distraction.” He stated bluntly, his eyes were as dull and beautiful as ever. He looked like he truly didn’t care.

“You were good to have around at first, convenient even, but now, this has become too much of a burden to deal with.”

The words left his lips as if they were light and meant nothing at all, as if his sharp gaze that bore into your own didn’t shatter your heart to pieces.

“Are you serious?” You sat up from his white leather couch, in genuine disbelief as to how he could shrug you off so easily and quickly.

Sae said nothing, just stared at you. His eyes cold and lifeless.

“You’re unbelievable.” You said, getting up and grabbing your purse. Your voice was tight with utter disbelief and rising hurt.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He said nothing. He stared at you as if you were some miscalculation in his perfect equation.

“So really, that’s it? After everything, I’m just a hassle? Some burden?”

Sae snickered. “Exactly that.” His voice was mocking, serious. He didn’t realise how hurtful he could be sometimes, and you highly doubt he intended to come off so blunt.

But the damage was done.

That was the last straw, the final nail in the coffin that sent your emotions toppling over, but only internally. You didn’t cry, nor did you beg.

“Then I hope your career is worth it.” Your voice was filled with finality, pushing past him.

The door clicked behind you, and Sae let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was alone again.

Just like how he thought he had wanted it.

Except, the feeling inside of his chest never lifted.

He only got hollower.

His expression didn’t change, his composure didn’t crack, but his knuckles were stained white from how hard he was gripping onto his training bag.

Where was the relief he so desperately wanted? He wondered.

Being in a relationship was so troublesome, he replayed this conversation and how it would go a million times over in his head. So why did he feel so lonely?

He repeated affirmations to himself, saying that this was for the best. That you were a distraction. That he didn’t actually care for you.

Oh Sae, what a genius you are.

He praised himself in his head.

Sae had made a mistake, and he realised that months later when he had saw you with someone else posted up on your instagram.

Which he admittedly, pathetically, still stalked.

Someone who was just as average as you, lukewarm.

Not somebody who could give you grand gestures, or buy out restaurants for you.

Not someone who devoted all of his time to becoming and maintaining the title of best mid fielder.

Not someone who could get you anything with a flick of his wrist.

He was a normal human.

He didn’t buy you flowers

This man handpicked flowers for you, and you swooned as if it was the most romantic thing in the world.

And Sae couldn’t help but watch from his phone, the little stories you made together. Pictures of this man kissing what use to be his.

He remained expressionless.

But the grip he had on his training bag was unrelenting, honestly. He feels bad for how much he’s been abusing his poor bag. His fists threatening to bleed from how hard they were balled up.

His heart ached, which was weird. Because Sae was above emotions like this.

But, what could he do? He was the one who broke up with you.

So he gritted his teeth, and with legs that were suddenly heavier than any weighted plate, he walked off.

Stupid Sae. What an idiot you are.

made by nagiboo—do not translate my works !!

[fancyfeathers]

Love the mother daughter pair, but not gonna lie, fascinated by the thought of bruce blackmailing reader, and then having to properly try and woo her back essentially. If he really wants a seemingly loving family, he has to know he needs to coax his wife and the mother of his daughter into a better mood and viewpoint. No matter how much blackmail he has, she can start gaining just as much now that she's in his life, and I doubt the daughter will start trusting him properly with the tension between him and her mother. How would bruce coax the mother back? And would Talia actually have an easier time establishing a connection? Could see Bruce feeling jealous of Talia if that was the case. Idk just the tangent my mind ran on, even if that's not the case still love the work

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The blackmail is practically all there is he does that truly hurts him, and that’s only if she does not agree to his proposal when states his intent of gaining custody of their daughter. But after that comes to pass everything would be perfect for a normal couple, news about their engagement spreads like fire, and the wedding will probably be the social event of the century given how they were engaged once before and now it’s back on. The most perfect white wedding and Bruce treating his darling like the perfect husband.

Their daughter does not know the details of what happened, one moment it’s her and her mama having a perfect life together, traveling the world and being each other’s best friend, and then the next all of that is over, her father is back in her mother’s life and now she has siblings and none of them feel like the family she had with her mama, it feels suffocating and her mama doesn’t seem as bright as she once did.She clings to her mama every single day and is only separated when her attention is dragged away forcefully from her daughter and one of her brothers of father comes right to the littlest one’s side.

His wife does not push any of them away, she lets her husband hold her in the morning hours when they have just woken up and press kisses onto her face, she lets Dick call her mom as he runs up to hug her, she lets Jason help her daughter with her homework even though she asked her for help, she lets Tim take her daughter out to the park even if it’s their mother-daughter day they have, or used to have, every week, she lets Damian sit down by her and lay against her while she reads to her daughter. She will never be happy but she will fake it, she does not want to make a scene and have her daughter see and realize something is wrong and do something herself. She wants her daughter to be happy and have a future, go to university, leave Gotham and go back to what is left of the life they had, parents make sacrifices for their children and she is willing to do everything for her. She plays the game of pretend, acts like the perfect wife and mother and stepmother, stays calm and bites back all the internal rage she has building up inside her.

Honestly it is after every she has been through just for her daughter’s sake is when Talia starts to think a bit more highly of her, she understands the strength it takes to make sacrifices for one’s child. She also knows how possessive and protective they all are of her and her daughter, so meeting her discreetly is the best option. Like at a charity gala and someone accidentally spills something on her dress and has to go to the bathroom to clean up and-

“Hello again.”

She nearly screamed when she turned on the bathroom light and saw Talia’s reflection in the mirror. Talia helps her clean up and change into a new dress all while talking to her about what she has found out. She went from viewing her as Bruce’s house pet, because it was clear their marriage was not equal, to seeing a mother who is willing to sacrifice and do whatever it takes to take care of her daughter.

But it is during this the question arises and the answer is terrifying…

“What are you going to do if your daughter is just as trapped as you are? What if all you did for her was in vein?”

“I-I….”

“You are far too soft, you will never get what you desire for your daughter while you stay docile, playing the role of a perfect housewife, a house pet…”

“Talia…”

“I should be off now, but do take care of my Damian, he adores you as his stepmother.”

She leaves her alone in the bathroom and she just cries, feeling like a failure of a mother and she she can barely look her daughter in the eye again.

She just lays awake at night with the thoughts of the life she grew up with, she had a golden childhood and all she wanted was that happiness for her own daughter.

After that there is no chance of anyone winning her over, but she will not act out either, she just feels dead inside, like a complete failure of a mother. Her daughter clearly notices something is wrong and while her mother will stay perfectly compliant, her daughter is a completely different story.

The moment she sees her mom loose that shine in her eyes like she had when raising her on her own she knows this is all of their faults, they took her and her mom away from their life they loved and now there is nothing left of the mother who used to teach her to dance at parties, or attend her piano recitals and sat in the front row to applaud the loudest and despite the busy schedule of meetings she had she never missed one, or when her mom who could not help but boast about her daughter’s latest achievements…

Remember she is still her father’s daughter and has a level of determination that should not be tired under pressure.

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 05: late

NOTE: update bc lenten break started ^^ how are y'alll 👀

It was not a hidden truth to you that your good friend Venti, more known by his penname 'Barbatos', had his way with words. If he didn't, how else would he have had the long list of critically acclaimed works penned under his name? However, there was a first for everything.

You now jokingly doubted whether he actually wrote those poems. You mean — how could someone so articulate and flowery fail to do Inazuma justice?!

Yes, Venti did hype the place up. Yes, he did describe it in positive light. Yes, he was convincing enough to make you extend your stay (for a considerable amount of time at that). But you never imagined Inazuma would be this majestic.

After just a step onto Inazuman ground, freshly fallen petals of varying purples graced your feet. Cold, fragrant breeze embraced you immediately, a stark difference from the warm and gentle winds of your homeland.

Wow. You really left home.

Did you ask permission and tell your parents that there won't be anyone home in your apartment for a long while? No.

Did you care?

Well, actually, yes. It was your first time to go out of town after all. And it is a secret trip, no less. You could not help thinking about the repercussions of your actions, but you forced yourself to, for once, live in the moment and cast those worries aside for later.

Was this how your classmates felt when they used to sneak out past their curfews during high school?

"Your room number is 0616. Here is your key card. Enjoy your stay!" The hotel receptionist flashed a smile, to which you were trained to only respond with a small nod and a slight curve of lips.

A small yet clean room welcomed you. The furnishings, though evidently luxurious, was not to your liking, however. It reminded you of home your family house, where everything was excessively lavish all due to your family's vanity and pretentiousness. No matter. Who expects a hotel room to make you feel at home anyway?

Besides, you were planning to search for a temporary rental space after your very very important meeting tomorrow. If luck permits, you may not even be staying for so long in this stuck-up room.

The only thing you have to do for today is rest well and early in order to be in your best state during tomorrow's meeting.

What the heck is happening?!

Trying to keep yourself seem sane and professional as you converse with a few select officers and staff of Narukami Entertainment when, in fact, you were internally freaking out was not how you envisioned this meeting to be.

You really thought you'd do fairly well.

Constant exposure to pretentious men in suits, masked ladies of high society, and those pretenders claiming to be 'art connoisseurs' your whole life has provided you with ample confidence that you can handle today's affairs flawlessly.

Or at the very least, decently.

Well that was before you saw your favorite singer-songwriter's manager in the same meeting room.

"Here, we prepared a contract." Scaramouche's manager slid a folder across the table. "Go through it first. Feel free to tell us if you wish to change anything, or if you find anything disagreeable."

"Thank you."

You started to go through the contract, meticulously going through each and every clause, assessing each and every word — until one stopped you in your tracks.

'Scaramouche.'

Oh fuck.

Your jests were really just that. Just jests. Not even you believed that it would actually turn real. The state of your mind right now was the exact opposite of what you are projecting, seemingly composed as you were signing the papers.

'Archons, what country did I save in my past life that I get to work with my favorite artist in this life?'

'Will Scaramouche be here?'

'Holy, if I work with him, does that mean I get a spoiler about his next album because I get to make a cover? Can I hear sample songs? Can I know the tracklist? Can I get a signed alb—'

"Okay, so are we all good for today then?" His manager asked as he retrieved the documents.

Oh. So I won't be seeing him.

Maybe they don't really allow their artists to just meet anyone. Understandable, especially since Scaramouche is insanely famous. Maybe you'd never even get to interact with him for the whole duration of the project.

Nevertheless, your heart still leaped at the thought of contributing to his upcoming album.

"Yeah." You flashed a smile. "I think I'm good —"

"Sorry I'm late."

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[jungkoode]

WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 02

"corporate hellscape & theoretical arrangements"

"Despite every rational thought screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself agreeing to the most ridiculous professional arrangement in the history of professional arrangements."

next | index | wc: 7.5k

↦author's note : Okay so first of all *turns microphone on, taps twice, clears throat aggressively* 🚨 WE HAVE AN OUTLINE FOR WGU, PEOPLE. I REPEAT. WE HAVE AN OUTLINE. 🚨 Which means this fic is now officially going to be 30 chapters long and highly likely somewhere between 200-250k+ words, so buckle your seatbelt, tighten your shoelaces, and kiss your emotionally stability goodbye. We're going full send. This is wild because… I never outline. I'm not built like that. I am a write-by-the-vibes, stream-of-consciousness, playlist-induced fugue state kind of girl. I daydream entire scenes while brushing my teeth and then rearrange them mentally like a madman pinning red thread to a corkboard. The closest I've come to a "structure" before this is just knowing what general direction I want things to go—like I might know, "at some point they'll kiss in the rain," but no clue if that's Chapter 5 or Chapter 17 or a hallucination I made up in REM sleep. But now? Now I know what happens in every chapter. Not just plot beats, but character turns, internal shifts, thematic echoes. And y'all… it's life-changing. It lets me plant narrative seeds that will grow into devastatingly beautiful emotional collapses later. Like, suddenly I feel like an actual architect instead of a raccoon with a pen. Still feral. But, you know. Feral with a floorplan. And because I'm me, this story is now also structured into four volumes, because it needed to be arch-y like that. Big arc energy. Arcs that make you cry in the club. I genuinely think this might become my most emotionally textured fic—because I'm working with intent instead of just instinct. Both are good. But together? They go feral. Together they write this fic. I love it so much. I love them so much.

Your alarm goes off at 6:30 AM sharp, dragging you from dreams about okonomiyaki and stupid orange beanies.

The corporate world of Osaka doesn't give a shit about your jet lag, your existential crisis, or the fact that you spent half the night staring at the ceiling wondering why Jung Hoseok draws porn for a living.

You stumble through your morning routine in the cramped bathroom, squinting at yourself in the mirror that's too small and positioned at the wrong height. Your reflection looks like it's been through a blender—hair doing its own thing, eyes puffy from restless sleep, and that general air of 'please don't perceive me' that seems to be your default setting these days.

The shower barely produces lukewarm water, and you're starting to understand why rent was so cheap. Everything in this apartment operates on the principle of 'technically functional but aggressively mediocre.'

You throw on your most professional-looking outfit—a navy blazer and matching pants that felt impressive in Sydney but now seem inadequate for whatever corporate hell awaits you. The fabric wrinkles the moment you sit down, because apparently even your clothes are nervous.

The commute to Umeda is a forty-minute journey that involves two train transfers and a ten-minute walk through streets that all look identical in the early morning light.

Everyone around you moves like they're on a mission or part of a James Bond movie (hard to tell, honestly)—briefcases and designer handbags clutched like weapons, faces set in expressions of determined politeness.

You study the other foreigners on the train—scattered among the sea of black-haired commuters like misplaced chess pieces. A few Western faces here and there, all wearing the same slightly overwhelmed expression you suspect is plastered across your own face.

The building housing Synergy International Marketing is a gleaming tower of glass and steel that probably looked cutting-edge in 1995 but now seems like it's trying too hard.

The lobby has that corporate smell—air freshener mixed with coffee and the faint anxiety sweat of people pretending they know what they're doing.

You present yourself to reception, where an immaculately dressed Japanese woman greets you with the kind of professional smile that reaches exactly nowhere near her eyes.

"Y/N-san? Welcome. Please wait here. Tanaka-san will escort you to orientation."

Tanaka-san turns out to be a harried-looking man in his forties who speaks English like he's translating every word in his head before letting it out.

He leads you through a maze of cubicles and conference rooms, explaining company policies in a tone that suggests he's given this speech approximately ten thousand times.

"International Communications Department is on seventh floor. Your desk will be in shared workspace with other English-speaking staff. Please maintain professional appearance and punctuality at all times."

The elevator ride up is silent except for generic jazz music that makes you want to throw yourself out a window.

The seventh floor is an open-plan nightmare of beige cubicles, warm lighting, and the aggressive clicking of keyboards.

It's honestly like someone took every stereotype about corporate offices and decided to make them reality.

Your desk is a small corner space next to a window that looks out onto another building approximately six feet away

The previous occupant has left behind a stress ball shaped like a hamburger and a coffee mug with 'I want to drown in coffee' printed on it in faded letters.

Inspiring.

"Your immediate supervisor is Davidson-san," Tanaka explains, gesturing toward a tall man with prematurely gray hair who's currently engaged in what appears to be a heated phone conversation in English. "He will explain your duties. Please make good impression."

Davidson finishes his call and approaches with the kind of smile that suggests he's simultaneously relieved to see you and already exhausted by your presence.

"You must be our new copywriter! Dave Davidson, department head. I know, I know, my parents were very creative." His handshake is firm but sweaty. "Ready to dive into the wonderful world of international marketing?"

Aaaand… That's how you spend the next three hours in meetings that could have been emails, learning about 'synergistic brand integration' and 'cross-cultural consumer engagement strategies.'

Your role, as it turns out, involves translating Japanese marketing concepts into English copy that doesn't sound like it was written by robots having a nervous breakdown.

Your colleagues are honestly a mixed bag—two other foreigners who look like they've been here long enough to develop thousand-yard stares, and several Japanese staff members who speak perfect English but seem perpetually confused by your presence.

Lunch is a sad bento box eaten at your desk while reviewing client briefs for companies you've never heard of selling products you don't understand.

The work itself isn't terrible, just mind-numbingly ordinary.

Write copy for a new line of beauty products. Edit brochures for a tech company. Make everything sound 'dynamic' and 'innovative' without actually saying anything meaningful.

Marketing, as it is.

By 3 PM, you're wondering if this is what death feels like—slow, bureaucratic, and accompanied by the sound of printers jamming.

Your phone buzzes with a message that makes several of your new colleagues glance over disapprovingly.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢? 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝? 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝! (◕‿◕)

You glance around to make sure no one's watching before typing back:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙰𝚠𝚠𝚠 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢! 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝! (╥﹏╥)

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜! 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢! 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑? 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛!

You look around the office—at Davidson explaining synergy to a potted plant, at your coworkers staring at their screens with the enthusiasm of people watching their own funerals.

It feels like watching dead insects.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟻:𝟹𝟶 𝚒𝚏 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢. 𝟼 𝚒𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 '𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗' 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝟼! 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝, 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚊 𝚑𝚊, 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝��𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍, 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝? (𝙸 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘!!)

You put your phone away and try to focus on the task at hand—writing compelling copy for a line of anti-aging moisturizers targeted at 'modern Japanese women who demand excellence.'

The irony isn't lost on you.

At exactly 6:07 PM, you escape the corporate hellscape and find Hoseok lounging in the lobby like he actually belongs there.

He's wearing ripped jeans, a faded band t-shirt, and that same orange beanie, looking like he wandered in from a completely different universe.

Several security guards eye him suspiciously.

"Capy!" He jumps up (and you want to slap him) from the leather chair he's been sprawled across. "You survived! I wasn't sure you would make it out alive."

"Barely," you mutter, adjusting your blazer. "This place is where souls go to die."

"Harsh. But accurate, probably." He looks you up and down with an expression you can't quite read. "You look very... professional. Like you could fire someone and feel nothing."

"Don't tempt me. I already have a list."

He laughs, falling into step beside you as you head toward the exit.

"That bad, huh?"

"I spent six hours learning about 'consumer-focused brand narratives' and I still don't know what that means. Also, my desk faces a wall."

"Sounds like you need alcohol and carbohydrates. Lucky for you, I know just the place."

You follow him out into the early evening chaos of Umeda, where salary men in identical dark suits stream past like schools of depressed fish.

The contrast between Hoseok's chaotic energy and the rigid corporate atmosphere is so stark it's almost funny.

Almost.

"So," he says as you navigate through the crowd, "tell me about your coworkers. Anyone interesting? Any office romances brewing? Workplace drama?"

"It's been one day, Ott. I barely learned where the bathroom is."

"Details, Capy! I need details! Is your boss hot? Is there office gossip? Do people eat lunch at their desks like sad robots?"

"Yes to the sad robot lunches. No to everything else." You side-step a group of tourists taking photos of street signs. "Although Davidson—that's my boss—seems like the type who has strong opinions about proper email formatting."

"Davidson? What kind of name is Davidson for a boss? He sounds like a middle management villain."

"Davidson Davidson, actually."

Hoseok stops walking entirely.

"You're joking."

"I am not joking. His parents named him Dave Davidson. He acknowledged the lack of creativity himself."

"That's the most tragic thing I've ever heard. No wonder you looked dead inside when I picked you up."

"I didn't look dead inside."

"Capy, you looked like someone had surgically removed your will to live. Which, honestly, is understandable after spending eight hours with a man named Dave Davidson."

You can't argue with that assessment.

He leads you to a small izakaya tucked between a convenience store and a shop selling nothing but different types of socks.

The interior is all dark wood and paper lanterns, with the kind of cramped seating that forces strangers to become uncomfortably intimate with each other's elbows.

"This place doesn't look like much," Hoseok says, sliding into a booth that's clearly designed for people smaller than either of you, "but they have the best karaage in the city, and the beer is cheap enough that you can afford to forget about Dave Davidson's existence."

"I can't get drunk. I have to work tomorrow."

"Who said anything about getting drunk? I said forgetting Dave Davidson exists. That only requires like, two beers, max."

The waitress appears—a woman who looks like she's been working here since the restaurant opened sometime in the Meiji era.

Hoseok jumps in, ordering in fluent Japanese that flows so naturally you almost forget he's half-Australian. 

His mom made sure he was bilingual from the start, but hearing it now, surrounded by the actual language and culture, makes you realize how much more connected to this place he is than you.

"What did you order?" you ask when she leaves.

"Food. Beer. Trust me."

"That's not an answer."

"It is now, Capy. Live a little."

You lean back against the booth, feeling some of the day's tension leave your shoulders.

The izakaya is warm and dim, filled with the comfortable buzz of people unwinding after work.

It's the first time all day you've felt like you could breathe properly.

"So," you say, "how's the porn business?"

Hoseok nearly chokes on the water he's sipping.

"Jesus, warn a guy before you just blurt that out."

"What? You brought it up yesterday. I'm just making conversation."

"It's... fine. Good, actually. I just finished a commission that's probably going to pay my rent for the next two months."

"What was it? Wait, do I want to know?"

He grins.

"Probably not. But I'll tell you anyway. It was a twelve-page story about a librarian who discovers that late-night study sessions can be... educational."

"Oh god."

"Hey, don't knock it! The characterization was surprisingly deep. She had a whole backstory about her graduate thesis on medieval literature. Very sophisticated stuff."

"You're defending the artistic merit of librarian porn to me."

"I'm defending the artistic merit of all my work. Just because it's explicit doesn't mean it lacks substance."

The food arrives—platters of fried chicken, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and enough beer to drown a horse.

Hoseok immediately starts dissecting the chicken with the precision of a surgeon.

"The thing is," he continues, apparently not done with his professional defense, "most hentai is garbage. No character development, ridiculous scenarios, anatomy that defies physics. But I try to make mine actually... realistic, you know? Like, what would these people actually be thinking? How would they really react?"

You take a long drink of beer.

"Realistic hentai. That's your niche."

"Mock all you want, but it's harder than you think. Especially drawing women. Like, actually making them look like real people instead of inflatable dolls with anatomically impossible proportions."

"I imagine that is challenging."

"It is! I spend hours looking at reference photos trying to get facial expressions right during…" He clears his throat. "…intimate moments. And body language! How do people actually hold themselves when they're vulnerable? What do real emotions look like on someone's face when they're—"

He stops mid-sentence, looking suddenly self-conscious.

"When they're what?" you prompt, more curious than you want to admit.

"When they're... you know. Experiencing pleasure. Real pleasure."

There's something in his voice—a genuine frustration that catches you off guard. Like this actually matters to him beyond just paying rent.

"That does sound complicated," you say, surprising yourself with the sincerity.

"It is. I mean, I can draw bodies fine. Anatomy, positioning, all that technical stuff. But making it feel real? Making the characters seem like actual people instead of just... vessels for fantasy? That's the hard part."

The beer is making you bolder than usual.

