#Salary Slip Generator

[paystubusa]

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[paystubusa1]

Why Small Businesses Prefer to Generate Pay Stubs Online Today

One of the simplest equipment available today is the capacity to Generate Pay Stubs Online. This approach is gaining rapid popularity because it gets rid of the need for complex accounting software, manual calculations, or highly-priced 1/3-celebration payroll offerings.

[kredily]

Explore the Top Benefits of Online Payslip Generators

Managing employee payroll is a critical task for any organization. However, traditional methods of generating payslips manually often lead to errors, compliance risks, and administrative burden. This is where an Online Payslip Generator steps in, offering businesses a modern solution to streamline their payroll processes.

With increasing demand for efficiency, accuracy, and digital accessibility, more companies are adopting tools like Kredily's Online Payslip Generator to simplify operations and enhance employee satisfaction. If you are considering moving towards a digital payroll system, understanding the benefits of using an online salary slip generator can help you make an informed decision.

Let’s explore why online payslip generators are transforming payroll management for businesses across industries.

What is an Online Payslip Generator?

An Online Payslip Generator is a digital tool that automatically creates and distributes salary slips to employees. It calculates earnings, deductions, taxes, and other financial details based on the company's payroll policies.

Unlike manual methods that involve spreadsheets or handwritten documents, an online salary slip generator ensures that the information is accurate, compliant with legal requirements, and delivered instantly. Companies can now manage salary disbursement processes efficiently, saving time, resources, and reducing the chances of errors.

The growing popularity of tools like a salary slip online generator reflects the changing needs of businesses aiming for speed, security, and transparency in payroll management.

Key Benefits of Using an Online Payslip Generator

1. Improved Accuracy and Compliance

Accuracy in payroll processing is not just important — it's essential. Manual salary slip creation often results in mistakes like incorrect calculations, missing deductions, or tax filing errors. A salary slip generator automates these calculations, ensuring employees are paid correctly and on time.

Moreover, an Online Payslip Generator follows predefined compliance rules related to taxes, PF contributions, and labor laws. By adhering to regulatory standards automatically, businesses avoid penalties, audits, and employee dissatisfaction related to salary disputes.

2. Increased Efficiency and Time-Savings

Payroll generation involves multiple steps — calculation, verification, printing, and distribution. Using an online salary slip generator simplifies the entire process. Payroll administrators no longer need to spend hours manually preparing salary slips every month.

With a few clicks, the salary slip online generator completes tasks that would otherwise take days, allowing HR teams to focus on strategic initiatives rather than repetitive administrative work. Faster payroll also means employees receive their salaries on time, boosting overall workplace morale.

3. Enhanced Data Security and Privacy

Employee salary information is highly sensitive and must be protected against unauthorized access. Traditional paper-based payroll systems expose organizations to data theft, loss, or mishandling.

A salary slip generator provides encrypted, secure storage for all payroll records. An Online Payslip Generator ensures only authorized personnel can access employee data, protecting your business against internal and external data breaches. Compliance with data protection laws like GDPR becomes easier with digital tools that prioritize privacy and security.

4. Convenient Access and Accessibility

In today’s digital-first world, employees expect to access their personal information quickly and easily. An online salary slip generator offers employees the flexibility to view, download, or print their payslips from anywhere at any time.

Unlike paper payslips that are easy to lose or damage, a salary slip online generator allows employees to maintain their salary records digitally for personal reference, tax filing, or loan applications. This convenience enhances the employee experience and reduces the administrative burden on HR teams who otherwise have to resend misplaced payslips.

5. Cost-Effectiveness

Switching to an Online Payslip Generator is not just about efficiency; it also reduces operational costs. Traditional methods involve expenses related to paper, printing, ink, postage, and physical storage.

An online salary slip generator eliminates these expenses, offering a budget-friendly alternative. Businesses no longer need to invest heavily in full-fledged payroll management software either. Tools like Kredily's solution offer professional-grade payroll management at a fraction of the cost, making it accessible for startups and growing enterprises alike.

6. Real-Time Payroll Insights and Transparency

With manual payroll processes, getting a consolidated view of salary payments, taxes, or deductions requires hours of effort. A salary slip generator provides real-time dashboards and reporting features, enabling finance and HR teams to monitor payroll metrics effortlessly.

For employees, the ability to view detailed salary breakdowns using a salary slip online generator fosters transparency. They gain clarity into their earnings, deductions, bonuses, and benefits — building trust and minimizing payroll-related confusion or dissatisfaction.

Why Businesses Are Adopting Online Payslip Generators

The shift toward digital solutions like an Online Payslip Generator is being driven by the need for speed, accuracy, transparency, and cost efficiency.

Companies no longer view payroll as a back-end administrative task but recognize its role in shaping employee experience and ensuring legal compliance. Tools like Kredily's platform offer a user-friendly interface, integration with attendance systems, automatic tax calculations, and compliance-ready payslip formats — all designed to meet the demands of modern businesses.

Adopting a digital payroll solution is also about future-proofing operations. As businesses scale, managing hundreds or thousands of employee payslips manually becomes unsustainable. Investing early in an online salary slip generator sets the foundation for growth without increasing administrative workload.

How Kredily's Online Payslip Generator Stands Out

Among the many digital payroll solutions available, Kredily stands out for its commitment to affordability, ease of use, and comprehensive HR features. Kredily's Online Payslip Generator is built specifically for Indian businesses, ensuring compliance with Indian labor laws and providing seamless integration with other HR modules like attendance management and leave tracking.

Businesses can generate unlimited payslips, automate salary processing, and give employees secure access to their salary records — all from a single platform. Kredily’s solution eliminates the complexity traditionally associated with payroll, helping businesses focus more on growth and employee engagement.

Conclusion: Embrace Smarter Payroll Management

Payroll management has evolved beyond spreadsheets and manual calculations. A modern Online Payslip Generator offers businesses a faster, safer, and more transparent way to manage employee compensation.

By using an online salary slip generator, companies improve payroll accuracy, ensure legal compliance, enhance employee satisfaction, and save valuable time and resources. In today's competitive business environment, adopting a salary slip online generator is not just a convenience — it’s a strategic advantage.

Choosing a trusted solution like Kredily enables businesses of all sizes to unlock the full potential of digital payroll management. It's time to move forward with smarter, simpler, and more secure payroll solutions.

[gopareto]

Effortless Salary Slip Generation with Gopareto

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can you do a part 2 to the Concerning Portal?

I love your work ♥️

Kabr0z Writes episode 72: Concerning Portals part 2

Also entitled: Job Interview

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Find episode 8: Concerning Portals here!

CWs: Dubcon; interspecies; public sex; portals; creampie; tentacles; oral sex; Noncon;

A/N: The biggest question is why, after being railed and free-used by an indeterminate number of massive flared cocks, why would she put on the panties again?

I was gonna have the reader be in a job interview and gradually losing control, but that's a heap of dialogue that doesn't super work in second person

#########################################

A good pair of knickers is hard to find. So when you get a pair that really, properly fits, you aren't going to ge trid of them because you were wearing them that time a mysterious portal decided to open itself in your pants. Besides, your job interview is this afternoon, and you need your lucky undies on your side today of all days.

You took the train. Hopefully you're able to land the job, then you'll be making enough to actually get a driving license. As it was, you spent far too much on a train ticket into the city and still didn't manage to get a seat, holding on to one of the bars rising from floor to ceiling to brace against the movement of the carriage. Your phone buzzed, an email came through from the hiring manager. You hadn't heard of the company, Creadle and Crabnuts Innovations, but when they reached out to you offering twice your salary for the same job, you'd be a fool to not hear them out at least. The email was just a confirmation of the appointment, with a link to an interview package to leaf through. Not what you'd call standard, but you had half an hour to kill before your station. At least the train was non-stop, so it's not getting any busier.

Your thumb brushed the touchscreen, following the link. You were expecting some cheesy corporate webpage or maybe some generic grounding exercises. Instead, the link just contained a picture of your front door, a hand pushing a familiar package through the letterbox, and the words "Welcome to your interview"

The gusset of your knickers heated up. You flashed back to the bus, craning your neck to see where the bathroom was on your carriage. The indicator confirmed your fear: occupied. A screen showed all the bathrooms on the train, each one occupied in turn. Something wet slid across your cunt.

You started to move, pushing your way past commuters jammed in the aisle of the carriage, none of them giving you space to move. The wet thing was sliding across you, probing your holes for purchase. You reached the front of the carriage, hammering the "open" button on the door that would get you to the front alcove, and relative privacy.

It didn't respond. A thin tendril probed your clitoral hood, pushing under it to nestle next to the fleshy nub of your clit. It was cold, the low temperature sending an aching needle through your abdomen. It moved, slightly at first, then with growing speed and vigour. The tendril fucked the fold of skin over your most sensitive place. Aggressively thrusts and rubbing. Cold slime oozed. The consistency of vaseline. It slopped around your cunt. Another tendril joined. This went for your pussy. A third for your asshole. Cold lube covered you. Your legs hurt. You couldn't stand. An armrest stopped your fall. Clinging on with both hands. Doubled over.

Your face was in a man's lap. You panted there. The man looked down at you, clinging to his armrest, panting and whining. Your back arching and your ass held up. He looked around before opening his fly. He fumbled out his cock, thick and uncircumcised.

A tendril invaded your ass. You gasped as it slipped inside, pushing you forward an inch. The man in the seat took that as an approval. His fingers clutched the back of your hair, maneuvering you around to kneel, legs under the seat in front. The man next to him dozed against the window, dead to the world. His cock rubbed over your face as the third tendril rubbed your pussy, aiming for the last unviolated hole.

A sucker planted itself on your clit, pulling on it as the first one still tried to find an opening in the skin at the top of your vulva. You moaned, a wave of pleasure joining a sharp pain as your unprepared body was subjected to such attention.

The cock went straight to your throat. The tip of his foreskin tickled your tonsils as your throat tightened against him, trying to gag. His fist tightened, gripping your hair close to the scalp as his hips gyrated into your face. Hand and hips, working in perfect tandem to fuck your face while three tentacles abused your cunt.

It was just too much. Your hips rolled as muffled moans flowed from you. Your hands moved unbidden, one clutching the man's unshaven balls, rolling them between your fingers as the other wrapped around the base of his cock, jacking him off into your mouth. The muscles in your lower abdomen flexed and worked as one, milking the tentacles inside you. You felt them spill their cold payload into you, spraying and squirting even as you tried in vain to hump and grind against them.

The two in your holes withdrew, the third was leaking that cold fluid over your clit and down your legs. Another two took the well-prepared place of them as the man groaned and held you down, spurting his spunk down your throat.

Your heart sank, he finished so deep in your throat you didn't even get to taste it. You pulled his cock out of your mouth and started licking it, paying special attention to the head. A few drops of precious cum still seeped out, bitter and metallic.

The best thing you've ever tasted.

The new tentacles went deeper. You could feel the one in your ass worming its way through you, distending your belly as it found its way up you.

Your hand left the man's cock, slipping down tot under your panties. The tentacles were coming from who-knows where, but that's not what you cared about.

Your questing fingers found the tentacle on your clit, rubbing at it, feeling it squeezing out the cold cum as it pulsed and shook on you. Two more orgasms washed over you as the tentacle outperformed any vibrator you'd ever used, sucking and shaking, making you squeak and squirm, voice muffled by the spent cock in your mouth.

You felt the train slowing. The tentacles receded and the portal closed. You gave the man a small kiss on the cheek as you made for the door.

You got off, and collapsed into a chair on the platform. Your phone buzzed again.

"Congratulations on passing your interview with Creadle and Crabnuts Innovations. We will be in touch."

What kind of job did you just get?

#########################################

Does it show when I'm writing about something that's 1000% my kink? Does it suck that portal fucking isn't really a thing that can ever exist?

Both of the answers to these questions are "yes"

[prythianpages]

First Fight | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader | your first fight/argument with Eris.

a/n: I was in the mood to write a fight scene. I couldn't really figure out what to write a fight about it but this came out of that lol. This was meant to be a short drabble but it seems that I can never write a drabble as this is longer than one. Still short though, it's 1,478 words and for some reason I have the habit of writing for this series late at night. Anyway, this takes place shortly after you and Eris agree to be friends with benefits.

warnings: angst, eris and reader being slightly delulu in their growing feelings for one another

“You’re sending my brother away?”

Eris didn’t even glance up from his desk. The quill in his hand continued to scratch deliberately across parchment as if the anger in your voice hadn’t just pierced through his study. He always knew when you were near and he had sensed your approaching presence before your footsteps crossed the threshold.

He kept his eyes down as he used his magic to gently shut the door behind you. He didn’t want anyone to see you here as it wouldn’t be good for you. It would only stir up more rumors and rouse up unwanted curiosity. 

 “Good day to you too,” he murmured, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

You didn’t respond. Your silence was heavier than words and he could feel it. The way you stood there. Stiff and arms crossed, eyes boring into him. It drew a sigh from his chest. 

Slowly, Eris lifted his head, amber eyes finally meeting yours. “Your brother surely doesn’t think of it that way.”

You scoffed. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too dense to realize when he’s being played and my father is too blinded by titles and coin to question anything.”

Eris arched a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Then perhaps I deserve a thank you.”

“You want gratitude for manipulating my family like chess pieces?”

As the only son in your family, your brother had chosen the path of a scholar, content to bury himself in the history of Autumn rather than take part in it as a soldier. Occasionally, he was invited to sit in on your father's meetings with Beron. Sometimes, as an observer. Other times, as a participant. Becoming an emissary had never been part of his plan. Not that he had much of a plan at all.

But when the High Lord’s son personally offered him a post in another court, complete with a generous salary far above what most emissaries earned… 

Well, only a fool would have turned it down. 

Eris did not answer. Instead, he sat back and contemplated your reaction. He didn’t know what he was expecting but anger certainly was not it. 

“Why did you do it?”

His gaze darkened as the truth warred on his tongue.

Why did he do it?

Because he didn’t want your brother’s boredom to bleed into your life. He lacked a sense of purpose and instead of searching for one, he had begun to focus on your purpose within your family. Which was the same as in any noble family—alliances and marriage. 

“Would you have rather married Lord Stevenson?” Eris asked, voice low.

You stiffened, anger simmering down.

Lord Stevenson was a lecherous old bastard with a gaze that lingered too long on any female. It made his blood boil to think of you being sold off to and paraded by someone unworthy. 

“That was your brother’s plan,” he continued. “He was already drafting the papers. Do you know how many wives Stevenson has buried? How many complaints have been silenced?”

Still, there was a defiant look in your eyes. “I can fight my own battles.”

Eris met that look in your eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want you to.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, frozen by the words that hung between you two. Eris was also taken aback, surprised the words had slipped.

Then, your expression changed–just slightly. Something broke through the anger. It was unreadable yet unnerving.

“You don’t get to want things for me,” you said, voice quiet now. “That’s not what this is. That’s not what we agreed on.”

You turned to leave and Eris called your name but you didn’t look back. The door shut behind you and he was left staring at the space you’d once filled, a frown tugging at his brow.

What had he done wrong? And why had your anger, the way you looked at him unsettled him so deeply?

There was a tight and unfamiliar weight in his chest now. Regret? Hurt? He couldn’t name it nor did he want to. 

But it lingered all the same.

**

It had been a little over a week since he’d last seen you. Not long to some but for Eris, it was. He was used to seeing you at least once a week and it didn’t help that the last time he saw you, you were upset.

He told himself he’d wait for you to come to him. Until whatever anger you had harbored subsided. But on the tenth day, he found himself sneaking around the Forest house and heading toward your room.