"So what's the problem exactly?"

Hoseok fidgets with his chopsticks.

"I think... I think I draw women the way I assume they should look and feel, instead of how they actually do. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of. Like you're working from secondhand information instead of... primary sources?"

"Exactly!" He leans forward, animated again. "I'm always guessing. What would her face actually look like in this moment? How would she really move? What would be going through her head?"

You take another drink, processing this unexpected insight into his work.

"And you can't just... I don't know, watch porn for reference?"

"Porn is the worst reference possible. It's all performance. Fake expressions, exaggerated reactions, completely unrealistic scenarios. If I based my work on porn, it would be just as terrible as everyone else's."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh." He picks at his food, suddenly looking younger than his twenty-six years. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up on trying to make it realistic and just draw ridiculous tentacle monsters like everyone expects."

"Don't do that."

The words come out more forcefully than you intended, and he looks up with surprise.

"I mean," you backtrack, "if you think realistic is better, then... keep trying to make it realistic. Right?"

"But how? I can't exactly ask random women to model for explicit manga. That would be weird and probably illegal."

You're quiet for a moment, an idea forming that you immediately try to dismiss.

But the beer and the warmth of the izakaya and the genuine frustration in his voice make you consider it.

"What if..." you start, then stop.

"What if what?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Capy, what were you going to say?"

You drain half your beer in one go.

"I was going to say, what if you had someone to model for you? Like, someone you trust who could give you actual realistic reference?"

Hoseok stares at you. Frowns, like genuinely, actually frowns (and isn't that the first time in his adult face you've seen it?)

"Are you... are you offering?"

"I'm not offering anything. I'm just saying hypothetically, if you had access to realistic references, your work would probably improve."

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically."

"And this hypothetical reference model would be...?"

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and blame it on the alcohol.

"I don't know. Someone who understands that it's just work. Professional."

"Professional reference modeling for hentai manga."

"It's not any weirder than your current career path."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"You're serious," he says finally.

"I'm drunk," you correct. "There's a difference."

"But you're serious about being drunk."

"Shut up, Ott."

But he's grinning now, that stupid, wide grin that takes over his entire face.

"Capy wants to model for my sexy manga!"

"Keep your voice down!" You glance around the izakaya, but everyone seems too absorbed in their own conversations to care about yours. "And I didn't say I wanted to do anything. I said hypothetically—"

"You offered to pose for me."

"I offered a theoretical solution to your creative problem."

"By posing for me."

"By... providing realistic reference materials in a professional capacity."

"For my hentai manga."

"For your... adult-oriented sequential art."

He's laughing now, delighted by your obvious discomfort. "This is the best day of my life. Capy is going to be my muse!"

"I am not going to be your muse. And stop calling it that."

"What should I call it? My artistic collaborator? My reference consultant? My—"

"Your friend who's had too much beer and suggested something stupid."

"My friend who's going to help me create the most realistic romantic manga Osaka has never seen."

That stops you.

Because he…

He's just said the word 'friend'.

And you hate how that made something twist in your chest.

"I haven't agreed to anything," you insist. "We were just talking theoretically."

"Theoretically, when would you be available for our first session?"

"Theoretically, you're an idiot."

"Theoretically, you're avoiding the question."

You finish your beer and immediately signal for another.

"If—and I mean if—I were to consider this theoretical arrangement, it would be purely professional. No weirdness."

"Define weirdness."

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't. Are we talking about no inappropriate comments? No lingering stares? No—"

"All of the above. It would be like... like life drawing class. Clinical. Professional."

"Have you ever taken a life drawing class?"

"That's not the point."

"Because life drawing classes can get pretty—"

"Hoseok."

"Right. Clinical. Professional. Got it." He's still grinning. "So when do we start?"

"We don't start anything because this is a hypothetical conversation about a theoretical arrangement that will never actually happen."

"But if it were to happen theoretically?"

You look at him across the table—flushed from beer and excitement, eyes bright with possibility, that stupid beanie slightly askew.

He looks exactly like the kid who used to convince you to climb fences and steal apples from the neighbor's tree, all mischief and misplaced confidence.

And despite every rational thought in your head screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself saying:

"Tomorrow night. After work. Your place."

His grin could power the entire city.

"Theoretically?" he asks.

"Theoretically."

"This is going to be amazing, Capy."

You signal for another beer.

You're going to need it.

The thing is, he looks genuinely excited. Not the performative, over-the-top excitement he uses to annoy you—but the real kind.

The kind that makes his eyes go bright and his whole body lean forward like he can't contain whatever stupid idea is bouncing around in his head.

It's the same look he used to get when he'd convince you to sneak out and explore the construction site behind your neighborhood, or when he'd drag you to that weird arcade with the broken claw machines that somehow always gave him exactly what he wanted.

Which means this theoretical modeling arrangement is either going to be completely innocent or a complete disaster.

Probably both.

"You know what?" he says, peeling the label off his new beer bottle in strips, "you should see my place tonight. Get the full Osaka experience."

You nearly choke on your karaage. Because what did this nuthead just say?

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? It's still early!"

"It's past nine, Ott. That's not early. That's nighttime. When normal people go home to their sad apartments and contemplate their life choices."

"Since when are we normal people?" He grins, that stupid, infectious grin that probably got him out of trouble his entire childhood. "Come on, Capy. When's the last time you had a proper house tour?"

When's the last time you crashed at a guy's place just because he asked? When's the last time you did anything without calculating the exact social implications and potential for regret?

"When's the last time you cleaned your house?" you counter instead.

"That's… irrelevant."

"Everything about you is irrelevant."

"Harsh but fair."

The waitress brings your beer, and you immediately take a long drink because this conversation is heading somewhere you're not sure you want to follow.

The alcohol has made everything slightly fuzzy around the edges, but not fuzzy enough to make this seem like a good idea.

Actually, that's a lie.

The alcohol is making it seem like exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive thing you would have done when you were seventeen and thought the worst thing that could happen was your parents finding out.

Now you know better.

Now you know that the worst things are usually the ones that feel like coming home.

"I'm not going to your apartment at nine-thirty at night after we just agreed to some theoretical professional arrangement that I'm already regretting," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

"But you haven't seen where the magic happens! Where your theoretical modeling will theoretically take place!"

"The magic happens in your bedroom, doesn't it."

"Well, yeah. Better lighting by the window, and I can spread all my references out on the bed—" He stops mid-sentence, apparently realizing how that sounds. "Wait, that came out wrong."

"Everything you say comes out wrong."

"Fair point." He demolishes another piece of chicken. "But seriously, you should see the place. I've got it set up pretty nice now. Real drawing desk, proper lamp, even organized my reference materials into folders like a functioning adult."

"Your porn collection, you mean."

"My professional research library," he corrects with mock dignity. "Very different thing. Alphabetized and everything."

The image of Hoseok carefully organizing hentai manga by genre and artistic merit is so ridiculous you almost smile.

"Plus," he continues, voice quiet and not meeting your eyes while he picks at the label on his bottle, "you could crash there tonight. Save yourself the train ride back to your shoebox apartment."

And there it is. The real reason behind this sudden house tour enthusiasm.

"My apartment isn't a shoebox."

"Capy, you described it yesterday as 'slightly larger than a coffin but with worse lighting.'"

"That was… accurate but not the point."

"The point is you're probably dreading going back there alone. New city, new job, everything unfamiliar." His voice gets softer, less performative. "Wouldn't hurt to have somewhere comfortable to crash."

There it is again—that stupid, genuine concern that always catches you off guard. The way he can shift from ridiculous to sincere in half a sentence, like he's got some kind of emotional whiplash disorder.

It's the same tone he used when you were thirteen and crying because your parents were fighting again, when he climbed through your window and sat on your floor for three hours without saying a word. Just… present.

Just there.

And that's the problem, isn't it?

Because it's been five years since anyone was just there for you. Five years of being the competent one, the reliable one, the one who has her shit together and doesn't need anyone to sit on her floor and not say anything.

Five years of being completely, utterly alone.

"I'm not crashing at your place, Hoseok."

"Why not? We're friends, right?"

There's that word again—friends.

Like it's simple. Like five years of radio silence and separate lives can be erased with one dinner and too much beer.

Like you can just slip back into being the people you were before you grew up and moved away and learned how to be strangers.

"Are we?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks up from his bottle, label half-peeled and hanging like a sad flag of surrender.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" You gesture vaguely between you, encompassing the izakaya, the theoretical modeling arrangement, the way he's looking at you like you're still seventeen and nothing has changed. "This. Whatever this is. Are we friends? Or are we just two people who used to know each other pretending nothing's changed?"

He blinks at you. You blink at him. And suddenly the two seconds of silence that pass by feel like an eternity.

"Do you want to be friends?" he finally asks quietly.

"I don't know." The honesty surprises you. "I mean, yes. I think. But I don't know if we can just… pick up where we left off."

"We don't have to pick up anywhere. We can start over."

"Start over as what?"

"As…" He shrugs, that careful casualness that means he's thinking harder than he's letting on. "As whatever we want to be."

But that's the problem—because you don't know what you want to be.

You don't know if you want to be the girl who crashes at her old friend's apartment because she's too lonely to go home, or the woman who keeps appropriate boundaries and doesn't complicate things.

You don't know if you want to be someone who can trust that easily again.

"You still bite your lip when you're thinking too hard," he observes.

"I do not."

"You're doing it right now."

You immediately stop biting your lip, which only makes him grin wider.

"Some things don't change, Capy. Even when everything else does."

"Don't get philosophical on me, Ott. It doesn't suit you."

"What does suit me?"

The question catches you off guard.

You look at him—really look at him—taking in the way five years have sharpened some edges and softened others.

The boy you knew is still there, buried under layers of adult experience and professional disappointment and whatever other things happen to people when they stop being kids and start pretending they know what they're doing.

He's still too thin, still too energetic, still wearing clothes that look like he grabbed them off his bedroom floor.

But there's something different in his eyes now.

As if he's been waiting for something for a long time and isn't sure it's coming.

"Chaos," you say finally. "Chaos suits you."

He laughs, loud enough that several other customers glance over.

"I'll take it."

"Good, because that's all you're getting."

"For now."

There's something in the way he says it that makes your stomach do a small, traitorous flip.

You blame the beer and the warm lighting and the fact that you've barely slept in three days.

"I should go home," you say, but you don't move to leave.

"You should come see my apartment."

"Those are opposite things, Ott."

"Not if you crash at mine."

"I'm not crashing at your place."

"Why not?"

"Because…" You fumble for a reason that doesn't sound ridiculous. "Because it's weird. We just reconnected yesterday. Normal people don't sleep over at their childhood friend's house after one dinner."

Because it feels too much like before.

Because you're scared of how easy it would be to fall back into old patterns, old dependencies, old ways of needing someone.

Because you've spent five years learning how to be alone, and one night on his couch might undo all of that.

"Normal people don't agree to model for hentai manga either, but here we are."

"That's different. That's professional."

"Right. Professional." He draws out the word like it's a foreign concept. "Professional modeling, professional friendship, professional distance. Everything professional."

"There's nothing wrong with professional."

"Course not. Very sensible. Very mature."

He's grinning again, but there's something underneath it that you can't quite identify.

You feel, surprisingly, it's shaped like disappointment.

"Very unlike the Capy I remember."

That makes you swallow.

It's unfair, how he can say shit like that and have your chest cave in.

"People change, Ott. We're not kids anymore."

"No," he agrees, and his voice goes quiet. "We're not."

The way he says it makes you look at him again, and what you see in his eyes looks like he's grieving for those kids too. Like he misses them as much as you do.

Like maybe he's been just as lost without them as you have.

"I have a surprise," he says suddenly, changing direction so fast you get conversational whiplash.

"I hate surprises."

"I know. That's what makes this one perfect."

"That logic makes no sense."

"Trust me."

"I don't trust you. You tried to convince me that eating chocolate for breakfast was a balanced meal because it contained milk."

"It does contain milk! And calcium! Very nutritious!"

"You were seventeen, Hoseok. You should have known better."

"I was a growing boy! I needed nutrients!"

You laugh despite yourself, and the sound echoes off the low ceiling of the izakaya.

It's embarrassing how easy it is to fall back into this rhythm with him, like your brain has been storing all these conversation patterns for five years just waiting for him to come back.

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind you'll only find out if you come see my apartment."

"That's manipulation."

"That's incentive."

"That's emotional blackmail."

"That's friendship."

Fucker.

You drain the rest of your beer in one long pull, partly for courage and partly to delay having to respond. The alcohol seems to have erased your usually reliable sense of self-preservation.

And maybe that's what you need right now. Maybe you need to stop protecting yourself from every possible disappointment and just… see what happens.

Maybe you need to remember what it feels like to trust someone who used to know all your secrets.

"If I come see your place," you say carefully, "and if I hate your surprise, I'm leaving immediately."

"Deal. But you won't hate it."

"I probably will."

"You definitely won't."

"I have a very high hate-to-like ratio when it comes to surprises. Remember my sixteenth birthday?"

His face changes. "Oh. Shit. Yeah, I remember."

Of course he remembers.

He's the one who spent three hours sitting outside the bathroom door, talking to you through the wood while you had a complete meltdown because your mom had thrown you a surprise party and invited half your class and you couldn't handle being the center of attention like that.

"Your mom meant well," he says quietly.

"I know she meant well. But I told her I didn't want a party, and she threw one anyway because she thought I was just being shy. And then I locked myself in the bathroom like a lunatic while twenty people ate cake and wondered where the birthday girl went."

"You weren't a lunatic. You were overwhelmed."

"I was pathetic."

"You were sixteen and dealing with more shit than anyone knew." His voice has gone serious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. "And I should have known better than to help her plan it."

"You were just being a good friend."

"I'm still trying to be a good friend," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes you look up from your beer.

This man who used to be a boy who used to climb through your bedroom window just to sit on your floor and read comics. Who used to walk you home from school even though his house was in the opposite direction. Who used to know exactly what to say to make you laugh when you were crying about some stupid teenage drama.

Who disappeared from your life for five years and somehow found his way back in the span of twenty-four hours.

"Fine," you say, and immediately regret it. "But I'm taking the couch."

His smile is so bright it should be illegal.

"Deal. But you're gonna love the surprise, Capy. I promise."

"I doubt that."

"You love being wrong about things."

"I love being right about you being an idiot."

"Same thing, really."

He signals for the check, already bouncing slightly in his seat with excitement.

You watch him count out bills with the kind of gesture that suggests his porn money isn't quite as abundant as he likes to pretend.

His apartment is probably just as small and depressing as yours.

He's probably just as lost and lonely as you are.

He's probably just as scared of growing up and becoming a real person with real responsibilities and real consequences.

But at least you can be lost and scared together.

At least for tonight.

"Ott?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still like strawberry milk?"

The question comes out of nowhere, surprising both of you.

But something about the beer and the warm light and the familiar rhythm of your bickering has loosened something in your chest, some speck of control you've been maintaining since you walked into that izakaya.

His smile goes soft around the edges.

"Yeah. I do. Do you still put way too much sugar in your coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

It's such a small thing—strawberry milk and oversweetened coffee—but somehow it feels enormous.

Like proof that some essential part of each of you has remained unchanged despite everything else that's shifted and grown and broken apart.

Like maybe those kids are still in there somewhere, waiting to be found again.

"Ready to go?" he asks, standing and pulling on his jacket.

"No. But let's go anyway."

"That's the spirit, Capy."

You follow him out into the cool Osaka night, where the neon signs reflect off wet pavement and streets are full of people pretending they know where they're going.

And for the first time since you moved here, you think maybe you don't need to know where you're going.

Maybe you just need to trust that wherever Hoseok is leading you, it'll be worth the trip.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

Four flights of stairs later, you're questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"Exercise," you mutter, gripping the railing as Hoseok bounds ahead like some kind of demented mountain goat. "Right. Because what this night needed was cardio."

"Almost there!" he calls back, not even slightly winded. "Just think of it as pre-modeling conditioning!"

"I'm thinking of it as cruel and unusual punishment."

His apartment door is covered in stickers—anime characters you don't recognize, band logos from groups that probably broke up in 2001, and what appears to be a holographic Pikachu giving a thumbs up.

It's aggressively juvenile and somehow perfectly him.

"Don't judge the door art," he says, fumbling with his keys. "It came with the apartment."

"It absolutely did not."

"Okay, fine, I may have added some personality over the years. Sue me."

The door swings open and you step into what can only be described as organized chaos.

The apartment is small but noticeably bigger than your shoebox—which isn't saying much, but still manages to feel spacious by comparison.

Manga volumes are stacked in towering columns against every wall, art supplies scattered across a desk positioned near the window, and clothes draped over furniture like fabric ghosts.

"Welcome to Casa de Ott!" he announces, spreading his arms wide and nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. "Home sweet chaotic home."

You scan the space, taking in the details.

The couch looks like it was salvaged from a 1980s office waiting room. There's a small TV balanced precariously on a stack of manga, and the kitchen is basically a corner with a mini-fridge and what might generously be called a stove.

"It's…" you start.

"Terrible? Depressing? A fire hazard?"

"I was going to say small."

"Small is a nice way of putting it. I prefer 'cozy' or 'efficiently designed.'"

Your eyes land on a red sketchbook lying open on the low table, pages covered in detailed drawings that make you stop mid-step. You can't make out the specifics from this distance, but before you can guess the contents, Hoseok is screeching.

"Oh shit," Hoseok says, following your gaze. He lunges forward and slams the sketchbook closed, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "Those are, uh, not for virgin eyes."

"Virgin eyes?" You raise an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-six, Ott. I've seen naked people before."

"Yeah, but not my naked people. These are my professionally naked people. Very different."

"I'm literally going to model for this stuff, remember?"

He freezes, sketchbook still pressed against his chest.

"So we're not doing hypothetical anymore?"

Shit, he's right—somewhere between the beer and the banter and the way he looked at you when you called him your friend, the theoretical became decidedly less theoretical.

"I…" You falter, suddenly aware of how close you're standing. "Beer. You mentioned beer."

"Right. Beer. Very important. Life-sustaining beverage." He's still holding the sketchbook like a security blanket. "Kitchen's over there. Help yourself. I'm just going to put this away where it can't traumatize anyone."

He disappears down a narrow hallway, and you make your way to the kitchen area.

The refrigerator is covered in delivery menus and what appears to be a drawing of a cat wearing a top hat.

Inside, there are exactly three items: beer, leftover ramen, and a container of something that might once have been vegetables.

"Your food situation is concerning," you call out.

"I survive on convenience store cuisine and pure artistic passion!" comes his muffled reply from what you assume is his bedroom.

You grab two beers and settle onto the couch, which is actually more comfortable than it looks.

The apartment feels lived-in despite its chaos—or maybe because of it.

There's something appealingly unpretentious about the space, like Hoseok just exists here without trying to impress anyone.

"Okay," he says, emerging from the hallway with his hands behind his back and a grin that should probably be illegal. "Ready for your surprise?"

Every muscle in your body tenses. "I told you I hate surprises."

"And I told you this one's different. This one's going to change your entire worldview on surprises."

"My worldview on surprises is based on sound psychological principles and extensive personal trauma. One cute whatever-it-is isn't going to—"

He brings his hands forward, revealing a small, furry creature with enormous dark eyes and a long, fluffy tail.

You stop breathing.

"Capy," he says, his voice soft with obvious pride, "meet Momo."

The sugar glider—because that's clearly what she is—sits perfectly still in his cupped palms, studying you with the kind of intense curiosity usually reserved for wildlife documentaries.

She's tiny, maybe the size of a hamster, with gray fur and cream markings that make her look like she's wearing a tiny vest.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Language," Hoseok scolds, but he's grinning. "She's a lady."

"You have a sugar glider."

"I have Momo. She's not just any sugar glider. She's the most perfect sugar glider in the history of sugar gliders."

As if hearing her cue, Momo shifts slightly in his palms, studying you with what can only be described as deep suspicion.

"Can I…" you start, then stop. "Is she friendly?"

"She's cautious with new people, but she's never actually bitten anyone. Well, except that one time with my neighbor, but he deserved it."

"What did your neighbor do?"

"Tried to pet her without permission. Momo has very strong opinions about consent."

You extend one finger slowly, and Momo sniffs it delicately, her tiny nose twitching as she processes your scent.

After a moment of consideration, she pulls back and immediately scurries up Hoseok's arm to perch on his shoulder, as far from you as possible.

"Well," you say, trying to keep your voice casual, "that's… fine. I don't care if a rodent likes me or not."

"She's a marsupial, actually. And she just needs time to warm up to new people."

"I said I don't care."

But there's something distinctly annoying about being rejected by something the size of a hamster.

You're a perfectly likeable person. You've never done anything to offend small mammals.

"She's very discerning," Hoseok says, clearly trying not to laugh at your obvious wounded pride. "High standards."

"So you rescued a sugar glider."

"I rescued the most perfect sugar glider."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. Look at her little hands! And her tail! And the way she tilts her head when she's thinking!"

You look at him instead—at the way his entire face lights up when he talks about Momo, the gentle way he cradles her, the obvious pride in his voice.

This is a side of Hoseok you've never seen before, tender and protective and completely unguarded.

It's dangerous how much you like it.

"She's nocturnal," he continues, settling onto the couch beside you with Momo still in his hands. "So she's most active when I'm working late. She keeps me company during those long drawing sessions."

"Does she approve of your career choices?"

"She's very supportive of the arts. Aren't you, princess?"

Momo makes a soft chittering sound that might be agreement or might be a request for food.

Either way, you can't deny it's adorable.

"How long have you had her?"

"About eighteen months. She was really skittish at first—wouldn't let me touch her for weeks. But now…" He strokes her tiny back with one finger. "Now she's spoiled rotten."

You watch as Momo climbs onto his shoulder, then leaps gracefully to the back of the couch. The movement is so fluid it barely registers as motion—one second she's with Hoseok, the next she's exploring the cushions near your head.

"She's showing off," he says fondly. "She likes to glide around the apartment when she's skittish."

"Glide?"

"Sugar gliders have these membranes between their legs—see? She can glide from the bookshelf to the couch, couch to the desk, basically anywhere she wants to go. It's like having a tiny flying squirrel roommate."

As if to demonstrate, Momo launches herself from the couch back to Hoseok's shoulder, the movement so quick and graceful you barely catch it.

"That's incredible."

"I know. She's basically a superhero. A tiny, adorable superhero who costs me a fortune in specialized food and vet bills."

The beer is wearing off, leaving you feeling suddenly, acutely sober.

Clear-headed enough to realize what you've gotten yourself into tonight—agreeing to pose for Hoseok's hentai manga, coming to his apartment, letting yourself get charmed by his ridiculous pet.

"Ott," you say carefully.

"Yeah?"

"I was drunk earlier. When I said I'd… help with your reference situation."

His face doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture.

"How drunk?"

"Drunk enough to suggest something stupid."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sober enough to know it was stupid."

He's quiet for a moment, watching Momo explore the couch cushions.

When he speaks, his voice is casual in a way that doesn't fool either of you. "Too late, Capy. I'm already planning our first session."

"Hoseok—"

"Think about it. Professional artistic collaboration between old friends. Very sophisticated. Very mature."

"Nothing about this situation is mature."

"I'm hurt. Deeply wounded by your lack of faith in my professionalism."

Despite yourself, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. "Your professionalism in drawing pornographic manga."

"Adult-oriented sequential art with emotional depth and realistic character development."

"You keep saying that like it makes it sound more legitimate."

"Because it is more legitimate. You'll see when we start working together."

The assumption in his voice—that you will, in fact, go through with this insane arrangement—should annoy you.

Instead, it makes something flutter in your chest that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

"I didn't actually agree to anything," you say, but the protest sounds weak even to you.

"You suggested it. I accepted. Contract sealed."

"That's not how contracts work."

"It's how friendship contracts work."

Friendship contracts.

As if you're still twelve and sealing deals with pinky promises and shared secrets.

Except you're not twelve anymore, and this isn't about friendship.

Or maybe it is, and that's what makes it dangerous.

"I should get going," you say, making no move to actually leave.

"It's late. Train's probably stopped running."

"It's not even eleven."

"But you're comfortable now. Look, Momo likes you."

You glance down to find the sugar glider eyeing you from the floor.

"She's still giving me the cold shoulder."

"She usually hides when strangers are here, so this is actually progress."

"Great. I've been upgraded from 'immediate threat' to 'tolerable presence.'"

"It's a very exclusive club. You should feel honored. You've basically been officially approved for apartment privileges."

"What kind of privileges?"

"Sleeping on the couch when you're too tired to go home. Raiding my refrigerator. Critiquing my life choices in person instead of via text."

The casual way he lists these domestic intimacies makes your chest tight.

Like he's already decided you belong here, in his chaos, part of his routine.

"I'm not sleeping on your couch, Ott."

"Why not? It's surprisingly comfortable. And I'll be in my room working when you get lonely and need someone to bother."

"I don't get lonely."

He gives you a look that suggests he sees right through that particular lie.

"Fine," you say, because arguing seems more exhausting than just giving in. "Now shut up and give me another beer."

"Can't. You said you're sober now. Can't have you making any more questionable decisions."

"I make excellent decisions."

"Says the woman who just agreed to sleep on a stranger's couch."

"You're not a stranger. You're Ott. Annoying but familiar."

He grins at that, wide and pleased, like being called annoying is the highest compliment you could give him.

And maybe, in your particular language, it is.

if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♥'ﾟ௰ﾟ'♥ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~* Friday

A/N: It's here, the finale! Thank you all for coming on this trip with me. Time to focus on my other projects. Another BIG THANK YOU to @bun-lapin for allowing me to use her fun OC's. WordCount: 11.3K Warnings: Brief Mentions of Roe V Wade, One Instance of Vomiting, She/They OC Pronouns Start, Saturday (Octavinelle), Sunday (Heartslabyul), Monday (Savanaclaw), Monday pt2 (Diasomnia pt.1), Tuesday (Diasomnia pt2), Wednesday (Pomefiore), Thursday (Scarabia), Friday (Here)

~Taglist~

@twistedcece @deltrea @krenenbaker @koebishrimpuwu @cat100200 @emyluwinter @obsessionswithfandoms @ady-hilborn @lucid-stories @girl-nahh-two @itz-hydrodeptus-foxy7 @chyluna @riddlesimps @death-the-jo @a-twistedheartslonging @qixlin @chaosistheonlyway @welcome-to-my-horde @abell2029cluster @kirans-wonderland @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @the-ace-reader @iamsoconfusedallofthetime @chroniccorvus @marvelous-maxi @prolonged-eyecontact @lozplayer @jabberwocky-warrior @thateldribitch @bun-lapin @mel1rose @ladyraeka @ladyzsgolla @kimdourden @noncreativepage-blog @girl-nahh-two @shironakuronatasa @colombia-chan @roseapov @anunholyabomination @koebi-channnn @noises-of-nothing @creatorbiaze

Ignihyde had no actual business looking the way it did. Even Diasomnia in its full gothic structure wasn't as shit-brick-inducing as the horrifying image the Hades dorm gave. Yuu gave a small, awkward nod to each glowing-eyed skeleton they passed on the stairway. Feeling the internal pull to acknowledge them even though Ortho and Idia had said they were nothing more than decorations multiple times. The very fact they had eyes was more than enough to make Yuu give them a sense of personhood.

The inside was somehow better and worse. While it didn't share the same aesthetic of the outside — damned souls chic — the stark white furniture and structures made the dorm feel like an Apple store. The neon blue light screens everywhere did nothing to change her stance. They could only wonder how fucked the sleep schedules of Ignihyde students were as a whole.

“Oh. What have we here?”

Turning, Yuu nodded in greeting to the man walking closer. “Hi, Mr. Rohdri. Idia called me over for a research thing.”

Eldric Rohdri wasn't a teacher Yuu really saw let alone interacted with. The teacher taught fairly basic classes but everyone on campus knew the only reason he even came to NRC was to teach the technomancy classes. Yuu had learned she was — as Trein referred to it — ‘terrifyingly’ good at hand-crafted magic circles. The skill was only half the equation in technomancy, though. The other half being an actual knowledge of technology. Something Yuu had no will to learn past being able to torrent movies and keyboard shortcuts. As such, she had little reason to talk or meet with the professor outside of staff meetings. Though Crewel had stated the man was almost adorably talkative at times.

The eye-patched man tilts his head, an eyebrow barely twitching, “A meeting…with Idia…in the flesh?”

“I know, weird, right?”

Sighing, Eldric turned his attention back to his light screen tablet and tapped at the screen, “You know, I took this position as dorm advisor because I assumed the Ignihyde lot didn't…socialize…”

“I mean.” Yuu shrugged, a smirk on her lips as she looked off to the side, “In all honesty, what I do is just bullying.”

“True. I haven't had so many maintenance tickets for cracked STYX-pads since the Shroud family backed the funding to ensure every Ignihyde student would have one.” 

“I like to think it keeps them on their toes. Teach them to have strong grips, ya know?”

“No, the data shows it just gives them anxiety.” Eldric still hadn't looked up from his tablet, tapping at it in a continuous pace, “But, they normally come with that anyway. So no real harm, I suppose. This talk was…it was a talk. I must be on my way so I will make this quick.”

“Make what quick-” Yuu jumped back, eyes wide as a wall panel beside them opened to multiple mechanical arms and tools reaching out. 

Yuu tried to step away, only for one arm to grip them by the bicep and hold them still. In a flurry of movement, tools poked and picked at her, one had even swabbed the inside of her cheek. Multiple lights flashed in their face, realizing as a soft-tipped arm held her eye open that they were being scanned. Once all the tests and samples seemed to be taken, the arms and tools had retreated back into the wall, a single arm staying out to offer a bright-blue sucker. 

Eldric patted Yuu on the head before walking away, “Good job. Crewel should be alerted to my findings should anything concerning be found.”

“...” Yuu looked over their shoulder, hair now a mess and clothing vaguely disheveled. Scoffing under their breath, they glare at the mechanical arm holding out the sucker. The machine seemed to sense their eyes and offered it closer to them.

“...” They snatch the sucker from the machine, grumbling as they put it in their mouth and making their way toward Idia’s room. But when the door opened, they mood instantly lifted.

“Prefect Yuu! It's so nice to see you again!” Ortho greeted them, the other Freshmen quickly wrapping his arms around them and pulling them into the room.

“Oh my god! Ortho, you're alive!” Yuu hugged back, laughing at the confused expression Ortho gave once they both released the other.

“Why would I have expired…? Ah! You must have been worried because of the virus I contracted.”

“...” Yuu briefly met eyes with Idia, the third-year quickly shaking his head with the strongest glare he could muster. Looking back at Ortho they nod, “Yeah. I was real concerned about ya, buddy.”

With a giggle, Ortho walked (Floated?) with them closer to Idia’s setup, “Nii-san was able to hard reboot my memory to the day before I got the virus. He said it took so long because I was unresponsive and he isn't able to edit my software of his own accord anymore. Unfortunately, other than the blood samples, I did lose whatever data I collected on Saturday. So I'll be joining you and Nii-san today to learn more about your ailment.”

“That's…so good. You're gonna be ok though right? The…the virus won't affect you again?”

“Unlikely. If Nii-san ever encounters a new virus form, it only takes him a few hours to figure out how it works and how to counter it. I'm now fully protected from all forms of cyber attacks once again!”

“Wonderful…” Yuu fully turned to Idia, kneeing the back of his chair to make the Junior justle in his seat, “Sup, shit rat?”

“Can you be nice to me…for once? At all?”

“Yeah, but I won't.”

Ortho perked up, brows furrowed down but no real anger in his voice as he yelled, “Prefect Yuu! Please be kind to my brother!”

“Of course, anything for you, Ortho.” Yuu leans over, pressing a kiss to Ortho's forehead before looking back to Idia, “Sup, rat?”

Idia scowled, narrowing his eyes, “How is you still calling me a rat nicer?”

“I mean, you're still a little rat.”

Turning back to his screen, Idia’s scowl turned into a pout and he mumbled under his breath, “Ok, the quicker we do this, the quicker you get out of my face…”

Bony fingers clicked against mechanical keys, easing the room into the ASMR sounds while Idia pulled up multiple search tabs to type in the most basic questions he could think of regarding the ‘Refresh Cycle’.

Ortho hummed, tilting his head and already forming one of his hands into a syringe, “Prefect Yuu, may I have another blood sample? Since Jade Leech made me privy to you experiencing hormonal changes, I'd like to compare a new sample with the one I collected on Saturday.”

Holding out her arm, Yuu watched as Idia finished gathering all of his resources, “Go for it, buddy.” They barely felt the pinch as Ortho drew their blood, managing to kick at Idia’s chair without moving their arm in his grasp, “So what are we doing?”

“Level 0 tutorial on the ‘Magic Circulation System’ and the ‘Refresh Cycle’. Most health classes are in middle school and after looking over your class schedule, I noticed you don't have a biology subject in any of your academic roadmaps…”

“Yeah, I don't really care for the sciences…”

“Well, you should. So before we get grinding on your weird, alien blood ritual, we're gonna go over the home server basics.”

“Keep fuckin’ talkin’. I can and will break your nose again.”

“Anyway…” Idia pulled up a screen, pointing to it as he spoke, “The Inner Magical System,  or the more medically accepted term, Magical Circulation System is the system that regulates the movement of magic through the body. The system isn’t studied as much as we'd want. Observing living subjects has only given us the information that the MCS is normally one-for-one with the body's vascular and nervous system…”

He clicked over to another page displaying a diagram that reminded Yuu of the photos Crewel had shown them nearly a week ago.

“The pathways of MCS are able to fluctuate which is how we were able to notice them once technology advanced enough to be able to view magic on scans. While everyone in Twisted Wonderland all have an MCS, mages’ MCS pathways are noticeably thicker and have more branch-off points. This difference is the current theory on why mages are able to cast magic and the average npc isn't.”

“How the fuck is this a theory? Do you guys know or not?” Yuu glanced at the bandages Ortho had excitedly presented to her, picking out one with a teary-eyed pomegranate. 

Idia sighed, pulling up a new tab, “The MCS isn't easy to study. It's still only a theory that there are actual physical pathways. Seeing how in post-mortem, subjects’ MCS rapidly decay. Not to mention since it's interwoven with other systems…” Idia looked at the image of what doctors and various researchers had deemed a healthy MCS reading, “Magic isn't easily studied either; it's everywhere, but it can be dangerous to or easily disrupted by outside forces. Which is why every approved study is a long trial-and-error process…”

Yuu tilted their head to lean against Idia’s shoulder, ignoring the Junior trying to wiggle his body away from them, “Isn't your family's whole thing the shadow government study of magic and aggressive kidnapping?”

Ortho giggles, taking space on Idia’s other shoulder as he pointed to other displays on the screen, “STYX's main field of study is Blot-related magics studies and aggressive kidnapping. Though, in recent years, mom has been making impressive strides in all manners of scientific fields…”

“Your mom is great; I think if she came out with a microchip you put in your brain, I'd trust it.”

“Prefect Yuu, what would the microchip do? Oh! Would it be a new way to watch videos and call friends?”

“Ortho, please. Don't tell mom about that. She might actually get started on it. But, back on subject. We don't know a lot on MCS still but we seem to at least have discovered the basics.” 

Idia clicks over to a new window, a lineup of bodies on the screen as he continued, “Compared to other species of Twisted Wonderland, humans have the most constant but ‘weaker’ structure compared to the others. Overall, a good starter base model if we were picking mains…Beastmen and Merfolk vary in variety. Because of their biology and the general fact Merfolk have the option to commute between land and sea, their MCS are more flexible. It's also been studied that due to this — should their systems be damaged — they have a higher healing rate and are less likely to have lasting damage.”

Ortho pointed to the last example, while the other three were clearly outlines of adults the last was the vague shape of an adult, “Fae MCS are the least studied both from most Fae not wanting to participate and also their readings overloading the scanners.”

Idia nods, “Fae MCS nearly overlaps every last internal system they have. For a Fae to lose or damage their MCS is basically inciting total organ failure. But back to what we're supposed to be focusing on, the Refresh Cycle.”

More clicking and Idia shows a page with a prominent photo of a uterus diagram, “The Refresh Cycle is a specific process where a uterus draws in the body's magic to replenish the lining. The process is taxing on the individual leading to bodily fatigue, cravings, and mood swings. It only lasts a day or rarely two. Should it last longer, it's highly recommended you speak to a doctor.”

“Fucking whores…” Yuu glared at the screen, scowling as they muttered under their breath.

Ortho perked up, “Oh! Nii-San did more research at my request on Saturday, once I was alerted that you were not assaulted. It turns out this has been documented in history. The only figures that matched your timeline and symptoms were the Queen of Hearts and her two daughters. Though, such reports decreased over the years, only popping up briefly for the next generation before never being reported again in the bloodlines.”

“It caused just as much panic as your splash out did.” Idia clicked on an article titled ‘The Queen of Hearts and her Bloody Mystery’, “I'll send this to you to read over.”

“Thanks…So, bloody pussy isn’t a natural thing here, huh?”

Both Ortho and Idia cringe, the Junior looking away to search for the proper cable for their next steps, “Not unless it's a really rough birth or…you know, assault. It doesn't last long, no way as long as seven days…hand me your phone.”

“Yep.”

Yuu’s smartphone was an object of interest to Idia, ever since she first came into his room asking for his help on properly connecting it to their new school-issued tablet. Idia could only theorize at the spell graft that was affecting the phone to give it the ability to transcend through dimensions. A mystery he was willing to let fester seeing how misaligning a single part of the — no doubt cosmically complex — spell graft, the phone could be rendered completely useless. Or even explode. He wasn't entirely sure which was most likely…

In the end, all he could do was write up his own graft to act as a free-for-all access point. Attaching it to a few USB cords fixed the problem of universal connection, no matter how terrifying the combo made him feel with it in Yuu's hands.

The group all stood in silence, watching an instant flash of runes and elemental symbols glitch across the screen before settling on the Google homepage.

Yuu smiled, “Aw. The homepage is cute today. Idia, take a screenshot.”

He did as he was asked, mumbling under his breath about Google being a dumb name. He poised his hands over his keyboard only to freeze. He looked at Yuu from the side of his eyes, “Um…what am I searching up?”

Ortho hummed, “Well. It's best to just ask, isn't it? A simple ‘What is a period?’ should give us the answers we seek���”

And it did. In the most basic of terms, a period was the shedding of the uterus lining should the egg not be fertilized by a sperm.

Yuu hummed, “Yeah, pussy pee-” she suddenly choked, glancing at Ortho in worry before looking back at the screen, “Vaginal wallpaper replacement.”

“...” Ortho creased his brows, glancing at Yuu from the corner of his eyes, “You are aware the ‘vagina’ is…not the correct term, aren't you?”

Idia spoke up, glancing at Yuu in mild judgment, “Yeah. Riddle and Jade asked me about that. From the first scans, we share the same hardware biology-wise. But like…you don't seem to know any real terms-”

“Oh my fucking GOD. Shut up. I know, ok? The vagina is multiple parts and all that bullshit. It's just easier to call it all the vagina, get off my dick.”

“That's not convincing me you know the names of your reproductive parts, Prefect Yuu…”

“Fuck you guys.”

“Hmmm…but…why does it remove itself? Wouldn't it stay inside? Instead of shedding, shouldn’t it simply heal if there’s damage?” Ortho tilts his head, a lightscreen projecting from his hand, “Maybe it works in the way scar tissue does…? But, if that were true, then removal is the best course of action…” Ortho looked up from his tablet, raising an eyebrow to Yuu, “Do you have any more information on the process, Prefect Yuu? Past test results have shown a hormonal difference from last week to this point.”

“I don’t fucking know.”

Idia frowned, glaring at Yuu, “This is your fucking body. How do you not know how shit works?”

“I've told you guys. The healthcare of my home nation is basically be rich or die. And even if you are rich, they may still let you die.”

“Prefect Yuu, that's so comically evil, I can only think it's a lie. But, if that's true then you should be even more conscious about your health!”

“Too expensive. My family just picked to be lucky and hope we don't get sick and die.”

Idia gestured to the screen, the multiple links on the page to show just how ‘researched’ their mysterious ailment was, “You literally have a smartphone capable of searching for this shit on your own time!? How do you not know anything past the literal bare bones!?”

Yuu glared at Idia, jabbing their finger hard into his chest and making the third-year wince, “Fuck you! If a NASA worker doesn't know all the facts about a period, then I get a fucking pass!”

“What is NASA!?”

“It's the fucking space people- hold on.” Yuu elbowed Idia, sending him rolling off to the side as they took over the keyboard, “There's a fucking song about it.”

“You have real aliens?” Ortho looked at the screen in wonder, “Is Sally Ride the alien's name?”

Yuu smiled, clicking a YouTube video, “No, Ortho. She was an astronaut. She went to space.”

“You can send people into space!?”

Idia rolled back to the two, pouting as he grumbled, “Your country's sent people to space, but you don't know how a period works-”

“Shut up and listen to the fucking song.”

Luckily, the video seemed to be short. Both of them prepped to take the information with a grain of salt, seeing how the channel name was ‘Comedy Central’.

Remember when NASA sent a woman to space, for only six days, and they gave her…

100 tampons~

100 tampons~

…

And asked, “Will that be enough?”

Idia nor Ortho were sure if it was or wasn't in reality either. But by the crowd's reaction of immediate laughter, it clearly was not. Idia turned to Yuu, opening his mouth to ask if 100 was too many or too little, only to have the song continue.

Cause they didn't know if that was enough~

These are our nation's greatest minds

They are literally rocket scientists

They also tied the tampons together,

By the strings like sausages

100 tampons

100 tampons~

Ortho and Idia could only stand in muted silence at what they hoped was a dramatic retelling of what actually happened. The woman's voice managed to carry across the pure awkward energy that must have coated the entire conversation. Ortho was the one to pause the video once the second song spoke about the same men creating a ‘make-up kit’ for space.

The silence in the room was only broken by the quiet hum of Idia’s tower and Yuu's muffled laughter.

Idia finally spoke up, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in an effort to minimize his own secondhand embarrassment, “Okay! But, like, we didn't know either so you can't blame them!? Would you even know how many to bring!?”

Yuu smiled at Idia, shrugging their shoulders, “I mean if I was excessive and it was my period week? Maybe like 30…40 tops?”

Ortho had tilted his head down, brows furrowed in pure confusion, “How…does one use a tampon…? What are the strings for? Why did they tie them together?”

“Ortho, I wish I could tell you…”

“Well! You said this is space science right!? Space and biology are vastly different skill trees, it makes sense they didn't know!”

“Sure, but like…you get a pass on not knowing because you two have never dealt with a period before. These were grown-ass men with wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters. All of which probably got periods.” Yuu shrugged again, grabbing one of Idia’s unopened energy drinks and cracking it open for herself, “So, my point, I'm allowed to not know shit. Because even the smartest assholes didn't know if a single adult woman would need 100 tampons for a six-day trip into space, nor did they even try to guesstimate an actual number.”

…

Idia sighed, holding his head limply in his hands, “...I'm tired…”

“Aw. Look at you, speaking like an American…”

“Prefect Yuu, do you know of…any actual sources of research? Preferably not in comedic song form…”

“...” Sipping the energy drink, Yuu typed at the computer one-handed, “My friend Maxine watched this lady a lot. I think she's a OGBYN?”

Idia made a face, not able to discern the acronym, “OGBYN?”

“I…yeah? Like a pregnancy doctor?”

“But you get a period if you're not pregnant?”

“It's- hold on…” Yuu opens a new tab, quickly googling for the full name, “Ok. Do you have Obstetricians/Gynecologists? It's that.”

Ortho widens his eyes, “Ah! That's a rare occurance to have both titles…”

“Is it?”

Idia nods, digging up his old knowledge from health classes, “Obstetricians here are only really required for ultra-danger level of births. A large population gets by with just biannual visits to their gynecologist and consulting with a midwife. Birth isn't really…I guess…” The wrong word to use was hard, difficult was no better, “...Threatening…?”

“To have both professional titles be the standard is mildly concerning…Is birth seen as more perilous in your world, Prefect Yuu?”

“I’ve never been pregnant, so I can't give firsthand experience. But just…a lot can go wrong, I guess? Both mom and baby's health can turn on a dime. Postpartum issues and stuff can get really bad too…”

“How so? Don't the hospital, family, and loved ones support the mother after the birth?”

“Yeah, the struggles and strife of women aren't really important where I come from.”

“...Why?”

“Because the world hates women, I guess. Starting the video.”

“What-”

This video was wildly more informative. The doctor spoke in easy-to-understand terms, drawing out diagrams and clearly showing the variables one could deal with in their period. She had even excitedly explained the beginning processes of pregnancy. By the end, Ortho had made more than enough notes on the actual hormones involved with the process to begin cross-dimensional research with Riddle and Jade. 

Smiling, Ortho turned to Yuu and tilted his head, “That must have been a very nice refresher course. Did it help you remember any information from a prior health class, Prefect Yuu?”

“Ortho, I'm not going to say this again. I don't fucking know. The only health class I had was in elementary school and that was literally just to tell us that a period means we’ve become a woman and are gonna start bleeding now. We didn't learn any of this shit if I remember right.”

“...” Ortho opens his eyes, “What?”

Idia leaned closer, “Wait, they didn't…teach you about this?”