His heart fluttered as he rounded a corner. Though you were on the other side and about to bump into him, he did nothing to stop it. He let you slam chest-first into his body, ignoring the fire he felt ignited in his veins at the contact.

 Your breath caught, body tensing. Eris reached out, arms gripping your shoulders as he steadied you and it was only then that your body eased, realizing it was him.

"Eris," you breathed, eyes wide as you looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” He deflected your question back to you. As if he hadn’t been walking down this hallway for the same reason you were. 

You stared at each other for a heartbeat. And then, without a word, Eris grabbed your wrist and tugged you down the hall. You didn’t protest. The nearest door creaked open, and Eris all but shoved you inside before closing it behind you.

You looked around the tiled space, blinking at the soft pumpkin and vanilla scent and the neatly stacked towels by the sink. The two of you were in a bathroom. You didn’t have to speak for Eris to know what you were thinking when you looked back at him.

“It was the closest door,” he said with a slight shrug. “Would you rather I dragged you into a broom closet?”

You crossed your arms. “I was hoping for something slightly more dignified.”

There was no bite to your words. No trace of the anger or hurt he had not only seen but heard in your voice last. What he could hear, though, was the way your heart was pounding. 

Eris took a slow breath, hands curling at his sides. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

That seemed to startle you more than running into him did. Your cheeks flushed. “No,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

You leaned against the bathroom counter behind you, expression softening. “These past few weeks have been… overwhelming. Every male around me seems to think my future is theirs to shape. And when I found out you offered my brother that position, I—Well, I didn’t stop to consider why you’d done it and took out my frustrations on you instead…”

Eris’s brow furrowed but he didn’t interrupt.

“I know now that you were trying to protect me,” you continued. “And I am very relieved that the proposal did not go through. So… thank you.”

The tension in Eris’s shoulders eased. “Good. Because for a moment, I feared you were actually heartbroken over the failed proposal.”

You scrunched your nose. “Cauldron, no.”

You laughed then and Eris hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound until it was gone.  Something inside him threatened to untangle but he shook the feeling off. You and him were…

Well, he didn’t know what exactly to call it. You were lovers but friends? He wasn’t so sure if you thought of him that way. Or if you thought much of him at all, beyond your physical needs.

“I want you to have the option to choose,” he then said quietly.

His thoughts drifted to his past… to his arranged engagement. The lengths Morrigan had gone to end it and the consequences that followed. He shuddered at the thought of you being cornered like that, of you being a victim to a similar fate.

You met his gaze slowly. “Ladies like me don’t have that luxury.”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer to you.  “I’d like you to.”

You studied him carefully. Too carefully. Like you were intent on peeling back every layer he’d worked so hard to hide behind. It made something twist in his chest.

“Do you care for me, Eris?”

Eris blinked, taken aback by your question. His mouth opened but no sound came. He wanted to say no. He needed to say no. Instead, a smirk ghosted across his lips.

“It depends,” he said, thinking back to the words you said last to him. How he didn’t get to want things for you as it was not what you had agreed on. “If I’m allowed to.”

“You’re allowed.”

The way you looked at him now was softer. Less calculating and more unguarded. 

Even the air between you had softened, warmed by all the things neither of you were brave enough to say aloud like a flame not yet ready to burn.

a/n: I'm still trying to figure out how to write the end to this so the next updates might be flashbacks/scenes that happened in the past. Might write a scene of Eris & reader seeing each other again after UTM (might have smut but idk yet bc it's been a hot min since I wrote smut)

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamaranci

[zorosangell]

I’ll request for Cora then! I don’t really know what to request tho 🤔 but I love all your writing so I’m sure I’ll love whatever you write. how about just general headcanons? thank you! ❤️

⛥ﾟ・。corazon general and specific headcanons

synopsis: just some headcanons for the nine-foot tall blonde of my dreams

cw: none

a/n: this was so fun to write! thanks anon for the ask. i think i'm gonna open up my inbox for headcanons on other characters like kid or law or whatever

a/n 2: stay safe and rive carefully y'all. happy new year <3

general headcanons (you both are in a relationship)

— while i've seen others view cora as an overall shy, introverted person, i actually think the opposite, at least in some cases

— granted, he's not shouting from the mountain tops or actively going out of his way to talk to others, he is very extroverted with the people he knows and trusts

— like you, queen <3

— he likes to tell jokes and use his clumsiness to make you laugh, even if it isn't on purpose most of the time

— and when you do, he feels like he's on top of the world

— he's also very protective of you

— certain things in your relationship he likes to take a back seat on, but your safety is not one of them

— he's seen some things, and he'll be damned if something happens to you because of his negligence

— in a crowded room, he'll position himself behind you, acting as a guard dog as he keeps tabs on all possible threats

— in a bar, he'll keep a watchful eye on your drink and make sure an arm is around your waist at all times

— on the sidewalk, he will always, always make sure he's on the street side

— but that ties in with him being a perfect gentleman

— that being said... YOU NEVER HAVE TO PAY FOR ANYTHING

— actually gets offended if you try

— you're his lady; when you're with him, you don't lift a finger

— he may be on a marine's salary but when it comes to you he acts as if he has all the money in the world

— loves to splurge on you

"aw, baby, look! that necklace would look great on you, wouldn't it!"

"cora, honey, it's 90,000 berries... and you just got me a 70,000 berry bracelet last week"

"and?"

— honestly not very opinionated, doesn't really have many preferences when it comes to material things

— often has you order for him at restaurants, or pick out his clothes for the day

— hates arguing and fighting in general (though arguments are few and far between for you both anyway)

— if you don't like kids, that might be a bit of a deal breaker, seeing as law is a large part of his life

— not only that, but if you just are not a kind or decent person, this is not the man for you

— but trust, if you hit it off with law, you will have this man's heart forever (easier said than done tho)

specific headcanon (story-ish i guess)

— for the sake of whatever, let's say you're the nurse of doflamingo's crew (by circumstance, you're still a good person)

— when you first joined, cora was floored by your beauty; like actually, he fell flat on his face when doflamingo introduced you to the crew

— he was baffled that someone like you was a pirate, and even more so when you opened your mouth to reveal that you were incredibly kind and warm hearted

— (he would later learn that you had been blackmailed by his brother into joining the crew—the warlord promised no harm would come to your family if you joined him)

— initially, he was both enamored and suspicious, seeing as only those with cruel intentions joined his brother's crew

— but as time went by, he was quick to learn that it was quite the opposite, and quick to grow a certain fondness for you

— i imagine cora as a slow burner, so of course all of this happens over a decent amount of time

— but within that time you manage to weasel your way into his heart

— being the ship's nurse, you are always tasked with patching him up after his mishaps

— even though you do slip up and let out a chuckle or two, it never comes from a place of malice, unlike the others

— and even still, you scold and warn him about being careful around fires and hot liquids

— though, most of the time, it goes in one ear and out the other

— sometimes he's too preoccupied with your soft hands on him, or your pretty eyes locked with his

— sidebar: he blushes like a school girl because of his fair skin, i'm talking full on tomato

— anyway, it isn't long before you two become incredibly close

— communicating is a bit of a hassle given his silence, but he appreciates your constant effort

— he makes a point to keep you as far away from doflamingo as possible, often sending you on "errands" to avoid the two of you from interacting

— and when he can't do that, he floats around, not straying too far away as his brother pulls you aside for a chat or asks you to check a pain on his abdomen (barf)

— that doesn't just apply for his brother, btw

— he does that for everyone on the crew, executive or not

— no one gets you on your own without him knowing about it

— on the outside looking in it might sound stalker-ish, but in his mind he justified it as performing his duty as a marine

— all he was doing was protecting a helpless... sweet-smelling... adorably-laughing... angel-looking... young woman

— but in actuality, he was protecting his dream girl

— his dream girl who absolutely loves kids! (if you don't, then, once again, cora might not be the one for you)

— you always treat baby 5 and buffalo with such kindness, even when they act like little monsters; making sure they take their baths, making sure they eat, giving them their monthly check-ups

— it's one of the many things cora loves about your personality

— as well as nurse, you play the role of nanny to the kids onboard

— and your mothering only expands when law and dellinger join the crew

— fast forward to when cora is about to take law away, he comes to you first, severely surprising you by reciting a passionate dissertation as to why you should join him

— he couldn't imagine leaving you behind in the clutches of his brother; no protection, no one to shield you from the horrors of the family

— so it was only natural that his heart fell to his ass when you declined, but your reasoning was that doflamingo still had your family hostage

— though, on one particular night, when you had happened to walk past the door to his study, you overheard him talking to the other executives about how gullible you were, as he had killed your family years ago

— distraught, you ran away with cora and law that night

— and it was bbq chicken from there...

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My World; Chapter 1

Your day started with chaos, and my dear, it looks like it will continue to be chaos. But only time will tell. The Underground holds many surprises in store for you.

Characters; Grim, Lilia Vanrouge, Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola

Content; Gender-neutral reader, cat shenanigans, building the plot

Content Warnings; Swearing, illusion to marijuana but there is none

Word Count; 4.6 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you go to the Underground and don't return. Mwah mwah, kisses~

Ah, the joys of cat parenthood. Days spent cuddling your little bundle of furry joy. That’s what your friends preached. That having a feline roommate was easy and rewarding. That you would benefit by having a cute and fuzzy companion that didn’t demand much of anything. That you would love your little kitty friend like a child. Well, either your friends were liars with questionable senses of humour, or you drew the short stick when it came to choosing a furry companion. And there’s always the possibility of it being both, what with having Ace as a friend and all, but you just hoped it was just your shit luck and not that you had shit friends.

Seriously, though, what higher power did you manage to piss off to deserve the royal hobgoblin of a cat you have? He has shit and pissed in your plants on several occasions. Demolished every single curtain he laid eyes on like he had a personal vendetta against them. Stole your breakfast off your plate right as you were about to take a bite. Puked on your last pair of good white shoes, which still had stains on them because they wouldn’t come out. The cherry on top of it all though was that he insists on yowling and crying in the middle of the damn night for no good reason. Rudely awaking you from the dead of sleep because he demanded attention. With how loud he was, you were surprised that you hadn’t gotten a noise complaint from any of your neighbours… yet. But then again, you could hear the upstairs neighbours’ children screaming bloody murder every so often — what were their names, the Clovers? They were probably so used to it that they threw you a bone, or they didn’t want extra grey hairs from filing a complaint to the landlord. So maybe Grim wasn’t all that bad, but he was still a gremlin child. 

“MROWWWWWW!!!!!” Ah, so tonight was no different then. Grim had decided that you needed to be woken up before even the birds started to sing, needed to be yanked out of the land of dreams. That whatever had caught the attention of his singular brain cell was more important than you recharging so you don’t accidentally say the wrong thing to your boss. Since last time you had slipped up and called him dad, even though no one in their right mind would leave him alone with a rutabaga unattended, and he went on a two-hour long monologue about how much of a kind and generous person he was for you to see him as a father figure. And your salary wasn’t high enough, nor would it ever be, to deal with his eccentric and maddening behaviour.

Maybe, just maybe, if you ignored him and stared at the ceiling long enough he would stop his caterwauling and go to sleep. “MROWWWW!!!!!” Apparently not.

Just one night, ONE NIGHT, of peace and quiet. PLEASE. But you knew that if you didn’t get up soon, he would get up on the bed and put his fluffy butt in your face… like he did last night and the night before that. Sighing, you begrudgingly got out of your cocoon of warm, fluffy, blankets, and hoped you would soon be back in them after dealing with Grim. Hopefully, he was just complaining about his food bowl not being as full as he would like it.

What was the time anyways? Three-thirty in the morning? Ugh, Grim! What did Ace say about it, ah, yes, “Primetime witching hour. Demons and all sorts of creepies” yada yada yada. But you didn’t pay any mind to him, as his annoying smug look would taunt you in your mind even though he was probably sound asleep, blissfully asleep. Something that you wanted to be doing, but woefully you were not.

Stepping out into the main living space, you shot the grey fuzzball the stink eye. “What the hell do you want? You absolute gremlin!” You hissed through gritted teeth, very much annoyed with your brat of a fur child and wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed, hell, even the loveseat would suffice.  

The offending feline just trilled at you in response, and his tail vibrated, happy that you had come out to see him. How is he so cute but so annoying? He rubbed against your legs before trotting off to one of his hidey holes, which also served as his nest of your stolen socks. He has a weird obsession with socks. But he popped back out, holding something in his mouth. Something small and fuzzy that didn’t look like any of his toys.

“Prowwww,” he dropped it at your feet as if saying that catching whatever it was, was the equivalent to paying his share of rent. Which, it was very much not.

You closed your eyes and pinched your brow. Please be one of his toys. PLEASE be one of his toys. You chanted to yourself in your mind and then opened your eyes. Unfortunately, it was not one of his toys. The small, fuzzy thing in question seemed to be a mouse or some other kind of rodent. It was too late (too early?) for this, and quite frankly you didn’t have the brain power to confirm whatever the hell it was. All you knew was that it looked like a mouse, therefore it was a mouse.

“Is this what you’ve been screaming about this whole time? A mouse,” you sighed. Shaking your head, you went to the bathroom, grabbing some paper towel so you could at least put it outside for something else to eat, or go back to nature in some other way. It was better than just being left to decompose in the communal garbage bin. When you came back out though, it was nowhere to be seen. Now, either Grim decided to eat it like a good kitty cat, or, with your luck, it was still alive and was now running amuck in your apartment.

Grim’s chattering was coming from the kitchen now, and he was up on top of the fridge. It was running amuck in your apartment, how lovely.

“Why, why, are you like this?! Get down from there!” You really didn’t have the energy for this.

Grim just blinked at you before his eyes dilated. He leapt down from his perch on the fridge and was pawing at a corner by the window. Looking down and you couldn’t make out anything on the floor. But you had the oh-so-brilliant idea to look up toward the ceiling. The ‘mouse’ was very much alive, and wasn’t a mouse at all, since it was flying around and banging itself against the corner.

“YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

He had indeed caught a fucking bat. And bats were normally fine, when they were outside. Not when they’re flying around your apartment at three o’clock in the morning and your cat is losing his goddamn mind trying to catch it. So no, this was very much not fine. 

The bat was about as pleased as you were with this whole situation and kept on flinging itself against the glass of the window, desperately trying to get back outside. How the hell did it get inside in the first place? That could be pondered on upon at a later time, as the first priority was getting it back outside.

“Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat,” you whispered in a non-threatening tone. Could the flying mammal understand what you were saying? Mostly likely not. Hopefully it understood that you, unlike your cat, were trying to help and did not want some fresh bat as your late night snack tonight.

After what felt like forever fuddling with the window to open with a broom in hand, just in case the bat decided to dive bomb your head, you finally got the cursed thing open. 

Grabbing Grim, who was still trying to catch the bat for a second time tonight, you got back to your bedroom and locked the door shut. You hoped that the bat would take the hint that it now had a path to freedom, but only time, and a bit of sleep, would tell. Slumping against the door frame, you sighed and looked over at Grim. He was playing with the door stop, the boing, boingg, boinggg sounds filling in the quiet. Whether it was to amuse himself, or to annoy you was a fifty-fifty bet.

Just as you were about to crawl back under the covers a string of anxiety connected in your head. Shit, did Grim get bit? DAMMIT GRIM! After leaving a somewhat desperate and tired call to your vet’s voicemail, alongside an apology for the late call (early call?), you peeked outside to see if the bat was still flying around. According to Google, the bat should be tested for rabies. You did not trust your no brain cell having fluff ball to know better than to get bit by a possibly rabid bat. But it was gone, so yet again, you were out of luck.