“I mean it was only like a day or two. We learned about what to expect and how to use pads and tampons. And that if we have sex we'd get pregnant. They gave us gift bags of chocolates…”

“...You're lying. You have to be lying. That is such a barebones tutorial.”

Ortho moved past Yuu, eyes now laser-focused on the screen as he started to type, “What were the health classes like in your world?”

“Aaaah! No! Don't type that shit in!” Though she tried, Ortho wasn't moved by her shoving and pulling. Instead, she stood with a hand over her eyes as Ortho and Idia read over the most relevant topics dealing with ‘health classes’.

“...”

“...”

“...Prefect Yuu.”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

Idia was squinting at the screen, opening multiple new tabs to speed read through with Ortho, “They’re getting rid of health classes for elementary students? How do you ban talking about puberty with elementary schoolers? That's like… the tail end is when it starts doesn't it?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Wait, Nii-san, what is Roe Vs Wade? There's a lot of users in the comment section talking about it.”

“We can search it.”

Yuu sighed as the two quickly read through a brief article, dipping their head down lower and starting to slowly shake it, “Please, don't-”

“WAIT, THAT CAN HAPPEN!?”

“WHY!?” Ortho turned around, hands bracing against Yuu's shoulders and shaking her though her expression didn't change, “WHY WAS THAT EVEN A CHOICE TO MAKE!?”

“...” Yuu's face pinched, taking in a shaking breath before she leaned forward to rest against Ortho's shoulder.

The robot stood stunned, even Idia pausing in his yelling to watch the magicless mage in concern, “...Yuu-”

“Give me a minute.”

The two sat in silence, allowing Yuu to work through their own internal struggle and softly cry into Ortho's —undoubtedly uncomfortable — shoulder. Soon, she took in another big breath, pulling away to discreetly wipe at their eyes.

Idia passed over the open energy drink, “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“Not at all. Can you, like, exit out of those, honestly?”

“Yeah.” Ortho had already exited the pages before Idia could even reach for the mouse again, leaving behind the YouTube video of the smiling doctor.

Yuu sniffles, sipping at the drink before laughing slightly, “Click that video.”

“This one?” Ortho squinted his eyes at the screen, “...Trying the Period Simulator?”

Idia perked up at the word ‘simulator’. Eyeing the screen with renewed interest as the video played, “Wait. You can stimulate a period with a machine? There should be plenty of research then.”

“Not really. Every period's different and not everyone feels pain the same way. Plus It doesn't really…stimulate a period. It more so just tries to recreate cramps…” 

Yuu started to smile. Slow and creeping, the longer they watched the video and the sound of pain increased with every new level on the machine. Taking one last sip of their drink, they looked over to Idia’s concerned face, "Hey, Idia…you wanna make something fun?”

“Um-”

Ortho had instantly caught on. His head snapping away from the screen so fast Yuu would have been worried if he had an actual neck, eyes nearly vibrating from how manic He seemed, “I do!”

“That's the spirit, Ortho!”

Unsurprisingly, with how excited Ortho was, the machine only took two days to complete. Yuu and the Shroud brothers had set the machine up in one of the vacant rooms of Ramshackle, a mass text being sent out for everyone to come to the dorm before it got too late in the evening. A follow-up text stating attendance was mandatory.

Idia looked over, raising an eyebrow at Leona and Ruggie who were already lounging around, “I didn't think you two were gonna be the first ones here…”

Ruggie shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he looked off to the side, “I mean we were already here.”

“Why are y'all always just in my fucking house?” Yuu had casted them a side glare, “Gonna make you fuckers start paying rent.” 

Yuu was hooked up to the simulator, doing last-minute testing with Ortho to make sure the machine was working properly. They'd been standing still, their eyes narrowing every few moments before instructing Ortho to turn the level up. 

As Yuu reached the highest level, she nodded, “Yeah, that's as good as we’re gonna get. Past the lack of other stuff, you and Idia made this more accurate than the one from my world, I think.”

Ortho giggled, helping Yuu remove the nodes on their back, “Well, there were a lot of other symptoms that we couldn't replicate without putting someone in a full-body simulation.” He closed his eyes, hanging his head in sadness, “And the hormonal changes we would have attempted to recreate are deemed as ‘Uncivil’ torture methods.”

“...” Yuu raised an eyebrow, “What are the civil ones?”

At that moment, Riddle, Trey, and Cater had entered. Riddle already giving Yuu a stern glare as he folded his arms, “I don't have the context of this conversation, but civil or not; torture is very illegal.”

Both Yuu and Ortho boo, Yuu dramatically pointing toward Riddle who only intensified his glare, “No fun haver! No fun haver!”

Riddle huffed, stomping his foot only once as Yuu and Ortho kept chanting, “Torture is illegal and that is final!”

Leona snorted, "Not in a few countries…”

Yuu gasped, turning to Ortho with a giddy expression, “Ortho~! Vacay locations!”

“Yay, torture!”

Idia frowned, Riddle nearly glowing from how red his face was, “And you guys wonder why I don't like them hanging out…”

It took both Cater and Trey's combined powers to get Yuu and Ortho to stop planning a ‘Torture Tour’. The two Juniors pointing out that by international law, torture was still very illegal. And if a country was found to be engaging in such methods, they would be punished accordingly. A fact that Ortho simply stated they wouldn't…say which country was engaging in illegal torture methods. A topic that Trey had shut down without mercy.

“Oh!” Yuu hummed, “Before I forget. Riddle, Cater, you guys take the school offered birth control, right?”

Leona scoffed, raising an eyebrow teasingly at Yuu, “Not gonna ask me?”

“Do you take birth control?”

“...No, but you could at least pretend to ask my opinion.”

Cater sighed, folding his arms and tilting his head in question, “Yes. We take the birth control; why do you ask, sweetie?”

“Do you always feel nauseous after taking it or is that a side effect that will stop after a while?”

Riddle's face pinched, “Why didn't you raise this issue with Crewel?”

“Why are you asking this now? Have you been feeling nauseous the whole time taking it?” Cater sounded more alarmed, even Leona looking at Yuu in a more concerned light.

“I mean I just started taking it-”

“Hold up.” Ruggie raised his hand, the bridge of his nose pinched with his other as he spoke, “You mean to say this whole time…for the past six-seven months you've been here — potentially having sex with your multiple boyfriends — you've not been taking birth control?”

“ …Well, when you spell it out like that, it sounds stupid and irresponsible-”

Cater had sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he tapped at his phone. “We're going to my clinic after I get permission from Crewel.”

“I don't need to go to a clinic.”

“No, you're getting a new prescription.” Cater openly ignored her protests, briefly looking up to smile at Ortho, “Hey, let's get this whole thing started! What are we doing, Ortho?”

“This is my event-”

Ortho gestured to the machine sitting on the table, multiple muscle connectors in his hand, “This is my brother's and I's attempt at a ‘Period Simulator’! While it doesn't stimulate every symptom we've recorded, Yuu has assured us it's very capable of recreating the proper sensation of a period cramp.”

Idia did his best to hide his grin, wondering just how badly some people would fare, “Anyone wanna go first?”

After a beat of silence, Leona stepped forward, “Might as well see what was making you a wreck last Monday.” he lifted his shirt, letting Ortho affix the sensors along his lower stomach and back, “I still can't believe it was bad enough to make you throw up and cry like you were.”

Yuu rolled her eyes, moving beside Idia to work the controls, “Yeah, big talk from a bitch who's never had a period.” After a few moments, Yuu smiles and tilts her head, “How's it feel?”

Leona scoffed, “Like nothing.”

Yuu had set the machine to ‘Seven’ out of the Ten levels, “Yeah, I haven't turned it on yet.” 

The second the switch was flipped, Leona let out a single grunt and crumbled to the ground. The Savanaclaw housewarden slowly curled in himself, a single fist clenching so tight a vein was visibly throbbing under his skin.

Everyone blinked in surprise, Ruggie rushing over to hover his hands over Leona, “H-hey! What's happening!?”

Leona had barely lasted twenty seconds, everyone yelling in panic around his prone form as he slowly dug his claws into the hardwood floors. Luckily, he managed to gather enough willpower to lift his head, pupils shrunken to pinpricks as he gasped out, “Turn this shit off.”

Yuu relented, flipping the machine off and allowing Leona to finally relax and breathe out a loud sigh of relief. Ruggie had already started to remove the sensors from Leona's body when they spoke, “So, how was your one minute period?”

“You were not feeling that…!” Leona fumbled in standing, Trey and Ruggie more so dragging than helping him up. Though the constant spasming and clenching of his inner muscles had stopped, his body suddenly being wracked with pain made him jelly-legged.

Laughing, Yuu shrugged, “I mean, my period hangs around a ‘Six’ or 'Seven’ on my own pain scale if I don't take pain meds. Not like… A ‘Ten’ which is ‘I gotta get to a hospital’ pain, but in range to be ‘a little homicidal’ pain.”

Trey had helped Leona to an armchair, gesturing to the machine as Leona melted into the seat, “Is that thing safe?”

Ortho nodded, “Of course! We did trial runs and everything. Honestly, Prefect Yuu says it feels more along a ‘Three’ of her pain scale at max power. But, I believe with a bit more testing, we can successfully create a one-for-one simulation!”

“Keep that shit away from me.” Ruggie shook his head, sticking close to a still groaning Leona, “Mandatory or not, I'm not tryin’ that thing.”

“You may be spared. Leona's reaction was more than I could have hoped for.”

Leona moved one of his arms from his middle, raising a middle finger to Yuu.

Ortho chimes in, holding up the pads with a gleeful expression, “Who wants to go next?”

The silence that followed was comical, each boy looking at the other with poorly hidden concern and fear. Before long, Trey sighed and stepped forward.

“I'll go. This feels like a situation where we're not getting off unless Yuu's felt we had enough…” He lifted his shirt, already twitching lightly as Ortho stuck the pads to his stomach and back, “Don't put it on too high, ok?”

Yuu giggled, setting the machine to five, “I'll give you the ‘average special’. Not the worst, not the easiest.” Seeing Trey properly hooked up, she tilted her head, “Ready?”

“You'd still turn it on-oh, okay.” Trey had taken a step back, face grimacing as the pain hit him all at once.

Cater had his phone out, held low but at an angle to still capture Trey in the camera, “How you feelin’, Trey?”

“It's…ah…it's coming in…in moments-Mmmmmm this feels wrong.” Trey took slow, controlled breaths. He gently rocked back and forth, gaining an almost zen before the sound of the front door slamming open downstairs startled him. He choked, spit going down the wrong pipe and losing his focus.

With Trey now on his knees and choking, Cater kept filming but gave Yuu a pleading glance, “Ok, turn it off, he's not…recovering from this.”

“True…you wanna go Cater?”

The Junior left out a single harsh laugh, still filming as Ortho helped a shaking Trey remove the pads from his lower body, “You couldn’t pay me enough to do this. How about I just film everything for future posterity?”

Trey groaned, rubbing his lower back, “Way to avoid the experience…” He turned, smiling and raising an eyebrow to Riddle, “Your turn?”

“...Um…” Riddle's eyes briefly glanced at the door, wondering if he could make a break for it. But hearing the voices in the hallway, he sighed knowing one of them would stop or slow him enough for Yuu to drag him back, “I suppose…”

While he was being fitted, the door opened to show Ace and Deuce covered in grass stains and clumps of dirt.

Riddle frowned, awkwardly folding his arms over Ortho's head, “Why are you both dirty?”

Ace pointed over his shoulder, expression annoyed, “Floyd dropped us.”

Behind the two dirty Freshmen were Floyd and Kalim, the smiley housewarden comfortably kneeling on the mer's shoulders. Jade, Azul, and Jamil following behind the two.

Jade laughed into his hand, eyeing his twin subtly, “He got tired of carrying them.”

Looking around the room, brows furrowing together at the scene of both Leona and Trey slumped over, Azul asked, “What…are we doing…?”

Idia snickered, letting Yuu take over the controls, “We made a machine that can simulate the cramps Yuu's had the past few days. We're running a gauntlet to see who can actually stand up to it. You wanna test your skills, Azul-Shii?”

Floyd tugged at the pads attached to Riddle's stomach and lower back, smiling lazily with Kalim still on his shoulders, “These little things are gonna shock you or something?”

Azul hummed, adjusting his glasses as he glanced over Riddle, “Maybe…I'd rather see this process firsthand than go in blind.”

Yuu spoke up, smiling as she messed with dials and switches, “Riddle, I'm giving you a ‘Three’. Because I think anything higher would actually kill you.”

Riddle glancing nervously at Yuu, “Parden, can this pain be fatal?”

“Possibly, I don't know.”

“Wha-aaaaaaaaaaaah!” Riddle cut himself off suddenly, the weak sensation making his insides twist and pinch in an unfamiliar fashion.

Floyd had surged forward — leaving Kalim to tumble off of his shoulders and to be barely caught by Jamil and Azul. He fretted over Riddle in his own way, hands up to hover over his boyfriend's hunched-over body.

“Goldfishie? Is it really that bad…?”

Riddle's only response was to let out a groan, his breathing slowly picking up as another pang of pain hits him. Floyd had just barely sent a glare to Yuu before she shut the machine off.

“You good? I only gave you a three…”

Standing back up, the redhead tried to subtly wipe a few tears away from his eyes, “It was…very unpleasant. Reminded me of…hunger pains.”

“Oh shit, my bad, Riddle.”

Sighing, letting Ortho and Floyd take the sensors off his body Riddle continued, “It's no fault of yours. I was aware this process was painful for you, but I couldn't fathom it…felt like that…”

Deuce muttered, eyeing the pads with curiosity, “Is it really that bad?”

Yuu gestures to the pads, eyebrows raised, “Wanna try it for yourself?”

While Deuce was looking at the pads, clearly weighing his options, Ace scoffed and rubbed the back of his head, “You couldn't pay me to try that…”

“Oh, I wasn't expecting you to, pussy.”

“Oi.”

Yuu shrugged, smiling as Deuce was already allowing Ortho to hook him into the machine, “What? I'm agreeing with you, pussy. You don't have to try, pussy.”

Ace was already standing beside Deuce, scowling as he took one pad off of the other freshman’s back, “Shut up. I'm doing your stupid little challenge.”

Ace barely lasted thirty seconds, crumbling under muscle spasms while Deuce kept himself standing through sheer willpower alone. The redhead was on his knees, fists balled tight and curled as small as he could be in a fetal position. He took in wheezing breaths, letting out long and strained sighs.

He tapped out when Yuu turned the setting up to ‘Eight’. A hand waving at Ortho frantically to remove the pads along his midsection. Deuce had barely choked, face turning red as he strained harder to keep himself standing. While Ace was being freed from the electric pulses, Deuce’s expression had turned more and more distressed the longer he stood. Yuu had turned the dial to ‘Nine’ when Deuce let out a loud yell and started to pull the sensors off of himself by force.

“NO. NOPE. DONE. I ALMOST SHAT MYSELF.”

Ace, who was curled up on the ground arms around his middle, let out a bubble of a giggle from his groaning.

Leona sat up straighter, eyes wide in a sudden epiphany, “That’s the feeling!”

Trey nodded, having given up his seat to let Riddle sit and rest, “Yeah, that is a good way of describing what it feels like. Past the pain, it’s like you need to…really take a shit.”

Riddle mumbled, sending an annoyed glance to Ace now cackling on the floor,  “I’d rather we say ‘stomachache’ than…defecating.”

Yuu, laughing along with Ace turned to the other group of boys, “Anyone else wanna try?”

Floyd and Jade had simply looked at each other before grinning. They were hooked up quickly, both Trey and Riddle excusing themselves and wishing the other’s luck in their ‘torture sessions’.

Looking over the dials, Yuu spoke, “I’ll give you guys a ‘Five’ to start off with. I wanna see one of you guys make it to ‘Ten’.”

The machine was barely on for two seconds before Floyd was ripping the pads off of his body, his once playful expression dropping instantly at the flash of pain, “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Azul spoke up, eyeing the machine with even more distrust than before, “That’s a record…”

Yuu turned to Jade, the other twin still hooked up but eyebrows furrowed together, “Still wanna try for ‘Ten’?”

He’s only response was to give a thumbs up, a little approving hum in his throat.

Jade getting to ‘Ten’ was a feat in itself. The Sophomore had managed to ‘Seven’ before he physically started to show signs of distress. All the way to ‘Ten’, Jade had started to let out sharp and shrill clicks and growls. His expression starting to nash as he bared his teeth in a show of hostile energy, his hands flexing with the barely concealed urge to rip into something unfortunate enough to get too close. 

Idia had quickly turned the machine off once Yuu had turned the dial to ‘Ten’, everyone else in the room having been pressed against the walls or furniture in an effort to stay as far away from Jade as possible. As his brain slowly eased back into its front conciseness, he blinked and looked around the room.

“Did something…happen?”

Floyd spoke up, Azul, Ace, and Deuce all using him as a shield from Jade's feral display, “Wow, I'm glad we don't have periods; dad would of been dead before we even hatched.”

“Ah. I assume it was bad then?”

Azul poked his head from behind Floyd, “You don't know?”

“No, I blacked out.”

Ruggie spoke up from his place pressed against Leona, “By the Seven…”

Yuu smiled, holding up the other set of sensors toward Azul, “You wanna try now, Azul?”

“Please don't. We love each other, this doesn't need to be how I die today.”

“I wanna try!” Kalim had instantly popped up from behind Jamil, eyes shining in glee as he instantly moved to Jade’s place.

“Kalim, no.” Jamil had moved, stopping Kalim from lifting his shirt, “You can’t just,” Sighing he gently shoved the other boy away from the machine, “You can’t just try something like this. There’s no telling how you could react to this.”

“React to what?” 

Vil and Rook walked into the room, the Pomefiore housewarden raising an eyebrow at the unfamiliar machine.

Yuu smiled, gesturing to the machine as though it were a new car, “We're doing a fun little contest to see who can withstand a period cramp. Jamil was just about to volunteer-”

“No, I wasn't. Once again, I was keeping Kalim from jumping into something he has no grasp of.”

Vil hummed, tilting his head as Rook lit up beside him, “Trés bien! What a glorious act of empathy; to feel along with our beloved petite madame the torture that casted them into turmoil from the last half fortnight!”

“It would be an interesting experience. Though it's impossible to recreate the ailment one for one, we would at least know the physical part of it.” Vil smiled, looking to Jamil with a saccharine smile, “You'll be giving us an example?”

Kalim whined, pushing and pulling Jamil’s arm, “Please? If you try and say it's okay, then me and Vil can try. Please~?”

“...” Jamil sighed, holding his hands out for the grouping of pads in Yuu's hands, “Don't put it on the highest setting…”

“Jamil…I could never…to you.”

The Scarabia vice was no stranger to pain nor stressful situations. But the sudden rolling waves of clenching and spasms in his lower stomach gave him pause. In what could be described as ‘The Five Stages of Grief’ Jamil's expressions twisted and melded as he stood silent. Finally, he rested on ‘Acceptance’ his face falling back into his normal neutral expression. He took in one last breath, sighing out as he now stood as though nothing was wrong.

“Okay. This is unpleasant, I feel like I'm being kicked in the stomach by a toddler over and over. I may overblot again.”

Vil raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Yeah, this is torture.”

Kalim hummed, eyes now holding an edge of concern, “Is it really that bad?”

“Well, it's not baking a fucking cake, I'll tell you that.”

“OMG, you have PMS. Tracks.” Yuu smiled, gently clicked the knob to ‘Seven’ and barely holding in her giggles as Jamil started to quickly detach the sensors from his body.

“No. No, I will actually try to kill someone again if I keep that on longer.” Jamil gave Yuu a mild glare. He sighs, rolling his eyes as Kalim rushed over and excitedly waited for Ortho to hook him up, “That was deeply unpleasant…”

Yuu only responded by making a kissy face, turning the dials to lower settings. Her eyes glance over to Kalim, the boy beaming and bouncing on his heels, “Ready?”

“Ready!”

The machine was only set to a ‘Three’, but the second the sensation had hit Kalim he stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet. His expression slowly but steadily dropped into neutrality and then quickly into distress.

Jamil spoke up, “Kalim-”

“Turn it off.”

Yuu snickered, but moved to flip the machine off, “Kalim, you only had a ‘Three’, don’t you-”

“Turn it off.”

The machine was off, Ortho and Jamil quickly removed the patches from Kalim’s sides. The housewarden in question turned to Yuu, eyes wide in barely contained hysteria.

“Why did that make me relive every trauma I’ve had?”

Yuu blinked, unmoved by his concern, “Kalim, that's just what a period does sometimes.”

Cater spoke up, glaring softly at Yuu while he muttered under his breath, “Yeah, because that's totally healthy and normal to feel once a month…” He ended the video, smiling toward Ortho, "I actually had other plans today, can you keep recording for me, Ortho?"

"Got it, Cater Diamond!"

Jamil had Kalim half draped across his shoulders, the housewarden mumbling in their region’s dialect, “I'm going to take him back to the dorm before he has a full-blown episode. Once you’re done with your torture machine, break it. Please. I'm begging you.”

Yuu scoffed, rolling her eyes “It's not torture-”

Azul placed a hand on Yuu's, smiling softly once she looked at him, “Oh, my dearest pearl. The only way to describe what you went through is torture, Plain and simple. And on that fact, I and the twins shall be taking our leave, as well.”

Floyd had laughed, already at the door and holding it open for Cater and Jamil carrying a still-mumbling Kalim out with him, “Azul doesn't want to risk Shrimpy talking him into doing it.”

“Don't give her ideas. Farewell, my pearl and others. Hopefully, you all have a more pleasant day than what it’s been…”

Yuu raises an eyebrow, “You and Ruggie don't wanna leave yet?”

Leona smirked, shaking his head as he was fully relaxed in the armchair, “Oh no. This is more fun than you said it was gonna be. I'm enjoying myself, Feral.”

Ruggie tilted his head, smiling at Ortho, “Oi, Ortho. Were you gonna try it?”

Ortho blinked, “Ruggie Bucchi, I don’t have internal organs.”

Idia muttered under his breath, glaring at Ruggie from the corner of his eyes, “Please, my brother’s suffered enough in this life.” 

“Then I believe it is my turn, non?” Rook excitedly stepped forward, lifting his shirt for Ortho to affix the sensors, “What a rare experience I will endure! One not felt by this generation, past or future.”

“Yeah, I'll put you at ‘Seven’ and go from there.” Yuu flipped the switch.

Rook's eyes widened, his once excited expression turning into a strange hybrid of stunned and panicked. He hunched forward, his lips parted but silent as he slowly eased himself to kneel on the ground.

Yuu quirked an eyebrow, watching the Junior slowly curl in on himself, “Ah, there he goes.”

Vil looked vaguely concerned, folding his arms and tilting enough to see Rook’s face, “Rook…are you alright?”

“I have never felt such a sensation. My insides twisting and gripping in fear, anticipation of dread. The physical grasp of femininity strangles me, punishing my hubris for daring to believe I could stand against such a beautiful force-”

Leona spoke up from his chair, eyes lidded as he caught Yuu’s attention, “Turn it up.”

“Please don’t…”

Yuu giggled, “Want me to turn it off?”

“Please do.” 

Leona lamented, claiming Yuu was being soft on her precious Pomefiore boy when she turned the machine off. The Junior finally seeing the pure amusement of this game now that he could witness those who annoyed him on the receiving end. 

Rook was up and twirling around when Vil was still getting set up. The Junior was reciting freestyle poetry on the curse and blessings of womanhood. Though his main takeaway was joy at gaining a new sensation to his lifelong collection of experiences.

Vil only rolled his eyes, “That's one way of looking at it…”

“Well, why the fuck are you doing it then?” Yuu asked as she turned dials on the machine.

“The term ‘gut-wrenching’ comes up an offensive amount of times in scripts. And since I haven't had gut issues since I was a child, I actually don't have much to work with.” he smiles, smoothing his shirt back down, “So this will be research. Onion, set me at ‘Six’.”

“I'm giving you ‘Ten'.” Yuu smiled, taunting and calm, before flipping the machine back on. 

Everyone in the room jumped at the ear-piercing, shrill scream that escaped Vil, the sound briefly echoing in the room. The star had ripped the sensors off his body faster than Floyd had. He took a step forward, wobbly-legged but determined as he walked toward the door and fumbled his way out of the room.

A beat of silence hits the room, Rook excusing himself before following Vil out of the room. Yuu bit her lip, turning the machine off as Leona started to laugh. Ruggie no better as lion beastman became more and more hysterical in his laughter.

The door opened slowly, Epel, Jack, and Sebek casting worried looks to Leona hunched over in his chair.

Epel did his best to wait for Leona's laughter to ease. When the Junior…clearly wasn't, he managed to speak over Leona, “Why is Vil lyin’ face down in the hallway?”

Yuu opened her mouth, closing it at Leona's laughter reaching a new pitch. She looked over to Ruggie, the hyena nodding his head.

“Ok, we're gonna head out. I think we've seen all we can see.” Ruggie draped Leona's arms over his shoulder, half dragging his housewarden out, stopping to pat Jack on the shoulder, “Good luck…”

“With what?” Jack called out, staring after his upperclassmen in confusion.

Ortho tilted his head, gesturing to the machine, “Would any of you like to make 10 thaumarks?”

Sebek spoke, “Ortho, that is by far the worst way to start this conversation.”

“Here's a better one then.” Yuu smiles, gesturing to the machine herself, “Would any of you boys like a lesson in empathy?”

“No?”

Jack tilts his head toward the device, ears pinned back in distrust, “What is that?”

“Try it out, Jacky-Boy. Test your grit, are you tougher than the average woman from my world or a simple puppy in my presence?”

“...You're goding me.”

“Is it working?”

“...” Jack clicked his tongue, taking two big steps and standing beside Ortho, “I'm only doing this because I know you'll get annoying if I reject it…”

“Idia-Senpai…what is this?” Epel casted the housewarden a confused stare, he and Sebek watching Ortho place medical sensors on Jack's lower stomach and back.

“For real? We made a torture box and have been testing everyone's pain tolerance.”

Sebek snapped his gaze toward Idia, “You what?”

“Wait, torture how-aaaaah…?” Jack's question quickly slid into a confused vocal run, his expression pinching together in a guarded grimace.

Yuu leaned on the table, raising an eyebrow at Jack, “I gave you a ‘Six’. How you feeling?”

Jack didn't answer, nor did he move from his braced stance. As nearly a minute passed, Jack finally gained the power to turn his head. It started small, minimal slow shakes that slowly grew faster.

“Are you having a seizure or are you asking me to turn it off?”

Jack's only response was to shake his head faster.

“Jack, that is not answering my question.”

“Just turn it off, ya psycho!” Epel yelled.

“Fiiiiiine.” Yuu groaned, rolling her eyes and shutting the machine off.

Even when the currents were gone, Jack remained completely still and tensed. He could only cough lightly as Epel came over to him with concern.

Sebek glared at Yuu, “What did you do!?”

Yuu slapped the top of the machine, Jack finally moving if only to get farther away out of fear that Yuu had turned it back on, “We made a period simulator and let me tell you…none of you guys are built to handle this shit apparently.”

Epel frowned, his hands moving to massage along the beastman's jaw, “Jack, baby, unclench…”

“I can't. If I do. I'm gonna fall.”

Idia snickered, turning his tablet for Sebek to see, “I've been making a scale. The only one who's managed to make it to ‘Ten’ is Jade and he blacked out doing it.”

The room door slammed open, Leona standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, “Good, the machine's free.”

Rolling her eyes, Yuu laughed at seeing who was behind him, “You did not come back just to watch them try the simulator.”

He stepped back inside, Malleus and Lilia walking in behind him. Silver was tucked in Malleus’s arms, the Sophomore snoozing peacefully.

Lilia smiled, looking at the machine in curiosity, “Leona tells us it was an experience that we could never have naturally! I'm glad I had the idea to gather my boys and make sure they were able to partake.”

Malleus tilts his head, holding Silver higher in his arms, “Will Silver be able to experience it if he is asleep? I would hate for him to miss such an event due to his disorder.”

“Oh!” Lilia waved for Malleus to place Silver in the empty chair, “Maybe this simulator will be the legendary item that can wake Silver.”

Yuu shrugs, Ortho excitedly holding the sensors up beside her, “One way to find out.”

Was it possibly cruel and illegal to hook a sleeping person to what was essentially a torture device? Obviously, they still did it. Though the meaner outcome of Silver leaping up in confusion and pain, what actually happened was more concerning. The group all watched as Silver simply creased his brows in slumber before his forehead smoothed again. Yuu checked the settings a second time, the dials all turned to ‘Ten’ each.

“...I know he didn’t just eat this shit.”

Lilia sighed, patting Silver’s head, “I could say I'm surprised, but I’m not…”

Leona raised an eyebrow, mildly annoyed that Silver had no reaction, “At least I can see why you were sleeping so much during this.” 

“Sleeping does keep the Blood Goddess away.”

Malleus and Leona turned to her, each wearing looks of concern, “The whom?”

“May I try it?” Lilia looked at the sensors, holding one of the nodes in hand, “I’d love to see if it compares to anything I’ve felt before.”

Yuu smiled, “My frame of reference is being stabbed. That was a common one in my world.”

Lilia was hooked up quickly, the older fae standing with his hands on his hips, “Well, only one way to compare then!”

Once the switch was flipped, the smile faded from Lilia’s face. The fae’s hands slowly gripping harder and harder into his hips. He blinked, his brows creasing together then relaxing at odd intervals. He continued to open his mouth, a syllable slipping out before he closed his mouth again.

Leona laughed briefly, ignoring the annoyed glance Malleus sent him, “Having fun?”

“Leona, don’t act like you didn’t crumble the second I turned this shit on.” Yuu turns to Lilia “But, Lilia, are you okay? I gave you an 'Eight'.”

The fae managed a laugh, his smile quickly falling off his face as his breath came out in a ragged motion before he spoke, “It’s…it’s reminding me of a time when I had an iiiiiiiiiiron needle stabbed into my siiiiiiiiiiiide…ahahaHA-It broke off and I just…AH-dealt with that for. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays…ha…”

Malleus didn’t move to help, but watched his guardian with a weary eye, “Are you…alright?”

“I will be honest, this is making me think of the WAR…HA. WHORE! Oh, that helps. WHORE!”

“Ok, turn it off…” Idia gently eased Ortho away from the older fae when Lilia had started to simply yell swear words.

Once he was free of the sensors, Lilia had returned to his normal jovial air. Laughing under his breath, he stretched and popped his back, “Oh…oh, that was dreadful. You say it can get worse than that?”

Idia speaks, “It can get way worse, apparently. There’s this thing call endometriosis, sickass curse name btw, that can physically cripple people.”

“Shroud, you can use your technomagics to screen for that, correct?”

“U-um…yeah? I searched up symptoms of it so if need be I could locate it on a scan-Wait, Malleus-Shii, Yuu doesn't have it, right?”

“I don't believe so…but, there is nothing wrong with a thorough search to ensure my beloved's health.”

“Malleus, I'm standing right here.”

The horned fae smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to Yuu's temple, “That you are.”

She huffs, fighting against a smile threatening to spread across her face, “Are you trying this thing or not?”

“Hmmm… I suppose there's no reason not to partake. It will be an experience, as Lilia put it-”

“Waka-Sama! No! This machine is clearly dangerous!” Sebek moved forward, trying to stand between Malleus and the simulator,  “It was enough to render Jack speechless and Lilia in a state of hysteria! As your retainer I can not allow you to try such an activity!”

“Sebek, are you insinuating that I am weaker than not only Lilia but Jack as well?”

“...” Sebek's stance slowly eased, the Freshmen curling in on himself with mild shame, “I…I did not mean it in such a way…”

“Then step aside, I wish to empathize with my fiancée, properly.”

The half-fae sighed sadly, moving to the side and letting Malleus be outfitted with the sensors.

“Child of man, please set it to the highest setting.” He raises his hand, a move to silence both Sebek and Yuu, “I'm aware of my choice. I wish to experience the worst this ailment could become to you. There is also the factor that my body is simply…more hardy than your own. The highest setting may be the only way I can feel it.”

“...” Yuu sighs and starts to adjust the machine., “I hate that your logic is sound…okay. I hope you don't regret your choices…”

Leona spoke up, watching the scene with an easy going smile, “I hope he does.”

When the switch was flipped, nothing happened. Everyone standing in silence, everyone watching Malleus’s face for any change showing pain or distress. Nearly a minute passes, the horned fae remaining perfectly still and silent.

Leona blinked, making brief eye contact with Lilia before he stepped closer to Malleus. he snapped his fingers in quick succession, twice in front of the fae's eyes and then once directly next to his ear. Malleus didn't so much as twitch. 

“Malleus?...Malleus?” Lilia reached out, shaking his charge by the shoulders and receiving no response, “...Turn this off.”

Idia was already flipping the machine off before Yuu could turn to do it. Once the lights had dimmed on the box, Malleus's eyes regained their focus and light. The prince finally blinked, looking toward Yuu in question.

“Have we started? I don't believe I'm feeling anything.”

Leona let out a harsh, cackle of a laugh. The housewarden turning and walking out the room, “Oh that's rich. I got what I wanted, I'm gone.” He swung the door on his way out, laughing all the way out of Ramshackle.

Yuu stood with a hand over her mouth, “...Okay…I'm not going to send you back to wherever you just escaped from…so you win, I guess?”

Epel and Sebek both perk up, all concern and hesitation gone, “Win?”

Ortho laughs, taking the sensors off of a confused Malleus, “You've seen. Simply withstanding the simulator is hard enough. It only makes sense that actually enduring the simulator on max power is a win.”

Sebek quickly snatched Idia’s tablet, eyes scanning over the names and settings of their friend group, “You said making it to ‘Ten’ is a win?”

Epel had shoved his way to looking at the tablet despite Idia’s urging to give him his tablet back, “Ya said only Leech made it to ‘Ten'?”

Yuu hummed, patting a still confused Malleus on the shoulder, “I don't know if we can count that one. He did go fucking feral.”

“True…”

“I've decided!” Sebek slammed the tablet into Idia’s chest, nearly sending the housewarden through the wall, “I will do this challenge to show the might of Diasomnia!” He gripped his shirt, pulling harshly to rip the cloth clean off of his body.

Jack spoke, “Sebek you did not need to rip your shirt off-”

Epel harshly shushed his taller boyfriend, eyes not moving away from the newly revealed muscled chest, “Shut up, let him do what he thinks is best…”

Sebek smirked, requesting Yuu start him on ‘Nine’ as opposed to a lighter number, “I will be able to go straight to the winning number this way. What kind of retainer could I be if I can't handle this level of trivial pain?”

“...” Yuu slowly smiled, waiting for Ortho to give her the ok of Sebek being properly hooked up, “Ready?”

“Yes.”

The switch was flipped, Sebek's smug expression instantly falling as his face paled. One of his hands reached out toward Silver, digits sinking into the Sophomore's chest hard enough to startle him awake.

“I'm up, I'm-what's-”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Sebek yelled, eyes laser focused on the floor as he kept himself up right with sheer willpower and core strength alone.

“Sebek!? Why are you yelling!? Father!? Malleus!?” Silver attempted to wiggle out from under Sebek's pin. A feat becoming increasingly difficult the tighter Sebek's fist started to twist Silver’s shirt.

“Lilia-Sama was right, yelling helps! YELLING HELPS SO MUCH!”

“What is going on?” Silver called out in pure confusion.

Yuu spoke up, still calm through Sebek's shouting, with the flair of announcing ‘Waterfall’, “And here's ‘Ten’.” Yuu clicked the machine to its final setting.

Sebek dropped to his knees, pulling Silver half off of the chair as he refused to release his grip.

After nearly thirty seconds of Sebek's yelling and Silver’s questions fueled by pure panic, the machine was turned off. Sebek slumps fully to the floor, breathing heavily before slowly curling himself into a ball. 

Silver looked around bewildered, hoping someone would tell him what just happened, “When did I get to Ramshackle? I was in the quad?”

Lilia laughs, already helping Sebek off the ground and slinging an arm over his shoulder, “We can fill you in on the way back. I do believe we're done with today's event.”

Lilia left no room for discussion, already dragging a groaning Sebek out of the room, 

semi-forcing a confused Silver and Malleus to follow Behind him. Silver questioning What was even happening, having fallen asleep in the quad of the school only to wake up to Sebek's screaming more he normally did.

Malleus followed his posse, a pout on his lips as rain clouds seemed to form in showing his plight, “I didn't even try It…”

Yuu turns to Epel, raising an Eyebrow and holding the sensors out to him, “Epel, are you like… sure, you want to go all the way to ten?”

“Ah ain't no fuckin’ bitch. Slap them bad boys on me so Ah can have braggin’ rights ov'r these losers.”

“Well, if we're counting that as legally binding…” Yuu turns dials on the machine, setting them to max as she did with Malleus only to be stopped by Ortho gently placing a hand over hers, “Yes, Ortho?”

“Maybe we don't start Epel Felimer off at the highest setting. I'm beginning to believe a sudden simulation of this variety could induce brain damage.”

Jack took a small step back, eyeing the machine with even more distrust than before, “Wait, really!?”

Ortho shrugs, “I mean, it's doing something to people.”

Jack sighed, folding his arms, “Did you guys do trial runs with thing or something? Like, are you entirely sure it's safe to use on actual people?”

Idia gestures over to Yuu, “Yuu tried it.”

“Ok. So we're going off the word of a crazy person?”

“Ay!?”

“Don’ care! Ah got a point ta prove!” Epel lifted his shirt, glaring at Ortho until the android relented and stuck the first sensor on him.

Once properly fitted, Yuu started Epel on ‘One’, increasing the power every two minutes to ensure he felt each stage. The Pomefiore Freshmen didn't even flinch until he got to ‘Three’. He made a single sound of discomfort, hands moving to press on his stomach.

“Ok…that felt…Ah felt that, that's the weird part…”

And such sensations only got worst. Epel having to brace his hands against the wall, widening his stance in an attempt to keep himself standing once the machine was turned up to ‘Five’.

“...”Epel’s face was scrunched up, brows furrowed as he looked through his bangs at Yuu, “Is…is needin’ to poop-”

“Yeah, that's a normal feeling to have during.”

“A'ite…”

By ‘Eight’, Epel had adopted the new method of screaming being a crutch. He had lowered himself to the floor, kneeling into a frog pose.

“Epel, if you actually shit on my floor-”

“SHUT UP!”

The final hurdle was to last an entire minute on ‘Ten’. Ortho stating they should decrease the time for the last level as Epel had started to punch the wall. A whole minute Epel spent the time power walking around the room, engaging his entire body to distract from the pain. Every now and again yelling out a country-flavored string of swears. The moment Ortho excitedly clicked the machine off, saying that Epel had completed the entire simulation experience, the purple haired Freshmen dropped to his knees and vomited.

“OH, COME ON!?”

Ortho hummed, tilting his head in question while Idia tried to hide behind him, “I wonder if prolong exposure can lead to vomiting…So many new variables…”

Jack was careful to not step into the puddle before a panting Epel, sighing as he raised an eyebrow at him, “Congrats, you won bragging rights on throwing up.”

“Shut up and take me to the damn infermary…”

Jack picked Epel into his arms, walking the groaning Freshmen out of the room with a chatting Ortho hot on their heels.

Yuu sighs, looking at the puddle of vomit on their floor, “Now I gotta clean that shit up.”

“You’re the one who wanted to torture your friends again under the guise of empathy…” Idia could only smile at the glare she gives him, raising his hands in a carefree manner, “Everything’s got a price, you know?” He moved to fully pack and shut the machine down, unaware of the look Yuu was sending him.

“...Hey, Idia? You didn’t try.”

“Yeah, because I’d rather be tazed?” Idia spoke out, voice clear with how stupid he thought the idea was.

“...” Yuu smiles, reaching into the table’s drawer and pulling out a simple black-box tazer. Her eyebrows wiggle as she presses the button twice just to show it was charged.

“...” Idia sighed, grimacing as he held his arm out, “Everything’s got a price…”

[vad-hander]

HIM

pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

others: Jaemin, Renjun, Taeyeon

genre: office!au, fluff, suggestive themes, some light angst, co-workers to lovers, romance, happy ending

warnings: language, alcohol, semi-public make out, pining

words: 8,5k

can be read as a stand alone fic

part 1 of 3

part 2 | part 3

synopsis: Jaehyun's been your prime interest since the day he walked into your office three months ago. You finally get to meet him properly at a corporate party, as the evening unfolds, you discover that you share far more common ground than you'd thought. And as he walks you home afterwards, you find out you might be not the only one interested in that way.

----------

"Oh. I can't even look that way right now." Nari rolled her eyes, tapping your shoulder with a finger as she raised the glass to sip on her drink.

"Why?" You moved your eyes over the room flustered. It didn't strike you you were staring much - you thought you were pretty smooth. No longer than a second to look at him as you turned around to reach for a canapé. No longer than a moment of your eyes on him as you looked for an unfinished bottle of champagne. You must've not been as smooth as it seemed in your head - you focused on the gin&tonic you had in your hand and left it for your own good at the nearest table. You still had to get back home with your own two feet, it's safer to sober up.

Your friend rolled her eyes once again and sparked the worst of your personality traces - curiosity. "What? Why? Why, why?" You took a step closer to hear the gossip, drunk smile spreading on your face and you attempted to hide it behind your palm to not look so wasted. "What's the tea? I literally looked there because it feels like Miji may be the tenth person to approach him with a hug." You weren't totally lying. You did look because every woman at the office, married or not, mind you, approached the man of your interest with the widest smile and the warmest hug. You tried to think logically and assume he was friendly down to his last bone and made everyone at the company love him in just 3 months he's been here. Then, you spiraled down to thinking it was far more than that. What if he slept with every second woman in your agency and every other was lining up to get with him? Then you climbed back up to adequacy, as your own boss approached him with that big grin and warm hug right in front of her husband's nose.

He must be just out of this world friendly.

"I don't have any tea on him. He's just not my favorite person right now." Nari's eyes glued to her drink.

"Oh?" you turned your head around. This was what you considered tea, so why would Nari say she didn't have any? She was his direct report, after all. "What happened?" You leaned in a little, ready to be scandalised, terribly disappointed, turned off and disgusted. Anything, because being the opposite and out of his circle of interest was actually agonising you at this point.

"He's just a pain in the ass. All polite, with that stupid welcoming grin and an answer to every question asked." Nari spat annoyed.

"Oh." you said again, but the tone of that sound changed completely. "Isn't that good for the accounting manager that he is? I guess now we know how he got there." You tried to support and also possibly nudge for more info.

"I just feel like that's fake and he's a leech. He is a man in a managing position." she pointed out with a rise of a brow. "If it's not pretty privilege, then it's most definitely that."

"I heard he's pretty smart." you randomly stated, the look Nari gave you made you regret every word that left your mouth afterward. "Taeyeon worked with him in her previous agency, she said he's been a brilliant mind since he was an intern." You glanced behind Nari, the man of the hour still stood on the same spot, still talking to Taeyeon and Baek.

"Yeah, if he's such a brilliant mind why won't he make that report himself and not ask me to stay overtime?" Nari spat and everything finally clicked in for you. You laughed lightheartedly, tilting your head back a little and pushed Nari by her shoulder.

"I knew there must be something behind that venom outburst! I clearly remember you saying that your new Jaehyun boss is much better than your old one." you tried to not say the name too loud, but your voice made a weird wave as his name left your mouth and in pure fear your eyes glued to Jaehyun and you were very much glad the gin&tonic was safe and sound somewhere else. Jaehyun stared right back at you. As you lost all traces of time while locked gazes, it was hard to look at the situation soberly - did he look because you were directly in his line of vision? Did he look because he heard you call his name or he looked at you too in general?

You shriveled as soon as his eyes left you.

"Fuck, I think he heard that. That's pretty awkward." you almost automatically tried to lift your arm up to take a sip and calm down, disappointing your own self with the lack of a glass in your arm.

"Dude! He's my boss, ah shit." Nari panicked and looked away from you, trying to make herself busy with something else.

"Ladies." You watched Nari jump in her place at the greeting. With blasting music, it was hard to distinguish voices, and you giggled as Renjun's face painted with confusion. "Why?" he addressed you, as Nari slowly turned around to see who it was.

"She thinks you're her boss-" your tongue pressed against your teeth.

"I'm in different division tho-." Renjun raised his palm up, confused.

"No, she thinks he came here to tell her off because he heard us gossip about him."

"There's gossip?!" Renjun's already half lifted palm grabbed onto his chest in a dramatic gesture. It clearly said yall had gossip and didn't look for me?!

"There's none. She's just being dramatic because everyone loves him."

Renjun gave an accwpting nod. "Okay. That's real. My boss seems to be in love with him, too."

"Well, seems like we're yet to get in line?" you snorted. You would like to skip it and see for yourself first.

"You want to?" Renjun questioned.

"Ah-." you looked over your shoulder flabbergasted."I haven't had the chance to work with him yet. But everyone makes it seem like he's a very lovely person." Yes, that also on top of his breathtaking looks and sexy ass brain that made him a very valuable man at such a young age.

"I'm on short leg with Jaem, I can make him introduce y'all." Renjun sipped his beverage through a straw.

"I work under him, I know him!" Nari exclaimed and clapped her hands in front of Renjun's face. Like the solemn idea of being introduced to the man disgusted her.