You had enough with today, even though it had just really begun. Pulling up the covers, you sighed in the dark warmth of your blanket cocoon. Grim was busying himself by trying to pounce on your feet, but you ignored him, falling back to sleep and hoping that the rest of your day wouldn’t bring any more shenanigans, migraines, or small flying mammals.

…

…

…

By some miracle, you managed to get Grim to the vet the very same day. Your boss agreed to let you work from home because he is ever so kind and generous… It did help that one of the other higher-ups nearly nagged off his ear upon hearing about the condition of your cat. Even through the phone you could hear it, and could only imagine the spectacle it must have been. Oh well, you had the day off and that is what mattered… but you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cough out a laugh just imagining the scene on the other side of the phone.

You were relieved, Grim on the other hand was not having it. To be fair, you did trick him into his crate with some tuna. He made his disdain known to all though by crying the entire way there. You almost felt bad for him, almost being the key word. 

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself, ya know.” You huffed at him, feeling your shit sleep all too well. “Crying about it won’t help you any.”

Grim let out a pathetic little mew. His little, bright, blue eyes being the only visible part of him, which peered out miserably from the crate. Caving to the kitty manipulation, you poked your finger in as a peace offering. Grim booped his nose to your finger and then proceeded to nibble on it; such a vicious beast.

The vet visit went as well as you could hope it could, as Grim only tried to maim the vet a few times. Hey, it was an improvement from last time, as he had actually peed on them. So yes, trying to maim was vastly better than seeing your figurative child pee on the doctor. You’re pretty sure your vet didn’t go through years of schooling and thousands of dollars into debt just to get peed on by your unruly cat. But Grim was won over by the offering of that cat gogurt, his nose and stomach betraying him. Note to self, stock up on some of that stuff.

The rest of the visit went on without a hitch; he had some blood drawn, got his booster shot for rabies, and even managed to squeeze in a bonus nail trim. There was no evidence of any bite or puncture marks, so Grim by some miracle, did indeed have enough brain cells not to get bit.

“Grim will have to be watched for about forty-five days,” the vet hummed, checking Grim’s chart. “Since you don’t have any other animals it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep him in quarantine. If you see any symptoms be sure to bring him back, just in case.” They gave you a tired smile, and then turned that smile towards their cantankerous patient. “And thank you for deciding not to pee on me this time, Grim. I’m not so bad, see?”

Grim swatted at them, which was his answer to the vet’s question. In Grim’s book, the vet was that bad.

Ignoring his attitude, as you would whenever you came across a screaming toddler and exhausted parent while doing your grocery run, you turned back to your vet. “Thank you, and sorry for Grim. If it makes you feel any better, he’s just as much as a gremlin child at home as well.” At least today went better than last time.

The vet chuckled goodheartedly, “Don’t worry about it, I have more unruly patients than little Grim here.”

Damn, they have seen some shit, haven’t they? … Maybe I should, I don’t know, bring them a gift basket next time I’m in? Or maybe a gift card for a spa day or something??? You should really get them something for the amount of dry cleaning they probably needed to do.

With the visit over, and Grim having a clear bill of health, you shoved him back into his carrier with zero decorum, closing the door as fast as possible before he could escape and try to hide behind the counter like he did last time. I know your tricks, cat. Speaking of bills, the one that was waiting for you at the front desk was enough for you to point an icy glare at your unruly ward.

“You’re lucky that I love you, asshole.” And much like the vet you too got a swat as your thank you. Wonder if this is what the Clovers feel about their children? At least their kids didn’t wake them up in the middle of the night with a bat they caught… You shook your head, moving past those thoughts, and hauled your wailing cat back home.

…

...

By the time you got back to your place, it was just a little past noon. The rest of your day was wide open, and you didn’t really have anything else to do, since taking Grim to the vet was the most urgent of your tasks. Your place could benefit from some tidying, since your boss had recently been demanding more as of late and has been even less useful than he usually was… which was saying something. Seriously, how does he have his position? It was baffling. You swore you could hear his monologue playing on loop in your head whenever you thought of the man, which you tried to keep to a minimum for your own sanity… whatever little of it still remained that is.

Shaking your head to rid the annoying voice, you put on your favourite playlist and got to work. You took your time, putting away the dishes, vacuumed the main room, and even got rid of the dust on the high shelves. But your place was small, so it didn’t take very long for you to tidy up, and deep cleaning could wait for another day when you had enough energy to mentally and physically deal with that undertaking.

You knew that your email probably had a few messages, but it could wait. You weren’t on the clock and therefore didn’t have to check it. Only do the stuff you’re required to do when you get paid, it makes your downtime way more enjoyable.

But, you were bored. The cleaning helped with it, but with the majority of it done and the more intense stuff waiting for another day, you had nothing else to do. And while doom scrolling through social media may fill in the time, it too, was boring, predictable.

… There were two people though who were the exact opposite of boring and predictable. And yes, they did give you your fair share of migraines and questioning your life decisions more than you usually do, they were your best friends. And you were in need of having a movie night with them.

Opening up the group chat, you typed in a message.

| The Responsible One | You guys down for a movie night at my place tonight?

And almost immediately, Ace replied.

| Ginger, derogatory | depends  | ya got fiid?

Deuce responded shortly after.

| Mama’s Boi | Yeah, I’m down | What time? | . . . | And what’s fiid?

|The Responsible One | How does 6 sound?

| Ginger, derogatory | IT WAS A TYOP | *TYPO | I MEANT FOOD | F O O D

| Mama’s Boi | 6 works for me

| The Responsible One | I took a screenshot of that btw love you Ace | Thanks Deuce for actually giving me an answer. | What FIID do you guys want?

| Ginger, derogatory | FUCK YOU | … but yeah 6 works 4 me | any is cool with me

| The Responsible One | Yes yes, fuck you too Ace | Bring your own snacks it is then | See you guys at 6!

That gave you about ninety minutes to hide your good snacks, since the last time, Ace had made himself too comfortable and ate all your fancy treats that you paid way too much for. But like they say, you deserve to ‘treat yoself’ … Ace still owed you for those snacks though. They were fucking expensive, prick.

…

Ninety minutes didn’t take very long, but you managed to hide some of the mess that you hadn’t tackled in your bedroom; it could stand to wait. And the first of your dork friends arrived right on time, count on Deuce trying to be punctual… even if he was panting like he had run a marathon to make it.

“You know,” you sighed, “you didn’t have to sprint here.” You grabbed a glass, filled it with some ice water, and handed it over to your flushed and heaving friend. Please don’t pass out on me. “It’s not a race.”

Deuce took the glass and downed it, still catching his breath. He lifted up the tote bag he was carrying, “Mom made brownies.” A series of coughs escaped him, but he gave you a bashful smile and showed off the multiple Tupperware containers filled to the brim with still warm chocolatey divineness. “Didn’t want them to get cold! Oh! She also made extra for you too!”

He is such a sweetheart… but he’s also pretty dense at times, still a sweetie though. You could have just warmed them back up in the microwave — yes, they weren’t the same as fresh from the oven, but still — you didn’t have the heart to tell Deuce that though. He looked so proud that he made it on time and that the brownies were still warm. What did you do to deserve Deuce as a friend? 

“Also,” he fished around the tote bag, “I brought extra popcorn, since we ate all of yours last time.” And he pulled out an unopened bag of popcorn, the bashful smile turning bright.

Deuce took a step forward, but stopped and backpedalled, taking off his shoes. After he set them neatly by the door, he made his way to the kitchen, and set all of his assorted belongings on the meagre counter space. Once he unloaded the tasty cargo, he made his way over to your loveseat, which had seen better days, and sat down, getting comfortable.

He was looking at you, and there was a little crease in between his eyebrows. Deuce only wore that look when he was worried. “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit… off.” 

You gave him a tired smile, “Meh. Tired, stressed, not enough money. You know, the usual.” You noticed that his frown was only deepening, so you took a seat next to him and patted his shoulder. “Seriously, Deuce, I’m okay. Plus you got enough on your own plate without worrying about me. I’m going to be fine.”

Deuce pursed his lips, but let out a long sigh, accepting your answer without much fuss. You were capable of dealing with whatever it was, he knew that. You were one of the most capable, and stubborn, people that he knew. You would be fine in the end. “Whose turn is it to pick the movie this time?” He asked, stretching out, trying not to bump into you.

“Hmm, your turn actually,” you hummed. “But–”

Bzz! Bzzz! BZZZ! Someone was buzzing your door, repeatedly pushing at the button. Only one person you know did that. BZZZZZZZZ! And he wouldn’t let up until you answered the door.

Groaning, you got out of your spot and peaked through the peephole. On the other side was none other than Ace, who’s leg was bouncing and he kept on pushing your damn buzzer.

You only opened the door when he decided to lean on it, making him almost fall… almost. Maybe next time would be the day where you would see him eat dirt. “Happy you could join us on this lovely evening,” you drawl, doing a little bow.

Ace rolled his eyes at you, “Seriously? Feeling petty tonight I see.” He too took off his shoes, since the last time he wore them in and tracked in mud from outside, you made him clean it up. He learned his lesson that day, and really didn’t feel like cleaning your floor again.

You smiled at him, “Yeah, yeah I am~” You dropped the smile and went back to your comfy spot beside Deuce. “Also,” you turned around right as Ace was about to plunder your fridge. You glared at him, and he backed off, giving you a sheepish look. “Don’t even think about stealing my food, there’s popcorn and you have food at your home. Unless you want to start paying for my groceries, stick to what’s on the counter.”

Closing the fridge, Ace busied himself by making himself some popcorn, and sneaking a brownie or two in his mouth as he waited for the microwave to finish making his treat. While he was busy in the kitchen, you and Deuce were slowly going through the seemingly endless catalogue of movies. 

“What are we even watching tonight? There’s no special occasion,” Ace mused, sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. “Action? Horror? Sci-fi? Perhaps,” he paused and made a kissy face, “romance?~”

You stared at him, until he dropped the kissy face. “Never do that again,” you deadpanned, turning back to the screen. “Found something?”

Deuce was hovering over a title, Labyrinth. “Can we watch this? Mom said it was one of her favourites when she was a kid.”

Ace plopped into the armchair, and started chowing down on his fresh popcorn. “Dude, your mom probs just had the hots for, uhhh, Jared? Or whatever his name is.”

You threw a pillow at him, but missed unfortunately, and Ace flipped you off. “First off, Ace, his name is Jareth not Jared. And yeah, we can watch it,” you said, stretching back and getting into prime comfortable blob position. Oh yeah, you weren’t getting back up. 

Once Deuce got up and brought some snacks back in, you started the movie. And damn, these brownies are divine. You really needed to ask Ms. Spade for her recipe. The popcorn was decent, overall meh, but the brownies! THE BROWNIES!!!

You all settled down after being rationed your snacks, and you pressed play. Ace and Deuce both nearly choked on popcorn when Jareth appeared.

“WHY ARE HIS PANTS SO TIGHT?!” They both choked in unison. 

You just rolled your eyes and ignored them, trying to focus on the movie. Other than you nearly having to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on the both of them, the movie continued without incident, until a certain gremlin decided to start crying right as Magic Dance began playing. Seriously Grim, must you choose the most inopportune time to act like Toby does in the movie? But that’s life with a cat.

You paused the movie and looked at Deuce. You were in prime comfortable blob mode, you weren’t getting up. Deuce patted you on the shoulder and went to go see what on Earth Grim was screaming about. Ace just continued to scarf back brownies, thank goodness you hid some away before he got here, or else you wouldn’t have any come tomorrow.

But Deuce came running back out of your room, since that was where Grim was. And you were about to question why he looked like he’d just seen a ghost when something blurred right past him; something small, fuzzy, and flying.

The damn bat is back?! Yeah, you definitely felt like you were cursed.

Now, you could either get up and deal with the bat, since Deuce was just trying to shoo it outside the window with a mop and Ace was screaming much like Grim was, or you could stay warm and comfy and hide under the blanket, pretending that this wasn’t your waking reality…

Option B was really tempting right now, to be honest. Sighing, you got up, massaged your temples to collect yourself, before arming yourself with a broom yet again. Grim has his rabies vaccine, you don’t, so you weren’t taking any chances.

“WHY IS THERE A BAT IN YOUR APARTMENT?!” Ace hissed, ducking as the bat swooped near him.

You opened the window right open, almost threatening to take it off its bearings, “Because the universe hates me, that’s why!” Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it contain a seed of truth? Yes. So that’s what you went with. Was it really an exaggeration though? In the past twenty-four hours it really felt like the universe was sending you a personal ‘Fuck You ♡ ' letter with a kiss mark on the envelope.

You and Deuce tried to work together as a team to coax the bat outside. Come on, the window is wide open. Come on bat, get your fuzzy ass out of my place. 

All that was happening though, was some scene that belonged in a Three Stooges act. With Ace and Grim screeching — yes they counted as one collective unit — Deuce trying his best, but not getting anywhere, and you feeling like you were about to explode from the stress and noise. Even on an impromptu day off, you didn’t get a break, not really.

Getting whisked away by the Goblin King is looking real appealing right now. The bat swooped down close to you, and your instincts kicked in and you swung at it, making it crash land into your coffee table, right into the popcorn. And alongside the popcorn getting spilled everywhere, there was also a poof of green sparkles.

When the green sparkles subsided, there was a strange person with long black hair and red streaks, wearing something that looked straight out of a Ren Faire, and he was standing on your table. The strange man looked straight at you, and you looked back, blinking fast. Did Ms. Spade give us a different kind of brownie? Or is this actually happening?

He snapped his fingers, and you watched as he slowly disappeared into another poof of green sparkles. You were backing up, since hey there was a stranger in your place out of nowhere, but thanks to your shit luck, you tripped over your own feet, tumbling into them. And as the green poof subsided, both you, and the stranger, were nowhere to be seen. Leaving a very confused Ace, Deuce, and Grim to wonder what the hell happened to you.

And honestly? You were thinking the same. Where the FUCK am I?!

...

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...

...

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; And I'm finally showing this to the world, after months of collecting dust in my Google Docs. I have no idea how long this fic will go on for, and the length may be dictated by how much feedback and interaction this gets, so yeah. General rating for this is Teen but might change in the future; I won't tag people if that happens though, cuz, yeah.

If you enjoyed this story, and want to read more of my stuff while I slowly work on more installments to this fic, check out my masterlist! Please ignore any spelling mistakes, I write and die with no beta.

[sixeyesanddaydreaming]

komorebi (sunlight filtering through leaves) — clan heir gojo satoru x (f) servant reader

tags and warnings: post-hidden inventory/premature death, no use of 'yn', reader and gojo are in their early 20s and silly virgins, fluff and mutual fascination, the Gojo Clan being canon-typical patriarchal misogynists, power imbalances, mentions of coercion, implied sexual content, gojo being an apathetic yet horny little shit, gojo being a spoiled little shit to his family + broken marriage alliances.

wc: 4.4k

☁️ author's notes: Sorry this lacks plot and is just me horny posting without going all damn way... this is just vv self-indulgent fluff and some spice. I forgot where I came across this headcanon where the Gojo Clan elders want to teach Satoru the importance of "bedroom etiquette" and send girls his way so he can learn how to fuck. But there's no way he did not watch AVs when he was in Tokyo. 😂

୨୧ images used are from pinterest unless stated otherwise.

🎧 now playing... harenohini by ushio reira | please take everything i have by milkoi

Satoru was often reminded of his obligations to his family— producing an heir was most paramount.