"Okay! Don't clap it in front of my face." Renjun clapped his hands in front of Nari's face to piss her off in return.

"Okay, I won't." she did it once again and they both burst into laughter. You almost stopped them and asked about you. What about me? I don't work for him, I want to know him.

"Oh my god. Do you hear that?" Renjun stopped, stretching out his arms for everyone to stop and perked up his ears. "You don't?"

"The song?" you questioned.

"That's a song from like 10 years ago?" Nari perked up her ears too, probably looking through the music library in her head.

"8 years. That's my prom song! Oh my god! We have to go dance!" Renjun grabbed both your arms and pulled you behind him, one short corridor through and you've entered the kitchen area that transformed to the dance floor for the night.

-

Wait, so you're probably wondering what sort of office this is? With a dance floor and alcoholic beverages? It's better to give out some explanation before it gets too late.

Your CEO had her 50th birthday this week, since the agency also happened to close off a big deal with a lot of money involved a week before that, everyone was gifted with a surprise party to celebrate and wind down after the hot season. A little food, a lot of alcohol and a DJ on the 40th floor of your office on Friday night - great suggestion for everyone involved. People always show up for free booze, food, and party. Especially when the main demography of your company switched to young adults who worked as interns.

You had to be there too, everyone from senior and above were obliged to and as head of your group of clients you had to dilute younger audience and also, maybe, hopefully, scare them to not turn this into a trash party. This still was your office. And it'd be amazing if it stayed the same way by the end of the night.

Jumping ahead, none of you really scared the interns. They still were pretty wasted by the end of the night, women's bathroom became a fallen victim to someone's weak stomach. Don't think anyone really wants to go in detail with that.

You didn't actually mind being here. Despite having a higher position in the hierarchy, you were no fool to refuse a free party with your friends. Especially not when your main attraction was all in for the evening in the group chats.

You've heard people talk that there was also some action on the 35th floor, but who were you to go there and deprive yourself from hearing and seeing him from a distance. Even for 10 minutes.

So now, naturally, jumping with your friends in a pit of almost teenagers to a song they were too young to know, you processed in your head a plan of retreat. You might be a little sweaty and very drunk, but you're still very much dedicated to him. And it's been maybe 20 minutes since you left the open space area to dance.

"I need to pee." You excuse yourself and take a few steps away from the banging of the speaker. A few more steps and you bump into your subordinate, grabbing each others hands in a polite dance of sorry's and awkward suggestions to dance the next song together. You didn't want to judge, but she seemed like she needed to take a few gulps of water. You circled yourself out of her grip, and as you turned around once again with a smile and a small bow, you bumped into someone once again. You quickly turned around and jumped back this time, surprised and shocked. The victim of your awkward stumbling turned around, too, but you really didn't need him to. You've been staring at this suede light brown jacket for hours. You recognized it immediately. You knew exactly who you bumped into.

"Oh, I'm sorry." you smiled as his dimples hypnotised you.

"No, you're good." he waved you off and smiled more. The gesture and the voice and the eyes made you weak at the knees, and also made you want to reach the bathroom sooner. An arm slapped his nape, at which he jerked surprised, his almost full glass spilled the beverage on his finger.

An arm now wrapped over his neck and before your eyes appeared Jaemin. Your gaze shifted once again, watching the man in light brown jacket lick the droplet of, you assumed, gin, off the side of his finger.

You flushed. This was a workspace. Why would he show you his tongue in the first place, even before introducing himself properly, and why would that very mindless action make you cross your legs? You had a very explicit answer to that, but you weren't about to tell anyone all that.

"Ah! Y/n!" Jaemin exclaimed and a very satisfied grin appeared on his face. You wondered what would've caused that, you weren't familiar to that extent. Jaehyun just blinked, he clearly didn't know you personally.

"We haven't met, yet." you let Jaemin know, clearing the awkwardness that maybe only you felt.

"You're kidding?" Jaemin addressed the man in his hold. "You aren't?" he did look shocked, as Jaehyun looked at him still with no specific face expression. You didn't know you were that big of a person in this company, for it to be a surprise you haven't introduced yourself to someone new. It's been 3 months, but still, he's new here. "That's y/n, then. Taeyeon adores her. She's the head of her group. Super responsible, insanely trustworthy, and quite friendly if she likes you enough." You opened your mouth shocked at the last bit. First of all, you really held back to open your mouth in shock since the beginning of that monologue. You had no clue that's what your boss was going around saying about you. If you were a tad bit more drunk, you would've cried on the spot and found her for a hug. Second of all, you really were flabbergasted that Jaemin cared enough to remember. Third of all, the way he smiled at quite friendly if she likes you enough made you dizzy. You really wanted him to know he was at the top of the list of people you liked. Fuck, after he reached a hand to shake yours, you maybe were ready to confess you loved him.

"I'm Jaehyun. I hope you like me enough to be friendly." your heart exploded in your chest and made your palm sweaty. You wished to dodge the handshake, but he reached a little forward, and you had no choice but to shake it. His fingers were a little chill to the touch.

"Of course, of course." You hid your hand behind your back, giving him awkward giggles between each word.

"I'm leading Nari's team. I saw you two chat before? You know Nari, right?" he acted like he weren't sure, gesturing with his hand towards the opensace area.

"Yeah, we're friends. I heard of you before." you said and bit your tongue. Shit, now he's going to assume you gossip about him. His lips formed a little 'o'. "Not in that way." You waved your hands in front of him, hoping he'd understand it's really not in that way. Jaehyun simply laughed.

"I hope I'm not too much of a fussy baby when it comes to work." he probably referred to the fact Nari could've complained about him.

"Oh, no. No, I wouldn't gossip around like that-." And if I would, I won't say it to your face, duh.

"It's okay." he shook his head, clearly amused. Fuck, you hated this. Why were you all awkward and scared and nervous like that over someone else's boss? You were just one step behind in your career, also very bright mind, if you say so yourself. Stupid pretty privilege of that stupid pretty man. You moved your eyes to Jaemin, he wasn't making you nervous one bit. You could very much talk to him freely.

Jaemin ran his eyes between you and Jaehyun with a smirk. What was happening in his intoxicated mind?

"I'm sorry, I was heading for the bathroom." It's better to just fleet. "Do you mind?" you gestured behind their backs.

"Of course." Jaehyun stepped aside, pushing along his... ugh. Who were they? Judging by the grip on his neck, friends? Just close colleagues? Anyways, you took a step forward and left.

-

"You left for the bathroom and never came back, traitor." Renjun plopped on the couch next to you. You were hiding from people, trying to calm your body and mind down. "Drinking all alone? That's a double traitor. What happened?" Yeah, calming your body and mind with alcohol. Stupid idea.

"I bumped into your boss! Jaemin smiled at me weirdly." your voice full of complaints. You hoped it was enough to cover that his smile wasn't the only thing that weirded you out.

"And?" Renjun wasn't scandalised like you wanted him to be. He just sighed.

"I felt weird. I didn't want to return back there and bump into him once again." You didn't fully lie about that. Jaemin did scare you a little with those eyes.

"He's always smiling weirdly, that's his trademark." Renjun snorted. "You missed a whole lot of fun, though." you pouted and took a sip.

"I need to head home. Subway's closing soon." Nari sighed, and you peeped at your phone. Midnight, it really was almost the time to go back home. The party would be over any minute now.

"Let's just wait till the DJ wraps up?" you suggested, maybe because you hoped for the drinks to settle in your system just a little more, maybe because you wondered who Jaehyun will leave with and where he has to go.

"You're the lucky girl that can just walk from here home. I need to commute with a subway and another train." She was right, but also you wouldn't walk anywhere all alone completely drunk. You'll call the taxi.

"You can crash mine." Renjun suggested.

"Yeah, and take the same hour to get there."

"At least you won't be commuting alone." Renjun shrugged.

"Ah, it's fine. I lived there my whole life. I'm used to this."

"Okay." Renjun nodded.

The music still blasted, but it seemed like people were also looking forward to heading home, a small wave exceeded the kitchen area and some of them headed towards the coat room direction and some, in yours.

Jaemin, Jaehyun, Taeyeon, Baek and Sung all headed to the open space area you were crashing, and you genuinely panicked, changing your posture, collecting yourself to look somewhat presentable, when or better if, Jaehyun takes a look at you.

The group was passing by in a conversation, not paying attention to you, and you almost gave out a sigh of relief, when Renjun reached out a hand and grabbed Jaemin by the elbow and he stopped in his tracks, also making all of your bosses stop and stare at you three.

Renjun was out of your friend group starting this very second, you decided.

"I'm gonna head home." He announced to his boss.

"Okay, see you Monday then." The answer is predicted, why would Jaemin care much anyway?

"I'm going too, then." Nari nods, happy that she has company at least on her way to subway.

"Okay, see you guys Monday." Baek gave you all a nod, his arm gripping over his wife's waist tightly. The group seemed to take a step away, as Jaehyun pulled on Taeyeon's shoulder. You watched how he made a silent gesture in your direction and never felt more awkward. He stopped people from walking so Taeyeon would check on you going back home. It was awkward, but your heart almost flattered at the gesture, scratch the stupid pretty privilege comment made earlier.

"Oh, she's fine. She lives almost around the corner." Taeyeon waved him off lightheartedly. She was right, and you knew she didn't care because she knew your whereabouts well.

"Oh right. What was the street? That's one fancy place." Baek smiled, scratching his temple to remember. "Ah, something funny?"

"Summer street." you help him out.

"Summer street?" Jaehyun raised both his brows up.

"Ugh... yeah? Summer 125 is my address." You chuckled, confusion spread all over your face.

"Right. That's exactly how you said it when I first asked. Pretty funny to me, my adress is Summer 125."

"Mine's Summer 127." it was your turn to gasp at Jaehyun’s words.

"Really?" You raised a brow.

"Yeah, I never knew I worked with a neighbor." he chuckled. "Nice to meet you then, again."

"Right." You smiled too, again.

It sounded like bad news to you. How were you supposed to sleep tonight, knowing in the building right next to yours Jaehyun was going on with his life, not caring for you. So close yet so far away. Not thinking that you're somewhere near, while you'll be agonizing with curiousity and want.

"I'm heading home too, we could get there together." he said excitedly, placing a glass on the coffee table. Your eyes caught how it was still almost full. Was it the same drink? If you weren't hallucinating, he seemed thrilled to be able to walk home with you. You held back a reaction, thinking how about 10 sets of eyes looked at you for response.

"Ah, I wanted to take a walk, actually." you excused yourself. There was absolutely no chance you wanted to be left alone with him. Drunk and horny. It'd be distressing.

Jaehyun scratched a brow and shrugged a little as he answered back. "I'm cool with a walk, I got here by car and have to leave it." His eyes landed on the glass that he left just a second ago. "So yeah, walk's fine."

"I don't want to bother you t-." you protested, ready to stand up and deny him further. You wanted him in your personal so badly you didn't want to stay one on one with the man if he didn't have it in his plans to get you in his bed in the upcoming hour. If that made any sense.

"You get here by car? When you can literally see your house from the building?" Jaemin laughed and cut you off, very rudely.

"She does that too." Taeyeon giggled.

"Okay, weird people, it only makes sense you're neighbours." Jaemin snorted.

"How does it make sense?" Nari asked confused.

You didn't know. But some sort of connection to Jaehyun made your heart pool with warmth.

You stood up, maybe too quickly, maybe it would've happened no matter the speed, but you stumbled and hit your side on the tall armrest of the couch and was caught from further falling by Sung.

"Thank you." you whispered very awkwardly.

"Alright, Jaehyun you're definitely walking this girl home. I won't be able to sleep until you tell me she's in the safety of her house." Taeyeon sounded like a mom, you appreciated her care. You didn't appreciate though that her caring involved him.

"I'm fine, promise. Just not the best mixture of drinks." you chuckled. Taeyeon gave you the look, and you stopped smiling.

"Okay, we take off. Bye-bye." Renjun stood up too, helping Nari up and walking away from your group.

"Text me." You call out. The rest also suddenly continued with moving, Jaehyun though, kept his eyes on you.

"Shall we?" he asks after clearing his throat. Ugh, you really hated this. You hated his wish to help you get home. You don't want him to be your friend. You don't need any more friends. You need him as a lover.

"Sure." you gave him a nod and walked in the wardrobe direction. You could feel the phantom of his arm over your back, you guessed in case you tripped once again, you knew he'd catch you. Very mindful of him. You hated that he was making you more into him with every passing second.

"Sleep tight!" Taeyeon called out, and you turned around to blow her kisses, that somehow looked like they were addressed at everyone in that group. Whatever, if Jaehyun allows the phantom of his fingers to scoop you in his very real hold and take you to his home, you'll kiss every person in that office on the mouth on Monday.

Jaehyun offered help as you struggled with your coat, you kindly declined and made him watch your lonely battle. As you won, the two of you got to the first floor in a very packed elevator.

You headed towards your street, Jaehyun kept a mindful distance between you two and you were thankful for that. Giving your brain a chance to sober up and not do stupid things and ruin your entire career at the agency. You would not be able to continue working there if you did something inappropriate against his will.

"So, I guess we can say hi to each other if we meet on weekends." Jaehyun retorted quietly. You didn't turn to look at him.

"Yeah. Have you lived here long? I don't think I've genuinely seen you before?" You wondered. You would've noticed a hot neighbor at some point.

"Five years i think. You?"

"This was my parents gift for future investments when I was in school and dad had spare money. I've owned it for forever, but lived... maybe around 7 years?"

"I see." Jaehyun paused his talking and you really wanted to turn around and see his face expression. Was he thinking what to ask you next or that was all the information he needed and his plan was to get home in quietness. Good thing you didn't have enough time to decide on turning around. Jaehyun continued to speak. "Mind if I asked how old are you?"

"Mind if I ask how old do you think I am?" you flirted, all of a sudden, turning around with a sweet smile to see him.

"Well, if I met you on the street, I'd think you were barely 18. But since I know you from work... 25, maybe?" he raised a brow and stopped walking, expecting an answer. You faced him properly.

"One year up." you gestured with your pointing finger up.

"Ah- almost." He bit his lip and gifted you a smile. The one that made both his dimples visible. "I'm 27."

"I see." You gave him a nod. "So you got this place all by yourself at the age of 22?" You didn't mean to voice out the question like that, or maybe voice it at all. Jaehyun smiled wider at your boldness. If you got that apartment years ago as an investment, back when the district wasn't the fancy skyscraper area, he most definitely got it when the prices rose up to heaven. You were curious if he was also filthy rich in addition to all his other accomplishments.

"No, a loan and help of parents too, of course." You gave him a nod and continued to walk. Still sounded like he was filthy rich to you.

"So, do you like it here?" You asked, not even sure what you meant. Walking in pure quietness felt like you had nothing in common, and you knew it wasn't the case. At least you both drove your cars to the office next door, right?

"Here as in the neighborhood or here as in the company?" He continued walking a little behind.

"Company first." You decided you'd want to hear about the neighborhood a bit later.

"Ya'll seem like a fun bunch of people. My previous agency never had office parties, too, so it's already a win." he chuckled behind you. You didn't give him a visible reaction. Smiling with your back to his face.

"It doesn't happen too often." It really was maybe a twice in a year situation.

"Anyway, it's a nice way to meet new people."

"That's true." you nodded, slowing down so he'd maybe catch up to you. If he wanted to talk about meeting the new people -you-, you had to have him right next to you.

"We would've possibly not talked if not this." He said it a little slower or softer? Or quieter? Or you were out of this world intoxicated and full-on imagined things that weren't there? You had a history of projecting your own feelings onto others, you weren't sure in anything.

"Yeah, would've been a bummer." You nodded casually. What a big fucking bummer it would've been.

"Is that sarcasm?" he snorted. You had to turn around and look him in the eyes to make sure the tone of your voice didn't offend him.

"No, it would've been a bummer." You said with sincerity. "Didn't Jaemin tell you, if I like you, I'll be quite friendly. Ain't I friendly enough?" you tilted your head a little. You were friendly enough. It felt like the only right thing to do next is step a little closer and see if he'd mind you kiss him. But then again, you promised to keep yourself together for the sake of your working sanity.

But you really liked him too, and your feet made you take a step forward with no warning.

"You are. Very much, thank you." he smiled with a bite of his lower lip.

"What for?" you couldn't hold back a frown and also stepped one more step closer.

"For bumping into me, I guess." You looked away, unable to give him an appropriate reaction. Your heart was giving out on you once again. You turned away, wobbled and walked a little sideways, getting directly in front of Jaehyun. It was almost comical how you almost bumped once again right after that comment was made. He grabbed your forearm to walk you next to him.

"This is not intentional, I promise." you had to make it clear. It really wasn't.

"I believe you, it's the funny mixture of drinks in your system." His lips formed a little quirky smile.

"How would you know?" you flushed once again, did he watch you? You hoped he really did.

"You said that to Taeyeon." his lips fell downwards, upset with you not getting him. You completely forgot you said that. Maybe you were much more drunk than you initially felt.

"Yeah, right." Dissapointment washed all over you. Jaehyun's fingers still gripped onto your forearm even though you were okay now. "Good thing you know how to manage your drinking." you tried a little teasing on him. "Guess that comes from your managing position?" You smirked, eyes searching his face for a reaction.

"Ha-ha." Jaehyun replied dryly, swallowing a smile. Still, his eyes gave you a look of appreciation. Like he liked your teasing, but had to keep his brain straight. "I was just hoping to get home by car and didn't drink tonight." he shrugged and then kinda slowed down. You wondered if he bit his tongue.

"I saw you with a drink." You frowned confused.

"Ugh, should I really tell you that it was water?" Your eyes caught only a glimpse of his eye roll.

"Water!?" you turned around, Jaehyun's fingers falling off your arm. "You said you can't return by car anyway?" That was exactly his wording, you didn't hallucinate, you were sure.

"You didn't want a car ride, and I really didn't want to leave you alone to walk back home drunk." His brow quirked at you. You could see his face search for any signs of you being mad. You weren't. You just wished he said it sooner. This would've let you know he wanted you too. There was no way he didn't, with effort he put in to get back home with you. Possibly, to the exact same apartment as you.

"And why would you care so much for someone you barely know?" All you asked of him is to open up his cards, and you'd do the same.

"A couple of hours ago I found out that your smile is the most captivating thing in this city, and since then, I kinda can't help but be drawn to you." Jaehyun's eyes blinked at you in slow rhythm, allowing your drunken mind to process the words that left his mouth. Captivating? Oh wow. Drawned to you? Damn. If that was just some bluff to get in your pants, you'd help him do the button. You were sure your face expressed confusion, but Jaehyun smiled, and you realised you smiled at him dumbly for a few seconds with no other reaction at all.

"Oh my god." you turned away and quickened your pace. Why the hell would he say that, and why would you short circuit at his words and embarrass yourself by running away. Your face expression most definitely took your aura to zero. You really wanted to get home quickly and hide, losing hope he still was captivated after your reaction. It was only convenient your house was closer than his to where you were coming from.

"You're feeling better? You walk quite fast and in a much straighter line." he chuckled at his last comment.

"I am."

"Hey, y/n." he called out and finally seemed to put to use his long legs - Jaehyun caught up in a few steps and walked in line with you. "I'm sorry, I lied if it bothers you. I don’t, usually, lie much." You wondered if he wanted you to know he was serious about all this captivating stuff. You just wished he'll make things clearer for you. You hoped for two outcomes only. Either he would get in your bed, or you'll black out this whole conversation.

"It's nothing. It's sweet that you sacrificed a 5 minute ride back home for a 20-minute walk with me." You turned around. "This is my house." you raised an arm gesturing at the building. It's obvious Jaehyun knew where building 125 was, he slowed down and stopped. "Thanks again, I'll go."

"Ugh, wait." he stopped you mid-turn, and the way he chewed on his lip, you wondered what exactly was happening in his head. If he wanted to come upstairs with you, he just needed to take a step your way. If you were completely honest with yourself, at this point, you wished he had stopped the motion and let you go. You were shocked he liked you too and needed time to sober up and process it. You needed to sleep on it. Sleep alone.

You clearly wanted him as much, there was no doubt. You had no power to contain your wishes any longer, but hearing him being drawn to you also made you not want to ruin the natural flow of things. If he liked you like that, maybe he'd move towards you in his own natural pace? "Taeyeon said I should walk you directly to your apartment." No, NO. You lived on the 20th floor, and the elevator ride will take hours. Small rooms and you with him alone aren't the plan. Not when he said those things and pushed you halfway off the cliff of horniness. "I have to make sure you're safe on her behalf." Maybe he didn't have a slower pace than you did. This was not that smooth of a way to get to your home.

"We have a concierge. Nothing would happen to me on the elevator ride." You protested. If Jaehyun just wanted to see you close the door of your apartment before his face, you'll not let him get up with you.

"Don't refuse me?" he lowered the tone of his voice, and your heart went in overdrive. Whatever you thought of not letting him come with you was long forgotten. Wow, if that's how he planned on talking to you when he begged, you'll agree to anything. You actually had to seal your lips to not let that 'wow' come alive.

"Agh, okay-." You just nodded.

"Okay." Jaehyun gave you a nod and took a few steps towards the building. You stood at the same spot, watching him take off. He seemed eager but also nervous, but also, you could've projected all your feelings onto him once again. Because you were dead nervous, but also so excited to be with him even for another five minutes. You really wished in this moment you were teenagers. You'd just kiss and brush it off like nothing ever happened. Because kissing when you're young is okay. Kissing your co-worker does not sound fun even if he's drawn to you. But also, the co-worker being Jaehyun makes all the risk worth it.

A demon and an angel were bumping heads on your shoulders, pushing you off the cliff on one side and not letting you do anything stupid on the other. Jaehyun looked behind his shoulder and returned back to you.

"You coming?" his palm landed on the lower part of your back for a little push to make you move.

You greeted the concierge and heard the elevator ding. You stepped in and pressed yourself in a corner. The further you are, the safer you are from mistakes.

Jaehyun walked right behind you and gave you a look. You looked right back at him, questioning his stare. Did he expect you to jump him after the confession? The tension on your side of the elevator was too high to handle.

Right until it hit you. How the fuck would you get anywhere if you didn't press the floor button? Jaehyun had no idea what floor you lived on.

"Shoot, it's 20th floor." You chuckled awkwardly, pushing your body off the surface to reach for the button, Jaehyun did also that and your fingers landed on top of his. You jerked back in an unsuccessful attempt to lose contact.

Why would it be unsuccessful when your hand left his? Well, the man thought you were falling once again and caught you by your shoulders.

"See, and you didn't want me to take you to the door. What if you stumbled on your own and hit your head?" That's a pretty dramatic stretch, you swallowed the comment.