After having graduated from Tokyo Jujutsu High and now at the perfect age to learn about bedroom etiquette, his clan wouldn't permit just anyone into his quarters. For his first partner, they selected a faceless, nameless girl who had never been with a man, clean and virtuous— pretty, pleasant, and pliant— you, despite your pleas for mercy and reconsideration. This wasn't part of the deal, whatever it was…

The young master was a boy, after all, with impulses unknown even to his own family. Not only that, you've been told he had "glowing eyes" like a "freak of nature", and his gaze would "bore holes into your very soul". The idea scared you and the rest of the young maids back when it was merely a vague concept, but now that it was happening, you were terrified. Everything was compounded by the threat of getting fired and thrown out onto the streets if you couldn't perform your new duties properly. The women of the Gojo Clan dressed you in a yukata worth more than your wages, your body now an offering underneath all the silk, embossed patterns, and fine thread— like wrapping paper over an unwanted present. They spoke of how their young master was at his "age of exploration" and sternly warned you against returning to them untouched— that you must warm up and be honored by the idea— the privilege— of sharing the bed of the strongest sorcerer of your generation and become his instrument for gleaning sexual knowledge.

There was little you could do the moment you were thrust into the dimness of the young master's den, the tremble in your body uncontained and uncontrolled, though you held back your cries.

"Who's there? I told you to leave me be."

The voice, rich and deep, came from the innermost part of the dimly lit bedroom. Padded footsteps approached you from behind, the weight of each step made evident to you as his shadow lengthened across the aged walls and tatami floor.

"You… Don't tell me my family put you up to this."

Chilled sweat rolled down your nape, pooling and disappearing into the eri of your yukata. You couldn't bring yourself to turn around and face the young master of the house, though you could feel the weight of his rumored gaze on you.

Cleaning the walls and the halls of the esteemed Gojo Clan would have been enough. The days were long and the job was arduous, but it guaranteed three meals a day, a roof over your head, and part of your salary sent to your family, surely enough to get them through the seasons. If you had known of this task beforehand, you would have at least prepared— No, there's no preparing for this. I was taken in to be a maid, nothing more. I've no knowledge of pleasuring a man. I'm not supposed to be here! 

And yet there you were. It was clear that the Gojo Clan had no intention of letting you slip past this ordeal. Fighting against the orders meant giving up your life as it was, while surrendering to the circumstances would reassure your place in this world.

Not that you ever felt like you had one. But even with a different deck, the cards you've been dealt are nothing new. You slowly turned around and prostrated yourself before the man who stood behind you, eyes closed tight and your head lowered to his feet, not at all glancing at him in fear of further invoking his fiery glare.

"I-I am h-here t-to s-serve you, w-waka-sama," you managed to chirp, the quiver of your lips uncontainable. "This may be bold to ask for someone of my station, b-but may you p-please be kind to me? I-I've not been w-with a man…"

The young master crouched down, though you didn't notice, and the glint of the glimmering hairpin fixed on top of your head caught his curious eye.

It was a white lily.

His family has always been keen on symbolism— tradition, and ritual, too. This whole rigid concept of their heir having to learn bedroom etiquette should have been made obsolete long ago, in the Meiji Era. It was absurd that his family thought he had no idea how to make his dick work on his wedding night— or when the right occasion eventually arises. He was informed of this practice and that his "first fruit" would be presented to him one of these nights, even though he had already verbally rebuffed the thought.

Ridiculous, he thought to himself. It was annoying beyond end that the elders would push their sick, draconian practices on him, but the sight of this shaken girl pleading for his kindness ticked him off even more.

Your fingers, though placed together in a measured manner that revealed your diligence, visibly trembled under his observant gaze— but you didn't know that.

"You're a virgin," Satoru snorted at your revelation. It was clear from your practiced, dainty, virginal gestures that you had never known a man all your sheltered life. "Please. Do you think I'm some kind of brute who would take you against your will?"

"I— I don't f-follow…" You suddenly sputtered out, though you were unsure what to say to that statement. The young master was expected to take you, and you had to go to him willingly— or at least try to be. He sounded extremely uninterested in this ordeal, though, and you had no idea what it would mean for you.

"You're shaking like a drenched chick, and you sound like you're being squeezed to death because of how scared you are," he snickered at your supposedly pitiful countenance, though his voice softened as he gave you his first— and possibly last— order of the night. "Raise your head. You'll permit me a look at my 'first fruit' before I return you to the basket, won't you?"

"Of… Of course, waka-sama…" You did as he commanded, slowly and carefully raising your face to meet his own, and you could feel the tightness of your expression melt away as you came eye to eye with him. His shoulders were broad, his dull gray yukata taut over the span of his chest. His feathery lashes matched his silver hair, and his bright blue eyes were not freakish as carelessly described by the people of this house, but they were indeed haunting— melancholic, even. He was younger than you initially thought, perhaps even close to you in age— that's why he's called waka-sama, after all. How stupid of me.

The young master is handsome, was all your simple mind could come up with. Silver hair, blue eyes, tall nose, pert lips… Not to mention the sound of his voice… He looked and spoke and moved with an otherworldly air about him, and you had to admit then and there that he fascinated you. 

A crooked smile broke across Satoru's pensive visage. Even in the somber dimness of his room, he could make out your fine features, such as the rouge that tinged your cheeks, the sheen of peach-colored gloss over your parted lips, and the twinkle of trepidation and curiosity in your eyes, as though you've seen something you shouldn't have yet you couldn't tear your gaze away from it.

Pretty, he thought. He'd had to give his family credit for using his weakness for pretty girls to their advantage. Pretty girls were just one of the many revolting things he and Suguru had in common, as they broke out of their shells of innocent boyhood and declared themselves the kings of the wild frontiers— in their unironic, juvenile pride. 

Oh. To think that he'd still remember him so fondly after all that's happened. All because of your pretty face.

"Well, you look sweet enough."

"Sweet… enough?" You echoed his statement in confusion, to sudden realization. "Oh, because I'm a f-fruit, right?"

He chuckled at your cluelessness before eventually holding out a hand to you. "Don't worry. I won't lay my hands on you. I'm not as depraved as those old farts waiting in vigil outside my room. Though it'd be a shame to send you back to the basket so soon. If you're not opposed to keeping me company for the night, you should stay."

"Oh, o-of course not, waka-sama. Is there anything you'd like me to do for you? I, uh, I can, um… massage your back o-or something? Or perhaps your… feet? I'm rather capable despite how I look," you replied to him, placing your smaller hand in his, allowing yourself to be pulled back up to your feet as he rose himself. Your heart swelled with hope, touched by the unexpected warmth and kindness expressed by the young master of this house. 

Your timidity amused him, but if they were going to send a girl to him, they could have at least selected someone who wasn't opposed to the idea of losing her virginity to him. Contrary to the rumors that sprang about after his homecoming, he was not a freak who derived pleasure from deflowering girls one by one. The ordeal was just as strange for him, and he knew there was no changing his clan's antiquated manner of managing their prestigious household, whether it came to their home itself, their sterling reputation, or matters pertaining to him, the heir. 

And besides that, it wasn't like he didn't know how this thing worked. It dawned on him now how foolish he was for laughing at you because you were a virgin when he was no different, just more informed than you were. Going to Tokyo for high school was one of the best decisions he'd ever made, and he doesn't regret it one bit despite everything that happened, but now that he was back home, though just for a short while, he's once again reminded of the absurdity he wanted to leave behind. 

One day, his ancestors decided, "The heir must know how to conduct himself in the bedroom so he will not fail on his first night with his bride. He must possess this knowledge and peruse of it to ensure he will father heirs and many other children," and here he was now, tormented by that very decree, hundreds of years into the future. 

Though if he was tormented by it, you were suffering, evidently so by the way you pursed your lips and lowered your lashes away from his gaze. 

"My… My apologies, waka-sama, but I can't— I can't return to my mistress if you do not… m-make use of m—"

"Don't," he shook his head and uttered the single word like a groan of complaint, pulling you close as he led you deeper into his bedroom. "Don't say that. You're not an object to be used. You're… You know what, start by telling me your name, my sweet little fruit."

You felt heat creep up from your neck to your face when you heard his silly endearment. "M-My name is…" 

The sound of his low voice repeating your name caught you off guard. He said it with utmost care, as though he was committing it to memory. Even though he didn't have to. And the young master was kind enough to lead you to the warmest place in his bedroom by hand, despite the nervous sweat pooling in your clasped palms. The lantern light danced over your features, the golden glow revealing your tangible apprehension. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the circumstances. You were free to go, but you couldn't leave, either. 

"Welcome to my childhood bedroom. I used to have all the newest toys back in the days," he spoke in a way that felt grounding, like you've been friends for a long, long time, chasing away the initial trepidation that wrapped your entire being. "My toy chest is gone, but the place is just as I remember leaving it when I moved to Tokyo for high school."

"I see…"

Satoru gradually released you from his hold as he lowered himself to his futon, making it clear to you that he had no intention of forcing this ordeal onto you.

"You're free to stay the night, but I won't share my bed with someone who doesn't want to. I'm not so depraved that I'd force you to do this against your will. However, if you come to me of your own volition, then…"  

…But he wasn't opposed to the idea of you warming his bed, either.

"The others talk about me, do they not?" he said with a small laugh. "And don't think about lying because I sensed your fear the moment they pushed you into my bedroom, which was uncalled for, by the way. This is why the household help is so scared of me."

A strange yet comfortable silence settled between you even as he left you standing there to contemplate his words. Whispers from outside his room could be heard, the paper-thin walls revealing the shuffling of footsteps away from the halls. Their lanterns were dimmed and eventually snuffed out, their presence dissipating like the smoke rising to the night sky. 

"Did they… leave?" You quietly asked as you turned your eyes to the shoji across the room. The hallway was completely dark, and you could tell from the way Satoru sighed in relief that they were indeed gone. 

"Good riddance," he said, his voice now low and lazy. "I thought I'd never get to relax."

You still stood there right where he left you, mere steps away from his futon. With everyone's watchful eyes now turned away from his room, he carelessly sprawled over his bed and stretched his arms and legs as far as they could go, a lax groan of comfort escaping his lips. Looking at him this way, he was more of a boy than the terrifying obelisk he was made out to be.

Just a boy. Incredibly handsome. You saw now exactly why the women of his clan talked him up as some god of past eras reborn. 

Only the gods you knew weren't as kind. 

He didn't anticipate your eventual agreement to this arrangement. He visibly froze when you finally moved from your position, kneeling before his lantern to snuff out the candlelight. 

"If… If you will permit me to… share your bed for the night, waka-sama…"

The silver moonlight faded as purple clouds danced across the night sky. Satoru couldn't read your expression when you turned to him, but it was clear by the warmth of your steady hand on his that you had made up your mind. 

"Do you… Come to me of your own volition?" Satoru asked you, his words heavy, but his breath now even more so. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

To speak in vivid detail of how his mere presence filled the air like heat going to your head and how the depth of his azure gaze— aloof and unreadable, yet also warm— stirred a feeling in the pit of your stomach… You'd never be able to. Eloquence was never your strength, but if anything, you were honest. 

"Y-You're not a freak," you stated plainly. You weren't prepared for the laughter that left his lips, unfiltered and thundering in your chest as he sat up to meet your gaze even in the dark. 

"That's right. I'm not a freak. Just a man," he stated, bringing a hand to your cheek. His movements were restrained, almost reverent, even… His cold knuckles tenderly brushed over the curve of your warm face, fingers gliding over your jaw as though he wanted to memorize your shape. "You're beautiful."

You raised your hand, tentatively, at first, before eventually allowing yourself to gently press your fingers against his throat, your palm slowly gliding up to his jaw, tracing his features like precious sumi ink on paper. "Waka-sama…"

A low chuckle left his lips, his breath ghosting over yours as he pulled you close, the distance between you vanishing. "Just Satoru. Even just for tonight."

You nodded at his command, eyes instinctively fluttering closed as he pressed his lips onto yours, the sweet taste of whatever it was he had for dessert still lingering in his mouth. Everything felt electric to you in that moment— the brush of his silver lashes against your cheek, how his lips moved and coaxed you to soften, his large, calloused hands cupping your face, your name uttered like a sutra… 

The memory of your first kiss is seared into your heart, like coals burning in your mouth, the flesh of your cheeks raw and soft from the heat. Only there were no scars, but just the desire to do it all over again until it was indelible. Until the next one comes, and you're chasing this very feeling, and you'll think to yourself that nothing can compare to it— 

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, prompting a concerned pause from Satoru. "Are you all right? We can always stop if you change your mind."

You shook your head at him, raising the sleeve of your yukata to your eyes. "No, I'm all right. It just… feels as though I am some precious treasure you're so careful with."

He searched your face for any hint of manipulation— because he knew his family wasn't above using such tactics to keep him in heel. Yet the sincerity in your voice seeped through your every syllable, slipping through the unknown cracks in his facade of apathy. Your face, warm as a steamed meatbun, fit right in his hands. He spoke to his family earlier about his lack of strength or patience to interact with anyone, be it physical contact or just a mere conversation, but he found himself eating his words at that very moment. 

It was you who leaned into him this time, nimble fingers clinging onto his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you coyly tilted your head for another kiss. 

Oh. Here we go. And here I thought I'd never find myself playing in the palm of their hands. The rest of Satoru's thoughts were drowned out by the way you kissed him, a clumsy yet sweet imitation of his movements mere moments ago. Without even breaking your contact, he wrapped his hands around your waist and hoisted you onto his lap, angling your legs in a way that made you straddle him. 

With your obi slowly coming loose, he made easy work of undressing you, layers of the silk peeled off in measured patience. He didn't want to seem too eager for this, but his palms only got warmer the more layers were discarded, your heat clinging to the costly material until he felt it radiating from your bare, balmy skin. The warmth of a real girl.

"Don't forget to breathe," he managed between your kisses, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he observed your expression through half-lidded eyes. He lifted his hand to hold your chin in place as he instructed you— "Open your mouth."

You did so, tempering your breath as you parted your lips for him to allow an open-mouthed kiss. His hand now rested on your nape, steadying you as he moved to lay you down. He loomed over you, your shared warm breath and exhaling fanned over your face, the evening breeze making you conscious of your bareness laid out before him. 

Satoru dipped his hand between your legs, his slender fingers gently gliding over that place— a place that has never been touched by anyone other than yourself.

"O-Oh— w-waka-sama—!" Your cries came unbidden, as clear as wind chimes on a breezy afternoon. You're only hearing your voice just now, careless and obscene— as the young master of this house caressed your entrance with the pad of his middle finger. It was him you called out to, beads of sweat twinkling as they glided down the curve of your breasts, your chest heaving as you chased your breath, the sound of your lewd voice slicing through the silence of his room…

His lips visibly quivered, a pleased smile forming as he swallowed down the knot of nerves caught in his throat. 

…Nothing like those shitty AVs he and Suguru and their underclassmen have been passing around…

"My name," he stated as he positioned himself between your legs, his thighs spreading you apart as carefully as he could. 

"S-Satoru-sama…" 

"Don't… Don't hold back your voice," Satoru held your wrist as you raised your hand to cover your mouth, shaking his head as he grinned from ear to ear. "Let the whole house hear you."

"Th-That'smmmn—" 

He kissed you quiet, his movements both fluid and clumsy, and it was only when you broke apart to breathe that he spoke one last time. 

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Satoru admitted against your skin, his voice heavy but truthful. "But I want to get this right. I don't want to hurt you."

You shook your head at him, raising your hand to cup his cheek, his gentle tremors passed onto you. You knew you had no power here except for whatever he allowed you, but he wasn't like that— If he had wanted to hurt you, he would've done so from the start.

"You won't."

That night was filled with inelegant fumbling, hands on skin, questions of consent— You're certain? Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?— words of tender affirmation— You're so, so, beautiful… You feel so good… And words you hadn't had the chance to react to because of the crippling pleasure you felt— I'm gonna fill you up! And fuck you stupid! They want a kid from me? Bear my child!… And despite that uncharacteristic mean streak, he still managed to brush away the hair that stuck to your face— and kiss you— like his life depended on it.

And you prayed— to the kindest god you've ever met— that he remains just as kind to the one that comes after you. 

There was no next girl, yet he was just as kind. It was as though he heard your unspoken prayer, but you knew it was just natural for him. It was only you he wanted, night after night, your voice echoing his name in the halls, your body pliant in his hands. Rumors swirled once more about you becoming his favorite mistress, overshadowing even the news of his bride's selection. 

But there was little the Gojo Clan could do the moment Satoru stepped out of the shrine and ran back to their estate, leaving his bride behind and embarrassing their families in the process. Yet it was clear to the clan elders that their heir had made his choice long before the ceremony and ritual were even planned. Long before his arranged marriage was even planned.

Satoru didn't care. He couldn't care less what everyone else thought about him at that moment. He warned his family about his plans and that he'd go rogue in the most unexpected moment if he didn't get what he wanted. He spoke candidly of his desires and even begged for his family's consideration, all for them to spurn him— for daring to reject the exalted bride they chose for him. For choosing you instead, a daughter from the lowest-ranking vassal house under the Gojo Clan's protection. A nobody.

Perhaps it was his family's fault and folly. You were taken in by the lady of the house to become one of her son's many maids, your family more than eager to be rid of you and reacted to your new occupation under happy pretenses. The madam thought you were pretty, pleasant, and pliant, no more than another flower in bloom to decorate their ornate halls. What the elders had in store for you was the main reason for all their grief— if only they knew.

The silence of the Gojo Estate was shattered as Satoru stormed through every room in search of you, disrobing from his traditional wedding garb as it slowed his blazing stride. He found you amid your fellow maids in the servants' quarters, all huddled together while snacking on dried fruit and various sweets. The girls who did not know him were shocked by his entrance, the shoji rattling open, followed by his thundering footsteps. 

"Waka-sama?!" You exclaimed in surprise, the girls gathering behind you as you raised the sleeve of your yukata to shield them from his sight.

He stilled in his spot, his breaths long and drawn until he managed to calm his every sense. "You're coming with me." 

"But… But today is—!" You protested, voice cracking amid your realization. He left his bride. For you. "You…"

"They'll get over it. They have no choice, after all. There is no one else in this world who is like me. And they'll have no choice but to accept my decision. I want no one else but you," he stated, rushing past the rest of the maids and heading right towards where you stood. "You don't have to bring anything with you. We'll start our lives there. With people I actually trust."

His bold declaration prompted murmurs from the more elderly servants, some shaking their heads in disapproval, muttering things like, "What they'll have is a cursed union." 

"S-So you're not just g-going to make her your mistress, waka-sama?!" One of the younger maids from behind your sleeve managed to squeak. "What are you waiting for?! Go with him! A man who's willing to piss off his family for love is worth meeting halfway, don't you think?!"

"She's right! You've been sulking non-stop since we woke up!" Another spoke up, straightening her back as your fellow maids ushered you forward, into the young master's embrace. "The gods must have heard your prayers!"

You've stopped believing in gods the moment your family abandoned you to the hands of fate, nary a care about whatever future was in store for you. But on that fateful night, as you lay there a ripe offering, a "first fruit", you prayed to one— and here he was.

You didn't need anyone else to persuade you not to look back as you rose to the celestials yourself, hand in hand with the only deity you'll believe in from now on.  

☁️ By sixeyesanddaydreaming. Please don't copy, plagiarize, or use my work to train AI. Please do not repost them to any other social media platforms. / masterlist

[hellfiresky]

The rain pauses too

Summary: A chance encounter during a rainy afternoon in Coruscant’s Federal District leads to a fleeting conversation between a weary worker and an equally tired clone trooper.

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2067

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my very first x Reader fic and my first-ever one-shot! Inspired by today’s rainy morning that lingered until midday, paired with Vienna by Billy Joel playing on repeat.

Join the taglist if you’re interested

(Rex picture from TCW and Coruscant from Episode III, Yannick Dusseault. The photo in the middle is courtesy of myself)

———————————————————————————

You finger brushed your damp hair back and tucked it behind your ears. The hovertrain was busy that morning, like almost every morning in the Galactic City. You couldn’t remember when was the last time you could effortlessly enter the train and get yourself a seat - you always had to squeeze your way in and hope to god you wouldn’t crash into someone holding a hot caf and spilled it on their shirt. This time, at least, you managed to snag a free grab handle - better than leaning awkwardly against the separator by the door. It was raining again. You wondered if the weather control systems were glitching. There’d been reports about that last month - supposed to be summer, but instead, everyone was layering up like it was autumn. It took a week for the engineers to fix it because, of course, the topsiders raised hell over their ruined summer picnics.

The next station is Orowood. The doors on the right side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.

A sigh escaped your lips. Five more stations, you thought. You wished you could live closer to your office, but your mid-level salary didn’t stretch to the business district. You wonder how it would be when the war ends - would it be cheaper then? Or would things be worse? And this entire galaxy would go into a galactic-wide dystopia and you would have to find the latest available commercial starship to fuck off this planet and go to some desolate rock like Tatooine? Or worse, a Cthon outbreak might turn the Remnants of Us holoseries into reality. At least that universe had that handsome Kiffar actor.

The next station is Calocour Heights. The doors on the left side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Change here for the Federal, Southern, Rotunda, and Uscru Line.

Finally. You muttered the word under your breath as you double-checked your pockets - no pickpockets today, thankfully. You slipped into the river of commuters flowing towards the escalators, and finally broke off towards your usual tapcafe as its shutters slid open. Four people ahead in line. Not bad. You stepped into place, already tasting the first sip of caf. The next few minutes was a blur, it was like your body moving on autopilot to where you work as a communications specialist for the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund. The next thing you knew you were in front of your terminal, clacking on your keyboard for the next press release on the joint effort between ICAF and the Galactic Senate, a collaboration so mind-numbingly routine.

Your datapad vibrated on the desk, demanding your attention. You scrolled through the business group chats. The protocol group for the Core Worlds Educational Reform Committee hadn’t replied to your request for a quote from their head senator. Typical. You’d sent the request yesterday, clearly marked urgent, but as usual, anything involving Senate bureaucracy felt like trying to steer a starship through a nebula without sensors. You returned to the draft on your screen, re-reading it for the third time, wondering if you could sneak in one of the standard placeholder quotes: "This initiative is a testament to the enduring cooperation between the Galactic Senate and civic organisations like ICAF." You winced. Generic. Sounded like you asked a droid to write it. Still, it might have to do unless the protocol group got their act together.

By the time your shift ended, the rain had returned, misting the transparisteel windows of Galactic City's towering spires. The train ride home felt heavier somehow, and you didn’t even bother to grab a handle this time, just leaned back against the cold separator and let your mind drift. You thought about nothing. You thought about everything. About how things might get worse before they got better - if they ever got better. Funnily, nothing was happening. It was neutral. Your life was neutral. You had a great career, a group of friends that you occasionally have drinks with, a nice one bedroom apartment in Orange District. It was alright.

Along the way, you changed your mind and got off the train at the Federal District where you were greeted by the drizzle. The shoes you’d splurged on last week as a treat splashed against shallow puddles as you turned down a quieter street, a detour you didn’t usually take. It was quieter here. Dimmer. And you liked that. You didn’t usually come to the Federal District unless work demanded it, but today you thought it might be worth reacquainting yourself. Another annual event loomed in the horizon - a grand affair hosted by the Galactic Senate involving a coalition of organisations, including your own. Something about health and youth in conflict zones - worthy on paper, meaningless in execution. You’d written enough press releases to know these things rarely scratched the surface, let alone solved anything. You marvelled at how different the neighbourhood is compared to the other topside districts - always well-guarded and clean.

You spotted the venue where the event will be held and watched from under your umbrella. You could already picture it: the Senate representatives filing in, the Chancellor delivering the opening remarks, followed by yet another speech from your organisation’s representative. Then more speeches, probably a ribbon-cutting ceremony, some small side events for civilians to engage with the cause. Booths would line the promenade, showcasing what the organisations and the Senate claimed they were accomplishing. And, of course, the obligatory doorstop interviews.

“Excuse me,”

A sudden jolt rushed into you. You knew that tone. You’d forgotten where you were for a moment, and now, the realisation hit you. Loitering is probably prohibited here.

“Sorry... I—I was just looking at...” You trailed off, flailing your hand vaguely at the outdoor venue in front of the Senate Building ahead. “I’m from ICAF. You know, the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund? There’s an event there in two weeks, and I was just—”

“It’s okay,” the man bowed his head and shook it with a quiet chuckle. “Calm down. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”

His tone was disarming, almost amused, and it let you take in his appearance for the first time. He was a clone trooper - you knew that armour anywhere. It wasn’t the same as the ones stationed locally, though. His was a combination of white and blue, looked worn with several tally marks on its vambrace. He also had blonde hair that was buzzed very short. Definitely not a rookie.

“But,” he jerked his head towards a nearby window, “it might be better if you didn’t loiter too long. My brother over there already thought you were a threat.”

He pointed with his palm towards another trooper, this one in red armour. The man stood near a small group, some in full armour, others in those familiar grey uniforms. They were gathered inside a modest diner, chatting over caf and food that steamed faintly against the glass. You could tell by their body language it was their usual haunt.

“Oh,” you managed, darting your eyes between the trooper in front of you and the group by the window. “A threat? Me?”

“I believe you. But Commander Fox over there sometimes thinks a kid standing too long in front of the Senate Building is trying to hack into the Republic’s server. Let alone an adult like you.” You blinked, unsure if he was joking. Either way, you let out a professional laugh - the kind you’d perfected after years of working alongside the bureaucracy of the government. Polite, restrained, and noncommittal.

“Sounds like a… cautious guy,” you said. The trooper’s lips curved into a wry smile, flicking his gaze briefly towards the diner where the red-armoured clone - Commander Fox, apparently - stood with his brothers. “Cautious is one word for it.” It struck you how out of place they looked here, despite the Federal District’s veneer of order. Soldiers in a city that didn’t feel like theirs, in a galaxy that seemed to stretch farther and farther from anything resembling peace.

“Must be exhausting,” you murmured, the thought slipping out before you could stop it. “Always having to look over your shoulder.” The rain filled the silence that followed, soft patters against the pavement and your umbrella. You waited for a reply, but the man beside you stayed quiet. That was it, you thought - you’d done it again. Crossed a line without realising it. You shifted uncomfortably, ready to apologise or maybe just walk away, when he broke the silence.

“It is,” he said at last. “But it’s not just him. It’s everyone, these days.”

You caught his profile as he gazed out into the street. His tired eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I guess we all do, in our own way,” you tried to meet him halfway. “Different reasons. Different things we’re afraid of.”

“You don’t look like someone who’s afraid of much.”

“You’d be surprised.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

Another lingering silence followed as though the conversation had reached an unspoken understanding. You didn’t press him for more, and he didn’t offer it.

“Anyway, you should pro–”

“Yes,” you finished for him. You followed him back across the street. The rain still fell steadily, painting the streets in muted reflections of street lamps and shopfront signs. Ahead of you, a row of businesses lined up - tapcafes with warm, inviting light spilling from their windows, a newsagent with a glowing sign advertising the latest headlines, and a pharmacy with shelves barely visible through the foggy window. Among them was the small diner he’d pointed to earlier. Through the window, you could still see the men inside in various states of relaxation, probably sharing war stories - or so you concluded in your head.

“Not exactly your standard war zone,” you murmured as you took in the scene.

He chuckled softly. “No. But sometimes you have to make peace where you can.”

You studied the way their armour contrasted the casualness of the place. “Do you get many moments like this?”

“Not often,” he admitted. “But when they come, you hold onto them. You take what you can get.”

One of the troopers inside had noticed the two of you and nudged another, who turned to look. You wondered what they thought of this. Of their brother standing in the rain, talking to a stranger who clearly didn’t belong in their world any more than they did in yours.

“Do you ever get tired?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Of always having to take what you can get? Of never having more?”

“All the time,” he let out a deep sigh. “But tired doesn’t mean done.” There was something grounding in the way he said it. No resignation, no, but a quiet resilience you didn’t think you had in yourself. Of having to keep moving through this wheel of life. “We slow down,” he added with a smile, “Better cool it off before we burn it out, yeah?”

“Coruscant by Bili J’ole?” you chuckled.

“Love that track,” he mirrored your laugh, warmth creeping to his tone. “But I guess it was written for non-clones like you. Slow down, don’t be too ambitious, take your comlink off the hook, and all.” He raised both hands as if to say he wasn’t part of that world.

“Well,” you said softly, cocking your chin towards the diner. “I guess this is where you head back to… not being done and not disappearing.”

He looked at you for a moment, and you thought he might say something more. But then he just smiled. A small, tired smile..

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Thanks for the company,” you offered a small smile of your own.

You lingered for a moment longer, watching as he turned and headed back to the diner, one of his brothers in orange and white armour opened the door for him and slung his arm around his shoulders. Then you turned too, just as the rain eased into a soft drizzle. You folded your umbrella, shaking off the droplets, and began mentally listing your unfinished to-do list for the day.

Neither of you asked for a name. Neither of you looked back.

[paystubusa]

Online 8829 Form For Office: How To Maximize Tax Savings

First of everything, you need to know what an Online 8829 Form. IRS Form 8829 is usually used by self-employed individuals. By using this tool, you can easily calculate and report the allowable expenses for your business. And it even allows for the deduction of certain home-related costs, which are given here.

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 2: Tidal Forces

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don��t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

The store Caleb takes me to is nothing short of outrageous. It boasts an overwhelming array of high-end furniture, each piece embedded with entirely unnecessary tech. 

Do couches really need built-in speakers? Cup holders that can heat and cool drinks on demand? Recliners that give you a full-body massage while simulating the sound of a crackling fireplace? I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these beds came with an AI that whispered affirmations while you slept.

I try not to look at the price tags. I really do. But the few glimpses I accidentally catch nearly send me into cardiac arrest. Who in their right mind pays this much for a coffee table? Is it made of enchanted wood? Will it levitate and brew coffee for me in the morning?

Still, despite my incredulous muttering, the second I so much as glance at an item with a hint of interest, Caleb is on it. He either picks it up or scans it into his virtual cart with the efficiency of someone who doesn’t care about financial consequences.

“Caleb,” I hiss as he casually adds an absurdly expensive throw blanket to the list. “You don’t have to—”

“You like it,” he says simply, as if that settles everything.

“That’s not a reason to buy it!”

He gives me a pointed look. “In my book, it is.”

I stare at him, then at the virtual cart, then back at him. “You know this is insane, right?”

“Of course,” he grins. “But at least you’ll be comfy while sufferin’ through it.”

“Caleb, seriously. This is too much!” I protest, but he tilts his head, as if I’m speaking a language he’s never heard before. “Some of this stuff costs more than my entire yearly salary!”

“Well,” he muses, lips twitching, “you could always join the Fleet as my permanent adjutant. I’d make sure you’re well compensated—great benefits, too. And you’d have the world’s coolest boss.”

I bump my shoulder against his, and though he tries to bite back a grin, laughter slips through anyway. It’s effortless—this rhythm between us—jokes, banter, a dance we’ve long since mastered. Just like that, my earlier hesitation melts away, dissolving like mist in the morning sun.