"I didn't actu-" You swallowed that comment too "Thank you." he stretched his mouth out in a thin line, making a ridiculous show off of his dimples and tapped your shoulder, letting go of you afterwards.

The elevator dinged once again, and you thanked God, walking out quickly in the direction of your door. There's literally nothing else left, punching in the code and locking the door from behind. The carpeting deafened all sounds, making it seem like you two were sneaking in, even though there was nothing sneaky about this walk. Jaehyun trailed right behind you, and as you stopped at the door, you breathed all the air out and turned around with a smile. "This is my apartment." you tapped the door awkwardly with the back of your hand. You really wished you had the guts to joke around and tell him Sorry, can't invite you for tea tonight. You would've, if your heart didn't beat in your throat. Jaehyun raised his eyes and seemed to memorize the number on the door. "Thank you for taking Taeyeon's words so seriously and walking me home. I appreciate it." You puckered your lips, moving your gaze from his face to Jaehyun's chest.

"It's my pleasure, honestly, to keep you company." your mouth kinda opened at that. Was he planning to go completely bold with you? The air was thick with unspoken words, and you wondered, honestly, if he could feel that too. Things he said made you question your sanity in the worst way possible because it felt like he flirted. But does he? Would he? Is he doing what you asked for - laying all his cards out?

A smile plastered on your face mirroring Jaehyun's one, silence descended further within the corridor, almost deafening as your ears rang, still not used to quietness after the party. You couldn't even hear your breaths. You had no clue what reply to give him at those words. Maybe it was your cue to bow and unlock the door. Jaehyun shifted his weight, and you almost flinched backward, thinking he was leaning in to you. The small talk really wasn't talking on your side. Your guts were only telling you to kiss him.

As you were about to find the strength to talk, to thank him once again and say goodbye, Jaehyun's hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face upwards. Your eyes flattered. His palm was like a heater to your skin now - compared to that icy handshake at the office. You shivered as your eyes met, a silent understanding passing between you two. He was telling you non-verbally, he'd make a move if you'll let him know you want him to.

If only he knew how badly you wanted him to, if he could feel the speed of your heart pumping blood right this moment, he'd be concerned for your health. You clutched your fist on the material of his dress shirt, letting your back hit your door and rest against it and pull Jaehyun with you. A smile adorned his beautiful face for a split second, right after that he had turned it to a focused expression, running his eyes all over your face, until his lips landed on your lips and he made a move towards you. This time, you had no room to move away. And you didn't want to, really.

Jaehyun’s lips brushed yours, a barely-there feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. He moved his neck back, to see if you didn't want him to continue and pulled him in for a different reason. Like there was anything else you two could do pressed against the door.

You still appreciated how he moved around with care and mindfulness. You extended your neck, rising on your tiptoes and captured his lips in the same feather-light kiss.

The brush of his mouth was gentle at first, soft and teasing, as if he were savoring the sweetness of the moment. Then, the kiss deepened, Jaehyun turning it into a slow burn. Everything faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the warmth of his embrace. Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his soft hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

Jaehyun responded with a low growl, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, a playful nip that sent a flood of warmth down your core. “Jaehyun…” you moaned, your voice barely a whisper. The sound drew a smirk from the man in front of you, and he kissed you again, this time with an intensity that made your head spin. His mouth was a perfect blend of sweetness, igniting all your senses.

“I swear I didn’t walk you to your apartment for this,” Jaehyun found power to pull back and clarify. He murmured against your lips, his voice warm and seductive. "But seeing you... I can't hold back."

You laughed softly. “I know you didn’t. I trust you.” your eyes locked onto his. You hoped he could read that this was exactly the reason you hoped he walked you all the way up here.

With every kiss you felt yourself melting, and when he nudged his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, sending a rush of heat through your body once again, you couldn't help but arch into him. “Jaehyun… please,” you breathed with desperation, urging him on. If he starts to undress you here, you will let him do that, too.

He cupped your face with both his hands, his fingers brushing against your cheeks, just your face. You made a remark in your head. Despite what his tongue was doing to your mouth and your neck, his palms were keeping the interaction PG. And since Jaehyun acted like all he needed was your lips, your arms clutched onto the dress shirt around his waist, holding back from excessive touching.

As he kissed you, though, your body craved more. He was putting your body on fire. It was getting more and more difficult to keep your hands on his waist. You had to know, you couldn't make the first move without knowing what he wants and likes. What if he has some sort of Christian Grey trauma and hates being touched, thus refrains himself from properly touching others?

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered between feverish kisses, starting from afar. Maybe Jaehyun was considering your feelings and not his. You wished he was a mind reader or some shit, that way you would not have been forced to drool over him from around the corner for all those months. He'd know you wanted him and get to action sooner.

“God,” he murmured against your mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained. “You feel incredible.” With every brush of his lips against yours, you could sense now how fervently he wanted you, how the chemistry had transformed. His right hand finally let go of your face and slid down onto your waist, gripping onto your skin with so much passion and need. His lips found their way onto the sensitive skin next to your ear, right where your jaw met with it, making your core arch forward his body and moan. Your eyes widened, not realising before you felt it, how turned on Jaehyun was from kissing you. While widening your eyes, you also crossed your gaze with CCTV cam and realised you quite possibly are watched right now by your concierge. You pulled back to pull him into the safety and warmth of your apartment, but Jaehyun seemed confused, trying to pull you back close to him.

A sly smile creeped onto your lips as you whispered. “Jaehyun, we should get inside. My concierge is probably watching us like a TV drama” Jaehyun followed your stare, also noticing the camera and losing all contact with you, letting you open the door.

The door clicked shut behind you and Jaehyun barely had time to step fully in or adjust his eyes to pure darkness before you were pulling him towards your body, your lips crashing together once more with an urgency that set your heart racing. And also set your heart with the only goal for the rest of the night - taking him inside of you whatever number of times he pleases.

His hands found their way around your waist, fingers digging gently into your hips as he pressed your back against the cool wall of your apartment. The kiss deepened, transforming from soft exploration into something wild and uninhibited. You melted against him, every ounce of tension in your body dissipating as your mouths moved in perfect harmony. Jaehyun’s lips were warm and inviting, drawing you in with a new force, darkness seemingly changing the trajectory of his actions. He was much bolder now, his mouth sucking in the skin, leaving red spots on bruised skin that borderlined with hickeys. Jaehyun's hands roamed all over your body, gliding across your back and tangling in your hair, securing you against him as though he was afraid you could slip away.

“Jaehyun,” you breathed between kisses, overwhelmed by the sensations surging through your body.

You also felt more confident in your actions, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more—more kisses, more intimacy, more heat. You could feel him struggling in his pants, pressing him more against your thigh. You felt intoxicated at the idea of setting him free. Jaehyun tilted his head, trying to deepen the kiss, his mouth moving along yours.

As both your breathing grew heavier, you could feel his fingers inching beneath the hem of your top, exploring the soft skin of your bare sides. You were on literal fire, you tried to press into him so badly, if it was possible to just melt against him, you would. Jaehyun was straight out of your dream. He was your walking fever dream, forcing his mouth and body against you and at the very back of your head you had a very certain but very small concern regarding this - you were scared you were passed out somewhere in the office after the party and dreamed this whole interaction. Your fingers found the waistband of his dress pants, and your palm sneaked down the zipper, giving him a squeeze.

But just as it felt like you were spiraling into something deeper, something that would blur the lines further, Jaehyun suddenly pulled back, his brow furrowed. The heat in his eyes burned bright even in darkness, but there was an unmistakable hesitation there “Tell me to stop,” he urged, his voice thick with a mix of desire and restraint as he searched your gaze, pupils dilated with tension and horninnes.

You let the words hang in the air for a moment. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked concerned while also being breathless and a little bewildered, your heart pounding with a mix of urgency and eagerness as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You shouldn't have touched his crotch. You ruined the whole fucking thing. Disappointment in yourself flooded your head and your eyes fell onto his chest, trying really hard to not lower down to his bulge.

“Tell me I can't have you—yet.” he added the yet as his fingers squeezed your chin, forcing your head back up. Jaehyun wasn't looking for just a fleeting encounter; he wanted something more significant, something meaningful. Thus, he shouldn’t be getting it all in one night. You felt the same thing within your heart, at least the meaningful part. You wanted to have him for an eternity, but that didn't mean you can't have him tonight.

“No, baby, you can,” you murmured, embracing your own need. “I want you to.” The pet name that left your mouth stirred your own insides. You hoped he could sense you didn't want him for just drunk sex too. With your words resting in the space between you, Jaehyun leaned in once more, kissing you deeply—a long, lingering kiss that spoke volumes. It was as if he was trying to savor the moment, capturing every ounce of his unshared emotions as if this kiss could seal the promise of what was to come.

Your lips met again and again, easing from passionate urgency into softer caresses, and despite your words, Jaehyun made sure to lower the degree of your kissing.

No sex was coming your way tonight. You could feel it in the way his arms chastely rested on your waist. Body pressed against body, you could feel his heart racing in rhythm with yours, and it made every touch feel like a sweet revelation.

Eventually, Jaehyun pulled back again, his lips brushing softly against your mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting more. “I should go,” he finally said, his voice laced with something heavy, but there was still a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Okay,” you whispered, already feeling the pang of reluctance settling into your chest. There was no point in fighting him now. You didn't know him well, but you could tell his mind was made up already. His ground can not be shaken. He moved at his own pace, and if you wanted to have him in your life , you had to respect that.

Jaehyun brushed his thumb along your cheek, a lingering touch that radiated promise even in farewell. “Goodnight, and… thank you for tonight.”

With one last gentle kiss, he stepped backward, the door closing softly behind him. You stood there, heart racing and mind swirling, knowing that tonight was only the beginning of something beautifully complicated. The kiss lingered on you lips as you showered and got yourself ready for bed, for the first time in a while not being able to contain your excitement for Monday.

don't forget to like and follow for more <3

[ew-selfish-art]

DPxDC AU: Tim receives an interesting email from DalvCo explaining why the CEO is not to be trusted- It's an internal email and suddenly Tim is experiencing supernatural phenomena. He knows that the two events are absolutely related, but he's going to let the cutie stumble his way through data points and vague threats anyway.

(Sorry this got long lmao)

Tim is exhausted after a long night of staking out a new drug cartel with Hood (which in itself took a lot of energy from both of them to have the patience for the other- things are good, not great)... so right now he's logging into his WE email on the train to his office because he's incredibly late. And while he scrolls and contemplates the failsafes he has to make sure Tam doesn't murder him outright- he sees an unexpected email from Vladimir Masters.

Tim's curiosity is piqued, he'd thought that Vlad would have gotten the hint after Tim dismissed him at that Christmas gala a few years ago. Most people took Tim's snubbing as a fatality in the Gotham socialite scene- Most knew him to be 'an agreeable young man', and Tim's reputation had paid a small price for making Vlad's failed vibe check known to the room. The tabloids blamed it on the champagne glass he had in his hand- Has he mentioned how much he hates Vicky Vale lately??

Tim has a few stops to go and he's pretty sure that he's going to delete the email, but in sleep deprived inspiration, he decides it might as well entertain him while he waits. The letter isn't at all what he expected.

"Hello Wayne Enterprise's CEO Tim Drake, I'm sending you this letter on behalf of the entire Midwest to advise that you, under no circumstances, come into contact with or speak to the CEO of DalvCo Vlad Masters. He is underhanded and utilizes untraceable tactics to procure deals. We have reason to believe you may be targeted in the next few days and hope that you are able to take steps for your own safety to avoid Vlad Masters at all costs.

Sincerely, 👑"

Tim feels bewildered for a moment and then... Like a cat with a new toy mouse. A game was afoot! He needed to track down these hackers, he needed to be their best fucking friend (find out their secrets & Vlads) and he needed to apprehend Vlad ASAP! Untraceable tactics? Tim scoffs, but the challenge excites him.

Arriving at WE, Tam looks ready to throw a knife his way (he reminds her that Pru does it better) and states that if Vlad Masters tries to make an appointment- accept it but give him the run around. Make an appointment and continue to contest it, change it, delay it until Tim is actually ready for him. The lights start to flicker, both of them notice it.

Everytime Tim gets a second to investigate Vlad in his office, the room's temperature drops. Tim notices it, and having experienced a number of supernatural phenomena, he knows it has to be related.

Tim decides not to beat around the bush. He comes back to the office that night equipped with a Ouija board, candles and a bag of other occult accessories. He quickly finds, upon setting up, that there is now a groaning Teenager in front of him- lambasting his efforts and chastizing him for taking a meeting with Vlad. Did he not get the fuckin memo??

Tim quickly begins to ask his questions, grateful to not have to deal with the party game board, and takes diligent notes.

"Right, so, you're just a concerned citizen ghost who knows what kind of nefarious deeds Vlad gets up to, how?" ---

Danny is losing his shit. Here he is, having done all the ground work to tell this guy not to meet with Vlad and he's already got him on the schedule! Danny took a page from Technus' book and transported himself alongside the short email. He didn't get this guy at all! Tim was like, basically the same age and clearly super fucking smart, why was he acting like this was a fucking birthday gift? Scratch that, the dude has a Ouija Board- it's like a lame ass birthday party in here!

Danny cannot help himself but return to the visible spectrum and give this guy a talking to- Which, the atmosphere of a birthday party still doesn't change, for ancient's sake this guy is taking notes with a megawatt smile! He's smiling! Danny just described Vlad taking down like, three American dynasties and the dude is nodding his head along gleefully.

Then suddenly, Danny realizes that he might be on the chopping block. Tim asks his first question and it's not about Vlad at all.

"Er, yeah. Just a concerned ghost citizen." Danny cringes.

"Right, and that's why you hacked into the Mayor of your town's email... Right Tucker?"

Danny blanches, not because the guy knew about Amity Park, but because apparently Tucker's online persona had been compromised. SHIT.

"Uh, I'm not Tucker." Danny attempts to lie- why was he so bad at lying again?!

"Of course you aren't, he's currently playing doomed, but it would have been smart to take the out I offered you. Do you want to tell me your name or do you want me to throw out another random guess? You should know that I've done my homework."

"...It's Danny."

"Certainly not Danny Fenton? Who is, sorry to say it, heir to DalvCo? The same one who totally doesn't have a school record of absences equivalent to well documented town hauntings?"

"Yep." Danny cringes, and giving up the goat, transforms back into his human self, "But seriously dude, you can't meet with Vlad. He'll just... take it all."

Tim blinks at him a few times, and his cheeks flush. Danny desperately tries to ignore that response as well as his own (he knows his ears are red, sue him).

"Right. Well, how would you like an internship? First order of business would be meeting with me and my PA Tam and helping us play ball." The guy has a feral grin. The grin kind of scares Danny, it definitely annoys him and a small part of him is curiously charmed.

"Dude you're not hearing me-" Danny tries before being cut off.

"Yeah yeah, supernatural bullshit is involved, Got that." Tim waves him off. Okay never mind, not charmed at all, Danny is completely annoyed.

"I swear to all the ancients-" Danny has to stop himself to calm down, "Dude consider yourself fucking haunted. I'm not helping you with a suicide mission to talk to the creep and I will be making your ass miserable for deciding to go down this path."

"Is that a promise?" Tim is basically batting his eyelashes at Danny and Danny is desperately trying to ignore that.

"Bet." And then he goes invisible.

"That's cute, pretending to leave me." Tim smirks and Danny can't help but let out an exasperated groan.

As it turns out, Tim is incredibly difficult to spook and his normal haunting methods are not fucking working. Has this guy just, like, seen every single horror movie?

----

Tim knows this is going to be fun, even if it means not going out as Red Robin for a while... Maybe he should get back into his night photography and give the guy a chance to enhance the creepiness of Gotham? Maybe start going to restaurants alone and get the guy to join him at a secluded two person table? Tim has plans on plans on plans.

[matchpointfaist]

hi hi hello🫶🫶🫶 im back with more rockstar art ideas !!!

how about a new story (like something separate from what you've already written) where reader is also a musician and she's opening for art's band on tour... ooooh ahhhhh..... maybe we see how they become friends (and more?) over the tour

no pressure if you don't like the idea or just don't want to write it! btw i loved art x lovergirl reader <3

miss americana and the heartbreak prince! <3

rockstar! art x popstar! reader

tw for smut, art is a little shit lowkey, no real angst, changed the request just a little tiny but not much

art donaldson didn't like your music, didn't even try to hide it, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity when his manager called to ask if he wanted to be your opener. so he joined you, against what he called his better judgement, on a six month tour across the states. he stuck to his own for the most part, performed his set and disappeared back stage, but you finally caught him one night, just off to the side of the vip area. the rest of his band had already scattered, leaving him alone to scowl as he stared up at the stage as if he was personally offended by everyone singing your lyrics. he left before the last song.

you passed him as you walked backstage, still breathless, glitter streaking your cheeks and fingers shaky from adrenaline. he eyed you, sharp and lazy at once, something close to a grin on his lips. "something funny?" you asked, taking a water bottle from a passing staff member. "nah, nothing," he shook his head, a cocky air around him, "it's just cute," "what's cute?" he met your eyes, sparkling in the light, "this whole, like, bubblegum riot girl thing you've got going on. the people eat it up," you rolled your eyes but smiled, sarcastic and coy, "yeah, you're really original for dressing like you raided the thrift store for grunge clothes. pretending to hate everything is real cute, donaldson," you walked away before he could answer, but you could distantly hear his laugh.

the thing about touring, though, is that it wears you down. the excitement faded into exhaustion. you start seeing the same people, every day, drinking the same shitty coffee on the bus and same catered food before shows. even if you hated someone, hated their stupid smirks and catty jokes, you saw too much of them to pretend they didn't exist. so you and art got used to each other, in some roundabout way. he sat through your soundchecks, occasionally made fun of your choreography, once even asked, "so do you actually write your songs? or do they just, like, email you a packet from some intern every year?" "oh, fuck you," you'd thrown a water bottle at him, but smiled anyway, in that newly familiar sort of way.

you made fun of his band, said it sounded like something off of a high school boy's angst playlist, but secretly listened to the top tracks in your earbuds at night. he called your last album cover a 'barbie fever dream' but secretly loved it, thought you looked like the most beautiful vision. you fell into a rhythm, brief encounters of sarcastic remarks and cocky smiles. he helped you fix your in ears one night, and his hand lingered over your cheek, eyes heavy on yours. for one, fleeting moment, you thought about how easy it would be to kiss him, to throw away all the bickering and fall into his whirlwind. but then it was time for you to run out on stage, and he stood with fingers still warm from your skin, frustrated in the way only you could bring out of him.

the first time you did eventually kiss, it wasn't planned. you were drunk on night three of a four day break, sitting around a bonfire that one of his band mates had started outside the cabin style hotel. you were sitting on the steps when art came over, smelling like smoke and pine and something you couldn't place. "you look sad," he said, kicking your boot with the toe of his converse. "no, just tired," you smiled slightly, shook your head. "you killed it the other night, by the way," he said, nudging your shoulder. you looked over at him, and for once, he didn't seem smug, didn't seem like he was trying to get a reaction. "you're not as much of an asshole as you pretend to be," you told him, painfully real. "don't say shit like that," he half scoffed, "ruins my image," you didn't mean to kiss him, really. you just did.

it was quick, messy, an overflow of pent up tension and longing glances. he carried you to his room, pinned you against his door with his hands settled against your ass, fingertips undoubtedly leaving indentions. he fucked you like he couldn't wait a second longer, let his head fall into the crook of your neck and let out raspy half whines, half moans. "been wanting to do this," he panted, hips rutting, lips dragging across your collarbone, "fuckin perfect," he made you finish twice before he let himself, reveled in the way you cried out his name at the peak of your high. when he came, he crushed his lips to yours, kissed you hard enough to take your breath away, muffled moans filling your head.

you didn't talk about it in the morning, or the one after, or when the break ended and you were back on the road. things changed, subtly at first, just enough for you to notice. he texted you one night when you'd both returned to your own buses, 'your new song got stuck in my head. thanks a lot.' you'd tucked your phone to your chest, grinning like a girl with a crush. you caught him looking at you from the vip area one night, lips parted and head tilted, like he forgot he ever disliked you.

it happened again, of course, one night after a particularly emotional show. "don't write a song about me," he muttered after, tracing your spine with his fingertips, breath warm against your bare shoulder. you laughed against his chest, "yeah? why not?" "cause it'll be mean, and probably really catchy, and i'll never live it down," you smiled sleepily, kissed the corner of his mouth, "you'll be fine," he pulled you in tighter, fell asleep curled up with you.

"so, now what?" tour ended on a tuesday, which felt odd to you, because nothing important ever happens on a tuesday, not like this. he stood across from you, hoodie half zipped over his t shirt, guitar case at his feet. you hadn't said anything yet, just stood there, the heaviness hanging in the moment. you knew you weren't officially together. you hadn't kissed in public, didn't show any sort of affection in the daylight. but you'd made out in the back of the tour bus in chicago, hooked up in your dressing room in miami, woken up together in new york. you had his favorite hoodie, and he had your most worn pick in his guitar case. but no, you weren't together. you weren't anything.

"so," he rocked back on his heels, kicked at a pebble. "so," you echoed, voice quiet. "where you headed?" he asked, eyes trained on the ground. "home, probably," you shrugged, unsure if you meant your childhood home or the one bedroom you hadn't seen in months. "right. yeah," he hesitated, unsure in his movements, looking more authentic than you'd ever seen him. you could've said something, could've said i want to keep seeing you, or come with me, or i don't want this to be the end. instead you just said, "this part's weird, right?" he laughed, dry and quiet, "yeah, the end is always weird," "maybe it's not an ending," you tried to smile and failed, "maybe it's just, like, a fade out,"

he looked at you, lips parted and eyes dark, "maybe i don't want this to fade out," you didn't know what to say right at first. you hesitated, tore your eyes away from his, but finally muttered a soft, "then don't," he stepped closer, aching for you, "this might not work in the real world. i'm not always good at real shit," you smiled tiredly, "you weren't that good at being on tour, either, but you made it work," he smiled back, crooked and boyish, "so you think we could?" "i don't know," it was the raw, honest answer, "but i want to try,"

you kissed him in that dim parking lot, his hand cradling your jaw and his lips warm against yours, touching you like you were electric and fragile and everything he'd ever needed. it wasn't rushed, wasn't rough or reckless like all the nights before. it was just him, just you, just the beginning of something venturing into uncharted territory. he didn't go back home, said there was nothing much for him there, and found himself at a hotel just 15 minutes from the house you grew up in. you'd invited him, not ready to bring him home, but not ready to part with his proximity. you let yourselves work it all out, slowly but surely.

[whinelo]

| ?-X ; gn!reader, stalking.