As we weave through the aisles, a massive apple plushie perched high on a shelf catches my eye.

“I want that,” I announce, pointing.

Caleb follows my line of sight, then snorts. “Really? Where are you even going to put that thing?”

“In my bed,” I reply, as if the answer is obvious. “Where else?”

He hums, rubbing his chin in exaggerated thought. “Ah, I see. Trying to replace me with the plushie.”

For a fleeting second, his expression cracks, but it’s gone before I can name it, replaced by his usual teasing smirk.

“It’s way up there,” he mentions. “How do you plan on getting it down?”

“I’ll go get a—”

Before I can finish, gravity bends around me, and I rise effortlessly into the air. Caleb’s Evol.

“Trust me, pip-squeak?”

“With my life.”

The ascent is smooth and steady. I remember when he was still learning, when his control would slip and send me rocketing into the sky. I used to beg him to launch me straight into space—just to see if he could.

I reach for the plushie, securing it in my arms, and flash him a triumphant thumbs-up. Seconds later, my feet meet solid ground once more. Caleb takes the apple from me, inspecting it with pursed lips, clearly unimpressed by my choice.

“Come on. Let’s pay for this,” he sighs. “If I don’t get food in you soon, I’ll be dealing with a grump.”

“You!” I gasp, swatting his chest in mock outrage. “I do not get grumpy when I’m hungry!”

He levels me with a knowing look. “Remember that time at the amusement park when you sat down in the middle of the walkway and refused to move because the restaurant was ‘too far away’?”

“Nope,” I chirp, shaking my head, smile as innocent as I can manage. “Pretty sure you’re making that up.”

“I wish I was. I had to carry you all the way there while you pouted.”

I roll my eyes but concede with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But can we eat at home? I think I’m all ‘people’d out’ for the day.”

“Sure thing.” Caleb nods, digging through his pockets for the car keys. “I’ll pay for this stuff and meet you outside.”

I hesitate, uneasy about leaving him with the bill. But, luckily, I have a secret weapon.

When Caleb was declared dead, his accounts were transferred to me—next of kin. I never touched them, but I’m almost certain I still have access. I make a mental note to quietly transfer some funds back.

I remember how, for months after his funeral, I kept paying his cellphone bill. On the loneliest nights, I would call—just to hear his voice when the voicemail picked up. Sometimes I’d do it over and over, as if pressing redial could summon him back.

Now, I wonder… did he have his phone all along?

Did he listen to the messages where I wept, where I whispered how much I missed him? Did he hear the ones where I told him I loved him and I was lost without him?

And still, he never reached out.

A part of me can’t let go of that. A quiet, aching resentment curls in my chest—he could have sent me a sign. When we were kids, we spoke in codes, messages woven into the mundane, undetectable to anyone but us. 

It started as a game—to hide our plans from Gran when we snuck chocolates instead of fruit from the store—but over time, it became our own secret language.

Could he not have used that?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s better that way.

But the bitterness lingers, a quiet ghost pressing against the edges of my thoughts, whispering of things I cannot change.

The rain had been relentless that day. A cold, unyielding downpour that seeped into my skin, soaked through my black dress, and weighed heavy in my hair. I remember how the world blurred—water streaking down my face, mixing with the tears I couldn’t stop.

Caleb’s funeral had been full of people, but I only remember fragments. The gleaming rows of dress uniforms, white gloves curled into fists, polished boots sinking into the mud. His squadmates stood like statues, their grief hidden behind rigid salutes and solemn faces. The flag draped over his casket was crisp, untouched by the rain, as if it existed in a different reality—one where he was still alive. One where I wasn’t standing there, drowning in loss.

I couldn’t stop staring at the casket. At the smooth, dark wood that felt so impersonal, so unlike him. Caleb had been all warmth and laughter, a constant force in my life. Then, he was just… gone.

My hands curled around the small object I’d been holding all day—a tiny metal toy plane. His favourite, the one he used to fly across the room as a kid, making dramatic explosion sounds as he crashed it onto my bed. He’d left it behind when he went to the academy, and I’d kept it ever since, tucked away like a piece of him I could hold onto.

My fingers trembled as I placed it gently against the gravestone, the silver wings catching the dim light before the rain dulled their shine.

“You were supposed to take me with you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “You promised, remember?”

The words felt small, swallowed by the storm. I clenched my teeth, hating how fragile they sounded. Hating him, just a little, for leaving me behind. I stayed long after the funeral ended, long after the others had left and the mud swallowed their footprints. My body ached from the cold, but I couldn’t leave him.

“I hate you for this,” I murmured, pressing my fingers against the stone. “For making me go on without you.”

The wind howled in response, tugging at my dress, but I didn’t move. Not until I had nothing left to say. Not until my fingers were numb and my chest felt hollow. Only then did I turn away.

The slam of a car door jolts me back. I blink, my vision still blurred, though I’m not sure if it’s from the memory or the tears I’d failed to hold back. With a quiet breath, I swipe at my face before Caleb can see, forcing a smile as he slides into the driver’s seat, entirely unaware of the storm still raging inside me.

"Alright," he says, stretching with a satisfied sigh. "Let’s get out of here before I bankrupt myself buying you plushies."

His voice is light and teasing, a stark contrast to the weight pressing against my ribs. But that’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? Caleb, the sun. Me, the storm.

I nod, tucking my emotions away. "Yeah. Let’s go."

Evening unfurls over Skyhaven in slow, gilded waves, like ink spilling across a golden page. The sun sinks toward the horizon, its last defiant rays piercing the heavens, setting the sky ablaze in smouldering hues of copper, crimson, and molten saffron. The clouds cradle the light in their billowing arms, their edges kissed by fire, their centers fading into soft, dusky violet.

From Caleb’s house, perched high above the world, the sky feels boundless, a shifting sea of colour and light. Wisps of cloud curl around the balcony like phantom tendrils, stirring lazily with the wind, their delicate forms dissolving and reforming with each breath of the heavens. They drift apart, as if intoxicated by the sunset’s beauty, slipping like fleeting dreams from memory.

As the last of the sun’s radiance retreats below the horizon, twilight rolls in like a whisper. Stars begin to blink awake—hesitant at first, like shy performers stepping onto a grand stage—before scattering themselves boldly across the sky. A deep, endless blue spreads overhead, a celestial canvas dusted with pearl-like stars.

The air shifts, losing the warmth of day, as the wind carries the crisp scent of rain yet to fall, mingling with the distant, charged hum of the city below. Skyhaven finds itself suspended in a world between, where the ground is a distant memory and the stars feel close enough to touch.

I reach up into the abyssal depths, as if I might be able to hold the starlight in my palm. My heart cracks open in the cold, where nobody will hear it cry. My Evol shines, gilded against the bruised hues of the sky. I know I can’t resonate with the stars, but that’s never stopped me from trying. Their beauty is haunting, ethereal in its eminence. Sometimes I wonder: if I can’t have my freedom, why can they?

“Whatcha doing?” Caleb’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and my Evol flares bright, like a star collapsing in on itself for a split second before I pull it back.

“Nothing,” I reply, my hand quickly shrinking back to my chest.

“You used to do that as a kid, you know.” Caleb’s tone is casual, but he doesn’t miss a beat, ignoring my half-hearted attempt to hide my thoughts. “When it wouldn’t work, you’d beg me to lift you closer to the sky.”

“Well,” I shrug nonchalantly, shaking my head with a playful grin, “I still can’t resonate with the stars, but I have a feeling you might be able to launch me into orbit at this point.”

Caleb’s gaze lingers on the sky with an unfamiliar weight, a strange despondency I rarely see from him. He stares into the vastness, as if searching for something, his fingers absentmindedly cradling his chin.

“I might be able to,” he muses, his voice trailing off.

The wind tousles his hair, and the scent of rain stirs in the air as he stays lost in thought, eyes fixed on the heavens.

I nudge his side lightly. “If you’re seriously considering launching me into orbit, I should at least get a helmet first. It’s only fair.”

His lips twitch with amusement as he turns to me. “Oh, please. Like a little thing like space would stop you. You’d probably just show up back here, annoyed the moon wasn’t as impressive up close.”

“I would be mad,” I admit with a dramatic sigh. “I bet it’s just a bunch of boring rocks.”

“Exactly, and then I’d have to listen to you complain about it for days.”

“You love listening to me complain,” I counter, grinning wide.

“Hm. ‘Love’ is a strong word,” he teases, feigning deep thought before shaking his head. “I’d say ‘tolerate.’”

I place a hand over my heart, feigning a deep wound. “Wow. Here I was, ready to let you be my first pick when I take dominion over the stars. Guess I’ll have to go with someone who actually appreciates me instead.”

Caleb snorts, his earlier melancholy melting away into laughter. “Yeah, yeah. You do that. In the meantime, dinner’s ready. Unless you want to continue your existential crisis out here?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I guess I’ll come eat.”

“Generous of you,” he retorts playfully, turning on his heel to head inside. “Try not to overthrow the celestial order before dessert.”

“No promises.”

I follow him into the warmth of the house, leaving the stars to their untouchable freedom. Caleb moves easily in the kitchen, his back to me as he plates up dinner. I’ve always known he’s a good cook—it’s one of those facts about him I never really thought much about before.

Just like I never really thought about the way his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong hands and those unfairly attractive forearms. 

Since when have forearms been attractive?

I linger in the doorway, watching him longer than necessary before forcing myself to move forward. “So, what’s on the menu? Something extravagant? Or just your usual ‘Caleb masterpiece’?”

He glances over his shoulder, smirking. “First of all, all of my meals are masterpieces.”

I scoff, trying to sound unaffected. “Debatable.”

“Second of all,” he continues, turning back to the plates, “braised short ribs, garlic mashed potatoes, and a side of vegetables. You know, because I care about your well-being.”

I blink, momentarily lost for words. “Oh.” My brain shorts out. “That’s… uh, very adult of you.”

Caleb pauses, looking over at me with an amused expression. “Very adult of me?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction.

I clear my throat and cross my arms. “You know, like... responsible. Grown-up. With... food. That you made. Yourself.”

Why am I like this?

His smirk deepens as he leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Right. Because I’m secretly a ten-year-old surviving on cereal and questionable vending machine snacks.”

“Well, I was under the impression you’d never really grown up.”

His eyes glint with mischief. “Oh? And here I thought you liked that about me.”

I open my mouth, then immediately close it. Something about the way he’s looking at me right now—casual, teasing, infuriatingly attractive—turns my brain to static. I busy myself inspecting the table, as if it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I guess it has its... occasional merits.”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb watches me a minute longer before tilting his head. “Okay, what’s going on with you?”

My heart stumbles. “What?”

“You’re acting weird, Inara.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

I scoff. “I am perfectly normal.”

“Mm.” He hums, unconvinced. With exaggerated thoughtfulness, he taps his chin. “Wait a second. Don’t tell me—” His eyes widen, full of mock horror. “Did you hit your head outside? Inhale too much cloud air? Are you possessed?”

I groan. “You are so dramatic.”

“Says the person who just described my cooking as ‘very adult.’”

Heat prickles my cheeks. “Shut up.”

Caleb chuckles, shaking his head as he sets the plates on the table. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you off the hook—for now.” He pulls out a chair with an exaggerated flourish. “Come on, sit. Before your ‘perfectly normal’ self forgets how to function entirely.”

“So,” Caleb says, digging into his food with zero hesitation, “Are you gonna keep making that face all night, or is this just your new thing?”

I nearly drop my fork. “What face?”

“The one where you look like you just realized the sun’s a star.”

I clutch my fork tighter, debating whether stabbing him with it would be too aggressive. “I do not look like that.”

He grins around a mouthful of food. “Mmm. Sure.”

I shove a bite into my mouth just to give myself a reason not to respond. Of course, because the universe is cruel, the food is amazing. Warm, perfectly seasoned, with just the right balance of heat and flavour. It’s almost offensive how good it is.

“Ugh,” I groan, because I have zero self-control. “Why are you good at everything?”

Caleb tilts his head, smug as anything. “Oh? You finally admit it?”

I glare at him, cheeks burning. “I take it back.”

“Nah, too late.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking downright pleased with himself. “Can’t unsay the truth, pip-squeak.”

I scowl, stabbing at my food with a little more force than necessary. Caleb just laughs, shaking his head before turning his attention to the window. Outside, the stars have fully emerged, scattered like shards of shattered light across the sky.

For a moment, I let myself watch him—the way his expression softens, the way the quiet settles over him like a familiar friend. There’s an ease to it—to him—that makes my heart do that stupid, traitorous thing where it clenches and stumbles in my chest.

I turn back to my food before I do anything reckless, like keep staring.

“So,” Caleb says after a beat, flicking his gaze back to me. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to start guessing? Because I gotta say, watchin’ you malfunction like this is kind of entertaining.”

I choke. “I am not malfunctioning.”

“Uh-huh.” He taps his fingers against the table, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s dying to solve. “So if I were to say... pick you up and spin you around like I used to, you wouldn’t turn into a human-shaped emergency alert system?”

I gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens, devious as anything. “Wouldn’t I?”

I shove the rest of my food into my mouth as fast as possible, which just makes him laugh harder.

Maybe if I eat fast enough, I can escape. I bolt the second my plate is empty, but I barely make it two steps before I hear Caleb shift. Then—predictably—he moves.

“Caleb, no—”

“Caleb, yes.”

I bolt.

The problem is, Caleb is fast. Not just fast—predictably fast, which means I don’t even have to look to know he’s already on my heels. I make it three steps past the kitchen, heart hammering, when I feel his presence behind me, closing in like some relentless, overpowered force of nature.

“No, no, no—”

“Yes, yes, yes—”

I dodge left. Caleb lunges. I twist away at the last second, nearly colliding with the couch as I scramble to change direction.

He’s laughing now—actually laughing, like this is the most fun he’s had in weeks. “You do know running just makes this worse for you, right?”

“You would say that,” I huff, kicking off the floor to gain momentum.

It doesn’t matter. One second I’m sprinting; the next I’m caught. Caleb grabs me around the waist with ridiculous ease, lifting me clear off the ground as I shriek.

“No! Caleb, put me down—”

“You know the rules, pip-squeak,” he says, voice full of mirth. “If you run, you get spun.”

I barely have time to react before the whole world tilts—arms flailing, breath hitching as he spins me in a wild, dizzying circle. The motion sends my stomach flipping, my pulse thundering, my everything completely out of control.

"CAL—" My words dissolve into helpless laughter, any protest lost to the sheer absurdity of it all.

The spinning slows, and the grip around my waist shifts—less playful, more steady. I feel it before I even process it: how my body presses against his, how my laughter fades into something quieter, more complicated.

When he finally stops, I realize just how close we are.

In the chaos, my hands have found his shoulders, fingers curled into his shirt without me even noticing. His arms are still around me, firm and warm, anchoring me in place.

Stars above—he’s right there.

I can see the way his expression shifts. The laughter is still in his eyes, but it’s softer now, tempered. His breathing isn’t steady. Neither is mine.

The space between us is nonexistent. I should say something. I should move.

Instead, I keep staring at the way the light catches in his hair, at the sharp angles of his jaw, at the curve of his lips, and at the way he’s looking at me. 

Not like a best friend or a childhood memory, but like something else.

"See?" His voice is quieter now, a little rough around the edges. "Didn’t even scream that much this time."

I blink, throat dry. "I definitely screamed."

He grins, slower this time, as if he’s letting the smile stretch across his face at his own pace. "Mmm. You sure?"

"Obviously."

He hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes dipping just for a second. I swear I feel it—the weight of it, lingering too long. My stomach flips for an entirely different reason.

I push lightly against his chest. "Okay. Now put me down."

He doesn’t move immediately. Not like he’s ignoring me, but like he heard me and still chose to hold me longer than necessary. Finally, he sets me back on my feet, his hands lingering a fraction longer than needed.

The moment breaks. I exhale, stepping back, willing the heat in my face to fade. Caleb watches me, an emotion I can’t quite decipher swirling in his eyes—violet and pink, like a nebula suspended in the quiet of space. He exhales too, raking a hand through his hair.

Then, like nothing happened at all, he smirks. “So… Malfunctioning confirmed, huh?"

I groan, shoving past him toward the sink. "I hate you."

He laughs, following me like nothing's changed. Like he wasn’t just holding me like that. Like I wasn’t just wondering what it would feel like if he—

No. Not finishing that thought.

I grip the edge of the sink, inhale sharply, and pretend my face isn’t on fire.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

Chapter Masterlist Thank you for taking the time to read! I started this for fun, and decided it might be something silly others may possibly enjoy with me.

If you do, leave a comment, or don't, or you know, do whatever you're comfortable with! Take care everyone!

[kredily]

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[pinkslaystation]

Ghost of A Connection

Ghost and Staff!Reader

In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head? yALL - all these COD stories on tumblr got me hyped! So here I am tryna catch some clout ;) Be warned, this is possibly a very inaccurate version of military life, but then again, it's just a story. Word Count: 2.5k

Man, post-graduate life is hard.

Graduating top of your cohort of nearly 300 students in your masters degree within Psychology was impressive. Saving enough money from shadowing your senior Psychology professor and moving out to your apartment was impressive. Owing your own car was impressive.

What wasn't impressive though, was nearly hitting the 6 month mark of unemployment.

So here you are, stuck calling all your classmates for any open roles. You're so desperate at this point, you'd go for anything!

"Hey, Mahir! I know we didn't quite end of good terms...um-you know...when you asked for the mid-terms answers last year, and I- um...left you on delivered, and you had to retake the exams...but um, I hear you started working at the University as a Researcher and you're looking for a assistant? Well gee, don't forget how smart I a-"

Disconnected.

"Yooo, Josephine, it's me! From the Psychopathology group project! Yeah, I'm sorry I shouted at you for not doing your part on the project, and filing a complaint against you, haha...although, like, come on, it's your fault - you're 25, not a 5 year old bab-"

Blocked.

Wow. You were not liked.

So one evening, when you were on the phone to your childhood friend, Jordan Biggs, and had managed to slip out how desperately broke you were, he kindly offered a potential role at his workplace.

"Shop keeper? What, like a convenience store?" Remind me where you work again? Aren't you in the navy? What stores are you talking about?" You rambled, I mean a possible job - finally?!

On the line, Jordan chuckles, "Slow your roll, man. I've been been with the army for around 3 years now, I'm currently on a mission but we'll be home soon. Our base has a shop, that sells, you know, tactical gear-"

"GUNS?!" You interrupted.

Jordan laughs, then in shushed by, what you assume to be his teammate, "No, not any weapons. Just, tactical gear, MREs, bits and pieces of uniform. Sometimes you might be asked to clean the base, set up rooms for meetings. And ooh my favourite - work at the canteen. We serve the country, you serve us food." Jordan explains.

So you complied.

I mean, yeah, your degree isn't being utilised, but we're in a cost of living crisis, for Christ's sake.

And here you are, clad in a plain dark grey fleece, and straight black trousers, trying to look as professional as possible.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your first day was silent. You found that you lived only 30 minutes away from the base, so you didn't struggle with the early shifts, working almost full days at the base, with a surprising decent salary.

You learnt you had replaced the previous worker, Katherine, a grumpy senior who quit, being fed up with the stench of these sweaty unkempt soldiers, and their rowdy behaviour after missions.

You also met your staff at the base, being the youngest one there gave you no surprise, with most your colleagues being double your age. You liked it. It was quiet, having met a few of the soldiers.

Your role was relatively simple. Consisting of various tasks such as ordering enough food to satisfy the recruits, more training equipment, when a recruit seemed to damage one. All in all, you were satisfied, especially when the first pay day rolled in.

You also noted that your colleagues, without fail, always seem to talk about a specific group of soldiers, such as Friday evening, when you all found yourself eating an early dinner.

"Soap is so sweet! He's always so generous when we talks to me, although I can't lie, I don't know what the fuck he says half the time." Your colleague rambles, shoving a spoon full of Friday's roast dinner into his mouth.

Another agreed, "Nothing beats the dilf of a man - Captain John Price. I may be chewing steak but that ain't the meat I want in my mouth, if you get what I mean-"

You choked, "Margaret, you're married with grand-kids, lord."

After a quiet but much needed conversation, you learnt about the most well-known team within the base, Task Force One-Four-One, lead by Captain John Price, forming of Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and the one you were most curious about - Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

"But like, why Ghost? If he's close to this Soap dude, why not call yourself Shampoo or something?"

Your colleagues laughed at your naivety glancing at each other.

"My dear, I don't dare to call him anything other than Lieutenant. He's entered a 10 metre radius of mine, and I've already pissed myself." One stated.

"I've heard he threatened to attack Katherine, just because she overcharged him, long story short, she quit." Another replied.

It seemed you didn't understand how feared Ghost really was...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you all had finished dinner, the staff split up, some going back to the canteen to prepare dinners for the soldiers finishing training, some going to clean up the barracks, and you found yourself going back to your designated shop.

Aah, this is peaceful. You mumbled, drinking your hot chocolate, whilst sorting out all the army boots on display.

As the clock strikes 10 p.m. though, the silence is broken and you hear a stampede of soldiers, once you assume had come back from a month long mission. The majority of them, from what you'd heard, sprinted to the canteen to rid themselves of their strictly MRE diet, and finally eat some home cooked food, whilst others ran off to their freshly cleaned barracks to get some well-deserved sleep.

Your little shop also seemed to be quite busy, a long queue waiting to buy water bottles, bandages, blankets, you name it. From nearby chatter from the tired soldiers, it seems most of the teams had arrived back from Afghanistan, a successful mission with no death and a few minor injuries.

An hour goes by and the queue dies down to around 6 people, with one at the till: Jordan.

"So a water bottle, that would be £1.50, payin- my God, Jordan?" You smiled, getting in front of the counter and pulling into a hug. He smelt like dusty and you joked that 1 bottle of water wouldn't suffice to rinse him of the smell.

"I haven't seen you in forever, it's been like 6 months? How's the job been treating you?" He enquiries, placing a kiss against your forehead. By now, the nearly empty shop turns to face the both of you, many assuming the situation to be a couple reuniting.

You and Jordan continue to catch up on everything - his mission, your job...Margaret's obsession with which positions she can take Captain Price in...

"Bro, she was going so in depth into the many ways she can contort her waist for, what she calls, the Price penis?!" You pull your most fake-disgusted face, as Jordan cackles loudly.

But his laugh falls short as a deep scruffy voice interrupts him-

"The only thing being wasted right now, is my time. Hurry the fuck up and pay for your shit. You act like we have all the time in the fucking world."

You jump slightly at the harsh words, although this is a military base, you should be used to this foul language.

"My guy, she said waist, not waste-" Jordan begins, before straightening his back and realising who he was talking to.

He turns around to face the man's voice, his back now turned to you, obstructing your view of the unknown soldier.

"Lie-Lieutenant. My apologies! Lemme grab this water and get out of your way," Jordan nervously chuckles, you can't see who he's talking to, but you can tell this was a man of higher authority, given how Jordan stutters. "Ooh, I see what you wanted to buy! Gloves, nice, socks, cool, Coc-Coco pops?!"

"My fucking God Biggs, the only thing big about you is your stupidity and your pussy attitude, grab your shit and go. Stop holding the fucking line, mate." The male's British accent is so prominent with every word enunciated, and you wish to never run into this stranger again.

"Sir!" Jordan turns to you, handing you a fiver and awkwardly side hugging you, "Have fun with this jerk wad." He whispers into your hair, before running out the shop, his water bottle still on the counter.

"Jordan your bottle-"

Holy shit.

After Jordan moves, your eyes feast before you, revealing a godly 225 lb man, standing at an impressive 1.89 metres, dressed in his dark and intimidating casual attire, his face hidden behind a skeleton mask, his piercing eyes squinted and penetrating into your shorter frame, his biceps bulging out of his sweatshirt, his shoulders broad, his trousers failing to hold his impressive bulg-

"Are you going to continue gawking at me like a fuckin' donkey or should I not pay for this shit?" He huffs out in disappointment.

Rude. Plain rude. Sexy...but rude.

Now you know why Jordan couldn't move a muscle when faced with this guy. Putting 2 to 2 together, you clocked. The way other soldiers left the shop as he entered. The way one look from him gets them to shut up so quickly. The skeleton mask-

This is Ghost.

"We- I- Um-" What the hell? Why can't you form a damn sentence?

"I- I- I don't give a damn. My shit, here." He mocks you, slamming his items on the counter. By now, the other customers have scurried off in fear. It's now you and Ghost in the shop.

You nod, humming a yes, eyebrows furrowing at his unkind words.

The next few moments are followed by near silence, the only sounds being the scanning of the items and your quickening breath. His foot begins tapping rapidly, as sign that you're taking to long.

It's uncomfortabl-

"The old hag before you's gone then."

Yes, Ghost, she is. And if you keep acting like this, I will be too. You grunt a response, unable to find the right words.

"£28.50" You say curtly, after a while. He hums in response, pulling his wallet to pay.

You watch him nervously, you did not expect to see one of the most respected soldiers in front of you so soon. Someone so handsome, someone so fucking sexy, but someone so fucking bitchy...

Oh. You said that last bit out loud.

Ghost pauses his actions, his head slowly craning upwards, his gaze drinking you in.

Your eyes meet his, quickly looking back at the counter, unable to meet his furrowed but amused glare.

"'m so bitchy, but you seem to love it, sweetheart. So red, like you're fucking in love with me or something." He scowls, slapping a £20 note on the counter.

"Maybe next time stopping droolin' over other men when you have your own cunt of a boyfriend." He mutters, before taking his shit and leaving. You don't fail to catch the smirk in his voice, as he exits your shop, loud footsteps booming behind him.

Oh my god.

You were at a loss of words. You were also at a loss of £8.50.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Jordy, you don't fuckin' get it! Dickhead left the place, without paying the full fucking price, mind you." Frustration was evident in your voice.

"Bitchy and broke," Jordan snickers.

"And the audacity to call you my boyfriend? Bye." You huff in annoyance, whilst Jordan chokes on his spit. If anything, he was a like a brother to you!

A week has gone by since that first encounter and your conversations with Jordan at the shop, when he passes by, always seem to end up at the topic of Ghost. The way he glares at you as you walk past him in the corridors. The way he sees you struggling when you carry boxes upon boxes- oh he won't help you, by the way. When you ask, he simply scoffs, "You're getting paid and you don't even want to do your job?"

Since that day, you've met all of the Task Force members. Price was as Margaret mentioned, sexy. Soap, comical, Gaz, kind-hearted, Ghost...yeah, he's there.

"But you don't get it man, he's so big- like over 6 foot! And those eyes- man those eyes. So condescending...but so hot..." you continue.

"Damn Margaret wannabe, we get it." Jordan jokes, drinking his can coke - which he didn't pay for. You'll tell him later.

As you both converse, loud footsteps enter the store.

Ghost. Again.

Did I mention he's been in here every day since the first time?

8 a.m. sharp, the moment you clock in for your shift, and 10 p.m. on the dot. Fucker's so annoying, he'll stay around the shopfloor, lazily looking at the various protein bars, even after you state the shop is already 10 minutes past closing.

But you don't mind. His silently stares at you, as if trying to remember the exact location of every beauty spot on your face, the consequent reddening of your cheeks, the slight touches of his rough callous fingers brushing against your own. All this unspoken tension, leads to your every thought being consumed by Simon Riley.

And when he enters the shop, wow. Buys the most random unnecessary shit ever. You notice how he walks in and purchases his singular Coco Pops cereal bar, day after day. This man isn't sick of them?

I mean, come o-

"Your obsession with me is flattering." He states.

Oh, forgot to mention, he's still an asshole. But at least after rehearsing to yourself in the mirror, you can actually speak up for yourself.

"Guh- buh- we- u-" Fuck's sake.

But he actually laughs this time. A loud imploding chuckle exits his mouth, and you actually smile a little at this unfamiliar emotion.

You can't tell what his face is doing under the mask, but his voice suggests a small smile rests on his face, but it soon disappears before he coughs awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend's in the infirmary by the way." He looks away, emphasising boyfriend a little too roughly.

You stare in confusion. Boyfriend? He picks up on this.

"Biggs. Rolled his ankle or some shit. Dunno why he can't just man it up. I've had worse injuries." He mumbles, smiling under his mark slightly, assuming Jordan isn't in fact your boyfriend.

Your eyes widen, "Jordy? Wha-who-how?"

"He-" But before he can answer your question, you're running out the shop to the infirmary, stealing a snack from the shelf for Jordan.

You fail to notice that you'd left a dejected Ghost at the counter, who'd picked up 2 coco pops instead of 1 this time, his smile faltering, as he planned to give you the 2nd, as a token of apology for his impolite behaviour.

In the end, he realised he'd been holding onto a ghost of a connection, overshadowed by the presence of another man.

He winces, being left alone at the till, hoping to actually strike up a conversation with you, as he gathers his (unpaid) belongings and walks out the door, off to shout at any rando that dares get in his way.

yALL its 2.30 a.m. and i'm craving coco pops-

[mirrorballpages]

I want your midnights

The gown she picked for Solstice was one she had found a few weeks ago. It had caught her eye in a shop window on the way home from a meeting, shimmering in the candlelight display, a shade of deep amethyst that shifted between indigo and violet as if the fabric itself could not decide what color it wanted to be. Something about it had called to her. And when she had slipped it over her head, felt the way the taffeta swept around her like dusk falling over water, she knew she had to buy it.

It reminded her of a dream she once had, of dusk over a foreign sea, the sky darkening into jewel tones as the last light dipped below the horizon.

The draped bodice swept gracefully off her shoulders, gathered at the edges with delicate flower appliqués that rested across her collarbone. And it had pockets—something she would never stop finding delight in. It lacked the usual embroidery or sparkle of her finer gowns, but in its simplicity, it was stunning. Against her fair skin, against the softness of her curls as they cascaded around her shoulders in polished curls…

She had hesitated at the price, fingers grazing the tag with guilt. She had yet to spend any of the salary she was given—a generous amount that sometimes made her feel as if she had stolen it. What had she done to deserve this? But this dress… this dress she wanted.

And so, for once, she let herself have something.

Now, as she walked downstairs, the fabric pooling around her like liquid twilight, she smoothed her hands over the pockets before standing by the window, looking outside. It was dark, the snowfall slow and steady, coating Velaris in a sheet of white. The sky glowed, the stars brighter than usual, as if even they were celebrating the longest night of the year.

She was lost in the sight, in the stillness of it, when a familiar shadow curled around her wrist, cool and whispering against her skin. Her heart fluttered.

"Happy Solstice."

Azriel’s voice was quiet, smooth as velvet, settling in her chest in a way that warmed her despite the cold beyond the window.

She turned, finding him standing just beside her, clad in a finely tailored black jacket and pants, no leathers in sight. It made him look softer somehow, though nothing could truly soften Azriel—not the sharpness of his jaw, nor the intensity of his hazel eyes, deep and knowing as they swept over her.

"Happy Solstice," she murmured, allowing herself a lingering glance.

His wings were tucked in close, the rest of his siphons absent, but there was no mistaking the power that rested beneath his careful stillness. His gaze flickered over her, pausing at the exposed sweep of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her collarbone. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed the way his throat bobbed, the twitch of his left wing, the slight parting of his lips as if he wanted to say something—

But then Rhysand stepped forward, clearing his throat as he carried a cake toward the center of the room.

Elain knew that cake. She had made it herself, carefully, painstakingly. But she had asked Nuala to decorate it, to make it look like the dresser Feyre had once painted in their old cottage, covered in stars and flowers and fire, swirls of color and light.

As Feyre’s eyes went wide, Elain gracefully walked toward her.

"I asked Nuala to do it in that order," she said softly, watching as her sister took in the familiar design. "Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been."

Feyre’s lips parted, her throat bobbing as her eyes shone with emotion. And when she pulled Elain into a hug, Elain melted into it, feeling, for the first time in a long time, truly whole.

------------------------

The rest of the evening was lovely. Elain sat quietly, watching as everyone opened their gifts, observing their reactions with quiet amusement.

Amren, for all her usual coldness, lit up like a star as she tore into her presents—ripping through fine ribbons and delicate paper as if they were nothing, her silver eyes gleaming with hunger at the endless array of jewels she unwrapped. She hoarded them, sifting through sapphires and rubies, emeralds and diamonds, like a dragon guarding its treasure.

Morrigan’s gifts, on the other hand, were… interesting. The sight of Rhysand and Cassian staring, laughing, at the scandalous red silk lingerie Mor had gifted them had Elain laughing. A real, bubbling laugh she couldn't contain.

But the laughter died on her lips when the knock came. Elain swore she felt the air go cold. The room stilled as every head turned toward the door.

Nesta.

Elain was on her feet instantly, moving before she even thought about it, weaving past the couches and chairs until she reached the foyer, heart thudding. Nesta stood there, her face unreadable, but her hands were clenched into fists, her posture rigid. A wall of steel, but Elain saw through it. The hesitation in her eyes, the weariness in the tight lines of her mouth.

Elain didn’t say a word. She just took her sister’s hand and gently led her inside.

The memory of their last conversation—the pain Nesta had inflicted, the cruel words she had wielded like weapons—flickered in her mind. But Nesta was here. Nesta had come. That was all that mattered.

Elain brought her straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring her a glass of red wine without a word. As she handed it to her, she felt another pair of eyes on her. She caught his gaze across the room, steady and unreadable, but something in those hazel depths softened when she met them. He saw her, saw the way she still took care of her sister, despite everything.

Elain didn’t know what compelled her, but as she turned back to the drinks, she poured herself something stronger. Whiskey. Straight. Liquid courage, as the humans used to say.

Nesta didn’t comment on it. Just took a long sip of her own wine and let Elain lead her back toward the fire.

Elain handed Nesta a small, neatly wrapped package, fingers tightening around it for a moment before letting go. “I went into that bookshop,” she murmured, voice quiet but firm. “You know, the one by the theater? I asked for recommendations, and the woman—female, I mean… She said this author was her favorite.”

She didn’t mention that Azriel had been with her at the time, standing by her side as she thumbed through the pages, thoughtful and quiet. Nesta hesitated. But then, to Elain’s surprise, she took the gift. Progress.

Elain watched as Feyre unwrapped Azriel’s gift, a vibrant, rare paint from a continent far across the sea. And when Feyre opened Elain’s—fine brushes, monogrammed with her initials and the Night Court insignia—they both stilled for a moment. Elain caught Azriel’s eyes again, realization flickering between them. They had gotten Feyre nearly the same gift.

Unplanned. Azriel inclined his head ever so slightly. Elain mirrored it, suppressing a smile.

Then it was her turn. Elain opened Lucien’s gift, unfolding the note tucked inside.

"Enchanted gloves. That won't tear or become too sweaty while gardening."

She read it aloud, feeling the weight of expectation in the room. Elain loved feeling the earth. Loved the way the soil crumbled between her fingers, the way the ground spoke to her, the whisper of roots, the pulse of life beneath her palms. She didn’t want a barrier between herself and the land. She didn’t say that, of course. She just gave a small, polite smile.

But she barely had time to dwell on it before she realized—

Azriel’s gift. The last one left.

She turned toward him, suddenly nervous. “I had Madja make it for me,” she explained, heart hammering as Azriel unwrapped it. “It’s a powder to mix into any drink.”

Azriel’s expression remained carefully neutral. Elain swallowed. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you.”

A beat of silence.

She hurried on, cheeks warming. “I’ve noticed how often you rub your temples, how often you—”

Azriel laughed. A deep, unrestrained sound, rich and genuine. Elain stilled. She had heard him laugh like that before...  but never like that in front of the entire family. Only when it was just the two of them. His hazel eyes brightened, the green striking against the glow of the fire.

“Thank you,” he said, still chuckling, still watching her with that rare, soft amusement. “This will be invaluable.”

Elain felt her ears turn red. She wasn’t sure why that warmth spread through her chest, why she felt that moment so deeply. But as Azriel tucked the powder away, as his shadows curled ever so slightly toward her, as if pleased—

She knew, somehow, that this was a gift he would actually use. And that meant more than words could ever say.

Read The Rest on AO3

[arjwrites]

I'm not the same annon that requested it(I'm not that creative) but could we get a sequel to the saving grace fic?? Like, I was reading it and it was so good I was soo invested in the story and then it ended 😭😭 I've been looking for any Cas fics in general but I think yours are by far the Greatest💕💕

Saving Grace pt. 2 - Castiel x GN!Reader

Summary: Part 2 to Saving Grace!

Warnings: References to sex, use of Y/N. GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: HEHEHE this one was a little silly but I love it. I feel like it ends really abruptly but I really wanted to get it done. I think I am going to write a little epilogue blurb to finish this, look for that sometime next week! Thanks for requesting this anon, I hope you enjoy <3

Link to Epilogue

Since your initial encounter with Cas’s wings, the two of you had fallen into a regular routine. At the end of the day, whether the team had just finished a difficult hunt or many long hours of research, Cas would pull you aside to discretely ask for your assistance, and the two of you would tuck yourselves away from the Winchesters for some privacy. 

“Y/N, could you… Check out my wings again? Something feels off.” He’d ask, usually averting your gaze.

“Of course, Cas!” The chance to touch his wings always excited you, but you quickly worked to calm yourself, to play things cool. “I will, uh, be in the other room when you’re ready.”

In the last few weeks, the angel had asked you to comb through his wings more times than he had ever mentioned them in the years you had known him. And more often than not, you never found any debris to remove or injury to assess. You found this peculiar, but you never said a word about it. Grooming through Cas’s wings was a job that you carried out carefully, dutifully, accepting your salary in the form of quality time with your dear angel. 

Sometimes, when you and Cas would hide away to share this secret ritual, the angel would talk, and you would listen. He’d tell you about heaven, about things he had seen in his time on Earth, and all the things that weighed heavy on his mind. Other times, he was quiet. In these times, you would take the lead. You would tell him about your childhood or recount stories of your life before his arrival. He would listen intently, committing every detail to memory. Your heart would swell when he would bring up something you had told him in another conversation. He was so considerate. 

Beyond being an emotional release for the two of you, the physical sensation was like nothing else either of you had experienced. For Cas, it was a relief and relaxation that he hadn’t experienced in as long as he had occupied his vessel on Earth. Sometimes it felt as if his grace, his true form, was bottled up tight inside of him, threatening to spill over. But in these moments with you, he could let it slip out of him, and feel the cool breeze that was your touch rippling through his feathers. And for you, it was divine in every sense of the word. It was more than just the softness and majesty of his wings. With each stroke of your fingers, a feeling of such peace came over your body. It was like the moment of warmth you felt when Cas healed you after a hunt- only stretched from a brief second into minutes, hours. It took a long time for you to grow comfortable holding casual conversation while working through Cas’s wings. You often felt that they demanded your full attention- like they were using their incandescent glow to speak to you in a language you had never learned yet understood perfectly. But you often reminded yourself that this time was for Cas, so you counted yourself lucky and chatted along with the angel for the sake of his comfort. 

As this routine became more commonplace, it grew to drag on longer and longer. Initially, you and Cas were quick, subtle, doing your best to fly under the radar so that Sam and Dean wouldn’t notice your absences. But there was something about spending this time with him that was so intoxicating. Each time you would linger in each other’s presence for a few extra precious moments. Sometimes, you would disappear together for hours on end. Cas would typically leave the Winchesters in a frantic or distant state, and return serene and satisfied. Undoubtedly, the boys were starting to take notice. 

Today was one of those days where your time with Cas had been greatly extended. You both had gotten caught up swapping stories about the most beautiful things you had ever seen. You had gone on and on about the glimpse of the northern lights you and the boys had caught when a hunt had taken you up to Canada, while Cas had described wonders both heavenly and earthly that you could barely imagine. But the whole time, there was something lingering beneath the surface. When he had first asked you the question, you had desperately wanted to scream out You, Castiel. Your wings, your grace, your presence. You are the most beautiful thing I have had the pleasure of knowing. But, of course, you did not. And it seemed like there was something left unsaid on both sides, because when Cas talked through his own answer, he had hesitated before speaking and trailed off after finishing, in a way that was so different from his usual direct and succinct tone. 

After finishing the routine, you had retreated to your room, your mind racing through every possible thought Cas could have been thinking. The angel, on the other hand, had ventured out into the bunker, only to find Sam and Dean perched in waiting. Cas acknowledged them both, intending to keep the interaction brief, but it seemed the brothers had different plans. 

“Where have you been, Cas?” Dean gruffed in an accusatory tone. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, avoidantly. 

Sam and Dean shared a quick look, silently communicating in their typical Winchester telepathy. Cas watched, unsure of their intentions, but nevertheless eager to get out of the conversation as soon as possible. 

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Y/N, recently,” Sam noted, inching carefully towards the topic. 

“Yes, I have.” It was true. Another Winchester glance ensued. 

“So, uh… What have you guys been… doing?” Dean questioned. 

Cas thought for a moment. This wasn’t something he wanted to share with the Winchesters- it was something sacred shared between the two of you. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam and Dean, but there was something about the act that felt so vulnerable. Plus, it wouldn’t take them long to realize what Cas was up to. He definitely didn’t need this sort of grooming on a regular basis- it was all a ruse to be close to you, alone. It was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself to take part in, and in some ways he felt guilty- like it was wrong to let you do this for him, like he was using you. And if the boys found his secret out, would they tell you? He had to deflect. 

“Y/N has been helping me,” was all he could come up with in response. 

“Helping you with what, Cas?” Sam probed, not ready to let him out easy. 

Again, Cas stalled for a beat. “With some private business.” 

“Well Cas, whatever it is, we can help too,” Dean stood, beginning to inch towards the angel. 

“No.” His gaze hardened. This is where his heart would’ve started beating faster, if it did that kind of thing. 

“No?” Confusion and the slightest hint of anger laced Dean’s voice. “Cas, that’s what we’re here for. Is it dangerous?” 

“No. It’s intimate. Not any of your business.” 

At this, Sam and Dean shared a third look, this one very different from the first two. This time, their eyes were wide, their mouths opening and closing in tandem as if volleying the same thoughts back and forth, neither sure how to articulate them. After a deafening few moments of silence, Dean spoke.

“So… You’re being… Intimate, with Y/N…” he trailed off. 

“Yes.” He nodded, hoping they would accept that and move on, not understanding the connotations of his words. 

“And you… You care about Y/N… Right?” Sam chimed in.

Cas furrowed his brow. “Of course I do. Very much so. This isn’t something I would do with someone I didn’t love.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Of course he loved you. Maybe he hadn’t yet told you, but… Of course he did. 

“Okay. Okay. Good.” The boys nodded to each other as if offering some sort of approval that Cas had not been seeking after. And when they turned to look back at him, the angel was gone. 

-

Your slippered feet flopped against the hard floors of the bunker as you traveled the distance between your room and the kitchen, on a pilgrimage in search of a snack. The bunker felt eerily quiet- you didn’t run into either Winchester nor your angel during your journey. It wasn’t until you closed the fridge, satisfied with your selection, and turned to retreat, that you noticed Sam and Dean behind you. Your heart leapt out of your chest at the jump-scare, but they wasted no time in speaking.

“Hey, so, uh, we heard what’s been going on.” Dean was awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. 

“Yeah, and we wanted to say… You guys don’t have to like, hide it anymore, or anything,” Sam added. 

“I mean we don’t want to, like, see you do it-” Dean chimed in.

“Right! Right. We don’t. But-” 

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” You interjected.

“Well Cas told us what you two have been doing. Don’t worry, it wasn’t like a ‘kiss and tell,’ we had to pry it out of him-” 

“And what exactly did he say we were doing?” 

The boys looked at each other sideways, as if a silent rock paper scissors was determining who would speak. It seemed that Dean had lost.

“Well the word he used was being ‘intimate.’” Dean made air-quotes as he spoke. “It was kinda sweet, though. Said he wouldn’t do it with someone he didn’t love, and-” 

“Oh my GOD,” was all you could get out. They thought you two were having sex. Cas said he loved you. Your mind couldn’t decide which you needed to address first, but it seemed your feet had chosen for you when you backed out of the room, turned on your heels, and ran. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed!” Sam called after you, but you were gone.

It was as if a magnet was pulling you towards the angel. You had a feeling you knew exactly where he would be- not a conscious thought, but more of a natural instinct that was carrying your body in concert with your legs. The narrow bunker hallways whipped past you and it felt like you were flying. If you could’ve flown to Cas in that moment, you would have. 

And there he was, perched exactly where you thought he would be. Looking at him now, it felt like the world had opened up around you. He said he loved you. He loves you. 

“Hello, Y/N.” Cas looked at you with a soft smile, and you froze. 

You had raced to him on pure adrenaline, but now, you weren’t sure what to say, do, think. Your mouth hung open for a moment, before finally forming the words.

“I just spoke with Sam and Dean,” you said, plainly.

“I see. They must have figured it out. I’m very sorry, Y/N. I don’t want you to think I am taking advantage of you by asking for your help with my wings, or-”

“Cas, they think we’re having sex.”

Cas cocked his head to the side and shifted his gaze behind you, processing what you had said. “I see.”

“Why do they think that, Cas?” 

He drew in a silent breath that melted his facial features. His whole presence softened, as if he had made up his mind about something that had worried him for so long.

“Well, you see… They asked me why we had been spending so much time alone. And I didn’t want them to know about what we were doing because… It’s very vulnerable, Y/N. It is a lot of trust that I place in you. And I feel guilty, because it isn’t something you should have to do. It’s selfish but it feels so good, and…”

“And what, Castiel.”

“It’s a reason for me to be close to you.” 

His words sent your heart skyrocketing and pulled you across the room, closing the final few feet between you. There were a million things you could have said. You could have reassured him he wasn’t selfish, told him how much you enjoyed helping him, or laughed at him for the confusion he caused. But instead, you gave all of those feelings a moment to bubble up in your chest before funneling them into a kiss. A soft kiss, a gentle kiss, and yet, one that was driven by so much emotion that it couldn’t help but be firm, absolute. And the angel kissed you back.

You lips lingered together for as long as you each could bear, before pulling gently away in unison. The smile on his face spoke volumes before you could even open your mouth. 

“You can be close to me whenever you’d like, Cas.”

“I’d like that,” he nodded. 

Now, to deal with those Winchesters.