FROM observations, ‘he’s’ basically the textbook definition of a ‘normal’ man. But from other observations, you’d beg to differ— You don’t think that ‘he’s’ human— not anymore at least. At times you’d question whether ‘he’ was trying to act human or is still in the process of learning how to act human. You don’t know, and frankly— you’d like to remain oblivious to whatever answer there is.

‘He’ had the body of a man, but it felt way too perfected— as if the normal imperfections of man don’t exist the moment you look at ‘his’. And maybe ‘he’ noticed that too, because no one ever seems to truly ever be able to describe what ‘he’ looks like, cannot remember if ‘he’ has any imperfections to make ‘him’ memorable. And yet as average as ‘he’ seems to look from afar- the moment you get nearer is where the funkier things start to begin.

Memory becomes a blur, reality doesn’t stay transfixed— Time becomes a rapid current of water crashing against you as you can’t take a hold of your situation, or becomes so slow you swear even infinity becomes measly as you wait— Perception becomes weak and you’ll start to see what you weren’t meant to see— Things that feel like hands start to grab at every atom of your body trying to get something they cannot have— and you swear color becomes more, you’ll start to see beyond what the human eye can see in the electromagnetic spectrum.

In short— Your mind starts tearing at the seams whenever you try to get too close to understand or observe ‘him’.

Oh but how’d you know this? It’s because of the fact that you’ve been watching, ( stalking ) trying to get a grasp of whatever ‘he’ is, now— What you described to have observed was only a tiny fraction of what you experienced. Words become useless whenever you try to describe the ineffable: too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words. It was wrong to stalk a probably innocent man, but see—

‘He’ was X. Not the title, ( maybe the embodiment of the title, you’re not sure. ) but ‘X’ a ‘person’. But each passing day you felt more inclined to question ‘his’ state of existence, more so the weird string of events that lead back to ‘him’, see— unlike the rest of humanity, you remained conscious enough to realize that your world was changing dimensions ever-so-often. Whether reality became two-dimensional, or even three-dimensional it felt as if everyone was oblivious to the switch, with a snap of ‘his’ finger's reality seemed to bow down to ‘him’.

Not just reality, everyone— did bow down to ‘him’. Everyone except you that is, does that sound exactly like the “I’m not like other-” okay yeah it does and that does make you cringe internally, but you were different. In the way that you were aware, and it felt as if ‘he’ was too. Now did it feel like ‘he’ was baiting you to come out? At times yes, but you had your own belief given abilities that aided you in evading being in ‘his’ presence entirely.

Being eleventh in the rankings gave you quite the ability after all, and maybe this ability was the reason as to why you remained so awake. But the curiosity that entangled itself so deep within your very core was something that you always had, many would often quote “Curiosity killed the Cat",” way too often to you— almost discouraging you from trying to find out more,

But nowadays truth became so hard to find— almost impossible, like a drop of clean water in a vastly polluted ocean, it becomes muddled. You wanted answers, whether it was laced with poison or was a dagger in disguise. Although now, you weren’t sure if finding the actual reason as to why ‘he’ exists in this state.. Sounded so appealing to you anymore,

And so to answer it all— to finally stop this weird fixation of yours, you decided to finally go near ‘him’. Even when you felt as if your body was near collapsing, the way the world dulled the longer you looked at him as if his existence alone sucked in all the light in the vicinity, how reality bent in ways you weren’t sure should be theoretically possible, or how your mind was trying to keep itself intact.

“ Just.. what are you? “ And you collapsed, not before you felt someone grab at your waist before you fell.

—

YOU awoke with a violent jolt, gasping for air as if you’ve been withdrawn from it for so- long. Warm light blanketed you, the room- and ‘him’. “ I’m surprised your mind hasn’t broken, “ ‘He’ hummed thoughtfully, as if not being able to comprehend the cryptic horror that was the subtext behind ‘his’ sentence, ‘he’ sat on a chair beside you— legs crossed, eyes devoid of light looking back at you, entertained.

“ …Was it supposed to be broken, or..? “ You questioned, averting your gaze— Not because you wanted to really, this was the first time you were able to get so.. close to ‘him’, unfortunately, your mind was basically shouting at you to ‘Don’t look at ‘him’ a hundred miles per second, curse the human ability to sense something uncanny- curse you ancestors and whatever you guys experienced to feel the uncanny valley effect-

Static— too much of it started blasting, disappearing- reappearing in your ears all at once. Like someone was adjusting the volume with a swipe on the screen, but as you felt yourself losing it—

“ You weren’t meant to perceive me like this whatsoever. “ ‘His’ voice felt way too human, the tone, the inflections- the breaths ‘he’d’ take every so often, It was all so different compared to the distortions and the reverberations that seemed to cling unto ‘his’ voice like before, although now.. None of it existed, taking in ‘his’ words into account— it didn’t make you feel better.

“ ….Okaaay. “ You drawled out, unsure of what you should even say in this situation, ( No amount of overthinking would ever have you imagine this kind of situation, hence, you weren't prepared at all. ) suddenly a light bulb metaphorically lit up above your head, “ What are you? “ A simple three letter word question, he either answers “I’m Human” like a liar, or something not human—

“ Quick. I don’t know, what do you think of me as? “

You blinked, slowly. Mindlessly you clasped your hands together, this has got to be a joke right? Curiosity really did kill the cat here, cat as in whatever passion you had left trying to understand whatever this entity is.

“ Are you kidding me? “

Short simple, straight to the point.

“ If I was you would’ve known, “ ‘He’ answered simply, a can suddenly coming into existence within his hands— ‘He’ paused briefly as ‘he’ admired it, and then ‘he’ opened the soda tab— A satisfying click coming from it as fizz sizzled as a sound. You were astounded, genuinely at a loss of words.

“ Would I? “ You finally sputtered out after an awkward pause.

Bringing the soda up to ‘his’ lips, ‘he’ the tilted it upwards— Gulping down the sugary liquid, “ Would you? “ ‘He’ let out after a satisfying sigh from chugging on ‘his’ soda.

Now you weren’t really getting anywhere with this entity, and to be honest now that you’ve lost all your motivation— ( because of the fact you weren’t getting answers and, well.. Your mind was probably going to tear itself apart anytime soon. )

“ Look— Fine, I’ll drop it.. I’ll forget that this ever happened and-

“ Say, what do you think of getting married? “

.

.

.

“ What. “

Snap! The sound of ‘his’ index finger hitting ‘his’ palm echoed loudly, and in another blur of colorful- neon glitches that erupted from nothing, a piece of paper. Handing it over to you, your eyes glossed over the contents written on said paper.

“ Wow.. Those are really good tax benefits— Wait, wait- wait. What. “ In retrospect you should’ve been more ashamed of yourself because of the fact you were swayed so easily by FOMO’s tax benefits for married couples.

“ You have a day job, I have a day job— You’re a hero, I’m a hero too.. You get where I’m going with this? “

“ Slightly, but most of the really good benefits here needs to have like.. A kid included, “

Finishing the can of ‘X’ soda, tossing it somewhere— causing it to dematerialize into a violent flurry of colorful graffiti and then.. nothing, “ We can get to that point in our marriage, “ ‘He’ answered with unnerving confidence.

“ What. “

“ What? “

“ Wait a second how do you know I have a day job— are you stalking me too— “

[vivsinkpot]

Emotion doesn’t live in the moment it’s named. It lives in the moment it’s shown.

A guide to writing emotion that lingers.

Writers are often told to “show, not tell,” but when it comes to emotional scenes, that advice can feel vague. What does showing emotion actually look like on the page?

Let’s start with this:

“She was heartbroken.”

“He was furious.”

“They were in love.”

These lines tell us what to feel — but they don’t make us feel it. And the truth is: naming the emotion is often the least emotional way to express it. Because real emotion — the kind that stays with the reader — doesn’t come from labels. It comes from subtext. From silence. From contradiction. From tension.

1. People rarely say what they feel directly. Neither should your characters.

In life, we often mask our deepest feelings — out of fear, shame, pride, or the desire to protect someone else. Let your characters do the same.

Instead of:

“I’m afraid you’ll leave me.”

Try:

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

(Said too quickly, with their hand pulling back.)

Instead of:

“I love you.”

Try:

“You never let anyone close, do you?”

(Said while brushing their fingers against a sleeve, then looking away.)

Emotion lives in what your characters almost say. The tension between what’s spoken and what’s felt is where the magic happens.

2. Let body language contradict the dialogue.

Emotion slips through the cracks. You can reveal everything without a single explicit word.

“I’m fine,” she says — while clenching her jaw and staring at the chipped mug he gave her last winter.

He says he doesn’t care. But he hasn’t touched his drink. He keeps checking the door.

These contradictions signal to the reader that what’s being said is not what’s truly felt — and that discrepancy creates emotional depth.

3. Use objects, routines, and settings to reflect emotional states.

Sometimes what a character does with their environment tells us more than what they say.

A character grieving might keep reboiling tea, never drinking it.

A character in love might fold their lover’s scarf and place it beside the pillow, carefully, as if it matters.

A character afraid of confrontation might suddenly fixate on straightening the books on a shelf mid-argument.

This technique is especially powerful when a character is trying to repress what they feel. Let the emotion spill into the physical world around them.

4. Interruptions and hesitations matter.

Don’t be afraid of silence. Use fragmented dialogue. Let the rhythm break.

“I just—”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

(But she’s twisting the ring on her finger like it’s the only thing anchoring her.)

These moments tell us: there’s something beneath the words. Something unsaid. Something important. That tension pulls the reader deeper.

5. Show how emotion distorts time, memory, and logic.

Strong emotion changes perception.

A character in panic might notice every sound but can’t remember how they got from one room to another.

A character in love might focus on the way light moves across someone’s cheek and forget their own name for a second.

A character in shock might hear someone talking but not register the words.

These small distortions add layers of realness to emotional scenes. They show us that something profound is happening internally — even if externally, everything is quiet.

So how do you make your readers feel something?

You don’t do it by naming the emotion.

You do it by crafting a moment that requires the reader to step closer. To observe. To interpret. To feel it themselves.

Let the reader discover what your character can’t say. Let them understand it before your character does.

That’s when emotion becomes unforgettable.

That’s when your story sticks.

[godimus]

Transformers requests??? Yes boyyyyyyyyyyy

Could I get a Transformers One triangle between D-16 and Orion with a cybertronian reader who’s been with them through it all 🙏🙏

They’re struggling to choose who to side with cause while violence isn’t always the answer…. Sentinel definitely deserves it, but also (post everything going down) their friends have completely changed and they’re almost unrecognisable.

If you wanna play on possessiveness for D-16 as well cause they’re the only bot who understands what he’s going through and sees his reasoning.

And protectiveness for Orion cause this is his lov- friend, and he can’t let them go down the path D is going down cause he’ll lose another person.

Ending up to you though, I’ve just been desperate for some love triangle mess between my boys 🙏🙏

Orion Pax X Gender Neutral! Reader X D-16

I can't believe this, you're actually my first request ever! I genuinely hope that I did a decent job at this fic.. I hope you like it, enjoy :D !!

“You can’t walk away and act like nothing happened, D, you could’ve gotten us hurt, you could’ve gotten them hurt badly.”  The dazzling lights of the lively city in the darkness of Cybertron reflected on the blue helm of the gentle bot as he spoke in a worried tone, visibly on edge from having to save his most precious companions from getting caught by the guards.

“Just when I thought I could rely on you, you just had to screw it up.” A dangerously low mumble escaped the dermas of the furious bot, fiery orange optics darkening as vivid images of his once adored idol annihilating Cybertron’s glorious Primes. “What do-“ “I wish you could see like me, like them, Orion, but no, you still don’t get it.”

I knew that this would happen, I could see it a klik away, it was indeed inevitable. It correlates to mixing two significantly incompatible substances and anticipating a low-risk outcome. I happened to be the third, more counterbalanced substance in this demonstration.

I cautiously approached the taller bot from behind, the moment my servo touched him, a quiet stillness settled between us, the usual hum of his systems slowing as if my presence alone could calm the storm inside him.. I could feel his stiffened frame relaxing under my digits and his ex-vents releasing a kept huff.

“Don’t be so hard on him, D. You know he cares more than you’ll ever admit... maybe even more than I should.”  I whispered, close enough that only D could hear me, my optics have found themselves on Orion, who seemed to be watching me. D’s optics softening to a certain degree yet displaying a puzzled look, like an internal conflict occurring between seeking vengeance and lowering his defensive walls to his friends, and yet, in that single, silent moment, it was clear that beneath the fury was something raw, something almost vulnerable, and I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his trust in me.

“This doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change our reality, everything I knew was a lie.”  Frustration boiling up once again at the core of his frame as he choked out the last part while balling his servos into a fist. “I should’ve known..”

I glanced back at Orion, his optics were looking at the distance, deep inside his thoughts. “Sentinel is indeed good at many things, deceiving Cybertron is certainly his leading trait” “If I could only get my fingers around his ventilation cables-“ Narrowed blue optics studying the facial plate of his furious friend as he spouts threats, guilt eating him up from letting his friend end up in this state.

“I’m sorry, D, but this is not a proper way to handle our situation.” Protesting firmly and holding his ground,Orion’s optics darted to the quiet bot before gazing back at D-16. “Can you blame him? Can you blame any of us for wanting to take matters into our own hands...? we can’t live like this for eternity, there are more of us than meets the eyes, right, Orion? You said that yourself.” Something glinted in D’s optics as he gawked at the third bot, a whirling sound leaving his vents, a tingling sensation enveloping his.. spark?

“We can seek justice, not destruction.” “I don’t want justice.” D gritted through his dentas.

“It’s a very violent path you’re choosing, my friend, and I cannot allow you to involve them in your reckless plans and risking their safety.” The air around them tightened, the silver bot’s flaming optics glaring right back at the calm, yet firm ones of Orion’s. “I would never let anything happen to them-“ he turned to me “-so long you stick to my side.” He stated quietly, seeming gentler when his attention was on me, and if I hadn’t been with him for so long, I wouldn’t have noticed that subtle pleading look on him, was he begging for me to stay? My spark pulsed irregularly under his gaze, and though I tried to stay calm, something in the way his optics darkened when he looked at me stirred feelings I hadn’t yet dared to name.

I felt a touch on my shoulder plate, it was firm, but there was a tenderness in the way his servo lingered, sending a warmth through my frame I hadn’t felt in cycles and turning me around. “This is bigger than any of us. I won’t force you to stay, but you must choose wisely.”  His unwavering, yet tender grip on me made me forget about my worries for a moment, looking deep into my eyes. “I promise to fix all of this.”  He comforted in a deep, rumbling voice.

“I know you will, Orion.” I gave him a fragile smile, placing my servo on top of his and giving a light squeeze. His unceasingly furrowed optical ridges' finally relaxed and softer by my touch.

“I can’t believe this, even you? You don’t get to do this to me!” A roaring voice came behind Orion, a wide-open hot optics staring right through me, “I trusted you! I trusted both of you!” He yells frantically while moving towards me and with each step his optics radiate an intense color.

“D.” A warning voice came from the figure in front of me, shielding me from the raging bot as he stomped towards us. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.” For a moment, I forgot about the two bots in front of me bickering and the tension rising severely, our memories together and the bond we shared had perhaps reached its peaking point.

I went around the protectiveness hold of Orion’s and stepped closer to the infuriated bot. “You’re right, D, but I also can’t watch you destroy yourself.”  The words hung in the air; D went silent momentarily while watching me with a puzzled look. “But Sentinel… he’s the one responsible for all of this. He deceived us all.” He said in confusion.

Orion, ever the calm figure, stepped forward. “And we will stop him. But not like this.” “Stopping him isn’t enough. I will kill him.” He growled; the tension reached its peak as D-16 stood daringly. “Then leave, for the sake of our memories that we’ve lived together.” Orion stated, but through the composure he carried, I could see sorrow in the electric blue optics of his. “I will never forget this.” D-16 hissed darkly before taking a good look at me until he turned to walk away, and for good.

“This is too much for me..” I murmured while absently looking at the ground. “It was prone to happen,” Orion was now facing me, his broader torso blocking the view of the retreating bot. Gentle blue servos, almost as big as my helm, cupping my face and rubbing it comfortably. “But it will be alright, because I’m going to be here for you through it all.”

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

No Other Gods

Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.

Billy’s POV mostly

Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.

Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship. 

If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate. 

I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.

For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.

He’s calm. 

Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk. 

He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.

Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.

Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.

When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.

The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town. 

Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.

Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.

He’s not convinced.

For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.

He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.

He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.

Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.

He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.

He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.

You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.

Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.

His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.

“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.

“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.

You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.

“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.

You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.

Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.

“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.

“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”

You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.

“Where are you going?”

.

One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.

A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.

He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.

He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.

The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes. 

He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place. 

He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.

It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.

.

“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.

He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view. 

He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.

He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.

“What do you think?” He asks.

You hum, deep in thought.

“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.” 

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”

“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.

You smile up at him in amusement.

“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.

He turns, looking at what you were observing.

“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.

“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.

“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.

The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.

“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”

“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”

He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.

“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”

Of course he doesn’t mind.

“If you’re sure.” He taunts.

“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.

Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.

Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.

A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.

Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.

You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.

All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.

He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.

You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.

He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.

He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.

In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.

.

The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.

It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.

Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain. 

When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.

.

It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.

.

It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.

He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan. 

He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.

He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.

He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes. 

He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.

He gazes steadily through the small gap.

Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car. 

He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.

There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.

In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.

Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.

The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.

He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face. 

“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”

He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.

He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way. 

He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.

The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.

He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.

.

He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead. 

It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.

He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.

He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.

When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.

He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.

But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.

Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.

If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.

So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.

It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.

Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.

He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.

His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul. 

She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.

You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.

You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.

“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”

The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.

Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.

You squeeze his hand.

“Do you think you could ever take a life?” 

His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.

“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”

Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.

“I just thought you should know.” 

“Thanks for telling me.”

You continue to hold his hand.

“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?” 

“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”

“To you?”

“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.

He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.

When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.

“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.

He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.

His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue. 

“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.

He kicks his shoes off decisively.

“What will people say?” He teases.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.

He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.

“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.

It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.

In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.

He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him. 

By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

.

He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire. 

It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices. 

You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle. 

“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”

He blinks.

“That's right.”

“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.

“What do you mean?” He pries.

“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”

“He's both.” Billy answers.

You smile, and finally turn to look at him. 

“Do you think God loves him?” 

“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?” 

You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation. 

“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.

“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”

Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.

“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.

It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.

Billy wanted to be that person.

.

“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.” 

From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with. 

“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.

Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room, 

“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”

Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.

“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.

You smile.

“I’m just doing what he commands.”

Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.

Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.

“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”

You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.

“It- why should it matter what people say?”

“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”

“That’s not my fault.” You defend.

“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”

You go down another step, he follows.

“I- I don’t- I’m not-”

He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.

“You don’t?”

“I only want to serve.” You whisper.

“Who?” Billy taunts.

“What?”

“Who do you serve?”

“The Lord.” 

The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp. 

“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”

He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.

Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.

You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.

He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.

You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.

“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.

You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.

“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.

“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.

This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.

The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.

“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.

He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.

You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.

He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”

A soft cry is your only response.

When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.

You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.

Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.

When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.

His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.

You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.

He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.

He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.

You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.

.

Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money. 

It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.

This, was not him looking out for you.

Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.

He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.

He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.

You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside. 

He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.

Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.

He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.

Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.

He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.

He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.

When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.

He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.

He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.

.

He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.

“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.

He guides your key into your door.

“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.

“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”

“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.

You let out a little laugh.

“Right. Sorry.”

He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.

“Help me get out of this dress?”

God, you really were tempting him.

He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine. 

He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.

You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

He curls his hands into fists.

“I always want to touch you.”

You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.

“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.

He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.

He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.

It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.

He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.

He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.

What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.

It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.

There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.

On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.

He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.

He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.

You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.

It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.

He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.

He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.

“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.

He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.

You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.

The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief. 

You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.

“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”

Poison? He thinks in shock.

He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.

You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.

No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.

He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.

He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.

The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.

You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.

“You don’t worship God.” He starts.

You smile.

“No I don’t.”

“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”

“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”

He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.

You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.

“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”

He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.

“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”

Billy blinks, tilts his head.

“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.

You make a sound of disagreement.

“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”

He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.

“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”

Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.

“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.

“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.

“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”

He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.

“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”

You nod, smiling down at him. 

“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”

Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.

“Let me go.” He grits out.

You smile dreamily, shake your head.

“Not yet. I want to have you first.” 

His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.

He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.

“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”

He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.

You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you. 

He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.

He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.

When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.

Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.

You moan loudly, head tossed back.

“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”

Billy groans.

“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”

You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.

Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.

But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.

He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.

He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.

“Do it to me.” He asks.

You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.

You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.

You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.

It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.

He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.

You pause, pouting.

“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.

“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”

He grins sharply, relaxes.

“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.

“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.

He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.

But first, a distraction.

“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”

He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.

Billy takes his opportunity to strike.

He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.

Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.

He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.

Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.

“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.

Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”

Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.

He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.

 “You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”

He feels you clench around him again.

“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”

You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.

“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”

You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.

When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.

You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.

He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one. 

He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes. 

“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.

“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”

It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.

He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.

You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.

His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.

Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.

He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.

“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”

His nose brushes yours.

“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.

“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”

He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.

“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”

“You feel too good.” You confess to him.

He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.

“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”

“Show me.” You beg.

His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.

You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.

His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.

His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.

“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.

He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.

“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”

You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.

“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”

He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.

It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.

“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”

You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.

You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.

Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.

“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.

It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.

His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.

You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”

You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.

“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.

You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.

You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.

He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.

You wanted- so much more than you could admit.

You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.

He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.

You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.

You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.

Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.

He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones. 

Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.

You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle. 

There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable. 

He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours. 

It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.

He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.

Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.

You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.

You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.

He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.

Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.

“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.

You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.

Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.

You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.

You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.

Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.

He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.

“Who’s your God? Tell me.”

“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.

“What was that?” He grits out.

“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.

He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.

You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.

“Say that again.” 

“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.

You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.

“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.

“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.

You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.

“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.

“Answer my question, little dove.”

You shake your head.

“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.

He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.

“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.

“I like it, Billy, I love it.”

“Then tell me who your God is.” 

You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.

“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.

You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.

There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.

Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.

Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.

Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.

“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”

“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.

It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.

You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.

“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.

“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.

You can barely find the words to speak.

His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.

Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.

“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.

He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.

“Please,” You beg, “Please.”

He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.

“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.

He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.

He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.

He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.

He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.

You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.

You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.

He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.

You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.

There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.

Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.

He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.

It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.

You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face. 

He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.

It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.

.

Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.

He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.

He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.

They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.

When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.

You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.

You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 

The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.

He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.

It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.

He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.

He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.

When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.

He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.

When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.

The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.

The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.

He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next. 

You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.

He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.

He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.

Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.

He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.

.

“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’” 

It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.

You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.

.